The trouble with being in a relationship with a multi-tentacled alien, Bones thought, was you are never really sure where you stand in his affections. At the moment they were lying together in post-orgasmic haze, and Bones was fairly sure of his position, but nevertheless it niggled.

“How much do you love me?” Bones murmured. Which in a way was ridiculous; did Rudybago’s species even experience love?

“I love you more than the smell of swamp gas,” the alien replied.

“That high?” Probably as well to be flippant.

“And swamp gas is my second favourite thing in the whole universe.”