“Out with you. I need to take a shower.”
The door closes in my face before I can respond, and I hear the water start running a second later.
I move to the bed and sit on the edge, picking up the remote from the nightstand. I flip through channels without really seeing anything – static, infomercials, reality shows that all blur together. I stop on a nature documentary about the African savanna. Lions are hunting in a coordinated pride, stalking a herd of zebra across the plains. The narrator explains pack dynamics in a calm voice, while the lionesses close in on their prey. I watch them move together, synchronized and trusting each other, and I think about how Wren and I need to work together like that.
But right now, we’re not synchronized at all.
I try to focus on the documentary, but my mind keeps drifting back to the merge earlier, to how it felt to be inside her. I remember her arousal and how close to release she was. I could feel everything she felt, every sensation amplified through our connection. Her clit was pulsating, swollen and desperate for pressure, and it felt like it was mine just as much as it was hers, the shared sensation blurring the lines between us.
The memory makes heat pool low in my abdomen, and I shift on the bed, trying to push the thoughts away. Even thinking about it is too much.
My cock begins to emerge from between my thighs, pressing out from my body and hardening rapidly. I groan quietly and lie back on the bed, my hands curling into fists at my sides as I try to resist the urge. I want to touch myself, need release fromthe tension building inside me, and I can hear the shower still running in the bathroom.
She won’t know, she won’t see.
My hand moves toward my cock almost involuntarily, and I think about Wren naked in the shower right now, water running over her skin and soap sliding down her body, her red hair wet and dark, sticking to her back. I groan again, and my fingers brush over my cock, feeling how painfully hard I am.
But it feels wrong. Deeply wrong.
She’s just in the other room, only a few feet away, and this is supposed to be a professional situation. I can’t jerk off to her when she’s right there. It would be a violation of trust and the boundaries we’re supposed to maintain. I pull my hand away with effort and stare at the ceiling, trying to calm myself down.
I don’t understand why she affects me this way. I’ve merged with dozens of hosts over the years, and it’s true I haven’t merged with a woman in a long time. It’s easier to merge with men, as there are fewer complicated dynamics. But even when I did merge with women in the past, it didn’t feel like this.
I remember being younger and being merged with female hosts, and some of those merges were uncomfortable and disturbing. There were situations where I wasn’t in control, where I wasn’t given a choice, and times when I was forced to merge regardless of my comfort. I made choices that left me feeling miserable and ashamed, and I want to forget those times and push them down deep where they belong. I can’t let myself think about the periods when I had no agency, when my body wasn’t my own, and consent didn’t matter.
The memories kill my arousal effectively, and my cock retreats back into my body, the desire evaporating. I sit up and force myself to focus on the documentary. The lions have caught the zebra now, and the pride is feeding together. I make myselfwatch, make myself concentrate, and then I hear the shower turn off in the bathroom.
The door opens a minute later, and Wren steps out in clean clothes, her hair damp and pulled back. She looks at me on the bed and pauses.
I realize I’m sitting rigidly, with my body language completely different from before. All the warmth is gone, replaced with cold distance, and I see her notice the change as confusion flickers across her face.
“What are you watching?” she asks.
“Documentary,” I say, my voice clipped.
She doesn’t say anything else, and I feel guilty for suddenly being icy with her. She doesn’t deserve this shift, and she didn’t do anything wrong, but maybe this is the right way to be. I’m her bodyguard and nothing more. I shouldn’t be thinking about her the way I just was, and I need to maintain boundaries and keep things professional, even if it means hurting her feelings.
Wren looks toward the window and sees the darkness outside.
“I don’t think I can sleep,” she says, and her eyes drift to the bed, where I’m sitting.
I know she’s thinking about how we’re supposed to share this bed tonight.
I stand up quickly.
“What do you want to do?”
Wren straightens and seems to come to a decision.
“I want to go out again,” she says. “Actually start the mission this time. There’s a club Captain Holt told me about that I should visit.”
“We need to merge, then.”
Wren steels herself and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Okay,” she says. “Do it quickly.”
Her voice is tight and controlled. I approach her, feeling how tense she is. She’s standing ramrod straight, with every musclelocked, and she’s unyielding, braced like she’s expecting a blow. It pains me to see her like this. The merge makes her take such a defensive stance, and she wants to bolt every time I step closer. The only way she can make herself stay put is to squeeze her eyes shut because she can’t look at me and face what’s about to happen. I hate that I cause this reaction in her.
