Standing against the wall, Clementine held her metal cup, watching the crowd of college students writhe against each other. Stephanie and her boyfriend, Pete, were in there somewhere. Or not. They may have gone into one of the bedrooms already.

Even with her earplugs in, the wordless techno was deafening. Evidently whoever lived in this house had considered their stereo important enough to bring to the new world. Clementine was about to glance at her phone, wondering if she'd put in enough time to count as attending the party, when someone tapped her shoulder. Heath, one of Pete's friends, had come up beside her, watching her from over the rim of his cup.

Clementine waved, both because the music was too loud for words, and because Heath was deaf. He began to sign something, but some of his drink splashed out of the cup and onto the floor. Laughing far more than the spill merited, he put the cup on the windowsill and signed again, his eyelids drooping as he watched her reaction.

Not understanding, she shrugged. He took a step closer, pointing at each of them. Then, making a circle with one hand, he repeatedly shoved his pointer finger into the hole, while biting his lip and rocking his hips back and forth.

"As tempting as that is," said Clementine, handing him her cup of water, "I'm leaving now." She pointed at herself, then outside, then waved goodbye. "Tell Steph if you see her?" She made an hourglass shape, which was his sign for her best friend.

His eyebrows perked up at some new thought, and Clementine had a feeling he'd misinterpreted her sign. He was usually pretty good at reading lips, but a hammered mind is quick to make illogical leaps. Oh well. Steph could take care of herself.

With another wave to Heath, she headed for the door. A new group of kids was walking in, so she paused, giving the house one last scan in case she could say goodbye to Stephanie. A guy wearing all black caught her attention on the far side of the kitchen.

Zack.

He'd been at the house even less since their groping session in the auditorium, and she'd wondered many times if he was avoiding her, only to remind herself that it didn't matter. It wasn't like they'd professed an undying love for each other or anything. If all he wanted was a friends -- er... former friends? -- with benefits situation, she was happy to oblige, as long as the satisfaction went both ways. She wasn't about to sleep with him, but getting physical without all the gushy romance stuff didn't bother her.

Keeping her eyes on him, she started in his direction. With the thick and undulating crowd between them, she lost sight of him a couple times, but when she was about halfway across the room, Zack's gaze locked onto her. A smile began creeping into her lips, until a slender arm covered in a floral tattoo sleeve wrapped itself across his chest.

Clementine froze. A head of blonde hair stood beside him, but there were too many bodies between them for her to see the girl's face. It was Zack's face that held her attention anyway. He hadn't looked away from her, even now, his expression utterly unreadable. Was he guilty? Smug? Clementine wanted to grab the nearest cup out of someone's hand and throw it in his emotionless face.

Well she could play that game too. Mimicking his expression, she slowly spun around and walked out. Only after she'd emerged from the sweltering house into the cool night air did she take off her shoes and break into a run; there was no way she was giving that asshole the satisfaction of knowing that he had affected her.

As she neared her house, she slowed to a walk, the fake grass feeling real on her bare feet. Why was she so mad? Hadn't she just been thinking that she didn't want a relationship with him? Well, it didn't matter now. He clearly didn't want a relationship with her.

It was 9:30, but no one was home. Her parents were over Anne's house, and Mr. Crayden was probably with his buddy Fabio, with whom he'd been spending lots of time and coming home with bright red eyes and reeking of pot.

True to his word, Inlan had finagled the Squad into installing their fake glass window the same day as his first rehearsal. More than a few people had gawked at the duo of Relicans fitting their frame with some high-tech doodads that created the clear wall of light, and Clementine's mom had worried that it would draw even more attention their way. But here it was, the end of the week, and there hadn't been any incidents.

A press of her thumb on the black panel on their front porch unlocked the door, and after changing into her pajama tank top and shorts, and grabbing a much needed sugary toaster pastry, she turned the news on and settled on the couch.

Did she say no incidents? Ugh. Not around here, maybe. The news anchor was gloomily reporting riots in sector sixteen, where some Relicans had been assisting with a fire. Some idiots blamed the aliens for the fire and assaulted them. The footage that someone took with their phone showed the Relicans stunning a couple of particularly violent aggressors, which only amplified the crowd's anger.

What was wrong with everyone? Trusting the fate of their species to the hands of unknown aliens was obviously not going to happen easily, but with Tierney's weekly reports from Lota, it was almost undeniable now that the Relicans were there to help. Every week she featured partnerships between Relicans and humans, working to create a home for humanity. Why did everyone insist on remaining divided?

Clementine turned the sightscreen off and went in her bedroom. She took a step towards her bed, ready to put the ugly night behind her, when her eye landed on the manuscript paper on her desk.

Her concerto. She hadn't made much progress, despite working on it for the past month. Well, really she'd been working on it for years. Shortly after starting cello lessons, her teacher had asked her to write something as a homework assignment. Over the years, as she learned more about music theory and orchestration, she'd tweaked and reworked it so much that it was indistinguishable from the original composition, but it was no more finished than that had been. Yet she kept returning to it, drawn by the need to write something new.

"There's nothing new under the sun," her high school theory teacher always said. But Clementine wanted to prove him wrong, to prove that music wasn't only a rehashing of old ideas. She'd failed, of course, over and over again, but when she was packing to come to the cart, she'd been unable to leave it behind. Her masterpiece was hiding in there, waiting for her. She just had to find it.

The orchestra liked the excerpts she'd brought in, but it still didn't feel right to her. The piece that this was shaping into was too peppy, too upbeat for their current circumstances.

Her mind flashed back to the image of the rioting mob. Humanity was divided -- from the Relicans, and from itself. People needed to stop focusing on their differences and start paying more attention to their common ground...

Picking up her pencil, she sat down and turned to a blank page.

Several pages in, Clementine wanted to test something out on her cello. As she opened Daisy's case, a dark figure in her doorway made her cry out in fear.

"What the hell, Zack!"

She couldn't help a laugh of relief, but quickly stifled it when she remembered she was pissed at him. Turning her back on him, she sat down and began playing the motif on her cello.

"The party got too boring for you?" she asked. 

When he didn't respond, she looked over her shoulder to see if he was still there. He was. She could smell the alcohol on him, but his blue eyes were clear as he stared at her.

"Look," she said, turning away from him again, "I thought I could do the whole friends with benefits thing, but it turns out I'm more of a traditionalist than I led myself to believe. So if that's what you had in mind, I'm here to officially crush your dreams."

She continued playing, even when he moved into the room and sat on the floor beside her bed.

"The people I hang out with aren't like you," he said.

She felt him watching her, but didn't look up from her music stand as she continued to play.

"Why did you keep holding my hand?" he asked. "That day in the auditorium, I mean."

"Why did you take it?"

He rubbed his neck again, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him start to say something. But instead he began to get up.

"I was curious," she said, still playing. She wasn't practicing anything particular anymore, just riffing on random melodies and passages she knew.

Zack stood silent, watching her.

"About your other facial expressions," she continued. "I know they exist. I've seen them. I was curious what it took to elicit them these days."

There was that tiny twitch again. On the left side. Despite having seen him with another girl earlier -- what time was it, anyway? -- Clementine couldn't help the quivering in her chest at his nearness. 

"You won't like my friends," he said.

"I don't think your friends will like me, especially --"

Don't say it. Don't!

"-- your blonde friend with the tattoos."

She allowed herself a glance, and was surprised by the alarm in his face. But a moment later it was gone, his mask returning before he said, "We're not together."

"It's fine," she said, struggling against the smile that wanted to stretch her lips. "Not like you need my permission. I don't know what that day in the auditorium was about, but I'll get over it." 

Am over it. I should have said I am over it.

Warmth seeped into her cheeks and she stared straight ahead at her empty music stand.

"I like watching you play," he said, moving closer. 

Her finger slipped, and her F came out noticeably flat. "Better watching than hearing," she said with a nervous chuckle.

He walked past her, and, thinking he was leaving, she stopped playing and watched him. 

"Do you have any memorized?" he asked, closing the door. When he looked back at her, his icy blue eyes full of desire, a pulse of heat shot straight from her heart to her core.

"Umm, yeah."

"Can you play it now?" His words were so contrary to his husky voice and the predatory glimmer in his eye, that for a moment Clementine could only stare at him, her brain unable to process the mixed signals.

"Uh, sure?" She spun back around, eager to hide her embarrassment at sounding like a complete dunce. Sitting on the edge of her chair, she placed her feet firmly on the ground and spread her knees, straddling the cello.

She lifted the bow, then asked over her shoulder, "Should I turn my chair around? I feel weird playing with you behind me."

Okay, that question just set women's rights back a hundred years. I can play facing whatever way I want.

Without waiting for an answer to her humiliating question, she began to play. "Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major," she said, although she doubted the arpeggiating chords needed an introduction. This was pretty much the piece anyone thought of when they thought of solo cello. She'd learned it on her own and then performed it at not one but three recitals because she loved it so much. She still liked it, but the simple tonality struck her as rather boring now that --

Warm hands brushed against the back of her neck, moving her hair to one side.

Her bow slid sideways, an ugly screech defaming poor Mr. Bach's composition skills.

"Keep playing," Zack whispered, his hot breath on her ear.

The hot, thrumming vibration running down her spine prevented her from remembering where she'd left off, so she started again.

Zack's teeth on her earlobe shot another zing of electricity through her body. One of his hands slid down her shoulder and over her chest, massaging her breast through her shirt. A gentle throbbing in her core made her all too aware of her spread legs, and she once again lost her place.

"Zack..." She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but whatever it was, her unsaid words were cut off by a quick intake of breath when he bit down on the crook of her neck. The pain mingled with the pleasure of his hands, both of which were now beneath her shirt.

"Just keep playing," he said, kissing the same spot on her neck.

A distant voice reminded Clementine that she hadn't gotten a good explanation for his behavior at the party, nor did she have a better grip on what she meant to him. But her body was too much in control for her to give the thought any weight. Her fingers and arms danced up and down and across her instrument on autopilot, leaving her mind to focus on nothing but the tension building between her open legs.

Suddenly Zack's body was pressed against her back, and she realized he'd slipped onto the chair behind her. Now he was straddling her, his bulging cock prodding the top of her ass, pouring forth so much heat that it made no sense for Clementine to shiver.

He bit down on her shoulder again. She'd stopped playing. Her need to find release from the throbbing, quivering pulse in her core was far stronger than her offense at his manipulations, so she once again started at the beginning.

His left hand slipped out from her shirt and slid down her back, and she leaned into his touch. In doing so she accidentally pressed against his cock, and he groaned with pleasure, his hand wrapping around her and holding her in that position for a moment. Then his hand traveled farther down, finding the skin between her shirt and shorts.

Somewhere in the house a door closed.

Though the manifestations were the same -- goosebumps, racing heart, tingling senses -- the cause was no longer pleasure, but fear. What if her parents found them? What if they had to move after all?

Clementine tried to stand, but Zack held her in place against him.

"Angel?" came Mr. Crayden's voice, higher than usual -- in more ways than one.

Her panic eased a bit. Mr. Crayden wouldn't come in her room. Her parents probably wouldn't either, not without knocking. But the possibility of any of them finding her and Zack together like this was --

Zack's teeth dug into her skin, and she automatically started playing again. The hand that was tight against her stomach slipped beneath the elastic waist of her shorts, squeezing her crotch.

Clementine gasped as an overpowering flood of release crashed through her. The bow skidded across the strings, producing another nasty sound.

"You okay in there?"

Still pinching one of her nipples with one hand, Zack began rubbing her core with the other. Her panties dampened at his touch, becoming less of a barrier with each movement.

"Yes," she called out, her heart pounding and her body sizzling with the thrill of only a thin door between them and discovery. "Don't come in, though, please."

"Okay, angel. Good night."

Clementine returned to playing her cello as Zack continued playing her. His fingers slipped beneath her panties, gliding into her as smoothly as her bow slid across the strings. His breath, heavy and hot, condensed on her neck and trickled down her back. Squeezing the sides of the cello with her legs, Clementine ached for an end to the exquisite pressure inside of her. She had no idea how many times she'd played the first twenty measures of the Bach, but as she finally reached the soaring high notes that signaled the musical climax, she closed her eyes, giving herself over to Zack's hands, Zack's body, Zack's will.

His fingers plunged in and out of her, deeper and deeper, while at the same time his cock dug into her from behind. The hand that had been tending to her breast now joined the other between her legs, rubbing her clit. Her own fingers flew jerkily up and down the strings as her entire body tensed in anticipation of her own climax.

The sound of the front door closing again reached her ears, and the voices of her parents did nothing to dim her singing body. If anything, the knowledge that she was engaging in the forbidden with them so close pushed her over the edge. Sweeping her bow across the strings for the final chord, she arched her back and leaned against Zack, pushing her hips down to take his hand as deep into her as it could go. His teeth bit into her shoulder, but the pain only heightened her pleasure.

"You okay, Tiny?"

The sound of her mom's voice on the other side of the door sent an aftershock coursing through her.

"Mr. Crayden said you sounded upset," her mom added.

"I just want to be alone, please," Clementine managed to say, Zack's fingers curling inside her and making her voice crack. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Her mother hesitated, and for a split-second Clementine feared she was going to open the door.

"Okay," she finally said. "Good night."

"Nice hearing the Bach again!" called her dad before their bedroom door closed.

Zack pinched her clit, rocking her with an unexpected wave of agonizingly blissful pain, and Clementine couldn't help crying out.

Her parents' door opened again. "Did you say something, hon?" her dad asked.

"No." It came out as a gasp, and Clementine had to try again. "Nope," she called. "Night."

Breathless, she leaned against Zack and whispered, "You are such an asshole."

His fingers slid out of her. "No," he murmured, guiding her hips so her ass was on top of his stiff cock. "This is an asshole."

He began grinding her against him, and her body responded with fresh goosebumps. But before his hands could explore more of her, she put her own on top of them and, keeping her voice barely audible, said, "I meant what I said in the auditorium, about not being ready to go all the way yet." His fingers were still wet from her, and the smell made her core clench in remembrance -- and anticipation.

"I'm not going to leave you high and dry after that epic session," she continued, "but fingers are the only appendage that will be entering me for the foreseeable future. Are we all in agreement on that point?"

He didn't say anything, and if it weren't for the continuous movement of his hips against her rear, she'd have thought he was upset.

"As long as we're also in agreement that you won't meet my friends," he said.

She almost asked him to explain, but the hard rod poking and prodding her demanded the same release she had enjoyed, so she decided to leave it for now.

"Agreed."

Putting Daisy down on the floor, she knelt in front of Zack. As she reached up for his fly, he said, "So my fingers aren't the only appendage allowed inside of you?"

With a smile, she unzipped his jeans and whispered, "You're not the only one with teeth."