Chapter Nine

"I can get it." Bo's left hand held one end of his cumberbund behind his back while his other hand fished around for the buckle.  His oversized body spun around in a tight circle, ignoring the fact that as far as his right shoulder advanced, his left shoulder had to retreat.  Finally he braced himself against the doorframe and gave a heroic push.  "There!" he said, finally grabbing the loose end and clipping it into place.  He was triumphant!

Dan glanced up momentarily from his own preparations. "It's upside down."

"Gods damn it," Bo swore, giving vent to his frustration.  Finally, he swallowed his pride and bowed to the inevitable.  "Will you please help me?"

"Sure," Dan grinned where Bo could not see him.

I know what you are doing

Bo thought to him, not sharing his husband's mirth.

"Fine," Dan chuckled aloud, no longer trying to conceal his mirth. "How big a sin is it that I enjoy helping my mate get dressed?"

"Why do we have to wear these monkey suits, anyway?" Bo groused. "I would have been happier in my shorts."

"It's not a monkey suit, it's a doggie suit," Dan joked.  “It's a formal dinner, Boo," he dug his fingers between the synthetic silk and Bo's fur and disengaged the clasps holding the cummerbund in place. "You dress up for it.  Besides," he said, as he re-oriented the piece of pleated black silk and wrapped his arms around his mate's barrel-thick torso, "we only have to do it for two nights.. And," he added, clipping it on correctly, "you look hot in a tux."

He wasn't kidding, Bo knew.  Dan really did think that he looked impressive in the custom-tailored formal wear.  "I'm only doing this for you, you know."

"I know," Dan said, easily. "and I appreciate it."  He leaned forward and pulled Bo's head down, kissing him on his warm, leathery nose pad. "I love you."

"I know."  Bo smiled down at him as he shucked his oversized arms into the jet black jacket.  After seeing Bo's natural build, the tailor had omitted the shoulder pads in favor of a few squares of simple stiffening cloth.  Straightening, the varius examined himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that occupied one entire wall of their bedroom. Nice.

He still found it difficult to believe that he could like the way he looked.  He'd spent his entire life self-conscious about his appearance, but after being with Dan for a few months and seeing himself through the sapiens' eyes, he had started seeing the world - and himself - in a new light.

From his own perspective, he still thought he looked freakishly large and un-appealingly bulky, but what he saw through Dan's eyes was radically different. He saw powerful muscles that had been well-arranged on a strong, sturdy frame, covered in a dense, glossy fur of deepest black, set off with a few tan patches that mimicked a rottweiler's patterning with a fair degree of accuracy. He saw a large, blunt-muzzled head carried atop a thick neck that bowed to nobody.  Nobody, that is, except Dan Blocker.  

It was Dan who saw his ham-sized paws and thought about how amazing they felt as they ran up and down his body.  It was Dan who looked into his eyes and saw intelligence and depth of character instead of ordinary brown. Among all others, it was Dan who knew of all of his physical oddities yet loved him just the same.  Scientists may have engineered Bo's species for killing, but the Fates had made him for Dan.

And right now, it was Dan who was snuggling up against his back, inhaling his scent and melting into his warmth.  "Come on, babe," Bo said, gently unwrapping his life-mate's arms from around him. "We'd better get moving if we're going to make it on time."  He really didn't give a rat's ass about whether they were on time or not, but it was important to Dan so it was Bo's job to make it happen.

"Okay," Dan said, not wanting to let go of his mate but knowing that he was right.  He turned back to the mirror and gave his appearance one final check.  "You all set?"

"I just have to put on these damned dress shoes."  Bo stuck the toes of his right foot into the corresponding shoe and then pulled it back to stomp it into place.

"No!" Dan said, his voice so frantic that it stopped Bo in mid-stomp.  "If you split the seams in those things we'll never get our deposit back!  Just..." he caught his breath and tried to calm down. "Just sit down for a second and please, let me take care of it."

"Okay, okay," Bo soothed, sitting down in a chair.  He hooked a finger into the heel of the shoe and pulled back, experimentally.

"Stop it!" Dan said, his back to Bo but seeing everything he was doing through their link. "Your finger is not a shoehorn."

Bo sighed in exasperation and waited for Dan to untie the dress laces and fit his wide, canine paws into the black leather shoes.  Shoes for digitigrade varii were odd-looking affairs that had to be custom made, but Bo's plantigrade physiology allowed his shoes to be mostly normal-looking, if significantly larger than average.

As Dan worked, Bo realized there was no way he would have been able to force his feet into the fitted shoes with the laces still tied, and that there was no way he could have tied the thin laces without Dan's help.  He also realized that Dan viewed putting shoes on his mate not as a chore to be endured, but as a service to be performed.  He was not only happy to help, but proud to serve.  Bo found the fact that his mate could simultaneously be so service-oriented and yet so mulishly stubborn to be a source of never-ending wonder.

"There," Dan announced, giving Bo's shoes a quick rub with the provided felt cloth. "Perfect!"  He stood and offered his hand to his partner, and suddenly Bo understood why Dan had wanted to get dressed up this way.  Seeing Dan dressed to the nines made Bo's heart jump in his chest.  There was a reason why men's formalwear had changed so little in the past four hundred years, Bo realized.  When you got it right, you left it alone.

Dan's average-boned face framed a pair of blue eyes that were anything but average.  They pierced whomever they locked on, encouraging cooperative compliance rather than attempting to force obedience.  And Bo Taylor, who'd been engineered for violence and bred for battle, found them absolutely irresistible. Contrary to what Bo had expected, the formal black tuxedo did not make Dan look like a little boy who was playing dress-up.  Instead, it made him look distinguished and regal.

The man's mix of strength and kindness had shown Bo that it was possible to balance both aspects of personality without forcing sacrifices to either, and had singlehandedly caused him to rethink his devotion to heterosexuality.  Bo still did not consider himself to be homosexual - he'd simply fallen in love with Dan, and Dan happened to be another man.  It might be an inconvenient thing but it was also inescapable, and as such Bo conceded that although he was not attracted to other men, because he loved Dan he must also be functionally gay.  Not that he objected to the sexual aspect, for he had found sex with Dan to be nothing short of immensely satisfying.  His choice had been made, he was happy with it, and he had no inclination to stray from this proven path.

Taking his mate's hand, Bo stood beside him facing the mirror and evaluated their reflections. They looked no different than they had a few days ago, but today their world seemed different. It was a colder, more isolated place with their friends and family literally a million miles away. Bo had been off-planet when he was in the armed forces, but back then he'd had few ties to be stretched this way.  

Today there were a half-dozen people he felt close to, all thanks to Dan, and their absence left... a hole?  No, he thought, a temporary space that would be filled with joy and laughter when they returned.  He could live with their absence, since the person that mattered most to him was standing less than a meter away. And that person was, Bo realized, holding a secret. He momentarily considered asking Dan about it directly, and that was all the time it took for Dan to realize that Bo was on to him.

“Ta daa!" Dan said, happily holding a gift bag out to Bo. “Happy Tuesday!"

Bo took the bag cautiously. “Tuesday?" he asked, holding the bag between thumb and forefinger. "What's so special about Tuesday?"

“Nothing," Dan said, looking quite pleased with himself. “Any excuse to give a present is a good one, right?"  He looked at the varius expectantly. “Open it!"  He wouldn't be able to keep the surprise inside himself for much longer, now that his gift bag was swinging from Bo's fingers.

Bo bared the tips of his teeth and growled in pleasure, pulling decorative tissue paper out of the bag to expose the contents.  Confusion crossed his face when he saw a folded piece of thick burgundy fabric at the bottom of the bag. Perhaps Dan had bought him one of the T-shirts bearing the cruise line's logo? But as soon as his fingers closed around the fabric, he knew what it was.

His bushy eyebrows shot up in unmitigated joy. “It's a hat!" He unfolded the fabric and gave it a good shake.  As expected, the fabric arranged itself into a shape reminiscent of the traditional bucket hat.  Bo jammed it on his head with such enthusiasm that one of his ears missed the ear-holes that had been cut for them. “I've got a hat!"

“Yes, you do!" Dan said, grinning broadly. “I gave the ship's tailor your measurements and they made a hat that fits nobody but you."  He eyed the lump of fabric dubiously. “I don't know about the color, though."

“What, are you kidding?" Bo pulled the hat off his head and stared at it with great affection. “It's perfect!"  Looking at his reflection in a mirror this time, he carefully arranged the hat on his bowling-ball sized head so that it was on straight, both ears poking through their respective holes.

Dan watched in amusement as Bo primped, shaking his head slowly in amazement.  The varius was simultaneously one of the oldest souls Dan had ever known, yet he was also a perpetual eight-year-old.  He was so easy to please that Dan sometimes worried that he wasn't trying hard enough.

mine

Even though he could feel Bo's sincerity through their link, Dan still couldn't quite believe it.  Bo instantly loved the hat, for the sole reason that Dan had given it to him.  And he'd continue to love it, sincerely and with all his heart, for the rest of his life - or the rest of the hat's life, whichever came first.  Considering Bo's rough-and-tumble lifestyle, Dan was betting that the hat would expire first.

happy

“I'm glad you like it," he said, reaching up to rub one of Bo's arms, “but it doesn't really go with the tux, does it?"

disappointment

“But I like it," Bo said, looking at his reflection in the mirror. His words came out an almost reverent whisper as he ran the tip of a claw around the floppy brim. “I've never had a hat before."

“It's a travel hat," Dan reasoned, “so you can still take it with you to dinner if you want, but in your pocket, not on your head."  When Bo still didn't quite look satisfied, Dan added, “You want to show Lucas?"

“Yeah," Bo answered quickly, brightening at the suggestion. “I think he'll like it!" He folded it twice and stuck the hat into his pants pockets, then smoothed his hair in the mirror.

"Come on, Boo," Dan said, taking Bo's hand.  "Let's get going."  On the way out he paused at the room's controller console to turn out the lights in their suite.  His first quick stab at the controller did nothing, and on closer examination he was dismayed to see that whatever button he'd accidentally pushed had caused the icons to display in some odd Cyrillic language.

"Oh, shit," he muttered to himself, "this has way too many consonants now."   He tried a likely-looking button and brought the lights in the bar up to full intensity,  Logically, the other end of that switch should make those same lights dim, so he pushed it.  To his dismay, the lights stayed where they were, but the bed began to revolve.

Seeing that Dan was beginning to get that all-too-familiar look on his face that he adopted when up against an interesting challenge, Bo put an arm on his waist and moved him gently toward the door. "Julian can fix it," he reminded. "Let's go."

Dan allowed himself to be shepherded into the common foyer, where, as predictably as the plant and the elevator door and the window to the ship's internal promenade, Julian sat at his small, neat desk.  Before telling him about screwing up the controller, Dan pushed his comm into the man's hand.  "Will you take our holo before we eat?"

The eager look in Dan's eyes put a smile on Julian's face.  "Of course."  He stood and came around his small desk, motioning them back through the doorway. "Let's get the two of you against the stars."

"We're going to be late," Bo grumbled, peevishly.

Julian was unconcerned. "Don't worry. You're guests at the Captain's Table tonight, so they won't start without you.  The headwaiter will kill time by prattling on about where the fish were caught until you arrive."  He turned to the controller, silently raised an eyebrow, and pushed the buttons that lowered two of the protective hull plates.  Pulling out his stylishly slim comm, he muttered something into it that Dan was too far away to hear.  He stood fiddling with the buttons on Dan's comm, and a moment later the floor rumbled beneath them.   "This will only take a moment," he assured, looking smug.

"Oh my God." Dan was awestruck.  Bo turned to look at what had captured his mate's interest and felt his own jaw drop in surprise.  Slowly, majestically, the view behind them was changing as the ship rotated to an angle better suited to Julian's purpose.

"That's perfect," the concierge said, into his comm.  "Thank you."  He looked up at the two men, and the blend of surprise and horror they were giving him made him practically giggle in delight.  Julian loved it when people were so unused to the abilities commanded by their temporary positions of privilege.

"Don't worry about it," he said, casually. "They're bored up there, and I think they actually enjoy the distraction."  He carefully framed the holo.  The ship uses the same amount of fuel to get from point A to point B. It doesn't really matter which direction we're pointed." He took the picture and moved to another vantage point. "Might as well take advantage of the opportunity, right?"

Dan's comm gave a few more quiet beeps as Julian took several more holos, talking all the while. "This tiny detour burned a few credits worth of fuel in the maneuvering thrusters." He grinned mischievously. "There's nothing I love more than spending the company's money making people happy. Now, smile!"

 * * *

"A seven course meal?" Bo asked, peevishly. "Why would any sane person need more than a main course and dessert, and maybe an appetizer or two?"

"I think it's going to be the same amount of food as a regular dinner," Dan said, wondering why Bo was complaining that someone wanted to serve him food, "only instead of cramming it all onto one plate they're feeding it to you one course at a time."  Thinking about it, perhaps his mate was uneasy walking into such an unfamiliar setting. 

"I can appreciate the concept of specialization," Bo grumped, "but that just seems like overkill."

"Just sit back and enjoy it," Dan encouraged, hoping to ease Bo's mind.  "If you hate it we can do the buffet from here on out."

"Did you remember to bring a pen so you can take notes?"

"Yep."  Dan felt his pockets for the pad and stylus.  "Uh... nope." He had the small note pad from their room, but had left the stylus behind.  "It's no big deal, I'll just use my comm.  It'll be easier to just take a holo of the menus, anyway."

Bo rolled his eyes. "God forbid you don't make note of every caper they serve us." Upon hearing that the ship offered a fine dining experience at every evening meal, Jackson had been very persistent in making known his desire to learn about every dish they served.  "Ever since he took Ken out to that fancy restaurant, he's been insatiable.  He can't stop talking about that fucking salmon."

"Shh!" Dan looked around them hastily, noting with relief that there were no matronly ears within earshot.  "I just hope you don't end up the same way.  We can't afford to feed you fois gras at every meal."

The head waiter led them past dozens of other apparently happy diners to a large, circular table at the back of the dining room.  "Where are the others?" Bo asked, "I thought we were late."

"We are late," Dan said.  "They're just later. I guess city mice don't know how to be on time any better than us country mice do."  He watched with interest as the waiter held Bo's seat out for him.  Bo, in turn, watched the waiter with a growing sense of confusion.

?why is he holding my chair?

sit down and let him scoot the chair under you

?how does he know where I want it?

he doesn't

arrange it once he's gone

*impatient*

this is silly

Bo took the chair from the waiter's hands. "I've got it, chief."  Once he'd settled himself, he was startled when the man snatched the napkin off his plate, snapped it open, and dropped it into his lap.

?what was that about

did I piss him off?

let it go

"Thank you," Dan told the waiter, after having a similar service performed for him.

Just go with the flow, babe.

"Why do they insist on doing everything for-"

!friend!

Dan looked up and saw a large, annoyed-looking man walking toward them, flanked by Victus on his right and Lucas on his left.

that must be the negin

?you think?

came the typically sarcastic reply.

Negin Mal was an odd-looking man, Dan thought, a peculiar combination of wary watchfulness and laconic sloth, like a snake who was not hungry, but would still happily strike at any potentially tasty morsel that happened to cross his path.

Bo wanted to talk to Lucas, but he had pulled enough guard duty while serving in the military to know that the kindest thing he could do for his new friend was to ignore him and let him do his job.  Still, he had a hard time not catching the other canine's eye, and he felt a happy rush when he noticed that the end of Lucas's shortened tail quietly tapping against the leg of the table in his own barely-suppressed show of excitement.

The captain gave a short speech in an accent that nobody completely understood, and commenced the meal with a kind-hearted toast to the groom and groom that seemed to be well received by all except, surprisingly, the negin. Dan would have expected a committed hedonist such as Negin Mal to express a more accepting mindset where personal liberties were concerned, but Mal only delivered a pruny scowl.

After clearing his plate of the smattering of cheeses and fruit that served as a first course, a plate holding a tiny, perfectly decorated morsel was placed in front of Bo. Sitting on a sliver of puff pastry and drizzled with a bright red sauce, it looked like something that might be on the cover of a fine dining magazine. Bo recognized it as some sort of food, but he had no idea what it was.

He might not have been raised in high society, but the varius knew that to have a private mental dialog when they were sitting with others around them would have been inexcusably rude. "What the hell is that?" he whispered, pointing to Dan's plate.

"It's called an amuse bouche," Dan explained, looking at his plate with eager anticipation. "It's supposed to be a teaser, a delicious little morsel that's no bigger than a single mouthful."  Bo could feel his mate salivate at the thought of what might be inside the little package.  "Sometimes they're traditional flavor pairings, but sometimes they're sort of experimental; combinations of intense flavors that you don't ordinarily experience, but go well with one another.  Think of it," he said, "as a little flavor grenade."

He looked over at Bo's plate.   Although the varius had hardly moved, and Dan was certain that his hands had remained at his sides, his mate's plate was empty.  "What happened to yours?"

In answer, Bo's thick, pink tongue slipped out the side if his muzzle and caught an errant pastry crumb that clung there.

"So what did you think?" Dan asked.

"It was tasty enough." Bo grumbled.  Dan knew that his mate was telling the truth, but still he felt his annoyance.

my bouche is not amused

Dan thought he knew what was going on, and his suspicions were confirmed during the salad course.  It came out as a perfectly ripe small tomato, cut in half and topped with a thin wedge of fresh mozzarella, then seasoned with a highly aromatic crushed basil leaf.  Before Dan was even served, he experienced the exquisite smell through Bo's perception and almost went into a swoon.

"This is a salad?" Bo asked plaintively, his expression falling.

"Ground pepper, sir?" the waiter interrupted, holding a lengthy brass pepper mill near Bo's food.

"Sure," Bo said, "why not?"

how many calories are in black pepper

Bo wondered.

might be the only thing keeping me from starving.

He took the pepper mill the man was offering, but was surprised when the waiter did not let go of it.  Dan intervened before the incident escalated into a tug-of-war. "Let him grind the pepper on your food," he whispered, urgently.

Bo let go of his end of the device, and the waiter pulled the mill back possessively. "Sorry," the varius said, nonplussed.  "I'm not used to this."

"I think I'm qualified to crack my own Gods-damned pepper," he grumped, after the waiter had gone. "It's like they've unionized the damned job."  Dan watched as Bo leaned over more closely to examine the morsel, deeply inhaling the succulent smell of the herbed vegetable before pushing the air out of his lungs, pursing his lips, and...*shloop!*...making it disappear from the plate.

It happened so quickly that Dan wasn't even sure what had happened until he saw Bo's jaw muscles working. The explosion of flavors in Bo's mouth was intense, but was all too soon gone, leaving a cruelly gnawing hunger in its wake.  "Use your fork," Dan admonished, and Bo could not bring himself to argue after Dan cut his own tomato in half and slid it onto his plate.

Just treat this as an appetizer

I promise we'll get some real food

for you after this is over.

The other diners were only now cutting into their food, leaving Bo to watch hungrily as everyone else enjoyed their human-sized portions.  He seemed content to suffer in silence, but Dan was having none of it.  He motioned to the smug-looking waiter who stood nearby. "Can we please get an extra portion for my friend, here?"

"I am sorry, sir," the man replied, in an accent that Dan could not place. "We have a full guest list tonight, and we have prepared only what was necessary."  His face was carefully neutral, but the way he was behaving, the way he angled his body with respect to Bo and how he glanced at the back of the black-furred neck suggested to Dan that underneath the civility, he was strongly in the 'I can't believe you brought a dog to dinner' camp.  

"As your companion is rather...large," the man whispered,  "you may have to be satisfied with the buffet."

Dan stared daggers at the waiter's retreating back.  He'd been annoyed by the idea of Bo being neglected.  Now that it looked like his husband was the victim of bigotry, he began to actively cultivate an anger.

* * *

"He what?"  The chef's face reddened in anger.

"He obviously unhappy with what we're serving him," the waiter explained, trying to sound reasonable but, sabotaging his own case with harsh words and casual body language.  "He's a big, hairy oaf who doesn't know any better." He didn't mind in the slightest if the head chef was angry at the genetic freak sitting at the captain's table, and he raised the ante. "Perhaps you can reheat something from the buffet? Or maybe put some extra garnish on his plate to make your food look bigger?" He knew he'd gotten under the chef's skin when he saw the man in the toque stare longingly at his favorite meat cleaver.

"Perhaps he does not understand the purpose and the balance involved in fine dining," the chef allowed, after spending valuable seconds controlling his ire. "I will speak with him personally."

Striding out of the kitchen, as he did to address any complaint regarding his domain, the chef approached the captain's table more carefully than he did any other.  The soup course was currently being presented and he restrained his impulse to approach while they were being served, electing to stand and watch from behind the cover of a nearby pillar. The varius in question, and it was quite obvious which one his minion was referring to, immediately bent over the bowl of savory soup he'd been served and gratefully inhaled the complex aromas that the chef had worked so diligently to create.  The look in his eye was pure bliss, and after watching him eat three mouthfuls with his varius-sized spoon, the chef saw him look down in obvious disappointment at his now-empty bowl.  The minute slumping of his shoulders spoke volumes.  The man was more than happy with the quality of his food, he was simply not getting enough of it to satisfy his enormous appetite.

From his vantage point the chef could see the black varius hungrily eyeing the other diner's bowls, and watched as the sapiens who must have been the man's mate poured two thirds of his own soup into his mate's bowl to stave off his hunger.  It was, in the most noble sense of the word, pathetic, and the chef suddenly felt guilty for teasing the man's tastes so.  Their situation reminded him of his cousin, who married a male varius against all the wishes of her parents and family.  The man had been quite nice but had never managed to win their hearts, and the family's rejection of him had ultimately meant the rejection of her as well.

Enough time wasted on reminiscence, the chef thought, as he turned back to his kitchen, it is time to prepare.

* * *

i'm going to ruin that buffet

Bo strode purposefully in the direction of the buffet, where most of the ship's passengers took their breakfast and lunch.  The opportunity to experience "fine dining" would draw most of them away at dinner time, leaving plenty of room for him to maneuver.  If there was one thing Bo Taylor knew, it was how to work a buffet.

"Well, fuck me."  Dan's muttered curse penetrated the fog of Bo's hunger before the written notice did.  Attached to the double-doors of the dining room, a sign hung:

"With greatest apology, the main dining buffet will be closing at twenty on the night of embarkation."

Bo didn't need to check the chrono built into his military-issued comm to know that it was almost twenty-one, and he didn't know whether to drive his fist into the wall in anger or laugh at how ludicrously difficult it was to feed his hunger on a ship renowned for its excellent food. Dan wasn't out of ideas yet, though. "Room service."

Ignoring propriety, Bo began stripping off pieces of his tuxedo as they walked down the promenade.  He first handed Dan the oversized jacket, then the necktie, followed closely by the cummerbund that Dan helped him remove.  He untucked the starched white shirt, but since he couldn't unfasten the tiny buttons by himself and Dan couldn't simultaneously walk and work, it remained closed.

They passed a number of well-heeled passengers on their way to that evening's operatic performance who looked at them oddly for their half-dressed state, but Bo paid them no heed.  He was capable of enduring quite a bit of discomfort without obvious reaction, but low blood sugar was another matter entirely.  He could stave off its negative effects by reducing other stressors in his life, and at this point, relieving himself of the discomfort caused by the formal tuxedo probably bought him an additional half-hour of civility.

Dan had thought that if the man could command the very movements of the ship Julian could certainly assist them in ordering some sort of satisfying dinner from the kitchens, but for the first time that day the concierge was not at his desk.  Whatever unhealthily long duty period he was assigned to had apparently expired and his desk was unoccupied.  Dan immediately fell back to the position of last resort. "The comm panel in the room."

Julian had told them that the full menu would be made available to them at any time of the day, and Dan was almost as frustrated as Bo by the time he punched off the connection.   "What did you order us?" Bo asked, coming out of the bedroom wearing only his underwear and the shirt that he could not remove by himself.   He would not have bothered retaining the boxer shorts, but he knew that seeing him completely naked tended to push his mate's buttons, and right now he was far more interested in getting fed than he was in mating.

Bo opened himself up to Dan, but quickly pulled his mental shutters down again.  Dan was furious. Although Bo outweighed his partner two to one, his mate's righteous anger more than made up for his smaller size.  "They shut me down," he said, indignantly.  "Said something about service in our room being disallowed."  He punched open the comm panel again, this time with the code to the front desk.  Before he hit the "enter" key and got involved with what might turn into a heated discussion, he pointed to the snack bar.  "Why don't you-"  he cut himself off, seeing that Bo had already polished off all four cans of the mixed pretzels and nuts.  "Huh," Dan muttered, "good thing we're not paying for those."

He was about to initiate the call when he was interrupted yet again by the ringing of their door announcer.  Bo was closer, and he yanked open the door with no small amount of force.  "What?" he almost bellowed.

There, to both men's astonishment, stood the ship's head chef, resplendent in immaculately white apron and starched toque.  With a diplomacy that was, Dan suspected, not native to the man, he ignored the fact that Bo was wearing no pants. "Gentlemen," he said, affording each man a shallow bow, "May I come in?"

Bo backed away from the door, making space for the man to come a few feet inside. "I feel I need to apologize to you for the incident in the dining room this evening."

Bo shot Dan a curious glance, and the sapiens man asked for both of them, "What incident?"

His hands clasped in front of him like an errant child, the chef looked embarrassed. "My duty on this ship is to ensure the culinary satisfaction of all of our passengers, and I take that job very seriously.  We rarely have varius guests, and we had three tonight that we were..." his lips tightened; the final responsibility would be his, and his alone. "...I was unprepared for.  I should have checked the passenger manifest more closely before we left to ensure we could accommodate you properly, and I failed to do that."

Unclasping his hands, he moved to the comm panel and began manipulating the screen.  The delivery of his words slowed by half as his attention split between what his mouth was saying and what his hands were doing. "I assure you, this will not happen again."  Even more skillfully than Julian had done, he slowly dimmed the lights in the room so as not to jar the senses, before retracting all of the hull plates to expose a truly fantastic field of stars.  The ship was orbiting the moon in preparation for their departure, and the side of the moon that faced their suite was one which Dan had only seen in pictures.  Ever so slowly, the fully illuminated Earth rotated around them, framed by the huge window.

"Only about two-thirds of culinary arts is the food itself," the chef went on, as his hands busily worked. "The other third is devoted to experience and the psychology that underlies the dining experience.  And tonight," he said, "I wish to rectify a mistake."  The men had been so busy watching the Chef that they hadn't noticed two assistant waiters moving a linen-covered table into the room, followed by two chairs, one of which was the oversized type normally reserved for larger varii.  "It will take me a few moments to prepare the first course, so please," he requested, "make yourselves as comfortable as possible, and allow me to give you the culinary experience of a lifetime."

The chef disappeared out the door to their suite, only to return a moment later with what looked like a rolling flambé station with two gas burners and a prep station.  Bo looked down into his lifemate's eyes, drinking in their blue color like a parched man drinks water.  "Was this your idea, Pinks?"

Dan chuckled softly, shaking his head as he reached up to unfasten the neck buttons of Bo's shirt. "Nope.  I'm as surprised as you are." He worked loose each button in turn, a total of eighteen, he noted, plus two at each cuff.  He removed his own shirt, and exchanged his dress pants for a pair of casual shorts he intended to later use in the solarium.

"Don't forget to take notes," Bo reminded him.  If Jack heard about this and you weren't able to tell him all about it, he'd never forgive you."

"What would he do?" Dan scoffed.  "The man's a pussycat."

"I hear the body of someone who once pissed him off is still stuck in a machine somewhere in the gym".

"Buried in the middle of all that old equipment?" Dan chuckled.  "I can believe that." Before sitting down, Dan set his comm to 'record' and placed it on the wet bar so every move the chef made would be recorded for Jack's scrutiny.

The reviewers had not lied in their representation of the ship's chef as a master of his craft.  Certain elements of their meal were repeats of what they'd been served in the dining room earlier, but others had been added to make the experience entirely new.  The puff pastry from the amuse bouche was still there, but was larger, and this time served as a base for a wafer-thin piece of refrigerated foie gras, upon which the chef placed a savory tapenade of chopped morel and shallot that had come out of the hot sautée pan only moments earlier.

Bo was about to pop it into his mouth when Dan stopped him with a thought.

open your senses to me boo

let's experience this together

The combination of temperatures, textures and flavors boggled Bo's mind, and through their link he felt a similar reaction from his mate.

this is even better when shared

Dan grinned.

"Thank you," he said to the chef, not wanting to look away from his partner. "That was amazing."

In this instance, that the sapiens man did not look at him while speaking was not an insult to the chef.  What the chef was doing here was not about him, it was about the food, and about giving these two partnered men the sort of care and attention that he'd been unable to give his cousin and her mate.  He understood what was happening between the two, and felt pride at his ability to stir such emotion.  Because he could not cook for his dear cousin, he cooked for these two newlywed men, and he did so with all the skill and love he could muster.

The soup from dinner was fortified with sautéed chanterelles and a black bean paste before being blended into a smooth purée, then served with a garnish of chilled sour cream and fresh, chopped dill.  Bo remembered the soup in the dining room as being excellent, but now it was nothing short of magnificent.  "Cooking for two is very different than cooking for two hundred," the chef told them, as he prepared the next course for them. "There is only so much I can do for that many portions to be ready at once.  With only two," he said, slicing thick beefsteak tomatoes in half, "I can do my very best."   The chef was actually cooking for four people, Dan realized, only now, three fourths of it was being slid onto Bo's plate.

Unlike the main course in the dining room, their main course was a large beef tenderloin, seared on the outside to a perfect mahogany color, and cooked on the inside to an ideal 160 degrees.  As with all great chefs, he did not bother to ask how they would prefer the meat cooked.  To do so would be as ludicrous as a musician asking his audience in which key he should perform.  He knew the perfect amount of heat to apply, and his guests were intelligent enough not to disagree with him.  He was the artist, they were the audience, and the food was his medium.

Only after the final course, an exquisitely simple vanilla créme brulée with the traditional caramelized sugar top, was served did the chef turn off the gas flame and begin wiping down his knives.  Even then, he remained silent until they had cracked their spoons through the crispy sugar layer and delved into the decadently creamy custard that lay underneath.  "I wish to thank you for what you've done for me tonight," he said, and Dan was surprised to see that the man's eyes appeared to be a little brighter than they'd been at the start of their meal.  "Your appreciation of my work has been gratifying in ways I cannot express."

Dan knew the statement bore hidden meaning, but he knew better than to ask what the Chef was talking about.  If nothing else, his crash-course in non-sapiens behavior had taught him that if someone wished you to know something, they would tell you without having to pry it out of them.  Best to simply bow and say, "Thank you, Chef, for allowing us this privilege." Bo gave his own respectful bow to the man, then quietly placed his napkin on the table.  Somehow, it seemed most appropriate to retire to the wall of stars and spend a few moments contemplating the cosmos while the chef and his assistants wheeled the equipment out of their room.  

When the lock to their room's door clicked shut, Bo wrapped his arms around Dan and gently walked him into their bedroom.  Lowering them both to the bed, which creaked in protest under such unaccustomed weight, Bo pulled Dan back into his arms.  "That was amazing, Pinks.  I'm beginning to see what Ken and Jackson like about eating fancy food like that."

"It was pretty good," Dan agreed.  "I think I'm just about stuffed to the gills."

"So what do we do now?" Bo asked, consulting the ship's daily entertainment guide with his free hand.  "We missed the show at twenty-one, but there's an adult comedy act at twenty three in the main auditorium, and a retro dance night at the dance hall in an hour."

"Somebody got their second wind," Dan observed, feeling a bit exasperated.

"I was hungry," Bo justified, sounding petulant, but feeling much better than he did before. "We're not going to be able to do this more than once, and I intend to enjoy it."

"You may end up having to enjoy it all by yourself," Dan said, yawning.  "Getting up so early this morning just about killed me."  Had it been just that morning?  Or was it even the day before?  So much had happened to them, and they'd crossed so many time zones that it was impossible to tell.

"Are you sure?" Bo asked, trying his best to tempt his mate. "There's going to be a dessert buffet at the dance..."

"Oh, God, don't even mention food to me," Dan moaned.  "Don't tell me after that dinner we just ate, you're still hungry."

"That was a lot of food," Bo admitted, "but I could always use a snack."

"Tell you what," Dan said,  "Let's take a walk around the promenade to settle our stomachs, and tomorrow at breakfast we'll sit down and plan out all the things we're going to do, okay?"

Now that he'd been fed, Bo could have happily gone another three or four hours before hitting the sack.  But Dan wasn't kidding about being bone tired, so Bo let it go.  They still had over a week of time on this ship to do all the fun things he wanted to do, and Bo could see no reason to rush.