Squeak

by Vera Valentine

thin jets of funnel cake icing flowed out to soothe the sting.

I sucked with a happy hum, reveling in the actual, literal sweetness of my balloon shifter lover.

Don’t judge me, I was weak for curls.

The smutty cogs in my brain started turning so fast they produced smoke. I answered before I’d really even thought about the question. Getting to sketch the two of them out NSFW-style for a month’s rent? Sign me the fuck up. “Absolutely.”

Was it hot in here? It felt hot in here. My stupid goddamn fitness watch buzzed again and I tore it off and chucked it into a box of rulers. Fucking snitch.

“You are annoying, persistent, and beautiful. I see what Seb sees in you.”

I didn’t even know what the hell I was asking for, but I’d never been so wet in my damn life. My brain might still consider Keane an unredeemable douchecanoe, but my body was ready to run through a field of flags as red as my namesake to get to him.

I needed to be naked, I needed Keane, and I needed him in me. He

“Come for me, sweet little flower, let me taste you. It’ll make it easier to take me.”

“Keane, purr for her. Your omega is distressed, Alpha. Do what you know you need to.”

We’d eventually figured out that a tulpamancer could change our shape in very interesting ways, too. With deft fingers, and several assurances nothing hurt, she’d twisted Kean’s shaft into a temporary row of small, round bubbles instead of the thick column that both she and I were so fond of.

Both Keane and I learned something in that moment. Humans certainly weren’t meant to be filled with helium, but could be with enough determination. And if you filled them with enough helium, they’d literally float away until they became the airless stratosphere’s problem, rather than the earth’s.