Alien Desire by Hannah Haze

Chapter nine - Emma

Tor wants to return to his ship, but the sky has darkened and another ice storm sets in. He stands at the window and glares at the heavy clouds and battering ice. He tries to convince me in his broken English that it is fine to go. But after venturing outside for only a minute, he soon returns sheepishly, shivering and wet, and doesn’t make the suggestion again.

With the grey clouds weighing down on us and encircling the station, the building shrinks. I know that this space is fairly big — enough to sleep ten humans. But Tor is larger than life. He towers over me, too big for the chairs and the beds, like a giant forced into a small person’s living quarters. We seem to be frequently tripping over one another.

This is in part because the alien, like Fluffy before him, appears to enjoy following me around the station, watching what I’m doing with a trace of amusement in his eyes and asking me simple questions. He has also on more than one occasion tried to hold my hand and frequently suggests I sit in his lap.

It is most perturbing. Partly, because I am beginning to wonder if he views me as a pet, the way I have done with Fluffy, rather than a companion. And partly because, for some crazy reason, I want to hold his hand and sit in his lap.

However, I refuse. The only thing I will permit is the night time cuddles, and for those I pretend I am asleep and unaware how his large form curls around my smaller one.

I need to find some way to distract him.

Leading him to the vent through which Fluffy’s family had been entering and leaving the station, I gesture at it. With this and a few words he now understands, I make it be known that I would like him to replace my make-shift mending job.

This task seems to thrill him. He puffs out his chest and spends the next fifteen minutes inspecting the vent before getting to work.

I watch him from the corner of my eye as I busy myself with my various activities. I try not to notice how the biceps of his strong arms bulge as he unscrews old grates, or the way the muscles of his back ripple as he jerks ancient pieces of pipes from the wall.

In the end It’s pointless. I can’t resist and give up pretending altogether, making us both cups of tea, then sitting cross legged and watching as he works. I have the distinct impression he likes this audience.

It is strange how a few days in Tor’s company has warped my perspective, not just the station shrinking but my memory of my crewmates too. Georgio was an older man in his mid-fifties, Jacob in his thirties, but both were veteran space cadets. Their bodies were huge masculine pieces of work after years of hard graft and physical training. They always seemed to take up so much space in our ship, but now when I think of how Tor would dwarf them both, I realise they were but little weedlings.

Tor stands, brushing his palms over one another, then points to his work. He clearly wants me to inspect the finished product. Clambering to my feet, I come to look. He’s hovering behind me again and so I make a show of being utterly impressed, and he makes that satisfied purr sound that has me wanting to step into him and grope each of those muscles for myself.

Coughing and scratching at my neck, I step back. It is hot in here again and the room has grown even smaller than it was three minutes ago.

He is peering down at me with those mysterious eyes. In fact, he is gaping at my cleavage.

This is not good. I’ve been on my own too long and my loneliness is clearly distorting into horniness, something I haven’t felt in I don’t know how long. Space cadet training and then missions always had me far too busy for any time to be horny. Most of the time I just felt exhausted.

We need a form of distraction: this time something less physical. I beckon him to follow me and seat him at the computer. As usual he offers me a seat on his lap but I decline and find an upturned crate to drag over to the screen, perching next to him.

“Sheila,” I say.

“Yes, Space Cadet Steele?”

The computer has been surprisingly quiet since Tor’s arrival. It is almost as if she is sulking because I told her to shut up.

I decide I’d better apologise and she accepts graciously.

“We’d like to play chess, please.”

“You want me to make you cry like a baby again,” she trash-talks.

“No, I’d like a two player game.”

“Ok, loser.”

I shake my head and turn to find Tor looking utterly confused at this dialogue with the computer, but when the chess screen pings up, it captures his attention.

“Chess,” I tell him. “It’s a game.”

Now I realise how stupid this idea is. How on earth will I explain the complex rules of chess to him when he barely speaks my language? But I’m committed now so I plough on. It is slow and agonising, but to his credit he remains calm and interested throughout.

I’m stunned; if the circumstances were reversed, I would have stormed off in frustration by now. But he is eager to learn, and again I have the strange impression that this is as much to please me as to sate his own curiosity.

After what seems like hours, but is possibly only two at most, we attempt a game.

“My money’s on the large alien with the big brain,” Sheila chirps up as we both begin with a move of our pawns.

“What?!” I laugh. “You’re meant to be on my side.”

“The computer,” Tor struggles to find the words.

“Is bloody rude, yes.”

“Rude?”

“Yes, rude and funny.”

“Funny?” He points to my mouth and then imitates the noise of my laugh. It sounds so utterly absurd in his deep tones, his face deadly serious, that I let out an ungainly snort and dissolve into a peal of laughter.

“Funny?” he asks, perplexed.

“Yes, funny,” I gasp in between giggles. “Tor, you are funny.”

Although he doesn’t understand the joke, my merriment is obviously infectious and a genuine smile creeps across his lips. I am beginning to like his smile, and his eyes, and his strong arms a little too much.

We stare at each other with giant grins on our faces. Like two dumb-struck fools.

“Space Cadet Steele, your move,” the computer nudges me, jolting me out of my reverie.

My cheeks flush and I scratch my neck as I examine the screen and make my next move.

I win the first three matches quickly and easily, but when I suggest we break for lunch, Tor shakes his head and presses me back into my seat. It seems the large alien is competitive; very competitive. I’m not surprised. I doubt someone his size is used to losing.

On the fourth game, it is clear he is beginning to pick the game up. I can almost see the little cogs in his head spinning as he studies the board and applies what he has already learnt. This match is tougher. I find myself almost walking straight into a trap he’s laid me, and need to concentrate more intently after that.

“Wow,” I say nodding, “impressive.”

But I still win this game, and the next, and then have to insist we eat as my stomach growls so loud it almost sounds like thunder.