Author's note: Content warning for this chapter as well. The slow burn is no longer slow, and while Dib tries to pretend nothing happened between them last night, Zim has other things in mind.

Chapter 23:

Learning Curve

[Dib]

I wake up to the sound of Zim and Tak arguing, and it's really fucking loud. Or, more specifically, Zim is really fucking loud.

After lying there contemplating my life for another ten minutes, I decide that it's best to insert myself into the situation while Zim is thoroughly distracted. If I hide up here any longer, I risk him coming to me, and god knows what that would look like after what happened last night.

I get dressed, drag my aching body down the stairs, and poke my head through the doorway of the lab. Zim's pacing back and forth, rage warping the air around his tense frame while Tak leans against the table, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with a mixture of exhaustion and anger.

"For the last time, Zim," she growls, "I did nothing to your ship–"

"I know you sabotaged it, you lying pig!" He stomps his foot and jabs a claw toward the hangar. "It hasn't held a single charge since we arrived–"

"It's not charging because it's old!" she snaps. "I told you it wouldn't be compatible - your power reserves are out of date, like everything else you own–"

"So fix it!" he shouts. "I refuse to be stranded on this wretched cesspit of a planet with the likes of you—"

"Stranded?"

Their heads snap in my direction. Zim's antennae flatten, his scowl deepening as he shoots a pointed glare at Tak.

"It's nothing for you to concern your big head with, Dib," he mutters.

"Being stranded is kind of fucking concerning, Zim." I cross my arms and glare between them. "What's wrong with the ship?"

Tak stares at me for an uncomfortably long moment. I rub the side of my neck even though I know I made sure the marks had all healed before coming down here.

Instead of answering my question, she hisses something to Zim. A heated purple blooms across his face. He turns to her fast as a whip, and they continue arguing in Irken.

Well, that can't be good.

"Hey," I snap, raising my arms. God, my head hurts. "Is anyone gonna answer my question? Because I swear to god, we better not be stuck here–"

"Stop being dramatic," Tak snarls, clenching her fists at her sides. "You fools will be delayed, but not stranded. The power reserves can be modified."

Delayed doesn't sound much better. "How long?"

"A few–"

"Tak will handle it," Zim interjects. He shoves past her and grabs my wrist. "Come on - the implant is ready."

He says something else in Irken - something a bit sharper. Tak rolls her eyes.

"I'm not exactly enjoying your company, you know." She moves back as Zim guides me down the steps and toward the table. "I would prefer to be rid of you as soon as possible."

My pulse triples. Everything has already been prepared - the air is thick with the smell of disinfectant, the overhead lights have been angled toward the metallic surface, and a long row of unrecognizable tools have been laid neatly along the counter top. My vision is quickly blurred by the rising panic.

"Oh." The word sticks in my throat. "We're doing this now?"

"Are you in a rush, or aren't you?" Tak growls. Zim hisses to her again, and she looks less than pleased.

"Yeah," I stammer, "but I–"

"You're fine, Dib." Despite the callous sneer of his tone, Zim gives my wrist a light squeeze, and the memory of last night flashes behind my eyes, incinerating any lingering doubt of whether or not it actually happened. I glance at him, but he doesn't meet my gaze as he continues instructing/insulting me. "Your human anatomy is as simple as it is inferior, so the procedure will not take long."

I find little comfort in his words. I mean, I knew it was going to happen today, and we are in a rush, but it still seems…sudden.

"Take this off and lie down." He waves flippantly at my shirt and immediately returns to conversing with Tak in Irken. Neither one of them looks at me while I wrangle the fabric over my head and set it on the counter top opposite of the sterile zone. They continue with their hushed tones, picking through supplies and various bottles and tubes. I scan the area in search of anything familiar, but outside of the IV tubes, everything else is foreign and cold. Even the scalpels look unusually sinister. I don't know what goes where; I don't know how any of it works, and I wouldn't even know where to start with all my questions - not that Zim would bother answering them.

The implant gleams next to the tools. It looks bigger than I remember. Which section did he say would go around my heart? How is this thing supposed to even attach to my arteries–

"Lie down, Dib."

I snap out of my trance and look at him. He stares back with pursed lips and a bored expression - which is normal for him. That's good…right? Normal's good?

I try to shake off my stupor as I pull myself up and lie back on the cold table. The lights are so bright, they burn. I let them sting for a moment to distract myself from my spiraling thoughts and the sound of Zim and Tak very clearly arguing.

I strain my neck to see Zim grab a tool from her hand and switch it out with a different one. She hisses at him, pointing to my chest and then to the first blade he removed from her grasp. I swallow hard and thump my head down on the table.

They're gonna kill me.

"It'd be real cool if you guys could at least pretend you know what you're doing," I mutter.

Zim arches a brow and scoffs. "Zim has no need for pretending, Dib-stink. I obviously know what I'm doing." He passes a rude glare over his shoulder. "She's just stupid."

"Gee, thanks," I groan. "I feel so much better about it now."

Whatever Tak's saying sounds mean, and Zim's attention is promptly shifted back to their argument.

"Assuming I don't die," I mumble, "you two are getting exactly zero stars for your bed-side manner."

Of course, they're not listening, but "manners" are not something Irkens seem to give a shit about, anyway.

With a heavy sigh, I let my eyelids fall shut while I attempt to drown out their bickering with the faint hum of the engine. It's probably a good thing that they're being their usual jackass selves, right? It must not be a huge deal if both of them are comfortable enough to be so obnoxious. Maybe I'm overreacting. Zim's done crazier shit - I've seen his inventions, including the ones he used on our classmates in middle school. They turned out fine…once he fixed everything, at least. Besides, he seems to…care about me…I think. Things have changed between us, and if whatever the fuck happened last night gives him a little more incentive to make sure I don't die, I'm not going to complain.

"Why does he look ill today?" Tak asks. "His colors are very…gross."

I open my eyes to glare at her. Of course she'd switch languages to insult me.

"He hasn't eaten," Zim mutters.

Ah, that explains the murderous ache behind my eyes. I bit him yesterday, maybe a few hours after we landed - but how does time work here? How long has it been?

"Yeah," I clear my throat, "is that something I should do before you cut me open?"

"No. You'll heal too fast for us to insert the device." The sound of snapping latex pricks the air. "You'll have to wait."

"But–"

Metal rungs clamp down over both of my wrists. I flinch, breath catching in my throat.

"Hold still," Zim chides. His features are obscured by the bright lights. I tug on the restraints as the panic climbs up, up, up–

"I said to hold still, Dib–"

"What are these for?"

"To stop you from doing something stupid, obviously. Now calm down - I need to place the IVs."

Something pinches the tender skin below my biceps. I close my eyes tighter when the sensation is replicated on my other arm.

Okay, okay - calm down - everything's fine–

The muscles in my jaw pull taut. They'll sedate me soon - I just need to keep it together until then.

Think of something else.

I pull a slow breath through my nostrils and carefully flex my hands against the restraints to ground myself. The metal holds snug around my wrists, but instead of calming me, the sensation is an instant reminder of how tight his grip was when he pinned me to the bed–

Nope! I grimace. Think of something normal, please.

Like when he sunk his teeth into my neck?

No–

Or when he practically ripped off my jeans?

Nope, not that either–

How about when he touched me with his–

Jesus fucking Christ, NO–

"His vitals are unstable." Tak's voice breaks the fevered spell. "Your pet seems rather frightened, Zim."

I shoot her a pointed glare as Zim pulls the cap off of a marker with his teeth and leans over me, dragging the ink down the midline of my bare chest in short dashes. My pulse is frantic, nerves sparking beneath every wet brush of the marker and the oddly gentle touch of his hands.

"He's fine." He glances at my face, and despite his usual flat expression, his eyes gleam with something I can only describe as predatory. "Aren't you, Dib?"

Oh god, he fucking knows. How does he know?!

"Just sedate me already." I avert my gaze and pull in a quick breath between my teeth, digging my nails into my palms. "Please."

"Fine," he sighs. "I suppose we don't want your monkey brain going haywire before the procedure."

He nods to Tak and instructs her in Irken. She taps her claws across a panel to my left. One of the pumps begins to buzz, and my breath hitches as a cold, liquid fire trickles from the IV to my veins.

"That hurts," I grit, clenching my eyes shut.

"For a moment," Zim hums. "Count livestock, or whatever you humans do to lull your feeble brains to sleep."

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out except a strained groan. The invading heat warps and spikes through my body. My muscles tense, wrists pressed taut beneath the cuffs, and the floor of my perception drops out from under me.

…

…

…

When I wake up, everything is thick and fuzzy. My veins are stuffed with cotton, humming with warmth, and the overhead light smears across my vision like a lens flare.

Cool. I'm not dead.

Something tugs and pulls in my chest. I blink, groggy, weightless, and Zim's figure slowly materializes in the blur. His eyes are fixated on my sternum as he weaves the thread in and out of my open flesh. I resist the urge to lift my head and check on his progress, opting to close my eyes and float within the soothing buzz for as long as possible.

It does feel weird, though. The pressure in my chest is noticeably different, even beneath the blanket of sedatives. Like an itch I can't reach.

"Do you know you make a lot of stupid faces, Dib?"

I don't bother opening my eyes. "Mhmm."

"Sometimes I'm foolish enough to believe I've seen them all," he continues in his usual impish tone, "and then you make a new one. It's quite impressive."

My lack of response seems to annoy him. He sighs.

"Are you ignoring me, or just slowly perishing?"

"Tired," I groan. My voice is dry and strained. "Throat hurts."

"That's from extubation," he mutters. "It will fade."

I hum, wincing at the dull ache that rises above the haze. Another distant tug echoes in my chest as he continues stitching. I focus on moving air through heavy lungs. The discomfort doesn't vanish - it only changes shape.

"Did it…go okay?" I murmur.

"Yes." The needle dips beneath my skin, and I pull a shallow breath between my teeth. "You lost more blood than I anticipated, but your body should stabilize after you rest."

As the medication wanes, my senses are slowly returned, and I can feel the sharp prick laced with the occasional brush of his cool fingers on my heated chest.

"...Where's Tak?"

"She left to retrieve supplies for the Voot." Another tug, another stitch, another gentle sweep of his palm. "How are your pain levels?"

"Not terrible." I try swallowing. Okay, it's a little terrible. "Some more floaty stuff would be nice, though."

He scoffs. "Floaty stuff?"

"I don't know what it's called," I grumble. "Pain meds, whatever."

He mutters to himself as he adjusts the pump on my left. "There. Let me know if that's enough."

He goes back to stitching me up, and it isn't long before that strange, icy fire hums in my veins again, pushing at the discomfort in gentle waves. I slip into the soothing tide as all of my muscles relax.

"I assume that's better," he says, amused. "When I've finished the sutures, we'll turn the device on. I expect you'll heal quickly, so you should not require more 'floaty stuff.'"

"It's not…on yet?" I mumble.

"Well, it's technically on," he says, "but I have not inserted the vials, so it's not providing anything to your body."

I nod - or, I think I do. The sting of the needle has warped to a distant fuzz. After a few minutes of silence, he takes a shallow breath.

"Dib."

"Hm?"

"I would like to talk about it now."

I blink hard, but it does little to clear my vision, so I close my eyes again. "...Talk about what?"

"The thing we did." He lowers his voice. "You said we'd talk about it."

"Yeah," I mumble, feeling the blush creep through the haze, "but there's a hole in my chest, so…"

"Those two things are unrelated." The needle goes a little deeper. "Besides, Zim is fixing the hole."

I try ignoring him, hoping the sedatives will spare me from the interaction, but he continues.

"I believe we would be sexually compatible–"

"Zim," I groan, "I am literally on drugs right now."

"I'm not initiating anything, Dib," he scoffs. "It's simply conversation."

I open my mouth to argue, but the words get lost somewhere between my brain and my throat when I realize that if I have to have this conversation, it's probably best to not be entirely sober for it.

"...Fine," I sigh. "We can talk about it, just…don't be weird."

"We've already established that you're the weird one, Dib." I can practically feel him rolling his eyes. "As I was saying, you were concerned about our organs being incompatible or something stupid–"

"It's not stupid," I mutter. "I just wanted to make sure there weren't, like, teeth or spikes. Or acid. You know…alien shit."

"Once again, not everything is acid, you simple worm." He clicks his tongue, annoyed. "And there are no teeth, either."

"Okay," I chuckle, words slurring, "but what about the spikes?"

What I assume is an obvious joke gets a little less funny the longer he takes to respond.

"I'm kidding, Zim," I finally grumble. "We already…did stuff. I know there aren't any spikes."

"No, there are," he says, "but they should not be an issue."

I pop one eye open. "Excuse me?"

He's conveniently too focused on his sutures to look in my direction. My face gets hot. Despite the heavy blanket of medication, the memory burrows up and spills that dreaded heat into my veins. It was weird and wet and a little cold, but I sure as fuck don't remember spikes.

"But," I stammer, "I didn't feel any when you…when we…"

His antennae flatten. "They're…higher up."

I blink. "Higher…up?"

"Yes." He side-eyes me. "So they should not be an issue."

I clear my throat. "And, uh, how exactly does that make us compatible?"

"Because the part that goes inside of you doesn't have any spikes," he grumbles, scowling.

"I-inside of me?" I repeat, numb. "So - so you're going to be the one who…"

He pauses mid-stitch and arches a brow. "Penetrates you?"

I think my brain blows a fuse. If I were sober right now, I'd probably have a stroke.

"Sure, Zim," I scoff, "let's pick the literal worst word in existence to describe it."

He frowns. "That's what it's called. What am I supposed to say?"

"I-I don't know," I groan. "Just - not that–"

"You can't get mad at me for using proper terminology if you're not going to offer an alternative, Dib–"

"Okay, whatever!" I thump my head back on the table, slow and heavy and dazed. Is it too late to ask for more meds? "Let's just…move on or something."

"You're the one who wanted to discuss it," he growls. "Why are you acting as if you don't?"

"Because it's - it's weird, Zim."

He blinks, pursing his lips. "It's weird to…talk about it?" he asks, confused.

"No," I grit my teeth, "it's weird that it happened in the first place."

"Well, you obviously liked it," he scoffs. "You ejacu–"

"Different word, Zim."

"...Finished." He rolls his eyes. "Is that better?"

The blush feels like molten lava filling my cheeks. I did like it - I liked it a lot. But then he left, and I laid there the rest of the night while my stupid fucking brain came up with fun new ways to panic about it all. Post-nut clarity doesn't seem to be a thing for Irkens, and I have no clue how to explain the confusion, the shame, or the lingering doubt to someone who apparently has zero issues with what we did last night.

He's quiet for a moment, watching me with eyes I can't read while the medication impairs my ability to scan for his usual static.

A thin sigh escapes him as he reaches over and unlocks the restraints. "Sit up. I need to insert the vials."

My movements are sloppy and sluggish; he offers me a hand and pulls me into a precarious slouch. The new angle finally spares my retinas from the searing light overhead, but the relief is short-lived as I'm suddenly left to face the aftermath in its entirety.

There's blood everywhere. The room tilts as my eyes roam along the sticky metal protruding from my chest, the angry red flesh swelling between each dark stitch, to the layers and layers of gore covering my torso, smearing the table, spattered across the tile below. Zim shifts in my periphery, and my gaze locks onto his gloves, covered in slick crimson all the way up to his elbows. My stomach twists.

"Shit," I breathe, "that's…a lot of blood."

"Don't fall off the table, you noodle." He grabs my shoulder to keep me from slumping backwards. "You'll be fine."

My vision blurs until it all looks red. It's all I can do to stay upright while he sorts through the surgical supplies and plucks three black vials from the bunch. They're small - maybe half the length of my index finger and not much wider. The tapered bases glint in the light.

"Hold still," he murmurs. "This may feel uncomfortable for a moment."

I scoff - as if any of this has been at all comfortable. I inhale deeply and bear down in anticipation as he wipes the blood from the top of the implant and begins to twist the first vial inside the port.

"Breathe normal," he snips. Just as I begrudgingly release my held breath, he slides the vial all the way in. The resounding click echoes through my thoracic cavity, as if my chest was a hollow drum that he just banged his fist on. A startled, pained noise wriggles up my throat. I grip the edges of the table with renewed panic, hanging my head, clenching my jaw.

"You're fine." He gives my shoulder a light squeeze. "Take a breath. I'll be quick with the other two."

I close my eyes and focus on breathing past the alien pressure between my lungs, suffering through the remaining vials until my chest is thrumming. It's not exactly painful, but it's not pleasant, either. It feels...invasive. Loud.

"There," he says. "When I twist the ports, you'll feel some heat. I imagine your regenerative abilities will kick in rather fast, and it may briefly disorient you."

His words aren't really registering, but I nod anyway, eager to find eventual relief - assuming this thing works, that is.

He adjusts the implant, and despite his warning, I'm not prepared. The flash of heat is like a small firecracker popping in my chest, like gunpowder igniting along my arteries, flaring from my sternum to my neck and shoulders, spilling down my spine in rivulets of molten iron. I gasp, losing control of my limbs, forcing him to brace himself against the table while he holds me steady. Everything inside of me tenses while the sensation rips across my nerves. My marrow boils, tongue prickling with sparks, flesh buzzing. I close my eyes hard enough to see ripples of color from the thin blood vessels of my eyelids. The majority of the pain coagulates in the center of my chest - a thousand burning needles stabbing between the stitches, deep inside the tissue.

"Breathe, Dib–"

"I'm fucking trying," I hiss, grabbing the table so hard it feels like my knuckles will split through my skin. His claws pinch at my shoulders.

"Zim will excuse your rudeness this time," he mutters. "Your body is rapidly healing - the energy expenditure will be uncomfortable, and your system is likely burning through the remaining sedative as well–"

The rest of his sentence dissolves in the burst of flame that rips down my midline - and as suddenly as it hits, it's gone, leaving me slick with sweat, tremors skidding along my extremities while I struggle to pull in deep, greedy gulps of air.

"F-fuck," I groan, leaning my weight into his steely grip. My senses have returned full-force, nostrils flaring with the scent of him and the bright copper of my blood staining the molecules in the air. I keep my eyes shut and relish the tingling euphoria as my brain dumps a bucket of endorphins down my spine to soothe my battered nervous system.

"Strange how efficient your meat bag has become," Zim mumbles. He removes one hand from my shoulder, and I hear him shuffling around to my right. A sudden, wet brush draws me from my trance as he gingerly wipes the gore with a soaked cloth.

"That's cold," I grumble, feigning protest even as my body relaxes beneath his oddly gentle touch.

"You whiny smeet." His tone carries the usual sharp annoyance, but his hand moves in soft circles, cleaning the dried blood from around the implant as if I were made of the thinnest glass. I try to peel my gaze from his ministrations, but the rhythmic sensation pairs with the flood of endorphins until I'm essentially putty on the table.

He switches out the cloth as needed - which, considering the amount of blood, is a lot - and I watch in muted fascination. The surrounding flesh has calmed, the swelling has receded, and it all looks surprisingly…normal.

The implant gleams under the light; dark gray metal contrasting with the pop of bright magenta that caps the vials in each port. The top is a rounded hexagon, smooth and shiny, sloping gently to the base of the device, where four thin brackets lay over my sternum. I study the intricate machine and listen to the steady hum of it wrapped around my heart. It's quiet - a soft drone in my veins. It reminds me of the comic books I read growing up - except, instead of giving me powers, this will just…keep me from eating people, I guess.

"You know," I murmur, "it actually looks kinda cool."

He snorts. "I was more concerned about the functionality, but I'm glad it pleases your inferior eyeballs."

"Any chance you could add a laser gun to this thing?"

He arches a brow, expression otherwise deadpanned. "No, Dib. There will be no laser features - you cause enough trouble as it is."

I roll my eyes and prepare some snarky retort, but it gets lodged in my throat when his hand slips from my chest to my abdomen.

"It may take a few days to get a proper reading from the device," he continues casually. His movements are gentle, but firm. Deliberate - like he wants me to notice, to think about it. "I'm curious to see how your regenerative abilities affect the supply levels."

I hum performatively, as if I'm not zoning out at the memory of his tongue on my skin or how easily his teeth cut my neck. "Uh, what's in the vials, exactly?"

"My blood." He rinses out the cloth. The sharp prick of disinfectant stings my nostrils, and the muscles in my stomach clench as he presses the cold fabric above my navel. His eyes are bleary and unfocused, but his expression remains flat - removed. "Or components of it, anyway."

"Huh." A steady throb beats between my legs.

"Is the pain gone?" he asks, the bored lull of his voice in complete juxtaposition with the slow creep of purple that moves from below the collar of his uniform, spreading up his slender neck to the sharp cut of his jawline.

Fuck, this is crazy. I'm crazy.

"You know, I could, uh…I can get the rest of this off. You don't have to…"

The words get stuck again. He pauses and glances at me, his hand resting mere inches from the hem of my pants. The air is stagnant around his frame - if it weren't for the blush giving him away, his signature irritated expression would fool me completely.

"Fine," he shrugs, haphazardly tossing the rag into my lap. He steps away from the table, antennae tilting down behind his head as he busies himself with removing his gloves and rearranging the bloodied tools.

I sit up and grab the damp cloth, cursing inwardly while I finish rubbing the red from my heated skin. He keeps his back to me, silent, and the lab is filled with the soft clink of metal and the sound of me scrubbing way too hard in some weird attempt to punish myself for stopping him. What is likely only a few minutes feels like a fucking eternity before I release a hesitant sigh and fold my arms in my lap.

"I don't understand how you're acting so…normal about this," I confess. "I mean, don't you hate me or something? Doesn't this stuff gross you out?"

He pauses for a split second. "The truce is still in effect," he mutters, continuing to mindlessly sort the tools. "And if it's any consolation to your big head, last night certainly made you more tolerable."

My brow furrows as the warmth moves up my cheeks. "I didn't realize agreeing to work together involved you trying to get into my pants."

He glances over his shoulder, sneering in a manner that's both threatening and mildly…affectionate? I think?

"There was no 'trying,' Dib-stink," he taunts. "Zim succeeded."

I scoff, but there's no way to hide my body's shameless reaction as goosebumps raise along my bare arms. "Taking my pants off is not the same thing, Zim."

He waves his hand flippantly and dumps the bundled surgical tools in a nearby crate with a loud clang.

"Your pitiful semantics don't change the fact that you enjoyed it." He turns on his heels, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning in with a wicked glint. "Were you thinking about it before the anesthesia kicked in, or did something else give you an erection that lasted the entire surgery?"

My mouth hangs open a little. Everything burns.

"It's a startling feat, given your blood loss." His smirk twists higher up, pinching his eyes to gleaming red crescents. "You still have one, don't you?"

I shift on the table, keeping my arms folded over my lap in an apparently useless attempt to hide the fact that my body is very interested in whatever the fuck is happening.

"Fuck off," I grumble halfheartedly. "What my body does while I'm unconscious doesn't count, remember?"

"But you're not unconscious," he hums, inching closer. He taps his claws along the side of the table. "You're not even under the influence of medication now, are you?"

I grimace and roll my bottom lip between my teeth, catching the way his eyes fixate on the movement; the way that handsome shade of purple darkens his cheekbones as his claws press into the metal with frightening ease. I let my eyes slip shut for just a moment, and that's all my brain needs to let the memory loose. I see his eyes in the dark, glowing and red, watching me as his scent drenched every atom in the room with palpable desire. I think about how it felt to be underneath him, his teeth drawing blood, his body pressing against mine without mercy.

The air shifts again, sweet and deep - flakes of sugar crystals singed along the edges, a siren's call in my marrow, familiar in its pull. An orbit I couldn't escape even if I wanted to.

… Do I want to?

"What's wrong?" he asks, almost hesitant. I open my eyes and meet his questioning gaze, dark and shiny with want.

…You know what?

Fuck it.

"You said Tak left?" I ask as I lean back on my palms, shifting my hips with a casual stretch. The motion warps his focus until he's staring shamelessly between my legs where the fabric has been way too tight for way too long.

"Yes," he answers, his interest so blatant, he doesn't even bother to look me in the eye. I thought human puberty was bad enough, but Irken hormones seem to take the cake.

"...How long do you think she'll be out?"

His eyes flash at the implication as he finally redirects his attention to my face.

There you go, you stupid, horny bug.

With a single, fluid motion, he pulls his body onto the table and positions himself over me. Adrenaline gushes down my spine, heart skipping, the implant humming endlessly through my chest as his pheromones soak my nerves.

"Long enough," he says, low. Rough.

"Oh," I stammer. "You don't, uh, wanna go to the room or something?"

"No." His eyes rake down my torso. "I like you here."

"Here?" My throat tightens. I settle back on my elbows, heart thumping. "On the table, with the blood and the lights and…"

He stares at me like I'm an idiot - like it's obvious, and I realize I'm getting more turned on by the millisecond.

Wow, I just keep learning new things about myself.

"Okay, so you're just going to assume she won't walk in on us?"

"She left recently. Besides…" He leans in with a sneer, inches from my nose, and I can smell the blood pulsing through his neck. "It's not like you lasted more than a few minutes, anyway."

A startled laugh squeezes my chest. "Okay, asshole - as if you didn't cum two seconds after me."

His impish little shark grin widens, but before he can follow up with another insult, I decide to respond with something sharper.

Lurching forward, I close the gap between us and clamp my jaws around his neck. The yelp that follows is a reward all on its own, but the taste is even better. It pours over my tongue, pooling in my mouth and dripping down my throat with a welcoming buzz.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tug him over my lap until we're sitting in a tangle of limbs. He slumps against me, clawing at my sides, adding to the rush.

I push my tongue along his firm, sweet skin, coaxing more of his blood into my mouth - slower, careful, measured. My veins are on fire; I let myself drift in the waves of his pulse.

With the implant already meeting my body's needs, I'm spared from the usual loss of consciousness, and instead of drowning in the sensation, I merely float along the surface; present in the warmth, aware of exactly how his body fits against mine as his hands roam from my ribs to my hips, his breath ragged, trapping grated moans between his teeth.

His hands move further south, and I'm distantly aware of the way his nimble claws make quick work of the buttons and zipper, tugging my pants down to free me of that god-awful pressure. I hum against his neck, encouraging his touch, and my spine lights up with brilliant heat when his fingers graze the thin fabric of my boxers.

I bite him harder as I grind against his palm. A pleased rumble vibrates his throat, buzzing beneath my lips.

With a little creative maneuvering, he manages to work my dick free from the elastic waistband. I open my eyes long enough to glimpse his long, sharp fingers wrapped around the flushed head before he starts moving in earnest, and I'm lost to the tidal wave of bliss roaring in my skull.

"Oh fuck." My fangs slip from his skin as I pant against the crook of his neck, unable to stop myself from thrusting into his freakishly smooth touch. "It's stupid that y-you're good at this."

"Please," he murmurs. "Zim is good at everything." His thumb brushes the tip of my cock, and I can't hold back the pathetic whine that spills from my mouth. A shudder runs through his body. He pauses and tightens his grip, drawing an airy moan from the back of my throat.

"Same rules as last time?" he asks. It takes my brain a second to remember what he's even talking about.

I nod hastily. "Y-yeah, same rules."

He hums and loops his fingers through the bunched fabric of my jeans. "I want these off."

"Okay," I breathe. He places his other hand on my chest and pushes me back. It's an awkward shuffle, full of eager claws and trembling fingers, and I wince at the sound of fabric tearing.

"Careful," I hiss. "Don't rip the only pair of pants I own, Zim–"

He yanks them off my ankles as if they personally insulted him and chucks them across the room, far out of my reach.

"You don't need them," he growls. My heart slips between my vocal cords as his claws curl around the band of my underwear. "You don't need this, either."

"Hold on." I grab his wrists. "Why aren't you taking anything off?"

The ridge of his nose creases. "Why do I need to?"

I glare up at him. "Why do you get to see me if I don't get to see you?"

"Because you're stupid," he hisses. I balk at the nonsensical retort before it sinks in.

"Is someone embarrassed?" I tease, grinning. "Why would a superior being like you be scared to show some skin?"

His blush deepens, angry red eyes narrowing to thin slits. The smallest blip of static ripples the air above his shoulders.

"Come on, Zim," I try again, softer now. I trail my fingers up his sides, feeling the way his body tenses beneath my touch. "Let me see."

His eyelids flutter as I gently rub along his torso. "You can look…or you can touch," he mutters. "Pick one."

I blink. "Just one?"

The dark, hypnotic gleam of his eyes is all-consuming. "That's what I said."

"Okay, um…" My voice feels thick on my tongue. "...Touch."

He seems pleased with my answer. My pulse doubles as he reaches over, grabs the discarded cloth beside the table, and tears it in a long strip.

"Here," he says, settling back in my lap, "put this on."

"...This has blood on it, Zim."

"Yes." He rolls his eyes. "But it's your blood, so it's fine."

"But I– mhn!" He snatches both of my wrists in one hand and wrestles the cloth over my eyes. I start to fight him off, but as he leans forward, his groin rubs against the edge of my waistband and all the thoughts tumble out of my ears when I feel how unbelievably wet he is. I suck the air between my teeth and fall still as he ties the blindfold behind my head. My vision fades to the soft darkness, and what I thought would feel unsettling quickly becomes a comfort, as if the stifling of one sense has quieted a part of my brain.

"See?" he grumbles. "Was that so hard?"

"No, Zim, I can't see anything." I shift my hips and clench my jaw when I feel the damp fabric on my skin. "You're, uh…really wet, huh?"

He hisses something in Irken and raises himself up on his knees. Silently mourning the loss of friction, I chew on my bottom lip and listen to him undress with his free hand, muttering to himself as he goes. The tips of my ears burn at the sound of his tunic hitting the floor, followed shortly by his leggings. I didn't think his scent could get any stronger, but it hits me like a fucking tidal wave and twirls my stomach into flustered knots. A flush of endorphins washes over my muscles as my body responds the same way it did last night: immediate submission. I lie back on the table; putty in his hands.

"That was fast," he sneers. He keeps my wrists pinned tight while his other hand dips back below my waistband and tugs the fabric down my thighs. I groan, arching into his touch until he's yanked the cloth from my ankles, presumably throwing it across the room.

"Your smell," I pant, "is it pheromones or something?"

"I don't know," he murmurs. "I assume that's what it is." A twinge of uncertainty coats his voice. "Is it…enjoyable?"

"Yeah." I nod way too fast. "Yeah, I like it."

I don't just like it - I want to inject that shit into my veins. But he doesn't need to know that.

A faint clicking noise emits from above and he hums. "Good."

I hiss as he settles into my lap, dripping cool fluid along my stomach.

"Relax," he sighs. "It's not acid, Dib - it's just lubricant."

"I know, but it's kinda cold – ah!"

His dick coils around mine and squeezes.

"F-fuck!" I gasp. My hips jolt against his grip, and it tightens in response, heavy and slick. "Fuck, that feels good–"

A trembling groan echoes above me and his thighs clench around my waist. He shifts forward, draping his body over mine as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, antennae flitting between the strands of my hair, brushing my scalp in feather-light sweeps. He rocks into me, firm and steady and wet. A string of nonsensical moans erupt from my chest with every thrust, every squeeze, every gush of fluid that spills down his length and coats my bare skin.

"H-hands," I whine. "L-let me use my hands."

His teeth graze my flesh as he releases my wrists. I grab the back of his head first, pressing his mouth against my neck as he gnaws at the sensitive skin. He draws blood, and I moan as the bright scent fills the air. The cool silk of his skin feels strange beneath my palms, and I'm shot back in time to the only field trip I remember: fingers dipped in cold water, grazing the wing of a stingray as it swam past - a brush so smooth, so soft, it made you wonder if you even touched it at all.

A full-bodied shiver racks my frame. I slide my hands up a little, feeling for the base of his antennae. The stalk is firm and stronger than what seems physically possible. It flicks against my touch, and a low rattle clicks in his throat.

"Not those," he murmurs.

"Too sensitive?" I ask, breathless.

He nods and gives me another harsh bite. With a clipped moan, I drag my fingers down, feeling the strange contour of his skull, tracing along the angular shape of his vertebrae until I reach the warm, humming metal of his PAK.

I gently run the pads of my fingers along the ridge. The machine whirs beneath my touch. His thrusts weaken when I find the seam between his skin and the computer attached to his spine.

"Careful," he growls, nipping my collarbone.

Despite the blooming curiosity, I heed the warning and slide my hands down the side of his PAK to focus elsewhere. I map the pattern of his ribs - or whatever the Irken equivalent is - and slip between our bodies to feel the terrain of his abdomen, tense with ripples of overlapping muscles.

His hips stutter mid-thrust; he stops and sits up.

"What?" I ask, withdrawing my hands. He startles me when he grabs my wrists and presses my palms back to his sides.

"Keep going," he says, a faint rasp in his voice. My heart skips. I nod and continue slowly feeling out his torso, noting the way his dick pulses with interest as I take my time tracing the curves of his muscles. I imagine his eyes following my every move, watching me blindly worship his body with every touch and squeeze. I can feel the way his chest swells as my hands glide to the sharp narrowing of his waist. Everything beneath his skin is firm - his bones are shaped in ways that make little sense, with sharp angles and divots where the overlying flesh is thicker. I find the jut of his hips and shiver at the way my thumbs fit perfectly against the small dip of the bone. God, he feels stunning.

His breath hitches and he tilts his pelvis forward, grinding his cock over mine. I clench my jaw, arching my back enough to increase the pressure, the friction. My toes flex and curl. Unable to contain myself any longer, I slide my hands down between his rigid thighs and wrap my fingers around the thick, wet appendage connecting our bodies.

It immediately uncurls from my dick and latches onto my hand like a vice.

"Holy shit," I breathe. Heat washes over my face. "This thing is…uh…strong."

His only response is a sharp hiss as he flexes his thighs around my waist to steady himself. His cock wraps around my palm, coiling up my wrist and squeezing hard enough to make the little bones creak. It's impossibly smooth, coated in layers of sweet, slick fluid. The movement rolls through it like a serpent, rubbing incessantly in search of friction.

Jesus Christ, this is supposed to go inside of me?

"Both hands," he pants. "U-use both hands."

My cheeks flush and a sharp throb shoots straight to my aching dick. Keeping one hand wound inside its coil, I use the other to graze along his length, offering experimental squeezes, ears burning at the sound of his slick dripping from my palm. The thickness tapers toward the end, narrowing to a dulled point, a little more rounded than the tip of his tongue. I press it between my index finger and thumb until his thrusts weaken and a low, throaty click vibrates the air. Goosebumps spill down my chest.

As I draw my fingers back up toward his body, I can feel spirals of fleshy ridges that steadily increase in size the farther I go.

"Are these the fabled spikes?" I tease.

His body tenses. He grabs my wrists and pulls me from the eager grip of his cock.

"Hey," I whine, squirming as my erection is quickly recaptured. "I-I wasn't done–"

"You're moving too slow," he snarls. I open my mouth to protest, but the urge is doused the instant he sinks his teeth into the pressure point above my carotid and begins to forcefully suck at the tender skin. His body folds over mine, pressing me into the table, his weight relentless in his frustration. I tilt my chin back and moan as his tongue drags across the wound. He rolls his hips and I spread my legs in response, desperate for as much contact as possible. My heartbeat pounds between my thighs. I let him pin my hands above my head again, only fighting his grip enough to feel how tightly he squeezes back. The scent of his arousal is a wildfire in my veins. I quickly lose myself, reduced to a wriggling, moaning tangle of limbs and sweat and slick.

"H-harder," I gasp. "D-do it harder–"

He inhales sharply and picks up the pace, his hips setting a completely different rhythm from his dick until I'm drowning in the onslaught of thrusts and squeezes without pause, without relief. My body is so hot, and I'm already so close, I'm going to fucking evaporate–

"Fuck, yes." I brace my heels on the table and raise my hips eagerly. He digs his claws into my wrists, drawing blood. "More - Zim, please–"

An animalistic snarl layers the hypnotic clicking in his throat. He pulls back, and the pressure around my cock vanishes as his dick uncurls from mine. Just as I'm about to beg, I feel the wet tip suddenly press between my legs, and he shoves it all the way inside.

"AH!" The pain is immediate; blinding, searing, white-hot and horrible. I choke on my spit, gasping. "StopstopSTOP!"

His body freezes mid-thrust in an obedience so instantaneous, it'd be laughable if I wasn't about to vomit.

"What?" He pulls his mouth from my skin, sounding dazed and more than a little annoyed at the interruption.

"You fucking asshole–"

Fuck, I'm going to pass out–

"I-I didn't say you could put it in!"

"You asked for more!" he hisses, frantically releasing my wrists.

"That's not what I meant!"

He shifts his hips. "Do I take it out–"

"No!" I snap. Beneath the blindfold, everything spins. "No, that'll hurt more, just - fuck - just stay still!"

His body stops moving, but his dick does not, and waves of fire pulse through my core. I gulp at the air, stomach twisting into thousands of knots, broiling with nauseating heat.

"Zim," I choke, "please stop moving, or I'm gonna puke."

"I…can't control it," he admits quietly. As if to make a point, the appendage curls inside of me, stretching the tense, burning rings of muscle. My eyes sting with tears and I groan in pain, slamming my fist on the table.

"This - is why - I had - questions!"

He scoffs like he's annoyed, but I can feel the panic spilling from his pores and soaking with my own. "Well why didn't you ask?!"

"Oh my god," I snarl. "I'm gonna–"

It twists again, going deeper, and the nausea crashes through me, siphoning the rage and humiliation. I resist the urge to rip off the blindfold only because if I move a single muscle, I will absolutely puke, and I have no intention of adding 'projectile vomiting' to the list of shit that happens while I lose my virginity.

"G-gonna fff …fucking kill you–"

"You're not very threatening in this position, Dib," he snips. "And I don't know why you're being dramatic - doesn't your body produce lubricant?"

"N-not there, Zim." I grit my teeth tight enough to hurt. "I'm not a f-fucking girl–"

"Well, that's stupid." He waits for a moment while I try to keep my stomach from erupting. "How is Zim at fault for your inadequate biology?"

"Shut up," I groan. "Just - stop talking for a minute."

The pain does not let up, and I lie there and question every single life choice that brought me to this point in time. Why couldn't I just be a normal person who has normal sex with normal humans?

My thighs tremble, nerve endings frayed with raw exhaustion, singed in the wake of the heat pulsing through my core. I brace my palms on either side and pull in slow, deep breaths. The implant hums through my sternum, adding to the prickling fire as it presumably heals whatever damage his insatiable alien dick has caused. I swallow back the bile and sigh as the familiar flood of endorphins streams down my spinal cord.

"...How long do you need?" he asks. "Because sitting like this is uncomfortable–"

"Oh, you're uncomfortable?" My laugh is airy and pained. "I swear to god, Zim, I'm gonna…"

I trail off as a strange, fuzzy burn begins to spread through my abdomen - different from the myriad of other burning sensations.

"Uh…" Dizziness fills my skull. "Is it normal to feel…tingly?"

"What?" he pants. "What do you mean?"

"It…burns, I think?" The sensation rises. I clench my jaw and try to change the angle or move my hands, but my muscles feel disconnected - like there's a lag between my body and my brain. "I mean, I know you put it in too fast, but I feel…weird."

A grated rumble moves through his chest. "Should I take it out, then?"

The feeling changes shape and settles deep in my core. Tendrils of static sprout from the center, spreading from my torso to my extremities. My fingers and toes begin to buzz and all of my muscles feel as if they're…dropping. Relaxing. Is it hot, or is it cold?

"...Dib?" he asks, oddly gentle. My breathing slows, and my pulse follows suit until I feel like I'm nothing but water vapor suspended in the air. "Are you…?"

"I'm okay," I murmur, tongue heavy. "I-I don't think it's just lubricant, though."

He tries to reposition himself without shifting his hips, and he fails miserably - but the pain is beginning to dull, sinking below the strange fuzz. "What do you mean?"

"It's…it's hard to move."

There's a brief pause. He cups my chin with one hand and tilts my head back with the other as he leans forward.

"Hold still," he murmurs. I weakly snort at the suggestion as he pulls the blindfold up. The rush of light smears my vision beyond the alluring glow of his eyes. He squeezes my jaw and moves my head to the other side, checking my pupils. A deep purple blooms across his cheeks.

"What?" I ask, dazed.

"Nothing." He clears his throat and looks away. "I think it may be an aphrodisiac of sorts…or a mild paralytic. I'll have to look at it later."

"Aphrodisiac?" I echo, ignoring the second part. The warmth continues to rock through my body, rhythmic in its waves.

His dick throbs impatiently and he winces. "We can stop, if it hurts–"

"No." The answer startles me, sounding far more steady than I feel. "No, it's…it's okay."

He hesitates, staring at me with shiny, darkening eyes. Something hot spikes in my veins, and my erection twitches against his stomach.

"Are you sure?" he asks. I can't look away from the shade of vibrant plum that paints his face.

"Yeah," I breathe. "Just…stay still. I'll try moving."

He nods before tugging the fabric over my eyes; a blanket of shadow. My heart rate doesn't speed up, but it does beat harder, spreading the ethereal hum to my marrow in heavy pulses. Every twitch of his cock sends electricity up my spine. I carefully grind my hips and hold the edges of the table with weak hands, testing the pressure, monitoring the way the foreign chemicals pop and spark, arousal building from every corner of my body. My movements still feel oddly detached, but the lag hasn't gotten worse. His dick rubs against something good, and a bright burst of pleasure raises the hairs on my arms and legs, pulling a soft moan from my lips.

Zim echoes the sound. I can feel his body tense as he tries to keep still.

"I assume that means the pain is gone?" he asks. Another twitch, another surge of pleasure, another embarrassing noise escaping my mouth.

"Mhnn - y-yeah," I groan. It's jaded and sloppy, but I manage to arch a little higher, changing the angle. "But you better not - ah - better not do that shit again."

"Fine." His claws tighten around my waist. "Though I don't understand why you're so fragile - that's what they did in the videos."

"Videos?" My scoff is more of a stifled moan as he brushes against the good spot again. "T-that shit isn't real, Zim. That's not how…" I pause as the notion sinks in. "Wait, what videos?"

He becomes uncharacteristically quiet before clearing his throat. "The ones for…research purposes."

"Research?" I laugh, and my entire body thrums with the vibration. "Y-you watched porn for research?"

Well, I guess that explains his handjob skills.

"Yes," he grumbles. His claws poke my sides as I laugh a little harder. "Can I move now, since you're obviously feeling better?"

"Hah - I'm sorry, it's just - it's just kinda funny to think about you watching a bunch of humans have sex."

I can only begin to imagine the myriad of facial expressions he must have made. What kind did he even watch? What the fuck was he thinking the entire time? Did he like any of it?

"It wasn't funny," he growls, pressing thin scratches above my hips. "It was gross."

"Sure," I snort. "I bet you still touched yourself, though."

His body stiffens, and the sharp jerk of his cock is more than enough to let me know that's exactly what he did.

...And that is fucking hot.

Lust blooms across my skull with such force, I can taste it. Despite the detached tremors in my hands, I let go of the table.

"No hands," he hisses, swatting at my wrist.

My lip curls. "I'm not gonna touch you , you idiot."

He pauses again, his face no doubt twisted in confusion. "Okay then…I guess that's fine."

"Oh, is it fine, Zim?" I sneer. My attitude is quickly adjusted when he tilts his hips forward and my organs light up with agonizing pressure.

"Don't mock me," he growls. "I'm being nice to you, worm."

The following wave of arousal is…concerning. I shrug it off, keeping one hand at my side while sliding the other between my legs. The motion is shaky and weak, but I manage.

"So…were you, ah, thinking about me?" I murmur. "During your research?"

He clicks his tongue. "...It's possible."

Pleasure zips up my spine in a delirious bolt of heat. My hips stutter as I wrap my hand around my dick, sighing at the soothing familiarity, at the feeling of my wet palm, slick with whatever fluid he left behind. "You should tell me about that."

His breath hitches, and I feel him carefully reposition between my legs.

"About what I was watching?" he pants. "Or what I was thinking?"

"Whichever made you cum, Zim."

A low rumble echoes above me. "Why waste time describing it when I can simply show you?"

A shiver rattles my bones, but I flash him a toothy grin. "Because I like fucking with you," I sneer. "Besides, I wanna know."

Before he can argue further, I roll my hips and he gasps, struggling to hold still.

"Come on, Zim," I hum. I move my hand despite the fluctuating slack in my muscles, squeezing at the tip before pulling back down. The burning sensation has completely morphed into a staggering, drug-induced euphoria. "Tell me what got you off."

"Y-you did," he groans.

My expression falls and a viscous throb beats against the tight cage of my fist. I scramble to regain my composure, to keep him from seeing what those two simple words just did to my brain.

"Oh yeah?" I cover my shock with that insufferable smirk I know he hates so much. "How'd I do that?"

His claws dig marks into my skin.

"On your hands and knees," he answers. "Loudly."

Fucking hell–

A strangled moan catches in my throat. I clench my jaw and curl my fingers hard around the base, coaxing myself back from the edge.

"Loudly?" I hope to god my breathy laugh is enough to cover how close I just was to losing it. "D-did you even take me to dinner first?"

He pauses, and I feel the air of his bravado instantly deflate. "Was I…supposed to?"

His confusion only makes it funnier, and I welcome the distraction as it pulls me from the danger zone.

"No - hah - no, Zim, I'm just messing with you."

He leans forward ever so slightly, pushing the words out between gritted teeth. "Keep making jokes, Dib, and I won't wait for your permission."

The warning goes straight to my dick. I'm starting to think I have a fetish for being threatened or something.

Just add that to the laundry list of things to over-analyze later.

"Dib, if you don't start moving, I'm going to - nmph!"

I arch my back a little, stroking myself as I sink down along his length. "Geez," I gripe. "You're so bossy."

A rough whine moves through him, and electricity rips across every fiber of my flesh. I raise my hips as much as my altered state will allow and take him deeper. I can feel his eyes locked onto my hand, watching me touch myself, watching me grind against his cock in loose, fevered circles. Whatever lubricant his body produces is practically gushing from him, coating my thighs and dripping from the table. He releases a trembling sigh, and I hear his talons press hard into the table as he braces himself. My heart pounds.

"So," I pant, eagerly thrusting between his writhing dick and my slick hand, "you got off to me. Did it - mmm - did it feel like this?"

His antennae swish as he shakes his head. "N-no," he mumbles. "This is…this is better."

My heart skips. "Yeah?"

"I didn't - didn't realize you would be this warm," he hums. "Or this… mhnn… tight."

I groan at the admission. The muscles in my thighs weakly clench and shake, goosebumps rippling. I'm getting too close again–

"T-this isn't the first time you've done this," he whispers, "is it?"

"What, touched myself?" I smirk, grateful for the distraction. "No, Zim, it's not."

"To me," he clarifies. "Touched yourself to me."

"Oh." The implication peels the grin from my face and my voice cracks. "Um, well, last night, obviously–"

"Before last night."

Fuck.

I take too long to answer. A low groan rumbles his chest; his dick pulses.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"That's kind of personal–"

"You made me tell you personal things." He moves his hands down to the jut of my hip bones.

"Come on, Zim, don't make me– ah!"

He flexes his claws and the pain sends a jolt of pleasure up my spine. My body twitches, grinding harder on his cock in response like a fucking traitor–

"Dib," he warns. A thin trail of blood runs down my left side, warm and sticky. "Answer."

The command rips the word from my chest with a sharp gasp. "Y-years!"

His dick throbs, and I can't bite back the moan in time - can't control the way my body rolls into his.

"Years," he repeats. There's an edge to his voice that raises the hair on my skin. "Years."

He pulls out. I flinch, gasping at the sudden emptiness.

"W-what're you doing?" I stammer. He pushes off of me; I hear the click of his sharp toes on the floor. I reach for the blindfold, slow and dazed. "Zim, where are you g–"

"Put. Your hands. Back."

I can't obey fast enough. My arms go limp, hands dropping uselessly at my sides. His palms curl around my waist and he tugs my body toward the edge of the table. With my legs hanging over the end, he settles between my thighs and snatches my wrists together, slamming them above my head. Heat pools in my gut. Blood rushes past my ears. I open my mouth to say something stupid when he shoves his dick all the way inside.

The back of my head hits the table and I scream. "Fuck!"

He doesn't give me any time to adjust - he pulls out and slams back in, sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain through my body like firecrackers, like dynamite, like a fucking nuclear blast–

"If I - had known," he growls between harsh thrusts, "I would've - destroyed you–"

Lightning cracks across my neurons.

"-you wouldn't have gone - a single night - without begging for me–"

He buries his claws in my thighs and I cry out. "Zim!"

"Yes - like that," he hisses, increasing the pace. "Just - like - that–"

His thrusts are relentless - there's no rhythm, no mercy - only desperation and carnality. I unravel in a moaning heap, useless, limp, sucking at the air and losing it every time his body slams into mine. The spiraling ridges of his cock drag against my insides, rippling with pleasure. I can't stop the unrelenting waves of heat or the prickling buzz in my flesh. I feel like I'm on fire, like I'm drowning, and it's so good and so horrible and I need more–

His weight shifts forward. I clench my jaw, groaning as he holds my head against the table. God, he's so close to my lips. His breath fills my nostrils, cool and sweet, and I'm suddenly desperate to feel his mouth on mine. He smells like hibiscus, like honey and almonds, like sugar crystals–

Kiss me–

"Z-Zim-"

Come on, kiss me–

I raise my hips, taking him deeper. His breath hitches and he responds by fucking me harder.

"Zim," I sob. "F-fuck - please-"

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me-

Tears run down my face until the blindfold sticks to my temples. I struggle to pull in enough air between his thrusts. It's so much - too much - I can't–

"I-I'm gonna–"

He squeezes my chin and forces my head to the side. I whine, mourning the loss of proximity to his lips, but then I feel his tongue drag from my jawline to my cheekbone as he licks the trail of wet salt from my face and moans against my skin–

And that's it - I'm done.

The orgasm rips through me - a tsunami, a cyclone. A cry stretches my lips; one that starts as his name and devolves into something nonsensical. The spasm racks my bones and my hips jerk wildly against the smooth, hard muscle of his stomach. He's saying something, but I can't hear it past the rush of blood in my ears, the euphoria in my veins. I rut against him until I'm empty. Sticky, sweaty, panting, trembling - empty.

He doesn't stop. He fucks me through the raging tide in my bones, and my body jolts in the aftershock of each thrust, limp and buzzing with pleasure. His claws snake through my hair and he yanks my head toward him.

"Bite me," he pants.

Stars flicker behind my eyes. "W-What?"

"Bite me." He pulls my hair until I feel his throat pressing against my lips. The pulse is frantic. "Just do it!"

Too dazed to protest, I open my mouth and run my tongue over the soft skin. He groans, pushing harder, but just as the tips of my fangs graze his throat, he suddenly jerks me back and slams me hard onto the table.

Pain blooms across my skull. "What the fu–"

"Shut up," he hisses frantically. "Shut up, she's back–"

"What?" There are no words to describe the sheer panic that impales my chest. "What do we– oh fuck–"

He pulls out fast enough to splatter my thighs with his slick. "Hurry up - get off the table, get your clothes–"

"Zim, you idiot," I groan, "I can't fucking move–"

"Ugh, you useless creature!"

I bite back a startled yelp as he shoves his arms underneath my body and unceremoniously yanks me from the table.

"What're you–"

"Don't make a single sound," he snaps. "Stay in here - pretend you're unconscious or something stupid–"

The familiar whir of the Voot fills my ears, and not a moment later, my stomach drops to my feet as I'm thrown onto the floor of the ship in a sprawl of limbs. The impact sings through my bones, but I don't have time to complain. As I fumble to remove the blindfold with hands that won't do hand things, I'm hit in the face with a bundle of my clothes.

"Put those on," he hisses. "Don't come out until I tell you to."

"But I–"

The ramp seals shut just as I manage to pull the blindfold off, leaving me in darkness. I try to sit up, but my legs won't cooperate, and every movement feels like my muscles are disconnecting.

A cacophony of crashing sounds echo beyond the Voot.

The fuck is he doing?

Struggling to catch my breath, I roll onto my side and weakly grab at my crumpled clothes. Everything is tilting and pulsing with heat. The tail-end of lust warms my cheeks at the sight of my stomach and thighs, coated in a thin, sticky film of pink.

Another crash, louder this time. Something spills. The sharp smell of disinfectant pricks my nostrils, and moments later, there's a damning stretch of silence.

Fuck.

The arguing is instantaneous; a lit match in a barrel of gasoline. Her tone is sharp, venomous, carving each Irken syllable out of the air like a blade. My heart steadily picks up the pace and I divert my focus to the pile of my underwear and jeans. While they snap at one another in frantic, heated bursts, I wrestle my clothes back on and silently curse myself, and Zim, and these stupid buttons that keep slipping from my fingers–

Come on, come on–

God, Irkens are literally the worst. What kind of genetic fuckery gives a species paralytics in their body's natural lubricant? And, more importantly, why the fuck did I like it so much?

I bite back a plethora of choice words as I finally get the buttons and zipper in place. Zim and Tak continue hissing and snapping on the other side of the Voot while I drag myself around the cargo space in search of something to clean my stomach.

I find more disinfectant wipes that I probably shouldn't use on bare skin, but I'll take a fucking chemical burn over the embarrassment of being caught looking like this.

Judging by the heat pulsing from the implant, it's safe to assume my flesh is, in fact, chemically burning. I rub harder until every trace of the fluid is gone. The tips of my fingers buzz, movements dulled, sloppy, prickling. I toss the soiled wipes as far back as I can manage with these goddamn noodle arms just as her voice gets louder and the ramp to the Voot unlocks with a fierce hiss.

Shit shit shit–

Her glowing purple eyes hit me like a fucking head shot. I stare at her from my awkward position on the floor, my pulse hammering in my throat.

"Out," she snarls. "Now."

I swallow and drunkenly pull myself to my feet, teetering to the right as she steps aside and shoves me down the ramp. It's a miracle I don't land on my face. My legs wobble, knees threatening to buckle. I stumble from the hangar with her close on my heels, seething with rage.

"You wretched beast," she shouts. "You destroyed my lab!"

"Oh," I answer like a big, dumb, stupid idiot. I glance around the room, blinking at the chaos of toppled furniture and overturned drawers. One of the lights has been smashed, and the surgical tools lie scattered across the floor. It smells like he dumped an entire gallon of disinfectant all over the tile. "I'm, uh…"

Except I have no idea what I'm supposed to say. Panicked, I turn to find Zim leaning casually against the opposite wall, fully dressed, arms crossed, antennae pinned in muted annoyance. My eyes widen at the fresh cuts down his jawline and the dark welt forming on his chin.

"I told you, it's not his fault," he drones. "His stupid monkey brain threw a fit when he woke up. He's done the same thing to my lab - more than once, actually."

I stare at him, incredulous. Did he injure himself to make it look like I lost my shit or something?

He meets my gaze for a solid 3 milliseconds before heaving out a bored sigh and rubbing his bruised jaw. "He'll clean it up."

I squint at him. You fucker.

"If it's not my fault, Zim," I say through gritted teeth, "then why do I have to clean it up?"

He glares, lip curling. "Because, Dib - it's still indirectly your fault."

"That literally makes no sense–"

"Shut up, both of you." Tak curses loudly and drops a crate beside the overturned table. She gestures toward me with an aggravated wave, scowling at Zim. "Is he stable now, or should I expect more of this behavior?"

Zim rolls his eyes. "Yes, he's stable - or as stable as his inferior kind is capable of being, at least."

"Wonderful," she growls. "I'll need to borrow him."

Zim practically chokes, antennae jutting high overhead. "What?"

"Yeah, what?" I echo with equal confusion.

She grimaces and folds her arms. "I need him to accompany me to the upper district."

"Why?" Zim snaps, straightening his shoulders. I blink at the static that materializes behind him like a buzzing shadow.

"Because," Tak hisses, "the last component for your ship can only be purchased there, and that district is not safe to enter alone–"

"And you think it'd be safe for him?" Zim exclaims.

She bares her teeth. "It's not safe for Irkens, you imbecile. We're not exactly tolerated here–"

"You won't be taking him anywhere," Zim spits. "I'll accompany you, if necessary–"

"Oh, so you believe two Irkens will make it any better?" she scoffs.

"Then I'll go by myself!"

Her laughter is sharp. "Despite your incessant reminders, it seems you've forgotten you still have your PAK, which means everyone on this planet sees you as an active member of the Empire. You're lucky they didn't gut you in the street the moment you arrived–"

"I don't care." His fists clench, and the static unfurls like black fire. "Under no circumstances will he leave these walls without me–"

"I'll go."

Zim whirls around with a ferocity I can taste. "Dib," he warns, baring teeth.

"We need it to repair the ship, right?" I ask.

"Yes," Tak mutters. She points to the crate at her feet. "He can begin the maintenance with what I've gathered so far, but the ship won't hold a full charge without this last component."

"So it's settled, then." I glance at Zim, who looks like he's two seconds away from strangling me. "I'll go with her, and you can start the repairs while we're out."

"Don't be stupid." His shoulders pinch. "I won't allow–"

"We need to do this as fast as possible," I snap, fists curling at my sides, "and if that means we split up the workload, then that's what we're going to fucking do, Zim."

His eyes are hot flames. "You're still recovering," he hisses. "You can hardly stand–"

"It's wearing off," I bite.

The rage billows from every pore in his body, crashing against my bones - but I stare him down.

"The upper district isn't far," Tak continues, walking past us. "We won't be gone for more than an hour or two at most." She digs through the bottom drawer and pulls out a pair of weird, circular radios the size of my palm. " Here - you can talk your heads off the entire way, if you must."

She offers one of the radios to Zim, but he's still glaring at me like he's hoping lasers will spontaneously shoot from his eyes and melt through my face.

"He's not going," he growls.

Tak's expression twists into a deeper scowl. "Do you think I want to be doing any of this, you wretched imp?" She slams the radio on the counter top. "Take it or don't - I couldn't care less. But you demanded my assistance, and if you want your sorry excuse for a ship to make it to your unfortunate destination, your power reserves need modification."

"It's dangerous–"

"Your pet is dangerous. Do you honestly think I'd put myself at risk running a stupid errand for you, Zim?" She scoffs and waves her hand toward me. "If his disgusting presence is enough to make me feel at ease with the task, then you certainly have nothing to worry about."

I squint at her convoluted attempt to both insult and compliment me as she hands me the other radio. The metal is smooth and cold - almost weightless in my grasp. I curl my fingers around it and glare at Zim.

"Two hours, tops," I say firmly. "You can insult me the whole way."

Static surrounds him, full of spikes and disdain. I can already tell I'm going to pay dearly the instant we're alone, and the thought is a little too exciting.

Jesus Christ, I have issues.

"Fine," he snaps, poison on his tongue, brimstone in his eyes. "You have two hours." He swipes the radio from the counter, grabs the crate, and turns on his heels toward the Voot. "Try not to lose any vital organs this time."