Michael gathered his clothes together and put them on. Sloppy, sweaty and smelling like an evening out on the town, they did little to cover the rawness he felt. How could he let this have gone so bad so quickly? But at the same time, what was he to do? Shil’vati, on average, were slightly heavier than him but with about a foot and a half more height and a much better BMI.

He checked his belongings. He still had his wallet, cashless as it was; it still had his driver’s license, insurance, credit card and a few other bullshit essentials. He checked his phone. It was dead. Of course.

He looked around the room. There were a few tchotchkes and pictures that seemed personal. There were several posters of shirtless or near shirtless Human and Shil’vati men. Clive Owen...nice. Get some Zac Efron up in here and we could talk. Ugh, talk. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. Oh wait, I can’t even call for help--phone’s dead.

Michael looked around the room. Serca was sleeping. He wasn’t about to disturb her. He doubted she would have anything helpful to tell him. Who could? Fuck. I can’t sleep in here, Michael added to his list of regrets. He crept over to the side of the floor where he might hide behind the door when Gwen returned. I’m sure as hell not sleeping with her.

He looked up at the shotgun blast drippings for his fond memories of the night. Was it good, though? Was it worth what happened afterwards?

Think of the Devil, Gwen reentered the bedroom, quietly so as to not disturb her roommate. She looked for Michael on her bed, then the floor, then Serca’s bed. Finally, she closed the door and looked down at him curled up on the floor.

“Oh grow the fuck up.” Gwen chuckled. “Be a man? I guess..?” Then tumbled into her own bed. “C’mon Pinkie, I’ll make it better.”

Michael got up in a huff. Fuck that. “I’m going to the bathroom.” He closed the door as calmly as he could, then paced angrily to the bathroom.

When inside, he looked at himself in the mirror. His neck was red, but not bruised, not yet anyway. He started to scrub his hands clean when he remembered his sweat, beer and cum soaked clothes. He didn’t go out with an overnight bag. His and Bill’s outings almost never “paid off” as their bravado suggested they would. Several times they’d been to the beach bars and even Falsetto Friars with no luck. Why would this time be any different?

Michael scrubbed and scrubbed until he realized he needed to move on. Cleaning his hands alone would not make him feel any cleaner inside or out. He wasn’t going to shower, but he wasn’t going to go back into that bedroom either. He took a few steps outside of the bathroom and assessed the common room situation. God, am I going to have a complex about seeing purple now? Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose and stood for a while.

He eventually settled on trying to sleep in the chair as opposed to the couch. The chair was plenty of room for him, but the couch had too much. He didn’t want to invite himself to any more attention from other suite mates who could decide they needed to make a go at the Human fuck cushion. Still, Michael could rest his head on one arm of the chair, stretch out his body and not have to bend his legs to fit in the Shil’vati piece of furniture.

Sleep never came easy to him. It especially didn’t come easy tonight. He tossed and turned and never quite got comfortable. He must’ve gotten some sleep because he awoke at some point in the night to the feeling of being lifted out of the chair. He startled at her touch, but did not fight it when he recognized that it was Serca who was picking him up. Despite not wanting to go back into that room, he felt he might be a bit safer to be in the big strong arms of someone who “knew” him and didn’t have neutral to negative intent to use him as their intimate object.

That made things more “secure” but no easier to sleep. Being the little spoon was better than being alone on a seat even in the worst of circumstances. Still, Michael found himself counting breaths he was taking. Trying to determine if the friction between himself and his partner was comfortable kept his brain spinning. Her smooth skin against his should have been comforting. However, the thick arm around him felt smothering.

Eventually, Serca turned over and checked her omnipad. It was time to get up and start the day. She got up, grabbed what was presumably her toiletries and clothes and headed out the door. She beckoned Michael to join. He looked from her to Gwen, still sound asleep, and decided to join her--he hoped, in the shower. He hoped he could get out of there before Gwen got up again. He hoped he wouldn’t have to face her again and could forget that part of last night. He also hoped beyond hope that there might be a way to wash his clothes.

This, like so many others, was a wasted hope.

The shower experience was not as sexy as one might imagine. Sure, naked purple Amazon, huge jugs, learning a lot of Shil’vati anatomy was fun, but it was more clinical than anything else. Particularly when Serca decided that Michael needed a hand.

Yes, my chest is clean. You can stop anytime…

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Yes, my crotch is a mess. No, it wasn’t you.

No, I’m not hard. No, shower sex is not a thing right now. Even if it was, my cock would have to be like 5 feet long to accommodate our difference in heights.

Can we be done?

It was when she lifted his arms to wash his armpits that it occurred to Michael that none of this had been said aloud. Or perhaps understood aloud. Serca had made some low noises that must have been spoken Shil’vati. He stood there and took it. He was defenseless to her doting on him. She’d lifted me from the couch and took me to her room. What was I going to do?

Still pondering his plight, do I not know Shil anymore? What? How did I know it last night? How did we have entire conversations last night that led to me coming to the base?

The confusion must have been clear on his face despite their newly acquired language barrier because Serca turned the water off mirthlessly.

Once dressed, Serca motioned for him to come with her outside. Michael could tell that she wanted to hold hands or something that showed some kind of affection or appreciation for their time together. He did not reciprocate. Get me the fuck out of here, he thought as he kept his hands in his pockets, walking grumpily a step behind her long slow strides. She covered more distance with her slow strides than he could keep up with easily.

He could tell she was leading him to an open parking lot. There, a school bus stood purposefully. He could also tell that he wasn’t the only one doing the walk of shame toward the bus. In fact, several Human men were aggregating at the open bus door. Was this so common that they had a regularly scheduled bus route for “the morning after”? Holy shit.

Michael’s spirits sank even further. Not only was he a piece of meat to these ladies, he wasn’t even special. I am so common that they had a fucking school bus to transport all the fuckbois off base. His shoulder slumped in self pity.

Serca noticed and tried to explain herself while the other suitors climbed onto the bus. Michael didn’t understand. Though, if he could, he imagined that the words would have become “wah wahs” in his brain anyway.

He feigned listening. It seemed like the most polite way to get himself out of the situation as painlessly as possible.

Honestly though, he didn’t have any hard feelings toward Serca. They were just two people who wanted a connection. They had that last night. She wasn’t the one who forced herself upon him. Maybe there could be something down the line for them. He’d have to figure out why he could understand her last night and not this morning.

He’d clearly missed something in his reverie because her hands were on his shoulders. The other guys were already on the bus. Serca had just said something for which she expected a response. He looked up from the pavement where he had been doing his contemplation. She repeated what she had said in Shil. Michael assumed it was something about seeing him later.

She shook him, perhaps harder than she’d intended as Michael had to brace himself to keep his balance.

This is uncalled for, no matter what she’s saying, you don’t shake a body like this. Michael reached up and, with not insignificant effort, lifted her arms from his shoulders. He crinkled his face with displeasure in doing so.

Serca looked ashamed.

Yeah. You don’t get to grab someone you barely know and shake them.

Her arms went to her sides as she gave him a look of genuine apology. He put his hands down from his lifting position into one that he hoped would convey that it was alright. He looked her in the eye and hoped that their actions hadn’t truly broken up what could be, at the very least, a learning opportunity for him.

They both smiled slightly and breathed a sigh of hope for another try.

Then Michael’s face was wet.

He wiped at his face. What now? He looked up at the sky to see which bird had shat on him. He looked at his wet fingers. They were blue.

“What?” Michael said in shock. He looked up at Serca. There was a throbbing gush of blood coming out of her neck. It was then that he thought he heard it.

ZING.

Now, much too late, he ducked.

Was that a bullet? He asked himself dumbly. Serca began to fall. He had no hope of catching her. The weight of her fall would have crushed him. Luckily for him, she fell backward. The momentum of her falling showed that her head was nearly torn off. Blood continued to pulse out of her neck and onto the pavement of the parking lot. He didn’t know what to do. There was nothing he could do to help her.

He looked around for help.

He didn’t see any Shil’vati around.

What he did see was the walk of shamers pouring out of the bus. Somehow they all had assault rifles. They all ran to the buildings they had come from, reversing their route to the bus. The bus driver sauntered off the bus and handed him a rifle as well.

“Welcome to the Resistance, son.” The bus driver smiled at him.

“Fuck this.” Michael said as he handed the rifle back. He started running for the gate. I’m getting the fuck out of here. He held his pants in place as he rushed. Stupid fucking fuck and your stupid fucking weight gain and your stupid fucking pants that don’t fit. He panted as he ran, pretending he was out of breath from the yelling at himself internally and not his woeful lack of cardio.

He cursed himself for being unable to drive last night. If he had his own car, he could pretend to have a hope of getting away. As it was, he wasn’t sure how he was going to get past the gate guard and the gate itself.

The gate guard was looking outward for vehicles coming in, they did not notice him running toward them to get out. As if marking his passing, blue blood splattered the windows inside the booth. No worries about them anymore. Though, how am I going to open the gate? The gate rumbled open to his surprise. Am I telekinetic? Do I have a mind-reading genie? How’d that happen?

In answer to his unspoken questions, a dark, camouflaged figure came to his side. Ahead of them, a deep red Jeep Renegade screeched to a halt parallel to the opening gates.

“Need a ride?” The dark stranger asked.

Michael knew the voice. “Celeste? What are you doing here?”

Celeste pushed Michael toward the truck and the passenger seat. “We’ll tell you when we get out of here.”

Michael complied, opening up the front passenger door. The seat was empty. There seemed to be the butt of a large sniper rifle wedged between the driver and passenger seats. He looked up further, following the plump hand that rested on the gear shift, up the forearm to a bare shoulder. He recognized the cherubic face of the driver regardless of the dark face paint under her eyes.

“Rachel!?”

“Hiya!” Rachel welcomed him cheerfully, put the Jeep into gear and tore through the grass along the periphery of the base.