Page 18 of Alien Desire
“Yes,” she nods and satisfaction floods my body. But this is short lived as the little Omega proceeds to head in the opposite direction away from where the table is laid out.
“Omega,” I purr.
She halts, then gestures to her body. I am not sure what this means. Is she inviting me to touch her again? I can’t help but lick my lips and begin to step forward, but she scurries away into the sleeping quarters before I reach her, shutting and bolting the door.
Stomping to the table, I flop down and shove a vuvu berry in my mouth, chewing with vigour. My plan is not running the way I foresaw. My plans so rarely fail and I am at a loss as to what to do.
By the end of the day, I’m sure I will have upgraded the computer system enough to send a distress signal to my planet. I suspect it will be mere days before they come to collect me. I must have mated the Omega by then. But at this agonising rate, I wonder if I ever will.
And then what? Unmated, my father could claim her, or perhaps the medical facility will whisk her away for study. Neither of these options are agreeable. I already feel an obligation towards her. Like I once did for Fly.
Finally, she reemerges. She’s dressed, to my disappointment, in her usual loose fitting overalls.
“Food,” I say, attempting the uplifting of the lips in the expression I’ve seen her make frequently when she is happy. Her eyes fall to my mouth and one eyebrow quirks upwards on her face. “Smile, happy.” I tell her, experimenting with more words I’ve learnt.
Nodding, she looks down at the food I’ve laid out and a smile appears on her own face.
We eat together and I am intrigued by the expressions of pleasure that pass over her face — more smiles, eye flutters, little sighs — and the way she licks and sucks her fingers to hunt down every last miniscule of flavour and taste. She especially likes the vuvu berries, which pleases me immensely.
The little Omega eats a lot, unlike me. I pick at the food, finding my appetite has vanished, my belly already full with the apprehension of what will happen next. When she is finished, she sits back in her seat and I wait for her to let it be known that she is now ready to mate. I am unsure in what manner she will communicate this. Perhaps she will present me with her opening. Perhaps she will bear the nape of her neck to me. Or perhaps she will submit and kneel before me. My cock hardens at all these possibilities.
Unfortunately none materialise and the Omega wanders off to undertake more futile tasks.
In frustration, I stride to the computer and start running further programmes which will allow my translation device to more quickly learn her language. She meanders over and hovers by my elbow, watching my busy fingers.
She reminds me once again of Fly and I remember how the creature enjoyed curling up in my lap. I draw back my chair, making space between me and the desk, and pat my thigh. The Omega ignores this gesture and I try a second time. “Emma sit,” I tell her.
Her scent informs me that she would very much like to perch on my lap, but instead she frowns (an expression in direct contrast to her smile) and shakes her head. Her response confuses and further frustrates me, so I draw my chair back and concentrate on growing my understanding of the language and finishing the upgrade to the computer.
Both tasks are proving more difficult than I first predicted. The translation device is adding words to my vocabulary at the pace of a shmail and the computer can not simply be re-coded. I need to dismantle and rebuild it completely. The problem is I need more than the trunk has provided. I need to go back to the ship. To be honest, the prospect thrills me. I want to explore more of this planet and understand more of this new universe I think I have stumbled into.
Plus riding out on her quad machine will allow me to demonstrate my driving prowess to the Omega. I am considered a skilled pilot and an accomplished rider among the Alphas. When she sees how proficiently I navigate the terrain, how powerfully I handle her rudimentary transportation machine, I am sure she will be impressed. Omegas like these displays of power.
Then perhaps she will finally initiate the mating.
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.
