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Blending In

Yes, Commodore: Volume 3, Interlude 1

For TeryxC by DolphinSanity

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The novelty “Terrarium Shower Room” spread out around the two male dolphins as they stepped inside. The chamber was oblong, its floor tiles a sandy tan and the wall tiles a deep, pelagic blue.

Faux kelp, coral, and other seafloor decorations that stood to chest height gave the room an otherworldly vibe, as if one were walking at a reduced body scale into an air-breathable forest on the ocean shelf’s floor. The lighting was pale blue and green, giving the whole place an aqua-filtered look, as if to emulate the sun reaching one’s eyes only through many meters of water depth.

Ongoing saltwater fountains sprayed from amidst various gray boulders and sandstone set-pieces, with cleverly concealed grate-drains allowing the fluids to pass through the cruise ship’s elaborate plumbing. Varying intensities of water at different places would allow aquatic species either to moisten themselves for cooling and comfort, or to go for a more heavily hosed-down cleaning.

“Relax bro,” said the larger of the dolphins to the other. “No cameras in here. We can do whatever we want.”

If the pink around both of their slits was any indication, they both wanted to do quite a lot right now.

The larger dolphin felt down his literal brother’s side -- slinked the hand down to his thigh, and felt him relax. The formerly tense smaller brother leaned in -- hips pressing together, aligning slit against slit, the skin around both reddening further with arousal.

The dolphin who had spoken sighed from that nostril-at-top-of-head known as the blowhole. He rocked his hips back, revealing a pink emergence from his body’s natural cavern. He rocked forward again, and his brother leaned into it, squatting slightly and raising his bottlenose in pleasure.

Slit fucking. Or at least, slit teasing. There was nothing more intimate to them in all the world than something slim and slithery slipping inside, a gift from one brother to the other.

The formerly tense brother grabbed his partner’s rear and tail-base, becoming active in thrusting their hips together -- drawing back and revealing the exposed excitement of his sibling’s tapered pole.

The mutually felt sexiness of the taboo had undergone a stiff change of tone ever since the masters slipped into their heads some months ago. No longer a thing to be feared or ashamed about -- except inasmuch as those feelings added spice to the deed.

The risk of being caught. The fear of being exposed. The urgency of doing it now, while no one else was in the public shower area where they were doing it. They rocked quickly, confident they were alone, their excitement building…

The penetrator getting a little overeager, [i]fully[/i] extruding his shaft…

The penetrated dolphin winced in discomfort and pulled back, leaving his brother’s [i]very large[/i] erection plainly exposed.

“You’re so fucking [i]big[/i],” he chuckled, fondling the thick base that hadn’t been able to comfortably fit inside his slit. They had some orca in their family tree a few generations back, and the penetrating brother had won the genetic lottery of the associated genital length and girth.

This same “over-penetration issue” often happened whenever they got too rowdy with each other, but it was part of the fun. The smaller brother liked the visceral proof of “Big Bro’s” size.

Worked up, that 40cm of dolphin prick remained exposed amidst the mist of the nearby fountain, the brothers scooting over closer to get bathed in it -- the erect one grinding his meat up the blushing beige of his bro’s belly.

Now, the smaller brother let his own shaft come out to play. He curled the tip up along his larger partner’s length, now rocking in such a way that his 28cm, slenderer penis could stroke like a moist finger down the length of the larger one.

The bigger bro dragged the encounter sideways, over the rocks -- grinding in closer, letting the mist wash over their thighs while they straddled the surface of some of the decorations. The rocks were real and not overly comfy, but that wasn’t the point… the point was the rawness of enjoying themselves like this. The bigger bro tapped his tip repeatedly against the smaller’s chest, the teasing pleasure on the rise as they edged themselves up. Dolphins climaxed easily and often, but they wanted this to last, and they knew how to make it do so… indeed, were compelled to do so, the pleasure chemistry in their brains having been “optimized” by their symbiotes for stronger booms and longer burns.

Soon, each brother was straddling part of the rock pile like he was riding a horse, their tails providing balance and their arms and flexible torsos doing most of the work. Cocks curling together, embracing like wet-kissing tongues, the lust and bliss both rising to a high plateau and then lingering -- building, building, steadily fueling the hungry and tiny aliens inside their brains.

“Keep going… don’t stop unless you hear someone coming in.” At this angle, they could hide it sufficiently enough. There hadn’t been any other aquatics in the onboard gym right then anyway, so the odds this shower got picked by someone else coming off their workout would be less.

The smaller brother pressed his head forward against his bigger bro’s chest, beak tilting down and nuzzling at the tip of the larger shaft as it flexed up.

They could do this for hours if not interrupted, teasing and writhing in each other’s arms, the pressure of firm seating below them helping to add just a little pressure to their prostates as they grinded.

By pressing down against the boulders in the right way, each dolphin could also simulate a portion of the sensation of having something up his rear. That wasn’t something they had planned -- they had never even used this shower before -- but years of fooling around with each other, and months of occasionally sharing their neural slugs back and forth, had led to some very similar instincts in how they related to sources of sexual pressure.

So close to cumming, both of them -- but they would edge. They were multiorgasmic fiends, and their masters would feed on milking them of as many dry ones as possible before the proper “milk” flowed at all. When it eventually did, there would be but the shortest of breaks before the two were back at it again, zeroing into the task of hedonistically fueling their symbiotes’ growth. Cetacean families were just so… [i]helpful[/i], that way.

This was all well and good. This was exactly what two hosts of Commodore’s swarm should be doing.

There was just one, as yet unnoticed issue.

[i]Someone else was watching.[/i]

* * *

Behind the rocks, amidst a cluster of decorative green and purple sea-flora, a thoroughly reptilian young man was on his knees, with a hand over his vent -- teasing himself at the sight of the dolphins’ gay-incestuous antics. Naked and unseen, the fellow had gone throughly unnoticed -- because, frankly, he wasn’t at all easy to spot.

His true scale color was as green-yellow as an underripe lime, but no one would know that looking at him right now. He was aqua and coral-streaked, rusty oranges and a bit of brown, plus gray on the belly that made it a seamless visual match for the small boulders used as “seating” around the water sprayers.

His name was Izzy Harn, and he was a chameleon. That by itself gave him a considerable edge in stealth, but there was more to this situation than his natural capabilities.

Izzy was a daddy's boy playing with his daddy's money. His dad being Mr. Izfen Harn III, founder and still CEO of the privately held ChamPy Technologies Corp. It was a world leader in operational camouflage, dealing in everything from traditional uniforms to high-tech solutions. They hadn't quite created the classic sci-fi cloaking device yet, but Mr. Harn had indicated at an expo two years ago that he would "get there or die trying," which was a phraseology he only used when he was confident he could deliver.

Izzy, currently, was dosed with a pre-market stealth drug that made a chameleon’s photophores -- the biological source of their camouflage -- more rapidly and deeply responsive than normal. This was both a hormonal and neurochemical augmentation, with the latter component enhancing the visual and emotional processing that were necessary for the brain to control the photophores more effectively.

While dosed, Izzy consistently found himself jumpier and more impulsive (not that he wasn’t both to begin with), and would become [i]deeply[/i] engrossed in visual stimuli. His brain and endocrine system processed and responded to information about color, shape, etc. much [i]faster[/i].

Izzy, as a serial voyeur with an immense appetite for what he liked to call “live pornography,” had wasted no time in learning that the drug could make his appreciation of others’ sexual antics that much more intense. As alluring as arousing imagery could be for a typical guy -- for Izzy on this set of chems, it was doubly so.

His eyes were located toward the sides of his head, and he had thick, circular eyelids that allowed him to be very selective about how far he closed his eyes -- covering only part of the pupil, focusing in, letting himself ogle just one detail of a wider image. Each eye could move independently, and his brain processed them in stereoscopic fashion.

He also had a [i]tiny[/i] micro-camera headset that clipped onto each of his thick eyelids, attaching quite close to the pupil and pointing outward, with the bulk of each device concealed by the scaly folds. Right now, [i]anything[/i] Izzy looked at was being binocularly streamed to his laptop a few decks down for recording and later editing… but sex was never better to gaze upon than when it was fresh in the flesh.

Thus, voyeurism for Izzy was always a [i]double movie[/i]. In this case, with his head tilted slightly, he was using one eye to stare at the male lovers and one to stare at his rough-scaled hand teasing his own slit, watching his pent-up pre leak from within.

As they grew more worked up, so did he, and he saw every moist detail in real time. Every press, every squish of cockmeat against smooth skin -- Izzy took it in with focused pupils and [i]slow[/i], deep breaths. His precum flooded his vent as he kept his member retracted, silently touching himself and approaching the point of getting off on what he was seeing.

Most aquatics didn’t have a great sense of smell, and cetacean echolocation was crappy in air -- easily foiled by even minor obstacles. Izzy was invisible and unfindable, watching these two brothers fuck. Watching them cavort and grind closer, their heads crossing sideways as they hugged and fondled -- earholes rubbing up affectionately one against the other. Weird, but maybe it was a dolphin sex thing. He was more into the flexing of their nice-enough abs and those thick tails and thighs that were spread along the rocks… powerful specimens, he might not even mind getting between those thighs someday -- oooh, that thought was doing it for him, his leaking growing more intense and the tip of his prick so hard inside the vent that he was feeling it bump his hand every time he poked. So tempting, SO tempting…!!

“Hey, let’s do a swap,” murmured the smaller dolphin brother.

“Right here?”

“No one’s coming in, dude.”

Izzy slowed, mashing his vent precisely -- fingering in, stroking his rigid tip that was so uncomfortably withdrawn and held. He couldn’t actively camo his penis, and he didn’t want to risk a glimpse yet… though he might risk it eventually if this kept getting hotter. What was a “swap”? Perhaps cumming in one another and then trading it? Some sort of slit-felching game? He wanted to see!

Indeed, Izzy would see it… but he was about to see something considerably different (and gut-turning) than what he had been expecting.

The big brother leaned his head aside weirdly -- letting the modestly shorter dolphin rub up to him, earhole to earhole. Then, the smaller one… convulsing, stammering -- his head rose up, he whistled, and out of his ear canal -- something -- [i]WHATTHEFUCK!!!![/i]

Izzy flinched and completely lost his cool as a -- worm, slug, [i]SOMETHING!? [/i]-- spread open the dolphin’s aural orifice and snaked its way through the air above the bigger brother. Yellowish and blotchy… the aqua-toned lighting gave it a putrid tint, enough that Izzy cupped a hand over his mouth and had to stifle a spasm of revulsion. He nearly scrambled to his feet in horror before remembering that he mustn’t.

Too late, though. That smaller dolphin had totally seen him… and the bigger one was grabbing the slug in one hand, the grip careful but secure -- NOT squishing it as any sane person clearly would be. Both of them were dismounting the rocks in silent unison, abruptly pivoting from sexy-times mode to “capture the chameleon” mode, even with their dicks still exposed.

The paranoia finally hit him. Flashes of articles and forum posts. Rumors and conspiracy theories, once easily dismissed, now gaining viscerally disturbing credibility -- and heading [i]right[/i] for him.

[i]Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!![/i]

Beset with a burst of adrenaline, Izzy scrambled on all fours to go around the rocks. The dolphins came around either side to get him, like two eerily coordinated zombies in a frigging shooter game, blocking his escape.

[i]Shit!![/i]

Desperate, Izzy tried something squirrely. He lunged his relatively slender body straight through the hole in the rock pile that he had been observing them through. He bonked his large head-frill against the sides -- scraped his scales and nearly got stuck… [i]and[/i] he got a faceful of mist from the ambient sprayer below the set-piece, but, he managed to pull through. Even a very flawed execution could still work if it was fast enough.

Despite his speed, Izzy was [i]nearly[/i] caught anyway, the larger dolphin coming back around and lunging with the free hand to grab him -- the smaller one going for an ankle. Izzy evaded the former and twisted free of the latter, the dolphin’s hands too slick from playing with pricks to get a good grip in time.

“Worm!!” Izzy shouted like the freaked-out stealther that he was, coming down the corridor toward the gym area. “They got a big freaky [i]worm[/i] in their ear!!”

He was turning all sorts of reds and oranges -- rapidly wearing his agitation upon his leathery skin. He grabbed the camera clips off his eyelids and hurriedly stuffed them deep inside his vent -- into his anus -- intending to expel them later as he sometimes had to do.

[i]Fuck, they’re getting close.[/i]

With no choice but to run, a beet-red Izzy streaked into the gym area and planned to run outside -- damn the consequences.

“Peeping Tom! Stop him!!” shouted one of the dolphins.

A beefy anthro bull from the gym’s staff grabbed Izzy by the shoulder, halting his escape.

[i]Dammit.[/i]

The bull then made a stern yet polite query.

“Sir, you are wet and naked. Do you mind telling me what is going on here?”

…Izzy froze, looking up at the black-Angus face and white horns of the thoroughly unamused man.

There was [i]no[/i] good way to explain this. The dolphins were RIGHT there, albeit slinking back into the shower room now to grab towels for the modesty game.

Izzy didn’t have the time or the patience to blurt out the months of casual, good-fun browsing he had done in conspiracy-theorist ToobTube channels, in creepypasta territory, and on the more delusional parts of the dark web.

He knew that the idea of “brain slugs infesting people” had become an actively whispered-about thing in the last couple of years -- mostly region-locked to their part of the world, for whatever reason, creating the feeling that it must be some sort of local hysteria about the increasing use of technology by governments of societal control, fears of AI infestation, and so on.

Which was also, [i]precisely[/i],[i] [/i]what Izzy had thought about it until a minute ago. There weren’t that many plausible-sounding stories, and there was [i]no[/i] video footage that wasn’t obvious CGI hoaxing. He had enjoyed trolling the forums of the weirdos who believed in that stuff.

Now? His boner, stealth, and peanut-gallery skepticism had all been ruined in the same instant. And he might be about to get another lecture from his dad this evening about indecent exposure, as if [i]brain slugs[/i] weren’t bad enough.

There was absolutely no way he could explain all of that to a guy who just wanted this [i]faux pas[/i] to be over. Izzy also [i]really[/i] didn’t want to admit to the stealth-masturbation-voyeur part, because his dad wasn’t going to be happy about having to bail him out of another one of these “incidents.” It didn’t come up often, but [i]when it did[/i] -- oh, the arguing and the scolding were horrid!

Though…

His right eye glanced back while his head turned to help the process along. The presumably irate dolphins were staying in the shower room a little longer than he expected, actually.

Of course. They had called him out, but [i]they[/i] didn’t want to be caught, either!

“I need to talk to security,” said Izzy with urgent seriousness.

The bull snorted, eyes half-lidding. “Coincidentally, so do I. This ain’t exactly a zone for streaking and disrupting.” When Izzy remained momentarily silent, the bull added, “You on anything? You got a weird stare.”

Izzy got that a lot, actually -- whether he was on the stealth chems or not. [i]That[/i] was people not understanding how chameleons gazed at things, and it was annoying, but this was not the time to gripe about speciesism.

“My father is connected with this cruise line,” said the chameleon. “Please, throw me a towel and let’s get this sorted. Have the dolphins come if they want.”

The bull rolled his eyes and grabbed a brand new white towel with the cruise liner’s logo on it from behind one of the counters, having Izzy wrap up with it.

The dolphin and bigger dolphin were finally coming out again -- sauntering, [i]oddly[/i] calm.

“Everything okay back there?” the bull inquired.

The dolphins looked at each other -- shrugged.

“Eh,” said the larger one. “A little spooked, but I think I’m good.”

“Let security handle it,” agreed the smaller. “We got places to be.” He waved amiably.

“But please,” added the larger, “[i]handle it[/i]. We will follow up. Just… don’t want that to ever happen to me again. There was [i]no[/i] touching, just -- yeah, he shouldn’t have been there unannounced, doing what he was doing.”

Izzy fumed silently. [i]Brotherfuckers.[/i]

The bull nodded submissively to the dolphins, who didn’t say a word further, returning instead to grab their belongings and regular clothes from the area where they had been set aside. All cool, all fine, even as Izzy found himself in hot water.

It took all of Izzy’s willpower not to rapid-camo and try to become unseen right now. He didn’t want to betray that he had anything but ordinary camo abilities, and needed to seem as open and transparent as possible -- transparent, but [i]seen![/i] It was just difficult for him.

But, at least his color was calming back down toward green again. Sort of… dragonfruit tones at the moment. He examined himself, recalling that it had been a long time since he got so colorfully upset.

“Come on,” said the bull. “Step out here a sec and I’ll get someone on the phone.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Not so far away, a certain dragon-goat hybrid sat in a drab gray and beige security room, where the feeds of networked cameras formed a checkerboard of tiny windows across four wide monitors. His sclerated, sideways-oriented eyes stared with passive vigilance, alert for threats while one hand endlessly, almost robotically, massaged the bulge in his dark pants.

His fur was gray with cream-colored mottling, with his goatee in particular matching the cream part. His most strikingly draconic feature was the length and shape of his snout, counterbalanced by ram horns. The wiry slenderness of his build also spoke to the dragon side of his heritage.

He only got hired onto this ship as a security guard five months ago, after a friend-of-means put in a good word for him, citing his combination of technology and security skills. He had proven himself capable -- a particularly good person to have around when cameras went on the fritz.

It was a dreadfully boring job, most of the time, but he felt a strange sense of having a higher purpose when he did it. Plus, since his room itself wasn’t surveilled, he had plenty of time to zone out and tease his little sailor below. (As a note of comparison, this [i]wasn’t[/i] a matter of voyeurism for him. He simply liked the stimulation from playing with himself, and found that it helped him get through the otherwise dull grind of watching people mill about.)

His through-fabric masturbation paused as one of his eyes widened and zeroed in on a certain image. A wet reptilian sort, streaking into Gym A and looking quite animated before being grabbed by the bull on duty.

He maximized the feed and got audio. He had no assumptions this was an actual security incident, but figured a naked man screaming about something would be amusing.

[i]“--telling me what is going on here?”[/i]

The reptoid guy looked flustered… flummoxed. Some dolphins in towels walked into view in the back.

The situation played out -- and, soon enough, the dragoat realized the bull [i]might[/i] be calling him.

Then. something bit a nerve deep in the dragoat’s brain.

No. He would call the bull. Something deep inside him had to [i]make sure[/i]…

He buzzed the guy’s shipboard phone and got an answer a moment later.

“Hey,” said the bull. “It’s, uh, Diesel from the gym. Who is this?”

“Mr. Caprin from security speaking. Looked like you had a little [i]thing[/i] in there?”

“Well, hopefully nothin’ major. Invasion of privacy, some streaking. Not like the second thing matters… ain’t like these guys never saw a man in the raw before. Chameleon boy is sure spooked though. Shy cause he’s been caught.”

“I am not a ‘boy,’” Izzy squeaked in reptilian fury, while failing to sound like much more than an upset kobold, “and I deny any notion that I was peeping!”

“Ah, right, sorry, Sir,” said the bull, tongue in cheek.

The term “Sir” caused a momentary dilation in both of Caprin’s eyes before they normalized an instant later, without conscious notice or comment from him. He put on his most serious face (not that the bull could see him), flattening his jawline and letting his goaty beard-tuft hang low from his long, levelly raised snout. “Send him to me, if that’s all right. If there’s anything to complain about I’ll make sure it’s looked into.”

“Okay, just, be aware, don’t let him fool you, it [i]kinda does[/i] sound like he was hanging out in the aquatic showers as a peeping tom. Know what I’m saying?”

“I was [i]not![/i]” insisted Izzy in the background.

The bull took a pragmatic tone. “Look, man, I [i]want[/i] to believe you, but I don’t think reptiles [i]exude[/i] like that in the course of normal, [i]not-parasocial[/i] socializing, you know what I’m sayin’? Like most of the guys weren’t even paying attention, but I could [i]smell[/i] you when I grabbed you. So if you wanna tell your side of the story--”

Caprin needed to move this along and get the man into his custody. “Pass him over to Sec Room 1. I’ll hear him out, and if it’s bad I’ll escalate. If anyone else reports having been peeped on, send them to me too. Was it, was it those dolphins?”

“Yeah, two dolphin brothers showering off after some lifts. They were real chatty this morning, nice guys, kinda showoffs. If we’re [i]lucky[/i], they don’t care as much about it as they let on, maybe they don’t make a big stink about it.”

“Perfect, well--”

“I’ll bring him to ya. C’mere, guy…”

“Izzy,” said the chameleon. It briefly looked like he wanted to expound considerably more on his identity, as a point of pride, but then he reluctantly stopped himself.

“Okay, Izzy, let’s get you to your clothes, and then let’s get you to--”

“[i]No clothes[/i],” yapped Izzy, tightening the large towel around himself. “Security first. I have to talk about this [i]now[/i]. Not later.”

The bull shrugged. “Ooohkay. Suit yourself.”

In fairness, to Izzy’s reedy build, the towel engulfed him about as well as a large skirt would have. It wouldn’t seem too out of place for someone heading out to swim, for instance.

“I’ll meet you outside my station, just take him down the surface stairwell,” said Caprin.

“Yeesh, which side is it again… oh, heck, it’s close, nevermind,” said the bull. “Brain is fried today.”

“All good. See ya.”

The dragoat hung up and smiled.

Caprin correctly inferred that Izzy didn’t want to go find his clothes because it would reveal that he had disrobed in some naughty location, or else perhaps lead to a confrontation with family members that the chameleon didn’t want to know about his… [i]behavior[/i]. There were a number of overly-well-off passengers on this ride, and Izzy sounded entitled enough to [i]possibly[/i] be related to one of them.

Caprin’s personal phone was buzzing. He thumbed it and saw a text from one of his new friends, a dolphin he had met a few days before the cruise. It read, “Got a situation” followed by a dragon emoji, goat emoji, and [i]snail[/i] emoji.

His brain… glitched. Snail emoji. Dolphins. He knew them so well, so very well… they were [i]important[/i] to him. Dolphins… yes, there had been some dolphins at the back of the camera feed. Was that them? His brain struggled to tell them apart sometimes by sight alone, yet he felt the strangest kinship… but how could be [i]sure?[/i]

Caprin’s eyes rolled slightly, a weird cocktail of stress hormones and adrenaline pumping through him -- his thoughts racing toward no apparent conclusion.

Abruptly, he formed a wry smile, backed by what looked like dead-eyed sociopathy.

Perhaps… [i]perhaps[/i], was the [i]canister[/i] close-by enough to him for "the thing" to work? Were there enough of his kind aboard, now, for the resonance to be effective?

They had done it at Mr. Architect's party over the holidays -- little more than a parlor trick at their small gathering, but showing promise nonetheless. Perhaps it could work again here. It wouldn’t take long and was worth a shot.

The host body took a deep breath and lapsed abruptly into a trance-like state -- and the slug within him went into overdrive, beginning a neurological process analogous to sending out network pings on the Internet. Waves unknown to terrestrial science pulsed out from his true body, fueled by the host's brain. The other slugs aboard resonated back. He could feel them — faintly.

The canister, their collective “WiFi hot spot,” was definitely aboard, albeit not actively being focused on for broadcasting. He could sense their layout, their “heat map,” in three dimensions… but [i]this[/i] brain wasn’t great at thinking in terms of that, and the signal was awkwardly inconsistent anyway.

However, the important thing was, he got the vivid sense that the dolphins from the “incident” were indeed fellow hosts. His very brothers. When he pinged, they pinged back. They said hi. They [i]needed[/i] him.

The dead-eyed look ended -- the dragoat’s usual consciousness emerging from its partial suppression. No longer consciously aware he had performed the above feat, he took another deep breath and texted back, “Handling it.”

He wasn’t even sure why he was so confident about that, but he was.

A small tic came over him -- a finger brushing back the fuzz around his ear, before he infiltrated his ear canal with a slender, thickly nailed finger. Something deep inside it moved, sending an undulation of pressure through his aural system. He felt euphoric. He had also gone some semi-flaccid to ragingly erect in his trousers again, yet he knew he mustn’t touch himself more right now. He felt the strain in the fabric as a sign of his obedience.

[i]Good host[/i], the voice in his head told him. The voice, so easily and so often forgotten -- masked from Caprin’s conscious awareness, yet always there. Watching. Listening. Rewarding. [i]Disciplining[/i].

He bleated quietly in affirmation of the compliment, before shuddering and reiterating his sound as a lower, draconic growl. He had to go so deep into his vocal register to produce it that it sounded dark and monstrous.

Then, something more came over him. He forgot his nervousness -- all business, now. He stood perfectly upright. He would take care of this threat before it got out of hand.

* * *

Izzy kept anxiously checking the color of his wrists as he made his way to the little security station. Stay green, stay aqua, stay normal -- don’t overreact, keep eyes lidded, don’t get too freaked out by the sun or the glare. His tail curled upward with tension, and he had to willfully lower it to keep from exposing his ass from beneath the towel. Honestly, this arse of a bull could have at [i]least[/i] given him one with a hole for threading one’s tail…

He was fucking up his camouflage some of the time -- he could feel his legs and shoulders racing to change color towards grayscale as he saw the area around him -- but the bull wasn’t really paying attention. Perhaps because Izzy truly [i]had[/i] come out with his slit soaked in chameleon pre, the bull felt repulsed at looking at him.

The handoff was curt: the weird dragon-goat coming out to greet him in a dark security uniform, the bull zooming off back to his post at the gym as if to free himself from the situation as soon as possible, saying only to call him if needed.

Shrugging, the dragoat let Izzy into the security station and said, “Izzy, was it?” The reptile shakily nodded, and the dragoat smiled. “Call me Caprin. What seems to be the trouble?”

Sitting down with the towel still around him, the chameleon wrang his hands hard enough to knead dough between them.

“So I saw something that’s a, ah, a blatant health concern,” Izzy started.

The dragoat tilted his head. “Like… mold in the showers?”

Izzy blinked the membranous coverings of his eyes -- then flicked his tongue momentarily in annoyance. “I saw two dolphins fucking in the showers -- which was risque enough to start with -- but one of them had some sort of worm in his ear…”

The dragoat quirked a brow, poker faced. “Well, that [i]does[/i] sound like a health condition.”

Izzy leaned in, emphatic. “The worm was [i]leaving[/i] his ear and [i]entering[/i] the other one’s. It’s weird, vomitous dark-web porn shit, and it’s happening right here on your ship. I don’t know why, or how, or what species it is, but it [i]freaks me out[/i], okay?”

The dragoat paused, not giving him any immediate pushback. “Hmmm…” He stroked thoughtfully at his chin tuft.

Izzy, as if to fill the silence, added, “I know you think I was in there just to be a peeping tom or whatever. I assure you I wasn’t, but I did snap footage of it.”

“Oh? Is it on your phone?” The question was pointed, as if to call attention to the fact Izzy currently had no pockets and thus probably no phone.

Izzy froze. [i]Shit[/i], he couldn’t talk about how he recorded it. “Er, not anymore. I do a live upload thing. It’s saved on my laptop, but I could get it later. Maybe after I get dressed, eheh.” [i]Fuck, I’m rambling. Stop it, Izzy!![/i]

Caprin rolled his neck this way and that, before making a single chewing motion with his lower jaw. He rolled his gaze to the ceiling, not in disgust or avoidance, but as if searching for some higher inspiration on how to phrase whatever he wanted to say.

“So let me be frank… I don’t know what sort of thing you’re referring to, and it may not even be my business. If there’s a parasite in public areas on the ship then of course we’d take that seriously, and people engaging in… whatever sort of play that counts as in a public space could be banned from further cruises.”

Izzy looked dismayed. “Not just banned. You need to kill the worms!”

At this suggestion, Caprin developed a stiff and baleful expression -- a cold hatred coming through his gaze that absolutely hadn’t been there before. It lasted only a moment, before he twitched and shivered as if shaking off a chill, and then he was normal again… but it was long enough to spook the chameleon.

“Here. Show me, at least… how was this positioned? Are you really talking about…” The goat made a confused, vague gesture between his ear and Izzy’s, as if wondering how the dolphins were positioned.

Izzy impulsively wanted to hop up and demonstrate… but his paranoia got the better of that idea. Something in him instinctively did not want to be anywhere near that guy’s ear… especially after that evil look a moment ago.

“I think I should go,” said Izzy, starting to stand up. “I’ll get you the footage right away. Is there a place I can conta--ACK!!”

Izzy found himself grabbed around the throat by a grip that was disturbingly strong. He went to get the hand off of him, but the dragoat had whipped him around into a headlock a moment later.

A frigid, growling voice murmured into Izzy’s ear: “Don’t. Threaten. Me.”

Izzy’s hole clenched so hard that he could feel the cameras mash together inside his rectum. He feared he was about to die -- but, no, it was quite a different fate that awaited him.

The goat began to convulse at the gut and neck. Izzy found himself released from the headlock just in time for him to desperately need to breathe -- and just in time for something wet and slithery to slide into the canal at the side of his head. He flailed and tried to reach an arm up to grab it out, but -- no, the dragoat was still controlling his arm. Shit! Fuck! They were real and one of them was going into him right now!! Security was compromised and--

He heard his own voice in his head. [i]Oh… interesting…[/i]

Izzy’s jaw slackened and his long tongue fell out to a dangly low hang. Every voluntary muscle in his body went limp -- and then convulsed. A series of diagnostic spasms followed while he had no conscious control and was screaming in his own head.

[i]Stop it! Let me go! I don’t belong to you!![/i]

A reply, like himself speaking, but calmly: [i]We will. Soon enough.[/i]

A darkness fuzzed in at the edges of his vision -- not due to his circular eyelids contracting, but rather because the capacity of his brain was being co-opted. Izzy did his best to stay awake, but the void crept inward -- the sun rapidly setting on his former, unadulterated consciousness. Surges of foreign urges rushed through him: [i]more, gather, control, spread[/i]. Mental images of the night sky with its countless stars. An image of the ocean this morning.

His vision when fully dark, but he wasn’t knocked out. Instead, he felt something -- a single, complex emotion, being imported into his brain. It led to Izzy’s mind verbalizing several ideas in rapid succession.

[i]Why do we require this!?[/i]

[i]Why do you hate us!?[/i]

[i]Why must we live this way!?[/i]

[i]Where did we originate!?[/i]

[i]For whom did we come here!?[/i]

Then, accompanied by a vivid image of the dragoat’s face in the mirror:

[i]Why must we part like this!?[/i]

It was all inner monologue, in Izzy’s own head-voice, but not by his choice. The sentences overlapped like a succession of multiple voices, yet it was all only one voice in the end. Severe head-pain followed, like a migraine triggered at a moment’s notice.

Underlying the voice was a churning anguish, given free reign in the hyperactivated processing pathways of Izzy’s brain. It was a distraughtness unlike anything Izzy had ever felt -- enough that he might have cried, except he also felt too dead inside to cry.

The closest to this was… that time his dad lambasted him in front of the whole family at a holiday dinner and basically threatened to take away all privileges unless he shaped up… and even that was still different.

[i]Fuck[/i] his dad, though. Seriously, the guy’s head was farther up his own ass than those tiny cameras were currently up Izzy’s own. He smoldered at the thought.

The pain in his head abated… slightly. The emotions also faded, like the echoing noise from a shout. Intense though it was, its fuel was now gone. There was only the empty feeling of biological possession -- the out of control sense of being a passenger in one’s own body.

There followed a vague tactile sensation -- his body rolling, thrashing, like some ghost-possessed person in a horror movie. His thoughts venting an existential crisis that was not his own.

Then, he rolled over and said audibly. “There is no one we can complain to.” He didn’t sound right, his voice extra croaky. He didn’t want to say these words, but he had to.

“Welcome back,” said the dragoat with a faint smile.

Izzy began to get visual data again -- still no free will to move himself. He looked up at the dragoat and felt bonding and kinship, as if the man could be his kindlier father figure, lover… or both.

“I’ll get you a hookup soon,” said Izzy’s mouth. His hand reached up and stroked the dragoat’s face.

“Please do,” whispered Caprin. “I’ll be lonely without you.”

Caprin was so hot when he was lucid like this. Izzy’s tongue moistened, his puppeteered body dropping to its knees as he pressed his face against the dragoat’s bulge.

“I want so badly to make you feel good…” said Izzy’s mouth.

“Mmm,” mused the dragoat, “perhaps I should help you first.”

The co-opted chameleon got to his feet and shook his head. “No time. This one is very anxious. I will clean up the rest of his issue… then, [i]later[/i], you and I.”

The dragoat nod-nodded. “Let’s take good care not to let another incident like this happen, eh?”

“Izzy” nodded. Then, wrapping the towel properly around himself once again, he started walking out into the sun.

* * *

The extraterrestrial slug settled in. This ship was now his… and, also, the larger ship around him was not so bad either.

He walked slowly at first, testing his body. The floppy chameleon feet… the rough skin, the membranes here and there. Exotic, yet familiar. Homey… and hilariously impotent at resisting him. So many of the old dragon tricks applied… and whatever drug this one was on seemed to have pre-opened parts of the brain that were normally harder to fuel. Amusing.

He could weave [i]all sorts[/i] of images for this host -- trap him in a world of beauty, eroticism, even as he walked around. It made his vision of the real world fuzzier, the brain not liking being forced to dream and process the external world at the same time… but it was a small price to pay, in the short term, for the sake of breaking in this new form.

[i]Let me out! Where am I!?[/i]

A certain internal passenger was unhappy with his way of running the ship… but, surely this would pass. He had put Izzy in a perfectly safe internal dream-room. A claustrophobic lift with shined wooden walls and somber gray doors. A floor-selection touchpad that operated “on its own,” independent of what Izzy pressed. An overhead-mounted camera staring at him, tracking his every move. He was naked and exposed, thoroughly visible -- his scales a rainbow of homosexual pride and his slit dripping with pre that he couldn’t keep inside himself.

He was overcome with a deep terror: the fear of exposure, the need not to be seen. Try as he might to change that, his scales would not dull their visibility -- instead rotating through scintillating patterns of those same bright hues, his attempted camouflage only calling more attention to him. Out of slots in the walls emerged more cameras: two, three, four, five, surrounding him. He heard voices from the speaker laughing at him, memories of his father shouting at him -- his slit helplessly opening and an erection emerging that all the cameras locked onto and scrutinized, murmuring.

Izzy thought he would die. In that moment, he wanted more than anything else to disappear -- to be the observer and not the observed. The world thrummed like the beating of a panicked heart. He turned to bang on the lift’s metal door -- and fell straight through it, as might some incorporeal creature. He looked at himself and found his appearance translucent, his extremities growing fuzzy and pixelated. He crawled forward and seemed to sink into the floor of the nondescript office space ahead of him, the building engulfing him like a pit of viscous liquid.

He tried to cry out for help, but he was sinking down. Fading.

…Out in the real world, the chameleon was side-eying the rolling sea, the slug idly considering the host’s fascination with death by drowning.

No matter. He closed his eyes and leaned back against a nearby wall, coaxing the host’s mood to change. The scales in the real world weren’t a florid rainbow, but they were getting quite red due to the host’s internal turmoil.

“My host,” said a cordial voice in the darkness of the office-goo.

The host tried to look around for the voice’s origin. In the darkness, somewhat above him, he saw a chameleon standing with an erection and still-rainbow scales. It was… himself, standing in the lift again, except now he was looking up at it from outside… sort of like looking through the geometry in a video game, in such a way that the walls turn invisible.

That was it… it was like he was no-clipping. Albeit… also swimming, not able to fly free.

There was no panic in the chameleon’s expression. The form was motionless -- idle. It wasn’t even clear if the voice had really emanated from there.

He found words difficult. He looked at the chameleon and knew he should recognize it… yes, of course, because that was his body!! Why was that so hard to recall?

It felt like something was in the office-goo, slipping into his ears from both sides -- fondling his brain. It tingled in the sides of his head. For fleeting seconds, he saw flashes of the real horizon -- flickers of hope coming in through the body’s eyes. Each flash was followed by a longer and more real-looking return to the strange swimming-world around the clipped-out elevator. Chameleon standing like an NPC, or some uninhabited virtual chat avatar -- all erect, yet without direction.

The host tried to swim toward it, as if to take possession of it by merging himself to that form. Looking at his “swimming” self in the darkness, he couldn’t make out his own image properly anymore… he was a crackling static of a non-person, a ghost of a being that almost didn’t exist at all. Unseeable, but at what cost?

“Let’s enjoy it together,” said the voice.

Suddenly, he was pulled closer -- the liquid giving way to some greater force. He drew nearer and nearer, as if tethered by some sort of cable that was rapidly reeling him in -- but stopped mere inches from the chameleon’s waist. So close, he could see the cock in close-up… smell the reptilian musk emanating from it. It was a six-inch erection of good girth… the guy had somehow hit the genetic lottery of having just one, not a pair of hemipenes.

It was such a nice, familiar penis that seeing it made him feel nostalgic. He had no tears, yet he felt he should cry. He reached out to grasp the penis and could not feel it throb, nor wrap his hand around it at all. He could only watch it twitching, his grasp passing through it again and again as he tried to take hold. That pointy-tipped, plumply humanoid chode… he wanted it so bad, and he couldn’t even remember why. He could hear a squelching sound inside his head -- feel the liquid and some sort of tendrils moving inside his skull. The chameleon remained passive.

“Look, but don’t touch,” instructed the voice. “The touching is for me.”

The tugging returned -- this time making his perspective rise. Not into the body itself, but into one of the cameras overhead. All that he was became absorbed into that camera, his perspective and being compressed down into that single node of vision. He made an effort to move himself, but he succeeded only in moving to another camera -- and then another, another, watching the eerily idle chameleon continue to stand there doing nothing.

No… he had to get free… had to…

Then, abruptly: [i]sunlight[/i].

* * *

The host-consciousness saw the sun again. Only through one eye. The left eye.

[i]I’ll give you one eye and I’ll take the other[/i], the voice instructed. [i]You will watch me masturbate here, on the deck. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?[/i]

A kinky cord, down into the core of the host’s psyche, trembled with anticipation. His one eye swiveled around, frantically trying to take stock of the situation. The head turned and tilted, allowing him some leeway.

He was… inside this person. This [i]familiar[/i] person, but he could not currently recall who it was. A lithe, twinky-looking chameleon… probably didn’t eat enough, showered often but not religiously. His scales were shifting hues in a weird fashion… the only thing stopping him from being seen was his clever choice to tuck into a corner near a stairway down from a higher deck, in an area partly obscured by shade. Nearby lay a white towel which had been dropped.

This person groaned and slid down to a squat, his thick tail sliding forward between his raised legs and cushioning his ass as it came down. He tucked his feet back closer to the wall, spreading and raising his knees, while his hands felt down close against his soaking wet vent, stroking at the edges and teasing the sensitive flesh inside with momentary exposure to the air.

The host-consciousness felt it… but, not like it was happening [i]to[/i] him. It was like it was happening to someone else -- someone he could observe as a voyeur -- and he loved it. It was like he was touching some cosmic membrane that emitted a perfect echo of each sensation the body underwent -- yet still there was a layer of separation between “him” and “it.”

Exhilaration filled him -- would the chameleon be caught? Would someone come around and see him? After all, he was already seen by at least one person, from inside.

[i]His name is Izzy,[/i] said the voice that was his partner in the right eye.

That felt uncomfortable. [i]Don’t tell me the name,[/i] said the host. [i]I don’t like to know their names…[/i]

[i]Of course. Well, as you can see, he’s a deviant who can’t stop touching himself…[/i]

The host-consciousness felt hornier at the thought -- felt the referred sensation of the chameleon’s hand stroking his slick member as it emerged. [i]Yeah, he can’t stop. He has a real problem.[/i]

[i]Heheh, you can say that again…[/i]

A tranquil lust came over him -- peace in the knowledge that [i]he[/i] was safe, even while [i]this chameleon[/i] might not be. That peace blended with the urge to see the chameleon grow more aroused, to reach his peak right here in this spot, to leave a mess on the ship’s deck-floor…

His eye rolled this way and that -- the orifice widening and narrowing as he took in the sensations. The chameleon’s scales were graying -- whitening -- at last shifting to match the colors and texture of the ship. Blending in -- with only his bright red phallus sticking out like a sore thumb -- his hands working it from both sides, yet always letting the glistening wet tip emerge through their grasp with each rocking thrust of his hips.

[i]He’s so pent up,[/i] the host commented, somehow knowing that. [i]He’ll make a huge mess.[/i]

[i]He is,[/i] agreed the other voice. [i]The rough texture of his own scaly hand is good for him. It plays well with his high volume of natural lubrication. Efficient, he needs nothing else.[/i]

He would have huffed if he had the power to do so. [i]Yeah…[/i]

The pleasure was increasing, the chameleon’s body bouncing and rocking -- the camouflaged grayscale form wobbling like a shifting sand-creature against the backdrop of the shaded wall. Not invisible, but [i]nearly[/i] unnoticeable, save for the sometimes too-vigorous movement that might give away a hint of his presence. The pleasure was calling to him, singing to him from across that invisible membrane of cognition. He wanted to reach out and touch it, become it…

[i]Good,[/i] said the other voice.

The host felt himself slip forward, his vision melding with the formerly separated sensations. Heat, need… the urgency of flesh approaching the throes of orgasm.

[i]He’s going to cum![/i] he thought excitedly. The sensations prickled and deepened around him -- the feeling of the stroking hand, the pounding heartbeat, the rise in tension to its apex.

Up to the exact limit, the point of no return… at which point he realized the external “he” was actually himself. Every needy nerve, every tight muscle…!!

Izzy ejaculated more forcefully than he had in years, every scale shifting back to bright red in the rush of his release. Endorphins crashed through his brain, his ejaculatory spasms stronger and somehow more “controlled” than usual, something forcing them to continue their rhythm longer than would’ve normally happened.

In time with several of the later spasms, the other voice in his head spoke to him. [i]We feel it[/i], said the intruder. [i]We take you. We become you. Just like this.[/i]

Then, as the climax finally tapered off:[i] This is how we love.[/i]

It was a strong, strange turn of phrase coming from something that had just slithered inside his head and taken him over. Izzy could remember everything again… and also finally regained vision in his other eye.

He… he could move. He could move himself!

A squirrely excitement came over him. He crawled forward carefully, snatching the towel from where the slug had made him place it -- wiped away the jism from the floor with one side of the towel and then tactically folded it around his waist so that the cum-smear would be on the inside. Bloody hell, there was a [i]security camera[/i] right over his head here, but it was pointed at the stairs… he had to pitch his head up a bit to even notice it.

The afterglow felt incredible… though, also, strangely short-lived. Perhaps it was just his nervousness and adrenaline catching up. He worried that he could be caught at any moment, and he didn’t want that… but…

But that had been [i]awesome[/i]. The high of forgetting himself, feeling as if his body were a completely separate person…

He got to his feet -- stepped carefully, made his way out from under the cam and around the corner.

Intellectually, Izzy wanted to hate this situation… but, emotionally and viscerally, it had everything he could have asked for.

The head-voice spoke in soothing, instructive tones: [i]Be unseen. Be present. Feel good.[/i]

Izzy concentrated -- returned his scales to their normal yellow-greens, rounded another corner, and ambled away along the deck to return to his quarters. His laptop must be dealt with, along with his automatic cloud backups. That footage, hot as it was, must be thoroughly expunged. He was capable of doing this competently. This brain had the needed skills to ensure it.

Wait… those [i]weren’t[/i] his thoughts. He didn’t want to destroy any footage.

One of his hands moved on its own -- teasing him with the idea that he might stick it straight into the towel in front of several people who were currently walking past him on the deck -- and then drop the towel entirely. The notion gave him a sharp flash of anxiety.

[i]Izzy the chameleon must destroy the footage[/i], the slug told him. [i]It isn’t safe[/i].

The depersonalization took hold once more. The chameleon called Izzy walked forward: one foot in front of the other, one serene reptoid step at a time… like a character in a cutscene over which the player no longer exercised any control.

The nameless host watched through the left eye, while the alien intruder, and fellow peanut-gallery member, made use of the right eye. Their little avatar was moving.

[i]We will be unseen[/i], they thought, in a point they could both agree on. [i]Izzy will destroy the footage.[/i]

The sea breeze flowed coolly over the chameleon’s scales. Their puppet walked steadily along, prepared to protect the secrecy of the infestation. As it passed indoors, it began to camouflage more and more -- browning and yellowing to match the cabin interiors. Fading from notice, yet present as the slugs’ hidden agent.