Spacegal Chapter 2
Content Warning – #Lewd smut (though this chapter is very light on it).
(Working title: Spacegal Fruitpie and the Quest for an Epic Sausage)
Geoffrey leaned back against the closed doors of his quarters and let out slow breath, feeling the tension unwind from his body. His hearts hammered in his chest, his pulse pumped loudly in his ears and he was acutely aware of the small spines that ran down the length of his back and tail standing on edge.
He'd expected someone to show up to collect the squid, the little creatures the station staff found on an almost daily basis were always snapped up pretty quickly as exotic pets; but hadn't counted on it being her. If he'd known, he might not have volunteered to take the thing until it found a home; avoided the confrontation altogether. Or would he? He did enjoy seeing her, he really did – but interacting with her was just so... difficult.
If only all of his encounters with her could be like the cargo hold earlier; watching from a distance without her even knowing he was there.
Geoffrey frowned, pushing himself away from the door and moving instead to sit in one of his comfortable old leather chairs. That sounded an awful lot like stalking, he conceded – and he didn't want that. No; he enjoyed her presence, found her oddly alluring for a human female with her short stature and delicate skin that looked like it might tear with the slightest of pressure from his talons, however dull his father had always accused them of being.
Ahh, his talons on her skin... The image came to him unbidden, the tips of his claws tracing along her ivory flesh with just enough pressure to dimple her peculiar scale-less skin, but not pierce it. Would that he could restrain himself to not ravage her, he sighed; if he were ever in a position to be intimate with her, would he be able to resist the fire of his passions?
He tipped his head back and stared up at his ceiling, adorned with the glow-in-the dark stars and moons he'd purchased for an unreasonably large sum from a squirely little trader that had passed through once from Eridani. The thought of transferring to another station came briefly to mind, as it always did when he thought of her and the impossibility of anything ever happening between them, but as always the echo of his brothers chastising him for his cowardice rose bilious with hot anger in his throat and pushed all thoughts of fleeing away.
No – he'd stay, and face his insecurities, face these chance encounters with her, and suffer them gladly. He might not be fit for war, but if he couldn't even stomach the occasional face-to-face conversation with the object of his affections, then what was left?
****
“Where did this creature come from, most-endearing-one?” Wryk'ars sidled up behind Cam, who stood in front of Brat's tank dropping little morsels of raw fish into the murky water. “Forgive this one's potentially improper imposition, but is it perhaps not a little dirty?” “Dirty? The tentacles? You have such a filthy mind,” Cam chuckled. “This one means the water in the tank, most-endearing-one,” Wryk'ars tutted. “Oh! Right. I don't know why it's like that; it would get cloudy and I'd put fresh clear water in but it would just cloud right up again so I stopped trying to fight it. Seems to be how he likes it.” “And from where does it hail?” “Ah, yeah, uh... I actually got it from Geoffrey,” Cam winced. Wryk'ars had been in the process of snaking a couple of azolae around Cam's waist to play around her belly button, but the movement froze when Cam mentioned that name, and the azolae receded a little. “This one sees.” “It's not – I mean, there's nothing going on. I don't know the guy. He just happened to be the one who found this thing, and Vi told me about it, so if I wanted it I had to fetch it from him.” “Could friend-of-most-endearing-one not have collected it on most-endearing-one's behalf?” “I suppose she could have, but what's the point?” Cam bristled now. “Look, there's nothing going on. If you don't trust me on that then I don't really care; we never defined any terms to what we have. It's just a bit of fun, right? Entertainment while we both have time to kill.” “Of course,” Wryk'ars turned away from Cam and picked up their jacket from the back of a nearby chair. “This one should be leaving. This one has conference to attend during next scheduled pick-up and so this one will not be at the station four our usual... bit of fun.” She could tell she'd upset them and a momentary pang of guilt tugged at her, but the feeling was quickly replaced by annoyance. She'd always felt that Wryk'ars assigned more importance to their relationship, such as it was, than she did; they'd even started sending little notes to her employee inbox that were beginning to get sickeningly cutesy in their tone and Cam was having a harder and harder time replying to them without seeming rude. “Yeah, I'll see you whenever. Not like I'm going anywhere. Can you see yourself out? I have to finish feeding Brat or he gets feisty.” Wryk'ars lingered in the middle of the room a moment, and then glided out of the room, panel doors sliding shut with a hiss behind them. Cam sighed, and then started as Brat tapped at her fingertip with an impatient tentacle. “Yes yes, I haven't forgotten,” She picked up another cube of fish and plopped it into the tank. She could vaguely make out Brat's shape inside the murky water, its tentacles curling around the cube of fish and pulling it in towards the center of their body. The water was too cloudy for her to see it, but she knew that the mouth there had a kind of squid-like beak with jagged razor edges that looked like it could take her finger off without much of a fuss. “You'd never do that to me though, would you, Brat?” She let one suckered tentacle absently curl around her finger and stroked it gingerly with her thumb. Though it looked like it should be slimy, the texture was actually somewhat rough and bumpy and more akin to a lizard's skin than some aquatic creature. In the almost-week she'd had Brat, the creature had almost doubled in size, and had an insatiable appetite for anything she put in the tank. She'd been trying to give it a varied diet of meat, fish, bugs and plant-life and it hadn't shown any preference either way; whatever she dropped in, it would consume with vigour. When she wasn't feeding it, it would linger in the back corner of the tank, usually with one or two tentacles stretched out over the top of the tank as if keeping some part of itself anchored to the outside world. It still had a tendency to follow her if she walked around the room within view of the tank, but had stopped flicking her with water after that first night – though that might have had something to do with the little glow-in-the-dark rubber ducky she'd put in the tank with Brat that she could hear it softly splashing about as it played with it after she'd gone to bed. She still hadn't been able to figure out what species it was, but it did seem to possess a reasonable intelligence; she just hadn't had the time between shifts to investigate the limits of that sentience. “Who's a smart little Brat, hmm?” She tapped gently on the tank with her fingers and it tapped the same rhythm back to her. “Yes you are!” She cooed at it; “Yes you are!”
****
“Enhance.” Jareth stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, curling his arm and examining his bicep. “Enhance.” The image on the mirror zoomed in a second time, focusing on his bicep in enlarged detail. “Enhance.” “Can not comply,” The room's AI responded. “Enhance!” “Can not comply,” The cold feminine voice repeated. “Why not?!” Jareth's bicep bulged angrily against the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Maximum zoom level reached. Unable to further enhance image.” “Aww,” Jareth sagged, disappointed. “Fine. Computer!” “Yes?” “Recite statistics of most ripped people on the station.” “Does not compute.” “Oh! Um, I mean -” Jareth fumbled on his desk for a piece of paper and then read the words that someone had scrawled across it. “Recite statistics of personnel with highest muscle density aboard station.” “Retrieving data...” Jareth sat down on the edge of his bed and tapped his foot anxiously. “Define parameters of response,” The computer prompted him. He glanced at the paper again. “Uh – top five personnel ranked lowest to highest. No! Just tell me – am I in the top five?” “Confirmed, Jareth Rockrod stands at position three of defined parameters.” “Three? What the hell?! Who beat me?” “Does not compute.” “Ugh,” Jareth sighed with frustration. “Who is in first and second place?” “In second position, Roth Veotholf. In first position, Eon'eo Grauath.” Jareth sighed, forlorn. “Who is Roth Veotholf?” “Unable to provide details.” Jareth stood and started pacing. “Why not?” “It is against station protocol to divulge personal details on any member of the crew.” “Fine. Who is Eoneeno Growlithe?” “Unable to provide details.” “Well what CAN you do?! Useless computer!” “I can read your blood glucose levels. Scanning – It appears you have not eaten recently. I would recommend a visit to one of the station's several food courts. The nearest food court to your location is 300 meters starboard and twenty-five meters port along the Blue Route marked on the corridor flooring. The food court contains a Machidiel's Grilled Meats, Better Bigger Buffet, Simply Slithers, and Draegan's Fast Food.” “There's a Draegan's here?” Jareth whirled around to the mirror again, grabbing a comb and working it meticulously through his hair. “Why didn't you tell me?” “You did not enquire,” The computer replied matter-of-factly. Jareth checked the fit of the snug black t-shirt he wore, adjusted his junk for maximum visibility under his tight black slacks, sprayed himself liberally with a pungent cologne, practised a few varieties of smile in the mirror ranging from charming to sultry, and then decided he was ready for the world to honour his presence. Or at least, the station. Or at least, whatever deck he was on.
****
“Oh my glorp, is that him? Is that the new guy?? Tell me that's the new guy,” Vi tapped her palms on the table excitedly, looking off over Cam's shoulder. “Don't look! Okay look, but don't make it obvious!!” “I thought you'd have run into him by now,” Cam fake-dropped a serviette on the floor and looked behind her as she leaned down to pick it up. “Yeah, that's him. You're really into that?” “Well durr,” Vi beamed, eyes eagerly tracking Jareth as he strode across the food court and headed straight towards them. “I knew I shouldn't have come to Draegan's. I hate this shitty place with its shitty food and weird creepy staff,” She stared hard at a waiter that was walking past them to another table. He glanced down at her as if he'd heard, and she swore he cracked a smirk. “Smug bastards. What do they have to be so creepy about, huh?” “They're not creepy,” Vi kicked her under the table. “They're just doing their jobs.” “You know, I'm not sure positioning themselves at accurately spaced intervals around the perimeter of the eating area, surveying the clientèle and whispering furtively into their fancy little jerk-ass headsets that probably each cost more than my entire shitty ship that I have to fly INTO SPACE every day constitutes 'doing their job'.” “Wow, Camryn. Tell me how you really feel.” “I'm sorry,” Cam sighed and picked at her small garden salad. It was the only thing she'd felt safe ordering, and didn't really feel comfortable eating that. She'd probably pop down to the canteen on C-deck later and get a nice, juicy sausage from her pal Blimm. “I'm in a shitty mood.” “Wasn't today one of your Wryk'ars days?” “It's pronounced Ars,” She reminded her friend. “The first syllable of Zesluter names is silent.” “That's... so dumb,” Vi shook her head. Cam scowled. “But yeah, that was today.” “You don't sound thrilled?” Vi still had her eyes glued to Jareth, who was now standing in line at the Draegan's counter. “Eh. I think they're more into me than I'm into them. I mean I've suspected that for a while, but they're coming on a bit strong recently and I just don't want that kind of relationship.” “Not with them, at least,” Vi shot Cam a wink and a grin before turning her attention back to Jareth. “Look at that tight little ass. Man, I could just... Nnnggh!” She mimed clamping on with her fingers. “You're disgusting,” Cam muttered. “Wait – what do you mean, not with them?” “ME disgusting? You're the one shacking up with a Zesluter. Having weird names is, like, the way most least weird thing going on in...” she waved her arms around in circles in front of her, “That whole package.” “ 'Way most least weird'? Anyway, they're just a different species,” Cam chided her. “Didn't you have a thing with that Chufer electrician we had for a few months last year, that annoying kid that was doing an apprenticeship here? So a Chufer's fine but a Zesluter isn't?” “I know. I need to get over myself. It's just a lot to wrap my head around. I haven't been around as much as you have. Wait, that came out wrong – I mean, I haven't travelled as much. And you know what I mean. Everyone on the station apart from you and Geoffrey know that you and Geoffrey have a thing for each other.” Cam spluttered on her water. “What the hell is it with everyone shipping me and Geoffrey? I don't know much clearer I can make this. I don't know the dude. We barely say two words to each other because every time I try making conversation with him he clams up, so clearly he doesn't like me, or at the very least, he's indifferent.” “Whatever. It's gonna happen, sooner or later. Ooh! Look! Jareth's coming over!” Cam sighed. “Awesome.” “What are two beautiful women like you doing in a place like this?” Jareth pulled over a chair that looked impossibly small for his frame, turned it so that the back faced the table, and straddled it. “Oh my glorp,” Cam muttered under her breath and pretended to be suddenly engrossed in her salad. “HIIII!” Vi extended her hand and veritably squealed at Jareth. “I'm Vi. Cam told me about you. I work up in comms. She said you're a pilot? Maybe you'll run into my voice in your ear one day!” “Enchanted,” Jareth took Vi's sideways palm and instead turned it downward, planting an over-exaggerated kiss on the back of her hand. Fighting back the urge to hurl, Cam stood up quickly, her chair skittering back and causing some of the waiting staff to frown in her direction. “Hey I'm gonna get going. I'm sure you two will get along just fine. Vi, see you later.” She tossed her bowl of salad into the waste unit in full view of one of the Draegan waiters, making sure he saw her snubbing the food, and then stalked off towards the elevator. She'd known Vi for the few years she'd been on the station and her taste in men had always been questionable, but fawning over Jareth was just something else entirely. Surely she could tell that he was nothing more than a big greaseball in a nicely packaged ego-suit? Although, maybe that was part of the appeal; maybe Jareth could be for Vi what Wryk'ars was for Cam. Something to pass the time on this floating hunk of space-metal.
****
The spines on the back of Geoffrey's neck prickled and he frowned, glancing around the canteen for the source of the tingling. He locked eyes with Camryn. She paused, having just stepped out of the elevator, and for a moment she looked like a Molgovian Nasua caught in the beams of a low-flying Class 1 Zenyth, liable to turn tail and dive for cover at any moment. Instead, she straightened her jacket and stalked purposely towards him – or rather, towards the canteen line – eyes fixed on the ground in front of her. Geoffrey turned his attention forwards again, aware of the agitated back-and-forth flicking the tip of his tail was engaging in but powerless to stop the reactionary movement. With any luck, Camryn wouldn't be so keenly aware of Clackovian behavioural physiology and wouldn't connect the motion to his state of mind. “What's up with your tail? You look like a pissed off cat,” Her voice came from directly behind him. He sighed. So much for that. Geoffrey half-turned and forced a little smile, hearts starting to hammer against his ribcage again. If she looked closely she'd see the frenetic rise and fall of his chest where he kept the top few buttons of his janitorial outfit undone – a necessity; the uniform was compulsory but the station's atmospheric controls were often set a few degrees hotter than he found comfortable. He simultaneously hoped that she would, and wouldn't, look that closely. “Just a little uncomfortable. It's hot standing in line here so close to the kitchen.” “Oh,” She looked momentarily taken aback, and her cheeks flushed the most delicate shade of red, like the petals of the Cassia odora following the first drops of rain of the wet season. In his culture, it was rare for Cleckovians to have red colourations on the patterns of their faces, and those who were born with them were considered manifestations of the divine and lived a life of high stature, serving as a conduit between the people and their Gods. Every time her cheeks flushed it reminded him of this tradition, and the thought of home was a bitter-sweet pang. “You like eating here too? Most people on our deck just go to the fast food courts on the same level, it's more convenient.” “More convenient, but less satisfactory,” He replied, and took a few steps forwards as the queue moved. She paused a moment and he could feel her eyes burrowing into the back of his head, as if waiting for something. Presently, and to his dismay for he was longing to be free of this situation and wished to return to his quarters with his meal where he could eat without having to worry about the kind of impression he was making on this maddeningly intriguing human woman, she resumed the conversation. “I come here for the sausage,” She stated. “Well, one particular kind of sausage.” “Sausage?” He glanced over his shoulder at her. She was really quite small, even by human standards. He imagined he would be able to pick her up with ease, despite having a small frame himself for a Cleckovian and the associated lack of strength from his diminutive muscles. He imagined lifting her, and then imagined what he would do with her after lifting her, and turned away again in a hurry. “You don't know sausages?” “No,” He coughed, not daring to look around this time. “They're...” She paused, and he thought he heard her sighing quietly, and wondered if he had perhaps been too abrupt just then. “They're just processed meat.” He looked down at his feet. His tail had ceased its incessant flicking, but now his talons clack-clacked on the steel floor panels. “Is this... sausage... worth consuming?” He tentatively asked. She stepped up alongside him, and as he instinctively looked towards the movement, his elevated vantage-point granted him a direct line of vision down the V of her jacket. His breath hitched in his throat and he forced his head forwards again, focusing on the person in front. They were placing their order, which meant that he would be served next, which meant that he would soon be free to escape. The knowledge that he was still running away from his problems pressed in from the peripheries of his conscience. Scowling, he shoved the thought aside. He was ill-prepared for surprise encounters with this creature that made his pulse quicken and his spines bristle of their own accord. “Oh, totally,” She beamed up at him. Her teeth were so very flat, but those two upper canines so deliciously inviting with their cute little points. His own teeth were razors by comparison. Smaller than those of his brethren, but still capable of tearing through flesh like butter. Why did he find hers so appealing? By all rights, he shouldn't. “You should try one!” She continued, stretching up onto the tips of her toes with the eagerness of her suggestion. Even that little gesture, something that made next to no difference in the height between them and so was ultimately pointless, made a little shiver run down through his scales. “I... may,” He arched a brow, calculating the risk of trying a new food. The person in the queue in front of them moved along, and before he could react, Camryn had rushed forward. “Two Hempain Buttersausages!” She beamed at the squat creature that manned the paypoint. “You're sharing? Must be a special guy,” The creature glanced up at him with a mischievous smile on his grease-smeared face. “And two cups of Fiestea?” “Oh, um -” She glanced up at him; “Do you drink tea? Just give me two anyway – if Geoffrey doesn't like it, I'll drink it.” Before he could protest, she had flashed her card in front of the scanner and paid for their faire. “That was very kind of you,” He looked down at her, not sure whether to feel irritated that she had presumed to order his meal for him, or honoured by the implication that this Hempain Buttersausage was some kind of rare delicacy and that her sharing with him was a great privilege that she was bestowing upon him. She had a sparkle in her eye when she looked up at him, and ushered him along to the end of the counter to await their order. “I will feel bad if I do not like this... sausage,” He frowned. Camryn shrugged. “If you don't like it, I'll eat it. I could eat a fat, juicy sausage several times a day, I swear. I love 'em.” “But to know that I do not like it I will have to have tasted it,” His brow furrowed. “That's usually how it works, yeah...” “Which in turn means that it will have been in my mouth. You would still consume it?” She chuckled, and the delicate sound made his scales rattle again. “I'm not really a prude with stuff like that. I mean, I know you've passed your health checks or you wouldn't still be working here. Oh! Wait – is it some kind of cultural thing where you come from? That you don't share food that other people have eaten?” He paused to digest her words; her casual manner of speaking to him tended to leave him flustered, especially when paired with the constant flushing of her cheeks when she looked at him. The strong superstitions of his cultural upbringing would have him believe that the divines were manifesting their will through her to him, even though he knew that to be most unlikely. “Sharing food is something only done between close partners,” He finally admitted. “Although, I have had to leave other traditions behind in the many years since my... Since leaving,” He checked himself. “If this is something that has lesser significant meaning to you, I will attempt comfort with it.” “Hey, it's no biggy,” She looked bashful for a moment. “It's cool, either way.” The canteen chef emerged from the back room carrying two cartons stacked atop each other in one hand, and two steaming mugs in the other. He gave Geoffrey a cursory look, turned to Camryn and winked at her, set the food and drinks down atop the counter, and then waddled back into the kitchen. “Grub's up,” Camryn handed him his mug and the tray with the sausage in it, which he took gingerly, peering with curiosity at the contents of both. “So hey! Do you, uh... I usually eat over -” “The cargo bay,” Geoffrey peered down at her. “I – I saw you there, once,” He quickly added. “I was cleaning.” “Yeah. It's uh...” She paused, and chewed her bottom lip, as if struggling with what was coming next. “It's quiet there, and has that big window. If you wanted to, I mean. We can eat here if you rather.” “Food is food,” He shrugged, not sure it was a good idea to be alone with her and only these sausages between them. “Wherever it is eaten.” “Right,” She frowned, pausing in indecision. “But the view is nice,” Geoffrey continued, sensing that his response had caused her some distress, and started walking towards the cargo bay. A silence fell between them and their footfalls echoed over the corrugated steel floor tiles and along the corridor walls. He thought of a handful of conversational topics, dismissed as soon as they sprang to mind for a variety of neurotic reasons, and then remembered that she had picked up the creature from him recently. “How is the phaelis?” He asked. “I'm sorry?” She glanced up at him. “The phaelis. How is it?” “The phallus?” “Yes,” He frowned, trying to remember whether the human auditory system worked by radar and whether their echoing footsteps were perhaps muddying her senses. “I don't know what phallus you're referring to, Geoffrey, and even if I did, I'm not entirely sure that asking about it would be any of your business...” He stopped walking and looked down at her with some concern. Had he imagined it? No – he had found a phaelis, noted himself in the station logs as the temporary owner, taken it back to his quarters, she had collected it (which itself had caused him much distress following her unexpected arrival at his quarters in the middle of the night), and now there was most certainly no phaelis in his room, and so she must have it. “Of course you know what phaelis – the one I gave you. And I don't know why asking about it would not be any of my business considering I'm the one who gave you the phaelis in the first place.” “Wait a minute – are you saying you gave me the D?” She had stopped walking too, and her face was flushed again, but not just her cheeks – her entire head from the neck upwards was turning a progressively brighter shade of crimson. “Yes,” He replied confidently, remembering he had met a human woman by the name of Nadine once and assuming that's what she'd named the creature. An odd name for a creature such as that, but then no odder than any other non-Cleckovian traditions and cultures he had come across in his years since exile. “You're saying gave me the D and now you're asking me how it was?” “...Yes?” He didn't understand her confusion over this. Was her brain malfunctioning? Was she experiencing memory loss? Should he report her to sick bay for a check-up? “Fucking unbelievable,” She muttered and stormed off down the corridor back towards the canteen, leaving Geoffrey standing alone with his tea and his sausage, listening to her footfalls fading until he could no longer hear them.
Thank you for reading! If you liked it, let me know at WelshPixie <3