Territorial Marker

First contact between brain slugs and homo sapiens occurred through intermediaries. On their homeworld, brain slugs could explore a new area swiftly by bonding with a local organism, immediately gaining a viable form evolved for the environment and incorporating relevant knowledge and experiences. However, centuries of contact with various extraterrestrial species and cultures had taught the hive minds that new sentient species usually didn't appreciate immediate incorporation of members into the hive mind. This led to wars of extermination. The hive mind learned patience. The first human hosts were criminals sentenced to **** who volunteered for the process and were carefully documented by Earth governments. The next human volunteers did so for sexual reasons, and are less well documented.
—Slug Sutra, Chapter 2

Mel knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the apartment. Jordan was across the room, folding something at the chest of drawers. He could see her back, the bones of her spine a little more prominent than normal, the brain slug pink at the edges, her butt crack a bare line between her cheeks. Then she turned, her eyes wide, nostrils flaring as she snuffled the air. The normally placid face tightened, lips thinned as she stalked forward, hands at in front of her with fingers tensed.

He shut the door, unable to keep the mask of guilt off his face.

"I was cleaning the men's room when Tomie came up behind me. She had a condom, and put it on me. I told her that we were in a relationship, that I didn't want to—I didn't want to hurt her, and I didn't know how else to get her to stop, so I told her I'd jerk off and give her the condom—"

Even trying to explain it, Mel felt ridiculous. Like a husband in some sitcom explaining the lipstick on his collar to his wife. Except Jordan wasn't his wife. She circled him, and Mel tried to turn to face her, which only made her move faster. He felt weirdly uneasy. The last time that he had offended her, with the garlic, Jordan had just avoided him. He had sort of expected the same thing, a kind of silent treatment. This was different, though. Mel could see her muscles tense beneath her skin the more she circled him, and she came closer each time.

Finally, Mel stopped, his butt against the couch.

"Look," he said. "I know we can't—I know I can't sign to you yet, but I wasn't trying to do anything to hurt or offend you. I'm sorry if I did. I'd like to make it up to you, I just don't know how."

A noise to his right caught his attention. His head turned to see Soong stand there, looking wan and pale, delicate and half-shadowed in the doorway of the room she shared with Jordan. She was naked; Mel wasn't sure she'd worn clothes at all since the attack, and she stared at him and sniffed the air just as Jordan had.

It was while Mel's attention was divided that Jordan struck.

Her mouth latched onto the back of his neck, the cold, wet spot where he thought Tomie's tongue had touched him. The hot caress of her lips quickly formed a hard suction. Not biting. No sharp sting or crunch of teeth. No sizzle of dissolving flesh, as if a brain slug was about to bond itself to him, or at least he hoped not. Just a hard suction, her warm hands on his shoulders.

Soong stepped forward. Hesitant, in those few feet between the doorway and the couch. As if her legs were weak, or not entirely under her own control. But at least she wasn't crawling. She almost fell against Mel's chest, and he raised his hands to catch her. No smile, no nod of thanks. Soong simply slowly lowered herself to her knees as Jordan sucked away with uncomfortable pressure.

It was no surprise to Mel when Soong unzipped his pants. In truth, he half expected it. On her knees, she took the head of his glans into her mouth, and those dark eyes looked up and met his. He understood, or thought he understood. Every other time, Jordan had stroked his cock, jerked him off into her mouth. Now, Jordan was preoccupied with his neck.

So he stroked himself. Thumb and forefinger in a tight circle as a steady suction pulled at his prickhead. It made him almost dizzy and lightheaded, those two pairs of lips, sucking away at opposite ends. Weird, but exciting too. He didn't feel the shock, as when Tomie had stepped behind him. Jordan's breasts pressed into the back of his work shirt, but there was something comforting, almost familiar, about her presence. Or at least, that's what Mel told himself as he stroked his swelling member. Careful not to hit Soong in the face as her tongue licked at his slit.

His breath quickened. Pulse raced through his body. This weird intimacy between the three of them was so different from the sterile, alien sensation of being watched in the bathroom. Mel wondered if this was just a reflection of their shared experiences together or something deeper. Not for the first time, his imagination ran away with the idea that maybe this was all some coordinated plan by the brain slug hive mind, that they were preparing him to join, or something else.

Mel didn't try to hold it when the first twinge from deep within signaled his release. Nor did Soong seem to mind, as hot, sticky ropes, perhaps a little less than normal, coated her tongue. She licked and licked until he had squeezed out every drop. Then, and only then, did she pull her lips back.

He caught sight of the white, salty pool on her tongue. Just for a second. Then her mouth closed, her throat moved, and it was gone forever.

Jordan released him with a wet smack. The cold, wet spot was now replaced with a larger, more irregular soreness. Mel winced as he touched it with his fingers. He had heard of hickeys, but never received one. Until now.

Mel was contemplating dinner when there was a knock at the door.

"Social services," a woman's voice called. Mel quickly zipped up and rushed to the door. The women retreated to Jordan's bedroom. He opened the door to see Ashante, the same woman who had helped him sign for the apartment.

"Mr. Arkwright," the Black woman said with a tired smile. "Settling in well?"

"Uh—yeah," Mel said, then stepped aside. She stepped inside and looked around. Noted the chest of drawers. The closed door to Jordan's room. Her eyes ran over him, took in the Cosmic Fill-Up uniform, and lingered on the hole in his shoe.

"I heard about the attack," she said quietly. "I'm here to check on Jenny Soong."

"She's sharing the bedroom with Jordan," Mel said. "Decided to sublet."

"So I was told," she stepped quickly to the left, and Mel knew she caught sight of the bruise forming on the back of his neck. He felt heat flood to his face, as if she knew exactly where that came from.

She said nothing, right then. Went to Jordan's door and knocked. The door opened, and she went inside and closed the door behind her. It was a silent conversation, and Mel imagined their hands going through the practiced motions of sign language. A language he didn't understand, yet. Able to say more to his roommate with a gesture than Mel himself had managed in weeks.

When she emerged, Ashante closed the door behind her. She looked up, with those brown eyes and greying locs, and assessed Mel with what might have been more respect than before.

"Soong is healing. Faster than anticipated. Make sure she—gets enough to eat," the social worker said.

"I will," Mel promised, and wondered how much Jordan and Soong had told her, and how much Ashante had guessed. She looked as though she wanted to tell Mel something else. Then she did.

"Brain slugs," she said. "Primarily communicate through biochemical markers. A touch, a kiss, sometimes they mark things with saliva, vaginal secretions—even urine, like cats—as a message to others. When a brain slug leaves a mark on your neck like that, it's a message to other hives: mine. A kind of territorial marker. That can be both very good and very dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Mel said, eyebrows furrowed.

"If two brain slug hives cannot work out a sharing agreement," Ashante said, "It inevitably means conflict. Hopefully, it won't come to that. But if they've marked you, it's because another hive has taken an interest, or they think it has. Does that make sense?"

Mel thought back to Tomie in the bathroom. He wondered at what she had really been doing.

He nodded.

"Too much sense," he confessed.