It started as a test. A serious one. With structure, objectives, maybe even a hint of emotional growth—though that part disappeared somewhere around the third moan and second piece of broken furniture.
By the end, no one could remember what was being measured. Something about dominance. Or resilience. Or how many boundaries could blur before someone called it bonding.
What they got instead was heat, contact, suspicious sounds, and the kind of intimacy that no one would ever admit to, but everyone would absolutely do again.
Talking was out. Moving was negotiable. Dignity had left the room hours ago.
The test was delivered. Thoroughly.
No one passed.
But no one failed either.
And in the end, it turns out what a Viltrumite really demands…
is all of the above, repeatedly, and without shame.
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