Week 0

The increase in nerve density in the genitals makes brain slug hosts very sensitive to stimulation and can cause continence issues, so it is not unusual for brain slug hosts to squirt during climax. Some brain slug hosts also purposefully urinate on their lovers as a way to mark them with their scent, and discourage other brain slug hosts from engaging them. If you do not wish for this to happen, you need to look them in the eye and ask them firmly but politely to not pee on you.—Anaïs Nineveh (trans.), Your Brain Slug Lover and You

Mel helped 'stasia tuck Rache into bed. Jordan and Jenny were already asleep; Cara, Pat, and MacElroy gone, by the time Mel was back to their apartment. Béibhinn was still up, working a borrowed swifter over the couch cushion and the floor in front of it. He waved, then glanced in at the two forms in the bed.

"How are they doing?" he whispered.

"Bifurcation takes about 1-2 weeks to completely heal," Béibhinn whispered back. "Humans do it with a sterilized blade and stitches, but brain slug hosts start the separation internally, so it's faster. The tongues start pulling apart, leaving just a skein of tissue holding them together. Leads to a cleaner break, but there's still localized trauma, swelling, discomfort, and the possibility of infection. That means no oral sex or deep kissing until they're completely healed. Soft foods, cold liquids."

"Right," Mel said. "Is that a . . . normal thing?"

"For the Seacouver Hive, yes. One of their earliest human members was into body modification. The Hive remembers," Béibhinn shrugged. "Did you tell Anastasia anything?"

Mel blinked. "No. We didn't really talk, just got Rache cleaned up and put to bed. And you told me not to say anything to her about . . . that kind of stuff. Do you think she's . . ."

Mel found he couldn't put the vague suspicion into words.

"I don't know what I think," Béibhinn said honestly. "Someone triggered this. Yet there was no one here except the four of you. And it can't have been one of you. So what the fuck?"

There was an edge of frustration in her voice, and tiredness. The ghola stood up, leaned over, and sniffed Mel. Her nose scrunched up.

"Take a shower. I'm done here. Returning this," she said.

Mel let the hot water roll over him as he scrubbed himself with bright yellow soap. Brushed and flossed carefully. There was something missing, and he was absurdly glad that he wasn't the only one who couldn't figure it out. MacElroy and Béibhinn seemed suspicious of 'stasia, but she wasn't even in the apartment when it happened.

Béibhinn was back by the time he emerged, a fresh fundoshi wrapped in place. She stared at him for a long moment and laid a hand on his chest. Traced a line down to his navel.

"Tomorrow's Thursday, isn't it?" she said.

"Your day," Mel confirmed.

"Mine and Anastasia's," Béibhinn frowned. She took a deep breath. "I'll have to talk with her. You just keep it in your pants until tomorrow afternoon. Think you can do that?"

"Cross my heart," Mel said, making a little X with his thumb on his chest.

Béibhinn's frown turned to a smirk. She grabbed his hand and corrected his position.

"Your heart is here. Left of center," the ghola said. Her hand was warmer than he thought it would be, and there was a hard callus on the pad of the palm and the side of the hand. "If you hit a human hard enough in the chest, you can actually stop their heart. Quite dangerous."

Mel wasn't sure how to respond to that. His own heart hammered against his palm, her hand on top of his. As the silence held on a moment too long, he felt he had to say something.

"Do extraterrestrial species have martial arts?" he asked.

Béibhinn blinked, her frown disappearing completely. "What?"

"I was just thinking about earlier, when you showed us how to throw a punch, and the Xenobiomechanics book I've been reading," Mel said, as heat ran to his face. "If other species had martial arts. If any of that translates."

Béibhinn showed her teeth. Her rotted jade eyes crinkled at the edges, and he caught a whiff of that slightly sweet-and-sour smell that came off her skin.

"One of my previous hosts was a kind of giant worm with arms," she said. "They had several disciplines of combat. Unfortunately for them, they were all based on fighting other giant worms. Basic mechanical principles and tactics do apply, but the anatomical differences make exact translations difficult."

She seemed to study him for a moment, then leaned in and inhaled.

"You smell better now. Go to bed, Mel Arkwright."

Jordan and Jenny were holding each other in the middle of the bed. Mel stared at the problem in the dark for a few moments before deciding there was no way to slide in between them without waking them, and not enough room to squeeze in on either side. He finally settled into a horizontal position across the foot of the bed, using his arm as a pillow.

Mel breathed in long, slow, and deep, held it for a count of four, and let it out the same way, until he couldn't push any more air out of his lungs. There had been kids in the orphanage that seemed to snore as soon as they shut their eyes, but as was usual, his brain refused to just shut down.

Weirdly, it was the slime mold that he couldn't get his mind off of. Those fruiting bodies, so wet-looking and swollen with spores. He'd been thinking of the Rhizomat as a fungus, but he wondered if they weren't closer to a slime mold. The fruiting body was a part of the life-cycle. What would it feel like if they could never achieve it? Never really grow up? Like Peter Pan. Mel had never liked Neverland and the Lost Boys. For him, staying in the orphanage forever hadn't been an option, but even if he had the choice to not grow up and stay there forever, he wouldn't.

Is that what the Changeling wants? Mel thought. Is it trying to escape Neverland?

It wasn't quite a rational thought. Yet as Mel's blinks grew slower, with longer pauses before opening his eyes again, it felt like there was a sense to it. For a moment, Mel thought he could see half a face in the darkness, hovering just over the edge of the bed. Then his eyes closed again—or were they already closed?—and when he was aware of anything again, it was cold toes pressed against his back.

He heard the creak of a door. His eyes were open when he saw Rachel stumble in, arms out, touching walls, couch. Behind her, 'stasia in her pajamas, a cup of coffee in hand. Mel sat up and cracked his neck. Then, on an errant thought, he stood up and moved away from the bed as Rachel stumbled forward, eyes unseeing. He looked at her neck, and there was a bare trickle of blue light glowing through the skin there. Not as bright as last night.

Rache crawled into bed, looking, presumably, for him. What she found were two naked brain slug hosts, who were each awake now, and caught a languid arm and pulled her down between them. The pair kept their mouths shut, wounded tongues safe behind walls of teeth, and Jenny moved to slide her thighs between the sleepwalking woman's, until their vulvas met. Jordan hugged her sister from behind, hands squeezing the soft breasts so that the nipples pushed out between Jordan's fingers.

Jenny did the work, her slim hips rolling, rubbing her pussy against Rachel's. Mel wasn't exactly sure when Rache woke up, but he saw when her hips began to move in time with Jenny's, the two trying to maximize their pleasure as Rache leaned her head back and kissed her sister's neck.

"Better than porn, isn't it?" 'stasia said, now at his side in the doorway. A smile on her face. "It's Thursday, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Mel said. "I think Béibhinn wants to talk with you about that. Sort out how you want to handle that."

"Hmm. But neither of us has our test results back yet. You'll be home after work?" 'stasia said.

"Yes," Mel agreed.

"Well, we'll talk then. I need to go sling espresso," she said. For a moment, Mel thought she might kiss him. Instead, she left. Paused a moment at Béibhinn's door to have a quiet word, then left the apartment. Things on the bed, meanwhile, were getting interesting. The three women had spread out, Rache and Jenny still locked together, scissoring, with Rache on her side and her head between Jordan's legs. The brain slugs were undulating in synchronized patterns, and Rache was getting more vocal, her movements more frantic. Yet the blue glow at the back of her neck had died.

Mel felt a little relief at that, as he stepped out of the room to get dressed. Rache would probably want a walk after they were done. He took a few seconds to check his phone and saw that Lucie had messaged him last night.

It was a photo taken of her from the side, standing before a wall with family photos of herself, her husband, and Molly at different ages. One arm was draped across her breasts, hiding the dark nipples; the other rested on her lower abdomen. Clean brown skin, with those dark stretch marks like proud battle wounds he had seen earlier. Her hair was down, too, a mass of dark with hints of grey.

Her message that went with the photo was simple: Week 0.

Mel felt a weird tightness in his chest as he stared at the photo. Two thoughts occurred simultaneously: that she couldn't possibly know yet, and that someone else took that photo. He debated how best to answer. Not having had a phone before, Mel wasn't sure what the etiquette was when it came to answering a tasteful nude photo.

"What would Jordan do?" Mel asked himself.

He sent a thumb's up emoji.

Several minutes later, the moaning gave way to a familiar high-pitched squeak. He wasn't surprised to glance in and see Rache tremble and shake as the brain slug hosts disengaged. Mel brought her clothes to her, which 'stasia had left on the couch. Yet despite the little climax, Rache seemed pensive and irritable as she dressed, and as she put up her hair with a scrunchie, she grabbed his hand and half-dragged him to the door. Mel wasn't sure what the problem was until their feet hit the pavement outside the building.

"How do you do it!?" she asked. "How do you make them cum so often when you're eating them out?"

Mel blinked. He hadn't expected this.

"Assuming they aren't faking it? Diligence, patience, getting to know their likes, and great care not to use my teeth," he said.

Rachel pouted. She had her arm in his, but her head was down, looking at the sidewalk. It was misty this morning, and Mel had to pay extra attention to guide them both around obstacles.

"I'm a woman, dammit," she said. "I should know how to lick a pussy. I have one!"

"I'm a guy, and I don't instinctively know how to suck another guy off to best effect," Mel pointed out. "Look, if there's one thing I know, it's that I'm not a natural at eating women out. I watch the videos, I practice, I accept their guidance for where and when it feels good. If you really want to get better, maybe we could focus on that? We still haven't finished the intermediate oral sex video, much less the advanced one."

Rache said nothing for half a block. They were passing some older people, bundled up in long coats and hats, who gave them barely a glance. Once they were out of earshot, however, she said in a softer voice: "I just feel like I'm being a bad girlfriend. They've helped me cum so many times; why can't I do the same for them?"

Mel thought she was almost going to cry.

"Look, Béibhinn says that with the tongue split thing, they're going to be on soft food and no oral sex until they heal," Mel said. "So maybe this is an opportunity for us both to get our oral sex skills to the next level. Show them how much we appreciate them. Take care of their needs like they've been taking care of us."

Rache gave the tiniest of sniffles. As they stepped into Freeman's park, he caught that pensive look. The one that made it look like she was hurt, but trying to hide it.

"What's up?" he said. "Something's wrong, I can tell."

"Just . . . dreams," she said, as they went over the path. "Every night. They're not like the ones you've told me about. They're . . . they make me wet."

Mel frowned. She didn't sound happy about that.

"I'd like to know more," he said. "But you don't have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable."

"I never had wet dreams. Even when I was the horniest of horny teenage girls. I never woke up with wet panties or like I'd wet myself because I squirted when I was asleep. Now, though—it's like every single time I crawl into your bed, I am drenched and ready to go. It's weird. Uncanny. Sometimes I think the pearl is to blame," she reached toward her neck with her hands, but her nails stopped before they touched the little scar there.

"It's like I'm walking through a corridor in an old house. Except sometimes it isn't a house; it's someplace I've never been. My feet are bare, and I can feel the floor, cold, and sometimes it's wet metal or dry wood that creaks beneath my weight. I'm walking, and I can hear the sounds of sex ahead, the wet slap of flesh on flesh, the warm wash of bodies. There are doors or openings on either side, and in every single one, there's you. Sometimes you're just alone, jerking yourself off, or trying to suck yourself off; in others, there's this faceless woman with you, blowing you or giving you a handjob or doing . . . other things. So many other things. There was one where you were on all fours, and this K'lur'k was reaching underneath you and milking you with her manipulator claw; and there was one where you were in a bear costume. And every single time, I step through one of those doors, and I was that woman, and I'm doing that thing to you, or getting mounted while your claws dig into my shoulders, or I'm pushing on your shoulders so your lips can reach, and—and then I wake up, and for a moment I don't know whether it's a dream or reality, but it's like a part of me is still dreaming and the awake part isn't in control yet."

They were almost through the darkest part of the woods now, and Rachel shivered and clung tighter to him. Mel reached around with his other arm to hug her closer.

"And the weirdest part is, there's always this skittering in the hallway in front of me, this sound like something is moving in the darkness, just beyond the range of my sight, and when I stop and head through one of those doorways, I can feel something watching me. And it's still watching me when I wake up."

Mel frowned but said nothing. Not sure what he should say.

"I wonder sometimes if I'm being led," she said. "If maybe I should be dreaming of Jenny or Jordie sometimes, but it wants me to fantasize about you and your dick, like it keeps trying to find the right key to some door inside my brain. Except that sounds crazy."

Mel thought of a white figure he had glimpsed in the shattered mirror of a recurrent dream.

"I don't think it sounds crazy," he said. "And maybe it is the blue pearl. I don't know a lot about dreams. My own have all been different, lately."

"Tell me," Rache said.

So, as they stepped out of the wood and back onto misty streets, he did. What he could remember of them, anyway, was more vivid in detail than he thought he should be able to recall. Rache listened, even as his voice grew dry, and clung to him all the way back to the apartment.