Don't Touch It

****,

By the time you read this, it will be too late. I'm sorry I couldn't bring myself to tell you in person, but I knew you might have stopped me. You're the only one who would have. But this is what I've chosen. I've finally found acceptance.

I love you. Please remember that. One day, I hope you find someone who can love you as much as you deserve.

Your sister,

Jordie

—Jordan Carmichael to Rachel Carmichael, 12 Dec 2054

Rachel had her eyes closed, face buried into Mel's soggy shoulder. So she couldn't see the way Jordan's nostrils flared. A cold excitement gripped Mel's guts as he recognized that sign, and his stubborn prick seemed to leap in his pants. The crying woman noticed. She ceased mid-snob and sniffled.

"Jordan's dressed," Mel said weakly, hoping to forestall Rachel's reactions. Wiping the tears away from her eyes, Rachel disengaged. She turned back to Jordan, who stood there with the same flat lack of affect that usually marked her features.

As Rachel stood, shaking with excitement, Mel had a chance to compare the sisters side-by-side. Jordan was taller, thinner, and with more freckles. Rachel was a bit shorter, more solidly built; Mel was fairly sure the loose clothes hid a soft stomach and more prominent bust. But the hair was the same shade of blonde, the eyes the same pale blue.

"Jordie?" Rachel said as she stared into her sister's eyes. "It's me. It's ****. I—they told me you were dead, but I knew you were alive—I knew it!"

There was no response from Jordan. Mel saw the reactions on Rachel's face. Confusion. Hurt. Disappointment. She reached forward and wrapped her arms around Jordan, crushed her to her chest. For a moment, Mel thought she might start sobbing again.

Jordan just stood there.

Mel eased himself to his feet. His eyes were focused on the brain slug on the back of Jordan's neck. It had gone very still, and very opaque, a dark green, the head shrunk down, the sensory stalks retracted into nubs. Jordan's body was stiff, muscles tense, and her eyes tracked Mel as he moved aside.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Rachel said, her voice almost a whisper. "Why won't you hug me back?"

"She, um, she doesn't talk. According to the books I've been reading the integration process may damage the speech centers. Never heard any of the brain slug hosts speak," he said. "She can use sign language, though. I just learned about that. I'm going to look into taking a class so I can talk to her."

Rachel released her sister. She looked at her, up and down. Then slowly did a circuit of her.

"She's thin," she said. "What's she been eating?"

"Tofu, raw eggs, and vegetables," Mel said. "Sometimes bread. They, um, don't like overly spicy food."

A muscle worked in Rachel's jaw. She was behind Jordan now. Her eyes were fixed on the brain slug on the back of her sister's neck. He saw Rachel's fingers flex, claw-like. The nails were painted a deep maroon.

"Don't touch it," Mel said. "Remember what happened to Antonio. And it wouldn't help. The brain slug is integrated into her brain. It's part of her nervous system. You would kill her."

Rachel's hands clenched into fists. Yet now that she wasn't being hugged, Jordan seemed to relax. Her eyes went back to Mel's crotch.

Not now, he thought. Not now, not in front of company . . .

Jordan stepped forward and grabbed Mel's pants. His hands grabbed her forearms.

"Jordan—we've got a guest. It's your sister. Not a good time—" Mel said, and his eyes went desperately to Rachel's face. It was screwed up, emotions he couldn't guess playing out in her mind and body.

"Let her do it," Rachel said, her voice quiet, tired, and hurt.

"Are you sure? I mean, I can just—I can leave for a while, and you can try to talk to her again—" Mel said, as he stared into her face.

"I can't sign either," Rachel said with a little smile. "And you said before, you think there's some nutrient or something that she needs. Just—just get it over with."

Mel let go of Jordan. His pants came down, and his erection popped free. He didn't wilt under Rachel's unflinching gaze. Jordan dropped into a squat, her mouth open, and the brain slug host's hands caught Mel and guided him into her mouth. Those warm lips slipped over his glans, and somehow, as Rachel stared at her sister, alive and somewhat well, sucking on the tip of his meatstick, slowly stroking his length with her hand as her tongue swirled around and around, Mel got a sick sensation in his stomach.

It wasn't quite shame, and it wasn't quite the sick exhilaration of being watched. Yet it wasn't far from either of those. Mel shot a guilty glance at Rachel, who had stopped looking away and was now watching with apparent interest. She looked like she was ready to laugh, or maybe cry again. Jordan's head began to bob softly, in time with her strokes, and Mel felt the familiar tingle at the base, his testicles tensed, and he bit his lip to stiffle a moan.

Every other sexual experience he'd had with another person, that person had been a brain slug host. Who were absolutely people, but somehow weren't always there. Yet Rachel—Rachel was absolutely present. Engrossed, in fact. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, fingers digging into her open arms, and Mel saw she was biting her lower lip. A part of him was **** to know what was going through her mind right now.

Then Jordan hit the final stride. Her cheeks hollowed out, her hand pumped his shaft, and he could feel his member tense and swell, couldn't repress a gasp.

"I'm about to—" he said, by way of warning, the first time he had ever said that, and he wondered then if he had done it for Jordan's benefit or Rachel's.

Jordan pulled back with a long, slow slurp, and Mel's hips shook as he unloaded—and unloaded—and squeezed out every sticky, hot white rope onto his roommate's tongue. When she was satisifed she had every drop, Jordan released Mel with a slow slurp. Then stood and walked straight to her bedroom.

Leaving Mel with his cock out, as Rachel stared at it.

"I thought I felt something poke into my thigh," Rachel said, unable to keep a smirk off her face.

His face flushed with embarrassment as he pulled his pants back up.

"S-sorry. She's never done that in front of anyone else before," Mel said.

Rachel looked through the doorway. Soong was sitting on the bed. Jordan bent over and kissed her. Open mouth. Sharing the bounty. Mel saw Rachel swallow, her whole body tense.

"I really was going to go to the library today," he said. "If you want some more time with her alone—"

"No. I need a walk," Rachel said, and shifted the position of her purse. "Let's go."