Author's Note:

Yes, this is the chapter in which all of the smeets are named in birth order (And yes, I'm going to finish this story if it takes me until I'm thirty). It bothers me when original characters take over a story, and I'm deathly afraid of creating Mary/Marty-S(t)ues, so I've tried, as much as possible, to keep any one of the smeetsfrom standing out from the others. Think of them as ZIM'S HORDE.

I've been feeling a lot of anti-Keef sentiment since I started the second part of this story, which doesn't surprise me – he is portrayed as, well, kind of creepy in canon. Still, I've developed a sort of a soft spot for him. What can I say? He's always struck me as genuinely good-natured. Completely delusional maybe, but so is everyone on the show in their own special way. I like Keef. (Which doesn't mean I don't like Dib. I like them both – I just think Dib has a lot of growing up to do.)

This chapter was co-written by The Unsquickable Kid, to whom I owe many thanks and squidgies for helping me through the dry spell. Also, thanks everyone who reviewed – every word was a loving poke to my spine, encouraging me to write more. Super-duper special thanks to Peplos Kore (AKA Flying Metal Child – go read her stuff now!), who poked the hardest.

Chapter 6

The smeets were attending skool today.

Zim wanted them to learn as much as they could about Earth culture, to better help them blend in with the populace which they would eventually conquer, and also (and most importantly) to give himself a few hours rest while they were away.

Since the smeets' battle training schedule was rather rigorous, however, Zim could only spare to send them to skool two or three times a week. At first, the skool truant-bots had had quite a problem with this lackadaisical attendance. However, once the smeets proved they could make top marks even without the benefit of as much teaching time as their peers, and once Zim started to hassle the skool officials as they had NEVER been HASSLED BEFORE, the truant-bot visits ceased.

Actually, the smeets' good marks were for the most part due to the fact that they had learned how to hack into the skool mainframe and change their grades. They hadn't attended a single class since their first week of skool.

This wasn't, however such a big loss. Due to budget cuts, the skool board had started doubling up teaching levels back in Dib and Zim's skooldays. Now there was only one teacher afforded per skool, and the one teacher who happened to loom from her holographic podium over every single classroom of this skool was Ms. Bitters, whose spoken vocabulary now consisted a full 53 of the word 'doom'.

The smeets were learning about their home planet at their own pace, in their own, way – reading their textbooks in rotation and downloading the knowledge from each other through a port in their paks, a sort of modified version of the Great Download on their home planet.

It was an old skool myth that Ms. Bitters's body still actually existed in a glass tube somewhere deep in the bowels of the skool and was the original source of the projected hologram. The smeets had spent the past year exploring the depths of the skool building and had yet to find her. Neither had their searches into the skool mainframe discovered any sort of identity program that was the other myth of her continued existence. Ms. Bitters seemed simply to exist upon her own malice, to spread terror and despair into the hearts of successive young generations.

If it could be said that Ms. Bitters reigned supreme throughout her classrooms, it could be said that Zim's smeets reigned supreme throughout the rest of the skool. The smeets never set foot into active feed classrooms anymore. They conducted their affairs in the hallways and unused places of the skool while Zim recuperated from their presence for a few hours. Besides hacking into the skool mainframe to alter their grades, they had also been able to hack into the hall monitor brain-control mainboard. All hall monitors were now programmed to stop and bow on sight, responding to any of the smeets' verbal commands like trained dogs.

Somewhere, deep in their little hall-monitor brains, what was left of the hall monitors' natural thought processors had begun to recognize the sound of the smeets' feet as they came down the hall. It wasn't a hard sound to miss. The smeets always traveled together in skool, seventeen at a time. Some of them didn't even bother with feet, but traveled using the insectoid legs of their paks, making a metallic scuttering sound on the hallway floor as they marched along.

Like the rest of the skool student population, the hall monitors had finally learned that the best thing to do when faced with an approaching hive of Irken youth was to run. . .just run.

Today the skool masses fled from the corridors leading up to eastern-most wing of the third floor – one of the unused science classes. It was here that the smeets held their bi-weekly meetings, which they'd instituted late in their second year of life, after the philosopher smeet Narb had made the observation: "Without order, there is chaos, and chaos brings. . .well, all sorts of nasty stuff."

Because while Zim's smeets were a mass of ungovernable youngsters to the rest of the world, within their own ranks they kept a strict order that would rival or surpass any number of earth governments.

Meticulous records of all of their meetings and decisions were made, and on this particular day their records indicated thusly:

Meeting # 345

Tuesday, March 20, year 6 AB (After Birth)

Chair: Fosk (10)

Secretary: Nen (11)

1. Attendance, in birth order: 1 - Zoon, 2 - Senn, 3 - Vinn, 4 - Narb, 5 - Kip, 6 - Natt, 7 - Plunk, 8 - Spoot, 9 - Ros, 10 - Fosk, 11 - Nen, 12 - Ket, 13 - Goom, 14 - Vip, 15 - Mirk, 16 - Prad, 17 - Wenn

2. Minutes of Meeting 344 read. Amendments: None. Minutes passed.

3. Minutes of Emergency Meeting 344b: What to do about the Dib, who keeps trying to make awkward conversation?

Motion by Goom(13): Designate conversation to rotational task delegate. Seconded by Fosk(10) Vote: 3 For, 2 Against, 1 Abstain. Carried.

Results: Question by Dib: How are you doing (Happy, Healthy, Well-adjusted)? Answer: Well. Question by Dib: How is your Mom? Answer: Well. Question by Dib: Is Mom keeping Keef as a maid? Answer: No.

Analysis: Dib is curious about Us and Mom and Keef. Possibly some resentment towards Mom.

Amendments: None. Minutes passed.

4. Unfinished Business

4(a). Committee report to determine biological parentage.

Committee members: Senn(2).

Results – Verbal conversation and DNA testing confirm that the Dib is the second genetic contributor to Our existence.

Analysis: Dib/Dad acknowledges Our existence, but hasn't had time in his studies for Us. Dib/Dad harbours resentment towards Mom (?).

4(b). Committee report to determine Mom's response time.

Committee members: Vinn(3) and Prad(16).

Results – distraction class 5 produced 6.3 seconds response time.

Analysis: Class 5 distraction would produce 75.5 meters distance between Us and Mom based on 11.9 meter/sec rate.

4(c). Committee report to determine nighttime response time.

Committee member: Ket(12)

Results – nighttime distraction class 1 (22:45hrs) produced 1.2 seconds response time.

Analysis: Nighttime (22:45hrs) escape with class 1 distraction unfeasible.

5. New Business

5(a). What to do about Dib/Dad.

Motion by Spoot(8): Dib/Dad is a hostile Human threat. Kill him.

Seconded by Wenn(17)

Vote: 4 For. 5 Against. 8 Abstain. Motion dismissed.

Motion by Kip(5): Dib/Dad is an unknown. Determine committee for study/research on Dib/Dad.

Seconded by Vip(14)

Vote: 6 For. 3 Against. 8 Abstain. Motion passed.

5(b). Committee for study of Dib Dad.

Rotational members: Vinn (3) double rotation, Mtg. 344, Narb (4)

Method: Use distraction class 10(Skool) to Escape Mom, determine Dib/Dad's whereabouts through Grampy's database.

Objectives: Information (general) retrieval. Specifics: Attitudes towards Us, Mom, Keef, Grampy, and Auntie Gaz. Specifics: Modus Operandi.

5(c). Committee to determine Mom's response time.

Rotational members: Kip(5), Plunk(7)

Method: New Distraction Class – matter disruptor bomb constructed from household cleaning chemicals (Natt, Fosk).

Objectives: Determine response time/distraction distance.

6. Motion by Zoon(1): Meeting 345 close.

Seconded by Kip(5).

Meeting 345 Adjourned



"Where are we going?
Zim sighed "I told you – it wouldn't be a fun game if I told you about it. So just. . .shut up. And pretend you're having fun."

"I am having fun! It's just that, well, all of my blood has been sort of rushing to my head, and I think I might pass out in a little while. I was hoping that we might get where we're going soon so that I could. . . .stop being tied up."

"You'll stop being tied up when I say you can stop being tied up! Got it, Keef? Keef!"

Keef had passed out.

"Oh of all the STUPID. . .!" With a violent spray of puddlewater on some unfortunate passing pedestrians, Zim pulled the vootcruiser to the side of the road. The jolt had tossed Keef's chair almost as forcefully as Zim had tossed it himself when he'd loaded the bound and blindfolded Keef into the back of the vootcruiser. Keef's chair now lay on its side, so it wasn't too hard to push him upright again.

Lifting Keef's chin from where it lay resting on his chest, Zim slapped him across the cheeks a few times.

"Wake up! WAKE UP! How dare you be unconscious for the execution of my sneaky plan!"

It wasn't so much a sneaky plan as just a hasty, desperate plan. While attempting once again to convince Keef that he needed to date, Zim got so frustrated with his refusal that he just hit him over the head with Gir. After blindfolding and binding him to a chair, he loaded Keef into the vootcruiser with the intention of just simply forcing him into a date.

Keef gurgled.

Zim snorted and decided to leave him be. Keef would realize the BRILLIANCE of his plan soon enough.

Climbing back into the driver's seat of the Vootcruiser, Zim ignored the angry pedestrian waving his fist beside the driver's side window.

There was a drive-in theatre not far from them, on the outskirts of the city. It would be empty at this time of day, of course, but Zim had equipped the vootcruiser with a mobile film projector and had packed plenty of food. They would be going on a picnic of sorts. It wasn't far now.

Over the years, Keef had grown accustomed to long periods of isolation, neglect, and imprisonment. Mainly from his Aunt Fay, who used to babysit him as a child. He was never abused, though, far from it. Aunt Fay just had more important things to do than look after a helpless child. Bingo, for example. For his protection, he was often tied to things…chairs, pipes, dogs, cars, whatever was around, so that he wouldn't get into trouble. It never occurred to Aunt Fay, on these occasions, that Keef wouldn't know how to get into trouble if you gave him a stick of dynamite and a lighter. In fact, people were often tying Keef to things, for no good reason, and he had become quite accustomed to the sensation.

Keef's smiled as he felt the familiar pressure of ropes against his skin, pressing his arms against his sides. He was happy that his captor, whoever it was, had been thoughtful enough to give his arms some circulation. The last time he was tied up, he had had to endure the agonizing numbness and pain of limb-death, made all the more painful because he was too polite to complain. He also noticed, with a degree of relief, that the ropes were made of nylon, and not the rougher, less loving hemp that he was used too. Such care and consideration implied fondness, and Keef could only hope that he was in the delightful clutches of…

"Keef!" cried a voice in the blackness. It was only now that he realized he was wearing a blindfold, and not suffering a spell of hysterical blindness, which would have been embarrassing. Keef wiggled his nose, feeling the sumptuous delight of…was that velvet?

"Why are you grinning, Keef?" said the voice. It was basso, but tinny, like someone talking through a tuba.

"Zim?" asked Keef, "is that y- Ow!" he yelped as a powerful electric jolt surged through his pants.

"No. I am not, I repeat NOT Zim!" cried the voice. "Zim, uh…whoever that is. . .left you with me. I am SOMEONE ELSE entirely!" it amended.

"Ok, who are you?" asked Keef, and got another electric jolt through his pants. He coughed as his heart re-started and thought of what his mother always said – it was better than a pit full of alligators, or Howler monkeys. That always cheered him up.

"Shut up and eat your food." Commanded the voice.

"What fo-" asked Keef just as some kind of tube was shoved into his mouth. The tube squirted something down his throat, something thick and salty. The tube was withdrawn.

"Was that steak?" asked Keef, chewing thoughtfully. "Y'know, that's how a mamma bird feeds her babies, with the food all mashed up like that. Probably not steak tho-" he choked as he was force-fed another delicious morsel. "Unless it was a really big bird, or it lived near a grocery store…" he continued, suppressing his gag-reflex. "I always wished I could be a mamma bird, or a chic, or an egg." He coughed.

"I declare this meal ended!" the voice announced. Keef heard a scuttling from in front of him, and the sound of hydraulics, something being moved into place…

"Time for the movie!" cried the voice.

Keef blinked as the blindfold was whipped off of his head. A brace now fastened his head in place and blinders prevented him looking either to the left or to the right. In front of him was a pane of glass and a large screen.

And then there was light. In movie form. It was horrible, something about spaceships and princesses and exploding planets, and looked old as mold to boot. He reflected that this was perhaps the best time he'd ever had tied to a chair, which was saying a lot. The tube was reinserted periodically, and blasted hot, buttery popcorn down Keef's throat.

Zim eyed his captive. A lesser mind, seeing someone tied to a chair with long, phallic objects inserted into their mouth, might have thought the scene somehow suggestive, but not Zim! Such lurid thoughts were arranging themselves into revolting premonitions of the night to come as he watched the dating scenario progress. He pressed a button on his console, from which he oversaw the evening, and a mechanical hand with a hankie dabbed lovingly at the sides of Keef's mouth. He turned a dial, and the hand dabbed point-two-six percent more lovingly. Perfect.

Being for the past six years a single mom, Zim had now become accustomed to being prepared for every eventuality. And because Zim was Zim, he took it upon himself to be prepared for EVERY eventuality. Should arise the sudden need to, say, tie up a potential boy-friend and force feed nutrients into his belly and earth entertainment into his brain, no one would be more prepared than the ingenious ZIM.

"Keef!" Zim said into his specially built mouthpiece, which was, in fact, a French Horn, and not a Tuba, as Keef had earlier surmised, but which Zim had no way of knowing, anyway. Had he known of Keef's innermost thoughts concerning the nature of his vocal distortion, however, he would have sniggered. He sniggered anyway. Heh.

"Are you enjoying the movie?" He read off of a portable data screen. He'd done his homework for this date – the dialogue had been specially scripted and prepared.

"Oh I sure am. I really liked the par-"

"Yes! I also hate it. The fat man on TV gave it two thumbs, but I would gladly remove seven of his digits to silence it – Movie off!" Zim droned.

"Uh. O.K. then." said Keef.

"Would you like to walk me home?" read Zim.

"Well, the thing is, I'm kinda tied to a chair now."

"Flowers? For me?" squealed Zim mechanically, "They will go well with my pretty dresses and yard."

"Oh. Um…glad you like them. Hey, I was wonder-"

"Would you like to come in for some coffee?" asked Zim.

"I don't like caffeine, it makes me jittery. And I'm tied to a chair!" explained Keef.

"What do you mean, 'prove that I love you'?" read Zim. This human dating ritual was stupid.

"Aw forget it!" Zim barked, and removed the blindfold to look into Keef's disturbingly large eyes. "I am ZIM! This has been a date all along, a date with Zim!" he said. "All of your pathetic objections have been for NOTHING!"

"Zim…wow…I mean…all this time it was me you wanted to date? You could have just told me. . .I never would have thought you would want to date me. I just didn't think. . ." said Keef, tears welling up in great heaping droplets of joy.

"Heh heh. Yes, you can be thick sometimes," said Zim, looking away. Humans are so revolting. "Well, look at the time, time for sex!" he said, and hopping back into the driver's seat, wrenched the vootcruiser into gear and started back to the base.

"Time for. . .what?" Asked Keef, before his chair tipped over once again.

Dib's jaw hung open, a single strand of silvery drool dropped from the corner of his mouth, like an apathetic bungie jumper. He'd been following Zim since this morning, his over-taxed skull this time encased in a protective football helmet, and his paranoid compunction seemed to be paying off. He twitched, trying to process what had just happened, and what was going on inside his head. Two thoughts clamored to be heard, comically shoving each other in a stooges-esque manner.

"Zim is dating Keef!" one shouted, trying to get Dib's attention. "I like toast!" shouted the other. It was a testament to Dib's addled state of mind that both thoughts vied for his attention simultaneously. Hey, if the mother of your estranged alien-hybrid children decided to have sex with the lamest specimen of human kind you could think of, see how well you'd react. Huh? Huh!

A nervous shiver ran down Dib's spine as the realization of what had just happened made its way from his brain to his feet and back again. He winced as the realization returned, fresh from his feet; a little older, and not a lot wiser. He wanted toast.

It was then that he noticed a decided heft to his head. This was nothing new, of course, as his freakishly large head weighed a freakishly large amount. He thought for a moment that he was going to faint, two large aqua eyes descended into his field of view.

Gir dropped down from his perch atop Dib's head, never removing his unblinking gaze from the human's eyes. "Guess how long I been up there." Gir whispered, as if Guinness was on the way.

"Go. Away." murmured Dib, unable to suppress his frustration.

"No. Gueeeeeeeeesssss." Moaned the robot plaintively.

"I don't care! I need you to leave. Now."

"Since last Tuesday." said Gir, leaning in as if sharing the greatest secret in the world since sliced toquitos. "I built a nest!" he pointed to a small, thatched roof hut atop Dib's head. Dib brushed the ramshackle building off of his cranium. It wafted to the ground, having been constructed mainly out of waffle scraps and pipe-cleaners. The little robot whistled softly as his tiny house fell to earth. Then he yelled and jumped into the bushes, chasing a wild acorn.

Dib was just as glad he'd left. He was in no emotional state to deal with insane robot henchmen right now.

"I have to stop this UNHOLY union!" said Dib out loud, taking a small satisfaction in mentally crossing off one of his 'things to say before I die' items. "I'll need a distraction. . .toast maybe. Who can resist the call of toast? Then, when we're alone, I'll. . .I'll. . .give him a piece of my mind! Now…is there any way I could explain more of my fiendish plan out loud? Nope? Good. Off I go!" and off he went, trailing his long black coat behind him. Little did he suspect that someone was watching from the bushes! Bwahahahaha!

Dib jumped behind the bushes, ready to pounce on the watchers he was sure were there. There was only Gir, sleeping peacefully amongst the remains of the defeated acorn. Dib slinked off, snickering to himself.

"What an idiot." Said smeet #3 – Vinn, polishing off a bag of graham crackers.

"Agreed," Replied smeet #4 – Narb, watching the aforementioned idiot retreat into the distance. "But we should still be wary of this one. Only a fool leaves an enemy at their back…Sun Tzu, 'The Art of War,' Random House: New York."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say. You should really try some of these donuts man…"

"I don't think you're taking the situation as seriously as you might, comrade." Said Smeet 4.

"Well, it's not like we can do anything about him, you know, without the others." Replied Smeet 3.

"Quite right, quite right. An emergency teleconference meeting must be held."

Smeet 4 sighed, shrugged, and ate another donut while Smeet 3 produced a portable communicator from its pak.

Back at the skool, in one of the delapitated gymnasiums of the North Wing, the other smeets were not altogether surprised when they heard of their biological father's sneakiness. There were a few minutes of discussion amongst themselves in smaller groups before it was decided that an emergency meeting must be held.

After the formalities of roll call, etc, the new business of what to do about Dib came up for discussion.

There was the usual chorus of 'Who Cares?', countered by 'We Care!', countered by 'Why?', which led into the settlement of various betting pools over when and how Keef and their mom would finally get together (being their father's kids, they could be very observant at times).

When talk of betting monies had died down, one of the smeets stepped forward and plugged the notepad it had been quietly working on into one of the nearby computer terminals. A screen blinked to life, showing a simulation of the situation as the smeet saw it.

"Okay – here's Mom and Keef. And here's the Dib-Dad. And here's Us." Explained the Smeet (#14 – Vip), pointing to the small pixilated images on the screen. "Now, as it is, Mom has Keef to help out with Us, and everyone's relatively happy. But the Dib-Dad obviously wants to take Keef away for himself. . ." (being Zim's kids, the smeets could be remarkably blind to things they didn't want to see, and the fact that Dib might actually still have want-y feelings for their Mom just never crossed their minds)

The sim-Dib snatched the sim-Keef away off the screen, leaving the sim-Zim alone with the sim-Smeets.

"And if he gets what he wants, the balance would be broken, and, well, it would mean a lot of trouble."

Large teardrops began to fly out of the sim-Zim's eyes as the sim-Smeets swarmed around him like flies.

The other smeets nodded sagely. Except one, who pointed out, "Hey – that's not how Mom would realistically react!"

"Oh yeah." Said Smeet 14, who made some adjustments to the personality algorithms in the simulation.

On the screen, the pixellated Zim stopped crying and began to get angry. Very angry. He waved his arms and stomped his feet. Flames began to spew from eyes and his mouth, consuming everything – the simulation showed the city going up in flames, then the continent, then the whole planet. Finally the computer screen melted in on itself in a shower of sparks and smoke.

The smeets gasped.

If there was one thing the smeets feared in all of the world, one thing that kept them from running completely amok, one force that they believed in as all-consuming, it was their mother's anger.

"Right. Orders received. Vinn and Narb out." Smeet #3 pulled its communicator back into its pak.

"Let's roll, Mini-moose-dude." Said Smeet #4.

Minimoose squeaked. He did the best he could to look out for Zim's kids when they took unplanned excursions like this, and if that meant giving them a ride once in awhile, well, at least they were safer with him around, weren't they?

Once, as a supplemental science project, Grampy Membrane and two of the smeets had developed a device that could remotely track the location of any living human on the planet. Neat, huh? It was this device that the two smeets consulted now. Hopping onto Minimoose's back, they sped up to catch their biological father.

Dib's cab was stuck in traffic. He had managed to catch the cab quickly enough to keep only a few blocks away from Zim's bizarrely disguised vehicle, but now that traffic had slowed to a crawl, Zim was clearly getting impatient. He kept cheating by hopping forward over the traffic, something that Dib's cab couldn't yet do. Gritting his teeth, Dib stared at Zim's voot-van as though he could keep it still through the sheer force of his eyeballs.

It was then that he noticed there were two kids riding a floating moose just outside of his window. Dib thought that both the kids and the moose looked familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd seen them before.

One of the kids was eating a doughnut. The other was signaling to Dib to roll down his window. Dib did so out of sheer curiosity.

"What's this all about?" Asked Dib stupidly.

The doughnut-eating kid pulled out some strange kind of gun, aimed carefully at Dib's face, and pulled the trigger.

Dib felt a solid SMACK.

Then Dib found himself in heaven.

Sweet, sugary-TOAST heaven, that is. He was covered in the stuff – there were slices plastered to his face, his head, his chest. It flowed onto his lap and the seat around him. SO. . .MUCH. . .TOAST!

Professor Membrane had had to remove his last line of TOAST ™ from the market because of its massively addictive properties. He'd perfected it past the point of perfection – it made people smarter, stronger, happier, and increased the strength of their bone structure and immune systems. . .but once they started, all people wanted to do was sit around and eat TOAST ™. They forgot about their jobs, their families, their very names in some cases.

The toast that was now covering Dib seemed to be some form of super-enhanced TOAST, beyond anything even Professor Membrane would dare create.

And he's gotten it in his mouth.

All the cabby could hear were the awesome sounds of eating coming from the backseat. In the rearview mirror he could see flecks of sticky toast flying hither and yon.

"Hey Mac," Said the cabby. "We're coming up to an intersection. . .which way did you want me to go again?"

"Hnnhnn. . .mmmhhhnn…mmmm…" Was all the reply he received. The cabby shrugged and took a left. The guy had already handed him enough bread to get a free ride across the city and back. What he did in the backseat was his own business, as long as he got all of the sugar off the plastic-covered seats. Which, judging by the way that guy was licking, wouldn't be a problem.

Keef rubbed his chafed wrists as Zim led him past the vootcruiser bay into a small area at the end of the attic that he'd separated from the rest of the floor to be his room.

Keef looked around. He'd never actually been allowed into the room where Zim slept. It was small and cluttered, with monitor screens hanging on every wall to keep an eye on the smeets when they slumbered. There was a low bed in one corner and a table in the opposite, piled high with portable computer pads. Keef picked one up to look at it – it was a detailed report on the educational progress of smeet #11 – Nen.

Zim pressed a button on a wall console nearby to turn the screens off. Next the lights were dimmed.

When Keef turned around, Zim had already undressed himself to down to this waist and was now sitting on the bed, removing his boots.

"Well, don't just stand there, moron. Take off your clothes."

After pulling his jaw closed, Keef clumsily began to remove his own shirt. By the time he actually managed to pull it over his head, Zim was completely undressed. Keef's breath stopped for a second and he made a little squeak of surprise. Zim pulled out his lenses and put them on a nightstand by the bed. His wig followed.

Half bent over to take off his socks, Keef forgot was he was about to do and fell over onto the floor.

"Well? What's the matter?"

Keef only stared. Zim snorted in exasperation and got up. He knelt in front of Keef, who was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"You are so stupid. I'm surprised you've lived this long without accidentally drowning in a puddle of your own drool." Zim began to undress Keef himself, yanking off his socks and then shuffling forward to undo the belt of his pants.

Keef reached out and gingerly touched Zim's shoulder. Zim shrugged away from the contact, and having finished undoing Keef's belt, gripped the waistband of his pants and pulled them all the way off of his legs.

When Zim stepped forward again to reach for the underwear, Keef finally found his senses and jumped up to his feet. He took a step back, blushing furiously.

"Fine. You can take off your own underwear." Zim crossed his arms.

Keef shuffled from one foot to the next, staring down fixedly at the floor. "Why?" Keef finally got the courage to ask.

"Why what?"

"Why. . .take off my underwear?"

Zim rolled his eyes. "Because, I've decided that, to maintain a normal relationship, we should be having sex by now."

Keef blinked stupidly.

"Geez, you really are thick. I mean, we're going to have sex. Right now."

Keef nodded.

"Oh." Then comprehension seemed to dawn. "Oh!" Keef's face, if possible, got even redder.

"Well?" Zim tapped his foot impatiently.

Keef shyly lifted his eyes to look at Zim, then looked away again. He turned around, and with what seemed to be a Herculean effort, took off his underwear.

Hesitantly Keef turned back to face Zim, his hands cupping his crotch and his eyes averted.

Zim stepped over to the bed and gestured impatiently to Keef, who followed with a nervous cough and sat down. Still standing, Zim was now at equal height with Keef. He stepped closer to kiss him. At first pressing in hungrily, Keef soon pulled back, blushing.

"I don't know what to do."

Zim snorted. "Of course you don't."

He reached between them and pulled away Keef's hands.

End of Chapter 6

Author's note: Guess whaaaaaat? I'm not going to risk the small but not-insignificant chance of having my story removed from so the NC-17 portion of this story won't be posted here. Someday I plan to post the whole thing to but as you all know, it usually takes me awhile to get around to doing the things I plan. . .so. . .anyone who wants to read the sex scene immediately following this chapter now (as opposed to next year) will have to email me with feedback.