Fix Me

Getting away was easy. In the chaos of the battle, with Ronan, the Ravagers, and the Nova Corps all laser-focused on the capital and the Dark Aster and that stupid stone, no one even noticed one stray ship breaking off and flying the other way. The Ravager ship had been enough to get her to a Xandarian port city a few thousand klicks away where she traded it for something spaceworthy and unattended. It was a cramped, dirty independent cargo hauler, little more than a cockpit bolted to a massive engine with clamps to attach cargo containers, but it was good enough to get her to her destination: Knowhere.

It seemed an odd choice, granted, given its distance and her own recent activity there, but as far as Nebula was concerned it was the tactically sound decision; it would have what she needed, its people minded their own business, and neither Thanos, Gamora, nor the Nova Corps would think to look for her there.

Besides, the last little bit of poetry she had left in the last little bit of a soul she had left couldn't resist the bitter symbolism; Knowhere was exactly where she had left to go.

...

Amana Jem didn't own the body shop. Besper owned the body shop, like he owned half the level, and as long as she kept turning a profit he was content to show up and idly throw his weight around once a week when he collected his share of the money. And installing cybernetics in a place as dangerous as Knowhere, the money was usually pretty good.

But not this week.

This week, two of Besper's other businesses had folded, which made him crack down that much harder on everyone else. And with the explosion at the Collector's and the ensuing firefight everyone was still trying to figure out, half the people who'd normally be getting maimed and needing her to replace their parts were out of work, huddled in their homes waiting for some semblance of order to come back to the most disordered place in the galaxy.

What it all added up to was that she didn't have the money.

"You ungrateful little shit," Besper slurred. She practically gagged at the liquor on his breath, the smell so thick she could almost see it. His face was all but pressed against hers, his hand wrapped around the collar of her coveralls. "You think you could run this place better'n me, izzat it? Stupid little humie bitch, think you're smarter than everyone else, izzat it?"

She tried to shake her head, but she was pressed so tight against the wall that she couldn't do much more than twitch. Then she felt his other hand, and she gasped.

"Maybe if you don't got my money, you'll haffta earn this place some other way..."

His grip on her ass tightened, and she shrieked as his other hand yanked open the front of her coveralls, revealing her small, conical breasts and long brown nipples to his bleary, wavering gaze. He'd pawed her sometimes, if he was drunk when he came to get paid, and she'd always bitten her lip and tried not to think about it. But he'd never been this drunk before.

A big hand slid inside her clothes, roughly squeezing her titflesh, and she sucked in a shuddering breath. "N...no, pl...please, I..."

"Don't act all shy, bitch! I know you were suckin' dick out on the street before I gave you this place! You wanna go back to that, huh? Well you can start right now..."

"No!" She screamed as he tore open her suit all the way down to her crotch, tried to fight against his grip, writhing and bucking and praying please god, gods, ancients, ancestors, whatever just please don't let him...

Her prayer was answered.

She was too panicked to really see what happened. She didn't hear the sickening wet crunch, or see Besper's head torqued a hundred eighty degrees. All she knew was that he let go. He let go and dropped away, and in his place stood the most beautiful woman Amana had ever seen.

"Oh my god! Oh my god, thank you! Thank you, he was going to..."

The prod slammed into her stomach and the electricity coursed through her body, and that was it.

...

Amana jerked awake.

Not the way she'd seen in the vids, where someone shoots out of bed bent at the waist, but just jerked, once, like a seizure and suddenly her eyes were open.

She wasn't in her shop. Given the size of the space and the metal grating under her and the instrument panels lining the walls, her analytical mind supplied without prompting that she was probably on a ship. There were crates scattered around the cramped compartment, and sitting on one of them was the woman.

She was blue and bald, Kree maybe, but her skin seemed too smooth for that. She had extensive cybernetics, including the artificial arm cradled in her lap. She was staring at Amana, a sharp, expressionless look that didn't change much when the human's eyes opened.

Amana just swallowed; when the woman didn't move, she very slowly sat up. If the woman wasn't going to talk, she'd just have to do it herself. "Why am I here?"

The woman stared a few more seconds before shifting her weight, revealing the jagged stump at the end of her arm. "I took internal damage and I need a new hand. Fix me and I'll let you live."

Amana started to cry.

In the young engineer's experience, that particular reflex inspired one of two responses; either it made someone want to comfort her, or it made them want to hurt her more. Her captor, however, didn't even blink.

"If you can't do it, I'll find someone else."

Amana wasn't stupid. She knew that didn't mean 'I'll let you go unharmed and find someone else.' She sucked in a shuddering breath, willing the tears to stop because damn it, you're a grown woman, Papa can't be right about this, don't prove the smug bastard right. She held her hands up.

"No, I...I can do it! I'll fix you! I promise!" She raked a hand through her short brown hair, trying to collect her thoughts. They were warring between compliance and escape, but either way... "I'll need my parts, and my tools...back at my shop..."

The clanking of her own satchel heaved at her feet by the woman's good arm cut her off. "I took everything you'll need. Start here."

Amana was too busy digging through the bag to note where she was supposed to start, and so she was caught completely off guard when she looked up to find the woman casually flicking her skintight cuirass to the deck, revealing the broken, gutted cybernetics down the center of her chest. Despite the danger of her situation and her supposed professionalism, it wasn't the tech that held Amana's attention: it was the full, perfect breasts on either side of it.

She could feel her pale face going bright red as she busied herself with her tools, stalling for time before she had to press her hands to the flesh of a gorgeous woman for the first time in far too long. Unfortunately the woman noticed her hesitation, even if she never could have guessed the reason for it.

"Hurry up."

Amana squeaked, shuffling towards the seated woman on her knees, laser probe and survey diodes in hand. She could already tell just by her efforts to keep her eyes focused on the tech rather than the amazing breasts or the cold, imperious face glowering down at her that most of the connections to the woman's redundant cybernetic organs would have to be replaced. It wasn't difficult, but it was time-consuming and, given the angle, it was obvious the woman couldn't have done it herself.

She cleared her throat as she started to work, eyes still dutifully fixed in front of her. "I'm Amana. By the way."

"Keep working," the woman snapped, and Amana flinched. She didn't see the eyes above her soften, wouldn't have been able to detect it even if she had, but the did. "Call me Nebula."

The first time Amana had to reach for another set of wires, it turned out her attempts to focus on her work had gone too well; her hand blundered directly into Nebula's breast. When the blue woman stiffened, Amana's fingers whipped back as if she'd been burned. "Oh my god, I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Don't bother." In spite of herself, a hint of bitter wistfulness seeped into Nebula's voice. "I don't have nerves there anymore."

Amana just nodded frantically and tried to distract herself from the feel and surprising heat of that smooth skin by returning to her work. The damage to the soft components was so extensive... "What caused this? If you don't mind telling me."

Nebula shrugged, an action which would have shown Amana marvelous new aspects of her breasts if she'd been paying attention. "Rocket to the chest."

The brunette sucked in a startled gasp that made Nebula much more uncomfortable than her nudity; was that concern? Sympathy? For her? When was the last time someone had felt that for her? She dismissed the thought with an angry sigh and closed her eyes, head tipped back to hopefully forestall any further contact with her technician.

Unfortunately for Amana, Nebula's inattention just made it harder for to ignore the fact that there was a beautiful, half-naked woman under her hands, one who was dangerous and mysterious and why had two such disastrous traits always been such huge turn-ons for her? As she completed the work, there was less and less to pay attention to in the now closed and sealed terminal running down Nebula's chest. And when she left it for the final time, well...could she really be blamed if her hand took the scenic route?

Her fingers slid tentatively along the bottom of one firm breast, surprised by its weight. The texture of the skin was so smooth, the pliance so inviting when she pressed gently against it, the fat, rubbery, dark blue nipple between her fingers...

Nebula's hand came down on her wrist, hard. Amana gasped and looked up, and found the other woman's eyes boring into hers. "I might not feel it, but my sensors still tell me when I'm being touched!"

Amana's eyes were wide, pupils dilated as she tried to shrink back. "I...oh god, I didn't...I'm sorry, please, I didn't mean...please don't kill me! I'm sorry, I won't..."

As Amana begged, Nebula just held her grip and her eyes. The look in those eyes unnerved her. The fear was familiar, but there was something else in those pupils...fear mixed with lust. Forget concern, when was the last time someone had looked at her with lust? When was the last time someone had...wanted her?

Before she could think about what she was doing, she'd released Amana's wrist, her one good hand needed to fumble open the closures on her leggings and let them slide down her unwarriorlike hips, making Amana's eyes go even wider as they revealed the fat, slick blue lips of her sex. Amana stared up at her, fear and desire still mingled on her face, and Nebula threaded fingers through her hair.

"I still have nerve endings down there," she muttered, and that was all the encouragement Amana needed.

When the human's tongue touched her, Nebula had to grind her teeth to keep from crying out; never before had she felt someone's mouth there. She'd had men's hard, rough, thrusting phalluses, back before her growing hatred of being touched had rendered her useless as a seductress, but never something that intended to give her pleasure rather than extracting it from her.

She didn't know why she hadn't taken Amana's hand for the crime of touching her breast as she would have anyone else's. Maybe it was a moment of weakness, brought on by the loss of Thanos and Gamora and what little she'd had left. Maybe it was purely mercenary, an acknowledgement that the girl's lust could be a good way of keeping her compliant until her work was done. Whatever the reason, Nebula's ability to dwell on it disappeared when Amana's lips puckered around the little bud at the apex of her slit and began to suck.

In so far as she'd been expecting anything, Nebula had been expecting constant suction, a direct attack, but Amana's sucking came in pulses, a baby suckling at her mother's nipple. Nebula's grip on her hair tightened, and Amana gasped, but she kept working. When the girl's tongue began to flick out between her lips, Nebula actually let out a stifled groan, her hips moving of their own accord, mashing her sex against Amana's face, hungry for something she couldn't articulate, something she hadn't thought about since before she could...

It hit her.

Like Amana on waking, it was a single jolt, a convulsion touching every inch of her scarred and mechanized body at once. It felt like an attack, something paralyzing her, stunning her, setting her up for ambush in her weakest and most vulnerable moment, and she wanted to hate it. But the gush of salty, bittersweet syrup that filled Amana's grateful, gluttonous mouth told them both everything they needed to know.

Nebula's mouth hung open, and she forced it shut before it gave her away, before it made her say 'Oh god oh god I didn't know I could still do that.' She released her grip on Amana's hair, she fully admitted more roughly than the girl deserved, dropping her back to the decking, the mortifying reminder of Nebula's weakness still sticky and shimmering on her lips.

Amana could only sit, eyes wide and mouth and head still flooded with the taste of her abductrix as Nebula dressed. She could barely manage with one hand, but Amana didn't dare offer to help. Finally, Nebula was back in her seat, stump extended in the air. "Now the hand."

Replacing the hand was comparatively easy, just a matter of cleaning up the connections and installing the new model Nebula had already selected by virtue of throwing it in the satchel as she raided the shop. When she was done, Nebula flexed her new fingers experimentally, rolling the wrist and examining the work from every angle. It wasn't as good as her old one, but it would do. When she looked down, Amana risked meeting her eyes.

"May...should I go now?"

Nebula stood and stepped forward, and Amana hiccuped as tears threatened to spill again. "Oh god no please, don't kill me! I won't tell anyone, I swear, you don't have to..."

She went silent as her back hit the bulkhead. When she felt those cool, smooth new fingers slip through the open front of her jumpsuit, her crying gasps turned to a different kind.

As Nebula's metallic fingers slid down into her underwear, their eyes met, the question in Amana's too dangerous to answer. All Nebula said was "I need to test it." And that was enough.

The cold polymer heated up quickly. Two fingers slid up and down between her lips, even Nebula's tentatively forceful, assuredly inexpert touch enough to make Amana's hips buck under the circumstances. She could hear the squelching of her juices as Nebula's fingers began to move, smell her own arousal mingling with the distinctive scent of Nebula's, and most importantly she could feel, feel as the insistent fingers stretched inside her, making her hips roll and her legs seize and her arms ache to be allowed to embrace the woman toying with her, even though she knew she never would be.

Nebula's other hand was holding her by the shoulder, and as the thrusts grew more insistent and more spectacular Amana could no longer contain her desire to touch, to contribute to the raw spark of pure sex Nebula was fanning, and her legs rose, clamping around the woman's back, feet digging into the firm curves of her backside. Amana felt a twinge of despair that she'd never gotten to see that, never gotten to bury her face between those globes, never gotten to close in on the view from behind as Nebula bent over and...

And that image was all it took. She could feel her walls clench down on Nebula's fingers, her wetness flowing down as the woman's body pressed against hers, accepting the last few thrusts without resistance. Unlike Nebula, Amana's orgasm was not quiet. It was a litany of gasps and moans and 'ohs' and 'gods' and 'yesses' until her breath was ragged in Nebula's ear. When her legs finally allowed the woman to step back, she did, glancing down at her fingers, at the clear, sticky sheen that now clung to them. If she had sniffed it or tasted it, Amana would have come again, but instead she merely tightened her hand into a fist.

"You can go." They could both hear that Nebula's voice was different. Rougher, if that were possible. It took Amana's thundering head a while to catch up with the rest of her, and by the time it did Nebula had grabbed the satchel and tossed it at her. "I said go!"

Amana's mouth opened, then closed. She clutched the bag to her chest as the cargo ramp behind her opened, Nebula's back rigid and inscrutible. When nothing more was forthcoming, Amana dropped her head and stepped down the ramp. When she reached the bottom, she risked glancing back and clearing her throat.

"If you ever...need any more...repairs, or..."

"I won't." Nebula didn't turn, just hit the button to close the ramp.

Amana swallowed. "But...if you do..."

"I won't."

The ramp closed. Nebula took the ladder to the cockpit, where she sat, clenching her new fist, the evidence of this confusing and disgusting and terrifying interlude still slick and fragrant on her fingers. What she had done was an act of weakness. There was no use denying it. She was weak.

'You will be anything and everything,' Thanos had told her once, in the beginning, before...all of this, 'except weak.'

Nebula set her jaw and started the engines.

"I won't."