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She laughed harder. “Sarcasm, Serval. You’re too chill. Be relaxed. Loosy goosy.”
“How are you speaking English and I still have no idea what you’re saying?” He asked, watching as she wiggled her arms to her side in the oddest dance he’d ever seen.
She snickered, looking at her phone. “Okay, first question: What’s your favorite dessert?”
That was, probably, the lamest question he’d ever heard in an interview. What did it even matter?
But of course, it did matter to them. Her content was sweets themed. He had to cast his mind around for an answer since he didn't usually eat sweet food.
“So serious,” Sophie said with false sincerity as he thought.
“I don’t eat sweets. I don’t know that I have a favorite.”
“Ugh!” Sophie grabbed for her heart, gasping. “What? My own mate? The betrayal!”
“I’m genuinely concerned for you right now.”
“Come on, surely there’s something. You must have liked sweets as a kid.” She blinked. “Oh, wait. Or is this like a species thing. Because you can’t taste spice, right? Guys, he can’t taste spicy food! It doesn’t burn. Isn’t that weird? So, like, does that mean you can’t taste sweet things either? I think I heard that about cats once. You’re more like a fish than a cat though.”
Serval was going to get dizzy trying to keep up with her nonsensical, random changes in topics. The way her focus just veered off course was distracting, as was the completely odd rambling.
“I can taste sweet things,” he finally settled on saying, since that was a direct question. “When I was younger, my mother would harvest ililowee eggs that that we always enjoyed eating. Those are sweet.”
“Eggs? Sweet… eggs?”
“Ililowee are a type of crustacean on my homeworld. They’re about the same size as me-”
“That’s horrifying.”
“-and they lay eggs about this size.” He showed her with his hand, mimicking grabbing one.
“Like a golf ball, got it,” she nodded along.
“The eggs are flavorful and the mucous they’re laid in to keep them from drifting in the water is sweet. It’s a popular treat among rilings.”
“What’s a riling?”
“It’s what my people call our young. A rie.”
Sophie made a face. “I guess I should be grateful they’re not called fry. I just wouldn’t be able to take my kids seriously.”
Serval leaned in close, surprising her. “Is that what you want? To have my rilings?”
“Er, I mean… yeah?” She stuttered for the first time, her voice cute and soft and uncertain. “I mean, maybe not like right now. But yeah… I want babies some day.”
Serval made a sound deep in his throat, grappling with the sudden emotions that were rushing in his chest.
He had never really cared for rilings. He didn't dislike them, really, but having a rie would mean he’d have to be home, back in the nest pools. Something he was definitely loath to do. He could feel the suffocating grip of home just thinking about it.
Yet, at the same time, an image flashed in his head of Sophie, nude, body painted with wii’le lines, laboring in his family nesting pool, surrounded by his mother, his sister, himself, the wii in the pool glowing in the moonlight as they rippled in the water.
Humans were capable of breeding hybrids. It was what made their species so unique. She could spawn for him. What would a riling between them even look like?
The thoughts assaulted him all at once. Striking into his chest with a stunning ferocity that made his cock and ovules jump in his pants and his mind whir.
“Erm, we should do the next question,” Sophie breathed, staring pointedly at his face, her face alight, her pulse jumping in her neck. Humans were so soft, so delicate, he could see it right there. His little female, so vulnerable. In his line of work, someone couldn’t be that fragile.
But she was, and he was eager to revel in it.
