"He's cute."
A terse answer, but it got the point across. That was a few weeks ago now; it was something dumb she had quipped after Kit asked her a question she forgot, hoping to drop the subject. And Kit did. It was the closest Rivet had gotten to admitting anything, she was quite accustomed to secrecy.
Now, it was hard to sleep with all of the lights ... among other things. They callously flickered, flashed, brightened and then dimmed like mirages, ghosts of the city of Megalopolis, and forever accompanied by the dull hum of flying vehicles. The colors paraded around their immense suite in a silent, irritating fashion, and all Rivet could do was try to ignore them. Yet, her eyes wandered.
Laying on her back with her head deep in an expensive pillow, she peered over at the only other Lombax she had ever met—and groaned; she wondered how he could just lay there with all of this neon dancing across his eyelids, without a care in the world and his dumb, little smile of satisfaction. Her thoughts swirled, nothing made sense to her, even after so much time to think.
"... hungry …" was all she managed, frowning.
She listened to him breathe softly, quietly, watching the easy rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheets like the waves on some beach that she had never seen; his scent still lingered in her nose, the smell of a male of her own species. And the taste of his mouth upon hers was still fresh—and his teeth. She licked her bottom lip, remembering last night. She could get used to this.
They had discovered two things about their race that can't be found in any biology text over the last few weeks. After sex, males get sleepy, females get hungry. Simple enough.
Now was probably a good time.
She leaned forward so as not to disturb him, using her bionic arm to steady herself, ears high and listening for his eventual reaction—but it never came. Fortunately, their huge bed that was not at all designed for lombaxes had decided to be quiet, too.
Ratchet was out cold, definitely in la-la land; the sex must have been good. That made her smile.
They were getting better at it, too; more skillful, more intimate, more risky. The initial shyness they had around each other had since melted away, not like their first few times where instinct was the driving factor. There was a sense of urgency to their lovemaking now, and the secrecy made it even more thrilling.
Their boots and other clothing were strewn about the floor near the east window, torn like animals from each others' bodies to speed up the process of getting naked. From the south, lights and lights and still more lights. "It's amazing anyone in this city sleeps," she murmured, her furry foot searching for the floor.
Captain Quark had been generous enough to pay for their room, the master suite, even at their insistence that he not. Kit and Clank were long gone by now, thankfully, and completely unaware. They were almost caught a few times. No danger of that tonight, though. The robots knew better than to keep probing their intentions and Ratchet quickly discovered that Clank is an ace wingman.
She slid out of the sheets, letting them fall ungracefully from her naked body as she stood up. Nothing yet out of Ratchet, besides him coming within inches of a loud snore. Then she felt something. "Ahh—c'mon, really?" she groaned, struggling to maintain a whisper. A towel on the white, marble floor beside the bed was caught by the light, still damp from their earlier shower together. She unceremoniously scooped it up and clenched it between her legs. Gravity was at play now; Ratchet was spilling out of her and leaving a trail down her inner thigh.
She motioned for the doorway, no clothes for now, ears high. "It's not usually this bad," she remarked, almost in sync with a loud gurgling of her stomach. No more stupid neon lights. Her bionic hand carried the towel in place and her bushy tail slightly dragged on the floor; she moved past the marble and gold studded bathroom, some potted plants, an abstract painting, and some other things she didn't care to notice—until finally, the kitchen. It was surprisingly dark.
And there, the promised land. The refrigerator.
"Should be fully stocked," she said, holding back a toothy grin and shuffling her feet in excitement. Towel still between her legs, she reached for the handle and tugged. A bright, yellow light engulfed the room.
...
"EMPTY?!" she screeched.