I think I'm safe.

A brain slug host knows its own strength and is not afraid to use it.
—How To Talk To Brain Slugs, Chapter 4: Touch

The apartment was quiet as Mel and Rachel came in, as it often was when there was no one but the brain slug hosts present. The bathroom door was closed; presumably, Soong was indisposed. Jordan was on the couch, naked, flipping through a book from Mel's room.

Her head snapped around with shocking speed. Nostrils flared huge. Eyes fixed on Mel in a way that seemed oddly intense. She stood abruptly and let the Slug Sutra fall to the floor in a clatter. Rachel, beside Mel, seemed to pick up on the fact that something was off.

"Is everything okay?" Mel asked, as his roommate strode toward him. She stopped an arm's length away and began to circle him, clockwise. Her nose snuffled, making a sound not unlike a dog or a pig. Mel stood still, instead of turning to face her. He noticed, out of his peripheral vision, that the brain slug on her neck was emerald green, its sensory tentacles fully extended.

"I know what this is," he said, with a frown. "When Amelia squirted on me—I couldn't wash all the scent off in the bathroom at work."

"Jordie, it's okay," Rachel tried to say. "This pregnant woman gave birth at the Cosmic Fill-Up. Mel helped deliver the baby. It was—he was kind of awesome about it, really—he didn't do anything with her, it's just the smell from, you know—"

One of Jordan's eyes focused on her sister, while the other remained fixed on Mel. A display that made Rachel frown. Finally, Jordan ceased circling. She stood directly in front of Mel, eyes fixed on him. Not for the first time, Mel felt the full weight of not being able to communicate fully with his roommate. He'd obviously upset her, and he felt a pang of guilt at that.

"As soon as Soong is out of the bathroom, I'll take a shower," he promised. "Scrub everything. Heck, I can run down to the laundry and wash the clothes I'm wearing. I'm sorry for coming home smelling like . . . like someone else. I didn't even think about how it would seem to you. I'm sorry."

Mel wasn't sure how much of his sincerity was getting through to her. He knew that brain slugs were more social than others, but they had difficulty with individuals.

The bathroom door opened. Soong stood in the doorway, naked and limned in the bathroom light. She froze, and her nostrils snuffled, just as Jordan's had. Her brain slug poked its head out from behind her neck, emerald green, sensory tentacles extended. They were on the same wavelength. She took three steps forward and placed a hand on Jordan's upper arm.

"What do we do?" Rachel whispered.

Mel chewed his cheek for a moment.

Then Jordan and Soong stepped forward. Soong knelt down to undo his shoelaces as Jordan pulled at his shirt. Mel didn't fight it. As the shirt came off, and he stood bare-chested in the room, he turned to Rachel.

"I'm—just going to let them do whatever, I think," he said. "But you might want to take a shower before they try to strip you, too."

"I think I'm safe," Rachel said as she kept her distance. "I didn't get as close as you did. I'm not . . . as close to them as you are."

Jordan already had his pants unbuckled. With his cooperation, the remainder of Mel's clothes came off quickly. It wasn't the first time that he had been bare-assed naked in front of Rachel, but he blushed despite that. The two naked women grabbed an arm each and dragged him toward his bathroom.

They were stronger than they looked. Even Soong, who had been so weak lately, pulled at Mel with a strength he would have struggled to escape from. He had heard about people exhibiting hysterical strength through adrenaline, and he wondered if the brain slugs had a way to trigger that. Maybe. Or maybe it was just that Mel himself couldn't bring himself to fight against them.

Rachel didn't head straight for the shower. She stood at the doorway, watching, as the two brain slug hosts bore him to the bed. Mel still had no idea what they intended to do—until Jordan straddled his head, blocking out the overhead light with her body. The hot, warm, shaven folds of her flesh pressed down on his face, and a hot, thin liquid squelched out of what Mel realized had to be her vagina.

He froze, suddenly stiff in more ways than one. He had the terrible feeling that Rachel was still watching him as he shifted from flaccid to painfully erect in record time. The smell of Jordan filled him. That slightly fishy smell that he associated with the taste of escargot, the smell that hung about their room so thickly, the one time he'd been in there. Not unpleasant or cloying, just . . . Jordan's smell.

The smell he had subconsciously associated with home.

Before Mel could properly process what was going on, Jordan moved. She slid her crotch forward, dragging the hairless cleft over his nose, and leaving a trail behind. Below, he could feel Soong straddle his left leg, her warm, wet weight against his thigh.

"It's okay," Mel said, as the weight of Jordan pressed down against his eyes. "They're not hurting me or anything. I think they're just marking me—reaffirming I'm theirs. It's kind of like that situation with Tomie, just . . . um . . . more involved this time."

Rachel didn't answer immediately. The only sound in the room was their heavy breathing, the three people on the bed. Mel lay there for a time, experiencing for the first time what a vagina felt like against his skin. It wasn't the first time he'd felt them against him, skin to skin—there had been that odd moment he had woken up on the floor trapped between them—and it wasn't the first time all three of them had been together.

Yet there was none of the frenetic need that had marked that strange night when they had visited him every dark hour. This was more methodical. Almost like he imagined what a massage felt like. Their bodies moved against his with purpose, but not harshly. As Mel relaxed into it, he felt weird about always being the passive one in the relationship. As Jordan dragged herself over his chin, Mel blinked up at her, eyes stinging; he screwed up his courage and said:

"Jordan—I know I don't have any experience in this, but you and Soong are always sucking me off—can I reciprocate? Oral sex, I mean. Is that okay?"

It was, Mel knew from his reading, a big ask from a brain slug standpoint. A measure of utmost trust. And they were already just slathering him with their scent, marking him as theirs. Mel knew if Jordan moved on, that was a 'no.' That he would just have to lie there and take it. Which was, he reflected, not the worst thing that could happen to a young man.

In answer, after a long moment, her pussy moved back up. It just barely pressed against his lips. Blindly, Mel opened his mouth. He breathed in her scent, her taste. It dripped onto his teeth and tongue, and Mel realized he'd never noticed either of his roommates this wet so far. It had to be some trick of the brain slugs, an extra mode of excitement that made them lubricate more than normal, possibly for exactly such scenarios as this.

Mel decided he would have to read up on that.

His tongue found Jordan's soft, hairless folds. Hotter than he expected. The taste was not unpleasant, a little sharp, like the tingle of club soda or a very mild vinegar. His tongue pushed forward a little in exploration. Almost immediately, he felt her pull back, and Mel realized he must have gone too far, too fast. His tongue retracted to her outer labia, licking at the slit with long, slow strokes until Jordan settled back down, angled her pelvis differently so that he could lick at different parts of her.

The thought came to him that maybe she was new to this, too. Mel knew Jordan had boyfriends previous to becoming a brain slug host, but would the slug know what it felt like? Did it have memories of oral sex from its link with the hive mind? That sounded reasonable, but—

Soong hadn't ceased. She had moved. Her weight settled on Mel's crotch, the heat of her labia pressed against the base of his shaft. The other woman's juices dripped over his balls, and she began to move back and forth, rubbing herself against his length, pinning his prick to his hairy stomach as she ran from the base of his glans to his testicles and back again.

Mel felt his tongue trace to the top, where the lips came together. Felt the strange little nub of flesh there, at the very tip of his tongue. At the touch, a shiver seemed to run through Jordan's thighs. She pressed down on him, harder, the air suddenly close about his face. Mel focused his attention on the little nub. It had to be the clitoris. Mel had seen them in medical textbooks, in the pornographic magazines, even when Jordan and Soong had spread their labia for him that one time. His body shifted on the bed, the heat of the two women against him driving him to new heights.

It wasn't like a blowjob. That had always been narrowly focused, one way. Now—now, at least, Mel was contributing. Helping. Moving with them. He could feel Soong rub herself against that swollen ridge at the base of his prick, felt his tongue lap at that clit faster and faster, and her juices flowed more and more freely, until warm, salty liquid filled his mouth and Mel was **** to swallow and then gaspingly try to get back into the rhythm.

The eruption came before Mel was ready for it. His body stiffened, his hips tried to rise as hot, sticky spurts erupted onto his stomach. He didn't stop licking, didn't stop moving. Neither did they. They moved faster now, perhaps the scent of the spilled seed excited them. Mel could hear their breathing quicken, their movements grew faster, more frantic, and then—

Mel had never made his roommates orgasm. He wasn't prepared for the fact that they came together, their bodies and minds locked together as one organism in that moment of climax. Hadn't been prepared for the silent paroxysm that overcame them both, a frantic shaking and shivering that seemed to signal a complete loss of control.

Jordan sat on his chest, the full weight of her making it difficult to breathe. She stared down at him, blue eyes dazed. The brain slug was no longer green, but pulsing gently. Mel felt Soong's lips and tongue on his stomach, slurping up the white, sticky puddle. Waste not, want not.

Another sound, high-pitched and animal, caught his attention. Mel turned his weary head to the doorway, his jaw sore and aching, tongue numb.

Rachel was leaning against the doorframe, panties down around her knees, a hand buried between her legs. Blue eyes, bright and cheeks flushed with excitement or embarrassment or both.