I've never been able to sleep on planes. Something about the whole experience turns the dial on my naturally anxious mind up to max. Even as a kid, I'd only fall asleep if I was absolutely exhausted, and that was rare.

Hmm. I probably wouldn't have admitted to having anxiety that directly in the past, but we've gotten to know each other, haven't we? I can be straight with you. Way I figure, as long as I'm not as anxious as Jett, I'm doing okay. He's like whatever the opposite of a role model is. A cautionary tale?

All that to say, realizing I'm alseep during the flight is a surprise. One minute I was leaning against Violette, enjoying her warmth and the light brown sugar smell of her perfume, the next minute I'm sitting on a leather couch in a dark room with an impossibly starry sky outside the large window, like the Milky Way is a billion miles closer than usual. She must've given me an order, but I fumbled the memory when coming here.

The lucidity is strange, though Violette's left me aware that I'm dreaming before, so it's not new. I may lose my grip on it in a few minutes, but for now, I sit and trace the whirls of stars and galaxies with my eyes, enjoying the beauty she created for me. I never get tired of her imagination: bigger than life and a little bit strange.

Gradually, I become aware of her presence beside me. It's too dark to see her clearly, but once I notice her, I reach out and find her hand by touch alone.

"Are you ever scared, Oran?" she asks me, in the pitch of her true voice, the one inside her head. I imagine mine must sound the same to her.

I don't turn to her, sensing that it's best to let her talk without overwhelming her. "What, of Shanghai? Meeting your family?"

"Mm. That, yeah. Or maybe bigger things. The future and stuff?"

"My eloquent angel," I say, smiling at a meteor that soars by in the distance, the vapor behind it trailing hot blue light. "I'm not scared of 'future stuff' when it comes to you. And meeting your family may be nerve-wracking, but I'll get through it."

"If they don't like you, I'll bite them."

"That's the spirit. Anything else you're worried about?"

The silence between us stretches for a long minute. "Dunno," she finally says.

"Yeah?" I face her, though she's nothing more than a shadow, the stars too far away to illuminate her no matter how bright they are. That doesn't matter; I locate her round cheek through muscle memory and press a kiss there.

"Oran..."

I go for the jugular. I don't know what has her so melancholy all of the sudden, but I won't leave her stewing in it. "Yes, Mèimei?"

She giggles. Her hands are like the blue flash of starlings' wings as she pushes at my side in the dark. "You haven't called me that in a while."

"You started it, calling me Gēgē in Denver." I catch her wrists and pull her closer, until we bump together. "You should teach me those other words you used. Was it 'shen dian'? Repeat it again for me?"

"Noooo, too embarrassing," she cries. In an instant, she disappears with a puff of smoke that is as startling as it is adorable.

"Bet you wish you could use that in real life," I say with a quiet laugh.

Though she's no longer visible, I have the sense of large arms encircling me, and then the lights of the stars begin to wink out, one by one.

* * *

I've really got to stop spacing out, I think as I finish my mascara. The wand's almost too dry to stroke under the ends of my lashes, since I stood with it in the air so long.

It was just an interesting dream that I had last night. There were so many stars, and a girl that I couldn't see properly, and I think we kissed? People assume I'm not into girls because I'm trying to look more like one myself, which is so stupid. Girls are hot, I'm hot, this is simple stuff.

Case in point: I put on my bra and my boobs looks great. They've come in really well since I started focusing on them (more than just taking estrogen managed). Guess it's no surprise, since I'm whatever a non-binary succubus or incubus would be called. Omnibus? Ha. I wonder if Vi would get why that's funny if I tell him. Doubt it.

My insides shiver at the thought of him--his serious blue eyes, his firm hands, the way his lips feel on mine. It's bad for my dignity, being as horny for him as I am, but it's irrepressible. He's the main person I feed off of, so my body acts like Pavlov's dog hearing a bell at the sound of his name. Drool.

I wiggle into the skirt I picked to wear today and try not to blush from thinking about my big brother so much. He's just too cool, and almost every girl at school mourned when he graduated without dating a single one of them. They didn't know that he's a total perv and obsessed with me, his succubus(?) little sister(?).

I don't quite remember how I found out about what I am, though. Something about my mom being one? But my mom is... fine? I squint at my reflection, feeling unmoored for a moment.

I'm distracted from the sensation by Vi walking into my room without permission while I'm getting dressed. With a squeak, I grab my black crop top and pull it over my head.

"Manners, Bro, we've talked about this," I complain as I adjust my top and skirt to line up evenly.

He shuts the door behind himself and comes up to me as confident as anything. Those hands I was fantasizing about find their way to my hips.

"I like seeing you half-dressed. Don't you want me to?" he asks. His voice is higher than you'd expect considering his height, but still pleasantly rich.

"It's the principle of the thing." Even I'm not convinced by my grumbling.

(S)he doesn't say anything else, just leans down to kiss me on the mouth. My body responds like someone's turned a key in my ignition, every sensitive part of me revving up at the promise of his touch. I know there's absolutely no stopping what a slut I am, but, like, could my libido maintain some decorum when I'm trying to scold him?

"I have class soon, you know," I say, turning back to my vanity like that makes any sort of difference. I can't help it, okay? Vi just gets me so damn flustered, and then I start trying to fight it for some reason. Even though...

I love him so much.

He smiles like he heard me think it. "You're too cute, 妹妹."

"You can't just call me cute and get out of trouble every time." I move to put my cherry-shaped earrings in, willing my hands not to shake. I get the first one in before he slides his arms under mine and starts groping my breasts. The second earring is much harder to afix into place.

"I like those," he says. He pulls my shirt back over my chest and leaves the fabric bunched there as he pinches my nipples through my bra in a possessive way that he knows makes me crazy. "You're so pretty today."

"Vi, can I finish first?" I'm straining against his hands, reaching for the black lipstick I was going to wear, when he bites my neck and starts sucking at the skin. "Come on!"

Now I'm going to have to wear a different top unless I want people giving color commentary on my hickey. Reed would have a field day asking who gave it to me. Maybe a bandaid will cover it? Is that too suspicious?

Vi releases my tender, newly bruised flesh, then soothes it with a kiss. "You'll feel better once I'm done."

Shuddering, I close my eyes. As he's been teasing me, the sound of my pulse in my ears has grown louder and louder. I'm hard and my hole is practically on fire. Yes, I will feel better when he fucks me. Part of my prickliness is just who I am, but the other part is the succubus equivalent of getting cranky when you're hungry.

"Come earlier next time. Half-way through is just annoying," I say. I pull my skirt up over my hips for him as I say it, lest he thinks I'm still trying to wriggle away.

"Sorry, Oran," he answers softly.

His voice is one of my favorite things about him, and nobody gets to hear it quite as often as I do, since he's so reticent. Lucky me. But don't let his dulcet tones fool you! He's seriously a sex fiend, the kind who steals my panties so he can jerk off with them, even though he could just come and fuck me if he's that pent up. Well, sometimes I'm at college, but that doesn't make it okay!

Very hard to hold it against him when he finds my yielding hole and starts fingering me. I arch into it like a cat getting stroked down the back, satisfaction rolling through me in honeyed waves. My body was made for him, or if it wasn't, he's shaped it by now, and his fingers are like magic. This is exactly what I needed.

"Violette," I moan eagerly, unable to keep up the facade any longer.

Hey.

Hold on a second.

I jolt like someone just unplugged me from the Matrix and dumped me out of my nice warm pod. I was buying it completely, but there's a line!

"Your name can't still be Violette. You couldn't think of anything else?"

Violette pauses, then snickers in that perfect sexy boy voice she conceived of and resumes the forceful in-and-out motion of her fingers.

"Sorry, I couldn't."

"Ghhh." Has she been lucid the whole time, or did I pull her out of it too? She can hide the truth of a dream even from herself if she puts enough effort in. She better not have been smirking about this slutty body she dropped me in since the start.

I actually like the body, don't get me wrong, but I can't tell that to her face without turning into a stuttering mess. Later.

"Why'd you, why'd you make yourself a panty thief," I gasp out. Instead of drawing attention to the cute form she's slotted me into, my brilliant strategy is to give her a hard time instead.

"Huh? Boys are just like that."

"God!" She finds my prostate with her long fingers, and I almost cum on the spot. This body is too damn sensitive! "Wh-Who says?"

"I dunno, it's just true, isn't it?"

"No! Some, but, like, not, ahh, not most of them." If she would stop finger-fucking me for a second, I could make my case better.

"How do you know? Do you even talk to that many?"

There's plenty I could say to that, the guys I know who are fine, normal levels of horny at worst, Sam for one, but the details are as slippery as wriggling eels when I try to grasp for them. Vi(olette) is my girl(boy)friendbrother(sister) everything , the one person I need more than anything, my whole body attuned to her (him). That's too much to argue with. The motion inside me is too much too, and I cum for him (her). It feels weird, like everything is softer than usual, despite the intensity of the electricity running through me.

Some clarity of what is and isn't real returns to me as I come down from orgasming. Easier to remember I'm Oran (regular type), not her fantasy little sister type.

"Hehe, it's almost like pussy juice," she (definitely she, despite the body) says as she leans over my shoulder to look at my cum, thin and almost clear, on the vanity top. I swallow and try to ignore the way my body screams DICK!!! as her hardness presses into my backside.

"I'm sure you'll make me have one of those one of these days," I mutter. I move my hips a few inches back and forth against her erection. Downright fucking restrained.

"Ooo, I wanna try scissoring," she says in my ear. Glad she's having fun while I'm dying over here!

"I'm thinking more about anal right now," I hiss.

"Hee. Yeah. This 'me' thinks about fucking you there all the time."

The sound of her unzipping her pants bites into me like fangs in my neck. She'd be less dangerous as a vampire, though I shouldn't give her ideas. I need her to focus, to fuck me and grab me and use me like I'm her personal plaything then kiss me and soothe me when she's done. I will turn into a husk if she doesn't. It's only fair, isn't it? How many times have I done the same to her, in how many lifetimes?

"Hurry up," I plead, aware of the heat and nearness of her but unable to wait quietly until she grants me relief.

"I'm here," she says, and then she is.

Is this really what it's like? I wonder as fireworks seem to detonate in a chain up my spine, higher and higher until they burst behind my eyes. Dizzying, like leaning too close to the edge of a precipice. I'm thankful that this precipice promises only sweetness if I fall off.

"Ahh... it only feels this good with you," she tells me once she's settled deep inside me.

Can she read my mind, or were my eyes as wide as dinner plates a tell? I nod at her, as if she asked me a question. She didn't, but I'm saying yes anyway.

"Um, tell me if I do a bad job," she says softly. Her voice is still low and boyish compared to her normal voice, though not so low for a guy, but the way she's speaking is just like the Violette I hear every day, not the cool persona she projected earlier. My heart does a gay little flip for her.

"Sure," I squeak.

Maybe years on the receiving end of a cock gave her enough experience, or it's the artificial memories she created for herself, or even her succubus instincts. Whatever it is, her thrusting seems calculated to drive me insane.

"Violette, Violette, I can't," I gasp, not sure what I'm rejecting. I'm weak.

"H-Hold on," she tells me, and the slight stutter in her voice sends my body throbbing again. I'm the one who has her like that! Me!

Pleasure overrides everything, after that. As she presses me harder into the vanity, I paint its front drawer over and over with sticky stripes I'm glad I won't have to clean up. She's so hard and insistent, her dick feels like a completely different thing than mine, especially when she releases inside me and there's so much of it I can feel it running down my legs.

Giving me new fetishes again, Violette? What will she think of next.

* * *

If you're wondering if I woke up with worse problems to deal with than a new appreciation for force femming, thankfully, Violette's gotten good at taking my sexual energy without the wet part of wet dreams. Jerking off in the tiny plane bathroom after waking up isn't glamorous, but it's better than having crusty underwear.

You're welcome to imagine exactly what kind I'm wearing under my leggings. I'm not telling.

When I return to my seat, Violette's cheeks are rosy pink and her expression is that of someone who's just had a nice slice of pie at the end of a satisfying meal. I can't hold a second of my own torment against her. She's so cute, it's impossible not to lean in and kiss her.

We have an actual meal soon after that. Much like the flights I've taken to Japan, they have a choice between western and the destination's style of food. We both get the Chinese meal, which comes with noodles and slightly spicy, bouncy chicken. I pick at mine, eating the best bits of the main and the sides, but there's only so much I need. Violette takes a photo of hers before dusting it off in minutes, plus my leftovers, then she eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich her dad packed her.

Seriously, do succubi need more calories than humans, or does this come from the Li side of the family? I should ask Christy how much she eats, and study the Li's when we meet in, uh, six or so hours. Her uncle is supposed to be at the airport to bring us to her grandparents' house, where all of us are staying before the wedding. It must be large.

I wonder how many of us will be in one room? Few enough that I can steal some privacy with Violette, I hope. I crack my neck and lean back in my chair with a sigh. I'd rather stay awake for the rest of the flight. She'll want to have sex for real before we land and have to deal with the chaos of arrival at Pudong Airport. The dreams help, but the real deal is better. If we're going to manage that, it's time to get to work.

Time passes as Violette and I, each with our own earphones, listen to a shared playlist. It's not exactly comfortable, but it's better than it would be with anyone else. That may not sound like work, but trust me: I'm on it.

* * *

Nine hours in, it's hard to tell what time we're in anymore. The thoughts of those around us are thoroughly unspooled, as if for every minute we fly there's a hand pulling on the ball of thread that keeps them coherent. They're tired, hungry, uncomfortable, bored, nervous, or even drugged--on weed gummies or Benadryl, far as I can tell, but there could be other stuff in there. I'll have to tell my dad after he flies over, how well-behaved I was in comparison.

I wrote a story once about an ultra-powerful psychic turning a whole plane into an orgy, though I went with a celebrity's personal jet to avoid the problem of having kids around. Making the main target a spoiled celebrity also heightened the reader's connection to the fucked-up main character. Of course, he was still bad (that's the point), but it's more fun when the villain has something that makes you root for him, right?

Like me, I guess. Are you rooting for me, reader? I'm really out here trying my best, you know.

Not that I'm not planning to turn the plane into an orgy. For one thing, that's way beyond my power. For a second thing, outside of a fantasy? Random strangers? Ew. All I really want to do is get the flight attendants on my side so I can find a spot to return all the sparks Violette lit me up with earlier.

In the short amount of time we're trapped in this tin can together, there's only so much I can do. Still, if I lay the groundwork, Violette can take it from there. That's why I've been forcefully telling the flight attendants how charming and cute the two of us are whenever they pass by. Look at us! A pair of feminine lovebirds! Lovebirds who need to spread their wings. Staying cooped up in these chairs is no good for us.

One of the flight attendants, a tall woman who reminds me of little of my mom with the warmth turned up several notches, offers me a bottle of water and extra cookies when she takes our latest round of drinks away. I smile and thank her as gently as I can.

What sweet girls, she thinks.

There's no way I'm going to make dressing this femme a part of my daily routine, it's not me, but the response has been enjoyable. My ultimate gender goal is to be unrecognizable as male or female, but getting mistaken for a girl is fun because it's so far from my starting point.

I share the cookies with Violette. She munches at them sliver by sliver like a hamster with a really succulent sunflower seed. Her face falls when she finishes and realizes I ate both my cookies myself.

"Sorry, babe, the cookies are good," I say.

"I know... but gone too soon," she opines. Does she know you can buy them in stores? I will get some and blow her mind once we're back home.

The flight attendants move up and down the aisles several more times, collecting trash and fetching extra drinks for those who ask. I've been peppering them for hours now with thoughts about how unassuming and sweet and fine to have around in the flight attendant spaces we would be, if we needed to be there for some reason. For Some Reason. My head's starting to ache, which means I've used about all the energy I have.

When I feel like the time is right, I nudge Violette and stand up, offering her my hand. Being understood is the way she takes it without a word. A few steps are all we need to reach the back of the plane, past the bathrooms to the C-shaped loop that joins the left and right aisles. There's an indented space covered by several gray curtains with the bright glow of fluorescent lighting, stark in comparison to the cabin's, burning behind it.

The tall flight attendant who gave us cookies comes out behind the curtain, but instead of showing concern, she smiles when she sees us loitering.

Just those two stretching their legs, she thinks before passing us and returning to the aisles.

"There's two more of them back there," I whisper in Violette's ear. She nods and grabs the bottom of her fitted top with both hands. Fluidly, I move the curtain as she pulls her top off.

"Excuse--oh?"

"What are you... you..."

The two female flight attendants that we caught start to react before catching sight of Violette and going wide-eyed and silent.

With the level of power she has these days, even her small chest can hold people in her thrall. Lucky for me, she also has better control, so she doesn't overwhelm me too often. I'd be heartbroken if I couldn't suck on her breasts without passing out.

"Hi, I'm Violette," she chirps brightly. "Please give us lots of blankets, and bring the other flight attendants one by one, okay?"

The two women's cheeks redden as she holds their gazes. It's not long before they nod and scurry out of the small semi-circle room without another word.

I've never been in an off-limits place like this on the plane. The curved walls of the room are covered bottom to top in silvery gray, with red tags and labels attached to squares and rectangles of various shapes and sizes. It takes a second, but then I understand that they're shelves, trays, and even the carts they serve from, carefully fitted into the wall and locked up when not in use, leaving a mostly uniform surface. Very industrial. The floor is textured with bumps to make this area less slippery, in case of spills, I suppose.

Long-haul flights usually hide beds, but there's not a sign of a secret compartment like that. They must be somewhere up front. That's fine; I didn't expect to find a comfy area, just a private one. Violette's request for blankets was prescient.

The next few minutes are honestly comedy gold. I have to cover my mouth to hold back my snickering as one after another the flight attendants (male and female) enter with an insistent colleague, get a look at Violette's hanabira-mochi breasts, then leave in a haze with orders to make sure we're left alone. With the sound of the engine, she sometimes has to repeat herself, but they all come under her sway in the end.

One of the braver of the two flight attendants she first entranced warns her they need this room to get breakfast ready in about thirty minutes.

"I-If that's all right," she hurries to add.

"We'll go fast," Violette assures. The look she gives me then, smug and warm and eager, is enough to heat me to boiling.

The last two flight attendants leave us alone in the space with a stack of blankets, though not without longing glances over their shoulders. Sorry, ladies, your lust for this enchanting creature will (probably) wear off in a few days. Meanwhile, I'm ensnared for life.

The spread-out layers of blankets make for a decent place to lie down. Violette carefully places her pale top at the corner of the stack, followed by the bike shorts she was wearing under her pleated skirt, so they won't get stained. It's hard to be both a pastel girl and a slut.

"Should I be on top, or you?" she asks.

"Strategically? It'd be better if you were on top, so your body was on display."

I pause. We stare at each other for half a second. It's so hard not grab her when she's standing there in just her tennis skirt.

"I'll lay down," she says. Grinning, I follow after her.

After that dream, she knows I want her underneath me, her cute, receptive body all mine for the taking. Fuck strategy. If anyone pokes their head in, we'll handle it somehow.

"It's not too uncomfortable, is it?" I ask, sliding a hand under her head as I kiss her. She tastes like burnt molasses cookies chased with ginger mints, and like mine, a girl spun sugar sweet to melt in my mouth.

"Too turned on to care," she says. I snort. Fair point. Likewise, my knees might complain later, but my dick doesn't worry about such trivial matters.

"You better hold it back," I say, and she nods seriously before I tug her legs apart and part her pussy lips with one hand.

She is, as always, the most beautiful pink, and her folds are so wet and glossy it's like someone's poured a mirror glaze over her. I lick my lips subconsciously, wanting to...

I shake my head back and forth until my mind clears. Glancing up to her face, I see she's biting her lip and scrunching her face, concentrating on repressing her compelling force.

"That's my talented princess," I say as I lean back over her, having quickly pushed my leggings and underwear down. "I'm going to show you how it's done now, okay?"

"Yes, please," she says in her most demure voice. She tips her face to the side as her eyelids fall half shut. "I'm glad you left the dress on."

"You're gonna give me a complex!"

I latch onto her neck like she did to mine in the dream, although I have the decency not to suck hard enough to leave a hickey. She mewls, then gasps as I penetrate her. There's no getting used to how good it feels--she's supernaturally compelling, after all. My breath hitches and I grip her shoulders to steady myself as I enter her. With a new firsthand appreciation for how good it must feel for her too, I study the corners of her twitching mouth, her fluttering eyelashes, the way her chest rises and falls. When I don't move, the weight of my hips holding her in place, she starts to squirm.

"Please," she whimpers. "I'm sorry I was naughty as a boy."

"Who says I'm mad? It's just hot when you're at my mercy."

The liquid moan she makes at that, it sounds like she agrees. "But... they said to hurry..."

"I should keep you here until we land, make them work around you," I say. With each word, I thrust inside her. "Let some of the poor flight attendants get a taste of you, make up for the inconvenience, yeah?"

She whines at that, one of her hands moving in between us so she can play with her clit. I wouldn't share her so casually, but she loves it when I fuel her fantasies. Her breathing comes in harder as I find a satisfying rhythm, the roar of my pulse in my ears drowning out some of the engines' roars. She probably can't even hear half of what I'm saying, but the effect it's having on her is too enticing for me to stop.

"Those proper ladies in their little uniforms would finger you so hard if you let them, I bet, or maybe they'd want to suck on your tits." For a moment, my thrusts stop. Her body tenses in anticipation of my next move. "Would you tell one of them to blow me? Or do you want them all to yourself?"

"I-I'd share." We shudder in tandem as she squeezes her pussy tight around my cock, as if she's actually hesitant to let it go.

I hope that's the case. I talk a big game; whispering filth in her ear is easy even without much experience. Will she eventually call me out on never following up? She told me to change the right amount, the amount I wanted, and, okay, what we're doing is pretty bold, I'll give myself that. Would I have been brave enough to do this a week ago? I knew she'd need it on the flight, and I think I was worried, but it's so hard to remember. Did I really change enough for her?

"Oran."

I start. What! I was still fucking her! I can worry and fuck her at the same time, I'm very skilled at multi-tasking!

I do not say this. Instead, I ask in a tight voice, "Yeah?"

"I l-love you." She struggles on love, but forces it out in a tremulous voice. Immediately afterward, she covers her face with both hands, the blush on her face peeking through the space between her fingers like the morning sun through slotted blinds.

Didn't I tell her I wasn't afraid of the future with her? That's true, I swear. She's not the one I'm afraid of, but--I guess the person she loves is the one I'm doubting. Stupid. I can imagine her saying it in her voice as sweet and smoky as honeyed lapsong-suchong.

"I love you too," I tell her, running my hands up and down her sides and appreciating every inch. "So, so, so much."

She relaxes her arms and uses them to embrace me, pulling us chest to chest. We're close enough to kiss, but she presses her cheek against mine instead.

"Please..." Her hot breath reminds me of the steam from warm peach cobbler. "Please cum. My butt's falling asleep."

"Fuck!" I collapse on top of her, our laughter and gasps flooding the strange half-room around us as I do exactly what she asked.

As long as I can do that, everything will be okay, won't it?