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A Quarian in the Family 3

There might be a future for Zal

The first thing that came over Zal was the discreet hum from the engines. The weightlessness that followed. Then, the sensation of something pressed against his body: light but keeping him warm enough, he was not too much bothered.

However, the pain was there, cutting through the relative peace provided by the warmth.

For a moment, he didn’t want to open his eyes. His eyelids were heavy. Even his mouth was. His body, too. And then… There was something pressed against his lips. Metallic but cold and… Water.

Water he felt he had to drink, water he drank… Before the sharp pain shot through his neck, Zal coughed. He bent over, feeling his entire trachea and lungs were on fire as he coughed and gargled. And croaked.

“W-What?”

The sound wasn’t his voice but someone else’s. A voice that was so weak, so wrong, so… hoarse. Zal’s right hand was heavy, but he brought it to his throat as he opened his eyes and pushed aside the blanket that had been spread over him.

Underneath, Zal wore nothing, and the Quarian could see his body… Could see the bruises, the marks all over his body. Then, he turned to the left. Seeing who held the bottle. Cestus.

He was speaking. But the sounds were not going to Zal’s ears… Up until he opened his mouth to speak again, his ears popped.

“-ok?”

“W-What?”

“Zal? You hear me?” asked Cestus, one hand on the skycar’s controls while the other was holding the bottle that was half-empty and lukewarm. But Zal’s lips were parched, and he reached for it… Before he emptied the bottle.

He drank, ignoring whatever was around; even the pain shooting through his neck as he gulped and then gargled. And threw the bottle aside.

The instant after that, his body dropped against the seat, as if he’d spent all his energy in doing so.

All under Cestus’ gaze. Worried gaze.

Finally, Zal looked around. They’d come in Cestus’ car. But as Zal looked around, there were no traces of Pelagius or Rectus. Only the two of them and the bags.

“Where-”

“I left them behind after I called them a cab,” grumbled Cestus, his hand still on the control as the skycar was flying toward the city at full speed. “Do you feel anything? Any pain? Can you move your legs?”

“Wh-“

“Can you move your legs?!”

The shout was surprising. Worrying, but Zal tried to move his legs. Left, right. He could move them. Even his toes. Even his fingers as he looked around, letting the thermal blanket slip down.

“I- I can.”

“Vision impaired? Can you tell me how many fingers I hold out?” asked Cestus, bringing his right hand and lifting two fingers.

“Two fingers. I can see. Cestus. Why are you asking me all this? And where are we going?”

“To the hospital. Pelagius choked you until you passed out. You weren’t waking up during the bus ride. I checked the symptoms, and it could be brain damage. Can you tell me what our first memory together is?”

“You getting on my face telling me I couldn’t know about Turian tech and-…”

“And?”

“I was unconscious?”

“Not… Dead, at least,” said Cestus, huffing. “You still had a heartbeat, but you weren’t answering anything. I thought you’d be gone.”

Finally, Zal noticed how quickly Cestus breathed. How much his eyes jumped over the Quarian and then back on the sky ahead, on the tall towers they approached at neck-break speed.

“I thought Pelagius had killed or done something to you because he couldn’t have what he wanted out of you. Or wounded you. Or… Fuck!” Cestus shouted.

Shouted and smacked the floating control panel, his fists going through the hologram and hitting the plastic beneath. Instantly, the controls locked, and the remnants of the hologram turned red. The security activated as the vehicle decelerated and lost altitude. They wouldn’t crash, but only Cestus could turn the engine on properly.

A Cestus that was shouting and hitting the plastic again with his clenched fists.

“Fucking Pelagius! Why does he have to be a cunt! Why does he have to take it out on you! He should be happy and not do crap like that!”

Zal watched the crash out. However, his mouth opened and then closed.

Even his jaw dropped, and his brows lifted. Cestus looked visibly shaken. More than Zal… Zal, who could only say he was feeling okayish. But worried. Worried as he watched Cestus turn towards him, his quills flared and his crest tensed. Even his mandibles clicked for a moment.

Cestus pounced.

Pounced forward.

Zal raised his hands in defense, ready to hit back. But no… Only came a strange hug as Cestus's arms closed around him, and his face, still warm from the sunlight, pressed against Zal’s face.

“Cestus?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry, Zal! I’m sorry you have to do this, Zal!”

Zal watched, grimacing. And yet, noticing how Cestus seemed to torture himself over this. The Turian was visibly shaking, holding onto Zal. And he groaned.

“I’ll… I can take it,” croaked Zal.

“You do?” asked Cestus, withdrawing just enough to grab Zal by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes with a hint of fear. Despair even. “When I see you. I see you throwing yourself into danger! At my brother so…”

“So?”

“So I wouldn’t hurt, and you can leave…” sighed Cestus, his fingers gripping harder. “Have you even seen yourself?”

Zal’s lips contorted, one tooth scratching said lips as he looked aside for a moment.

And then, Cestus relaxed his grip to have one hand on the car’s control until a screen appeared. One screen, he sent towards Zal, allowing the Quarian to see himself. To see his face covered with bruises, similar to his chest and body. His neck was bright red, and his face was swollen around the cheeks.

“Is…”

“Does it look fine to you?” asked Cestus, snarling and huffing.

“It’s- not,” croaked back Zal, reaching for his throat that was swollen and, yes, in pain. He could still talk, but the sound he could make was weak. And his lungs ached.

“You take painkillers after painkillers, pills after pills. This is not good!”

“It was for… Walking. It’ll pass,” groaned Zal. “I took worse.”

“Worse?”

“My treatment,” said Zal, his hands dropping. “For this.”

His hands went over his body. Curvaceous, changed, reshaped. No longer his, but belonging to another Zal. A feminized, broken, willing Zal taking part in the destruction of what his kind was. Worse was, this Zal enjoyed it. And he was starting to feel like that Zal. To embrace the abuse.

One who was feeling excited about it, more often than not. Even the choking had something his mind perceived as pleasing. Even as he reached for the red neck again.

“It’s… It’s not the same,” answered Cestus, turning back to the hologram, his body language stiff.

“How?” asked Zal, looking as the vehicle’s security was deactivated and the engine purred again while they took altitude, though, this time going at a more reasonable speed.

“It’s… It’s forced. He forced you. But he wasn’t forcing you to- shit. I-”

“He forced me.”

“Yes! He forces you! I get it! You’re afraid! But he never said anything explicitly! And-!”

Cestus stopped, his traits hardening while he drove, avoiding a lane and descending above the Quarian slums.

From up above, they looked so chaotic and yet… Rich. Colorful, painted all over in some cases, until you approached the hypertube, at which point the gray overtook everything. Hypertube that stretched over vast expanses of unused ground, surely in preparation for the districts’ eventual expansions. But again, the Turians' inhabited districts appeared, creating centralized points.

Zal could see them due to the tall towers and the high density of skycar traffic since no Quarian was to possess a skycar. Or use one for personal interests.

“I don’t like it when they’re fucking you like that. When they abuse you. No… I hate it, Zal,” said Cestus, mumbling and looking aside.

Zal remained still, though he watched as Cestus, again, seemed tense, rambling.

“I know I’m not worth shit and I’m pathetic. I find it stupid that I care so much about you because… Yes. I’ve always treated you like crap. But when I saw you step out of the booth, it was like something turned on in my brain.”

Zal grabbed the thermal cover, bringing it over his body.

“I thought, ‘Fuck, is that how I treat him?’ and then, ‘No surprise he hates my guts’. I should have seen it before, Zal. It’s true. But I couldn’t. To me it was…”

Cestus stopped, taking a sharp exhalation.

“It felt normal. It felt normal because I assumed many people were okay with it. And I… I think I needed that kick. I still need some more. But… What I'm trying to say is that I care, Zal. I’m sure it’s worth nothing, and you want me to get out of your quills. But we’re stuck together at the moment.”

Zal watched… His fingers tightened on the sheets, bringing them closer to his body while the skycars flew above them. Chaotic, in a rush.

And he returned to Cestus, his rambling continuing. He was shaking again.

“You were right about the lies. And right now, I’m stuck with them. And then… Then you’ll leave because you want to, and I promised you that. So… I must keep up with it.”

Another sharp breath.

“It’s worse when I think about it. I never told you about my previous mates, did I? No. I didn’t. Not much.”

The skycar descended slowly, steadily. It flew towards their district, where Cestus’ apartment would be. Then, they swerved towards one tall building used as a parking lot. Red lights turned on, guiding Cestus’ vehicle while the automatic control took over.

Then, Cestus’ hands left the hologram. His fingers drummed on his pants.

“Mother sought partners of our status because Marriages are essential for Turians. Not… Not like Salarians with contracts. But if your family name is old, you’re expected to marry within the same social category. If you are rich, the same. And my Mother? She has holdings. She has favors from a few generals, too, so you can imagine she’s not ignored when she visits people.”

Zal watched the vehicle slide around in the dark parking lot, with practically no lights for the moment. The Quarian returned to Cestus, watching him hold on to his pants.

“Most of the time, we bickered a lot with my partners. It never lasted long. When they were not hating my guts, it was for my Father to butt in. Or Pelagius. Do you know how long my relationships lasted before any incident?”

Cestus turned towards Zal, his brows lifted and mandibles clicking in fear.

“I… Don’t know,” answered Zal, uncertain.

“Two weeks. And even then, there were signs. They were there for interest; it was a dance with gifts and favors and all the social cues with Turians. It was tiring; it didn’t feel like I was in a couple. It felt like I was a wallet.”

Zal sucked in air, already feeling something. A twist in his guts, though he wasn’t sick at all.

“For the first time. I felt like I had something with you. Yes, you hate my guts. But you’re telling me when and where I fuck up. When we discuss Turian sports and matches, it is fun! Same with cooking, you’re better than you say! And tech! You love to talk about new tech, and you make it interesting! Same when you ramble about the dresses and how colors were supposed to mean something on your suits. You are listening when I talk to you about my job or the trades.”

Zal’s twist remained, as he could still feel pity for Cestus. And sadness for a guy who seemed so… isolated. No friends, not even any coworkers. His relationships were through his family.

And something prompted Zal to reach out to Cestus as he poured his heart out.

Sympathy as he placed a hand on that shivering Quarian, even though they were surrounded by darkness in that unlit building.

“Those few days we got together… They were better than anything I had. And I’m not even talking about the sex,” said Cestus, shaking his head.

“I… Didn’t do much,” said Zal, admittedly.

Yes, they talked. Yes, they lived together. Yes, they shared moments. Yes, they shared some common hobbies and came to an understanding. But it looked so few, so little for something as close as mating. And yet, it seemed enough for Cestus, who reached back.

“I am terrible at this. But could we be something… Even if it’s for a month left?”

That hand was warm above Zal’s hands, pressing against it. And making the young Quarian feel bothered, excited, and ashamed. His heart beat faster and his mouth watered.

“Yes.”

“I know I- Yes?”

“Yes,” answered Zal, removing his hand carefully. “That’s what I said. We… Could be something. But… Please.”

“Yes? What? Anything!”

“If you’re not bringing me to the hospital or anything… I’ll need painkillers.”

Cestus stopped… And snorted.

He snorted again, his hand reaching for his face as he shook his head.

“F-Fine! I’ll bring you there. It’s… It’s on me for forcing you to do this. I’ll call Pelagius and Father to tell them I’m putting my foot down about this. Mother will probably fight me back, and I’ll be forced to endure their attitude, but-“

“No. It’s fine. I already… have an idea,” said Zal, shaking his head. “If you’ll trust me.”

-

“Boarding for Carthaan! I repeat, boarding for Carthaan!”

Zal poked Cestus’ sleeping form, watching the overweight Turian sprawled all over the seat like they had all the space for themselves. Well, on the space station at the L5 point above Rannoch, they did.

Carthaan was to be a beautiful colony, with pink beaches and a temperate climate coupled with a relatively innocuous biosphere, making it compatible for many Dextro-lifeforms. But it was not the calm season, so the number of couples, mainly Turians only, was limited.

Cestus? He had the comfort of his seat until Zal woke him up, forcing the large Turian to open his eyes, shake his head, and look all around.

“What? What? Where are we?” asked Cestus, his crest moving and his quills straightening before he saw Zal at his side.

The comely Quarian wore a custom-made suit from Aisha. As such, it did not exactly look like a Quarian suit. It was more flowy, had some openings, such as for the cleavage or the thighs, but the Quarian’s face was covered with a purple mask that was similar to the flowing clothes wrapped around his helmet.

Something that made him look relatively… Pleasing to the eyes when Zal raised his hand and Cestus offered his arm before they left their seats for the desk.

The young Turian at the front had green markings and a soft face, for a Turian, which remained even as she noticed Zal.

“Greetings! Do you have your boarding tickets?” asked the Turian.

“Sure,” grumbled Cestus, reaching for his pocket.

A moment later, after the scan was done, the young Turian went to check their IDs personally.

“Hmm. I apologize for the bother, but the system requires the reason for… Leaving Rannoch, in your case, Miss Maravius?”

“It’s fine,” intervened Cestus, raising one hand. “We’re on our honeymoon. It is entirely informal.”

“Oh! Right! I see the update! Congratulations, then! Let me add this and… here! Have your tickets, your IDs, and please enjoy your honeymoon!”

Her voice was almost sweet; it nearly made Zal go soft as he retrieved the documents and handed them to Cestus, who pocketed them. Then, Zal and Cestus, hand on arm, followed the direction and went inside the small ship that would take them to Carthaan.

However, instead of a cramped ship like Zal expected, with the two being forced to sit in rows… The Quarian was surprised to be welcomed in a lounge with a crew of Turians bowing to them. The passenger-side was white, sterile, and yet cozy, complete with sleek designer chairs that could rotate and soft-angled furniture.

However, Cestus guided Zal to a private alcove that looked almost like a suite. Small private room with a bed that could be set, two chairs that could be moved, and even a table, while they had a view of outer space and Rannoch below.

It was all so luxurious, with wood accents added here and there, making the place look richer than it ought to be. The crew had even put a little box full of locally made Turian chocolates.

Something Cestus instantly took a liking to.

“It’s… Extravagant,” said Zal, checking his throat. No soreness, no bruises, it was all clean as if nothing had happened before.

“It is normal for the price,” said Cestus, gobbling one chocolate before raising one hand before Zal’s surprised expression. “I didn’t pay for it. It was Mo- Calipinia.”

“She paid for it? How?”

“By being pathetic,” answered Cestus… Before his expression shifted, some shame appeared on his face. Even his quills dropped. “I told her I wanted to surprise you with my honeymoon, but I was short because of poor business choices.”

“She didn’t ask you about it?”

“No. She nodded and told me it was the only time she’s doing that.”

“It’ll probably be the last, right?” commented Zal as he looked at the planet below.

In the end, he got off-world way earlier than he thought.

Cestus didn’t want Zal to suffer, and Zal… Couldn’t refuse Pelagius. The only solution was to leave then. A surprising outcome Cestus accepted, even if he lost on his already paid tickets.

They married during a private ceremony, with only Cestus’ family. Not that Zal had anyone he could invite, anyone who would have an ounce of interest in accepting the couple.

Hence, Zal had been alone at the moment Cestus kissed him and signed the formal contract uniting them and cutting Zal from his previous obligations.

So fast. So clean. Even Zal felt curious about how it had been so easy to take up the name, to be called Miss Maravius in the last days. And how fast had passed those days with Rectus and Pelagius pestering him.

Both had returned from the trip relatively dissatisfied, but they were happy that Zal was not only fine but also willing to please them until they were gone.

But it had been different. With Cestus’s presence. It was all different.

They felt the engine rumble under their feet, and the overweight Turian reached for Zal’s arms. Holding him, keeping him steady. Below, the planet seemed to drift… It was more about the ship slowly leaving the space station and speeding up out of the gravity well.

They were… leaving.

“Here,” said Cestus, offering Zal one handkerchief. The fabric was silky and black as night. Though perfect as Zal wiped his tears. “Is it hard?”

“No… But it is,” answered Zal, shaking his head. “Are you sure nothing will happen?”

Cestus nodded.

“Good.”

Good enough as Zal watched the planet drift away, slowly disappearing until he’d have to crane his neck to see it. And even then, it would be for a moment before it disappeared and became but a blip on a starchart.

Rannoch… The place felt like a weight on Zal’s shoulders, one weight that suddenly dropped as he took sharp, nervous, and crying breaths… Even with Cestus’s shoulder, the Turian holding him tight.

Exhausted but happy, it didn’t take long for Zal to fall asleep and find himself in bed, the sheets over him, when Cestus woke him up gently.

The two were evidently tired, and sleeping during the transit was necessary. No… A boon when they left the ship, instantly to be ferried down in an old-school transport that had been remodeled.

After all, they were in Turian space, but it remained a Terminus system.

Below… The planet was impressive to see from afar, as the seas practically covered it. It was almost an ocean world, with swathes of land spread across the equator and extensive ice near the poles.

The temperatures, once outside, were comfortable for Zal. And adequate for Cestus, who led the way in the virtue of a wealthy magnate, and well-dressed Turian on a honeymoon with his Quarian wife.

All washed in a blur, even when taking a skycar, going to the hotel to check in… And finally, to be alone in their bedroom that was definitely in the same vein as the first transport they took. Instead, the bed was king-sized, already set, and the toilets were not shared.

Zal was still sitting on the bed when he yawned and then lay down, watching the chandelier dangling above…

And Cestus? Well, the shower ran while Zal relaxed and took a few more minutes of shut-eye.

“What now?” asked the Quarian to himself.

They were out of Rannoch, on a paradise-like Garden world with a focus on tourism. Most of the town itself on the way in looked dead or closed, though it was the ‘winter’ season. The downpour was to happen, turning the islands into swamps, the beaches into bands of damp sand, and the forests surrounding the capital, Astraeus, into jungles.

“Are you okay?”

Cestus’ question followed the overweight Turian’s steps. With only one towel around his hips and one on his shoulder, Cestus didn’t look… Pleasing to the eyes. Instead, he was not a canon of beauty. But the way his belly sagged, his moobs were marked, and even the towel couldn’t be wide enough to hide his dangling cock…. It was enough to make Zal smile even when he removed his mask.

“What? I’ve got something on my face?” asked Cestus.

“No. It’s the towel.”

“What? Oh yeah, it’s too short. Look at that,” grumbled Cestus, widening his legs and… Yup, there were his testicles forming a bulge. “They’re too small. I’ll ask for bigger towels when I’m done.”

“It’s fine,” snorted Zal. “It shows the goods.”

“The goods, uh?” asked Cestus, shaking his hips, thrusting and humping the air… Enough for his cock to smack against that towel. Even the cocktip swayed, attracting the eye while Zal snorted and shook his head.

“That’s enough, Cestus,” laughed Zal, waving his head. “I got the clue.”

“Good, because the other way would have been to open the towel and… Hmph… Stroke myself,” said Cestus, suddenly coughing into his fist. “Not too much?”

“Not at all,” answered Zal, waving his arm as if to tell him to stand down.

“Good,” continued Cestus, approaching and… Sitting on the bed, his weight adding up enough that Zal almost rolled closer to the Turian.

But Zal remained still and watched Cestus wiping his shoulder before the overweight Turian stopped, and looked at Zal. Eye to eye.

“What will it be, then? Do you have any… Tips?”

“Not much,” mumbled Zal.

They were in a Terminus system on a planet notorious not only for its honeymoon spots but also for being a hotbed of smugglers.

Zal himself knew that the Quarian fleet, or some ships, sometimes approached the planet for an air refill. Same with the ice-harvest. He’d never been there until now… But…

“Maybe if we move out of the capital. I guess there must be a camp of Quarians somewhere, or some sympathizers.”

“I guess there is,” said Cestus, tense, more so with his right hand reaching out for Zal.

A grimace spread across Zal's face as he turned, his palm supporting his head and helmet as he glanced at Cestus.

“I’m sorry it had to happen.”

“No,” exhaled Cestus. “It’s fine. I knew what I was about to do. The honeymoon, lying, searching for smugglers, finding ways for you to join the fleet, or even a world that has sympathizers. No… It’s fine!”

“You are stressed out of your mind.”

“I… Yes, I am,” mumbled Cestus, watching… And approaching as Zal beckoned him.

As the Quarian forced the Turian to bend, to fight against his oversized belly, and then to kiss. Their lips meet, their hands touch, and finally their tongues mingle. It was far more intimate, far more… Exposed for Zal to give in to that yearning for touch.

But it also heightened the sensations, the feeling, the desires. Much like when he turned his body away, lifting the fabric hiding his helmet and asking Cestus to help him strip.

“I prefer when you do it,” added Zal, though he felt flustered and bothered as the clamps were undone in his back. A moment later, Zal merely pulled on the suit to have it fall… To have it drop on the floor in a single unique piece, revealing his body.

Changed, yes. But belonging to Cestus. Technicalities.

The smart ink no longer had the Palaven flag on Zal’s belly but the Maravius crest. Similarly, the Quarian had Cestus’ property on his posterior, and the remnants of the ink were placed to underline his breasts, his gorge, forming swirls along his sides that were getting fatter.

A sight Cestus gorged himself upon before he approached and kissed Zal’s neck. Not sucked it, nor bit it. Only a kiss, a kiss while those clawed hands danced on Zal’s breasts, hefting and feeling those jugs that were already full and heavy.

“You could ask if they are too full for you,” said Cestus, lifting those tits that were burning and needy.

“I know,” answered Zal, stroking the Turian’s head and guiding him down.

Down… Down to lick his nipples, to have his tongue circling the pierced nubs and tugging gently on the rings.

Down, while Cestus himself guided Zal to lie down, one hand on those hips. The fingers were digging on the sides, on the buttcheeks, but Cestus was so careful with it. So cautious, even Zal had to yank his wrist and force it to dig in the meaty buttcheeks.

“Tell me what you want,” said Cestus, his voice soft while delicately flicking the leaking nipple with his tongue.

“Finger me… No. More.”

“As desired,” answered Cestus, chuckling to himself.

His lips remained locked on Zal’s nipples, going from one to another, bouncing from breast to breast to get his fill of sweet, luscious milk.

But his fingers were drawing near Zal’s asshole. The vertically split entrance was again warm and moist. Certainly not as warm as when he got it by that fever and heat, but warm enough that the contact of the Turian felt like ice being pressed against the wide rim.

Ice that melted away with Zal’s fear and troubles. Ice that was erased much like the pain into sheer pleasure. Ice that vanished when that asshole gaped, opened, and practically suckled on the digits before Zal found himself with two… Then three fingers inside.

Three fingers, practically the entire hand. But Zal waited, feeling Cestus push with his fingers on the rim. He pushed against it, forced against the swollen muscles until Zal was a moaning and trembling mess.

Only then, only the moment Zal arched his back and had his cocklet dribble, Cestus decided to insert his wrist inside. He stretched Zal. He stretched him, forcefully invaded his insides with that chitinous wrist that was to bulge through the Quarian’s belly, if not for the added padding.

But as he inserted his fist deeper, it was to brush with the oversized and abused organ. Too many drugs had ruined its original purpose, from producing seminal fluids to sending them.

However, it was, at that moment, a perfect toy to play with for Cestus as he traced circles around it with his knuckles, gave the swollen organ a few nudges, and then squeezed it.

Zal, under that touch, was all moans and groans. Gasping and huffing while his cocklet shot watery precum over his belly and the overweight Turian’s. A belly that was evidently squeezing against his since Cestus continued to milk Zal, to force more of that sweet white milk out through soft coercion, kisses, and some discreet sucking.

A pleasure that sent Zal shivering and cumming, many times in fact, but he was not spent. Not at all, even as that fist, still lodged within his hand, began to twist, push… Pull against the rim.

Pulling on the sphincter that was tightening around the wrist as a reflex before with a schlurp, the sphincter released its grip, and a mix of natural lube and air escaped from Zal’s orifice. A pleasure, a delight, Zal felt as cold air rushed to his insides, tickling them, before Cestus punched back inside with his strength and warmth.

“F-Faster,” moaned Zal, stroking the Turian’s nape with a smile, craning his neck and arching his back even further.

Further and further, the faster Cestus went.

And… he could do fast. Zal could take fast. His rim was practically a cunt; it only lacked the kids. But Zal… Zal was sure it would happen, somehow. A certainty that continued as the fist was yanked out, only to punch back inside. Only for those knuckles to graze the prostate, punishing it with a hit, and sending the Quarian’s legs tensing, trembling, and quivering.

Zal was getting fisted. And somehow, in that situation far from Pelagius, Rectus, or even Senus… it felt great.

It felt relaxing. It felt like a massage completed by a milking offered by a hungry but delicate mouth. No sore spots, no bruises, no hitting. His ass hadn’t been left so gray and untouched before. But it felt all the better… And yet all the more lacking as Zal bit his lips.

“Sp-Spank me.”

“S-Sorry,” asked Cestus after spitting out one of the teats.

“Spank me… Cestus. Please,” asked Zal.

“Sure,” answered Cestus, surprised enough his brows lifted and his mandibles clicked at twice the usual pace. But when his hand, covered with lube and chitinous, smacked against Zal’s ass. It felt great.

“Yes!”

“More?”

“Yes! Yes! Please!” cried Zal, his asshole instinctively clenching around the hand still lodged inside him when Cestus spanked him again. And would do so, repeating the action with a loud smack resonating within the room amidst the sputtering and suction from that rim and those lips.

It became louder the more Zal cried.

And the better it felt, the louder Zal was, his toes curling in delight and a smile spreading across his face as he was cumming… And cumming… And cumming.

His shots were worthless, weak, useless. They were no longer shots, just lady-like squirts. But they felt good as the tremors shook Zal, taking away the stress, the worries, the tension… And left him battered in the afterglow, his buttcheeks bright red and sore when he gasped, ‘That’s enough,’ three times.

By that time, Cestus himself was out of breath, and the Turian was looking at his ‘wife’ with a mix of apprehension and lustful desire. Mainly visible due to his hard and dripping cock.

“Was I too hard?”

“What?” scoffed Zal. “No, that was… Was… good.”

He even gulped before he offered Cestus a smile and signaled him to approach.

“I thought it was wrong when you told me to smack even faster,” said Cestus, clambering on the bed and then advancing on his knees, his cock still going forward and leaving a trail behind.

“It was… Excellent, Cestus.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted.”

“But.”

“But?” asked Cestus, surprised. And flustered when Zal’s hand reached between his legs, stroking the Turian’s hefty nuts and going upward, along the skin folding near the cockbase before the index finger ran upward. Zal turned and rolled, despite his sore legs… And he had his face practically pressed against Cestus’ cocktip.

“I want you to feel good, too.”

“It’s not necessary, Zal.”

“It is,” answered the Quarian. “You’ve promised me to touch me how I want. But it doesn’t mean I don’t like what we had before… Them.”

Before them. Before his family. The few days in which they’d been like roommates, like partners. It was what Zal preferred, somehow. Not the bastard. Not the ‘attentive and extra careful hubby’. Just Cestus. As himself when he was feeling safe. When they were safe.

A Cestus, whose fingers grabbed Zal’s head, with a nod… And who guided Zal’s head towards that greasy, precum-coated cocktip. A cocktip that wasn’t entirely exposed, due to the foreskin still piling up and forming a wrinkled presence along the massive end.

But one Zal savored as he had his tongue going underneath the folds, exploring the mast itself… And cautiously collecting the precum, liquid and salty, from underneath the folds.

Clean, but sticky. And delightful to a tongue that had grown used to the strong Turian flavor. One flavor Zal gulped down the moment that cocktip was ushered through his lips, and he had to swallow it. Inch by inch, second after second, until the organ was halfway lodged within him and yet throbbing against his neck.

Again… A nod.

Discreet and shy, not excessive. Zal had the pleasure of having that shaft ushered deeper until it bulged and throbbed through his neck. It wouldn’t hurt; it did not. And in return, there was a sensation of fulfillment when that thick, sticky, and dense precum was pumped down his esophagus and right into his stomach.

It was… like a meal. A pleasant and fragrant meal, the Quarian happily sucked out of the Turian, taking it without a hint of remorse or fear or disgust.

He had grown used to it. He was fine with that part as he sucked, enjoying the flavor he’d come to adore while his tongue danced against the cock’s base and his chin rubbed against the sweaty scrotum.

A second later, and Cestus pulled back. The tongue continued to dance along, tracing the bulging veins as the flesh slipped free from his lips and popped out loudly. Then, it was back… Guided, directed, pushing through Zal’s lips until the Quarian again had that shaft pumping that whiter precum into his guts.

Whiter, denser, more flavorful. A liquid that steadily filled and satisfied his appetite while Cestus’ moans grew louder and faster.

The overweight Turian had his hands on Zal’s head for a second while the other pushed his belly aside, lifting it enough so it wouldn’t be in Zal’s way in that slow, steady; and comforting back-and-forth. One that was pleasing, though, since Cestus showed signs.

The cock’s profuse flow increased until moans escaped from the man, and those balls were lifted. Visibly lifted before cum was pumped right into Zal’s mouth, filling it… Stuffing it to the point some went up and landed in Zal’s nostrils, branding them with that loved perfume.

The cum, so sticky and heavy, flowed in and pushed against Zal’s belly, making it stretch and push… Something he’d started to enjoy, though there was something else. A slight pressure elsewhere fighting back as the Quarian frowned and reached for his guts.

Enough that Cestus pulled back even while his cock was still shooting. Two more shots plastered across Zal’s face, and the Turian’s anxious expression could be read entirely.

“A problem, Zal?”

“No,” gargled Zal, before spitting a mix of saliva and cum. Then, he gulped down what remained and huffed. “Just… Something. A sensation.”

Cestus’ visible surprise remained, but then the Turian dropped back, landing on the bed, back first. His cushiony belly was there, tempting. However, Zal crawled not onto Cestus but against him, before he rested with his head on the Turian’s belly.

Silence. A moment of contemplation.

The chandelier was the same above, but Zal observed it, his fingers drumming against his belly. Before he turned, he pointed at the television screen.

Cestus nodded, turned on the television with his omnitool, and began to switch channels, going over the local media that were mainly about fishing, investigation, and dramas… Before it was on the news: Slow progress on the Asari space, with Illium being targeted by a blockade around the relay.

Odd. But Zal ignored it, took a long breath, and closed his eyes as he listened to the anchorman discuss protests in Rannoch and the Quarian fleet's targeting of the Terminus worlds, explaining why the Turian Hegemony called it a terrorist organization.

Even the news differed from one world to another.

“I’ll order something. Do you want anything, Zal?”

“Nothing. Perhaps juice, something sweet,” answered the Quarian, enjoying the sluggishness.

More taping. More anchor news about the tension between the Council and the Turians due to the expansionist views and the potential re-enactment of the Krogan rebellion, as called by the council representatives.

“The meal will arrive soon. Do you want to take a shower before they arrive?”

“Nah,” answered Zal, waving his hand. “And I got an idea.”

“For your order? It’s already sent, but I can fix it.”

“No. How to find the Quarians. Can you trust me?”

“I guess I’ll have to.”

At least on that point, Zal was glad Cestus had changed and decided to trust him. Enough that Zal didn’t have to explain anything while he thought about it… And searched about the capital’s map on his omnitool.

Still, he followed the advice and took a long shower, only to be welcomed by a food cart heavy with all sorts of food, even vegetarian appetizers Cestus had been piling aside for Zal.

A thoughtful gesture, Zal accepted while nibbling on the folded flatbreads. The TV channel switched to a game show where Turians had to guess idioms and where they came from.

A game that Zal was crap at but enjoyed since Cestus had a knack for it, enjoyed ‘winning’ by procuration, and a contagious glee.

Even the evening was calm, with Cestus going out for a walk while Zal would fall asleep.

A relative peace that ended in the morning when Zal woke up, feeling nauseous. The world was twisting and rolling, swaying under his feet and body when he tried to crawl under the bed. His face was red, but his lips were tight as he tried to keep in the mix of fluids that were rushing through his throat.

“Zal? Are you okay?” asked Cestus, almost shouting when Zal crawled over him, nearly kicked him, and dropped on the floor.

No answer from Zal, only loud heaves as he fought against the illness, the nausea, the puke… And his balance that was wrong.

In a way, Zal regretted not having his suit on. If he were sick, it could inject anti-nausea drugs. If he were poisoning, it’d provide an analysis. Instead, the sole end was Zal crawling naked to the toilet and retching, and emptying his guts.

“I’m here. I’m here,” said Cestus on Zal’s side.

Cold comfort, though his hands rubbing against Zal’s back in a circle eased the Quarian as he continued to empty himself, his eyes wet and his nostrils clogged.

Every so often, he had to flush, but the result was like he couldn’t stop throwing up.

“It’s the… Parasites? I can ask the staff if they got something.”

“N-No. S-stay,” groaned Zal, waving his hand and throwing up again…

Hence, Cestus remained. Remained close by while Zal continued to empty his guts until his throat ached. And then, only then, was Zal capable of lifting his head off the toilet, his body flushed and damp. Sweaty. He was sweaty and sticky, green around the gills.

“Fu-Fuck,” moaned Zal, reaching for his stomach.

“You’re sick? You might have to… You know, take it easy.”

“N-No… It’s not that. I… I think it’s not that,” grumbled Zal, pressing his head against the toilet.

“What is it then? What could make you ill and- No.”

“Please. If you can, find a test.”

Something that was easier said than done. Cestus easily spent two hours finding a place that could provide pregnancy tests adapted to Quarians on that planet. But after hours of fighting his retching, and enjoying the bliss of something in his stomach thanks to the pills, Zal and Cestus observed the bands change color and… Show a little cross.

“Shit. Zal.”

Yeah. Cestus’ expletive, tone deaf, was fitting as Zal dropped against the wall behind and huffed.

“Pregnant… How is that even possible?” mumbled Zal, though he knew it was possible. Other male Quarians had been modified for it. But now, it was he. It was his turn.

“Is this real? Maybe the test is wrong.”

“I doubt it… It must be real,” moaned Zal, bending over. “Shit… More problems.”

-

More problems, more issues to search for. Time the Quarian couldn’t split, even as he was waddling in his modified suit out of downtown.

His body was in terrible condition, but the suit compensated by activating its internal locks at the right moment. More than that, it could monitor Zal’s state, enough that the results appeared on the right side of Zal’s helmet’s screen.

On the opposite side; Cestus’ face. The Turian was sitting and mumbling at his desk.

“Stupid restrictions. Why can’t I have access to these documents?”

Zal rolled his eyes for a second, thinking of a solution or two. It would have been preferable for Zal to be the one left behind. Instead, the Quarian had to step outside and take the same hypertube towards the city’s edge. The fortunate aspect of the Turians' cities is that they followed the same type of growth and systems, making them almost familiar to Zal as he stood on the opposite side of the entrance door.

This time, however, it was he whom the Quarians watched with a hint of doubt and frustration. They were so few compared to the abounding vehicles on Rannoch… But their attitude had the same enmity he’d have, before, for whores.

A situation Zal considered as he stepped outside, right into the terminus.

“Still nothing?”

“I don’t know why. They’re locking me out when I want to download the files. You need all of them?”

“Honestly? Yes,” mumbled Zal, feeling drained and passing a hand over his belly. He no longer needed to check the scan to feel the weight of three eggs. The question then was to whom they belonged… But Zal preferred not to ask as he waddled out of the terminus and right to the Quarians' housing.

It was not a slum here. No, instead, it was a series of buildings, up to code, that were stretching to the skies in a pure Turian fashion. Strict, brutalist. Contrary to Rannoch, there were no paintings, no attached lights, no plants grown in makeshift gardens. It was as if the Quarians had been plucked out of their world and implanted in an abandoned Turian town.

“I don’t know how to handle Turians babies. And even if they’re eggs, should I sit on them until they incubate or?”

“We do not incubate eggs.”

“You do not?”

“Not anymore,” explained Cestus, turning to the camera and Zal. “Don’t grimace like that.”

“Sorry, I’m surprised you do not.”

“We have machines for that in hospitals. And there are portable versions for military use.”

“Soldiers have portable incubators?”

“The number of pregnancies in the army is always impressive,” said Cestus, looking away. “I don’t know if I can take one.”

“If you have plans, someone could build them. I’m almost there.”

“No one is bothering you?”

“It’s… Fine, I think.”

Zal looked around. Still, his suit wasn’t picking up any traces of someone spying on him when he entered a building and took the elevator. He would have taken the steps, but his body was too exhausted. Too drained as he entered the old elevator and landed five levels higher, on a barely lit corridor.

Funny thing that the Quarians' smugglers would have a ‘den’ here. And yet, Zal approached the door, knocked on it… And sighed, entering while undoing his helmet. The mask came off easily, and he attached it to his belt. Quarians, many, at least ten, were eyeing him in that apartment that had been turned into a den: lowered curtains, lights dim, the scent of smoke and cheap drugs in the air.

It was not their mainstay, but one of them, a Quarian male who definitely wasn’t on hormonal treatment, approached. Almost the only one who wasn’t ever since Zal and Cestus landed here three weeks ago.

“Here we have him, Zal. Our client,” said the Quarian, Sih’cunn. Though only called Sih. Practically Zal’s interlocutor after he got in contact with the smugglers. It took them time to check his information. Often, they watched him and Cestus. No, worse, Zal even noticed that his systems had been hacked during a routine check-up, though he had to play coy.

They’d done everything to check if he was about to mess with the plans or to rat them out. But no, Zal had been clean. Squeaky clean, in fact, and forthcoming with who and what he was.

A fugitive from Rannoch, wanting to leave his previous life, with the help of a Turian.

Of course, the suspicion remained about Zal as he sat in his designated seat before Sih closed the door. After that, a screen was projected on a wall; old tech, with no any hard-light hackable components. It was so old that it was practically inoperable remotely.

And so appeared the plan, the map.

Zal was only filled in about his part; even as a civilian and a client, he had to do his duty. He had to be present in a designated spot and with the right conditions: minimum gear, suit with most electronics turned off, a few drugs taken to help with the travel conditions in his case. He had a long list to follow as Sih filled him in.

“We won’t be taking the usual route. So you must be ready to stay still in your crate for six hours.”

“Six? It was supposed to be three.”

“We’ve got issues with one of our contacts, so it could be six,” answered Sih, not even sheepish. “Consider it lucky; otherwise, we’d have to push to twelve if we didn’t have that alternative route.”

Zal’s fingers itched to note it all on his omnitool. But he couldn’t; his tech was locked, and he had to remember all the details. He was frustrated because he felt sluggish and lightheaded; most of the information was about his condition while being transferred off-world, not the specifics of how or for how long.

A pain he tried to endure with gritted teeth as he clenched his thighs. The sole silver lining was the information about the colony.

He couldn’t be certain they were not scamming him. But the Quarians used information Zal could remember from the fleet, such as the absence of data about Sigurd’s cradle and how they wouldn’t employ any relay to avoid detection. A sound action that would lengthen the travel time as Zal listened… And yet, felt something.

Not pain. Longing.

“That’s all,” said Sih, turning off the projector. “If you have questions, ask them now. But it won’t be a piece of cake.”

“I-” began Zal, shaking his head. “I am fine. In two days, then.”

“In two days.”

Two days.

Two days until he was to leave this planet, until he was to flee and be left on a colony that was so isolated it didn’t have an extranet and was practically low-technology. It was almost a prison. A life without a purpose. Or at least, it was said they’d find him something to do to be useful.

But… What could he be?

And what would he become?

“I guess it was everything you needed to know?”

“Yes,” answered Zal, prosaic and a bit shaken.

Cestus remained seated but had one hand thrown over the chair, checking the camera.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” answered Zal, heavy and feeling even more sluggish as he entered the hyper-tube. Again, his suit didn’t detect anyone following him, though the smugglers could have been watching over him.

“You don’t know?”

Zal stayed silent, listening to Cestus fiddling, huffing, taping. As well as the whispers around, as Zal was again taking the hypertube to the center, to be welcomed by the pristine and constantly cleaned downtown. Again, he was forced to walk through the commercial district, watching the same announcements.

‘Get yourself a new life on Rannoch!’ ‘Pick the best for your home protection! Pick Haliat armory’ ‘Delumcore! Always a win for your electronics!’

It was practically the same as home, though, without all the Quarian bashing. It could almost be enjoyable to be there, Zal thought. And frowned.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking about. But I got the plans for the incubator. It’s rather easy if you search for them,” said Cestus, shaking his head. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know, Cestus. I… Have the impression I’m making a mistake.”

“What? Why? That’s what you wanted. That’s why we left Rannoch? You’ll get out like you wanted.”

“Yes, but-”

“But?”

Zal frowned, sighing. He took a break on the way to the hotel, leaning against a wall. Sure enough, a guard eyed him from afar, but once he’d seen Zal wasn’t about to sit like a vagrant, the Turian left.

“I do not know. The new life there. I don’t know if it’s possible.”

“We’ve already have the credits ready. When is it?”

“In two days.”

“Well. In two days, you’re free. You’ll get where they are and perhaps have a good life.”

“Yes. But what will it be for you?”

Cestus grimaced, his mandibles clicking and his fingers drifting.

“I’ll manage.”

Zal scoffed and shook his head. Even if he didn’t have a crippling debt from the credits that were taken from his account, the guy couldn’t keep his company alone.

“What? You don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that. I know you, Cestus Maravius. I know how easily you can be scammed.”

“I’m getting better.”

“You’re too soft.”

“That’s my brand.”

“They’ll abuse you. Even now, you’re… You’re about to sacrifice your business for me. And your family will shun you.”

“It’s already the case,” shrugged the Turian. He’d burned bridges, definitely.

“Yeah. And what will you do?”

“I can handle it.”

Practically, they were the words Zal had used before and thrown back at his face. The Quarian’s frustration was there, his hands clenching.

“You don’t have to.”

“Or so you say,” huffed Cestus, crossing his arms on the screen while turning his body towards Zal, the camera. “But I’m not stupid.”

“You-”

“If I’d given you a ticket to get off-world, what would it be? You’d have to resume a life as a smuggler. This time, I want you to go straight and stop committing crimes. Heck… Do that for the kids.”

“They’re not even Quarians; they’re Turians. Do you think I can raise them?”

“From what I know, you’d be doing a better job than what my mother and father did. Probably better than if I got them,” grumbled Cestus. “You’d be trying hard, stubborn as you are.”

Zal huffed, though his breathing was sharp, tense. He had that kind of discussion in public instead of having it privately in their hotel bedroom. But his legs were too heavy to drag him elsewhere.

“But to return. If I had been giving you up like that, there would have been another problem.”

“Pelagius?”

“Pelagius,” huffed Cestus, grunting. “I don’t know if he’s currently watching us. But if you were to go alone…”

A shudder came through Zal.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be stupid. Come back. I’ll order us food, and we’ll act as if it never happened. Could even fuck your brain out if you want.”

Zal shook his head. But he laughed anyway. That was something so egregious, but that was… Something he’d accept as the Quarian put one hand on the wall and nodded. However, the camera didn’t record the movement.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

It took Zal only nine minutes to get back to their bedroom.

Nine minutes that had allowed Cestus to clean up his desk, turn off the terminal, take a shower, to dry himself… And to lie entirely exposed in a pinup pose.

Tacky. But pleasant as Zal approached the Turian and kissed him on the lips, tasting the sample from a bottle on a nearby nightstand. Champagne.

A glance, and Zal returned to Cestus, watching his slight grin.

“What is that?”

The Quarian asked, sitting with his back presented to Cestus, and the overweight Turian was prompt in under the straps, the fingers not even lingering on the locks.

“I want us to enjoy these last days of festivities. It’s our honeymoon, remember?”

Zal snorted, pulling his mask away before removing his helmet… And allowing the suit to slide off his limbs, legs, and chest. Until the curvaceous Quarian turned to face Cestus and climbed on the bed.

“It’s silly.”

“It is damn silly. Fagnnoch,” answered Cestus with a playful note. “Now that we’re over this. Enjoy the wine… And let’s enjoy these days like they’re the last.”

For a second, Zal eyed the bottle. But as Cestus turned, twisted, and grabbed it, handing it to Zal like a mere beer bottle, the Quarian grabbed it… And took a swig.

“You’re right.”

Zal lay down by Cestus, pressed his body against the person who had been his boss, abuser, unwilling partner, and more. One Zal kissed while the Turian’s clawed hands cupped his buttcheeks, spread them with a digit, and fingered them until the asshole itself became moist and needy.

An orifice that didn’t resist long to the second finger, to the dick presented to it, nor to the thrust offered by Cestus.

The Turian’s thick cock was downright massive, brutal… And yet, Zal was practically ‘cumming’ when that fat rod was firmly inside, pressing into his guts. It didn’t crush onward, as it wouldn’t push beyond where the eggs ought to be located.

But that cock, fat, swollen, uncut, and terribly musky… Had the perfect angle to grind against Zal’s spot while the Turian himself had his hands reaching for the cheeks or the tits, giving each a feel and the latter a suck.

Zal… Didn’t resist.

He craned his neck, threw his head back, offered his gorge and himself to the ravenous kisses that would leave hickeys but no bruises. No bruising, no excessive pain for the Quarian who enjoyed the attention. The love, the desire.

Zal was taken, his leg lifted while his hands were free to hold onto the Turian’s crest, to stroke that forehead and guide those lips from one nipple to another… And to enjoy how… Good, it was meant to be taken simply, without waiting or excessive foreplay.

His body, at that moment, spoke for itself when Zal was taken… On the bed. On the floor. Against the table.

Each time, both would take a swig of the champagne, commenting about its excessive price for its taste. Yet, each returned as they were slowly inebriated and dis-inhibited. Their minds raced with dirty thoughts, with dirty ideas, with dirty desires by the time Zal was on all fours with his posterior lifted and Cestus’ arm firmly lodged inside him, fisting him on the bed.

“Keep going,” moaned Zal, enjoying the knuckles stroking his perineum and sphincter whenever Cestus punched back in after playing with Zal’s nuts.

They’d deactivated the mods made by Pelagius. Though those nuts, as fake as they were, would remain proof of what the Officer had done to Zal and more. On how he could exploit the Quarian if he so desired.

A fear, a doubt, a regret. Yet, the moment the fist slipped back inside Zal, the thought vanished, and the lust remained.

A lust that was not like the heat. They were restless, but this was due to the anticipation and the desire to make all their efforts worthwhile together.

The desire for the memories would last, so that they would engrave the moment for themselves. Such orgy, such… Both desired primal love… Embraced as even their moments of respite were spent holding onto another, or sharing the bed while watching some drama, or snacking by exchanging meals. The latter part was often completed with Cestus grimacing and asking Zal how he could live his whole life on an ascetic diet. As always.

But it wouldn’t end here, nor remain confined within their bedroom. After Cestus suggested exploring the town, now that Zal’s freedom was secured, they found it more lively.

The quasi-dead seafront became a lovely stroll, allowing one to enjoy the breeze without encountering anyone condemning or frowning at the suited Quarian.

It wouldn’t erase everything. But… For once, Zal could feel his cheeks hurt from smiling so much as they went to the amusement park. Though most attractions were closed due to being off season, the human-inspired Ferris wheel was a blast.

It was old-school, practically reminiscent of the pre-space era for many species. But it was the kind of tackiness the two felt they’d thrive in.

A tackiness that culminated with some quick and dirty action at the top before they ran away, before anyone from the staff could complain about Cestus cumming all over the opposite seat from the two.

Laugh and wonder followed, something Zal didn’t think would be possible as he had his feet planted in the sand, feeling the soft sand carried by the lazy waves up to his knees. They were on the city’s outskirts, far from the controlled beaches.

Still, they wouldn’t be attacked there. But no one, not even a guard, would question, as Zal was naked and stretching himself while enjoying the cold water.

“Is that what you wanted?” asked Cestus, sprawled on a towel. And surely just as exposed as Zal.

“It is,” confirmed Zal with a nervous laugh, glancing at the horizon with the clouds stretching far above like bands reflecting the sunlight. It was late evening, but it was spectacular… And beautiful.

“I get why so many people come here during the summer,” added Zal, admiring the view and turning his back to Cestus.

“Why?” asked the Turian, nursing a beer.

“Because the view is beautiful… And they’d not be freezing their balls when taking a bath!” laughed the Quarian, quickly tiptoeing towards Cestus. Not too fast so he wouldn’t fall… But enough, he could soon land on the towel against the Turian, enjoying the warmth Cestus gave off.

“Ahh, much better,” sighed Zal.

“I told you.”

“And I asked you not to say ‘Told you’.”

Cestus rolled his eyes, handing his bottle to Zal, who took it. The taste was sweet, not cloying, but with the strength of a Turian beer.

“What now?”

“I don’t know,” sighed Zal, reaching for his gauntlet and turning his omnitool on. A list popped in. Many words were crossed, much like the last ‘Beach’. However, many more were still uncrossed out. Among them could be seen ‘Kicking Pelagius in the nuts’ or ‘Telling Rectus off’ or ‘Burning Rannoch’s current government on a pyre’.

The latter was mainly Zal’s suggestion, though both knew that’d be impossible.

“We have…” began Zal, stopping when he felt a chin pressed on his shoulder. Then, he resumed. “We have ‘skydiving from an atmospheric ship’”.

“Nah,” answered Cestus, grumbling.

“Discovering our latent biotic abilities.”

“You suggested that?”

“No, you did when we were drunk. You were eating me out when you suggested it,” laughed Zal, scratching Cestus’ chin. “What about… Having a romantic dinner?”

“It’s too late to make a reservation,” mumbled Cestus, stroking Zal’s belly.

“And we cannot do that tomorrow,” mumbled Zal.

For a moment, they remained still. But came the answer as Zal edited the line: ‘Having a romantic breakfast’.

“Isn’t it better?”

“Better,” nodded Cestus.

Even his breathing was relaxed, but for Zal, the pang of shame and fear for that guy lingered. If he’d known almost three months ago he’d be in a couple with him and having feelings, Zal would have screamed. But his past self was gone. He couldn’t be the same Zal who worked his job, hoping to get off-world.

No. He was the Zal who’d become reliant on Cestus to move around town without falling. Who’d have no income. Who’d be entirely… dependent on the Turian until he was free. And even then, what after?

Zal would be free on a colony where none of his skills could apply. And Cestus? He would be ruined.

Still, that shame and fear disappeared when Zal closed his eyes, listening to Cestus' low strumming. A song that came from an old Opera, which was his typical repertoire. A song that the Turian even continued to perform, his voice deep and shaking, when they were by the spaceport.

A day had come and gone, with a nice romantic breakfast followed by Cestus asking Zal to give his opinion on the Turian trying on new outfits, even if that was solely to try them and nothing more.

His credit line would be in the red.

A shame for Zal as they stood by the spaceport, waiting. They were pretty early on, enough that they’d been strolling around and exploring the aging factories, left open and unused, since the planet had entirely settled.

There was no doubt that Zal could find age-old components and computers in there, but they only went around with little more.

Finally, as time passed and boredom faded, and anxiety joined in instead. Zal could see the slight shake of Cestus’ mandibles, the tension in his posture. Zal himself trembled, holding onto the duffel bag stuffed with the minimalistic wardrobe.

His breathing was raspy, though it always sounded like that from his suit.

“They should be there soon,” said Cestus, cutting through the awkward silence.

“Yes.”

“That was nice, though.”

“Yeah.”

“No hard feelings?”

“A lot left,” chuckled Zal, nervously. “But good ones, too.”

“Same amount?”

“Probably more on the good side,” huffed Zal, shaking the duffel bag. “It was fine.”

“It was.”

Nervousness… Huffs. Tiptoeing.

“I am not good at goodbyes. And I should come back quickly to get my shit fixed. You got the credstick?”

“I have it,” answered Zal, feeling the little chip in his inside pocket.

“Good, then-”

“Cestus,” said Zal, gripping the Turian’s arm.

“You need to tell me something? Urhf… yeah, I know, I was an ass. But I promise I’ll do better,” grumbled the Turian, scratching his neck.

“I’m having cold feet.”

“Yeah. But you should go. If you stay here, you’ll be stuck with me. With my family.”

“You won’t have to lose everything.”

“Tsh. I told you, it’ll be what? One dozen years before I fix the debt,” said Cestus with a clicking tongue.

“It’s not only that. You said you’ll manage. But I know you won’t. I know you.”

Cestus’ shoulders dropped. His expression, which had looked irritated, turned into… Fear and regrets.

“Zal. I don’t know. You’ve already had your exit figured out. You can leave. There’s no other solution.”

“Cestus… You could still leave.”

“And what? Hide on a planet surrounded by Quarians, probably hating my guts? No thanks, Zal. It’s impossible. It's the same as being a smuggler; I couldn’t do that. It’s not my type.”

Zal frowned, looked down. Looked at where the credstick was. At the duffel bag. Then at the spaceport. At the smugglers who would be there.

And who would be waiting?

“What about leaving everything behind and starting fresh?”

-

The alarm rang, familiar, the same. Zal rolled and huffed, but another fist hit it and silenced the blaring noise.

More rolling, more huffing, and then lukewarm chitin pressed against Zal’s face.

“M’rning.” The voice was closer to a growl, but the affection wasn’t feigned, nor was the hand brushing Zal’s cheeks before the shifting weight resumed, and… Zal felt the bed was abandoned.

“M’rning.”

The smell that embalmed the room remained, and slowly, the shutters opened. Light flooded into the room, though Zal didn’t try to fight it or roll deeper into his bed. He’d been trying that for years. And it wouldn’t push away the chaos that was to wake up soon.

Hence, the Quarian stood up, straightened. His balance was good, and his legs no longer hurt. Even his heartbeat was calmer.

He forced a smile on his face, with little effort, while putting on a gown and leaving the chaotic but relatively cozy bedroom. On his left, two doors were still closed. On his right, one was closed. The closest door, though, was open, with lights flooding in.

The Quarian stepped in, welcomed by the sound of Cestus brushing his teeth. Much like him, Cestus looked tired, but he was used to it. He brushed his serrated teeth and minded his mandibles.

His chitin was becoming whiter around the nose and mandibles, likely due to stress. But the Turian looked more dashing and less heavyweight, even with the barebone briefs he wore.

The belly no longer sagged, though his added paunch made him look like an old soldier. His arms were still wide. But his markings… They were deep green, just like everyone from Altakiril.

A kiss on that exposed neck was necessary with Zal, sampling the salt on the chitin, before he, too, went to brush his teeth.

Same old routine. Same old life.

Then, without much to be said… Stirring happened. Then, the clocks and omnitools turned on to remind the fledglings that it was time to wake up.

By then, Zal and Cestus had already moved to the living room.

The shared space included the kitchen, the dining table, the sofa with the TV… And a small alcove where Zal could work in.

It wasn’t a colony prefab, much like in their earlier years. The place was cozier and more personable, with traces of their identities from the painted walls and the heaps of drawings plastered everywhere, even to the fridge.

“No biting!” shouted Cestus, preparing the flatbread for the children while Zal watched.

Once again, the fledglings were fighting in the bathroom.

“It’s almost summer break. They’re restless,” said Zal as he eyed the front yard.

Summer was something else on Altakiril. Taking two Palaven years in its orbit, it was a cold rock with a biosphere adapted to the cold and long winter and the short, mild summers. In contrast, young Turians living in the community of Epitia were practically jumpy when summertime approached.

Summer, as it was, was a season of blooming fields and lively forests up the mountains surrounding the valley. But Epitia wasn’t itself locked in ice during the cold months. It had been built specifically above a geothermal source. Even in the dead of winter, the fields could be worked on. The air itself had a sulfuric touch. Plus, it was there Zal first discovered the principles of hot sources. A delight he indulged in with Cestus when they could.

“They’re restless, yeah. But I don’t want to clean up after them-”

A cry. Falling bottles. Kicks.

“You heard your father! No bites! And no clawing! Got it?!”

Silence again.

“They’re listening to you,” scoffed Cestus, clicking his mandibles.

“You’re too soft, Ces,” answered Zal with a grin while taking the plates and setting up the table. Soon their fledglings joined. Their eggs: Proctis, Studius, and Prodi.

The three fledglings looked so similar, and, contrary to Quarians, their eggs were laid at the same time. Proctis was the tallest and lankiest of the trio. Studius and Prodi were all too similar and prone to gaining weight to say to whom they belonged in reality.

But Zal and Cestus knew it… Only one belonged to Cestus.

They never did a genetic test to know who Cestus’ real child was. So instead, they raised the three as their own. And they tried to educate them to be proper Turians, even if their education typically strayed from what Cestus or every Palaven Turian learned.

The fledglings sat at the table, and instantly, the yapping began. They snatched the flatbreads, jams, and fruits while Zal and Cestus ate more frugally, listening to the stories.

All three shared the same classes but talked about different interests since none of the three seemed to want to do the same thing as their brothers. It was a battle of who would get the most attention from their parents or the teachers, since the strange trio, impossible for most Turians, craved attention.

They talked, ranted, and raved about the next journey to the regional soldiers' training camp. Or the new biological topic they were to study… Or the new classical Turian literature they had to study.

Zal listened, trying not to comment. Cestus, though, had his own opinion and suggestions.

Cestus often did that, knowing more about Turian culture than Zal and knowing what kind of faux pas would attract undesired attention.

Then, once the topics had been exhausted, and the breakfast was but a few reliefs left on the table, the fledglings fled to get their bags in order and their uniforms on.

Of course, they left Zal and Cestus to clean the table.

“Will you need help today?” asked Zal, eyeing the fields through the window. Cestus tilled and seeded the land near the house. But their family owned acres in virtue of the colonist program, and they hadn’t been prepared for summer. Yet.

“Not at all,” smiled Cestus, passing a hand on Zal’s back. “Take it easy. I’ve got the boys to help me today.”

The boys.

The community of Epitia was small, and some had been showing disdain for the odd couple and their triplets at first. But it had been what… Ten years ago since they settled. Since then, Zal had proven his talent in handling the IT infrastructure and work, landing a job with the local administration.

Cestus? He was good at getting in contact, and though they were supposed to be farmers… They were more than that.

The boys, then, were the other farmers and tillers who exchanged favors. This time around, Cestus called the favors in, but it would be his turn to give them back.

“But if you could prepare us snacks and keep the beer fresh, that’d be great,” noted Cestus, kissing Zal on the neck. “No Quarian snacks.”

“I only did it once, and they appreciated it.”

“Yes, too much. Keep them for me,” answered Cestus, evidently warmed up to the greenery of a typical Quarian diet. But he noted a pause and then laughed. “And the fledglings.”

Zal rolled his eyes but nodded, cleaning up the plates and seeing all three little Turians coming in. They were no taller than Zal’s belly button at this age. They chirped joyfully, their quills moving, when they entered, almost ready to go. Their mandibles clicked almost in sync when they were joyful, at the same pace Cestus did.

Cestus, who looked outside and clicked his mandibles, too. But confused.

“Ah, crap. Zal. Can you handle the fledglings? I need to check something.”

“Sure.”

Something could be anything from a broken pipe to an insect infestation in the basement, wildlife crossing their farmlands, or birds trying to peek at the seeds.

Zal wiped his hands and approached the fledglings, leaning to kiss them on the forehead. Only Prodi tried to wiggle himself out of the kiss, but his brothers welcomed the mark of affection.

“You’re beautiful, my little eggs,” said Zal, patting their crests.

“Thanks, Momza!” answered Proctis and Studius together, while Prodi huffed, crossing his arms. But he chirped, too.

Zal laughed and put on his shoes. Once outside, a chilly breeze greeted him. Not excessive, but constant on the planet. His fledglings in tow, the Quarian led them to the bus stop practically half a click away from the entrance, following a stone path right to the stop.

A few minutes later, practically on the dot, a bus descended from the sky and its doors opened to let the triplets in.

“Aye! Hello, Miss Sactis! Is Ces busy today?”

“As he is in that season,” answered Zal, waving his hand at the Turian conductor, a prim young lad with green markings. “I leave my fledglings in your care.”

“As always! See you this afternoon!”

The doors closed on the gaggle of chirping Turians. Zal took the way back, at peace.

Cestus would work, which meant the Quarian had the entire house for himself. First, he checked the rooms and cleaned what needed to be. As expected, the fledglings kept their places relatively tidy. In that regard, they were unlike Cestus. They were not the type to throw their clothes aside and let them hang, so it took little time for Zal to clean theirs. Zal and Cestus’ bedroom, in comparison, took more time.

And then… When the little farmhouse was clean, Zal went to his routine, which now included preparing snacks and placing them on a table under the patio for any visiting Turian farmers.

In his little nook that served as his office, Zal could even check on the patio in case something needed to be done. But then he logged in for his work. He was only a part-timer, but the Quarian was overwhelmed with mail requests, which he read and answered one by one.

The issues included a long list of problems, such as accessing their emails, malware, software errors, slow omnitools, and requests for documents from another service.

Zal answered them all, though at times he had to call his interlocutor.

In those moments, the Quarian changed his voice to seem more stern, more tight, more… Cold. A trait he’d learned from working with Turians. It was practically a switch, something Zal turned on as he adopted a speech that worked with Turians and made them comply.

It was a persona he projected when at work, when he needed to interact and firmly tell an old soldier how to fix his shit up.

But once that was done… He would always sigh, relax, and lean back. Sometimes, he even glanced at the patio. Often, there were two or three farmers idly chatting while watching the fields.

The boys.

Terkan was an old soldier whose family didn’t have an important name. However, from his service, he’d been assigned land and now enjoyed his retirement. In contrast, the young Canso would soon join the military service.

Terkan was giving the young lad a tip or two. Though Zal couldn’t hear them as he returned to his work. It seemed to be all about how to grease a weapon when putting it back together faster.

The days were slow and lazy, but enjoyable nonetheless. They were… Stable. Stability in a life he’d come to accept, embrace, and love. It wasn’t what he’d been, what he had envisioned. And yet, his joy was there whenever he saw Cestus entering the living room by the back door and smiling back at Zal.

They had another name… Another life. Cestus was a farmer now, his chitin slightly seared under the sun. But he, too, looked happier. He wasn’t swearing as much, and he wasn’t acting up as much. And even if his pain and health issues flared sometimes, Epitia had one of the best medical centers in the region.

“Zal?”

Yanked out of his reverie, Zal shook his head and watched Cestus approach, kissing him on the forehead.

“Bellion’s husband brought us a gumbo to eat. You want to join us outside?”

“Yes, sure,” answered Zal, closing his computer and joining with a few beers in hand.

Sure enough, an unknown face, another Turian lad, frowned and then raised brows at Zal’s presence. One explanation later, and they were all laughing, all the boys and even Zal, as they had one omnitool’s screen outstretched as a makeshift TV so they could watch the current biotic football that was happening on the other side of the planet.

Zal himself threw a few empty bets at it, joining the boys while they enjoyed the spicy gumbo they’d been given. A whole pot that still ended up empty. Everyone cleaned their plates with flatbread. Zal and Cestus tidied up the patio while the workers went inside to take a leak or clean themselves up.

A routine that resumed with Zal returning to his office until five. By then, Cestus was still outside, but the bus would come.

Putting the shoes back on and strolling, Zal signaled at the bus and watched the door open on a trio of disheveled fledglings yapping and exchanging jabs.

“I’m leaving them back in your care, Miss Sactis!”

“Thank you for handling them! See you tomorrow!”

The bus flew away; Zal clicked his tongue to have the jabs stop. With a glance, the triplets went in line back home, no longer fighting.

A respite for Zal as they were to follow the same instruction. It was different with Quarians, who were often less prone to do their homework, as he remembered. But the triplets were studious and capable. They rarely asked Zal for help, and when they did, it was for science and technology subjects, which were easy.

It was only when Cestus returned, and Zal was busy cooking, that they asked their Father for help on everything related to Turian history and culture. All those dates, all those names, Cestus had them on the tip of his fingers when helping his children.

This time around, he was still over the Rebellions when they were done dining.

With large gesticulations and loud exclamations, with his hands mimicking the explosions, Cestus was practically giving them the grand spectacle.

Even Zal watched, amused like their fledglings, before Cestus sent them away to take their showers… Leaving the duo together on the sofa, with Zal leaning against Cestus.

The news was pretty mundane, focusing solely on the planet-side, rather than the galaxy that had been crushed and conquered.

A peace Zal savoured while pressing his head against Cestus’ shoulder.

“Happy liberation day,” mumbled Zal, smiling.

“Happy liberation day,” answered Cestus, stroking Zal’s shoulder.

“It was the best choice we made.”

“Agreed.”

“And I’m happy you are with me.”

“Me too, Zal. Me too.”

On that very day, Zal offered Cestus the choice to leave his life and to have his identity counterfeited with the smugglers’ help. It ruined Cestus’ bank account, and their first days on the planet had been rough.

But almost a dozen years later… They were back on their feet, with a home and a retirement plan. And a life they could say they were happy with.

Not what they expected nor desired. But one that satisfied them.

“When the kids are sleeping, you want to do it on the patio?” whispered Cestus.

Zal’s hands already reached between Cestus’ legs, finding the damp spot on the pants, much like the many spots marking Zal’s chest, his nipples, his impotent cocklet, and even his ass that ached for another good breeding.

He wanted it. He wanted his husband.

“Only if you call me Fagnnoch again tonight.”

“Sure enough, Bitch,” answered Cestus, kissing Zal’s lips, ready to claim more.