Friends With Benefits

The Tokyo Hive is still based around Tokyo Ramen. Kim and Ai are still there. The staff consists entirely of brain slug hosts and has expanded to become a tourist attraction. Cultural anthropologists and xenologists have studied this unique case of human and alien symbiosis. Toshiro Kim had not just given Ai Nakamura food, shelter, and a job—he gave her a home. It was a very human thing to do.
—Anaïs Nineveh, The Exodus: A History, Chapter 7

"Did I say too much?" Mel asked.

It was dark out now, properly dark, and Jenny and Jordan were on either side of him, arms locked as they navigated the less-crowded sidewalks. The evening was cool, but the sounds and smells of the city had shifted to dinner- and bar-time. Mel had time to think. Too much time, maybe. Running over the dinner conversations in his head. Things he should have said, should have asked Amelia.

"I mean, I know she's lonely. I know what it's like, being an orphan, being alone. We share that connection. But I didn't want to . . . I appreciate what we have, the four of us. I don't want to hurt that. I guess I don't know what the rules are. Like, obviously, no sexual contact without permission, but if we talk, does that make you jealous? Should I not have made the offer? I don't want to lead Amelia on either, because I'm with you and I can't . . . maybe I'm overthinking this. I just don't want to give the wrong impression. I want to be a friend to her. Just a friend."

At least I'm thinking, Mel told himself ruefully. If a little late.

Jenny and Jordan were silent. He wished, not for the first time, that he knew more sign language. The little he'd learned had been useful, but full conversations, especially about this kind of stuff, would have to wait until they got to a pen and paper, or Rachel's smartphone. Yet he felt better getting it off his chest, saying it out loud. Mel didn't want them to think he had thoughts about Amelia. Not that way.

Béibhinn was in the kitchen, dressed in tight-fitting undershorts and a sports bra, pinching what looked like inch-long worms or grubs into her mouth. Rachel was there, looking tired in a cardigan and pajama bottoms. She waved at the trio as they came in. Each of them kissed her on the lips, the brain slug hosts filing to the bathroom to brush their teeth.

"So," Rachel said with a waggle of her eyebrows. "How did it go?"

"Dinner and the recording went well," he said, then looked the ghola in the eye. "But I think I screwed up again this morning, so I should tell you that first."

So Mel explained about the Rhizomat, the dreamsinging, the mural, and then, finally, Amelia and the tit-fucking.

". . . the pork was really good," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, maybe I should get a sous vide machine and learn how to use it."

"Not the worst idea you've ever had," Rache noted. She had become very focused during the scenes describing the recording. He could almost see Rache itch to take out her phone and see if Amelia had posted the video yet.

Béibhinn sucked down the last worm and swallowed it. She stared Mel in the eye. There was something very unnerving about that stare, but Mel didn't try to look away. He had resolved that whatever ass-chewing was coming his way, he probably deserved it.

"Question," she said. "At any point did the Rhizomat say they were sent by, or affiliated with, MacElroy or the community?"

Mel blinked. He re-ran the conversation in his head. Swallowed hard.

"No," he said. "I . . . assumed."

Béibhinn shook her head.

"Rhizomats aren't like other species, Mel. Most of the sentient extraterrestrials you meet are recognizably animals. The eaters-of-filth are alien even by our standards. One of the few species that can xenoscape a planet on their own. They're nearly essential to many ships, managing systems of recycling waste, air, and water. The plumbers of the galaxy. Worse than that. They're esoteric thinkers, philosophers. Their 'dreamsinging' isn't just hours of shared psychedelic experience; they can hack computers and any neural network that uses electromagnetic fields," the ghola said. "And their biology is robust. Spores can germinate years or decades later if conditions are right, grow a new Rhizomat, start an entire cycle of colonization. If Earth biology wasn't already so resilient, you probably would have Rhizomats on every continent except Antarctica by now."

"Oh," Mel said, shoulders slumping. "I didn't know."

It felt inadequate.

"No one told you," Béibhinn said. "But this could be a problem. I'll need to call MacElroy."

Jordan tapped the fridge. She had spelled out a simple message in magnetic letters.

BRUSH YOUR TEETH

CLEAN UP

GIRLS NEED TO TALK

So, Mel went into the bathroom to scrub his chompers and wipe down his junk. Some of Amelia's milk had dried into little white flakes, and Mel carefully wiped himself clean. He heard Rachel and Béibhinn talking; Jordan and Jenny would be silent, probably using the ghola or Rachel's phone to carry their part of the conversation. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as the import of Béibhinn's question sank in.

If MacElroy hadn't sent the Rhizomat, if it had just shown up on its own, then Mel might have spilled a lot of information—again—to a completely third party.

By the time he emerged, the ladies seemed to be coming to a decision. Jordan and Jenny were holding hands with the ghola, while Rachel tapped at her phone.

"...about Molly?" Rachel asked.

"Not really relevant, yet," Béibhinn said. "Ah, Mel. Good to join us. We have a proposal."

Mel blinked.

"So far," Rachel said. "You've been very good about asking permission before having sex with other people. Hell, you've been supervised. And while you're not very good at this spy stuff, you are loyal, and we do trust you. So . . . Jenny, Jordan, and I want to make an addendum to the relationship. Friends with benefits. People we agree that we can have sex with. Approved by everyone ahead of time. Only with protection! And we keep the others informed."

Mel blinked again.

"That's . . . sudden," he said. "Who do you have in mind?"

Rachel showed him the smartphone. There was a list.

Cara.

Maxine MacNamara.

Amelia O'Hara.

Béibhinn O'Malley.

"So blowjobs, vaginal, hand stuff, all fine," Rache said. "Just as long as you're using protection. You don't have to ask permission if Amelia wants you to do a shoot or Maxine needs an emergency blowjob. But you do need to tell us about it, let us know to gauge the risks, include all the spicy details. And of course, the same applies to us if we want to hook up."

Mel blinked. Most of these were women he'd been with already. He wasn't opposed to his girlfriends making out with any of them.

"Um. Okay. That sounds good to me. I'll do my best to be worthy of your trust," he said.

"Good," Béibhinn said and stabbed a finger into his chest. "Now take off your pants. You've caused me a headache, and you're going to make it up to me."

"Bwah?" he asked.

"You and me," the ghola said. "I'm going to suck you off, and you're going to fill a condom, and I'm going to get a meal out of it."

"Don't worry about us," Rachel said, as Jordan and Jenny began to unbutton her cardigan. "We're going to keep each other occupied for a little while, in my room."

Mel nodded. He realized, belatedly, that Jordan and Jenny hadn't started stripping the moment they entered the apartment. Had they been planning this? How long ago had they decided this was going to happen?

Béibhinn held up a condom as his girlfriends went across the hall.

"Focus!" she said, voice raspy in a way that Mel translated as weirdly eager.

Mel nodded. Nothing about tonight had gone quite the way that he thought it would. Yet now, at least, he was given an opportunity to make up to the ghola for at least a small part of his carelessness. If she let him.

"So, um, how do you want to do this, B?" Mel said with a shy smile.

"I'll lie on the bed," Béibhinn motioned toward her room. "You can fuck my face. Just give me the condom when you're done."

Mel frowned. That sounded so cold. Clinical.

"This is going to sound weird, but—can I eat you out? I know I've caused you some trouble, and while I can't really make it up to you, I'd at least like to do something to apologize," he said.

She blinked those yellow-tinged eyes. A purple tongue ran over her lips. For the first time since he met her, the ghola seemed almost nervous. She froze, with an anxious readiness that reminded him of that first night when Rachel had come in unexpectedly, and Béibhinn had come out with a weapon, ready to fight.

"You don't have to," she said.

"But I want to," Mel said. He thought about what he'd seen on the oral sex videos. "We're supposed to be friends. This doesn't have to be transactional. We can have fun, too. Do you have anything we can use for a dental dam?"

"Of course," Béibhinn said automatically. Yet it took her a moment to move, turning back to her room.

Mentally, Mel found himself thinking about what Jordan, Jenny, and Rache were getting up to. Three women together—he hoped Rache would give him the details on that. As the ghola fetched the dental dam, Mel shucked off his clothes. He found, pleasantly, that he was already getting hard. A weird, nervous excitement, mingled with relief, had sent a surge of blood into his shaft, and the condom slid on easily.

When he stood at the doorway to her room, Béibhinn had already taken off her few clothes. Once again he noticed the scars along her arms, and in other places. Some of those were old injuries from the host's death or before, but the later ones were pink, not quite fresh. Augmentations of some kind, maybe. Mel remembered what she had said, about a body being like a car to customize. There was no telling what she had under the hood.

Without asking, she lay on the bed, breasts in the air. Her short greenish hair hung down as she opened her mouth wide, arms spread wide so that the wrists hung off the sides of the single bed.

Instead of jamming himself straight into her throat, he dropped to one knee.

"Are you comfortable like that?" he said, and when Béibhinn nodded, he asked: "Is it okay if I touch you first?"

Her brow furrowed, which looked funny upside-down, but she nodded, mouth still open, like a patient in a dentist's chair, not wanting to close the workplace down prematurely.

Mel laid his hands gently on her clavicles. She was warm. The skin was dry. His fingers moved in slow circles, tracing scars and the slight plumpness of her small breasts. The skin still had that greyish pallor, but this close he could see the darker veins beneath it, and tiny white branches that were something else—maybe the tissue the ghola-worm had grown as it moved to integrate into this body. Repair. Re-route around damaged sections. Restart the heart.

He was careful not to poke Béibhinn in the nose with his stiffy as he moved further down the body. She had sick abs, the skin almost transparent. The mons was puffy, hairless, smooth and waxy; the inner labia hung out, dark, thick, and as Mel gently placed the thin, transparent rectangle of plastic over the orifice, oddly pungent with a scent that was like but unlike Rache, Jordan, or Jenny.

Something nibbled gently on his glans, and Mel looked down to see that the ghola was trying to guide the prick into her mouth with her tongue. He obligingly shifted, felt the warm suction tug on the tip.

Mel was not prepared when she grabbed his buttocks with both hands and pulled him in deep, until he could feel her nose poke into his balls. There was no hesitation, no working up to it. That alone was weird and almost inhuman to Mel. The other women had at least hesitated, worked up to it, but she just swallowed it, like a nature documentary of a snake and some small, squirming mammal.

One deep breath, and Mel pushed his lips against the small, dark spot which should be where Béibhinn's clitoris was. There wasn't really any response from her, so Mel pushed harder—and Mel felt her body tense and flex, her abs rubbing against his stomach for a moment. Taking that as a good sign, Mel continued to apply steady pressure, even as his hips began to move, grinding slowly against the ghola's face.

It was different, working through the dental dam. His usual technique of trying to run his tongue up and down the inside of her labia was less effective, and he found himself rubbing and gumming the lips through the plastic, always returning to the clit, using more force than he would have otherwise. Mel could feel the heat of her, the blood flowing into her genitals, but couldn't taste it, and that odd smell grew stronger.

Nor did his hands stop. Rubbing those thick, muscular thighs, sliding them under so that he could squeeze her buttocks a little. His hips had started a steady rhythm, not pulling out of her mouth much at all, but shifting inside of it, the stiff length of him feeling like he was teasing the entrance of her throat, her tongue a warm mat lubricating the whole experience.

She was responding. Mel could feel Béibhinn's body tensing regularly now. Not moaning, almost as silent as Jordan and Jenny, but her hands were squeezing his ass regularly now, and Mel found himself straining to hold on as the pressure behind his balls built and built, the anticipation rising, his face hot as he tried to suck her stiff little clit through the thin dental dam as hard as he could.

Her whole body arched. Then, for a moment, she lost control. Spasmed wildly, thrashing. Mel was spurting before he realized what was happening, and swiftly clambered off of her, pulling the swollen cum reservoir from her throat as Béibhinn coughed, hacked, and curled onto her side.

"Oh shit, shit, sorry, are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he knelt by the bed, and all he could see was the yellow of her eyes, her body coughing on autopilot. The white ghola-worm on her back was wriggling in its channel of flesh as if trying to tear itself out or dig itself further in.

Briefly, Mel wondered what to do. Throw on some pants, cross the hall, get Jordan and Jenny—then the cough stopped. Béibhinn blinked rapidly, and then her eyes were back. They focused on the swollen balloon hanging off Mel's dick.

She sat up with a terrible speed and control, totally in control of herself, and held out a hand. Mel peeled off the condom and handed it to her. Béibhinn didn't even hesitate, just tilted back her head and poured it over her tongue. Her mouth opened so wide that, from this angle, Mel could actually see that the roof of her mouth was gone, a white orifice where the pink arch should be. As she sucked the last drop out, her eyes met his.

"Sorry. Wasn't expecting to actually cum tonight," she said. Her grin was ghastly. "First time for everything, I suppose."