“Why does everything… Always have to be… A hassle…! With you?” The mutterings were separated by grunts of force, the snapping of something elastic, and the occasional viscous squirt. Sat on the hotel room’s only bed, the blond bounty hunter scraped away at the skin-tight bodysuit, which stubbornly clung to her skin in threads and webbings, actively looking to weave itself back together again. So far she’d managed to pull it away from her arms, her throat, and her midriff, creased with muscle, leaving part of the suit to coalesce into a sullen, pale blue tank top, hugging her body like a second skin. It was the rest of it that seemed to be the problem, alternating between interlacing itself past her knees - here she’d slide a glistening hand under the hem and yank it back up - and collecting between her toned thighs and extending forward, at which point she’d clasp her hands around the bulge and force it back down into a jelly-like goo that coated her legs like some kind of blue, living latex.
The whole ordeal was nothing new, though the suit had never done anything quite like this. Dealing with the damn thing could take another half an hour, and the other half of her most recent contract should have back some time ago. An irritated scoff, and Samus pushed herself from the bed and snatched the bottle of lube. A final resort, she lowered herself to the carpeted floor, bracing one foot against wall and the other against one opposite, slid both hands under the suit, along her thighs, grasped it from the inside, and pulled, every contour of every muscle in her arms visible as she strained to keep the suit from overtaking her legs entirely.
Only after the doorknob clicked did the realization come to her that her legs were spread wide apart, facing the only entrance to the room. In that momentary lapse, the suit melded around her forearms, leaving bracers from her wrists to her elbows, letting the rest collect around her hips, shaping itself into one smooth, swelling shaft. The door swung open, and the Bounty hunter’s fingers grasping the suit forced the lube collected under it into a spurt that landed at the newcomer’s feet. Samus scowled at the bits of wettened carpet.
This is why she worked alone.
Mercenary work? Not particularly honorable. On the other hand, having enough money to buy dinner regularly? Honorable as all get-out, as far as Tracy Singh was concerned. Even better when it only took the threat of force to bring home the gold, instead of actually committing to the deed. When she’d split up with her companion-of-circumstance, it was not without a certain paranoia -- weren’t bounty hunters supposed to be cutthroat? -- but, hey, no dead-of-night ambushes to relieve her of her rightful share yet.
A minor celebration was in order. One hand occupied with escorting a paper bag full of take-out, and its sister with Samus’ cut, it wasn’t wrong that Tracy’s focus was on opening the hotel door without dropping either instead of on the room’s occupancy. As such, she was caught blindsided by the...different...sight of the blonde struggling with her bright blue Starburst clothes.
All of these terms sprang to mind, and yet all that the knight could manage to tear from her lips was a rather small “oh” as she took in the scene. Some instinct told her to jump into action, but that unpleasant, living latex wasn’t new -- she’d seen it beneath her partner-of-circumstance’s gear, kind of a second skin. How is it that Ms. Parasite Sniper gets armor and I’m stuck with denim-and-leather?
Setting down the pay and the food on a side table, Tracy approached, half-concerned, half-(well, it got lonely sometimes!). “Can I...” Smash? Help? The knight raised her hands, but made no further movement. Didn’t wanna provoke the fabric. “Are you good?”
