Dylan Thorogood awakens on day six of being a possession. There’s a pillow under his head and another between his knees and two more smushed up against his hips. These last two are round, purple, very warm, and attached to Xamika phar Zwinai nai Qena-Qel.

It was day 4 that they started joking about her sharing his bed. He doesn’t remember who initiated it, exactly, but they kept making allusions to sleeping in the same bed that night head-to-foot, and laughing, and the laughing didn’t go away but the joke did. As did the part where they’re head-to-foot.

So they’ve been sleeping together. Not sleeping but sleeping. Both in their clothes, neither touching. Not with intention, anyway, but this is the second morning that he’s woke up to find that they’ve shifted in the night and he’s cuddling her to him.

She’s just too cute. Too touchable. Like a teddy bear with a soft ass and gentle breath and a heartbeat he is only now noticing goes ba-da-dum like an Iron Maiden triplet beat.

His morning hard-on is pressed against her, cradled between the thick purple globes of her butt. It goes up, past where the squish turns into firm symmetrical muscle, past the small of her back, to the curve of her spine where it meets her waist.

God, it’s nearly halfway to her ribcage. He blinks blearily and wonders, not for the first time, if he’d even fit.

“Mmm.” Xamika stretches. Her shoulderblades glide beneath the criss-crossing straps of her top. Its stretchy material bunches above her tail as she arches and presses her butt further into the hollow of Dylan’s hips.

She swivels. “Someone’s awake,” she whispers.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s uh… biology.”

She scoots further against him. “Can I tell you something I’m probably overdue to? The Taiikari don’t use—well, the word in our language is Ganeamak. You might want to practice avoiding it, if you do end up getting chipped.”

“Ganeamak,” he repeats. “It’s a pretty word, for one you’re not supposed to use.”

“Pretty or not, there’s no call for it. It’s biology, right? You’re healthy.” She sighs happily, her toned shoulders loosening. “And you’re warm.”

She’s vibrating. It takes a moment for Dylan to realize what he’s feeling. He chuckles in surprise. “Xam, do Taiikari purr?”

Her tail wags. She bends forward. “They purr even harder when a cute boy rubs their back.”

She didn’t flash him or phrase it as an order, but now her butt is firmly hot-dogging him, and he reflects that there are many ways to get him to obey. His thumbs knead the defined muscles in her shoulders. “Luaz’ti ezzat,” she groans. “That feels good.”

Lower now. To her waist. Her curves are so dramatic that when he extends his hands, his fingers nearly fit all the way around her middle. Lower again, to the root of her tail. Her purr intensifies. The vibration against his hips. His kneading fingers are inches from that big, round butt he’s been staring at all morning.

“Hokay.” Her tail paffs lightly against his cheek. The fur tuft on it smells like lavender. “I don’t want this to stop ever, but we gotta get up.”

He’s mind-swimmingly hard. “Two minutes,” he murmurs.

“I’m gonna stay in bed for two hours if I let you keep going.” She turns over in bed and meets his eyes. Flash. “Xami says let me up.”

Dylan sighs and releases his curvy little lap pillow; she pats his hip and yawns herself to sitting.

They’ve adopted Xami says to get as close as they can to proper compulsion—he tried going off her flashing eyes but it wasn’t obvious enough. He can do whatever he wants before she says it, and he’s pretty sure she gets a kick out of how often he defies her requests. But once those words come out, it’s not optional anymore.

And that’s how it’ll be for the next two days.

At least, he thinks.

“So what’s on my agenda?” he asks. “Breakfast with the girls or with the humans?”

“Humans today.” Xamika squeezes into her uniform breeches. She catches him admiring her, and wiggles her hips more than is strictly required. “You have to show some face or they’ll think I’ve dragged you off to a torture chamber or something.” Two last little hops to get the stretchy fabric over her butt. Bounce, bounce. Dylan turns away before the urge to tackle her back into the bed gets too pressing.

He rummages through his drawers and finds a Bolt Thrower shirt from their Return to Chaos USA tour. It’s been folded neatly, like the rest of his stuff. How they retrieved it and at what materiel cost, he can’t imagine, but it’s a nice touch.

“Why do none of the other humans have this many skulls on their clothes, anyway?” Xamika asks.

“They lack the true power of Metal, I guess,” Dylan says. He pulls on his pants and feels Xamika’s close attention as she takes her turn to ogle. He smiles inwardly. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this drooled-over. It’s moments like this—the lingering looks, the lingering touches—that tell him he’s not misreading this whole thing, and she’s not forbearing out of disinterest.

He departs his cabin with a Xami says-derived promise to meet his temporary mistress after breakfast in the arboretum, and waves good morning to Viaq, who’s sneaking out of Santi’s quarters again.

“So hold up,” Santi says around his mouthful of eggs (or whatever convincing amalgam they’re being fed). “It’s the sixth date?”

“Sixth day.” Dylan is eating from the Taiikari side of the food hall this morning. A braided twist of filling, flaky pastry with a savory nut butter filling that has an addictive heat to it. It’d be popular with the other humans, he’s sure, if it wasn’t green. “But I guess that’s sorta the same.”

“And she’s moved in,” Santi says, “and she’s still not putting out?”

“Putting out. Gross, man.” Dylan tears off another twist.

“Sorry, manito. Pero que, like, what’s the endgame? You gonna take your alien girlfriend home to mom and dad?”

“What’s yours?”

“Me and Viaq don’t really care about that, man.” Santi shrugs. “Don’t really talk about it.”

“You don’t speak each other’s languages.”

“Exactly. Like… shit is casual. This doesn’t matter too much to us. But I know it matters to you, man.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Cause you asked me, dummy.”

“Good morning, Dylan!” Researcher Jainema is making her early circuit of the dining hall. “Y buenas, Santi!”

“Morning, Head Researcher,” Dylan says.

“Buenas, jefa,” Santi says.

Jainema smiles at the alien pastry on Dylan’s tray. “How are you liking that shivo’i, Mr. Thorogood?”

“Delicious,” he says. “Xam put me onto them.”

Jainema nods amiably. “I just want to remind you, speaking of Xamika, that if you are at all uncomfortable with any part of your relationship with her, and need external help or a new liaison, please do not hesitate to let us know.”

“Thanks, Head Researcher. I will.” Dylan smiles Jainema away, then rolls his eyes when she’s turned. “She says that like every day.”

“Cause with imp dating, it’s the girls fucking the guys up.” Santi solemnly taps his temple. “Like a one eighty.”

That statement, as vaguely wrongheaded as it is, sobers Dylan up some.

“Not that I think Xam’s gonna beat your ass,” Santi says. “But she could. Little muscle girl.”

“You have a unique way of looking at life, Santiago.”

“That’s why you love me.” Santi leans his elbows on the table. “So what’s up? Where’s this going?”

“I—yeah. I’m not sure.” He decides to bring Santi in, though maybe he won’t mention the exact details. “I have kind of a wager with her. If we’re still feeling it after seven days… yeah. I’m taking the deal.”

“No shit?” Santi leans in. “You’re chipping up?”

“Is it crazy? I feel crazy, kinda.”

“No, I mean—I thought about it myself, to be honest,” Santi says. “Only thing that keeps me from it is if you’re bilingual? It topsy-turvies shit, apparently. Pulls bits outta both languages so I’d half know English and half know Spanish. And like the Santi is down with the weird but that was too weird for me. Plus I’d wanna learn Eqtoran if I’m learning an alien language.”

“That’s downright romantic, Santi.”

“But your dumb gringo ass with just the one language up there?” Santiago’s thumbs flip up. “Fuck yeah, man. Get that money. Get that girl, even. Fuck it. She got nice hair. They take good care of their hair, they’ll take good care of you.”

“Is that a saying from Miami?”

“It’s from the book I’m gonna publish,” Santiago says. “Santi’s Nice List.”

“That’s what you’ll do when we’re back on Earth, then? Write books?”

“Might as well, right? Imma be rich as fuck. What do rich people do? Snort coke, fuck models, write books.”

“Sure,” Dylan says, and he’s thinking of something funny to follow up with when the first scream sounds.

It takes him a moment to remember the man’s name. Randall, that’s it. Randall from Sheppey. Jainema’s round of good mornings has been cut short. Judging from the gleaming knife Randall’s holding to her jugular, her neck might be next.

“You’re gonna stop moving if you don’t want to bleed out all over the fucking eggs, doll,” he snarls. He digs the handgun out of Jainema’s holster and shoves it into the side of her head.

“Please, Randall!” Jainema’s big red eyes are huge with panic. “Whatever you require, we can—”

An Eqtoran guard’s big blocky space rifle levels at Randall, who’s insufficiently covered by the tiny terrified alien he’s taken hostage. He hulks a table over, sending cutlery and breakfast flying.

The Eqtoran barks a string of syllables. On the display screen they resolve in several languages, to Release the Head Researcher or be destroyed.

“Kiam,” wails Jainema, which turns into stop. It’s joined by hold your fire, sergeant, please. Let’s give him what he wants.

“What I want is a ship with hyperspeed on it,” Randall announces. “And I’m taking her with me, so you won’t blow me out of the sky.”

“Randall,” Dylan calls. “Let her go, man! We’ve only got a few days left before they land on Earth anyway!”

“Fuck off, Thorogood.” Randall scowls at him. “You’ve gone fucking native, mate.” He addresses the terrified humans scattered around the room. “We have to tell them, guys. We have to warn them. We can’t just sit here eating their food and do nothing when Earth is about to—”

Jainema moves.

Randall pulls the trigger on her gun; it chirps and turns red and does not go off. Her tail lashes around his legs and binds them; his arm snaps suddenly and unnaturally straight. A hellacious BANG and a bright blue muzzle flash, and screams fill the room. Jainema has wrestled her gun back and drilled a bullet into the ceiling. Her pistol snaps round to between Randall’s eyes.

“Stop moving,” she snarls, and her eyes flash uselessly. Randall’s arm contorts further behind his back and he gasps with pain. The air shimmers; suddenly there is a naked Taiikari man holding him in a triangle choke. His eyes roll in shock. The blood choke puts his lights out; he droops, dazed, and the nude Taiikari rolls off him. The Eqtorans swarm him, pulling zipties from their big beetly spacesuits.

“Honored guests.” Jainema turns to the assembled humans. There’s a shallow cut on the side of her neck; her face is streaked with tears. She takes a shaky breath. “We must require you to return to your rooms. I regret that you cannot finish breakfast. We’ll—” A heavy sniff; she’s barely keeping it together. “We’ll come around and take your orders separately, I think. Please pardon the, uh… the…” She’s weeping too hard to keep going. A pair of liaisons rush to her side.

If this were a movie, the hero ought to be on Randall’s side. He ought to warn Earth. But Dylan watches the beautiful little alien woman sob out the terror of the morning and can’t get a handle on the slippery spine of his allegiance.

He gathers his shivo’i. “This shit’s just another day in Miami, manito,” Santi whispers to him, and he needed the snort from that.

Back to his cabin. He sits on the bed and tries to decompress. The depression Xamika made in the memory foam is gone. The console at the foot of the mattress, which is loaded with a few thousand Earth movies and games, now glows a stop-sign red. In white text it says SECURITY LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT. PLEASE REMAIN IN YOUR ROOM.

“Dylan. Hey. Dylan.” Tap tap tap.

Dylan frowns at his cabin door. The please is a formality. He’s locked inside. “Xam?” He stands up. “I can’t let you in.”

“I know, but I can let you out.” The cabin door lock hisses and disengages. The door slides open to reveal Xamika, in her snug sleeveless uniform. “I’m here to take you to the Qena-Qel. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

A scoff escapes him before he can retrieve it. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand?”

“Is that not right?”

“No it is, it’s just… unique.” He gestures to the red glow of his console and the words on it. “We’re locked down. I’m not supposed to leave my room.”

“If anyone tries to stop us, I’ll take the heat,” she says. “I outrank everyone here, technically. And technical is how researchers operate.”

“Are you sure?”

“You told me seven beautiful days and you’d be…” She clears her throat. “You’d join the Empire. And what happened today? Far from beautiful. Being mine means being my responsibility. And what I want to be is responsible for is the best week of your life. I can’t give you a perfect day if we’re just stuck in your cabin.”

He glances to the bed. “I can think of some perfect-day type stuff we could do in this cabin.”

She giggles. “Dylan. Not yet.” He smiles, too, even though he’s still not entirely sure why not. “Bring an overnight bag, okay? We’re not going back to the station tonight. The Qena-Qel is safer anyway. I’ll radio the station once we’re on the shuttle and let them know.”

“Not before?”

“Mmm… better to inform them after the fact, I think. Less paperwork.” She scurries to his desk and retrieves some of her stuff from it. A tablet, a bottle of meds, a box of hair ties. “Anyway It’s been weeks since I’ve abducted you. I missed it.”

She holds her hand out. He waits for the Xami says. It doesn’t come.

“Will you trust me, Dylan?” she asks, instead.

He looks at her beseeching face, and hesitates, but not for long.