written by neverfakeit

A vampire, a werewolf, and a banshee walk into the restaurant at the end of the universe, which happens to have a decent bar. The adjacent hotel needs an update though, ever since that asteroid took out half the signage. Now it just reads HOT.

But let's back up a few ticks. Kip, a vampire since his thirtieth birthday, is the first to arrive on scene. He's sat at his usual spot at the bar waiting for his friend with benefits and staring at the day-old pie under the glass case. He can't remember the last time he had pie. And despite the restaurant's assurance that the pie is out-of-this-world, he suspects it's made from questionable ingredients.

This doesn't mean Kip isn't hungry. Fortunately, he has evolved enough that his body tolerates shots of cinnamon Schnapps, which helps curb his appetite for blood. And keeps his breath fresh. But compared to the other restaurant patrons, like the pungent Uranians with their blue scales and insatiable quest for methane, Kip is pretty damned normal. And he does whatever he can to protect his gorgeous ass because he still has shit to live for...like sex, or at least the company of Earth borne species like himself.

As if granted a wish, Claude, a werewolf in shabby clothing, shuffles through the door like something the dog dragged in. A mop of mousy brown hair covers his dark, half-lidded eyes, and a toolbelt is slouched across slender hips. He hasn't shaved since New Year's Eve, and he's still wearing that ridiculous t-shirt with the orange face of some long dead leader. But at least he looks human.

"You look like hell, and I don't care," Kip says as he kisses Claude on the mouth. "But that stubble."

"Save your snobbery. I traveled across the universe to see you. You know how many worm holes that is? And the gate at Pluto took hours." Claude takes his seat just as his drink arrives, and he air toasts the bartender, a Martian named Tab, before dumping it over his lips.

"It's always bad at Pluto. What else has you riled up? I detect more in your scent than a long trip in that crap ship you call a home."

Claude grunts and shakes his head. "Nearly getting my dick blasted off. Does that count?"

"Do tell." Kip perches his chin atop his gloved hands, and a stray lock of golden hair falls against his cheek. But Claude is too interested in his drink to notice Kip's ethereal visage.

"Some lunatics were shooting lasers at each other on the last stretch here. The fuckers nearly took out my satellite while I was attached it."

"If you paid a professional to fix that stupid thing, you wouldn't have to climb outside to make repairs. Let me help you with the cost."

"I've told you no a thousand times."

"Well, I don't want to see you, or your dick, blasted off. It would be a gift to me. And you know how much I enjoy giving myself gifts."

A loud bang thunders outside, and everyone turns as red light ricochets off the restaurant's laser-proof windows, shooting in all directions like exploding neon.

Claude shakes his head again and returns to his drink. "It looks like the lunatics aren't done with me."

The light show continues outside until the coppers show up, flashing their greens and giving Claude some peace of mind, although like everyone else, he's already lost interest. A few minutes into the quiet, a woman strolls through the door. Vapor billows from her vest like she's come from a fight, and she pats her chest, sending white plumes into the air. With single-minded swagger, she walks to the bar and sits down just two stools away from them.

"Give me the strongest drink you make," she says to Tab. He smiles at the challenge and gets straight to work.

Meanwhile, Kip is rendered speechless by the woman, which doesn't happen often, since he's been around much longer than that stupid heap at the end of the universe. She's dressed like a raider, bulletproof clothes and holsters slung over her arms and hips. They're currently empty, as she would have surrendered her guns at the docking bay.

Her face is full of overlarge features: big lips, tall forehead, and wide eyes with a twisted gleam, but all favorably located. Her hair flows like a waterfall to her overlarge ass, a thick braid of peroxide blonde hotness. Her scent, a muddle of everything with a strong finish of iron, curls under Kip's nose like a beckoning finger.

With a hand hovering over an empty holster, she watches Tab make her cocktail, his three arms moving synchronously. The genetic anomaly makes him the best bartender north of the Kuiper Belt. After the performance, Tab hands her a concoction that glows like an orange nebula.

"Impressive," she says as she eyeballs it.

Kip can stand it no longer. He prepares his opening line as he approaches the platinum-haired goddess. "The extra arm gives him an advantage, don't you think?"

Without turning, the goddess raises her hand to stop him, leaving her holster unattended while she tips the neon liquid over her lips and empties the glass in four swallows.

"That's a damn fine drink," she tells Tab as she lands the glass on the bar. "How about another?"

Her hand returns to her hip, and she turns to size up Kip, which takes all of two seconds. It isn't hard to read him. He's a pampered prince. A monster from way back, with pristine canines and a face only marble can do justice to. And he has poised himself in the perfect light, having grown accustomed to posing for portraits.

"You're right," she says. "If I'd needed to slap you, an extra arm would have been helpful. What can I do for you, stranger?"

A quick smile comes to Kip as he relishes in the woman's wit. "I'm intrigued about the reason you've chosen not to savor such a fine cocktail."

"Are you sure that's your question? You approached me before I drank it."

"Yes, well...I changed my question at the last minute. I was initially going to ask why you had chosen the strongest drink in the house."

She smirks, and Kip's canines ache at the curve of her lips. "I can give you one answer for both questions. I likely won't live to see another day, and I don't want to be sober for it."

Claude leans back on his stool. "Does this have anything to do with those lunatics blasting lasers all over hell's creation?"

"It does."

"You know, I nearly had my head removed because of you and your trigger-happy friends. And I'm talking about the important head." He points to his crotch.

"That was you? Sorry, mate. I'm not as skilled with lasers as I am with my voice. Let me buy you a round to make up for it. I hope you didn't crap your pants. I've seen that happen."

Tab presents her with another drink, and she throws it back like she has zero gag reflex. Kip's eyes grow round as his senses finally do their job.

"You're a banshee. That's what I smell."

"Excuse me? I'm certain I've bathed this week."

"It's not an insult. I have keen senses. You've been running from these lunatics for a while. They've chased you to the end of the universe, beating you up along the way. You're out of good options. But you don't really believe this is your last day."

The woman gives him a hard look through a pair of seafoam green eyes. "You got all that from my scent?"

"Actually, no. I can read auras too. Yours is particularly filthy. Which, believe it or not, is not an insult."

Claude climbs off his stool and walks past them. "C'mon, you two. Let's grab a table. This is too good to leave alone."

Kip orders two slices of pie for his companions, and they take their seats at his favorite window, the one with an unobstructed view of outer space, extending out like an endless unlit hallway.

"Allow me to make introductions," he says. "I am Kip, short for Kipling Charles the Fourth. And this is my good friend Claude. What can we call you?"

"Cher."

"Is that your real name?"

"Sure, why not? With a face this unforgettable, who needs an alias?"

She isn't fooling. There is no way Kip will be forgetting her, and he stares without shame as she digs into her pie. Sitting on her left side now, he notices a red slash across her cheekbone where she's had a brush with something hot. Probably a laser.

"Is this your first time at the end of the universe?" he asks.

"Yup," she says as she chews. "There's nowhere else to go but back the way I came. Which is currently not an option with a busted thruster."

"And there's those lunatics too," says Claude. "Are they the reason you're getting trashed?"

"Pretty much. Damn, this is good pie. What's in it?"

"You'll enjoy it more if you don't know," Kip says. "How'd you get yourself into this fix? If you don't mind sharing."

"I don't mind. It won't matter tomorrow anyway. I'm into valuables, see. And the asshole who has chased me all over this fucking cosmos stuck his dick where it didn't belong. So, I stole his family jewel."

Claude snorts like a hyena, and Kip ducks as pie chunks fly across the table. "Shit! I'm sorry about that," he says, using a hairy hand to clean his mess. "I'm not laughing at your situation, just the bit about the family jewel. The guy sounds like a slimeball."

"Slimeball." She chuckles under her breath.

"So, he's after this jewel you stole?" Kip asks.

"Yes. But I told him I didn't have it."

"Do you have it?"

"Not on me. I stashed it somewhere. Course, the slimeball isn't buyin' that story." She winks at Claude as she continues to eat.

"Well...killing you isn't going to help him find it," says Kip.

"Did I mention he's as incompetent as a compass in space?" Cher finishes her pie and reclines in her seat, looking too relaxed for someone on her last day of life. The alcohol is probably kicking in. "So...either of you two want to send me out with a bang?"

Kip and Claude smile simultaneously.

"Of course, we do," Kip says. "What kind of monsters wouldn't do that for a stranger with an unforgettable face?"

Cher reaches across the table and takes Kip's hand. "If you ask nicely, I might let you bite me."

Kip lets himself imagine how she might taste, filthy but fresh, and his mouth waters as he dives into her ocean eyes.

"Way to make a guy feel invisible, you two." Claude crosses his arms, pretending to pout. But Kip knows he's howling inside as he watches his friend's crotch grow like he's going through the change.

"Don't worry Claude. There's plenty of Cher to go around," she says through a sexy smirk.

"We'll use my ship," says Kip as they leave the table and head for the exit. "It's bigger than Claude's, and a helluva lot cleaner."

"I'm not risking anyone's ship," Cher tells them. "We'll get a room next door. My treat. And if the enemy shows up, you won't have to clean blood off your dashboard."

The hotel room is not as nice as Kip's ship. The cups are synthetic not glass like the ones he keeps in his wet bar, but Cher made a good point about the blood. Kip barely has time to dim the lights when Cher puts Claude in a chokehold between her thighs.

Five minutes in and she has easily managed back-to-back orgasms, and when Kip and Claude realize that she's just getting started, it turns into a contest. While the spirited banshee bounces between them with the agility of a six tentacled Venutian, the two of them pull out all the stops, including a technique they perfected on each other.

During one particularly intense moment, Cher asks Kip to bite her, but he has never gone that far in the heat of passion. Not unless his partner is already turned. Besides, he's having too much fun. By the time Cher waves the white flag, she has screamed through fourteen orgasms. And Claude appears so enamored that Kip suspects he might be in love. What else can he do but encourage it?

"Should we talk about a plan to save Cher from these space thugs?" Kip says as they embrace each other in a slippery sprawl.

"There's already a plan," says Cher. "The thugs break down that door, they shoot me dead, end of plan."

"You don't even want to try and stay alive?" Claude asks, tracing circles around Cher's hip.

"I've been running from this gang of space fucks for over three years. Every time I take a henchie down, another one takes its place. I'm tired."

"You're fighting henchies? Who is this gutless slimeball sending robots to do his dirty work?"

"You'll live longer if you don't know."

"How do you take down a henchie?" Kip asks, already impressed that she'd done it.

"Dislocate their auditory circuits with sonic waves. But I can't just scream at them. I need to unplug the brain cable first. Then I can fry their ass."

"Perfect! I'm excellent at robot demolition," says Claude. "All we need are some earplugs for me and Kip, then you can scream your lungs out."

"Hold on, wolf boy. You're not engaging in any demolition," Kip says. "You won't be able to stop the change when those things arrive, and you know it. You and your earplugs can get locked in the bathroom."

Claude howls his disappointment.

"You two are wasting your time," Cher says. "Slimeball never joins his henchies. He watches from afar and bolts at the first sign of danger."

A booming sound has them bolting up in bed, and they all stare at the deep bulge in the hotel room door.

"Well, it's been a great sendoff, fellas. You really know how to woo a girl."

"Earplugs!" Kip shouts as he scrambles off the bed, yanking Cher up with him.

"In my shoulder holster!"

Claude and Kip dive, bare naked, at the holster as another blast hits the door. This one makes it clean through, and sparks ping around the room.

"Fucking henchies!" Claude growls as he shoves a pair of plugs into his ears.

"Bathroom! Now!" Kip points down the hall and Claude stomps away, flashing his hairy ass.

The front door swings open, smashing against the wall, and four machines step into the room. Their stick figure bodies are held together by gears and pipes scavenged from floating ship heaps. But their heads all look the same, humanoid with devilish red eyes that shoot lasers.

Once Kip has his earplugs in, he attacks the first bot with lightning speed, hitting it behind a knee joint and bringing it to the floor. As he fumbles for the brain cable, he watches Cher take on two of them. She's pulling a slow-mo Matrix move through the air while wielding a crowbar and a dagger. He actually gets aroused as she performs a perfect split mid-leap then jams the crowbar into a henchie's neck. He's never seen a naked woman fight so well.

After dismantling his first foe, Kip has enough time to roll away from a henchie coming at him with an iron fist, and the chaos continues, robots against monsters, until the last henchie has been disconnected from its brain. Then it comes. The scream to end all screams. A scream that makes Kip's skin literally crawl. A scream he is sure everyone can hear no matter where they are in the universe.

Kip covers his earplugs for added protection as he watches the windows vibrate. Will they hold up against Cher's sonic voice? Is he about to say farewell to his long, illustrious life and walk that dark hallway of space? Sparks light up the room as each henchie falls, gears grinding, circuits exploding, collapsing into piles of mindless junk. Then the screaming stops.

Cher leans forward and grabs her knees. Kip thinks she's going to be sick, but she's just catching her breath, and he takes the opportunity to check that the important parts of his anatomy are still intact. When he glances back, she is standing at the window with her hands on her hips, the tip of her braid resting between her ample ass crack.

"You okay over there?" he asks.

"I'm alive, if that's what you mean."

Claude leaves the bathroom, his face flush and the hair on his head sticking up like the bristles of a scrub brush. "What did I miss?"

Kip and Claude join Cher at the window, and she points at the red lights of a ship speeding away from the docking bay. Not far behind is a copper flashing its greens. "See that ship? That's our slimeball getting away again. Still alive to torture me another day."

"Without his family jewel," Claude adds.

"I'd say we've just solved a big problem for you," Kip says.

"Oh, yeah. What's that?" Cher turns her bulging eyes on him, and he notices a few veins have burst in their glassy depths.

"Now that you have me and Claude, getting rid of the slimeball will be a piece of cake. Then you'll have your whole life ahead of you."

"You'd help me?"

"Didn't we just do that?"

"I can't ask you to chase across the cosmos looking for an asshole in a ship heap."

"You don't have to ask," Claude says as he puts his arm around her shoulder. "I know ship heaps and assholes better than anyone."

"That's right," says Kip, slinging his arm around her opposite shoulder. "He's a bartender at the other end of the universe. Why don't we head there, and he'll mix you something strong."

Cher smiles with those big, beautiful lips. "That's the second best offer I've had today. After all those orgasms, I could go for a little hair of the dog." 

<<<<<FINIS>>>>>

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Morgan Rider was born in Las Vegas and raised by musicians. She was lulled to sleep by late night jams and exposed to more nudity than a hippie at a love-in. Inspired by her misspent youth, she's been writing stories on Wattpad since 2013, split between two accounts: @neverfakeit and @buzzmama. Morgan is a Taurus, INFJ and a Hufflepuff. She loves music, dancing, and curry, and she wishes steampunk was real. Contact her on Wattpad or at morganriderauthor.com