It was all over except the cum stains.

A brain slug budding isn't celebrated like a childbirth. The brain slug isn't a person until they're integrated with a host. A brain slug is a potential person. It is also a potential meal for any passing animal. That doesn't mean brain slugs don't care for their genetic clones, but they reserve their celebration for integration.
—Slug Sutra, chapter 8

"Jenny, are you okay?" Mel asked. She was still on all fours, the new brain slug inching its way over the expanse of her back, feeding on the white dribbles and drops along her spine. The naked brain slug host held up a hand to give him a thumb's up, and Mel let out a little sigh of relief.

He looked up, away from the slug. "Jordan—"

She was gone, into the room she shared with Jenny. Only to re-emerge a moment later with a kind of clear plastic cube with a tropical seaside at its base. Mel recognized it as a kind of cheap terrarium, like the kind sold in pet stores for lizards and spiders. He hadn't seen it before, but Mel reasoned that Jordan must have gone out one day and bought it.

He had never thought about Jenny actually leaving the apartment, not since Antonio's attack. In truth, he had no idea what she did most days. Obviously, not all of her time had been spent at home reading or watching television. Mel felt a pang of guilt for not showing interest in Jenny's life. It was, he recognized, bad boyfriend behavior.

"Uh, Mel," Rachel said, a moment before he felt it. A slight tickling at the very tip of his prick.

Mel looked down and saw that the newborn brain slug had, with a deceptive and impressive turn of speed, transversed the whole length of Jenny's back. Now it had raised its head so that the small mouth parts could drink the last grey-white drop that hung suspended from the glans. Mel watched, fascinated at the way the little sensory tentacles swiveled, at the delicate mouthparts—too small for him to focus on with the naked eye—moved against him. Almost instinctively, he squeezed, trying to **** out another drop. The shrinking erection moved away . . . and then he felt a weight on the end of it, the scrabble of tiny feet, and saw the green, semi-transparent slug was hanging off the end of his dick.

Jordan came to the rescue. She tugged gently, and the brain slug turned and twisted into her hand. She lowered it into the terrarium, then carried it into the kitchen to add water to a little cup that served as a pond beneath the twigs and leaves. Once Jordan was out of the way, Jenny crawled forward from between Mel's legs and stood.

"Show's over, I suppose?" Anastasia said.

It was all over except the cum stains.

Jenny took a shower. Jordan looked at Mel, then spelled out on the fridge in magnetic letters: GET DRESSED.

Mel and Jordan dressed. Anastasia watched as Mel tried on his new shoes, and he said thank you again. Rachel just tried to keep out of everyone's way, her eyes flickering back and forth between the terrarium and everyone else.

"What's going on?" Rachel asked.

"I don't know," Mel admitted. Jordan headed toward the door and motioned for Mel to follow. Out of impulse, he gave Rachel a kiss on the cheek. "Sorry, I didn't get to eat you out. Next time, okay?"

Rachel's face was crimson, more from the kiss than the words, and she nodded dazedly. "Yeah, okay."

Jordan was headed downstairs. Mel followed. She stopped on the fourth floor. Apartment 404. A knock. The door opened. A naked man, with close-cropped dark hair, soft brown skin, heavy-lidded eyes, and dark geometric designs tattooed over his shoulders and arms, stood there—no, not a man, Mel realized. Budding breasts, the penis shrunken, the features androgynous, a brain slug peeking around the neck. A brain slug host undergoing transition as the slug essentially subjects the host's body to the equivalent of hormone replacement therapy.

Her hand raised, palm up. The other brain slug host's palm came down on it. They stood there for several seconds, their brain slugs visibly pulsing. Mel stood behind Jordan, self-conscious, wondering what people would think if they saw him standing there. The dark eyes of the man moved from Jordan to him, and Mel met the gaze, saw that same luminescent quality that had been growing in the whites of Jenny and Jordan's eyes.

Thirty seconds, perhaps. Then their hands came apart. The door closed. Jordan turned and moved on.

They visited two brain slug hosts on the second floor, one on the first. Mel followed her out into the street, tracing a route through the dark Seacouver streets that he had never seen before. There was an economy to a city at night; places open until the wee hours. Coffee shops. Small shoe repair kiosks. Tiny bars that were little more than three stools and a counter, where men and women in business suits sat and drank from bottles with handwritten paper labels. A shoe repair place in between two darkened storefronts. A newsstand that sold more e-readers than actual newspapers, along with a variety of tobacco and tobacco-adjacent products.

In each place, a brain slug host. The process was the same. Jordan offered her hand. There was a brief moment of contact, presumably a communication. Mel got the impression that she was spreading the word that the new brain slug had budded. Presumably, making preparations. For what? To find a host? What if they didn't have one available? Mel had read that the brain slugs could live several months in the wild if they avoided predation. Would they be caring for the brain slug for months?

Mel found himself not as disturbed at the idea as he thought he might be. He had never had a pet or a baby, and he wasn't sure what the closest equivalent to a new brain slug was. Yet he felt a certain responsibility. It was, or had been, a part of Jenny, after all. Genetically identical to her own slug, part of Jordan's hive mind. A new roommate, in a sense.

Jordan sought out his hand, and their fingers threaded together. He felt the tension in that grip, as they circled back to the apartment building along streets Mel hadn't seen before. The city didn't sleep, he realized, but the pulse differed. There were cars on the street, the lights so bright they were blinding sometimes. People walking, going about their night business. People sleeping, sometimes, huddled out of the way, against the chill.

When they got back to the apartment, Mel realized their skin was wet, more from the humidity than the exercise. Jordan's face showed no more emotion than ever, but her grip was almost painful, and her brain slug moved agitatedly, the little head circling.

"Is it okay?" Mel asked as they got to the stairs. "Can I do anything to help?"

Jordan looked at him, and he felt again that gulf of words that wanted to flow but couldn't, not yet. At least, not until they got back to the apartment. Instead, she paused on the stairwell and let go of his hand. When he was a step up on the stairs, they were almost the same height, and she grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss. Not a quick peck on the lips; her tongue pushed between his lips, and he opened his teeth as if to welcome her home.

She cradled his head with both hands, and Mel's heart pumped faster. His eyes closed as their tongues moved against each other. All of his being seemed to focus on that point of contact, on the taste of her, which was oddly sweet tonight, their swapped saliva mingling, and finally, after far too long, Mel felt something which might have been what she was trying to tell him.

That they needed him for this. That he had asked the right question.

Jordan broke the kiss. No smile, never a smile, but the brain slug on her neck had ceased its agitated circling. She let her hand fall back down to his and pulled him back up.

Rachel and Anastasia were gone by the time they returned, probably back to their own apartment. Jenny had set up a position on the couch, with a sheet and a pillow, the terrarium on Rachel's chair so that she could watch it, or maybe so the brain slug within could see her. Jordan sat and held her hand for a moment, then rose. She disappeared into her bedroom for a moment, and when she returned, it was with something in her hand.

Jordan gestured Mel to enter the kitchen. She went in front of the fridge and arranged a message.

INTEGRATION

1 WEEK

Mel nodded.

"Okay," he said.

She rearranged letters, then looked back at him.

NEW BRAIN SLUG HOST NEED MUCH

"Okay," Mel said again. "From me?"

Jordan nodded. Then rearranged letters again.

NO CUM AT ALL

1 WEEK

Mel felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. His muscles involuntarily tightened at the very thought of going a whole week without ejaculation. But if that's what they needed.

"Sure," he said. "I understand. No cumming. No sex, no masturbation."

Muscles worked in Jordan's jaw. Her eyes had that bright, luminous quality. She rearranged the letters again.

TRUST YOU BUT PLEASE WEAR

Mel's forehead furrowed.

"Wear what?" he asked.

Jordan held up the object she'd retrieved from her room. Still in its plastic packaging, it looked like a steel cage; chromed metal bars situated in a kind of cylinder with a small tube on one end. There was a thick pair of metal rings, a hinge, and what looked like a handcuff lock, the key inside of it. Mel frowned, not sure what it was . . . and then the geometry resolved itself. He knew exactly what it was and where it was supposed to go. Though he had only ever seen such things briefly, in parts of the internet he had rarely had occasion to visit.

"You and Jenny planned for this?" Mel asked quietly. "You bought this for me to wear?"

The brain slug host nodded. Her shoulders shook a little. There was a touch of color to her cheeks. Excitement? Embarrassment? Mel wasn't sure which. He did know that this was going to be interesting to explain to Rachel.

Mel sighed as he undid his pants.

"Help me put it on?" he asked. "I've never done this before."

Neither, it turned out, had Jordan. But there was a helpful little paper pamphlet tucked in with it, the diagrams very precise. The weight of it tugged at Mel, but it wasn't so tight as to cut off circulation, and as Jordan turned the key, Mel realized that for better or for worse, he was stuck in the cage for the next week.