Author's note: Please note the rating change - these idiots accidentally stumble into spicy territory, and it's every bit as chaotically embarrassing as you'd expect.

Chapter 22:

Unraveled

[Zim]

"I'm not going to bother asking why you're soaking wet."

She removes the remaining parts from her satchel and lines them up along the table. I ignore her, digging through the cluttered drawers and cabinets as I locate the right tools.

"It might be faster to tell me what you're looking for," she grumbles.

"It'd be faster if you had any organizational skills." I slam the nearest drawer shut and dump the plasma tools on the table. The implant gleams under the light.

"My apologies for not rearranging my home to your liking." She rolls her eyes and grabs one of the torches. "What else is needed?"

"The casing insulators." I unroll the wire mesh Dib stole from the market and begin to clip the edges. After instructing her on the basic design, we fall into a rhythm, working in a silence broken only by the snap of metal and the hiss of plasma - and in that silence, my thoughts grow disobedient, wandering to strange corners. Dib was acting weird, and though the idiot human is always doing something ridiculous, his behavior upstairs was…interesting.

Of course, I expected him to react poorly to the surgical discussion - and I'm sure he was less than pleased about the compromising position I forced him into while testing my theory of control - but there was something else, too. His eyes were glossy, and his face turned bright pink in the same manner as when he foolishly consumed the sedative on the Voot. Was he embarrassed? Frustrated? Was he straining himself to fight the invisible control I seem to possess over his physical form? If that was the case, why didn't he fight harder or yell with his usual dramatics?

Something's different.

"I thought you'd be chattier." Tak's bored tone draws me to the present. I glance up from my work.

"I assumed you'd prefer silence," I mutter.

"I'd prefer you not be here at all." She starts prepping the sensors, keeping her eyes down. "But the silence is boring."

I scoff. "Make conversation, then."

She pauses long enough to glare at me before sighing. "The note you received - what led to it?"

"I don't know." The omission comes easily enough as I smooth the edges of the largest port. "They left it in my base, after they destroyed everything and abducted Dib's sister and my SIR unit."

The bright flare of plasma illuminates her features, accentuating the long scars across her jawline. "What was his sibling doing in your base without you?" she asks.

I can't help but snort at the question. "She does as she pleases." I set the tool down and grab the bundle of cords. "Besides, GIR enjoys her company."

"Well, you must've done something," she mutters. "The Empire has ignored you since your exile - they would not waste resources unless they stood to benefit from it."

Exile. The word hangs in the air, pricking my flesh with sharp little barbs. I discard the thought and focus on the ports.

"What happened to your SIR unit?" I ask.

The shift in her expression is minor, but I catch the hint of pain in her gaze.

"She was disassembled shortly before my PAK removal."

"Oh." I clear my throat. "That is…unfortunate."

"Yes," she mutters. "It was."

There's a beat of silence and she gestures to one of the thin blades on my end of the table. I pass it to her as she redirects the conversation.

"The human said he was infected - mutated. It's likely the hunter is seeking information regarding the change, assuming the Empire has been monitoring your work on Earth."

The hunter? My grip tightens along the torch. "That's a stupid name," I grumble. "Why would he care what I'm doing?"

"That's not his name. I'm not sure if he has one." She shrugs and cuts the insulation into measured strips. "He's a geneticist. From what I've heard, his research is responsible for many of Irk's experiments in organic modification."

I pause, watching as she painstakingly maneuvers each wire into its protective casing. "Why do you know all of this?"

Her hands slow for the briefest of seconds. "You hear a lot of things living in a place like this."

My eyes narrow. "Liar." I set the torch down beside the implant. "You've encountered him before, haven't you?"

She glances up with a scowl. "No."

I tap my claws along the edge of the table. "Don't lie, Tak."

"I'm not," she hisses, shoulders pinching.

"Withholding information counts as lying."

We glare at one another before she growls and looks away.

"I haven't encountered him…but I know someone who did." She grabs the next pair of wires and repeats the process.

I lean in. "And?"

Her antennae twitch. "They're gone now."

The bluntness of her confession is unexpected. I clench my jaw and pretend to make adjustments to the output settings of the torch. "Gone as in…they perished?"

Her curt nod is a second blow. "...No one survives him."

The fear is cold as it streams down my throat. "But…why?" My bones ache. "Why go through the trouble of notes and ransoms if he's simply seeking to kill us?"

"I don't know," she says sharply. "I'm not him. But if he abducted the human's sibling as a lure, he must need you both alive, so this isn't as simple as his usual mercenary work." Her hands move nimble and mindless as her thoughts drift elsewhere. "It's an unfortunate fate, in any regard. Your pathetic mate is the only one with a chance at survival…"

My hands clench around the torch–

"...assuming the hunter requires him to be alive for his research."

"Mate?" I stammer. "He's not my - Irkens don't have mates."

"What? Yes, they do." An incredulous sneer twists her features. "...Did you not know that?" She laughs when I fail to respond. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you haven't figured it out yet. It's not like you had friends or even acquaintances to discuss these things with."

My throat has lost all moisture. "Hand me the vial, Tak."

She does as she's told with an insufferable smirk. I try to ignore her, but the weight of her gaze - the weight of her words - pulls at every fiber. I focus on adhering the protective coating to the vial as the heat flares through my organs.

"You're not good at pretending, Zim," she taunts. "I know you have questions. Maybe I'll answer them for you."

A tight breath presses from my lungs. "...This was not discussed in our training."

She laughs again. "No, it wasn't relevant to the training. Besides, they don't necessarily want to encourage such behavior, but most Invaders figure it out during their conquests."

I pause my work and dare to glance at her. "Have you…?"

Her expression twists, as if I've insulted her. "It's not something that interests me."

"But…we do not reproduce," I mutter. "Is that not the driving force behind…physical relations?"

She shrugs. "For some species, perhaps. But while our systems are sterile, the organs were not deleted."

Discomfort twists and tugs my insides until they feel like knotted ropes. "What's the point, then?"

"They're purely transactional." She twists the wires into place. "A currency of power, like everything else."

Power. Is that what this is - this horrid pull in my chest?

"And it doesn't…mean anything?"

She pauses and arches a brow. "Mean anything? What could it possibly mean?"

I frown at the question - I don't have an answer.

"In any event," she continues in my silence, "you've chosen a strange slave to mate with."

"He's not a slave," I mutter. "Or a mate."

Her gaze shifts. "Then what is he?"

My brain fails to provide a response that makes sense, and the resulting words lack conviction. "He is…useful."

Yes, that's it. Useful.

Even though he causes far too much trouble…and doesn't listen…and breaks things frequently…and never stops talking, despite my skull threatening to burst from the stupidity of his mindless jabber…he's sometimes useful. That's enough to justify his company…right?

"This is a stupid discussion." My antennae twitch and I shake the hesitancy from my head. "I'm not pathetic enough to be interested in such a thing. The notion would be ridiculous - even to him."

"Well, his thoughts on the matter would be irrelevant. Irkens do as they please, after all."

…Irrelevant?

She switches out the blades while I fight to conceal my reaction.

"You said it was transactional," I respond tentatively. "...Does that not imply an agreement from both parties?"

"Our current situation is transactional," she growls. "Was my agreement to assist you based on my willingness?" Her scowl deepens when I don't answer. "It wasn't. But here we are."

My circuits burn with nauseating heat. "But this isn't…this isn't that ," I argue. "This is–"

"It's all the same, Zim. You got what you wanted because you had more power. That's the only law in this universe, and if you understood that, you may have succeeded in receiving an actual mission rather than the farce you're living out." She grabs the next set of insulation and scoffs. "You've already taken his useless planet anyway, so the desires of his simple brain clearly don't matter."

I struggle to focus on the task at hand. Her words spin, disrupting my processors, jumbling my thoughts. She notices my hesitation and leans in, prodding at the growing swarm.

"You have taken his planet, haven't you?"

I clench my jaw and grab the torch, even though I have no need for it, and her laughter pierces my resolve.

"You haven't," she jeers. "I thought you had at least accomplished that much since we last met–"

"I lost interest," I snap. "The inhabitants are mindless fools - there's no point in ruling over them–"

"So, what," she grins, "you simply live there now? With the human who is neither your slave nor your poorly chosen mate?"

I grit my teeth as she continues her instigative behavior.

"All that time spent on that wretched dirt ball, and you've conquered nothing - not even your pet." The thing in my chest pulls tight. "How does it feel to be a disgrace to your species, Zim?"

Acid rips up my throat, and I let it pour over my tongue. "...Remind me, would you?" I meet her gaze. "Which one of us still has their PAK?"

Her eyes brim with vicious heat - but then, it fades, replaced by an unsettlingly soft smile.

"I suppose it's rather foolish of me to waste time arguing with someone who won't be alive for much longer." She sets down the finished sensory network and pushes away from the table, holding the callous grin. "Wake me when he's ready for insertion."

She leaves the room, and as the lab door slides shut, her absence strikes the match. My thoughts come apart in tatters. The noise moves in, quiet until it's not quiet, a litany of whispers that quickly burst to screams. I push away from the table to avoid breaking something out of rage - or is this confusion? Fear? Pain? Humiliation?

I don't know, but I can't risk having another one of these… episodes down here. My PAK controls have yet to be fully restored - I'd be defenseless. Nothing is familiar, and if she returns, there's no telling what she might do while I'm trapped in a vulnerable state.

I move toward the door, vision blurring, wires overheating; getting louder, hotter, sharper. As the noise descends, I have no choice but to go to him.

.

.

.

[Dib]

The static wakes me up before he even enters the room. It's a wave - a swarm - violent and angry, confused and hurt. A thousand needles embedding themselves in my flesh.

I sit up in bed and pull the blankets with me. The handle twists and creaks as the door slowly opens, and the dim amber glow of the hallway encases his silhouette.

He stops in the doorway, red eyes blinking like he's surprised to find me awake. I try to focus on his face while the storm whips around his frame. Any anger I feel towards his blatant disregard for privacy is no match for the hellscape seeping from his every pore. It's so loud - so sharp .

"Hey…" I swallow and clear the sleep from my throat. "You, uh…doing okay?"

The words dissolve beneath the torrent of black. My heart skips. His nod is barely visible, but his voice comes out flat and unbothered; completely detached from the maelstrom of chaos.

"There is not an additional room," he murmurs, lingering awkwardly in the doorway. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

I blink. "Are you…asking if you can stay in here?"

The static shifts. He nods. "The floor is fine."

My brows furrow. "Um…sure."

It shifts again, and his antennae lower slightly. "You can refuse, you know."

"No, that's not what I…" The needles prick my arms as prop myself higher up on my elbows. "Are you okay, Zim?"

"Yes." The static warps and twists, hissing 'no no no' repeatedly–

"So, can I?" he asks, a tinge of urgency marking his tone.

In truth, I don't want any of what's going on to get a single inch closer to me, but he looks…bad.

"Yeah," I relent. "The floor's fine."

He closes the door behind him without a word. He doesn't ask for a blanket or a pillow - he doesn't even look at me as he lays on his side, facing the opposite wall, his body stiff against the hard floor. I stare at the soft glow of his PAK, waiting for him to say something. But as the noise rages around him, he lies there in silence, ignoring my presence completely.

With a heavy sigh, I shuffle around for an extra pillow and peel one of the sheets from the bed, tossing both over the side.

"Here, you weirdo," I mutter. The static spills in all directions, crawling up the mattress and nipping at my skin like a swarm of fire ants. He twists around to glare at me.

"I didn't ask for these–"

"No, but you can have them anyway." I roll onto my back and tug the covers up to my neck. "Just…stay down there."

"I never suggested otherwise," he grumbles.

I listen to him rearrange the pillow and blanket multiple times, clearly unable to find any comfort on the hard surface. His thoughts continue their violent antics, but they're too frenzied for me to pick any discernible images or words from the fray. I close my eyes, wincing at the loud buzz reverberating in my bones. Discomfort squeezes every fiber of my being. I lay there and fight to endure it, to ignore it, to block it out - but it comes in unrelenting waves.

"...Did something happen?" I ask cautiously.

"No." His response is too quick, too thin. I frown.

"...Are you sure? Because you–"

"Tak is obnoxious," he hisses. "Working with her has been unpleasant."

Can't imagine what that's like, I think bitterly, rolling my eyes.

"Sure," I mutter, "but you seem pretty upset."

He hesitates. "...Zim is fine."

Somehow, his stubbornness is worse than the constant sting of his emotional turmoil. I groan and rub the spot between my brows.

"Okay, since you obviously don't want to talk about it, could you at least freak out a little quieter or something?" I shift under the covers as another wave scrapes my body.

"Zim is not 'freaking out,'" he growls - and the static gets worse.

"Right," I scoff. "I just feel like I'm being eaten alive by a bunch of angry ants for no reason."

He's quiet for a moment. The weight changes, growing heavy; clouds on the brink of a downpour. My body tenses beneath it, beneath the torrent of static, the emotions I can feel but can't understand, and the swarm grows. He's tipping over the chasm. The noise is almost as loud as it was back at his base, with all its violent darkness and heat. A sense of urgency bleeds into my own thoughts, staining them red and black.

When he answers, he sounds small and far away. "...I would like to not be alone right now."

The admission startles me. I sit up and glance over the bed, but he keeps his back to me, lying still as a board.

A strange pang of guilt shoots through my chest. I grab one of the blankets and throw it over his head.

He flinches, snarling. "What're you–"

"I'm getting my clothes. Stay there."

His snotty retort is muffled by the fabric, but he complies and doesn't attempt to remove it. I climb off the bed and pad toward the bathroom. The tile is cold beneath my feet, skin bristling in the night air. My passing reflection in the mirror above the sink startles me - not because of what's there, but because of what isn't. There are no cuts, no bites, no scratches. No matter how real the static feels, no matter the pain it brings, it leaves no trace. Even as my skin itches and burns, there are no signs of its presence.

I stare at my hands, flexing them against the lingering ache, waiting to see blood, or a bruise, or even a small indentation. It feels like I should be bleeding, like my flesh should be nothing but ribbons hanging from my bones by mere threads of sinew and muscle.

But I'm not bleeding. I'm fine.

What a shitty power .

Of all the people to form a telepathic connection with, it had to be Zim - the most emotionally dysfunctional and unstable person I know.

I shake my head and focus on retrieving my clothes. As expected, they're still pretty damp - but at least they're clean now. It's a pain in the ass trying to wrangle the fabric over my body, and finally managing to get dressed brings little relief, because now I'm colder.

"Are you done yet?" he grumbles as I cross the room. "This is annoying."

"You know, you're being awfully rude to the person who's nice enough to let you stay in here."

He claws the blanket from his head and glares over his shoulder. " Thank you for making yourself decent, Dib."

I roll my eyes and sit on the edge of the bed. "Are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or can I expect this shitty attitude for the rest of the night?"

"Attitude?" he snaps. "Zim has no attitude."

"Of course you don't," I grumble. "This is all incredibly stable and measured behavior."

His scowl deepens, lip curling over gleaming teeth. "Go to sleep."

Oh, I'd fucking love to.

"So, you don't want to be alone, and Tak got on your nerves." I prop my elbow on my knee. "Anything else?"

His eyes narrow and he turns away, tugging the blanket over his face. The static continues to swell and roll around the room. I take a deep breath and refrain from swatting at my ears as the droning buzz crawls up the sides of my neck.

"Fine. Scoot over."

His antennae stiffen as I haphazardly throw all the blankets and pillows on the floor and flop down beside him.

"What are you–"

"Your stupid bug emotions are literally the worst, Zim," I grumble. "If you want to stay in here, you better start talking, because there's no fucking way I'm putting up with this for the rest of the night. " I wave my hand at the air around us and watch the static scatter and regroup. His gaze follows the movement, sharpening in disdain.

"There's nothing there," he growls. "Don't blame me for your dysfunctional human imaginings, stink-worm."

"I know you know I'm not lying." I pass him a threatening glance. "You can tell me what's wrong, or I'll find out for myself."

Spikes jut up from the swarm, rattling in tune with the low hiss in his throat. "I despise you, you know."

"Yeah, that's been established." I fold my arms behind my head and stare up at the skylight. "What did Tak do to piss you off this much?"

His antennae flatten along his skull. He reluctantly rolls onto his back and crosses his arms. "She's just…generally unpleasant. And disorganized. Trying to find anything in her sorry excuse for a lab was a chore on its own."

I offer a performative nod. Despite the superficial nature of his complaints, the static is shifting slightly.

"She wouldn't shut up, either. She was almost as bad as you."

"Sure," I hum. "Did she mention how she lost her PAK?"

"No. She was asking me stupid questions about Earth," he grumbles. "And she assumed we were mates , which was a rather disgusting implication. If I didn't require her assistance, I would have elimin–"

"Wait, wait, wait." I roll onto my side, incredulous. "She what?"

"I'm not repeating it, Dib," he growls. "Maybe you should listen better–"

"She thought we were mates? Why the fuck would she think that?"

"I don't know!" He raises his arms, exasperated. "She's a horrid creature!"

"Do Irkens even have mates? I thought you guys were like, asexual clones or some shit."

He glares at me. "We are not clones, Dib."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, but you don't reproduce. And I'm pretty sure you told me you guys are made in pods or something, before you have the PAKs attached to your spines."

He squints. "I do not recall providing that information to you."

"You talk a lot during our fights," I shrug. "It's also possible I stole it. Who knows, really."

"Of course," he groans. "We still have the organs, but no, we do not naturally reproduce. It must have stopped ages ago."

My brain skids to a halt. "The…organs?"

"Reproductive organs, yes. I'm not sure what the point is since we're sterile, but the whole thing is ridiculous, anyway." He waves me off and continues rambling about Tak and how he should have successfully eliminated her the first time they met. I don't bother pointing out that he can't even remember encountering her on Earth, because my mental energy is still locked on the whole 'organs' thing. It shouldn't be weird to find out Irkens can reproduce - that's essential to the survival of every lifeform in the galaxy, after all. But he's implying that they still mate without the intent or even the capability of reproducing, which means they do it for other reasons, and that is weird.

"...when you're not listening, Dib."

I blink. "What?"

He's sitting up, scowling at me. "I said I can tell when you've stopped listening to me." He gestures to my face. "You get all stupid looking. It's very obvious."

"Sorry." I clear my throat and shuffle onto my back. "It's just…late."

He scoffs. "You asked me to talk to you, and then you don't even listen."

"Sorry," I repeat. "I'm listening now."

"How convincing," he mutters.

"If she thought we were mates, why did she keep calling me your slave or whatever?"

His expression tightens with a grimace. "The terms are…interchangeable."

"Oh." I purse my lips. "That's…kinda fucked up."

"The relationship is transactional," he says flippantly. "It means nothing."

"How romantic," I snort. "Your species is really something, Zim."

"It can't be that different from humans," he grumbles. "The filthy pigs in school are always slobbering over one another, and they don't have contracts of mateship."

I laugh. "No, they're just horny teenagers. It doesn't really mean anything…" He raises his brows with a pointed stare and I frown. "...Okay, but that's not the same as what you're describing. You guys are still fucked up."

He scoffs. "How is that any different from what I just said?"

"Because the dumb teenagers are consenting. You know…ideally. Experimenting with that shit's part of puberty. They're doing it because it feels good - they're not enslaving each other."

"But pleasure is being exchanged, so that makes it transactional."

"But they're not slaves, Zim. It's…" I groan and rub my eyes. "Why are we talking about this?"

"Because you asked?"

"I was just trying to figure out what made you so upset," I retort. "And I highly doubt Tak insinuating we were mates was enough to put you in such a shitty mood."

"What if it was?" he hisses. "The suggestion was insulting–"

"You're seriously telling me that's what's bothering you? Do you think I'm stupid?"

He scowls. "Yes, I do. I have said as much many times now–"

"Look Zim, it's fine if you don't want to tell me what's going on, but you don't have to lie about it. If you're so worried about how she classifies our relationship, sleeping in here with me isn't going to help your case." I fold my arms over my chest. "And neither is that weird stunt you pulled on the bed earlier."

He tilts his head in confusion. "Stunt?" he asks, frowning. "What stunt?"

"You know," I avert my gaze to the skylight, "when you got on top of me. That was weird."

He's quiet for way too long. The static starts moving around him again, but it looks different.

Fuck, I should not have said that.

"Nevermind," I mutter, clenching my jaw. "Sorry Tak insulted you or whatever. You shouldn't have to deal with her much longer–"

"What was weird about it?" he presses. "You were trying to hit me - what was I supposed to do?"

My stomach twists up into my chest. "I wasn't trying to hit you, I was trying to grab that stupid heart thing you made–"

"Which I explicitly told you not to do," he snaps. "I told you it was delicate machinery, and you didn't listen. How else was I supposed to react?"

"Fine," I groan. "But you didn't have to keep sitting on me after. That was the weird part."

He looks offended. "I was explaining the surgery to you, you idiot monkey. What are you implying?"

All the words build up in my throat, heating my skull until my skin burns. "Nothing," I respond, turning away. "Nevermind."

A strained silence fills the air. I can feel the weight of his gaze boring into me. Why did I bring it up? What the fuck is wrong with me?

"...You've done weirder things," he mutters. The heat gets worse, lacing my intestines with sticky nausea.

"I'm done talking about this, Zim," I bite. "I'm going to sleep."

He's quiet for a moment. I clench my eyes shut and concentrate on forcing my brain to turn the fuck off, but the gradual swell of static begins to stab my body.

"Zim," I grit, "stop doing that."

"If it bothered you so much, why didn't you push me off?"

The muscles in my jaw pull taut. There's an edge to his voice - a sneering tone that dares me to argue, but I can't. And he knows it.

I can't tell him I wasn't capable of moving - if I say that, he'll know for sure he has some sort of…control over me. But the alternative would be to lie and say I didn't want to push him off, which would be an equally humiliating admission of defeat.

Nope. I'm not doing this.

I push the air from my lungs and get up, taking the bedding with me.

"What're you doing?" he asks, annoyed.

"I told you, I'm going to sleep."

You'd think after all these years, I'd know better than to turn my back to him. In less than a second, he's on his feet and shoving me to the mattress. I hardly have time to process what's happening before I'm on my back, reeling with a horribly cruel case of déjà vu as he pins me down with a blistering scowl.

"What the fuck, Zim?" I snap.

"Why does this bother you so much?" His eyes are red crescents, narrowed and perplexed. "You do weird things all the time, and I don't throw fits about it."

"Really? Weirder than this?" I grab the sheets to stop myself from punching him. "Because this is pretty fucking weird, Zim–"

"Yes, weirder than this!"

"Like what? Enlighten me - what could I possibly have done to you that's weirder than what you're doing right now?"

He sneers. "The sleep talking, for one–"

"You can't count the things I do when I'm not conscious," I argue. "That's not fair."

" You may not be conscious for them, but I am - so yes, they count."

I roll my eyes and ignore the warm flush creeping up my body. "Is that all you've got? Sleep talking?"

A competitive gleam fills his eyes. God, I fucking hate this–

"When you were stupid enough to consume an entire tab of sedatives," he snips. "You were falling all over yourself. Making weird noises. Grabbing me–"

"Okay, that counts even less," I retort, voice straining under the heat. I didn't grab him…did I? "I was literally on drugs, Zim–"

"You even complimented me," he sneers. "And then you drooled in my lap for the next two days. It was quite pathetic."

Oh, how I wish 'spontaneous combustion' was part of my new skill set. My face burns.

"Whatever I did under the influence of alien drugs doesn't count - and I'm sure you're lying, anyway."

His antennae jut upwards, and he scowls. "Zim is not lying - you did those things! They were weird and gross, but I didn't throw any tantrums, now did I?"

Why am I just lying here? Shouldn't I punch him or something? Throw him over the edge? What the fuck is wrong with me–

"Do you have any examples other than me sleeping or tripping out?"

"Yes." His eyes narrow. "When you bite me."

I can't stop myself from laughing. Somehow, out of everything, this one worries me the least.

"W-well no shit, Zim," I sneer. "We can all agree that drinking your blood is fucking weird–"

"Not the blood." He crosses his arms and gives me a pointed look. "I'm referring to what the rest of your stupid monkey body does while you feed."

My heart skips one too many beats, and I pause. "...What?"

"You slobber all over me," he continues, expression contorted in confusion and disgust, "and you do this thing with your pelvis the whole time–"

He rocks his hips against mine and everything inside of me freezes. The color drains from my face, heart thundering, blood rushing past my ears as the horror washes through me like ice.

No, no, absolutely not–

"What's the point of that, anyway?" he scoffs, oblivious as I suffer a violent aneurysm of sheer embarrassment. "You didn't behave in the same manner when you consumed the disgusting security man."

This isn't happening - this cannot be happening–

My muscles are tense; glass ready to shatter.

"I-I don't do that." My voice cracks. Fuckfuckfuck. "There's no way I–"

"Stop accusing Zim of lying," he hisses, slamming his hands on either side of my shoulders. "Just because your giant head is incapable of absorbing facts does not mean they are not still facts!"

I'm fucked - oh god, I'm so fucked. Why did I start this? Why did I let him in, why haven't I pushed him off of me, why can't I say something–

"What?" he asks, arching his brow. He holds his body over mine and all I can do is lie there and stare up at his face, his eyes shiny and strange and wide with blissful ignorance. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

My heart is bursting from my ribs. The words pile up in my throat. Gunk. Useless, burning tar.

He groans and rolls his eyes. "Once again, you are being dramatic about the thing you did to me." He leans back, and as his weight shifts, his body makes contact with mine in a very unfortunate spot, and two awful, horrible things happen at once: my hips jerk at the sudden friction, and, even worse (because why the fuck not), a low, airy groan gets caught in my throat.

It's not loud, and it's not egregious, but it is weird, and he does hear it.

"What…" His eyes flit between my face and my hips as he trails off. Dozens of emotions glitch across his expression, and I don't know what any of them mean.

My skin flushes pink with heat and my heart flops around in my chest like a stupid fish. I look away, probably too fast, but it doesn't matter anyway, because my body has a mind of its own, and it has decided that right now is a great time to send blood to a certain place, and he's still on top of me, and his thighs are cinching my waist with just enough pressure to remind me of the position we're in.

"G-get off of me," I stammer.

The little shit doesn't move a muscle. "Why did you make that sound?"

"Get off–"

"Tell me or I'll do it again," he threatens. My skull feels like it's about to pop.

"Zim, I mean it–"

" Tell me."

The command rips the words from my chest one agonizing syllable at a time. "B-because," I croak.

No no no NO NO NO–

"...i-it…felt–"

Stop it, stop it, DON'T–

"...good."

Tension warps the room. My throat burns, sore from the words I didn't choose to say, the words that were dragged from my chest and thrown into the open before I could even realize them for myself, before I could think of what they were, of what they meant, and he's staring at me with an expression I can't read because the static is gone.

My heart sinks low in my gut. I want to scream. He can control me - and he knows it now, too.

"Let me up," I say weakly. My pulse stammers, hot and thick, sweat layering my brow. "I-I'm serious, Zim. This shit isn't funny."

A strange purple hue spreads across his face as his eyes grow dark. Something in the air shifts. "But it felt good," he says, distant.

My eyes widen, muscles tensing under his weight. "I-I didn't mean to say that."

He stares at me. The purple tone deepens, and he looks…different, somehow. The static is nowhere to be found, but something changes in him anyway. Is it his temperature? His smell? Is he…?

"Wait," I start, "are you saying…it felt good…to you?"

Confusion swims through his gaze, and he offers the briefest nod.

I swallow. "Oh."

After a beat of tense silence, he frowns and removes his hands from the blankets. I watch anxiously as he pulls off his gloves and examines his palms. The same purple flush coats his skin, spreading to the tips of his fingers. My senses prickle at the rush of a sweet aroma. It is his smell - it's changing.

"What's that?" I ask cautiously.

"I don't know," he mutters, flexing his claws deliberately, as if he's expecting them to snap off. "I feel…weird." His eyes narrow. "Did you poison me?"

A panicked, exhausted laugh shakes my lungs. "No, I didn't - hah - I didn't poison you, you idiot."

He shoots me a glare, expression pinching. "Why are you laughing?"

"I-it's called blushing, Zim."

His brow furrows. "So it's the same as when you get all red and stupid looking?"

Heat paints my cheeks. "Yeah, sure," I snort. "Except now you're stupid looking, too."

He doesn't seem to find it as funny as I do. His gaze switches from my face to the dark hue of his palms. Something moves in the air around him, but it doesn't look like the static. It's softer, like smoke. It mixes with the sweet smell and plucks my thoughts like strings, humming in my bones, pulling me in.

Oh shit. He's…into this.

The realization should bring some manner of relief, but it only serves to spike my heart rate into dangerous territory. He's into this, which means I can't ignore it, and he's never going to let me live it down. It means…it means I might actually have to think about it now. About all of it.

"So, um…" I shift uncomfortably beneath him. "Are you gonna let me up now or what?"

He lowers his hands and focuses back on me, and the attention roots me to the bed. His eyes are so much darker, but…shinier, somehow? Almost…hypnotic. The stiffness slowly leaves my body as the thick scent of his pheromones clouds my vision.

"Is that what you want?" he asks. The tone is strange, like feathers. I can't seem to latch onto the words. They vanish - vapor between my fingers - and all I can do is slightly shake my head as a quiet 'no' leaves my lips. He blinks, and an air of surprise and eagerness surrounds him.

"Hypothetically," he starts slowly, "if I was…interested in this…what would happen next?"

I clench my jaw so hard, my gums ache. "Hypothetically?" I echo.

"Yes," he murmurs, "that's what I said."

"Um…you'd do that thing again." I swallow hard, averting my gaze. "With your hips."

Despite spelling it out for him, I'm not prepared for him to actually do it. He rocks into my lap, leaning forward to grab my wrists and pin them on either side of my head as I suck in a panicked, fevered breath.

Fuck-

"T-This doesn't f-feel very - mmhn - hypothetical, Zim–"

He ignores me and does it a second time, and a rush of adrenaline spills through my veins.

"Like that?" he asks cautiously.

Fuuuuck –

"Y-yeah," I answer, breathless as I sink into his touch. "Yeah, l-like that."

His antennae flick against my hair. I try to move my arms just to feel him squeeze my wrists harder, and my stomach burns with need.

Okay, okay - this is happening–

He gets bolder with the motion, grinding against me and drawing a strained moan from the back of my throat. His breath hitches at the sound and he responds with another brutal roll of his hips. The damp, rough fabric of my jeans is starting to feel way too tight. I bite my lip and suck in a breath between my teeth.

"What…happens after this part?" His voice is weak, broken by his shallow panting. My head reels at the sound.

"I-I don't know," I groan, arching slightly into his next thrust. "N-never…done this before."

His eyes are heavy and lidded, like he's struggling to stay awake as his body moves faster. My heart leaps into my throat as he leans further in - but his mouth doesn't touch my lips. Instead, he nudges my head to the side and sinks his teeth into my neck.

A terrifying mixture of pain and pleasure shoots through every nerve in my body. I flinch, cursing under my breath, hips jutting up to meet him in primal desperation.

"Fuck," I gasp. "W-what're you doing?"

"I don't know," he mumbles, slow and dazed.

The sound of his voice and the following bite sends me over the edge. Whatever trepidation I carried is gone now, melted to a puddle beneath the weight of his body on mine, the rhythmic wave of his hips, the sharp edges of his teeth breaking skin as his tongue curls to lap away the beads of blood.

"Shit," I hiss. "That - that f-feels good."

He merely hums in response, squeezing my wrists.

"Is this - ah - is this why y-you kept pushing me to - nnmm - drink your-your blood?"

I think I feel him nod, but I'm too distracted by the following thrust to chase him on the matter. My bones are gelatin, my veins are full of clouds. Every breath I release only serves to push me further into the strange weightlessness of lust. And his scent - god, it's intoxicating.

I pant and weakly squirm beneath the tide, matching the pace of his hips, eager for more, even as my jeans become tighter and rub too hard on the sensitive skin. His mouth continues to maul my neck; sharp teeth and a soft, cold tongue to soothe the marks he leaves behind. Nipping, sucking, biting, licking - it fills my head with a ringing heat.

I moan as he rocks into me. One of his hands abandons my wrist and slides to my abdomen, slipping under my shirt to graze the tense muscles before moving further down–

"W-wait." God, I feel drunk. "Wait, Zim - s-stop for a second."

He groans as I struggle to dislodge him from my neck. I lift my knee between us to hold him back, pushing his hand away from my waistband. He looks as drunk as I feel.

"Y-you gotta slow down," I pant.

He blinks, eyes heavy and glazed, his breath ragged and shallow. Desperate - hungry. The sight of him makes my stomach twist into fevered knots.

"W-Why?" His mouth struggles to form the words, slurring with heat.

"I've never…done this before," I murmur. "Not even with…you know, another human. I-I don't know how it, um…how it works."

He clenches his eyes shut for a moment, trying to ground himself. When they open again, they're slightly clearer.

"How…it works?" he repeats, dazed.

"Yeah." I swallow. "Are you… Are we, uh…compatible?"

He stares blankly, obviously too far gone to think with the smart side of his bug brain. I clear my throat.

"I don't know what you…have." I nod toward the spot between his legs. It's grown increasingly damp - is that from my wet clothes, or something…else?

"We all have the same organs," he mumbles, trying to shake off the stupor and failing miserably.

"Oh." Interesting. "Okay…but…how do they work?"

One look at his face is all I need to know he has absolutely zero clue.

"Shit," I whisper. The haze is slowly receding. "...You don't know, do you?"

He grimaces, torn between embarrassment and anger. "I can figure it out."

I shift my knee to push him farther back. "I'm not a fucking science experiment, Zim."

He glares at me, my interruption no doubt clearing the heat from his system. I glare back.

"I'm serious. That's something I need to know before we do anything else."

Frustration swims in the haze. "Why?"

"Why?" I repeat, numb. "B-because neither of us have done this? And…and maybe we shouldn't be doing this in the first place?"

The notion draws his expression to a pinch. "...Why not?"

His stare is unshakable, but I don't have an answer that makes sense. I only know his pheromones - or whatever this is - have seriously distorted both of our judgments. Neither one of us is thinking clearly. How did this even start? What are we doing?

The panic pushes through the remaining swirl of adrenaline. "W-we should think about this first," I stammer.

He tilts his head, alarmingly focused. "I don't want to think about it."

"Okay," I scoff, "okay, well - I do. So can you let me up now?"

He doesn't move a muscle. All the horrible thoughts and emotions that existed before the dizzying clouds settled in are now tumbling back down my skull in their absence. I can feel the sting of his bites on my neck and the cold, wet trace of his mouth. His tongue.

Fuck, what did we do?

"Let me up," I say again, faster. His antennae flick at the fear blooming from my body, and his expression changes to something heavier. Something worried.

He shakes his head and climbs off of me without a word. The air rushes back into my lungs and I quickly sit up, panting hard, fingers grazing the welts he left behind. I draw my knees to my chest while he quietly watches me struggle to fight something senseless and invisible.

"You - you should go." I can't look at him. My pulse hammers in my throat. "We'll…talk about this later."

He hesitates. "...When?"

"I don't know." My fingers pull away bloody. "Just…later."

The static returns, low and strained. I clench my jaw and wait for him to finally nod and step away from the bed. He leaves the room, taking the humming cloud with him, and I'm left sitting alone in the dark.

.

.

.

[Zim]

I hold my breath until I get to the lab - to the hangar, to the Voot. As the ramp lifts and closes me inside, I feel myself unravel in heaps of emotions I don't remember ever feeling before. My claws dig into my palms. The taste of his blood remains thick on my tongue, salty, strange. The noise hasn't left, but it's…different now. Full.

I grit my teeth, leaning against the control board, cursing him under my breath. My body doesn't feel like it belongs to me. My skin is too hot, too sticky, too constricting. The pressure is unrelenting, and the heat is even worse. I tilt my head back and draw in slow, deep pulls of air, trying to force my vitals to stabilize.

None of this should be happening. Stupid Dib, with his stupid face and his stupid, shiny eyes and…and–

And his smell, and his soft skin, and all the little noises he made while he squirmed–

"Shut up," I hiss, grabbing my antennae. "Shut up."

But my thoughts are no longer my own. They drift, wandering feverishly, filling my mind with images of him and his sounds and his taste and the way his body moved beneath mine–

Something shifts inside of me. I clench my thighs, muscles snapping tight, the air catching in my throat as the pressure reaches an impossible high. My knees give in to the weight. I stumble, sliding to the floor, hands frantically grabbing at the hem of my leggings. My body is on fire, and yet, no warnings sound from my PAK. It's almost as if whatever I'm feeling has bypassed the computer entirely, leaving me at the mercy of my organic matter, of this pressure, this thing pulling at my organs.

Trembling with the heat, I tug the fabric from my hips and groan as the cool air hits wet flesh. My thighs are coated in a layer of thin, sticky fluid. My pulse hammers, thoughts fraying like wires, circuits overloaded with an ache I could not possibly describe.

What's happening to me? What is this?

The panic swells. Everything feels too sticky. I pull off my boots and peel the leggings down to my ankles, kicking them away in a frenzied thrash. All the while, the memory plays on a loop, lighting up my neurons with blinding heat. I hear his noises over and over and over, stoking the flames beneath my flesh, building the pressure. My chest hurts. My abdomen hurts. Everything hurts .

I don't know what else to do but heed to the noise that begs for me to touch touch touch. I reach between my legs, tentative claws brushing wet skin, and my system ignites with searing, horrid, delicious pleasure. A pathetic sound rips up my chest as something inside of me drops into my palm, finally relieving my gut of the unbearable squeezing sensation. Startled, I lean forward and gape at an organ I've never seen before. It writhes uncontrollably, slick and pink, dripping with an iridescent fluid that gleams in the low light of the monitors. The base is layered with strange, fleshy purple barbs that turn to smaller ridges before vanishing completely towards the tapered end. They appear to be the source of the liquid, dripping slowly from each pointed tip.

I try to pull my hand away, but it latches on, curling around the sharp ridges of my knuckles and sending waves of electricity through my core. I groan, tensing on the floor, arching my hips into the strange flood of sensations and losing myself in the surge of heat.

Whatever this is, I can't stop it. My body moves beyond me, without me; the fire is greedy, commanding my hands to grip the writhing appendage as I thrust erratically like an animal on the floor, swallowing sounds I never knew I could make. The bones in my chest rattle with a barrage of deep clicking noises. I can't stop seeing his face, stupid and startled and splotchy with arousal, his eyes wide and red and hazy as he pants and whines. And he was warm - so warm, I wanted to sink into his flesh, let his foreign heat melt through my bones–

But then, I hear everything else that came after, and the force of it scatters my resolve.

'Wait, Zim - stop.'

'Maybe we shouldn't be doing this in the first place.'

'You should go.'

I clench my fists around the organ until the pain breaks through the feral haze. A strained breath escapes me. Trembling, I pull away from the appendage and sit up against the wall, glaring as it weakly squirms, searching for contact, for pressure.

I press my thighs together and groan. How can something feel so good and yet so horrible? And why did he stop? Because I didn't have answers? Because I couldn't calm his baseless, nonsensical fears? That's stupid. That's…

'I'm not a fucking science experiment.'

I grimace at the echo of his words. He was…scared. Was he afraid of me, or his own body's reaction? I don't know if I did anything wrong, but he acted like it, even though the whole ordeal was unintentional from the start. Am I supposed to apologize? For what?

My vitals hammer erratically inside my bones. I grind my teeth together, clenching my thighs to appease the thing trapped between them. Whatever Dib's stupid human brain expects from me, I can't do anything about it until I figure out how to make this stop. And if I want even the slightest chance at another…encounter with him, I should try to get some answers as well.

With a resigned sigh, I reach up and grab the edge of the control panel, awkwardly pulling myself to my feet. My body aches - the heat sears the corners of my vision like a beast waiting for the right moment to strike. The ridiculous appendage is dripping everywhere, as if to spite me for removing my hands .

Irk, this is awful.

I settle in the chair and quickly disconnect the Voot from Tak's systems. I don't need her having any access to what I'm about to research - I'd never hear the end of it, and then I'd have no choice but to eliminate her smug, wretched life.

As expected, there are no documents available for Irken reproduction methods, let alone anatomical references for said organs. Nothing for me to study, nothing that I could use to quell his concerns. Just…nothing.

Ridiculous creatures. Are we all forced to stumble into this blindly? How ineffective.

Shaking off the bitterness, I pull up the offline access to Earth's most common databases. Maybe I can't find any information on my own body, but I could learn about his. That would help…right?

My claws hover over the keys. What am I supposed to type?

I decide to start with the obvious medical documents, but they're weird and boring, and none of them match whatever we were doing on the bed. My body still aches for something else, and the squirming thing has not stopped pestering me for attention and friction. Luckily for it - and unfortunately for the rest of my brain - it doesn't take long for the humans' filthy activities to pop up in related searches. All my years on Earth, I never thought I'd willingly click on any of these - and yet, here I am, selecting videos at random, opening multiple sites as the firewall kicks into overdrive, swatting away the pesky viruses while the monitors are filled with layers and layers of humans being disgusting creatures.

I hate all of it, but I force myself to watch a few seconds of each before the discomfort becomes too much to handle.

This is gross. Humans are gross.

But then I hear the echo of that sound he made when I pinned him down, and all the sounds he made after. I see the red staining his face, the foreign heat glazing over his eyes.

I want that.

I need that.

I keep trying different searches and filters, struggling to comprehend the nonsensical labels and sexual phrasings. Some of it's boring - some of it looks painful, too, but not in a particularly exciting manner. They act like animals, shameless and debased and messy. Everything is strange and wet and performative. Their noises seem exaggerated - fake. Not like the ones he made, airy and startled and raw, like he couldn't control it; like he was losing himself.

Another wave of arousal crashes down on my system. I shake my head, mute the audio, and try to focus on the repulsive acts playing out across the screens. I don't like the females. Or the males. But…I like him… I think? I must, if my body has chosen to react in this manner - if something as simple as a moan was enough to bring me to this point. Or I've fallen prey to some sinister infection and these are all the symptoms of worms eating my brain.

That seems preferable.

I keep glancing at the ramp I know I've locked. The heat rises in my chest. I grimace, squirming in my seat against the thing that has been tormenting me since he made that first sound. It doesn't look like the weird human appendage - but the shape is somewhat similar.

My face pinches in disgust. Why is all of this so…awful? And what on Irk am I supposed to do with it?

"This is stupid," I grumble, even as I reach for the fretful thing. It leaps at my touch and I gasp, pressing my back against the chair, clamping down on the sudden urge to make another pathetic, whiny sound. The strange organ wraps around my palm again, rubbing and squeezing involuntarily. A thousand curses zip through my teeth.

The heat gets worse - or better - I can't tell anymore. I clench my jaw and drag my gaze from the eager appendage to the videos playing silently across the monitors. I don't enjoy looking at any of it, but I can't look away, either. My insides twist as I watch one human rutting into the other, slick with sweat, presumably making ridiculous noises. It's gross. Is that what we're supposed to do?

As if it has a mind of its own, the thing in my hand pulses with an ache that makes my muscles weak and loose. I stifle a groan, leaning against the control panel and tentatively squeezing back. My mind spins with drunken fervor.

The videos are…unsettling. But if I close my eyes, I can see him there instead. I can…feel him.

It pulses again, throbbing violently. I can't hold back the desperate whine, and the rage shoots up to rival the filthy heat.

I shouldn't be doing this. This is pathetic. This is–

Good, it's good, so good, moremoremore–

I pry open one eye to check the screen again. They're lying in a tangle of limbs now, with one human on his back while the other mimics what I had been doing earlier, just…more. And naked. My hand starts to move in tandem with the appendage, and the flush of pleasure threatens my circuitry. I groan, losing myself within the throes of something overpowering and filthy and horrible and good–

I close my eyes and the images rush in. Him on his back, his body pliant and eager beneath mine while I…

While I…what?

I look down between my legs, and then back up at the screen. Does this go…inside of him?

The thought immediately fills me with feral, salivating desire. My entire body thrums with the force of it. What would that feel like? Would it be warm, like the rest of him? Would he…enjoy it?

A barrage of imaginings floods my skull to the brim. My gaze flits between my body and the screen, looking just long enough to see the mechanics of it so I can close my eyes again and replace the images with him. They come too easily, too detailed, but I don't have the wherewithal to question their origin. My focus is scattered between each picture. On his hands and knees, maybe. Bent over the edge of something, anything, while I fill him. Or held down, helpless and drowning with lust–

No, no, go back, go back–

My thoughts cycle through each scenario until I see him on all fours–

Yes, yes, that one, that one–

He's shaking, groaning, struggling to hold himself up as I rut into him–

I gasp, gripping myself even tighter, hips cautiously moving back and forth against the heat. I think of his eyes, the way he looked when he tore the door off its hinges. He looked powerful. He looked insane . All that rage, all that strength, and yet, he submits to me. He let me climb on top of him. He let me bite him, mark him, hold him down by his wrists while he acted as if he was too weak to fight. In this new, mutated state, he could easily kill me - not that I'd ever admit it to his face. But he could. In an instant. And yet–

And yet and yet–

He submits.

Irk, this is too much. Too much and yet not nearly enough. My body is consumed by the blazing lust. I want to hear him make those sounds again - the needy kind, the breathless, desperate kind. I'd make him want me more than he's ever wanted anything in his entire pathetic, stupid life. I'd make him squirm like a lowly grub until he had no choice but to moan my name and beg for me–

A lightning bolt cracks across my system. With a sharp gasp, my body clenches, and the thing in my hand stiffens before it begins to spill copious amounts of fluid all over my lap. The room swirls and spins. I slump forward, groaning as it moves through me, helplessly twitching and trembling until it finally, finally stops.

Panting and spent, I lie back in the chair and close every tab until the monitors are black and I'm surrounded by the quiet hum of the base. My vessels are filled with something soft and full and buzzing. I can't remember a time in my lifecycle where I have ever felt this…good. Despite the overall grossness of the mechanics and anatomy, the end result is undeniably intoxicating. And if it feels like this by myself, what could it possibly feel like with him?

A sudden twinge jerks me from my thoughts. I sit up and grimace, muscles tensing as the mating organ twists and retracts, vanishing inside my body. I resist the urge to lean over and see where it's gone - I don't want to know what secret cavities exist inside of me. Learning about one new organ was enough for today.

I shift in my seat until the discomfort has passed, and then I stare at the mess of strange liquid glistening along my legs, feeling as if I'm somehow outside of my shell. The emotions I expect don't appear, and it only adds to the confusion. There is no shame or hesitation - I don't even feel disgusted, which is odd, because the very nature of this act is disgusting.

Is this why humans become mindless, lust-addled animals when the hormones set in? Do the mating urges make everything else disappear? And is it always so...intense?

I swipe my finger along my thigh and examine the pink fluid in the low light. It's cold and sticky, but otherwise uninteresting. Strange how this is what caused so much pressure and aching. I wonder how different it would feel to do something like this…with him?

I frown and stand up to search for cleaning supplies. As I wipe away the evidence of the evening, my thoughts continue to stray. How can I convince him to take this further? He's so stupid and hesitant all the time - it's a wonder he ever manages to make a single decision about anything.

But this… this is different. This scares him. What happened upstairs was an accident, but even with the arousal practically pouring from his body, he still resisted.

'Irkens do as they please, after all. '

My fists clench at the sound of her voice. I wad up the cloth of disinfectant and throw it in the small incinerator.

I could do as I please - it's quite clear that whatever bond we share through his powers has given me control over his physical body. But…I don't think I want that. It'd be empty, wouldn't it? What power is there in taking something? In this context, isn't it more valuable to be desired?

I finish disposing of the cleaning materials and stand by the control panel, lost in shadow. If this is all just about power and pleasure, surely being wanted is worth more than anything else. Enticing someone into submission, willingly, desperately - that must be better. It certainly sounds better.

Besides, any pea-brained brute could take something. That would be an insult to my intelligence, my prowess, my worth as an Irken. And if he doesn't enjoy it, the insult is compounded.

I bury my face in my palms and heave out a weighted breath. He wasn't exactly subtle about his arousal, which means he does desire me. I just need to find a way to loosen his resolve, to get it through his thick skull that this doesn't mean anything. It seems as if that was his biggest concern. All his questions, incessant and ceaseless. I can show him it's no different from what all the other silly humans are doing on Earth. A transaction of pleasure and power, nothing more. No strings, no traps, no trickery.

I glance up at the dark screens. Now that the heat has withdrawn and my organic matter has cleared considerably, taking a clinical approach to the research should be easier this time around. The more I know about humans and their mating preferences, the better equipped I'll be to convince him. If anything, it'll only increase my value in this transaction; knowledge is just another form of power. If I could not only get him to desire me, but learn to please him beyond his stupid, meager imagination, I could well and truly win this little game of ours.

.

.

.

[Dib]

Lying in a stranger's bed on an alien planet with the most insufferable boner I've ever had in my entire life while trying desperately to ignore certain thoughts about Zim is not how I expected to spend my night.

I don't know how long it's been since he left the room. An hour? Three? Whatever the case, my body is still wound tight and begging for my attention, no matter how many times I refuse or try to think of literally anything else.

But you've done it before–

I press my face into the pillow and groan. So what if I've done it before? It doesn't mean anything - puberty is weird. The wind blows the wrong way and you can get a fucking boner. It doesn't mean anything. It's just…

But what about when he grabbed your hand–

When he laid on your chest–

When he wore those ridiculous shorts–

"Oh my god," I grit, "this is so stupid."

But it's not, and I know it, and I can't keep lying to myself. Not now - not after what just happened. Not after I saw the way he looked at me.

The memories burst through the dam I spent so much time painstakingly building, and I begin to drown in them. There's always been this weird push and pull between us. He's been the only thing of interest in my life. All the years I spent obsessing over every little thing he did, the way I noticed when he grew taller, quieter, smarter ; the way I noticed how he noticed when I began to change as well.

Have I felt this way all along? Am I mistaking our obsessive frenemy dynamic for something else? Are the hormones warping my perception of him - of myself?

We're friends - or, as close to friends as people like us could be, I guess. I do care about him. But is it something more?

I think about that night in the Voot, before everything went to shit. I don't know why I asked to come over - I don't know why he agreed. Would anything have happened between us, or would it have been 'normal' and 'friendly'? Had I been hoping for something to happen? Is that why I had felt so nervous, so jumpy?

I don't know, and I have no way of ever knowing. The only real thing is what happened earlier, and that was almost too real. Too close.

Then again…does any of that matter? He said Irken mating practices were simply transactional, so I doubt deep-rooted feelings are ever involved. They just do it because it feels good…you know, minus the whole "slavery" aspect.

So that's it, isn't it? It didn't mean anything. He did it because his freaky alien bug hormones kicked into gear. It didn't have anything to do with me, with us, or all of the things we've been through - it was just carnality. Instinct. Maybe it's the stress of this whole endeavor; the confined space, the close proximity. Maybe a little bit of the weird bond we now share through my mutated DNA played a part in it, too. Nothing personal - just a conglomeration of factors that triggered a perfectly normal and expected biological response in us both.

That's…not a terrible thing, I guess. It's certainly easier to come to terms with biology rather than whatever feelings I may or may not have towards him.

I shift onto my side and grimace at the relentless throb. Maybe I shouldn't have stopped him. Maybe I should have let his hand wander wherever he pleased, just to see where it took us, to see how it felt to listen to my body for once without the constant anxiety rattling around in my brain. He was clearly lost in his own physical desires - why couldn't I do that? Why do I have to ruin things? Why do I have to ask so many questions, to know every possible outcome before I can feel even slightly comfortable with proceeding? Why can't I just let myself exist?

Then again, those were valid questions. I don't even know if we could successfully have sex. I don't know what he has or how it works. What if we reach that point and have to stop again? What if it's awkward or painful? The thought of losing my virginity to a human is scary enough - but this is a whole new level of sexual anxiety. Plus…it's Zim. He's nuts on a good day, and now he can essentially control my body, so is it even safe to put myself in a position of mental, emotional, and physical vulnerability? Would he respect boundaries? Would he be able to stop himself if I asked? What if his mating hormones or whatever the fuck that was clouds his brain enough to where he can't control himself? He looked borderline drunk earlier - and I didn't feel much better. I'm a lot stronger now, so it's not like I'd be defenseless, but isn't it kind of fucked up I even have to consider that possibility in the first place?

I roll over again, but my pursuit of comfort is futile. My body aches, stiff and hot, and all I want is to turn off my goddamn brain and relieve the pressure while I still have a shred of privacy.

But if I do it, I'll think of him, and it'll be weirder than the other times I thought of him, because now I have something real for my thoughts to cling to. Now I'd see his face and know the color his skin turns when he blushes; the way his eyes darken, the way his breath sounds and feels against my neck–

A vicious throb runs between my legs. I roll onto my back, biting my lip, clenching my jaw. He's gonna be cutting me open in a few hours and shoving crazy alien tech in my chest cavity - I need to get some sleep…which means I have no choice but to give my body the attention it craves.

At least, that's what I tell myself as I unbutton my jeans and frantically reach below the waistband. I tell myself I have no other choice. No choice but to touch myself, no choice but to think of him, no choice but to pant his name in the dark.

Nope, no choice at all.

.

.

.

[Zim]

I'm far too deep in the slimy corners of the Earthen database when I first hear it - or…feel it? Is it a physical sensation? I'm not sure, but I know it's coming from him.

Zim.

Jolted from my filthy stupor, I push out of my seat and hastily turn off all the controls. The screens go dark, and the evidence of my wanderings vanishes in an instant.

Zim.

The sensation repeats with such clarity that I find myself staring at the closed door of the Voot, expecting him to be standing on the other side. I retrieve my uniform from the floor and frantically pull it on. Thankfully, the mating organ stopped showing interest once my research efforts took on a more clinical approach, or else getting dressed would be a far more obnoxious task.

I check one last time to ensure the monitors are blank before I unlock the ramp and peer out into the hangar.

It's empty.

I tilt my head, antennae flicking at the cool air. But I thought…?

Zim, Zim, Zim.

That's…odd.

I glance around the room, exiting the ship - but there's nothing. No one.

Unsettled and equally intrigued, I close the Voot and quietly step out of the lab. The hallway is just as empty. I pad up the stairs, eyeing every dark corner in the stillness of the night, and the sound rings again in my bones.

Zim, Zim, Zim.

I skip the last few steps and reach his door in seconds. But as I shove it open, the sound abruptly stops.

"Dib?" I stand in the doorway, frantic for reasons I can't explain as I search the dark room for his familiar silhouette. My visual processors adjust to the low light, and I see him tangled in the sheets, slick with sweat, propped up awkwardly on one elbow with his hand buried in his jeans. His wide eyes are locked on mine.

"What're you doing in here?" he stammers, his voice soaked with panic.

I blink. "You…called me. Didn't you?"

His brow knits. "No?"

"But I heard you." My gaze flits from his shocked expression to where his wrist vanishes below his waistband. "I heard you saying my name."

A fierce pink color floods his cheeks. "I-I didn't say anything, Zim."

We stare at one another for a long, tense moment. The scent of his arousal is unmistakable - it permeates every inch of the room and pricks my flesh with heat.

"Could you, uh…" He pauses and clears his throat. He hasn't removed his hand from between his legs, and I haven't stopped staring. "Could you close the door?"

My chest squeezes tight. Close the door - not leave. He wants me to close the door and stay.

I comply far quicker than I'd like to admit, but I don't care. He smells too good for something as stupid as pride to matter now, and the pressure is already building. I close the door, and when the lock clicks, something snaps between us. I turn around, and I can see it on his face, swimming in his wide, red eyes.

I take the risk. In seconds, I'm across the room and on the bed, pushing him onto his back, and he lets me, he lets me–

"F-for the record," he stammers as I kick away the tangle of blankets, "I definitely did not call you."

"You did." I throw the layers of fabric to the floor and quickly settle on top of him, aching for that familiar position. He's so warm. "I heard you - multiple times."

"Whatever, just - ah !" he hisses, flinching. "E-easy, Zim–"

"I haven't done anything," I scoff, reluctantly sitting up to appease his whining.

He winces and awkwardly attempts to adjust himself. "No, it's the jeans."

"Oh." I tilt my head, pulse drumming. "You should remove them, then."

He glares at me for a moment like he wants to argue, but the urge carries no weight. "...Fine," he mutters. "But I have conditions."

Excitement rips through my system. "Of course," I say quickly, leaning back on my knees as I watch him fumble with the buttons and zipper.

"Don't tell me what to do - unless, you know, you want to stop or something."

He's taking too long. I swat his hands away and tug the stiff fabric past his hips. "And?"

He grabs the blankets at his side and groans, arching his back just enough to help me undress him.

"A-and…and you have to stop if I tell you to stop."

"That one seems obvious, Dib." I pull his pants down to his ankles and he kicks them off over the side of the bed.

"Yeah, well, safety first."

I don't really know what he's referring to, but I don't care, because I'm too busy scouring every inch of his exposed skin, every contour of every muscle and tendon, all the way up his legs to where his erection strains against his thin, black underwear. My pulse beats so loud, it's making me dizzy.

"Anything else?" I ask, distantly aware of the heat slurring my tone, thickening my tongue. My claws flex at my sides, eager to touch him wherever he'll let me. I glance up at his face, waiting for an answer, for permission. His cheeks are red, his eyes glazed like before, hungry and needy.

"Yeah," he murmurs, nearly breathless. "Could you, um…do the biting thing again?"

Arousal floods my system in a manic burst. I don't know if I give an audible response - all I know is he's underneath me again, his wrists in my hands, his body immediately falling limp as I pin him to the bed. Without the rough fabric of his jeans between us, I can feel his erection pulse against me. It's hot and stiff, poking my lower abdomen as he squirms and turns his head to the side, exposing the half-healed marks from earlier. Something inside of me is vexed to see how his regenerative abilities have diminished my work, but it doesn't matter, because I sink my teeth into his soft flesh and open all of them again.

It doesn't take long for him to start making the noises. He's a little louder this time around, and my organic matter is all too pleased with the volume he's chosen. Not loud enough to draw attention, but enough for me to hear every single sound. Is that on purpose, or beyond his control?

Both possibilities fuel the heat in my bones. I lick the thin trails of blood from each shallow wound and listen to him pant, muttering nonsense under his breath, eyes clenched shut, wrists flexing weakly in my grasp. He tries to match the rhythm of my hips, but his movements are sloppy and dazed, which only serves to add to the pressure building in my core as I feverishly rub against him.

I grit my teeth - I'm too overstimulated to stop my body from doing…whatever that's called. Will he panic? Will he ask a million questions I'm not able to answer? Or worse, what if he's repulsed by our anatomical differences?

The thought is a horrid, useless one, and I groan against his neck as the pressure hits its peak.

"Can I touch you?" I ask, trying to conceal the desperation.

"Touch me?" he echos, dazed. His chest rises and falls with each rapid breath and he nods. "Y-yeah, sure."

I remove my hand from his wrist and quickly overlap the other to hold him still. It's difficult to squeeze my arm between our bodies without creating too much space for him to see what I'm doing, and as much as I'd like to look, there's something else I need more.

I bury my mouth in the meat of his shoulder to distract him - judging by the sound he makes, it's working - and roll down the hem of my leggings. A strangled whine gets trapped in my throat.

"Zim?" he asks, startled. "Are you– "

As if it has a mind of its own, the appendage unfurls from my body and immediately slips beneath his underwear, latching firmly around his mating organ like a vine.

"Fuck!" He flinches and pushes back against my hold on his wrists with actual effort. I bring my other hand up to grip him tighter. "W-what is that?"

His member throbs against mine, trapped and pulsing and warm. The heat consumes me, and it's leagues beyond what I felt when I used my own hands. A fierce jolt runs up my body, sending my hips forward in erratic thrusts.

"You said…I could…touch you," I groan between each motion, losing myself.

"I t-thought you - ffffuck - I thought you meant with your hands–"

The organ curls tighter, cutting his complaint short as it begins rubbing up and down with a slick, dripping eagerness.

"Holy shit," he gasps, trembling beneath me as his momentary anger gives way to the heat. "I-is that…?"

I nod and run my teeth along his neck, rutting into him feverishly. "Do you…want me to stop?"

"Fuck no," he breathes. "B-but a warning would've - ah - would've been nice."

"N-noted." I press our bodies together, adding to the delicious friction and drawing a shallow moan from the back of his throat.

"I-I still have questions." He arches into the next thrust. "And we're still gonna - nnnmph - g-gonna talk about this later."

"Later," I pant. "Later's fine."

"A-and we're just doing this right now, okay? Don't - don't try anything else."

"Just this," I repeat, nodding quickly. Irk, he feels so good. "Nothing else."

I move a little faster, a little harder, and he tilts his head back and whines. I drink up the sight of him; the marks I left on his throat, the red flush of his skin, the concentrated furrow of his brows and the crease of his nose. With every thrust, he devolves further into a whimpering, quivering mess. I nudge his head to the other side, intent on littering his pale flesh with matching rings of red and purple.

"Fuck " he gasps as I break the skin. "K-keep doing that–"

Just this - nothing else–

That's fine. This is enough. This is more than enough.

His breath hitches as I disrupt the pace, slowing to a firm, deliberate grind. I bite him harder, drawing blood. He yelps and thrusts against me, caught between my abdomen and the dripping thing wrapped around him. My body burns. He's close - I can feel it building in his blood, in his scent. He's close and I'm not even inside of him yet.

I speed up, squeezing him tighter, sucking the tender flesh above his carotid as his pulse hammers through the artery.

"Zim," he whines. "Zim, I-I'm–"

Yes, yes, yes–

"Fuck, Zim, I'm gonna–"

His body suddenly tenses. He throws his head back, arches his hips, and releases the most pathetic, intoxicating sound I've ever heard. The strangled, airy cry reverberates through every single circuit in my body. A warm spurt of liquid hits my abdomen, pulsing from his appendage as his scent rips across my processors, giving the primal part of me no choice but to follow in his wake. The pressure spikes to an unfathomable high before it bursts and spills between us. I clamp my jaws around his neck to stifle the moan tearing through my lungs and grind against him until I'm empty, savoring the way his body shakes beneath me.

My muscles give out. I collapse on top of him and he groans, panting and spent, hips twitching as the last of it leaves my system.

"Holy shit." He's breathing hard, slick with sweat. My nostrils are filled with the smell of him. "That...that was…"

"Adequate," I murmur against his bruised throat.

He laughs, and the sound vibrates my chest. "Y-yeah, Zim. That was adequate."

I roll my eyes, but my retort is dissolved by the uncomfortably familiar sensation between my legs. I hiss and raise my hips as the appendage uncurls from his.

"Whoa," he gasps, struggling to free himself from my grip. "What's it doing?"

"Hold still," I mutter. "Just - give me a moment."

The muscles in my abdomen clench as the mating organ withdraws and the stiffness finally vanishes. I release a shallow breath, swallowing the taste of his blood.

"...Where'd it go?" he asks.

"It retracts, apparently."

"Huh. Weird." He pauses for a moment before stretching his neck to peek between our bodies. "Can I see?"

"No," I scoff. I remove my hands from his wrists and tug my uniform back into place. He quickly does the same, wincing as he adjusts his underwear with purple-tinged fingers.

I sit up and scan the dark bruises around his wrists. They look nice on him - albeit painful. He hasn't complained, though.

"Can I see it next time, then?" he asks, flexing his hands.

I blink at the request. "Next time?"

"Yeah." He glances at me, cheeks turning red. "If you want."

The buzzing warmth nips at my vessels. "Zim will consider it."

He looks…relieved. I shake off the strange tug in my chest and grab the nearest sheet.

"Here." I drop the wadded fabric over his stomach, covering the smear of fluid soaking his shirt. "You're filthy."

He laughs and props himself up on his elbows. "Most of that is yours, you know."

"Yes, well, it's your problem now."

"Uh-huh." He rolls his eyes and pushes me from his lap. "This will be the second time I've had to wash my clothes today because of you."

"I fail to see how any of this is my fault." I shift to the side and watch as he slides off the mattress and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it next to his jeans. My eyes trace the lines of his muscles, the curve of his spine, the rounded swell of his shoulders. The marks on his neck stand in stark contrast to the rest of his pale skin - something I intend to remedy, if there really is a 'next time.'

He sighs and rubs the bruises on his wrists before he notices me staring. He blinks at me and arches a brow. "What?" he asks, the faintest grin tugging the corner of his lips.

Insufferable.

I scowl and get off of the bed. "Stop playing games and go to sleep, Dib."

"I'd love to," he snarks, "but thanks to a certain space bug, I now have laundry to do."

I glare at him as I cross the room. "Maybe you should have been smart and brought extra clothes."

"Yeah," he snorts, "I should have somehow known this was..." He pauses when I reach the door. "Where are you going?"

My palm hovers over the handle. I tilt my head, confused. "Downstairs."

"Oh." He purses his lips, his expression shifting slightly. "Okay. I'll, uh…see you in the morning, then."

"Obviously." I scoff and open the door. The faint light of the hallway catches his features as he stands there, hardly clothed, his hair a tangled mess, his eyes glowing soft and red. I swallow past the odd lump in my throat and offer him a thin sneer. "Have fun with your laundry, stupid boy."

He rolls his eyes and responds with a grumbled 'goodnight' as I shut the door.

The hallway is silent, but my thoughts fill the void, replaying every second on a loop while I pace down the stairs and toward the lab. The noise from earlier is gone, replaced with his sounds and his taste and his smell.

'Next time,' he had said.

I look forward to the next time.