[b][u][center]Two Scouts, One Sole
Part 1
For Quarian
By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]
 
 
 
 
 



As the sun beamed down on the wreckage of his scout-ship, Zal’Haar tried to think of a way that the situation could be worse. The Quarian could think of three, but two of them were such exaggerations that he doubted that they were even mildly probable.

“Well, I could be dead,” Zal muttered under his breath, his vocoder making his voice slightly louder than it actually was. “That’s something.”

Not that he had a lot of time before that particular condition might rear its head anyway. He stood up a little taller, looking around himself. It wasn’t a promising situation for anyone, and for someone that had to stay in an enviro-suit, even less so.

Rakhana was a desert planet, blasted to bits over the years by the various wars that the natives had waged against each other for the resources buried in the sands. If he’d come down further toward one of the limited settlements on the planet, or during Pilgrimage season, there would have been a chance of getting aid, but as it was…well, even though he turned around three times, pushed his suit’s scanners to their limits, and peered into the bright distance until his eyes hurt, he couldn’t see anything but rocks and sand and very distant mountains far off on the horizon.

Nothing useful.

Nothing that would keep him alive.

[i]Hmm…I wonder if I’m still in shock…[/i]

It would explain why he hadn’t started panicking just yet. With his ship shattered to pieces from the hard landing – all due to being misaligned at the Mass Relay and launching at the wrong vector – he should have been a gibbering nervous wreck. For all his experiences as a scout, he’d just survived a crash that should have killed him. It should have utterly shattered his fragile body, thrown him out the window of the cockpit, and left him as one more body in the desert.

Instead, he’d be another body in the desert some number of miles from the ship once he picked a direction to walk in. That was probably the inevitable fate for someone like him out here, wasn’t it?

[i]Oh, this is going to be fun when the shock wears off and I can feel all the depression in that statement…[/i]

Regardless, he knew that staying by the crash site wasn’t a good idea. If he didn’t start moving, and soon, he’d never start. Quarians weren’t meant for long-term exertion, and his suit –

He looked down at his arm. The read-out said that the suit still had battery for another thirty-six hours, but that had been when set to ship life support settings. He could already feel his sweat popping out from his back and forehead, misting the inside of his helmet in places. The adjustments that he’d have to make would halve that, at least. Maybe more.

But what choice did he have?

Zal sighed. The pink-suited Quarian ducked back into his ship and began the process of scrounging what he could find. Maybe there was a battery somewhere in there that’d add a couple of hours to his suit’s lifespan.

#

Three hours later, he’d finally left the ship behind. There hadn’t been much, but the shade had been useful while it lasted. Zal waited for the sun to set, facing behind him, before finally setting out.

[i]Okay…four liters of water…five kilos rations…and no batteries.[/i]

Plenty of supplies, but if his suit gave out, he didn’t have great odds of making it to any settlement. All the sand might keep some of the worst bacteria killed, but he’d heard Drell stories of old illnesses on Rakhana. The desert killed some of the microbiology. Not all of it.

When his battery ran out…

Zal shivered. There it was; the first little crack in the shock that’d kept everything else at bay for the last few hours. Well, it was going to show up eventually.

Shouldering his pack, he stepped out of the ruins and began his trek across the sand. His suit had already been adjusted for greater cooling, making him feel less drained as the residual bits of sunlight beat down on him, and his two-toed boots were thankfully broad enough to keep him from sinking into the sand. Not by much, admittedly, but some. Each step, though, was a step on ground that wanted to slide out from under him, and he had to keep fighting to keep from sliding back half a step for each one he took.

[i]Keep moving…keep moving…[/i]

Keeping his head down, Zal made his way across the sand. Every so often, he looked over his shoulder, measuring his progress from his ship. Every time that he looked back, it seemed as if he should have gone further, that the ship itself was pulling him back.

Surely, he had already gone one mile…

Two…

Three…

Gradually, well past dark, the ship disappeared from sight. He didn’t know if he’d finally walked far enough from it to actually leave it behind or if it was just hidden in the darkness of the desert night, but he chose to believe the former.

The desert was flat, thankfully. He’d crashed well away from the dunes, and while there were mountains in the distance, at least he didn’t have to climb the great sand hills that he’d seen during his descent. All he had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other, stumbling forward, keeping himself focused on the heights in the dark distance.

One step.

Another step.

Another.

Zal kept going until his suit started beeping at him, and he realized that it had been beeping for some time. He’d just been ignoring it, drowning it out with his focus on the wind and the mountain. The Quarian stopped, looked down at his read-outs –

“Oh keelah…”

His vitals were all over the place. Despite the cooling inside the suit, he was dehydrated as could be, and his heartbeat was hammering far too high. His blood pressure and everything else was going off the charts, too, well past Quarian safety marks.

As soon as he stopped, though, he’d have a hard time starting again, and he didn’t know if he could sleep out in the open. If he was caught out under the sun, then getting to shelter would be far harder, protective suit or not.

But at the same time…

[i]If I keep moving like this, I’ll finish the job the crash started,[/i] he thought, trying to keep focused. [i]And I don’t think I’m suicidal enough for that…[/i]

There was no contradiction there. He might have been in shock earlier, and he still wasn’t quite himself just yet, but he didn’t want to die. Some mix of being too tired and his own training as a scout was keeping him a lot calmer than he had any right to be, and he was thankful for that. It was allowing him to make some rational decisions that would otherwise be very difficult to make.

After fumbling around, Zal managed to find a rock half-buried in the sand and sat down on it. He pulled one of the water bottles from the side of his suit, tested the temperature – warmer than he’d like, but not as bad as it could have been – and slotted it into his suit. In seconds, some of the water was diverted to the hydration emitters throughout the suit, encouraging a certain level of moisture around his skin, while the rest of it went to his helmet. A small straw popped out near his mouth, and he instinctively pulled it past his lips, sucking down the water inside.

It felt good to rest. His legs ached far more than he realized, and he groaned as he felt all that time sitting in the ship coming back to haunt him. All Quarians had a risk of losing muscle mass in space, just because they spent more time space-bound than most other species, but even the scouts like him who were regularly sent planet-side to check things out still had issues with long-term exertion.

[i]And I hadn’t been training for desert life, either.[/i]

Shaking his head, he slumped forward. All the exhaustion from the crash, the journey across the sand, and the general sun-beating that he’d taken for the first hour or so of his trek came crashing down all at once. Zal wanted nothing more than to fall off the rock and drift into slumber, and he very nearly succumbed to that urge.

Nearly.

[i]If I fall over, I’m not getting up again,[/i] he told himself. [i]If I fall over…if I go to sleep without a plan…I could wake up buried.[/i]

The idea of being buried beneath the sand of a foreign planet while he was still alive gave him enough adrenaline to get back to his feet. The few minutes of resting had brought his vitals down to acceptable parameters again, and he could keep moving. He looked toward the mountains in the distance, hoped that they were smaller and closer rather than bigger and further away, and started putting one foot in front of the other once more.

There was a lot of ground to cover, and yet, for the first time since the crash, he felt like he wasn’t completely alone.

The feeling grew as he kept on walking, his legs starting to ache even between the short breaks that he had to take. When he stopped, he felt like there were eyes drilling into the back of his head, and when he walked, he felt like someone had slid up behind him, stalking his very footsteps, as if they were fitting themselves to his pace and his tracks with effortless ease.

Yet, whenever he looked over his shoulder, there was nothing to see. Nobody was there, not to his naked eye, or his suit’s scanners. Nothing popped up, nothing appeared, nothing was revealed.

Zal told himself that he was imagining things, that he was getting tired, hungry, thirsty despite the water that he kept chugging. He told himself that he just needed to get to shelter, and then he could sleep off the trauma that was slowly pulling its way up the back of his brain and trying to take charge.

Just a little further, he told himself. Just a little further.

It was hours later, just as the sun started to rise, that he found out that he was most definitely not imagining things. After all, imaginary things did not suddenly rise from the sand and throw a bola around his neck.

Zal gasped at the pressure around his throat, then spasmed as the bola burst with electrical energy. His suit, and his body, completely shut down, and the world faded to black.

#

Contact.

Flesh contact.

It was [i]the[/i] thing that all Quarians feared when they were somewhere off-ship, because it meant that their suit was gone. Zal’s eyese leaped open and he tried to pull his leg away –

“Stop it.”

A firm grip around his ankle pinned him in place, and the Quarian stared at the blue-skinned Drell that loomed over him. The alien must have been six and a half feet tall, massive compared to his meager five-foot-five, and the other male had his ankle in a death-grip, squeezing tight enough that it could have broken his ankle if he so much as twitched.

“My suit,” Zal said, shaking his head. “Where’s my suit? I need – I’m a Quarian, I need –”

“You’re fine.”

“No, you don’t understand –”

“You. Are. Fine.”

A secondary sensation finally penetrated the panic that was fogging his mind. There was something all over him now, almost like a lotion, but just a little too slimy to be something like that. He looked down at his hand, his chest, everything –

[i]Very much everything,[/i] he thought with shock, bemusement, and a little bit of embarrassment as he looked down and saw and felt the same slime between his legs. [i]Everything…everywhere…[/i]

His gray skin had been rubbed down with something that left it shining, wet and reflective to the eye, and he bit his lips as he realized that it also felt rather…sensual, almost. Not quite arousing, but enough to make him more aware of his skin all over his body. And yet…

Yet, there was none of the discomfort that usually came from being out of the suit. He felt like he could actually…breathe. No allergic reactions, no bodily response to pathogens. Nothing. It was…it was as if he was still in the suit.

“What…how…”

“Offworlders.” The Drell snorted, finally releasing Zal’s ankle. “Come here and don’t even know what they’re doing.”

“But this is impossible.”

“Living on Rakhana is impossible. And yet, here we are.”

“What is this? What did you give me?”

“It is a medicine that we use to survive the chemicals and poisons. It allows us to survive a world that punishes us for our sins.”

An ointment that literally killed off pathogens, and one that was functioning well enough to allow him to [i]live[/i] outside of his suit. He could only imagine the number of Quarians that would kill to get their hands on something like this. If the Drell had really come up with this, then –

“Why are you here, Quarian?” the Drell asked, squatting in front of him.

“That…is a good question,” Zal muttered, looking around to get his bearings.

He’d clearly been taken off the desert plains; they were in some sort of cave, well out of the sunlight, but near enough to the entrance that they could still see outward. The sun was setting again, which meant that he’d gone through a full night and then another day before he’d come to.

[i]Must have been some electrical shock,[/i] he thought.

The cave itself wasn’t anything special. From what he could see, it was almost like an outpost in miniature, with a small supply cache for those that were passing through, a single bed, and a small radio that was so old that it must have been made during the ancient wars that wrecked the planet. He could only imagine how it still worked.

As for his captor…

He knew that thousands of Drell had been pulled off-planet by the Hanar long ago, making them a sort of client-race to the tentacled-beings, but some of them had remained. No, that wasn’t right. [i]Most[/i] of them remained. Most of them had also died, leaving billions of corpses in the sands over the years. Those that survived had reverted almost to a tribal-like society, though he heard that there were some that lived near the ports of Pilgrimage, allowing for the off-world Drell to link up with their heritage.

His captor looked the part of a tribal, though. He barely wore anything, seemingly content with a pair of shorts that barely covered him enough to keep him modest, and certainly nothing else. The cloak by the entrance of the cave might have been his, or it might have belonged to the cave itself. Zal didn’t know.

[i]Muscular…strong…[/i]

“You were tracking me since I crashed, weren’t you?” Zal asked.

“I was.”

“Why?”

“Mostly curious. I was wondering if you’d go off to die. You almost did.”

“Was I that far off the mark?” Zal asked, slowly crossing his legs. “I thought that there might be a settlement near the mountain.”

“There is. On the other side.”

“Oh.”

“And on this side is a lake of poison.”

“…Oh.”

“You would have died.”

“I…can see that.”

The scanners on his suit hadn’t even picked it up. That might have been distance-issues, or it might have been something more sinister. While Quarian suits were very good at detecting things that would be hazardous to their wearers, they were calibrated to detect the major toxins, poisons, and pathogens that occurred on a broad spectrum of planets. Something that was more localized – or a mutated version of something major – could have gone completely under the metaphorical radar.

[i]And if I was in the thick of it when I took the suit off…[/i]

For the first time, a shiver of real fear ran down his spine. He had come far too close, this time.

“So, why are you here?” the Drell asked.

“You don’t want to know my name or anything?”

“I don’t care.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you are not a danger, I will be leaving you to find your way. With directions, but to find your way.”

That…was something, at least. For all that the Drell had attacked him and kidnapped him, it had clearly been done to keep him from killing himself by accident. It wasn’t like the other man was cruel or some sort of savage. If anything, he was doing a surprisingly decent thing, and he appreciated that.

Still, manners were manners.

“My name is Zal’Haar, but you can call me Zal.”

“And you’re here…because…”

“Because I made a mistake.”

“Several, to crash like that.”

“Well, that [i]was[/i] the biggest one,” he admitted. “I was in a hurry while leaving the last outpost I was scouting, and some pirates forced me to make a jump that I didn’t really want to make. Because of the way that things work up there, I wasn’t aligned properly, and instead of arriving in orbit, I arrived almost in-atmosphere with a damaged engine, and I couldn’t pull up in time. Thus, the smoking crater that you probably already saw.”

“…So, you’re an idiot.”

“If you want to think that, you can. I don’t particularly think –”

The Drell shifted position. It wasn’t that he suddenly became more threatening that cut Zal off, but more the fact that the other man went from kneeling to stretching his legs out. And the sight that followed was…surprisingly eye-catching.

Zal hadn’t been intimate with a Drell before, but he had seen a number of ‘exotic magazines’ that featured them. One feature that he had admired in those ‘productions’ had been the way that the Drell actors had such vibrant skin-tones, but also how they changed colored a bit on the palms of the hands and the soles of the feet.

And considering his other interests in feet, seeing the dark-blue that covered the rest of the Drell scout turn into something lighter, almost warm and comforting, was surprisingly sensual to see.

Crossing his legs to conceal a sudden blood shift, Zal cleared his throat.

“I wouldn’t call myself an idiot. I mean, yes, I got lost in the desert and I ended up going in the wrong direction –”

“The only wrong direction.”

“…Excuse me?”

“You were going in the [i]only[/i] wrong direction. A few degrees shift left or right would have taken you to rare clean water. Going in any other starting direction would have taken you to a semi-friendly tribe. You picked the only one that was guaranteed death. Either you are an idiot, or your luck is worse than anything I have ever seen.”

“…I think I’ll take the bad luck description.”

The Drell smiled ever so slightly.

“An idiot, but an amusing idiot.”

“I’ve been told.”

“So, you did not mean to land here?” the Drell asked, shifting position again, one leg folded inward, the other outstretched.

[i]Either he knows I’m interested, or he is teasing me to the nth degree,[/i] Zal thought, restraining himself from looking too much. [i]This would have been a wonderful time to have my helmet…[/i]

“I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head as he forced himself to look anywhere but at the scout’s soft, blue sole. “I meant to jump here, get my bearings, and get in touch with the fleet. Once I did that, I was going to leave as soon as possible. Landing here was never part of the plan.”

“Hmmph…”

[i]You just have to be the perfect sort of person for this sort of fantasy, too, don’t you?[/i] Zal thought in annoyance. [i]The big shoulders, the thick muscles in your chest, barely dressed and looking like some noble warrior…and those…[/i]

It was [i]so[/i] hard to restrain himself from looking at the other man’s feet. Quite aside from his own interest, he had someone that was surprisingly sexy right in front of him, who had rendered him not only helpless, but naked, and he was supposed to [i]not[/i] think about something fun and kinky in the process?

His own toes curled, the four digits twitching idly as he did his best not to show just how wound up he was getting. His cock twitched under his legs, and –

The Drell looked off to the side, and Zal took a moment to look down. The other man’s feet were thick, broad, and more than that, they were soaked with more than just the lotion. They were sweaty, dripping with it, little balls of sweat running down the underside of the lighter soles. They looked like they could soak his face if they were to step on him, and the very idea of being under them –

“You stare like someone who has never seen my kind.”

[i]…Damn.[/i]

He looked up to see the Drell staring at him with something akin to amusement. Certainly there was a smirk on the other man’s face.

“You have an…interest in these?” the Drell asked, lifting one sole off the ground. “Do you know the customs of my tribe?”

“I…Um, you’ve embarrassed me further, because I have to admit that I don’t know much about Drell at all.”

“It is not universal,” the other man admitted, slowly curling his toes in a way that made it very, very difficult not to stare at them. “But in my clan, there is a tradition of ‘respect,’ a hierarchy that starts at the bottom of the body…”

“Your clan…focuses on feet?”

“It is the duty of the low-members to respect the higher ones…properly.”

[i]A clan of Drell…completely focused on feet…[/i]

It sounded like a porn script come to life, something that might have been found in Fornax at some point, but the Drell in front of him didn’t seem to be lying. Drell, he’d found, weren’t great liars by nature. Assassins and agents, yes, but that was more direct, more stealthy, less focused on diplomatic subterfuge. This was…

The other man slowly pushed his foot closer and closer, letting the heel rest on Zal’s leg. He bit his lips, particularly as the other man curled his toes and slowly pulled against the Quarian’s calf, forcing his leg back out –

SPROING.

His own cock jumped up, stiff and hard, and the Drell’s smile returned, slightly larger than it had been the first time.

“It seems that you are one of the…lower-members.”

“Mmmph…I – well, I wasn’t thinking –”

“You were staring.”

“Yes, but –”

“And you were not disliking what you saw. Clearly. If you wish help – if you wish to know what to do to survive – then you will need my aid.”

“…”

“And if you want that…then you will show me the respect that someone beneath me would show me. Do you understand?”

[i]Oh keelah…oh, my…[/i]

It had been a hell of a day. Crash-landing on a planet trying to kill him, nearly killing himself from the suicidal march, being stripped naked by one of the hottest men that he had seen in a very long time, and now, being told that he was going to be someone’s foot-bitch in exchange for getting the help that he needed to cross the desert. If someone had told him that it was even possible to have a day like that in the real world, he would have said that they needed to get off their ship and touch dirt for a few hours.

And yet, here it was, happening to him.

The Drell scooted a bit closer, lifting both feet in the air. The sweat droplets ran along the underside, almost as if the lotion that he wore made him warmer, slicker, more frictionless. It was so intensely arousing to stare at that he almost couldn’t imagine looking away.

“This…this is what I have to do?” he asked, blushing.

“Your erection says you want it. Now, show me how willing you are to serve, Sole-Servant.”

His dick twitched at the ‘title’ that he’d been given, and after one more moment’s hesitation, Zal leaned in. The soft, lighter blue of the Drell’s soles beckoned him closer and closer until he had them supported by the heels and pressed against either side of his face.

[i]Mmmph…[/i]

This was a very different experience. He had gone so long without the flesh-to-flesh contact that others enjoyed so casually that he had almost forgotten what it felt like. Warmth, real flesh warmth that didn’t have the risk of disease and the need to quarantine for days afterward: just that simple contact was almost enough to make him melt.

But the pressure that followed, the slow grind of the soles against his face, the way that the toes curled and pulled at his cheeks, and the smell…it wasn’t a dirty smell, not an unwashed, filthy thing, but rather the soft saltiness of sweat, the heat of the day, the warmth of a pair of feet –

[i]Mmmph…so much better than the pheromone simulations…[/i]

Zal dragged them against his face, pressing them firmly against his cheeks. It was like he was drying the soles against his face, using his cheeks and forehead as a towel for the sweaty soles. And yet, even as they rubbed their wetness off on him, he could tell that they were going to be damp again before long.

Turning his head, he dragged his tongue slowly from heel to toe, tracing a line of his own shiny spit along the underside. He could vaguely taste something underneath all the other flavors – something not quite medicinal, almost more herby – but it was so faint and so barely there that he could ignore it without even thinking about it. It was probably the lotion that coated the other man as thoroughly as it did him, and he forgot about it soon enough.

Up, up, up the other man’s soft sole, dragging his tongue to the toes and then between them. The Drell touched himself, groping himself through his shorts as Zal got to work, grinding his tongue here and there between the digits. Each time that he found a new little puddle of sweat that he couldn’t grind out on his face, he licked it up, swallowing it down, and the more that he served, the hotter and huffier that he felt.

“This Sole-Servant is well-adjusted to being…underfoot,” the Drell said.

“Mmmph…”

“I believe that you are going to fit in just fine with this journey.”

“I’ll – mmmph – I’ll try.”

“You know what you need, and what I deserve. You will serve me every morning, and every night, just like this. Your face beneath my sweaty soles, your body anointed with my sole-scent, my feet the center of your world. The better you serve them, the more protected you will be. Do you understand?”

Zal nodded, huffing to himself as he turned his head to the other foot. Another series of licks followed, dancing along the underside, flicking back and forth, up and down, taking a more staggered approach from the heel to the toe. He was huffing, panting, his cock standing out from between his legs more and more as he gave the Drell the service that he deserved. Lick after lick dragged the sweat off the soles and from between the toes into his mouth, and without even thinking, he swallowed.

[i]This would kill me anywhere else…[/i]

But here, with this strange medicinal ointment, he was safe to indulge, at least for now. Whether it would stay that way, he didn’t know, but for now, he would give himself the chance to enjoy this for as long as possible.

One foot, then the other. He turned his head side to side, licking them, cleaning them, panting as he dragged his tongue over flesh that was finally clean save for his own spit. The Drell watched him the whole time, one hand between his legs, fondling himself through his shorts, while his eyes drifted between Zal’s face and the Quarian’s own feet.

“Hmmph. Soft feet,” the Drell said.

“Mmmph…I take care of them…”

“Clearly.”

He didn’t know if ‘soft feet’ was a good or bad thing in this foot-focused culture, but one thing was for sure. He was going to have an interesting time finding out. He kissed his way up one soft blue sole, stopping around the ball of the foot, and gently sucked at the big toe. Not for long, just enough to test the waters, and it seemed to be a good thing, considering the fact that the Drell grinned at him.

However, their fun was cut short. The Drell pulled his feet back after a moment, then stood up.

“It will be full dark soon, and we can start moving under that,” his captor said.

“…Do I get my suit back?”

“Heh. No.”

“…”

“You will be fine with just the ointment. As the lower of the two of us, I believe that it is better for you to be…exposed.”

Which meant walking under the moonlight with nothing to cover him, and likely getting at least a few hotfoots at the start of the trip from the cooling sands under his bare feet. He blushed at the idea, but his erection continued to show his excitement. For all that he wasn’t sure how he had gotten himself into this particular mess, he wasn’t exactly protesting about it.

The Drell started to turn –

“Wait,” Zal said. “You…you have my name now. Can I at least have yours, so I can have something to call you for…whatever we do next?”

“I am Chas Droek. You will call me Chas.” Will, not can. “And I will be leading you to safety. It is clear that a soft-foot like you would only get yourself into greater and greater danger without a guide.”

“…Thank you.”

“Hmm. We will see if you say the same as the journey continues.”

 

 

 




[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]
 
Summary: Zal’Haar, a Quarian scout, ends up crash landing on Rakhana. A Drell scout finds him, and some interesting, fetishy developments begin.
 
Tags: M/M, Mass Effect, Quarian, Drell, Foot Fetish, Sweat, Foot Focus, Nudity, Embarrassment, Sci-Fi, Miniseries, Worship, Erection,