Omega Nights Ch. 01

Ricky shed the towel and proceeded to strap on his serious gear. Skin-tight bodysuit, aramid-reinforced combat pants, armored vest with integrated hood, and a pair of reinforced gauntlets and tall boots that looked like modified versions of his ring attire. With a helmet he might almost pass for a Quarian at a distance thanks to the hood, if you didn't look too hard at his legs and hands. The gloves and boots, as well as the pads on his knees and elbows, had all been custom made for him. The toes, heels, knuckles, forearms and joints were reinforced with heavy duty armor plates capped with clusters of blocky steel studs. Ricky's fighting style, a modified and mostly self-taught form of muay thai, was focused on delivering powerful strikes with the aforementioned areas. He'd demonstrated a bit of it on the Turian the previous evening, but that was just the non-lethal sport version he used to make money. The real thing incorporated his biotics and could break an armored man's spine with a single kick.

Fully dressed, he grabbed a fresh pack of cigarettes from his dresser and slid it into a pouch on his vest, then added a few grenades to the other pouches for good measure. He didn't bother with a gun, or even a knife. His fists and his biotics were all he had ever needed, but grenades were always useful to have. Other weapons were just redundant weight. Lesser biotics relied on them to keep the enemy at bay during cooldowns, but that wasn't a problem for him thanks to his unique implants and genetic modifications. Even if he had a gun, it wouldn't do him much good anyway. He'd always been a terrible shot. With any luck though, this particular outing wouldn't involve any combat. Still, you could never be too careful, especially on Omega. The station was always dangerous, and Ricky had pissed off quite a few unpleasant characters during his time here.

As he tiptoed quietly out of the apartment, Ricky stopped to glance at Naala. She was still sleeping, looking a bit forlorn and clutching a wadded-up bit of blanket in her arms where he had been just half an hour ago. Now that he thought about it, she had seemed all too eager to go along with his awkward, half-baked cuddling scheme. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who had gotten a crush during the month or so that they'd been living together in the apartment. He had saved her from a truly awful fate, as he knew all too well. That could certainly cause someone to develop affectionate feelings, at least according to movies. Of course, it had been unintentional; Ricky was no hero, he'd just wanted those Batarians dead for his own reasons. But she didn't know that. Or maybe he was just being stupid, concocting a silly story in his head based on movie bullshit and false hope.

"Idiot." He muttered to himself under his breath, then stepped out into the dingy corridors of the station and disappeared amongst the crowd of other losers and criminals.

********************

When Naala regained consciousness, she was alone and holding nothing but a blanket. At first, she thought that she must have imagined the previous night, which made her feel immensely sad. But she was lying on the wrong side of the couch, and there was an impression in the cushion next to her that was still slightly warm from Ricky's body. She almost cheered out loud, but the human might still be in the apartment so she restricted herself to wiggling excitedly, clutching the blanket tight to her chest and grinning like an idiot behind her mask. She had done it! She had actually slept next to Ricky! He'd even hugged her! She replayed the experience in her head and focused on committing every last detail to memory. The warmth of his body through her suit. Those strong arms holding her tight. Her soft inner thigh rubbing against his muscular one. His many-fingered hand cradling her narrow waist. Just thinking about it was enough to make her wet.

Eventually she got up, and looked around the apartment to see if Ricky was still there. There was no sign of him, and when she peeked nervously into his room his armor was gone. He must be out on one of those mysterious errands that he refused to talk about. They had met when he was on precisely that sort of business, but she still didn't fully understand what he had been up to. At first, she had thought that maybe he was some kind of vigilante trying to clean up Omega, like the superheroes in some of the human movies she had watched. But he didn't like those kinds of films, and when a Turian had come by to try and recruit him for some sort of vigilante gang a few days ago Ricky had told him to go fuck himself. Actually, he'd said it much less politely than that. So, it was still a mystery.

With Ricky gone, and nothing else to do, Naala decided to take a shower. Her suit normally did a pretty decent job of wicking away and filtering out sweat and keeping her relatively comfortable, but it had been acting up lately and especially after getting so hot and bothered last night she was feeling sticky and gross. When she'd moved in, Ricky had gone to surprising effort to make her comfortable, with the frequent insistence that it really wasn't about her and he'd been planning to do it all anyway, of course. He had purchased a multispectral disinfection unit for the bathroom, installed a complex air filtration system for its vents, replaced the door with an airtight bulkhead from a wrecked ship, and gone over every single crack, gap and joint in the small room with a caulking gun and a microscope until it was practically an industrial clean room. This meant that there was a safe place for Naala to remove her suit and tend to her personal hygiene every now and then, or even eat solid food.

Naala stepped inside, sealed the door, and turned on the disinfection unit. A few minutes later, it dinged to let her know the room was clean, and she could finally get out of the damned suit. She unbuckled the various belts, then removed her hood and undid the system of traditional wraps that attached its tails to her body. Next, she unplugged the tangle of cables and hoses that went to the back of her helmet, and removed it. The recently sterilized air tasted of ozone, but it was better than stale suit air. Finally, she removed the collar bands and unzipped the suit itself, gasping with relief as she stripped it off her chest and could finally breath properly again.

For most of her life, Naala had lived on borderline starvation rations. Food was scarce and precious on the Migrant Fleet, and during the first days of her pilgrimage, before she had met Ricky, she had been so strapped for cash that she could barely afford to eat anything at all. But that had all changed when she'd started living here. Ricky bought lots of dextro food. Turian stuff, mostly, all in antiseptic packaging. Whenever she protested that she didn't really need that much and that he was under no obligation to support her like this, he would always say he was just stocking up in case he forgot to go to the store the next week. But he always remembered, and even though she never asked for things (it was his money after all,) he seemed to notice which ones she liked the most and bought more of them. One night they'd watched a movie set during a time period on Earth when it was fashionable for young people to wear leather jackets and go to brightly colored cafes to drink tall glasses of some sort of sugary frozen drink called a "malted milkshake." Naala had mentioned that it looked good without thinking, and the next day she'd found a case in the freezer full of sealed drink pouches that contained a Turian attempt to recreate the beverage. She had promptly become hopelessly addicted to it.

The consequence of this was that her suit, tailored to fit a rail-thin version of Naala that had lived on a bare substance diet, was now a couple sizes too small. Her thighs and butt had gotten very thick and soft, and while she still had the trademark Quarian wasp-waist, she had developed a slightly plump tummy that made her super embarrassed. This was inconvenient, but worst of all was her chest. It seemed to her as though half of the extra weight she'd put on had gone to her tits, which were now bigger than those of most of the Asari she'd seen on this station, when her suit was off and they could expand to their full volume. The problem was putting it back on. Stuffing those heavy breasts back into the small chest of her suit was a difficult task on its own, but once it was accomplished it made the suit uncomfortably tight in the extreme and restricted her breathing. She lived in constant fear that they would burst a seam on the garment and spill out at some inopportune moment, in which case she'd die of embarrassment long before any infection killed her. The one redeeming factor about the whole situation was that she'd heard many human males found this sort of thing attractive, and with any luck Ricky was one of them.

Having fully extricated herself from the suit, Naala took a few moments to breathe and enjoy the lack of confinement while the shower heated up. The (somewhat) open air felt good on her soft, porcelain-white skin as she massaged the faint pressure marks on her thighs and belly where the belts, straps and elastic parts of the suit had dug into her flesh. Her breasts were sore and aching from being constricted, and she wanted to rub them too. But the last time she'd done that one thing had led to another, and she'd almost jumped out of her skin when Ricky knocked on the door wanting to know what all the noise was about and if she'd hurt herself or something. She shuddered at that memory; it made her feel like she was going to die of shame every time she thought about it. The shower was starting to steam now, but as she stood up to get inside, she noticed a pile of something lying on the floor.

It was Ricky's ring gear; he must have taken a shower of his own and left it in the bathroom before he'd departed this morning. A horribly embarrassing idea occurred to her: even after being subjected to the microorganism-vaporizing rays of the disinfection unit, it probably still smelled like him. She shook her head violently to dislodge the thought. She was better than that. She was not so hopelessly infatuated with the human that she was going to go around sniffing his clothes like some sort of pervert. But on the other hand... The filters in Naala's mask eliminated virtually all particles from the air before she breathed it, which included scent. This might be the only chance she would get to know what he smelled like. Maybe just a little sniff...

Naala knelt down and picked up the article of clothing she figured would smell the least offensive: the stretchy, breathable bodysuit. After a moment of furious internal debate with herself she gave in, raised the garment and held the center of the chest portion of it up to her diminutive, flat nose. The disinfector had indeed left it smelling mostly of ozone, but there was a faint trace of something else. Due to their dextro body chemistry Quarians generally smelled vaguely sweet, if at all. This smell was different, more musky and earthy. But not bad. She quickly dropped the suit and blushed. By the ancestors she was acting silly today. What would her family back on the Leebra think if they could see her now? She cringed at herself, and quickly climbed into the shower in the hopes that the hot water would wash away her awkward thoughts.

It didn't work. She couldn't get him out of her head. She kept imagining all sorts of lewd, unseemly things. Sitting in his lap and watching TV, his hands gently massaging her hips and flanks and his chin resting on her shoulder, face nestled in the folds of her hood. Sitting halfway up in bed and hugging her own chest, her pale face flushed bright pink with a mix of lust and embarrassment, his head buried in the soft depression between her thighs as he groped her perky Quarian butt. Lying together under the covers in a magical world where she didn't need a suit, feeling each others' hot, excited breath on their bare skin as each explored the other's alien body with tentative but eager hands. His rough, scratchy face brushing against her soft grey-freckled cheeks as he kissed her ears. Five strong but gentle human fingers cupping and squeezing and rubbing a fat, sensitive breast and teasing the delicate pink nipple in the center of its pale white expanse.

Before she knew it Naala was leaning against the wall of the shower as the water poured over her trembling body, groping her own breasts with one hand and biting her lip to keep from moaning. Her other hand had plunged down into the gap between her thighs and she was rubbing herself, pushing a long, slender finger between her lips, spreading them and stretching them in all directions as her fingertip circled the quivering entrance to her pussy. All she could think about was the smell of Ricky and the feeling of being in his arms, his strength and the warmth of his body and the gentleness of his hands. She imagined that he was there with her, that it wasn't the wall holding her up but his arm, that it was his hand on her breasts and that the heat she felt running down her legs was not the water but his skin pressed against hers. That he was kissing her like she had seen humans do in a hundred movies, that he was staring into her eyes and telling her that he loved her and that he needed her. Her knees buckled and she collapsed further into the wall, the soft flesh of her butt flattening against the tiles, and now the Ricky in her imagination was pinning her to the side of the shower and she could feel him entering her, filling her and stretching her until he was all the way inside. Her breasts bounced and jiggled and her hips shuddered and shook uncontrollably as she furiously dug her finger deep, deep into herself. Hot liquid was coursing over her and out of her and welling up inside her and she was almost there, she could feel it...

Then the hot water ran out, and suddenly it was freezing cold and Naala was all alone. She forced herself off the wall and onto her feet and groped for the handle to shut off the icy torrent of reality pouring down over her. Then she sank to the floor and sat in the corner of the shower in a puddle of cold water and held her knees to her chest and cried. She sobbed and whimpered and screwed her eyes shut but the tears wouldn't stop because it was all fake and could never be real. Ricky would never kiss her, would never caress her bare skin, would never be inside of her. Because she was a Quarian and she was trapped inside that infernal fucking suit that choked the life out of her and made everything feel dead and distant and muted. How could anyone from another species, let alone Ricky, ever love her while knowing that this was true? How could she be such a stupid, pathetic fool?

After what seemed like forever Naala pulled herself together and got out of the shower. She put the suit on (struggling mightily for several minutes to force her thighs and breasts back into their prison,) tightened all the buckles and straps and secured all the hoses and tubes. She tugged the hood down over her helmet, and adjusted the wrap in the mirror. Every branch of every Quarian family cut their wraps differently and had a different pattern and color scheme. The 'Tidall clan's colors were black and orange with silvery grey trim, in a complex interwoven pattern of jagged zigzags. The modern fashion was to have a separate hood, and a wrap that was tailored to the suit with arm and leg holes, sometimes in multiple discrete pieces. But Naala's was much more traditional: the whole thing was a single piece of cloth, with the baggy hood brought in at the neck then expanding out again into a sort of mini cape that extended a few inches below her shoulders, at which point it was cut down to a pair of long tails hanging down her back that would be wrapped around her body. They crisscrossed once over her chest to cradle her breasts, then crossed again over the small of her back before curling around her hips and crossing for a final time over her crotch, at which point one tail was wound around each thigh and then double wrapped and pinned to itself just above the knee. The hood was affixed to her suit with a large button on either side of her neck just below the throat, and the tails were held against her body with three belts; two thin ones directly beneath her bust and a third wider one across her hips.

Suited up again, Naala left the bathroom and flopped back down on the couch, lying prone and burying her face in the cushions. She didn't feel like eating, or really doing much of anything except feel sorry for herself. Why did life have to be so cruel? Why must she fall in love with a man she could never kiss? She rolled over onto her side, gathered up the bundle of blankets in her arms and hugged it tightly. It wasn't the same of course, not even close. But if she squeezed tight enough and remembered hard enough, she could almost bring back the feeling of last night. But that only brought up more unpleasant thoughts. He'd just disappeared this morning, slipping out of her arms and vanishing from the apartment without so much as a "good morning" or even a note. Was he mad at her? No, she decided, Ricky was the kind of person who let you know if he was mad at you. Perhaps he was disgusted by her, but didn't want to make her feel bad by rejecting her to her face, and this was his way of letting her down gently? But that didn't seem like him either.

Could it be that he liked her too, but didn't know how to express it and was too awkward and embarrassed to face her? Now that would be much more in Ricky's character. He was great at expressing anger, disgust or annoyance. But happiness, sadness and affection were much, much harder for him. That required him to be vulnerable, which always made him very uncomfortable. Naala kind of liked it when he was uncomfortable in this way, she found it cute. Although liking it also made her feel a little guilty, because she had a sense that there was a very sad reason behind it. Naala was no therapist, but even she could tell that there was some major trauma in the big human's past that had made him the way he was. People didn't hide their true selves behind masks and act prickly and unpleasant to keep everyone around them at arm's length unless they'd been hurt before. Probably something to do with those scars. If only she could think of a way to get him to open up and let her in. But this was silly, Naala reflected. She didn't even have the courage or social skills to tell the human she liked him, let alone delve into his psyche.

First things first then. Naala was going to have to figure out what to do when Ricky got back from whatever he was up to. It was going to be awkward no matter what. What could she say? "Welcome home, I had a great time hugging you last night when you were drunk and beat up from fighting. Wanna dry hump and cry together?" Naala rolled onto her belly again and smacked her faceplate into the couch repeatedly. How pathetic could she be? What could a tall, strong human like Ricky possibly see in her? He could have pretty much any female on the station if he wanted. Why in the Galaxy would he ever choose an awkward, chubby Quarian who couldn't even kiss him without getting sick?

"Oh keelah, what am I going to say?" She berated herself out loud "I'm such an idiot!"

********************

"Idiot. Idiot, idiot, IDIOT!" Ricky snarled under his breath, lifting his hand from the handlebar of the bike and smacking himself in the forehead with each repetition of the word.

He was supposed to be focused on this. It was his mission, the justification for his survival. Nothing could be more important. And yet, he couldn't stop thinking about last night. About Naala. He had finally found one, after six years of waiting and training and preparing, one of them had fallen right into his lap. But all he could think about was the Quarian girl. No matter how hard he tried to focus on plotting the small piece of revenge that was within his grasp, his mind inevitably drifted back to the memory of holding her in his arms. That slender waist. Those thick thighs. That soft body pressed tightly against him. The flutter of her heart that he had felt through her flesh and her suit as he held her close. He wanted to be angry, but for once in his life he couldn't manage to summon the feeling of rage. Every time he tried, he thought of Naala, and the anger just melted away. He tried to focus on the face of the Asari doctor, smirking down at him from behind the glass as the blades descended, but it simply melted away, replaced by the soft glow of Naala's eyes looking up at him through her visor as they cuddled on the couch. Was this what love felt like?