Chapter Text
Fasma hesitates before dropping the pill in your drink.
He doesn't remember the last time he was this sober on the job. And, in hindsight, he understands why he would need to be seriously hammered to do it.
This is fucked up.
It's no secret that older or less traveled monsters often seek out guides to do shady shit in traditionally human societies. Hell, even he has turned a blind eye to some of his clientele's deeds- But the plasma monster has never quite found himself in this revolting a case.
It just so happens that his latest client is a really, really weird sort. Fasma could recognize that pasty chalk complexion and lanky frame anywhere, the lack of visible eyes, a long thin tail, the constant restlessness- It was a breeder , spreader, or so that's what they're commonly referred to as, no one quite knows the actual name of that species. All Fasma understands, from word of mouth, is that these beings were exploited for reproductive purposes. That they're not even supposed to be out and about. And again, in hindsight, Fasma can see why that is so. They're uninformed, insatiable nymphs, and notoriously aggressive.
But Fasma has a buttery old heart beneath all that snark, and he felt sorry for the poor guy. He looked lost and wounded, barely composed when he reached out to him in The Clergy, with a good chunk of money he probably didn't earn fair and square but it wasn't Fasma's business to question that.
The ectoplasmic monster had innocently assumed his new client just wanted to find a place for himself in human societies, fit in, meet people. He helped them pick out a name, even if "Breg" isn't exactly a very uh… Common choice. Fasma will admit that he nearly said "egg", since the breeder's head is kind of rounded like one, and he was shitfaced drunk. Well, that's a story for another time. But no, turns out Breggy boy here has much more nefarious wants. He needs Fasma to gain access to a single human.
A woman.
There's nothing that striking about her really, at least not anything that Fasma can gleam. Sure, she's cute enough and even has a couple of interesting hobbies, but he's not sure why Breg is in such an obsessive state over her. He tried to pry, figure out if there was a connection here he wasn't aware of. But it quickly became clear he's just dealing with a timid pervert. Breg knew nothing of you when he first talked to Fasma. Not even your fucking name. Yet he kept referring to you as "his female". That's a breeder thing, they can't seem to get it through their heads that claiming others isn't how courtship works these days. Fasma knows better than to try and fight Breg on this, lest his client take it as a challenge and attempt to eviscerate him. The most he can do is attempt to smooth down the other's attitude. Which is absolutely crucial for this to work, otherwise shit would have hit the fan by now- It still will, eventually, but Fasma is doing his best to delay the impact.
In fact, if you knew just how much danger you're in right now, you'd be sending him roses and fan mail for the lengths he's going to make sure you live to see another peaceful day.
Admittedly, this case is as interesting as it is creepy. And Fasma is having some fun from time to time, mostly when he has to explain complex human concepts to Breg and gets to add his own personal bullshit sprinkle in the mix, it's nice to have someone whose ears you can rant off occasionally. It's been a long while since Fasma had the delight to train anyone in such basic stuff. He's not doing his best though, probably because you have so much fucking alcohol in your apartment. You don't even drink! Your folks gave you all that good stuff and you're just letting it waste away in a dusty cabinet inside your living room! Tch- Ungrateful. You don't know what's good. You wouldn't know what good is if it hit you in the face! But he does.
He can tell his habits are getting on Breg's nerves though.
Maybe, if Breg wasn't such a scummy little horndog, Fasma wouldn't have to drink his morality away every goddamn night! How is he supposed to live with himself knowing he's stalking you? Learning intimate details and seeing things no one should just to sate that no-good creep's little voyeur-boner for you. He's so tired of skulking around your home, so done with stealing away little trinkets to abate the little shit that just won't grow a pair already! It's not that hard Breg, come the fuck on… Alright. He gets it. The dude has never interacted with a woman in his life, he has no idea what relationships are like outside of sappy novellas and porn mags. He's the definition of socially stunted, anyone can tell. But no matter how gently Fasma attempts to coax him into talking to you, starting off very simple and chaste, Breg never has the nerve. He pedals back like the plasma monster just stung him in the ass.
No, he has the nerve to loom outside your apartment building in the dead of night. The nerve to tell Fasma to slip a fucking sleeping pill in the late-night coffee you always have before bed- Damn kid, caffeine does nothing to you- And fondle your unconscious form while snooping around the place. He's seen it happening, Breg drugs himself on your smell, he never looks more at peace than when he's inside your room rummaging through your clothes, fishing for pairs of used underwear, or threading claws through your mussed hair. It's fucking disturbing. He's not allowed to be in the apartment once the pill is dropped though, not after he casually walked into the bedroom to see Breg's face stuffed against your panty-covered pussy while he pumped himself like a mutt in heat.
Woo boy, what a night that was.
No wonder he drinks himself near comatose, anything to distract himself from the fact that he's legally obligated to help another monster diddle you.
You're a freaky girl too. Maybe also a bit of a perv, from the tabs he's seen open on your phone. But you have the decency to behave normally and you don't look like you'd ever hurt anyone for self-gratification. Fasma will always keep the day he found out you were a possible monsterfucker secret, it's the only thing that can help keep everything afloat here, but it's also tempting enough to likely make Breg do something rash if he were to find out at the wrong time.
Fasma has to put an end to this, however. He can't keep doing it, it's fucking with his head too much. Sooner or later, this depraved cycle will end, and Fasma would rather leave the future up to you. It's selfish, cowardly, he knows perfectly well, but he's not drunk enough to let it continue today. And he's not brave enough to tell you what he's been a part of all this time either. He doesn't want to be in the picture anymore and he hopes you can forgive him for doing what he's about to.
The little plasma entity twirls the pretty pill in his dark gloved hand … A drug made and distributed by the peeps at The Clergy's Eye, those heathens. He can't read the symbols printed on the purple tablet, but he thinks they mean something like saintly sleep, and if that's not an instant slap to the face then he'll be damned. Again, Fasma has no idea how Breg can be so oblivious towards various aspects of society yet still know how to fetch an illegal substance like this. You never notice it, how could anyone? Saintly sleep has no smell, no taste, the buzz sneaks in comfortably until you slam into abyssal slumber. Breg could cut your fucking legs off, you wouldn't budge.
Not this time.
With a sigh, he cranes his head to gaze into the kitchen, where you're humming idly while cleaning the sink, hair messily tied back and dressed in childishly patterned pajamas. Completely unaware of Fasma's presence. How can he do this to you so casually? You're just a girl going about her ordinary life, unaware of the blasphemous things this gross moron insists on doing to you ritualistically. Not tonight. Not anymore. Fasma glances back over to the short table he's standing on, the steaming coffee cup right next to your phone. He takes the pill, hides it in the fold of his thick glove, and proceeds to slip out of your home silent as a mouse.
God help you, little lady…
[Breg POV]
What's taking him so long?!
Breg fumes silently, hidden in the shrubs and bushes by the stairs next to your apartment complex. His tail lashes angrily against a ground plant, shaking his simple hideout. He's really not in the mood to deal with Fasma's shortcomings tonight. Yes, the strange ghost-like creature has been very useful to him so far, but his loathsome drinking habits ruin everything. He's tired of having to drag their blacked-out noodle body out of his mate's home.
His mate…
He's so excited to see you again. Breg has been dreaming of this since he was only known as 197, the uncooperative, exceedingly hostile male specimen at the facility. He dreamt of finally having a partner, someone who loved him and he could care for, a meaning to his barren life. Isn't that what it's all about? His kind is made to breed and impregnate, after all… But no no, don't think ill of him, Breg doesn't want to just stuff you- Well, he's looking forward to that yes, but it's not the end-game. Breg wants to be your loving partner, and you his, the same way all those happy couples your kind seems to be obsessed over are.
Breg has to hand it to humanity, they have such a pretty definition of love, so pure, so wholesome and perfect. This mutual paradise full of all the privileges he never had. Trust, loyalty, affection, support, intimacy… It must be lovely. Breg doesn't have to wonder anymore though, not after he's made it out of that shitshow facility. He'll admit, the first few days were horrid, scary and confusing for a creature that knew very little of how to actually behave socially. So he just hid in the shadows of human society and stalked around at night, hoping to learn things. And, you know, survive.
Breg hadn't hired Fasma at the time, so he made many mistakes. Approached people out of nowhere, subsequently terrifying the fuck out of them, ate someone at a certain point- Listen, he was starving and, if it helps, they didn't seem like a good person. The list goes on. He still remembers when he first saw you though.
It was dead quiet at night, his sense of time was even worse back then. Breg was quietly sitting by a completely obscured alley of your neighborhood where the street lights had malfunctioned some time ago, near the dumpsters. Not exactly pleasant, but he was far too focused on reading the old magazines and newspapers he had snatched from a distracted postman that morning. The lack of illumination did not halt him. It had been too long since he read something, so it was an obviously frustrating ordeal, punctuated by his own mocking inner monologue that insisted he would never learn anything about your kind even if the tools to do such with were right in front of him.
Of course he heard the approaching footsteps. If there's one thing Breg learned, it's that the vast majority of humans are not up at this hour, giving him a very wide radius to wander freely or observe the occasional stray individual doing who knows what. Your kind does a lot of weird things in the dark when they think they're alone... He immediately stiffened, keeping himself hidden in the shadows that shrouded his now blackened skin. Breg could have simply fled, but he was so tired of running and never understanding anything around him, he needed to see more, experience more. So he merely remained still as stone when you came into view.
Now, he had seen a couple of women before this, all of them quite unique, but never this close. You couldn't see him naturally, your eyesight is moot compared to his, so you walked in front of the dumpster right next to him without a second thought. Breg surveyed you quietly. You were short, well, most humans are compared to him… A figure that looked oh so soft concealed with baggy pants and an equally loose shirt, those things your kind wears to sleep. His gaze lingered on the shape of your breasts and thighs for a brief moment while he wondered, as he always does, what it'd be like to touch you. Then his attention flickered to your face, this exhausted deadpan of an expression tainting the rather appealing features in your complexion. You looked way too tired, maybe you were sleeping. Your pretty flowing hair was loosely tied behind your back, framed in such a way that if he dared to reach out the smallest distance, he'd get to feel it. Feel you.
For a small moment, Breg almost believed you had come here specifically to find him, like fate, or God, whatever it is humans believe guides them- Had instructed you to seek him tonight. But he's never that lucky . You had come here with garbage bags and other rolled-up paraphernalia in your hands, after all. You entered the alley for the dumpster, not the monster creepily looming nearby. Morose once more, Breg watched you dispose of the bags, yet his sight zeroed on the rolled-up magazine you clutched, ready to drop yet another source of insight into the trash pile. Nuh huh. He had considered swiftly snatching it from your grip and making a run for it, but then he'd just be a villain to you. Some unseen evil force who only lives to torment others. He didn't want to be a brute in others' eyes, he thought that maybe he could take a chance. So, challenging every ounce of courage he had, Breg spoke to a human again that night.
" Can I have that...? "
You jumped.
And a good distance away too. Breg still snickers thinking about the frightened way you nearly tumbled down. Those tired hues narrowed as you tried your damnedest to see anything in the dark that cloaked Breg, but you are only human, and Breg can stay out of your lackluster sight whenever he wishes. Mayhaps it was the lethargic state you were in that dulled the fear response anyone would have when seeing a gaunt large hand extend from the shadows of a dark alley. Because he recalls you only glanced in his general direction warily. Breg was honestly surprised you hadn't run away yet, which was pleasant. But even more pleasing was the moment you spoke back.
" I mean… " You started, eyeing the magazine with a hint of disgust. " My dude, this is like an old porno mag I found in my garage. Probably from the previous owner- "
" I'd like to keep it. " Breg replied, using a hand to cover his elated grin so that your eyes would not find the ominous cyan glow of his teeth in the dark. He didn't even know what a porno mag was at the time. " Please… " He adds hastily after a short pause.
You stood there for a tense moment, blinking at the alley, this mildly judgmental look on your features. Breg didn't care though, he was already far too happy to have any sort of vaguely positive interaction with a human. With a female.
Eventually, you shrugged and stepped closer, extending the rolled-up magazine to him. " Whatever freak-o… " To this day, he still doesn't know what a "freak-o" is. Sounds rude. He should ask you later.
Breg steadied his erratic breathing and tentatively reached out. Once more, he was unable to temper himself and deliberately skimmed the pads of his fingers over your own before grasping the item. He paid no mind to the way you jolted back in shock, far too focused on burning the sensation of your warm skin into the forefront of his brain as he clutched the stupid magazine hard enough to almost ruin it.
" Thank you. " Polite. He knew he had to be polite. He's very polite, Breg knows you'll like that.
" Uhm yeah, no problem… G'night. "
You were out of the alley before Breg could respond. The interaction consumed him for days. It was because of said event that he discovered what pornography is, and subsequently had to toss the magazine away because it… Distracted him too much . Not as much as you however. Breg was famished for more contact with your kind, and up until now, only you had been moderately receptive. Desperation leads to drastic measures. He looked for you the very next night, found you, got cold feet, met Fasma at a monster establishment- The whole nine yards.
He just… He just really doesn't want to ruin this. You seem so nice, and he feels so drawn to you already, there's clearly something here- Something he can work with, he’d be a fool to let it go to waste. Breg wouldn't ever get over the loss of his dream. He knows what he's doing isn't exactly normal by human courting standards, or so Fasma tells him, but he's just getting acquainted. When you think about it, he's at a severe disadvantage here, it doesn't hurt to know as much as possible before making a move. Learning how you live and seeing your nest- Home. Apartment. Yes, that's the word. He forgets sometimes… Seeing your apartment is but a means to an end, nothing more.
Oh, who is he kidding?
The best part is getting to be with you. Unconscious, granted, but still there and all his. Breg is well aware this is rude of him, beyond that even, but he doesn't know how to keep himself sane otherwise. One day, he'll get to hold you while you're awake and feel you reciprocate his touch- So until then, until that happens, because it will happen, he borrows your body at night. He doesn't hurt you. Never, oh never! But he's weak-willed, and you're the prettiest, most alluring female he's ever seen. Breg loves curling around your tiny body while you slumber, you're softer than a pillow, exuding this comforting heat he can't get enough of. Breg sinks his fingers into the folds of your skin, grips and gropes and sighs- It's no wonder he loses himself honestly. Who wouldn't, right? You're so cute, he can't wait-
Huh?
" Hey pal, I'm talkin' here! "
Oh. Fucking finally. Breg shakes his head back onto his shoulders and regards the fuming little critter in front of him.
" Get a grip, dingus. You ain't been sleeping right, have ya? "
No. Not really. Breg doesn't actually remember the last time he had a full night's sleep. Probably because he now spends his nights buzzing around in your home like an uninvited bug. Sometimes he naps in the evenings though. Breg wonders if he looks that exhausted. He doesn't feel particularly drained. It's surprising that Fasma cares.
" I'm fine. "
" Sure buddy. " Fasma squints. Just when Breg thinks the ecto creature is going to start hammering down on finding a place to live nearby again, he sighs. " She's out cold. " Fasma murmurs bitterly, gesturing vaguely to your balcony on the second floor.
Breg feels another lewd thrill skate down his back, knowing he's about to indulge in the best part of his day. Before he can rise out of the shrubs however, his guide interrupts.
" Listen Breg… " They begin, in a much more serious tone that makes the breeder pause. " This can't last forever. Speak ta her before it's too late. "
This again.
Damn it, fuck- He knows! Breg knows he's gonna have to man up, stop being a pussy and approach you soon. But he's not ready. He barely has any idea how to speak to others properly- Fasma is basically his only source of social interaction. He chokes up just thinking of directly speaking to you. Does Fasma not understand how much is on the table right now? How much Breg would be risking if he just showed up out of nowhere as he currently is?! He would never forgive himself or Fasma if it went wrong, if you hated him. The thought alone is unbearable, forcing trembles of agitation to wrack his limbs. This conversation is pointless, it's wasting precious nighttime.
" You know I'm not ready for that yet, she- "
" Well when will ya be?! " Fasma clutches his horns, exasperated. Breg notes curiously that the little devil is much less inebriated than usual. " This is so fucked up, she's just a girl, Breg. And- And… Yer a rapi- "
Breg snarls viciously before Fasma can complete the word, teeth elongating beyond the blunt smile he carefully crafted to seem inconspicuous. What Fasma is accusing him of does not sit well at all with Breg, it makes something deep in his chest sink like a bottomless pit. Something he refuses to acknowledge. He's wrong, he's twisting things, what would that drunk mess know? Breg would never… He's not like them, he's not like the others! He knows better now. He knows what he was forced to do. They didn't give him a choice! But he's not there anymore. This is so much more different. Fasma's just saying that because he knows Breg's a spreader. He thinks Breg just wants you for your body, that Breg can’t rise above what was done to and expected of him.
" Don't you dare! She's my mate! " He grits through clenched teeth, trying to reign his emotions in even as he looms to gutturally hiss at the small being, starting to see nothing but red. " I love her! I would never hurt her like that! If I ever hear you say such a disgusting thing again, I'll make you- "
He stops.
Fasma is melting. Well, sort of… It kind of looks like he's sweating himself into a sad, gross little puddle upon the dirt. Regardless, that's clearly a product of terror. Breg has never snapped at him like this before, even if they have had their share of petty disagreements here and there. He just really doesn't like it when Fasma questions his devotion like this. Whatever, Breg needs to calm down before he rends his only help in ribbons, the little void-eyed monster wouldn't know what actual love is anyway- That's why he spends his days wasting away at that shady bar. There's no use getting mad, not when he's so close to enjoying his limited time with you.
" I'm not a beast, Fasma… " He settles for murmuring, watching said little critter slowly shape itself again. It seems he scared the voice out of his companion. Breg knows that the correct thing to do would be to apologize, manners matter as he's come to learn, but his wounded pride rolls around in a massive tantrum, it won't let him.
" You don't know me. " He says, already out of the shrubs and poised to climb his way into your balcony. Fasma really doesn't know him. If they bothered to reply, Breg is already too focused to acknowledge it.
[…]
With a practiced motion, the breeder leaps soundlessly from the ground and clasps his palms over the metal railing of your balcony, careful to avoid clicking his claws on the surface and using the pads of his feet to orient himself. Once he's stabilized, hanging from the rail rather humorously, all Breg needs to do is compress and promptly leap upwards again, tossing himself forward mid-rise. Pronto, he's inside your balcony.
A small section of your slide window door is always open at night so that your pet cat can access fresh air at any time. One would think said little crevice is harmless. And if Breg was human, then that really would be the case. Unfortunately for you, anywhere Breg can fit his shoulders, he can also weasel the rest of his body through. His size would hinder him if not for the elasticity breeders naturally possess. Gracefully, he twists himself inside your bedroom, quieter than a mouse. It's cold outside, much colder than your cozy little abode, so he shuts the window door, grateful it doesn't screech.
The male wastes little time surveying his surroundings, it's far from the first time Breg has been here, though he does pause to spot your form curled entirely under the sheets. Of course you'd get cold, Winter is coming and you're still leaving windows ajar like it's plain Summer! If Breg wasn't here to fix these airhead mistakes, you'd be sick by now. And Fasma has the gall to say he does more harm than good… Asshole. Though Breg would love to immediately join you in your bed for the night, he still has to make sure everything else in your home is okay.
Your bedroom is always a bit of a mess, clothes slumped in your desk chair and notebooks piled about, trinkets you couldn't stuff in your rather sizable wardrobe strewn across the bedside table. Maybe when he starts living with you, Breg can help keep the place a little more orderly. You’d appreciate that. He takes the time to gaze at your towering white wardrobe and ponders climbing in later to actually spend the night with you, indirectly. He could fit inside, certainly, surrounded by your pretty clothes. No, that's too risky, and he'll probably start getting cramps after a while. Besides, he thinks while gently caressing the bracelet on his left arm, he already has a little keepsake. It's a flimsy purple thread with a silver butterfly charm, he has never seen you wear it before, which is a pity because it's remarkably adorable. Eitherway, things you don't notice surely won't be missed.
Speaking of souvenirs, Breg makes a detour to the bathroom, casually walking by your cat that no longer bothers to react to the monster's presence aside from wary staring. He hopes your pet warms up to him one day, it'd certainly make it easier to get in your good graces. As is, he can barely get the thing to stay within a foot of him. At least it's not hissing anymore… Next time, he'll bring something for it, tuna maybe. Cats like that, right? Breg sighs as he enters your bathroom and turns the light on, nonexistent eyes poised on the mirror. For as much as he wishes to eventually show himself to you, he can't deny he looks absolutely garish by human standards. A lot of monsters do, but some are lucky enough to look very humanoid, enough to put humans at ease, benefiting from prolonged interspecies coupling. Then there's the ones who look so cute that their blatantly inhuman nature flies right over everyone's heads...
Not him.
Breg's not that lucky.
Spreaders are an old species, one whose traits are vastly not passed down to others not of their kind- They’re the blank canvases of monster kind, put simply, capable of achieving conception without “tainting” the genetic material of another species. It’s what makes them so valuable, enough to be captured and groomed into hypersexuality for the benefit of selfish, rotten people. Regardless-
He's far too tall, having to duck all the time so his head doesn't knock against your ceiling like it kept doing the first couple of times- He nearly has to split in two to see his own fucking reflection! Look at him, folded like a mock origami in your tiny cramped bathroom. His limbs are too long, too thin even. He has big gaunt hands and non-plantigrade feet, not to mention the tail he can't even hope to hide… Oh, and his chalk-white skin. Ah, but the real elephant in the room has got to be his face. Eyes are important to most species, he knows a lot of them communicate through stares- It's harder for a species that relies on certain facial cues to socially interact with one that lacks said features. At least he was able to hide his real teeth, make them look flatter and unthreatening. Even if he has no nose and his “ears” are hidden, maybe that'll count for something. Maybe you'll be able to look past all these discrepancies once you meet him. From what he's seen so far, Breg has no doubt you're a kind person, or at the very least sensible, you wouldn't just… Scream in his presence, yes? He's not that horrid to you, right? No, of course not. You're such a gentle soul… He picked you well, he knows you can grow to love him with enough care, enough dedication.
Right.
No use agonizing over his body. There's… There's nothing wrong with it. That was the only thing he was good for at the facility after all. Top specimen. Top… Top of Hell.
Breg halts his usual bitter monologue when his senses pick up on something. The scent. That scent. Honestly the only reason he bothers to check this part of the house. His body swivels to the laundry basket automatically, all prior thoughts wiped clean from his mind as if he hadn’t been agonizing over his own existence mere moments ago. Crouching near the container, Breg has to bite back an unflattering noise at the smell that hits his flickering tongue like a wild trainwreck.
Fuck.
All monsters know humans have very distinct smells, scents they are naturally nose-blind to due to their peculiar evolution. Breg's cast of monster is hardwired to be very sensitive to these odors, sometimes he has no choice but to kind of choke on it given how populated some areas are. He's always felt humans smelled a little weird, even if he had indirect contact with a few of them at the facility, they were always surrounded by the horrid stench of chemicals for him to focus on anything except putting distance between himself and them.
Now though, he has a much better perception of the variety of smells your kind can naturally have. Yours in particular has a decidedly soft, earthy kind of quality, underneath the musk of well-worn clothes that is. The more Breg experiences it, the more he takes a liking to it. He's aware his body has already learnt to respond to it, in spite of the two of you having never even met. He's spent enough time around your home, your things, your body , to become addicted. It makes Breg feel grounded, serene, like nothing bad can ever reach him again. His tail whacks against the wall from how hard it's swaying.
And so, Breg opens his mouth, letting a fat blue tongue out to better taste what's left of your hormones in the air. He dips one hand in and rummages, the same song and dance really, waiting for his fingers to hook around the dainty intimate coverings you use. Even though Breg is perfectly conscious he should never do such a thing, there's no shame to be felt when he reels your used panties from the messy pile, slurping back up the line of drool that would otherwise pool on the floor. You smell absolutely divine, his instincts nearly scream at him- Funny how he's never reacted so painfully and desperately to a female in spite of his sour past. Then again, with the way he purposely acted out, it's not like Breg had many chances to be in direct contact with those of the opposite sex. Nonetheless, you're something out of this world to him. What's more is you've been consistently aroused for the last couple of days, the scent is more pronounced, thicker. It's hard to describe but he knows what he's talking about. You're in heat, there's no other justification. As a breeder, he can instinctively tell.
And holy shit if it isn't doing things to him...
Devoid of guilt, Breg laps at whatever trace of you the simple purple garment hosts, rumbling chest-deep with guttural satisfaction. His self-control hangs by a very frail thread, one whose ends he can see starting to peel back as your divine taste makes waves of blood shoot straight down to his concealed cocks.
It's been so long since he had anything to quell his need with, it's a wonder he can even think properly. Hands won't do anymore, not when he knows yours would be so much more cushioned, tiny and devoid of claws. Breg recalls that one time he got so blindsided with want that he ruined one of your poor pillows. And it still wasn't enough. Breg still cringes thinking about that one.
He only lets go of the cloth when it's dripping his saliva, mourning the fact he can't take any of your underwear with him. You'd notice. Breg licks his teeth clean, rolls the flavor around on his tongue and sighs, forcing himself to calm down and trudge back to your bedroom. Such a pitiful thing you are, needful and on her own. Obviously, humans don't suffer through their reproductive cycles anywhere near as intensely as breeders do, but surely it must still be uncomfortable for you, right? He secretly thanks his lucky stars you're not the most socially active person, there's seldom ever a trace of strangers in your home. No one stupid enough to try anything when you're in heat- Ovulating. Yes. No heat, humans don't have that.
But it still smells like you're in heat to him.
Breg takes a cursory peek at your kitchen and living room before sauntering back to your bedroom with a pep to his silent step. You're still cooped up under the covers when he enters the room, Breg is about to reach for the top of your bed sheets when something lights up on your bedside table.
Your phone.
Ah yes, that thing you're always glued to. Oh, he bets you have all sorts of interesting things in that little wonder. If only he could open the device, it has a pattern lock as Fasma said once. Everytime Breg attempts to fiddle with the device, he only succeeds in making himself look like an ass. With a quiet hum, he decides to give it one last try, using the blunt pad of his index finger to trace mindless patterns over the nine dots on display. Wrong, the thing buzzes softly. He makes another, equally nonsensical scribble. No shit, he tried that one the other day already! Predictably, it buzzes again. Idiot… After the third failed attempt, the device displays a quick message he couldn't read in red letters before a flash momentarily blinds Breg and the screen goes pitch black.
The pale monster springs backwards like the thing just hit him, confused and mildly scared of what he may or may not have triggered with that stunt. Fate had it that he didn't knock anything down and make a racket. Tentatively, panicking inwardly, he presses the little buttons on the side. No response. He does it again. Nothing.
Slow, tight-lipped seconds pass.
Oh.
Well… He sure hopes he didn't break it, because he doesn't know how to fix it. In fact, it's best if he probably never touches the little machine again. With a resigned sigh and one last skeptical glance at the now unresponsive device, Breg shifts his attention to your form again. Dulling the purr that rises from his throat, the male gently peels the top layer of sheets back, enough to see your peacefully slumbering face partially obscured by long tresses as you lay in the fetal position.
" There you are… " He murmurs happily.
Carefully, Breg drags the thick Winter fabrics off your silhouette entirely, leaving you and your gray floral pajamas fully uncovered. He vaguely recalls that one time you wore a nightgown and how much easier it was to feel your skin through the thin layer of cloth. It must be too cold for that already. Not that he feels the difference, it barely registers. With hasty ease, he slips onto your bed one lithe foot at a time, prepared to slot himself behind your sleeping body like he usually does. Your bed is a tad small, he has to curl a good bit to fully fit in, but it's always worth the hassle when he almost immediately feels the insurmountable heat coming from your compact human body. Breg wonders how you can still feel cold when you radiate that much warmth… Actually, logically, everything is freezing compared to you so that's understandable.
He basks in the heat, shivering at the difference between himself and you. He can only spend but a mere minute waiting for his own temperature to accommodate to yours before he slips the rest of your blankets away. Breg muffles a cry of relief when he molds his disproportionately long body around your own, leg slotted above yours, arms coiling over your neck and waist as he buries his head into flowing tresses. This is it. He's at peace here, listening to your steady breaths while you rest soundly in his arms. This closure, this intimacy, he can't get enough. It's so simple yet so terribly irreplaceable. It makes him too happy, too whole. A high previously unknown to him.
The thing about bastardizing a lifeform to become nothing more than a copulation machine, and then denying it the simple closure of a partner, is that said lifeform will only know misery. Then again, comfort was hardly considered a priority for the heathens that brought him into existence...
But it's alright, it's forgivable, because now he has you to make up for all that gloom, all that precious time so cruelly stolen from him. You are his living, breathing, sweetened medicine. He doesn't know how much time he spends there, stationed carefully against you, his limbs almost seem to grow roots upon your own skin, wanting to melt into your body so that the two of you can become something else entirely. Something beautiful. You don't even know he's alive, you probably don't think monsters like him exist at all- And yet here Breg is, a victim to newfound comforts and luxuries only you can provide him.
" Hahh, you always smell so good… " He quietly mumbles, lacing a hand through the locks of hair barring his access to your neck. Your skin pebbles in response to the breeze, settling once more when his far too warm breath fans it. Breg does a gross intake of your scent and trembles at the unfiltered hormone-riddled message that slaps into his brain. Holy fuck. Smelling like this, how are you not crawling the walls at this point? You poor thing, you need him, you need help. He knows what it's like, he can fix it, you should never have to endure this raw and all on your lonesome.
Before he knows it, Breg is licking a stripe of slaver up the side of your exposed neck. " Don't worry… I'm here now. No more waiting. "
The whisper he spreads across your skin is followed by his tail looping possessively around your legs as the monster laps upwards to your jaw. He's usually much more chaste, but he can hardly contain himself tonight. You're ready . That's all his mind screams at him, that you're ready and needy and all he has to do to quell that is stuff you. Oh yes, to be inside of you! Breg fumes at such vivid imagery, a deep ocean blue flush spreading on his face as he grinds a bulging slit so very softly against the plush of your ass- So full. What a nice buffer that'll be when he gets to lovingly plow you full of cock.
He's thought about it before, way too many times.
And even if it upsets Breg to think that maybe you won't be able to look past the superficial physical differences between the two of you- He likes to fantasize that he could turn that disapproval around the moment you get to see what he's packing. He's nothing to sneeze at, he saw the others at the facility and none of them compared. There were many reasons Breg was targeted by his own kin in that hellhole, and one such was the jealousy. They felt threatened by what he could offer to a partner. Breg snickers just trying to compare a human male to himself. Tiny. Deficient. Imagine not having two dicks. You'd like him better, no doubt. He has so much more to offer. Breg would love nothing more than to earn your heart the "proper" human way, the intricacies of which he's still exploring, but if he ever has to appeal to any vulgar, base preferences, he absolutely will.
The slick slit on his pelvis parts steadily as he pictures your awe-filled expression. Sheltered, adorable little creature, you've probably never seen anything quite as endowed as him. " Ahah - And it's all for you… " He purrs.
Breg stops mouthing at your neck, trying to reign himself from leaving marks that you'd surely notice in the morning. Instead, his hand wanders down to your chest, ignoring a slightly accelerated heartbeat and instead electing to grip a soft tit like a pervert. These are the only breasts he has ever had the pleasure of feeling in his life, but as he kneads at the soft flesh clad only by a flimsy shirt, he knows he likes them the best out of all. Because they're his mate's. He resists slipping his dirty paws under the fabric, but only because he knows he's too cold for comfort. Still, Breg can't help but trap a nipple and pluck gently at it, pushing your breasts together lewdly. Your body arches subconsciously, and Breg makes a noise of euphoria. He loves it when you still react to him, even if under a deep forceful slumber. It's because you want him, you want his touch and all the greedy love he can give you. Breg would give you anything you asked for, anything… You need only voice it.
Aroused and emboldened, Breg takes the opportunity to try that thing your kind does with their mouths again. Those kisses . He already attempted it once, but he knows he's not very good at it, what with his thin lips and overly large teeth. Grabbing your cheeks with a single hand, he turns your head to his side and marvels at the plushness of your pretty pink lips. Breg shifts his grip just to pucker them a little bit more, getting lost once again in fantasies of you kissing him. Fuck, how would you do it? Maybe you're the type that leaves small pecks all over someone else's face… Or you'd want to bite his lower lip and lick his teeth until he opens his mouth. You'd search for his tongue and you'd try in vain to do something with the much larger muscle just to please him. And then you'd slide those pretty little lips down to his chin and neck, oh he knows where they'd feel best.
Breathless already, your nightly intruder wastes no time before finally forcing a kiss between himself and your dormant figure. Long, gentle, a sweet moment he only wishes you had wakingly granted him. It makes him high, giddy in a much too childish way. Breg does it again, releasing an embarrassing sound of satisfaction before lapping a stripe across the soft protrusions. An unmistakable grin plastered all across his face, Breg coaxes your mouth open, parting his own to delve in and taste. Perhaps it's disgusting to admit this, but he had missed the palate of your saliva. It's a novelty, lord knows just about everything he gets to do to you is a novelty in itself. Opportunistic as he is, he takes the chance to slide his tongue in. Breg knows he has to be careful here, going a little too far down may cause you to vomit while unconscious, and keeping it there for too long can make you suffocate. Fasma told him about quite a few human limitations Breg had no idea about. Probably because he saw things he wasn't supposed to. And now he thinks Breg would kill you accidentally. As if…
He knows not to be rough. He can be gentle, so gentle. " Hahn - "
Breg moans into the gross, one-sided embrace. You're a sweet one, you'd like it gentle wouldn't you? Nice and deep, Breg can do that… He hardly realizes he's fully erect until his cocks brush against your warm thigh. The male shivers, heating up delightfully, taking the time to lick across your teeth and tongue while he rocks himself harder against you. You make him absolutely delirious, he can't help himself. Breg is so glad you're under saintly sleep, because his consideration for your comfort and dignity dwindles the more he rubs himself against you like a mutt in heat.
One of his hands is already working at a weeping shaft while he plants messy wet kisses on your chin and jaw. He laves at the corner of your static lips, kisses your cute little nose and thumbs your ear curiously, all while fucking himself fervently. Breg drags your limp body closer to himself, keeping your head tucked right under his chin and getting off on the soft exhales that fan his rapidly flickering skin, trying not to move too fast. Another quick smooch to the top of your hair, he's too excited to stay still. And too horny to get anywhere with his hand alone. Again…
Not long after a minute or two of messily pumping himself and wheezing in an effort not to moan, Breg's gaze happens to settle on your own dainty little hands, tucked safely in front of your upper body. A depraved lightbulb fizzles atop him, that long tail wagging back and forth in a way that betrays the devious idea he was disgraced with. There's no harm, right?
" Ah- " He pants, reaching out. " Y-You wouldn't mind doing me a small favor, right dear? "
When his hand captures your smaller one, Breg is once more lost in sudden awe. Always so tiny, so delicate, it's a mystery how you don't break at every toss and turn. He can feel those feeble phalanges under the dough of your yielding skin, one iota of pressure and they'd snap like twigs. After an affectionate squeeze, he brings it to his face, taking the time to slick your fingers with his drool… And taste you again. Digits like yours, while short, can get just about anywhere. They have to come in handy at times. He wishes you'd finger him with those. After a lurid pop , he steadily races to curl the wet appendage around one of his softly ridged dicks.
He's so engorged with mounted frustration that the sight is nearly comical, but the feeling? Perfection. A little clumsy squeeze and he's already groaning. There's no semblance of similarity between Breg's own spider digits and your cushioned small grip. Your hands lack all the calloused rough edges of his own. He can tell you never got in a real fight, your body never had to make drastic changes because you've never been in lethal danger for extended periods of time.
It's unbearably cute. It would be even cuter if you actually wanted to jerk him off. Breg should feel like an absolute pervert, and frankly he kind of does deep down, but he silences the same old nagging of his mostly diminished morality by dragging your slack hand over his cock and reaffirming that you're his mate. His perfect other, you'll understand why he needs to do this one day. For your own sake, really. Breg's gaze is intense, selfishly relishing in the sensation, imagining that you're wide awake and teasingly doing this to him. To torture him, drive him wild, your petite hand drags slowly up his slick length, plays with the head for a moment before making the trip back down and nudging at his stretched slit. Oh, you fucking minx. Just as Breg whimpers out a senseless plea, getting deeper into the fantasy, he feels the slightest independent movement from your soaked hand. Your fingers twitch and your wrist jerks up. It was brief, but as soon as the monster registers it, he's still as stone.
Shit.
Breg's black-cloaked skin flickers back into its cauliflower white, as if the color literally got drained off him.
Very carefully, as though everything is on the line right now, and it is, Breg mutely turns to face you, counting on the worst. He doesn't even have an excuse he can spit out for this type of degeneracy, he'll have to spill every single bean right then and there! You'll have a panic attack, if Breg doesn't have one first that is.
A deep exhale forgoes his mortal panic when Breg finds you still sleeping deeply. Just a light spasm, thank fuck. He doesn't know what he would do if you woke up like this, with him coiling your hand around his cock and using it as a makeshift hole to fuck. He won't lie, the small movement thrilled him a little, but he's mentally there enough to know better. Still, twitching isn't something people under saintly sleep do often, the substance is so potent that it muffles most reflex reactions… Even monsters don't move, creatures twice his size will tumble like babies, humans are basically dead with a quarter of a standard dose! Could it be that you're slowly creating a resistance to the drug? Breg has never heard of anything like that, he doesn't even know if such is possible. Maybe you are, he's been doing this for so long that he lost count, your organism might be getting used to it.
It's fitting, in a way. If Fasma's constant nagging won't get him to finally grow a pair, then losing the ability to safely touch you in your sleep might just be the push that makes Breg reach out. If his guess is correct, then this will probably be one of the last nights he can pull this stunt again. Which means… Breg might as well make the most out of it, right?
Right.
Placing your now dirty hand back down, watching for any physical reaction, Breg shifts himself to take hold of your waist, squishing at your tummy contentedly. Gently, and a little awkwardly at first, he nudges you to roll onto your stomach and lifts your lower half up, making sure your neck and head stay in minimally comfortable positions. The last thing he wants is for you to wake up with muscle cramps. Breg has had to sleep in tight spaces once or twice now and it's never worth the horrid stings of pain he wakes up with. He grasps your pajama pants and wastes no time pulling them down to your knees, smiling at the cute stripes of white and blue that stamp your underwear. Breg can only pray that you'll one day present yourself to him like this, waves of shivers roll down his body while he overheats mutely, thinking of all the things he'd do to you. Now that he's uncovered more of you, the scent that previously called to him becomes twice as intense, and Breg doesn't even have time to think before he's groaning deep like an animal and shoving his face hard against your clothed cunt.
So good, so good- Fuck.
He has no idea how people don't just jump on you at this rate, he could get high on this shit for days. He had no idea human females could produce such a smell, especially if they supposedly don't even need it anymore, from an evolutionary standpoint.
Breg realizes he looks beastly right now, trembling hands kneading at your ass while he essentially nuzzles himself against your core. It's like fucking catnip, he can hardly think anymore. Is it just him or you're getting wet? Makes sense that your body would start feeling things more if you're building up a resistance to the substance. He has been fondling you for a good while too… Breg moans, filled with pride, he's the one making you feel good, he's the one your body is calling for during heat, as it should be . Although he's adamant on not spoiling anything the two of you might experience together in the future, he can't rest until he sees the fruits of his pervy attention, so he pulls aside those undies to peek at the flushed pussy of his mate. It's teensy, even somewhat puffed with mild arousal, he knows it'll be a wild ride to try and stuff one of his lengths inside. He throbs just trying to imagine the inevitable tightness, the stretch. But that's fine, he has all the time in the world to get you nice and open. He's a good male, he knows how to prepare someone, even if his mate is a squishy little thing almost half his size.
Breg would love to try and make you come for him tonight, but it may be a little too high-risk already given how the pill is losing effect. So instead, summoning every lackluster inch of self-control he can muster, Breg merely spreads your nether lips and places a chaste kiss against your sweet cunt, taking just one impulsive slurp before pulling his metaphorical leash back. The heady taste rolls around his tongue and the monster savors it like he intends to scrub it directly into his memory. He wonders if you'd ever react similarly to his own taste, now that'll keep him up at night alright. Breg glances briefly at your bedside table to check the time. It's been a while already, he should probably wrap it up and take some extra time to think about how to introduce himself now that this won't be happening anymore, unfortunately. It's with that internal promise that the pale monster casually drapes his lean body over yours, eclipsing you like a looming blanket. The bed frame squeals a little and he cringes. In spite of being thin for his height, he's still quite dense, so the breeder can't let his entire weight slump and risk compressing your ribcage. The effort is worth it when he gets to be a depraved little horndog and slot his cocks against your plump ass. He kneads at it generously, admiring the dough-like sensation of your molding flesh. Females of his kind are just as lean as the males, they'd never feel like this, they'd never be half as plushy as your delicious body.
Losing control of himself, Breg grabs your spare pillow and shoves it under your pelvis so that he no longer has to hold your lower half up, opting instead to cautiously lay on you. His long form easily dwarfs yours, he's able to kiss the top of your head while slowly, gently starting to roll his hips. He can't mask the near drunken grin plastering itself on his features as he basks in the feeling. So fucking warm! The day's stress seeps off him in waves the longer he gets to grind his dribbling cocks across your rump. Once again, Breg wants nothing more than to do this to you while you're awake, see the look on your face as he mounts you like a fucking animal. He wouldn't… He wouldn't assault you, but some loathsome primal part of him really wants to let you feel how desperate you make him. A shaky little moan leaves him when the fantasy hits and the breeder presses down harder, hot-dogging himself with quick little thrusts. In no time at all, the only thing that goes through Breg's fizzling mind is the desire to coat you in cum, he pants and drools hard as the pace picks up, pulses of pleasure rocking him from top to bottom.
Lost as he may have been in complete rapture, his head was positioned close enough to yours that he still very clearly heard a quiet whine flowing past your lips.
Breg coughs, stuttering to an abrupt halt, only now noticing the minute movement of your frame, which pushes your ass up against his need.
This… This isn't real.
You wouldn't do that in your sleep, would you?
Shivering and twitching is one thing, but whining? No way. Arching your ass at him? Fuck, at this rate you might just be awake. Breg doesn't believe you're that much of a heavy sleeper to react like this as opposed to outright startling to consciousness. You must be awake. But then, if you're awake… Why haven't you stopped this yet? Aren't you afraid that there's a stranger in your home, getting off on your limp body? Breg tentatively brushes a clump of hair away from your features, spotting a brand new flush of red that has bloomed across your cheeks. Oh. The dead quiet allows him to pick up on your slightly more rapid breaths, how they hitch when he dips to suck at your neck as a test. A second passes before Breg experimentally laps up to your jaw, getting rewarded with a tiny gasp and a near imperceptible jolt of your right leg.
You really are awake.
Fuck.
You're well awake and you're into this. Holy shit. Breg can't even begin to believe this is real anymore. You want this, you actually like this. He's losing his fucking mind right now. Part of him wants to shake you into focus so he can ask you how good he makes you feel, so he can beg forlornly to eat your cunt raw and stuff you to the seams. That's why you were wet back there, you're horny. Of course you are, pumping scents like that out, how could you not be? He's probably doing you a huge favor right now, that's why you're letting this happen. Breg wants to say a million things to you right now, but this is far from the opportune moment to start introductions, and you're obviously trying to come off as unconscious. Maybe… Maybe he can pretend too. Yes, Breg will just go on, letting you feel and hear everything he has in store for you. After all, you've been okay with it thus far, haven't you? Naughty little thing, enjoying it, playing dead the whole time. Don't worry, he'll make sure not to disappoint now that he knows he has an audience.
As if no massive revelation has been made in this past static minute, Breg lets out a much louder groan of gratification and resumes humping at you, this time making sure to take his sweet time. He wants you to remember, to think of the sensation when you get up later, take in his size. He wonders how he feels against you, responding to your nearly imperceptible rolls by pushing his hips against you harder and humming in enjoyment. Breg is aware of your rise in body temperature, how you must be absolutely soaked by now. Oh, what he wouldn't do to stuff his fingers in your warm little pussy and open you up for him in the future. He bets you're so tight, he bets you'd suck him in and clamp around him hard enough to see stars. He won't stop until your pussy flutters against him and you're crying. But not tonight, not tonight, Breg has to remind himself, noticing he's begun to piston faster in excitement.
The thrill of knowing you're awake as he does this has him close to climaxing, and he supposes he can't stay here too long, even if he wants to. Emboldened by pleasure, by your passivity, the monster ghosts his thin lips across your exposed ear, moaning softly when he senses your reflexive shivering. He doesn't know what that says about him, but Breg thinks he'd come on the spot if you opened your eyes right now. If you’d just look at him with you pretty hues, only him. You seem to know better though.
He's making an absolute fucking mess of you right now with the amount of precum those weeping fat cocks are spreading on your exposed back and panties. You're gonna reek of him when this is over, Breg snarls with self-satisfaction, unintentionally bouncing you with the force of his thrusts. As it should be, no stupid motherfucker would dare even breathe in your vicinity if they caught whiff of a breeder monster's claim. So lost in his rapidly approaching peak, Breg wraps his arms underneath your body in an attempt to further meld himself unto you, grinding hard enough that it might bruise your tender flesh. He's drooling on the back of your neck like a dog in heat, opportunistic enough to simultaneously cup a titty, before curiously glancing back up at your face. Best decision he could've made, because he gets to see your brows pinched, eyelids twitching while the rosy bottom lip you're painfully biting wobbles from overwhelming sensation. That look of complete pleasure, albeit muffled, roots itself into Breg's frontal lobe and swiftly has him careening over the edge.
He's starstruck, shoving a surprising amount of might into his last piston, though unable to hear the small squeak you let out due to being lost in the magnitude of his pleasure. Breg makes an embarrassing drawn out groan that morphs into a quiet mewl as his lengths throb and he comes harder than he ever remembers. It takes a humorous moment or two for the static to leave his brain and for Breg to subsequently realize he's covering your back in his cum. Peeling himself upward with some effort, the breeder panics a little at the sight of pearly viscous strings spilling down your back and across your ass, some still trailing back to his spurting blue cocks. He probably shouldn't have let himself come all over you so impulsively, but it felt so good, and it looks so fucking hot. Breg shamefully pumps himself over you throughout his climax, silently commending your determination to stand stock still even as some stranger takes claim of you in such a filthy manner, the rest of his satisfying orgasm still lewdly splattering onto you.
His next thought is one that he might have considered exceptionally vile if he wasn't still so horny.
With a quiet little chuckle, he carefully slides your undies aside again, delighting in the glistening pussyjuice that betrays your façade. Breg pants heatedly, he may not be able to come directly inside you, but he can certainly get his cum inside of you. Sloppy cock in hand, he coats long pallid fingers in slightly blue cum and softly rubs them against your pussy, making sure to poke as much as possible inside, unable to resist the urge to finger you a little. Just one, Breg warns himself, watching his stained index sink into your needy cunt with little to no effort. The way you instantly twitch and clench around the appendage rips a strangled whine out of him. Oh, this must be what heaven feels like… He inwardly mumbles while teasingly thrusting his finger. The jolt of your spine when he brushes a sensitive cluster doesn't go unnoticed, though Breg figures he'll be merciful tonight, spare your act. He already got what he wanted anyway, so he wastes no time in eagerly cleaning said index.
Like a depraved pervert, he pets your now marked womanhood and has to really fight himself not to do it all over again. Perfect. This is how he'll leave you then. Honestly, he really wanted your first intimate session to take place under much different circumstances, something lighter surely, but Breg supposes he can't have everything. No matter, this is already enough to quell him for a longer period of time, he just hopes you can forgive him for being so weak one day. He certainly has a lot to think about after this strange turn of events…
Unable to resist, he dips to place one last chaste lick on your absolutely burning cheek, removes the pillow from under your body and puts it back in place. Breg watches his slightly bioluminescent fluid cool against your pretty skin before reluctantly pulling your pajamas back up. Gross. But cute. You haven't twitched a muscle this whole time, it must have taken some real effort. Thoroughly satisfied, the monster's brain sobers up enough for him to realize he needs to make a speedy getaway. It's too soon for you to see him. Breg silently darts off to your balcony, not chancing using your bathroom to clean up as he normally would, even if he's dirty and exposed. Regrettably, he takes one of the towels you hanged out to dry and cleans himself with it, trying to speed up the process of his retracting members. It's taking some time, given Breg remains vastly aroused by your sweet face twisted in want and your plump ass rutting against him- Okay, now he's getting a chub again, for fuck's sake!
Any other time he'd be glad to have such a short refractory period. Just not when he's trying to dash out of your home looking like a sex offender. He probably is one after what he did to you tonight.
You… You wouldn't miss this towel, would you? No, you have so many. Breg can get you more, an apology gift?
With that thought, he hastily ties the mostly dry fabric around his waist and prepares to drop down from your balcony. The sound of nearby rustling surprises him, and even if he hesitates with wonder about what you're up to now, Breg forces himself to retreat into the same leafy hideout he occupied before the night really started.
Did you… Did you like that?
Breg absolutely let himself go tonight, he should've stopped the moment he felt you twitch slightly, but you smelled so inviting and he was so pent up… You must have liked it in some form, even if you didn't really ask for it. He has to question what you're going to do after this strange event. Clean up probably, and justifiably panic. Or who knows, maybe you enjoyed it enough to want to relieve yourself now, fingering your cum-soaked hole and missing the lewd stranger you recently "met". Just the thought has Breg hissing under his breath, the towel now doing nothing to hide his pesky arousal.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow… He can be patient.
For you.
[Fasma POV]
Fasma has been pacing for about half an hour now, if he had to guess. This is honestly the most exercise he's had in months, and while he would usually commend himself for such a feat, the nervous act is actually making him melt a bit faster than his regeneration can keep up with.
He hasn't been calm ever since Breg snapped at him. Fasma knows it wasn't a bright idea to push the breeder's buttons like that, especially before he's about to see you for the night. What if he got really angry and took it out on you? Ah fuck… He really messed up. Maybe he should've just slipped the fucking pill and be done with it. None of this is his business to begin with, he shouldn't have tried to play hero. No, he did you a service! You need to know what's happening, you need to wake up. Who knows what the effects of prolonged saintly sleep do to a human?! Most of the poor saps that are put under this probably don't get to live long enough to experience them anyway… But Fasma has seen monsters enter real month-long comas and endure horrid memory lapses after being repeatedly dosed. If it does that to a non-human, then it could probably snuff you out faster…
Fasma wipes a glob of his own cascading plasma away from his eyes, it lands on the ground with a gross schlop.
It's taking too long. Breg is taking far too long. Something has to have happened, but no matter how hard he strains his hearing, the monster can't detect anything. On one hand, if there isn't a racket then maybe things haven't derailed like he thought they might've. On the other, he has absolutely no idea what's happening. Fasma's curiosity made him try and perch on the edge of your balcony once, but he lacked the guts to peek inside after being thoroughly told off by his charge. Realistically, he could maybe fight Breg for a little while if he shifted form, but engaging an unhinged, possessive breeder is usually a recipe for fresh death.
Fasma likes his job, sure, but not enough to die for it.
Hot damn, he is not gonna hear the end of this if it all goes wrong. Fasma really wishes he had taken the whiskey bottle in your cabinet with him, being stone-cold sober right now is torturous . He thumbs anxiously at the little pill tucked in his glove, tapping his foot fast enough to nearly vibrate. Please just be fine please please please-
A sudden tremor spreads across the ground, causing poor Fasma to lose his balance and splat disgracefully onto the earth, spreading more of his goopy body in its half-solidified state. The distortion of his form only worsens when he realizes this must mean Breg is approaching. He makes a sound reminiscent of hyperventilation but it comes out as a garbled mess, his own plasma drowning him from the inside out. With all the grace of a newborn gazelle, Fasma stumbles his way to a wobbly stand and concentrates just barely enough to retain his usual noodle-like appearance. His horns droop and his right side is kind of… Deflating, but it's the best he can do. By far, the hardest part is having to fabricate a painfully fake smile when Breg finally crawls into the little nook of greenery.
What Fasma is faced with leaves him thoroughly befuddled. He expected a tense scowl on the breeder's features, his skin caked in your blood maybe. He thought he would see the monster snarl his way to him and demand to know what the little noodle did. Imagine his shock when he gets the opposite .
In waltzes the breeder, jubilant glowing grin plastered on those dark features, his skin ripples between black and white in a telltale sign of excitement. Speaking of enthusiasm, there is certainly nothing left to the imagination concerning his current state when Fasma glances at the pastel towel tied haphazardly around his lower half. He reeks of sweat and hormones. Why is he smiling? What the fuck happened?!
" H- Hey champ…? How'd it go pal? " Fasma fails miserably to hide the confusion and fear permeating him. Breg can be so creepy sometimes. Fasma is understandably not very amused at the prospect of being next to a randy psycho.
Breg's clipped cackle makes Fasma's continuous melting freeze. " Uh- " This is it, he cracked, his shiny egg-shaped head finally cracked.
" She was awake… " The monster sing-songs, tone much too merry.
Alright. Time to initiate plan "pretend to be shocked".
" What?! " Fasma jolts. " Wadda ye mean she was awake?! "
Please buy it please buy it-
" I know, right?! " The other grins so wide that his simulated flat teeth start regaining their sharpened edge. The resulting rictus pulls at the corners of his cheeks in a misaligned and disturbing manner. " I think she's building a resistance to the pill. "
Are you fucking serious? Yeah sure, he can work with that.
" Never heard anythin' like that… What happened up there, tiger? " Fasma points, dreading the answer.
Breg makes this gurgling sigh that quickly melts into a full-on throaty purr. " It was a miracle… " The hopeless romantic of a lunatic says, a dull cyan spreading on his cheeks.
Fasma is too frightened to question the towel wrapped around his waist. " Uh… Huh? "
" I never smelled a human in heat before. " The breeder's tail slaps the ground repeatedly in growing enthusiasm.
Fasma blinks several times.
" Buddy… " He begins, unsure how to break the news to his unstable charge, who may just rend him into string cheese for questioning him the second time tonight. " Humans don' have that. "
The other's brows crease. " What are you talking about?! I smelled it myself! It was sooo sweeeet- She was- "
The plasma monster just glares aimlessly upward, questioning whatever unholy authority thought it would be funny to make this his existence. His life is a fucking sitcom. It's far from the first time he's had this conversation with Breg.
" Ovulating. " He interrupts, dragging a glove down his tired face.
" Wha-? Right yes, that... " Breg mumbles, the way he bites his lip, utterly distracted, ruffles Fasma the wrong way.
Great, the situation is even worse than the short devil expected. His sense of smell has never been the sharpest, had he been able to gleam your current state, he would not have hesitated to drop the pill in your coffee. For your own safety. If Breg can barely hold himself back already, the scent of a fertile female probably drove him to do unspoken obscenities to you tonight. You wouldn't want to be awake for any of that. But then… Why is he so fucking happy?!
" And…? " He eggs on.
" She wants me. " Breg murmurs in a tone much too low and depraved, Fasma gets shivers of disgust just hearing it. " I knew she was the one. See? I was right all along. "
The small monster's brain short-circuits. His top hat spins wildly. You want him?! Did you seriously have sex with the breeder? What kind of insane human would just willingly fuck their creepy stalker, fondler, who does weird things to them in their sleep? What the fuck is wrong with you, lady?! No. No no no, that can't be it. Fasma has to remind himself that he's working with a very deluded creature here, it is more likely that Breg fooled himself and somehow interpreted your reactions as enjoyment. Which is ten times more revolting. Still, he has to make sure.
" Did you… Didja score, big guy? " The little devil jests cautiously.
" … Score? " His charge tilts his head.
" Lord Breg, did ya fuck her or no- "
" Oh no no, " The other grins. " she pretended she was asleep, but I could tell she was wide awake. " His speech hastens with growing excitement. Fasma makes it a point to not glance at the towel wrapped around the other's waist anymore. " I can't believe she even grinded back on me when- "
" No fuckin' way. " Fasma didn't mean the comment to come out as accusatory as it did, but he'll be damned if Breg will make a fool out of him tonight.
Said monster jerks back at his tone, brows furrowed. " Is it really so hard to believe that I'm a desirable male? "
The cocky look this bastard gives him is scandalous. Mister virgin boy got a single positive reaction and thinks he's king of the fucking jungle, does he? Fasma suppresses a growl. How can this idiot just take things for granted like that? You might still believe you were dreaming when that happened! Even if otherwise, it could have been a compulsory act of sorts. Did you really grind at him? Why? Weren't you scared? Why didn't you scream? What is happening here?
" Yeah sure Casanova, what're ye gonna do now? " Fasma snorts derisively. He expected Breg to stammer, fumble with trying to understand the basics of courtship when he's already fucked everything up exponentially. Instead, the depraved beast shoots him a tremendously determined glare. Something that, once more, makes Fasma worry for his sanity.
" I'm going to introduce myself! " He declares with striking levels of confidence.
In moments, Fasma’s lithe figure is squeezed like a dog’s chew toy in Breg’s hand. It feels decidedly wet, Fasma dies inside a little.
" And you're going to help. "
There isn’t enough booze in this world…