>>6007991The room was as stark white as you remember, sans the bed. The faux-window normally playing pastoral scenes on loop has been turned off. In the middle, surprisingly not restrained, Pahan's torso presses against the floor, slowly rising and falling in lock step with his breath. You make sure to close the door and flip the switch on the privacy field first before removing the collar.
“Pahan-Hysin, fighting ready? To you, what they did?” Slowly, mournfully, like a cow chewing on his last moo, Pahan croons, “Sleep-potion me poisoned. Also, not protecting you, great shame!” Gently squatting down beside his massive frame, your hand deftly slips in between the exoskeleton's gaps to stroke the silky membrane of his abdomen. From numerous breathing-holes air is periodically sucked in and shot out, creating a sensation not too different from a spiky massage ball.
Gradually, your hand moves forward and upward, climbing the slick and thick prothorax. As you reach a particular spot just behind his head, Pahan hums in a low voice, apparently enraptured. “Sivi-totonret, something dimly hears. As softshell hears not. This the you-once-mentioned ‘behind look’?” To memory he must be referring. “Here, more easy show.”
Instinctively, just in time, your other hand snuffs out the coalescing moan. “Totonret, warm-feeling not? Humble prostration.” You let go of your mouth, “No, no, to prostrate no need. Warm-feeling me surprises.” Yes, surprised, but also nostalgic. What you felt first waking up to Mother's embrace, the strands of her hanging cradle brushing against your soft skin. Here, far from the Rock, surrounded on all sides by vengeful-hands, you can only share these memories with your brother.
<span class="mu-s">No, no, wake up. What are you thinking? You are human, you have always been human. Yet, this feeling, these behind-looks, are they not part of you too? Is She not your Mother? Has She not loved you from the moment you refuse to kowtow like a pathetic outsider?</span>
>Stand up. Leave. Immediately. You need fresh air, time to think. But the decision has already been made: never bring this up again.>Forbid Pahan-Hysin from ever touching the back of your neck again. This simply isn't right. Did your mother not give you her breast?>Maybe just one more time. Let Her image crystallise, something you can treasure always. You owe the Queen that much at least.>Write-in (no, I won't write it, my internet history is weird enough as is.) 