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Cronus: embrace humanity.

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You love the mixed world you've wound up in, all of the crazy differences from Beforus, all of the exciting new things there are to discover. All of the human things and customs and cultures. You don't hear from your old crew much—Kankri bothers you every once in a while to make sure you're not being hideously culturally insensitive or whatever, but most of them seem glad to be rid of you. Whatever, it's not like you miss them. They never understood you.

You try out human food, and amass more human fashion, and learn to play human music. You watch kind of a lot of human porn. You pick up the free weekly alternative newspaper—how cool is it that humans use a retro tech like that?—and maybe you call up some of the chat lines in the ads in the back. The game left all the ex-players with boatloads of cash, so you might as well spend it on something you like, right?

Then one week when you're glancing through those back pages there's an ad that stops you in your tracks: a muscular human guy, bare-chested, staring out at the camera, and standing half-in front of him but looking away there's a troll. Pretty generic horn shape, nobody you know, but the troll is half-dressed too, and you can just see the human's fingers curling around the troll's waist on one side. Walk on the Wild Side, the text underneath says. Mixed Species Night, Wednesday at the Cockpit.

Holy shit.

The Cockpit is a sex club for human males, because humans do that, they fuck whenever they feel like it, and it doesn't have to be a quadrant thing at all. You both admire and envy that about them.

You guess maybe this Wednesday you won't have to worry about the envy part.

You try to dress nice. How do you dress nice for a sex club? You have no fucking idea. But you've got the greaser cool guy look down pretty good, and you think it works for you. You wear your tightest t-shirt. You spend like fifteen minutes in front of the bedroom mirror trying to decide which pair of jeans is the most flattering for your glutes. This is your chance.

You're buzzing with nerves all the way to the club. The doors open pretty early by troll standards, like nine at night, but that's late for humans—being diurnal apparently makes them push edgy and exciting stuff into the dark hours. There are other guys coming up to the door when you get there, mostly humans but at least one other troll.

The guy at the door is big for a human, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. His head's shaved but there are tufts of silvery hair on his chest, peeking through between the straps of a leather harness. Older, probably, with hair that color. That's kinda sexy. Experience, and all that.

"ID, kiddo," he says, and you realize you've just been staring. You blush as you pull out your wallet and hand over your identification card, and he smirks a little. He checks your age, which is stamped on the card in the weird hybrid years the new world has—longer than Earth's, shorter than Beforus or Alternia's—and hands it back, waving you inside.

"There's no cover?" you say before you think better of it.

"You guys get in free before eleven," the bouncer says. "Go on, get in there."

You go.

The lights are low enough inside that it's probably not totally in the humans' comfort zone—you're pretty sure their sight is compromised at this point. But maybe that's part of the draw. You don't know who you're doing, and you're not supposed to know. Your nook throbs a little.

You take in the layout, the plush couches and padded tables scattered across the floor, the little alcoves around the edges where somebody could almost have privacy, the second-floor balcony for people who—you assume—want to watch the action from out of the way. There's music playing, this generic trance crap that's probably just there to keep the room from falling silent, and you can smell the raw, earthy smell of human sweat and sex.

Okay, so... you're here. Now what? You fidget, trying to figure out where to start, who to approach. You have no idea what's appropriate here. With trolls, you know where you stand, and if they're disrespectful little shits to you, that's their failing. How do you get humans to notice you're cool?

You stand sort of off to the side for now, next to one of the balcony pillars, and watch the action as the club starts to fill up. Mixed-species night or not, the crowd is still mostly human, so a lot of what's going on is human guys doing each other. But you do see a few human-troll pairs, and off in one of the alcoves a pair of trolls going at it by themselves—guys who just want a no-strings-attached hookup, you figure, without having to worry about fitting it neatly into a quadrant somewhere.

Just looking is starting to get to you after a while. You're watching some muddy greenblood pull this really muscular dark-skinned human into his lap and dying of jealousy a little bit, and you tell yourself you can do this. If some piece of trash like that can do it, you shouldn't have any trouble at all, right? You can approach someone. They're here for the same reason you are. You're a good-looking guy. Somebody'll be into you.

And about that point someone says, "Enjoying the view?" from right next to you.

You look over. There's a human guy leaning on the other side of your pillar, tall and and lanky, with spiky blond hair and a tattoo on one bare shoulder. He's looking at you like a challenge, like—like an offer. "It's a pretty good show," you say. Keeping it cool.

He smiles, cool and minimal. "You just here to watch?"

You shake your head. "Just... gettin' used to the place," you say. "Trolls weren't big into this kind of scene before."

"So you're an adventurous kind of guy to be here at all, huh?"

"Like the sound of that," you say. "Adventurous." Way better than deviant or unwholesome or any of the other words you'd have heard from Beforans on the subject.

He looks you up and down, clearly checking you out. He's hot. You're glad it was one of the hot ones who came after you first. "What kind of adventure you up for?" he asks. He comes around the pillar, takes the half step closer that lets you smell his skin, sense his radiant heat. "What do you want?"

"I wanna get fucked," you blurt out, and that wasn't cool, that wasn't suave at all. You still sound too damn desperate.

The guy just grins, though. "Yeah, keep going."

You swallow hard. "A lot."

He reaches up and strokes one of your fins, running the length of the middle tine, and you shiver at being touched. "You mean you want it really bad, or you want a lot of guys to do it?"

"Oh my god," you say. "That's—can I do that?"

"Bro, have you looked in a mirror lately? You could get any xenokinked dude in this club to tap that." His fingertips trail down, slowly, from your fin to your throat and then right down over your chest toward your crotch. "You want me to take you out there on the floor, give you to everyone who wants a piece?"

"Humans," you say breathlessly. "I want human cock." You feel so dirty for saying it. You feel so thrilled.

Your new friend likes the sound of that, too. He moans, right down at the bottom of the human vocal range, and gets you by the hips to pull you right up close to him. He grinds against you and you think that stiff lump in the front of his jeans must be his cock: hard already, hard while you talk to him about getting fucked. He wants you.

"I wanna make this happen for you," he says. "I wanna be part of it."

"Yes," you say. "Yes." You kiss him, giddy with excitement, with the fact that it could be this easy to get what you want here. Basically all you had to do was just tell him, and now he's offering to arrange everything for you. What a wonderful world this is.

He kisses you back, warm and aggressive, nipping at your tongue. After a minute he gets you by the hair and pulls you back. "Okay. Let's go over your limits and then get this show on the road."

"Anything is fine," you say. Anything, just mean it, just don't change your mind.

"You don't know me well enough for that," he says. "I know you guys are supposed to be this big tough warrior race or whatever, but you still have preferences."

"Well, you're the expert on how humans do this, right," you say. "So what kinda things am I supposed to be preferring between?"

From the way he looks at you, you think maybe he knows how badly you're faking it right now. You don't have any fucking idea what to tell him. "Let's start simple, then. You wanna get fucked. Which holes? You want dicks in your mouth? Up your ass?"

Your bulge pulses, thickening and swelling so fast your sheath aches with it. "I—I don't know if, if I can take it up my waste chute," you say, blushing furiously. "I don't think trolls are built for that."

"You haven't been watching the same porn I have," the guy says with a grin, and you stare at him in disbelief. "But that's cool. You don't have to."

"Okay," you say. You're sort of curious now, honestly. But not quite curious enough to be sure you want to try it. "In my mouth, though, that sounds hot."

"Yeah, it does." He runs his fingertips along your bottom lip and then just pushes three fingers into your mouth, stroking your tongue. You can taste his sweat on the rough pads of his fingers and this is the hottest thing that's ever happened to you.

When he lets your mouth go, he asks, "So how rough do you like it?"

You swallow hard. Humans don't do blackrom. If you flip black on anyone here you'll break someone, and then they'll probably throw you out. "I, uh. We can take a lot of rough stuff but it'll make me fight back on instinct if it starts to actually hurt, and I... don't want to fight it."

"Yeah, that would be a really different scene." Not bad, you notice. Just different. "So a casual slap on the ass here and there is fine, but nobody should try to take a belt to you."

"A little biting and scratching sounds good too," you volunteer. "Human teeth and nails ain't so vicious as troll ones."

"Cool." He drags his nails slowly down your arms, watching you shiver, then circles your wrists and squeezes. "How about bondage?"

"Okay?" you say. You're not sure, honestly. It's not that you're afraid someone would take advantage of you while you were tied down; it's the part where you'd be unable to do anything about it if they just decided to leave. But you don't want to keep telling him no, either. You said you'd be up for anything, and then you've had to qualify that twice already.

That must have been the right answer, because he pulls you closer and kisses you again, wet and hot, lighting up all your nerves with excitement. He gets you by one horn and you trill in your throat helplessly. "Can I do that?" he asks. "That's fair game?"

"It's—it should be totally humiliating," you say. "Taking what ought to be a weapon and using it to drag a guy around." You've soaked right through your jeans by now, you're pretty sure. "But I like it."

He makes one of those low throaty sounds again. "So if one of those guys out there wanted to use these as handles while he fucked your face...?"

"Oh god," you moan. You nod frantically.

"Here's what I'm thinking," he purrs against your fin. "You're going to strip down, then I'm going to get you in a collar and take you out there to bend you over a free table." He drops a hand to your crotch, presses his fingers right up between your legs, and squeezes the handful of you he's got. "I'm going to fuck this dripping hole. Then I'm going to offer you up to anybody who wants to take a turn."

You bite your lip so you won't say What if nobody else wants me? because humans don't go for pathetic. Instead you try, "You think... you think that'll be a lot?"

"Dude, just about every human guy here tonight is here because he thinks banging a troll would be a good time. And now you're giving the club its own special rendition of Hot Alien Twink Craves Human Dick?" He smirks. "I bet you'll run out of stamina before you run out of takers."

The stuff he says to you is so fucking filthy. You know Kankri would be lecturing you about self-respect and maintaining your dignity and shit like that but you don't mind it at all. It makes you feel so wanted, so appreciated. Kankri's line of bullshit never got you even half as laid as you deserve. "You don't—you don't know how long I could go," you say, giving your friend a little flirty grin.

"Guess I'll find out, won't I?" he asks. "Strip."

You've never gotten out of your clothes so fast in your life. You stash them in a locker where your friend has some gear, and he pulls out a collar to put on you. His fingers are warm against your throat, and the leather of the collar is soft.

"Kinda means I'm yours now, doesn't it?" you ask. You're really trying to make it come out flirty instead of needy.

"For tonight," he says. He hooks his fingers through the ring in the collar and tugs, so you sway toward him. "I'm gonna make this scene happen for you. You're in my hands. And I'll look out for you."

If you needed any more confirmation that it would be seriously different with humans, this is it: this guy is about to give you the fuck you've been dreaming of, and he's telling you shit that sounds so wrenchingly pale it gives you shivers. "Do it," you say. "Don't make me wait any more."

He kisses you hard, reaching down to give your bulge a squeeze at the same time, and you fucking melt in his hands. "Come on, bro," he says, getting you by the collar again and pulling. "Let's go put on a show."

You head out into the middle of the room and he bends you over a padded bench—it's physically pretty comfortable, but you can feel cool air against your wet nook and you'd bet people can see it, and that makes you squirm so much. Please, please, will he just fuck you already.

He clips your collar to an eyebolt at the edge of the bench and then leans down so he can speak right into your ear. "I'm gonna leave your hands free, since you won't be able to safeword once you've got a cock in your mouth. If you need to stop or slow down or flip over, whatever, you can unclip your collar or reach for me and I'll check in with you. Got it?"

"Yeah," you say, and it comes out sort of a croak so you nod, too. How do humans stand having this many feelings at once? How are trolls ever satisfied without it?

He walks around to the back of the bench without ever taking his hands off you, fingertips trailing down your back, skating over the curve of your ass, skimming down your thigh. He cuffs your ankles to the legs of the bench, so you have to keep your legs spread—not far enough to be uncomfortable, just enough to make sure you keep offering yourself up. You whine, squirming against the bench a little. Your bulge twists between your legs, already starting to drip.

His hand runs up the inside of your thigh and strokes the slick folds of your nook, and you're chewing your lip to shreds just trying not to beg. You were afraid, back on Beforus, back in the game, that nobody would ever touch you like this. Turns out you just needed to find your people, the kind who know how to appreciate a good thing when you offer it to them.

The blunt smooth head of his cock between your legs makes your breath catch in your throat. You try to spread your legs a little wider even though the cuffs don't really let you. You just want him to know, want him to see how ready for it you are. He pushes.

It feels so thick, pressing into you—so thick and so warm, as wide at the tip as your bulge is at the base. You moan, gripping the edge of the bench hard enough that the wood underneath the padding creaks. "Yes," you gasp as he pushes in deeper. "Fuck, yes, yes."

When he gets it all the way in, his hips flush up against your glutes, you feel so full you almost can't stand it, except that it's wonderful, too. You want him there, filling you, taking you, giving it to you. He starts to move, thrusting into you in rough, straightforward strokes, so you go from full to nearly empty and then back to full again, this rhythm like surf pounding the shore. Your bulge is dripping steadily even without anything to bury itself in, and your nook clenches around his cock hungrily.

As you start to get used to the feel of him you know you weren't boasting before—getting fucked human-style you're going to be able to go forever. It's this gorgeous, dreamy sensitivity, the way he rubs up against all this tender flesh that never gets touched, the way you're dripping but not gushing like you've got plenty of time.

Then you lift your head enough to look up, and you realize you're being watched. Not by, like, a huge crowd or anything, but there's definitely a few guys looking at you. One of them's got his hand on the crotch of his jeans, squeezing his cock through the denim. You trill for that guy the next time a deep thrust rocks you into the bench. Hunger flares on his face and you revel in it, the feel of finally, finally making somebody want you the way you deserve.

When your new friend lets go inside you it scorches, makes you gasp and squirm as your seedflap drinks it in greedily. It's barely more than a tease—humans come by spoonfuls, not bucketloads, and you want so much more.

You say so when he pulls out. "More, c'mon, I need more, fuck," slurring on the human consonants and not even ashamed of how you sound.

"You heard the kid," your friend says, smacking your ass just hard enough to make you jump a little. "Gotta be somebody here who'll help him out, right?"

You meet the eyes of the guy you know wants you, and you say, "Please," because you don't care how desperate it sounds if it works.

He steps up. "Sure, I'll take a turn."

He swaggers around behind you, unzipping as he goes, and your friend comes around the bench in the other direction. The new guy pushes his dick up your nook and your mouth falls open on a moan, and your friend stuffs his fingers in there, easy and casual.

"Anybody else?" he asks. "My boy can handle two at a time, and he's craving a taste of real human cock." You squirm on the bench, whining around his fingers. His boy. Fuck.

"Heard they don't have gag reflexes," somebody says from nearby. "That true?"

Your mouth is freed so you can answer yourself. "Yeah, it's true. I can take the whole thing, champ, lemme show you, come on."

He does, and you do. The raw musk of human male is almost overwhelmingly pungent in the short hair at his groin, and the thickness of his cock in your mouth stretches your jaw wide. When he pushes it in all the way it goes just past the first constricting ring of your throat, and when he pulls back you can taste a faint hint of bitter brine. After a minute he gets into a rhythm with the guy up your nook, and you trill for them because that's great.

It's every bit as good as you thought it'd be, having someone fuck your mouth. Your lips and tongue are soft tissue, sensitive, and it feels good to have them stroked like this. It's hot, too, knowing that there's enough guys here who want you that they can keep you stuffed both ways at once.

You squirm when you feel the hot splash of human come in your nook again, your seedflap rippling to collect it. It's still nowhere near enough, and now that you've got a little of someone else's fluid up inside you, enough to feel it, you're desperate to get more. You rock your hips against the bench, whining, and someone smacks your ass.

"Greedy little bitch," you hear, but you don't mind because there's another cock sliding up your nook again. Sure, yeah, maybe by human standards you are a little greedy, but you're not sorry and you don't think any of the guys fucking you are either.

The guy in your mouth comes halfway down your throat, and you swallow it, feeling the tingling burn it leaves behind. "More," you gasp when he pulls out, "gimme another one."

"Goddamn," someone says. It feels like victory. You get another one.

There are so many of them. You drift into this hazy, needy headspace where everything feels so intense you barely know what to do with it, where your bulge rubs up against the leather of the bench and drips steadily all over everything, where your mouth and your nook are soothed and sensitized at the same time, where all your senses are overwhelmed with human.

Some of them talk to you, tell you how hot this is, how hot you are, how good it feels. Some of them just fuck you silently, totally anonymous. Some of them watch you, intent, for a round or two before they step up to take a turn themselves. Some of them are teasing and gentle, and others take you as hard as their human flesh will tolerate.

And your genetic bladder is filling up, so maddeningly slowly but it is, getting you that little bit closer to satisfied every time another guy comes in you. You're blissed on it, stringing your pleasure out in this endlessly sustained note. You're just fucking floating, hazy and fuck-drunk, letting it just keep happening to you.

Then the guy who's got his dick in your mouth and his hand tight on your horn says, "Damn, look how desperate for it you are. Couldn't get enough from your own kind, had to come down here, huh?"

That dreamy blissed-out feeling just snaps. No, you tell yourself, no, it's fine, it doesn't matter, he didn't mean it like that, you weren't listening, you don't care, but you're not listening to yourself and you're going tense and shivery all over, like you'd been basking in warm shallows and then you just got dumped in icy deep water instead, like you're not actually in control of any of this, like they don't really want you so much as they just want to put you down, and—

You reach out, flailing desperately, and your friend from earlier is still there, and he catches your hand. "Time out," he says. "Dude, let me talk to him."

The guy fucking your mouth pulls out. The one fucking your nook goes still. Your friend gets down at eye level with you and reaches out to wipe your cheek. You're crying, fuck. You know humans aren't into that.

"Hey, bro," he says gently. "Keep breathing, nice and slow. How are you doing?"

"I'm—I just—" Ugh, you sound like you're losing it, too. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to get yourself under control.

He runs his fingers through your hair, slow and soothing, repeating the motion. "Do you want to stop?"

"I'm not sure," you choke out. "No."

"Okay. We'll just take a breather for a minute and you can think about it." His touch is so calming, and so kind—it makes you feel cared for, and you have no idea what to do with that. "You've been great," he says. "You're amazing to watch, and I think you've blown a lot of guys' minds tonight. This can go however you need it to from here."

You lean into his hand. "Then can you—can you stay here with me and, and let them just do my nook for a little bit? I feel kinda shaky but I want," you swallow hard, because you've seen enough human porn to know how dirty this'll sound to him, "I want more come."

"Hot," he says with a quick grin. He looks back behind you. "Go ahead, but go easy."

The guy behind you starts moving again, his hands curling a little tighter around your hips as he thrusts into you slowly. You think about how that feels, the pressure against your half-filled genetic bladder when he presses in deep, how much you want to feel it all the way full.

"There you go," your friend says, and leans in to kiss your mouth gently. Your lips are so swollen, so tender. "You're gorgeous, bro. This is hot as hell."

"You keep up that sweet-talking," you tell him, "and I ain't gonna have any trouble getting back into it." He kisses you again.

He does stay with you, talking to you, getting you to talk to him—he gets you to tell him how it feels to have that heavy, growing fullness inside you, to have that craving ever so slowly satisfied. He looks at you like you're amazing, like you're gorgeous, like he wants you so bad. He kisses your mouth, licks stray traces of come off your cheeks, nips at your fins while you keen for more. You wind up not taking any more guys in your mouth because you just can't get enough of having him there with you, so focused on you, so intent. Pulling you in so you're just fixated totally on him.

And when you finally are getting close to your limit, and you whimper, "Fuck, s-so full, I can't," you don't miss the flare of heat in his eyes.

"Can you take one more?" he asks.

"You?"

He nods.

"Yeah," you breathe. "One more if it's you."

He gets up then, his hand on your shoulder still like he wants to be sure you don't feel abandoned. When the last guy doing your nook pulls out at last, your friend walks around behind the bench and—undoes the cuffs around your ankles?

"What," you start, as he reaches under you for the clip on your collar.

"Wanna do it a little differently this time, that's all," he says, and tugs you up.

You follow him, feeling the strange heavy heat in your genetic bladder shift as you stand, as you walk. Your bulge is pretty much completely tapped out by now, and you've given up all the material you had to offer in this extravagantly messy waste, puddled all over the floor by the bench.

He settles on one of the couches and unbuttons his jeans to expose his cock—hard again, and still faintly streaked with violet from the first time he fucked you. He beckons. "Come here. Come sit in my lap."

You're wobbly, and your knees almost give out when you try to get down onto the couch with him. Maybe that should be embarrassing, too, in the way that everything you've done tonight is stuff that was supposed to be beneath your dignity. And fuck everyone who ever told you that, right, because they never gave you a damn thing, and now this guy you just met, who wants you to do all this supposedly degrading stuff, makes you feel like the center of somebody's world for the first fucking time ever.

You climb into his lap all shaky with exhaustion and he smiles at you like you're everything he ever wanted.

"All worn out, huh, babe?" He gets you by the hips and eases you down, until the spread lips of your nook rub up against the shaft of his cock. "You're a fucking champion. You still got room for me?"

"Yeah, I—" You squirm in his lap, then reach down to hold his cock steady when you realize it's not flexible enough to seek you out. You push yourself down onto the thick heat of him, the stretch that's starting to sting. "Come on, top me off."

He laughs, and you just feel so fucking delighted. You're winning, you're flying, you're getting it right and getting rewarded for getting it right. You roll your hips, feeling his cock shift and slide inside you, and you can watch his face this way, which is great. When his eyelids flutter, when his mouth opens just a fraction further, when his pink tongue swipes reflexively across his bottom lip, you get to see those things happen. It's all for you.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and lean into him, trilling at him, crooning. You're so full it almost hurts, so full you can't imagine ever feeling empty again, swollen and hot with the fluids of all the humans who've wanted you. He licks your earfin, mouths at the edge of it, and you shake in his arms.

"Come on, chief, gimme what you got," you demand. "F-fuckin' finish what you started."

"Yeah, I got you, bro," he says, his grip hard on your hips, just right, holding you like he can't stand to let go. "You need me to come in you again before you're satisfied, who am I to complain?" He's trying to act cool about it but you can smell the sweat and musk rising off him, you can hear the breathy edge to his voice, and you know he wants it bad. He wants you bad.

"It's so fuckin' good, you're so fuckin' good, I can't," and you're babbling by now but you don't care, right, it's going to be amazing to let all this go but right now you're so blissed on being filled, on staying full, you want to feel like this always.

When he comes, you make a noise you can't honestly call anything but a sob, clinging to him while your seedflap tries to swallow every last precious drop. You were already at your limit, truthfully, and it aches to try to take in more, even with how little humans produce each time. But you take it, you take him, because you've always wanted so much and you've never had somebody willing to just fucking give it to you like this.

You're gasping for every breath as he stills, as he relaxes inside you—there's no way you can relax like this, when you're so desperately heavy with slurry. You need a pail so badly you can taste it. Taking care of your own business never got you this needy, never made you crave release this much.

He splays one warm hand against your lower abdomen, where the skin feels stretched tight. "Finally got enough, huh?" he murmurs in your ear, stroking your skin gently. You can barely stand the touch. "Got all the come you wanted."

You nod. "I gotta—gotta get to a pail, fuck."

"Yeah, easy does it, bro, come on." He steadies you, helping you lift yourself up out of his lap and get to your feet. You'd swear you're visibly swollen when you look down, like you can see a curve to your abdomen that doesn't belong there. Your bulge is right well done but not retracting, because the pressure from the inside means it doesn't have room.

Your friend slides his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "You could probably let go right here," he purrs. "You want me to find you some kid you can use as a pail, give it up all over him?"

You can hear the hunger in his voice even though he's already gone twice, and you know that's a big territorial thing for humans, coming on somebody. But your seedflap twinges painfully, right on the edge of cramping up. You shake your head. "I can't, I can't wait for you to find someone, it's too much, I gotta—"

"Yeah, okay. You'll be back, right? Next time." He's steering you across the room with an arm around your waist, the two of you threading through between the furniture toward a door at the back.

You push the door open and the room beyond is full of warm steam and the sharp smell of slurry. There's slick tile under your feet and a shower running at one end of the room, where some runty little landdweller is trading sloppy kisses with a human under the spray. Your human is better looking.

He pushes you up against the wall, your back to the tile, and looks you straight in the eyes. "Now go on. Lemme watch you."

You lock up for a second. In front of him, okay, yeah, that's kinda hot, but with that little dirtblood here? You whine in frustration and let the noise drop down low in your throat, let it turn into the subsonic growl that tingles in the bases of your horns. The human just licks his lips, pushing you harder into the wall, and you let him, because the runt's snapped to attention in a hurry. When the little shit turns to look at you, you flare out your fins.

You have the room to yourselves in five seconds flat.

Your human leaves one hand on your shoulder and presses the other one against your abdomen, not gentle at all. You hiss, scrabbling at the tile, and reach down in a hurry to cup your globes, hidden in the soft folds just below the root of your bulge. You barely have to squeeze at all before your seedflap opens, and the wrenching, shuddering pulses of release tear through you, pouring slurry out between your thighs. It spatters your legs, splashes against the tile, and you're making the most desperate, pathetic sounds of relief, the noise echoing back to you on all sides.

The puddle at your feet is almost pearlescent, your violet diluted to lavender by all that human white. You got a little of it on his boots. You don't know if your legs still work.

He steps back, out of the way, and flips on the nearest shower faucet. You stay right where you are for a second, watching the slurry get thinned out in the water and start to trickle down the drain. After a bit it occurs to you that you could get in the spray, and rinse off some. You do that, while your human stays out of the way so he won't get his clothes soaked.

"There you go," he says when you shut the water off. "There's towels just outside."

You hadn't even noticed them on the way in, hadn't been thinking about anything except how stuffed you were, but he's right: there's a little set of shelves right outside the shower room, stacked with towels. He wraps one around your shoulders. It's nice. He steers you over to a couch in the corner, where nothing much is going on, and tugs you down with him. You curl up against his chest while he runs his fingers through your hair. That's nice, too.

"Kinky as hell, you know," you tell him after a while. You don't even mean just the sex part—the bit where you can do something this pale with a guy who was just fucking you ragged, with a guy whose name you don't even know, that's pretty deviant, too.

"Mmn." He puts a hand on your hip, where the bare flesh is still damp-sticky from the shower, and just lets it sit there, warm. You shift to snuggle into him a little closer. "You get what you were after, then?"

You laugh. "Damn right I did, chief. Don't know what took me so long to start partying with you guys in the first place." You lean on him for another minute or so, maybe purring a little, and then you ask, "So what about you? Go on, tell me I'm pretty."

He kisses you. "Brat," he says. "Yeah. You're hot. That whole scene was hot." He kisses you again, slow, and his strange flat teeth scrape against your lip. "I'm planning on coming back next week. Should I look for you?"

Your bloodpusher does a giddy little skip in your chest. "Yeah," you say, cool as you can manage. "Yeah, that sounds good."