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Carol regards Zosia with narrowed eyes from across the couch, a finger running along the crystal edge of a glass of vodka. She’s thinking, the kind of thinking that comes with being kind of hazy with alcohol and one of the last people properly living on the planet.
“So, you people,” she starts, head lolling to look at the grenade sitting on her coffee table, “you’ll bring me anything I want?”
“Anything you ask for, we will endeavour to provide, yes.” Zosia smiles, nursing her own glass.
“What if I asked for, like, a chainsaw?” She pulls out of nowhere, sipping on her drink as an arm throws itself out in question.
“Sure, we could get you a chainsaw, Carol.”
“Or what about, like…” she slides her attention to the grenade again, “a bomb, a bigger bomb than that. A missile, or something.”
Zosia’s eyes narrow but her smile doesn’t disappear, her head tilting in a somewhat creepy display of confusion.
“Would you like a missile, Carol?”
“Well, no, but let’s say I did.”
“We would get you one, if you truly wanted one.”
“Okay,” she nods, taking in the information she’s being presented. So they can’t say no, basically. Interesting. “What if I blew up this house, would you try to stop me?”
“We would strongly advise against blowing the house up, Carol.”
“But what if it would make me really happy?” She goads, finding a thin sliver of joy at the way the words make Zosia’s eyebrows twitch above her eyes.
“We would not stop you.”
“Even though you’d get hurt?”
“We would not get hurt, not entirely.” She replies.
“Right.” Carol drains the last of her glass, “millions of you and all.”
Zosia nods. “Perhaps we could get you a glass of water, or some food?” She says, clearly trying to pivot the conversation.
“I’m okay.” She waves her off. “What if I went to stab you?” She asks then, “would you try to stop me then?”
“We cannot hurt you, Carol.” Zosia says.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Zosia grimaces, her head moving in a slight tilt.
“Fine.” Carol continues at the non answer. “What if I asked you to stab yourself?”
“We aren’t sure this line of questioning is helpful,” Zosia murmurs softly, “perhaps there is something else we can help you with.”
“No, there isn’t.” She says steadfastly, crossing her arms. “I’d like you to get up, find the knife on the counter and stab yourself.”
Zosia pauses where she sits, movements stilted.
“Carol,” she begins, “while we cannot feel physical pain in the sense that you do, we would like to remind you that this body is still alive and contains nerve endings.”
“I know.” She says, “I don’t care. I want you to stab yourself. It would make me so happy.”
Zosia regards her through creepy placid eyes, and then she shifts. Getting up. Walking towards the counter. Fuck, she’s actually going to do it.
“Jesus, stop, come back.” Carol calls out as she gets half a metre from the couch. “You don’t actually have to stab yourself, fuck.”
“You asked us to?” Zosia blinks, this innocence in her eyes that really contradicts the fact she knows every fact in the world.
“Yeah, but it would be completely reasonable to deny that request? You get that right?”
“Carol,” Zosia sighs, sitting down next to her, “if you ask for something, we will provide it. That is our role.”
“You’d die to make me happy?”
Zosia doesn’t say anything, but that’s answer enough. Fuck, in some sick and twisted way it sends heat pooling between her thighs. She’s always on edge around Zosia, but she’s drunk, and Zosia is telling her she’d stab herself if Carol asked. And it’s making her shift her thighs together. Maybe that makes her sick, maybe she doesn’t really care.
“What if I asked you to stop breathing?”
Zosia’s eyes twinkle and she cocks her head, her voice silky sweet like she’s reprimanding a child. “Carol, please think about this request.”
She thinks. She thinks about how sometimes when she’s alone and she has three fingers buried inside of herself she brings her other hand up to her throat and squeezes so tight she might pass out. And she thinks about how one of the first times she’d had sex with Helen she’d pressed her forearm to her neck and Carol had come so hard she’d seen stars. She thinks about what Zosia would look like, red and desperate for breath, and she sits back against the couch.
“Come sit here.” She says, motioning to the floor.
Zosia nods, setting her glass down and moving to sit on her knees between Carol’s thighs. “Was this what you meant?”
“Yeah,” she says, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her.
“Is there anything else we can do for you Carol?”
And fuck, the way her voice is soft and drawn out like honey it almost sounds like she’s flirting. Maybe she is. Maybe they’ve decided that’s what Carol wants. But fuck it, honestly, because that is what she wants.
“Tell me something about Zosia,” she says, “about what she liked, during sex I mean.”
Zosia frowns but it’s only seconds before her eyes go blank in that way they do when she’s contacting the hive.
“This individual liked to show off for her partners.” Zosia smiles, as if she isn’t relaying sex facts about the woman whose body she’s taken over.
“Okay. Take off your pants.” Carol says. She’s running on instinct now, and she’s drunk and horny and she really doesn’t care. It’s the end of the world, why should she.
“Certainly.”
Zosia moves to stand, quickly shucking her slacks down and folding them onto the coffee table. Carol’s eyes drop, her breathing quickening with the sudden new skin on show, all tan thighs and perfect hips.
“Would you like me to remove my shirt, too?” Zosia asks, the picture of helpfulness.
“No,” she shakes her head. “Just sit back down.”
Zosia does, folding down to sit in front of her again.
“Put your fingers in your mouth.” She says. “Two of them.”
Zosia’s eyes remain settled on Carol as she lifts her right hand, separating her middle fingers and taking both of them into her mouth.
“Is this what you meant? Putting on a show?”
Zosia goes to remove her fingers and answer but Carol leans forward, grabbing at her wrist to keep them there.
“No,” she says. “Keep them there.”
“Yes.” Zosia mumbles around her fingers, the words half a garbled moan. “This is what we meant.”
“Say I.” Carol says. “For now, say I.”
“This is what I meant.” Zosia says immediately, the words barely intelligible.
“Good baby,” Carol lets go of her, Zosia’s fingers stay inside her mouth. “You can take them out.”
Zosia obeys, her right hand dropping to her side. She doesn’t wipe it, leaving saliva glistening on her fingertips.
“Tell me how you feel.” She says. “Not like- all of you, this body.”
Zosia blinks, as if taking stock of herself.
“This individual feels… desire. They are experiencing the telltale signs of arousal.”
“Say it properly.”
“I’m wet,” Zosia murmurs, low and throaty, “I feel turned on.”
“Good,” she says. “Use your hand and touch yourself. Do it how Zosia would have. And when you feel good, let me know.”
Zosia nods, her right hand slipping beneath her underwear. Carol watches as her hand circles several times, before she moves lower, a stuttered moan filtering out as she slips a finger inside of herself.
“I feel good.” She murmurs.
“Yeah?”
Zosia’s only answer is a moan and it sends wetness pooling between her own thighs. The thought of her being so turned on she can’t form a coherent response. It does it for her.
“So what if I asked you to stop breathing?” She asks again.
“I-“ Zosia’s voice stutters. “I would- if you asked.”
“No warning talk?” She teases.
“I want to.” Zosia moans. And it feels so real, like it really is just Zosia in there, that Carol fights the urge to slide her own fingers into herself. “Please, Carol.”
“I want you to.” She says. “Stop breathing. And don’t breathe again until you come.”
Zosia nods, her jaw clenching together as she stops breathing altogether, her hand still working at speed between her thighs.
“Slip your hand past your shirt and touch your nipples.” She says.
Zosia does, eyes rolling back in her head. It’s too much, Carol slips a hand past the waistband of her pants and rubs tight circles against herself. And Zosia, Zosia locks eyes with her hand and makes this low, keening noise, muscles twitching.
“Is this turning you on?” Carol asks, genuinely. “Watching me touch myself.”
Zosia nods frantically, face starting to redden as she humps against her own hand. Her eyelids start to flutter and her throat bobs, arms shaking.
“Are you close?” She goads.
Zosia can’t do anything but nod, her whole face flushed with colour now, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.
“Go on then,” she gets out, her own fingers beginning to move faster. “I want you to. It would make me so happy.”
Zosia’s eyes slam shut and she watches her hips stutter out of rhythm. Guttural groans come from the back of her throat, barely there with how out of breath she is. And then her hand is being pulled from her underwear and she’s collapsing forward, sucking in deep breaths and spluttering against the floor. The sight turns her on even more.
“Please,” Zosia looks up at her from the floor, mascara pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I want to please you.”
And fuck, why the hell not.
“Go ahead.” She says, pulling her hand free.
Zosia is surging forward and tugging her pants down and before she can register it Zosia’s tongue is pressing against wet heat. And god, she knew it would be good, Zosia has the sexual experience of everyone on earth after all, but she hadn’t anticipated this. Her hips surge forward to grind against Zosia’s face and this combined with how she’d just been touching herself has her hurtling towards the edge before she can really gauge what’s happening.
Her thighs spasm as she grips the back of Zosia’s head, grinding herself into her mouth, and she falls apart with a breathless moan, wishing Zosia’s hand was around her throat.
Zosia sits back on her heels, wiping her lips.
“Was that satisfactory, Carol?” She asks.
“Fuck,” she slumps backwards, “yes, yeah. Very satisfactory.”
“Wonderful.” Zosia beams. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”
There it is again. We.
“No. Thanks.” She says softly. “In fact, maybe you should go.”
“Alright. If that’s what you’d like.”
And fuck. She really needs to stop drinking.
(That night, if she falls apart with her own hand round her throat, there’s no one around to see it. And if she thinks about Zosia as she comes, no she doesn’t.)