James downed his second shot of whiskey, trying to ignore the fumes from the cigarettes and cigars that clouded the air in the recreational facility, the sound of other UNN personnel and a few aliens socializing and playing pool behind him distracting as he tried to enjoy his drinks. He was new to the Pinwheel, and he had just shipped in with another two dozen recruits to undergo training to become a Marine. After some basic orientation, he and the other recruits had been set loose into the massive space station to explore, and James had found himself alone at the bar. He had no direction besides the colorful lines painted on the floor of the station, so he had followed the one that had promised recreation, and here he was.
It was all rather overwhelming, he had gone from the strict regimen of a planetside boot camp, to being thrust into this new environment with no instructions other than to be present for roll call the next morning. This place had a different vibe, it was still a military installation by any measure, yet things felt more laid back. The people who were stationed here treated it as their home, that much was obvious from the way that they carried themselves and the way that they interacted with eachother, that fear of addressing a superior incorrectly or doing something wrong seemed absent. Marines, aliens, engineers and even civilians interacted freely when they were off-duty. The recreational center was bustling with activity, and James felt like an outcast among them, he didn’t know anybody yet and without the structure that boot camp had provided he felt lost.
He took another sip of his beverage and turned to watch them, crowding their tables as they drank and ate while they chatted, aliens and humans competing at games such as pool or poker as they laughed riotously or cursed at their bad luck. He watched a Marine pat the broad shoulder of his Krell companion in encouragement, the giant reptile puffing on a cigar as it lined up a shot with its pool cue, their cohorts around the table cheering as they watched the play.
Everyone was similarly dressed, despite the mellow atmosphere in the facility everyone wore their uniforms, variations of blue jumpsuits that denoted their positions in the hierarchy. There were a few standouts, engineers wearing yellow overalls and civilians wearing casual clothes, but for the most part the room was a sea of navy blue.
James did not yet understand the social dynamic here, people formed cliques and insular communities wherever you went, and he wasn’t sure how to approach people. Logic dictated that he should make friends with some of the other recruits, there was safety in numbers, yet he seemed to be the only one who had made their way here so far.
He was alone at the bar, people came up to order drinks and food before departing, but nobody sat beside him on the vacant stools. Just as he was about to cut his losses and make his way back to the barracks, something large and heavy took up a seat to his right. He chanced a glance at the figure in dimly lit, hazy atmosphere, and was alarmed to see a Borealan sitting beside him.
It was huge, eight feet tall at least, and apparently female. The feline alien had tanned skin with sandy blonde hair and fur, two round ears protruded from the top of its head and a long, serpentine tail trailed off the stool to rest on the deck behind her. She looked almost like a human wearing novelty monster gloves, but her long digitigrade legs gave her away as truly alien.
James had been informed about Borealans, or rather warned, they were members of the multi-species Coalition to which the UNN belonged and they were allied with humans in the war against the Bugs. They were notoriously ill-tempered and there was a whole list of do’s and don’ts when it came to interacting with them, unlike the Krell who were said to be friendly to a fault.
The alien lit an e-cigarette, and he averted his gaze, not wishing to anger her. He turned his attention back to his beverage and she slammed her dinner-plate sized, furry hand down on the counter, her three fingers tipped with wicked claws.
“Barkeep, raises the hair.”
James didn’t understand the request, but soon realized that it was a drink as the bar tender slid an enormous glass across the bar and into her waiting hand. She lifted the pink drink to her lips and took a draw, then noticed that he was looking at her. A few emotions crossed her face in sequence, at first her flat brow furrowed and she wrinkled her feline nose at him, and then her expression turned more sly and she placed her drink back on the counter as she examined him with her yellow eyes.
“What’s this? Fresh meat? What are you staring at, you so muddy you’ve never met a Borealan before?”
Muddy, a term used by those in the service and the more well-traveled aristocracy to refer to people who had never left the surface of a planet before. He was indeed muddy, but he didn’t want to admit to that, especially not to the first person who had engaged him in conversation so far. He fought against the instinctual desire to skulk out of view of the massive predator, choosing to assert himself instead, it was perhaps ill-advised but she couldn’t do much to harm him in this crowded venue.
“I know what a Borealan is,” he replied, trying to appear more confident than he really was.
Her ears twitched, and he wasn’t quite sure what her reaction would be, but then she laughed and gave him a playful punch to the arm that almost knocked him off his seat. She took another draw from her beverage, drinking around her e-cigarette in a way that he found extremely loutish.
“And what are you doing here, little recruit?” She had noticed the rank insignia on his lapel, or rather the lack of one. “You an alcoholic or are you just lost? Drinking alone, has to be one of the two.”
She had caught him out, and he couldn’t think of a way to spin his situation positively.
“Well ... I’m not an alcoholic.”
She chuckled at that, he seemed to be making a good impression so far. She was wearing a blue uniform too, her insignia denoting that she was a PFC, a Private First Class, not dramatically more qualified than he was. She might not have been here for much longer than he had, though she was still his superior.
“How about you?” James asked. “You’re drinking alone too.”
“I’m not drinking alone, I’m drinking with you.”
“And what are you drinking?”
She raised the glass so that he could see it, it looked like fruit juice, pink champagne maybe.
“Raises the hair, a drink from my home planet. I can’t abide that poison humans make, I want to get buzzed, not black out and have my liver shut down.”
Sounded like Borealans couldn’t handle their alcohol, maybe there was some biological reason for that, but he suspected that ‘raises the hair’ was little more than fruit punch.
“So why did you come to the bar? Most of the new recruits end up in the tourist quarter, or hang around the barracks because they’re too scared to leave on their own.”
“I followed the painted line on the floor, and it took me here,” James replied. “I didn’t know that ‘recreation’ meant a bar, well it’s not just a bar, but I don’t know anyone yet and I’m not about to intrude on card games played between Marines and Krell.”
“Those big dumb lizards love their games,” she grumbled, turning to get a look at the expansive room behind them. “Most Borealans spend their free time at the gym, we’re not used to downtime and this low gravity plays hell with our muscle mass.”
Now that she brought it up, she really was huge, her jumpsuit barely served to contain her and he wasn’t just talking about her muscles. She was overdeveloped by human standards, breasts larger than a human’s head strained against her clothing, though they were appropriate for her exaggerated stature. He quickly averted his gaze, and requested a refill from the bar tender, handing over some more UNN currency as the man poured his drink.
“So ... what is there to do on this station?”
She scoffed, and blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into his face, James waving his hand to clear the air and coughing.
“What am I, a tour guide? Go check it out for yourself, pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to be doing right now, not sulking at the bar. You’re not going to make any friends if you don’t talk to people.”
“I’m talking to you,” he shot back, and she smirked.
“I think technically ‘I’m’ talking to ‘you’, but it’s a start. You’re pretty feisty, what’s your name?”
“Well James, didn’t they brief you on how to interact with Borealans, or do you just not care?”
“You don’t seem too bad-tempered to me, I figure if you’ve not clawed my head off so far, I’m probably in the clear.”
“Hey, I’m a civilized Borealan,” she replied. “I don’t make a point of clawing up humans,” she leaned in closer to whisper to him, “not unless they ask me to.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, choking on the drink he had been in the process of sipping as she laughed at his reaction.
“Datz, have you found a new human to torment?”
Her expression turned sour and she spun around on the bar stool to look over her shoulder, ears swiveling to track the source of the voice. Another Borealan was walking towards them from the entrance, this one a head taller than his drinking companion, and covered in snow-white fur from head to toe. James wasn’t sure what to make of it, all of the Borealans he had seen so far had been mostly naked, much in the same way that humans were. They had fur on their forearms and lower legs, along with their tails, but besides that their skin was smooth. This one was covered in a downy coat, even on her face, and she was far heavier. It was another female, even more endowed than Datz was, she might have been downright fat if her weight hadn’t been distributed so ... attractively. She looked like she was built for cold weather, with wide hips and a paunchy belly that protruded beneath her civilian clothing. This one wasn’t military, her abundant chest was stuffed into a white lab coat, perhaps she was medical or science staff?
She passed by Datz, who scowled at her as she took up a seat on the stool to James’ left. It sank on a spring that was obviously designed to handle the weight of these aliens, creaking under her bulk as her ample rear spilled over the sides of the seat. James had never seen a creature with such sheer mass before, besides the reptilian Krell, who were used as living tanks and battering rams.
He now found himself sandwiched between the two giant Borealans, pressing down on him from both sides as the bar tender looked on sympathetically.
“What are you doing down here, Railha?” Datz spat.
“I’m off-duty, just the same as you. Now, who is this human I’ve just rescued from your boorish company?” Her accent sounded odd, almost Russian to his ears.
“I’m James,” he replied sheepishly. The alien called Railha shook her giant head and turned her attention back to Datz.
“Still preying on the new recruits, Datz? I would have thought you might have set your sights a little higher by now.”
“What business is it of yours?” Datz replied, taking a long draw of her e-cigarette before continuing. “This one doesn’t need a tetanus shot ... at least not yet.”
She must be some kind of doctor then, and the two knew eachother? James suddenly felt as if he was sitting between two angry dogs who were about to go at it, but they had involved him in their conversation now, and he was unable to slink away without them noticing.
“Are you lost, little one?” Railha asked. She looked down at him with her sapphire-blue eyes, framed by the dark patterning on her fur, spots and rings like coffee stains that must have been camouflage. It gave the impression that she was wearing some kind of mask, like a raccoon, or something that one might wear to a masquerade ball.
“He’s fine,” Datz blurted before he could reply, “he knows where he is, ain’t that right James?”
He looked back and forth between them, unsure of how to respond, nursing his drink uncomfortably.
“Oh, we’re overwhelming the poor thing,” Railha crooned. “He might never have seen an alien before today if he’s come straight from Earth.”
“You’re the one overwhelming him, puffball,” Datz grumbled over another mouthful of her pink beverage. “We were getting along just fine before you showed up.”
“Datz and I are good friends,” Railha clarified, “and by that I mean she hates me and we spend all of our time together arguing.”
“Maybe I should go,” James said apologetically, beginning to rise from seat. He felt two heavy hands on his shoulders, the aliens to his left and right preventing him from leaving. He sank back into his seat, and Datz patted him on the back with a little too much force, knocking the wind out of him.
“Stick around kid, we’re having a good time,” she said as she blew another cloud of acrid smoke in his direction.
“Now now, let’s not be too hasty,” Railha chuckled. “You’re new to the Pinwheel and we should be making you feel at home, isn’t that right Datz?”
“You only want him because I want him,” the dark-skinned Borealan replied bitterly. This situation was rapidly spiraling out of control, James was out of his element and he had to find a way to turn this around before he ended up in the middle of a literal cat fight.
“So ... how do you two know eachother,” he volunteered, “are you from the same city maybe?”
Datz laughed at that, then realized that he wasn’t joking.
“Fuck no, I’m from Elysia and she’s a Polar, are you really that muddy?”
“Calm down Datz, maybe he doesn’t know the difference. He’s new here, we should be teaching him the ropes, not berating him for being uninformed.” Railha puffed her chest out proudly, very nearly concussing him with her breasts as he leaned out of her way to avoid them. “I’m a Polar, our bodies are furred because we come from the polar region of Borealis, which has a very cold climate. Humans seem to consider my people friendly and sophisticated, and we pride ourselves on our social prowess. Datz is an Equatorial ... the other race,” she said dismissively. “Don’t worry, she’s gone through the integration program, so she isn’t quite feral.”
“Keep it up and I’ll show ya feral,” Datz snarled. James leaned back towards Railha, alarmed.
“Don’t make threats that you can’t deliver on, Datz, I’ve had to patch you up enough times to know that you’re all hiss and no claw.”
The Equatorial grumbled and took another draw from her massive glass, downing what must have been half a liter of the pink liquid in one go. James wasn’t sure if getting drunk would make her more or less sociable.
“Elysians are warriors,” she muttered, “Polars think they can solve all of their problems by talking. Cowardly if you ask me.”
“I don’t believe that he did,” Railha replied, and James felt as if he was going to melt into the floor. It was hard to tell if this was banter between friends, or genuine aggression, he had no idea how to read Borealan social cues.
“A-A round on me,” he blurted, trying to diffuse the tension. “What are you having?”
“Now that’s more like it,” Datz said, “I’ll have another one of these.” She tapped her glass with her black claws, and leaned across the counter to wave over the bar tender.
James looked to Railha, who seemed to be considering as she scratched her furry chin.
“Well, I won’t refuse, it would be ill-mannered of me. I’ll have the same.”
The bar tender poured two more glasses of the pink liquid and passed them to the aliens, James ordering another shot of whiskey, at this point just to steady his nerves.
“So James,” Railha said as she took a conservative sip of her drink, “are you from Earth or one of the colonies?”
“I’m from Earth.”
“And how long have you been on the station?”
“Just one day, I’m still getting my bearings.”
“Sounds like you need somebody to show you around, what do you say I give you the tour?”
Before he could reply, Datz slammed her furry fist on the counter, making her glass of pink liquid jump.
“I saw this one first,” she growled, “go find your own.”
Railha smirked, leaning on the bar and resting her head in her hand as she batted her eyes at the snarling Equatorial.
“If you’re not able to keep it, then it doesn’t belong to you, isn’t that the Elysian philosophy?”
James was growing increasingly nervous, he wasn’t sure what they were implying exactly, but he didn’t particularly want to leave with either of them. It felt as if they were about to come to blows, and one misplaced claw swipe looked as if it could sever his head from his shoulders. A plan was forming though, Datz had let on that her species couldn’t handle much alcohol, and the way Railha was sipping at her drink the same must be true for her too. If he could get them both wasted, then he might be able to slip away, it was worth a shot.
“I have an idea,” he said, and the aliens turned their attention to him. “When humans want to resolve an argument, they have a competition, if they’re in a bar then a drinking competition is customary. Whoever can drink the most alcohol wins.”
“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Railha started, “but Borealans can’t metabolize alcohol very well. Anything much stronger than traditional drinks from the homeworld will floor us pretty quickly.”
“Then the argument won’t take long to resolve!”
Railha considered for a moment, scratching her fluffy chin with her black claw, then Datz leaned across the bar with a determined expression.
“I’ll do it,” she hissed, “I’m not afraid.”
James turned to look up at Railha expectantly, and after a moment of hesitation she shrugged.
“Very well, I accept the challenge.”
“May the best ... alien win,” James said, calling over the bar tender.
“What are we drinking?” Datz asked. “Raises the hair, or some human drink? Railha, you know medicine, what is safe?”
“Wine should be safe for us to drink in large quantities. It’s similar in taste to raises the hair and the alcohol content, while far higher, should not be immediately dangerous. We would lose our faculties long before it did our bodies any damage.”
James ordered some from the bar tender, realizing when neither of his companions offered up any credits that he was expected to pay for it all. Good job they couldn’t handle their drink, or he’d be eating MREs for the next couple of weeks...
The man placed a shot glass in front of both aliens, then set a bottle of red wine before James, who was starting to suspect that he was a damned mute. Maybe he was just used to dealing with Borealans and found it best to stay out of their way, it certainly seemed wise from where James was sitting.
“So, how do we do this?” Railha asked, taking the first shot glass in her hand. It was minute in her giant, sausage-like fingers, as if she was holding a glass from a doll house.
“You drink at the same time, and the first one to quit or pass out loses.”
Datz picked up a glass too, and waved it at James, who filled it with wine. It was all rather absurd, drinking wine in shot glasses as if it were the strongest vodka known to man, but as long as it did its job he might be able to weasel his way out of this situation before either of the aliens laid claim to him.
Datz was the first to go, slamming the drink and grimacing as she swallowed it, glaring at Railha in challenge. The Polar followed suit, downing the glass of red wine in one, and placing her shot glass back on the counter. James refilled them, it was hard to take the situation seriously and he had to suppress a grin as the two aliens drank their next shot.
“I won’t lose to you,” Datz spat, “my body is the peak of physical fitness. Unlike you, you ... fat hairball.” She had been drinking before the competition had started, and she was already starting to slur her words. James was beginning to worry, the plan wouldn’t work if Datz lost outright.
“My fat is for insulation,” Railha whispered to James. “My weight is entirely appropriate for my species, besides I think I carry it pretty well, wouldn’t you agree?” James didn’t reply, pouring the pair a third shot as he tried to keep his eyes off her ample bust, her chest straining against the fabric of her white lab coat as it rested heavily on the counter.
“Leave him be, we’re not done yet,” Datz grumbled. “Besides, you won’t get anywhere that way, they don’t respond to your Polar conniving.”
“They most certainly do,” Railha shot back, “they prefer it. I know from experience.”
“Nope,” Datz said as she raised another glass to her lips and drank it down, “humans like it when you take charge.”
“I’m sitting right here,” James protested, but they ignored him as they continued their feud.
“You can’t just take them by the hair and have your way with them, what if they don’t like you, what if they fight back? You’ll get in trouble and they’ll throw you in the brig, did the integration program teach you nothing about human social norms? Besides, they’re sensitive creatures, you can’t just treat them like a subordinate pack member.”
“Strength is the norm, they respond to it as does everyone. Can you honestly say that if the biggest, strongest Patriarch on Borealis took you, you’d fight him off?”
“Well ... he would certainly have to woo me first,” Railha said as she drank another shot. James had decided to just keep quiet and continue replenishing their drinks, with any luck they would lose track of how much they had consumed.
“Bah, have you seen Patriarch Elysiedde? He looks like he was carved from bedrock by artisans, you’d fall on your back and open your fat thighs at the sight of him.”
“See this is the problem with Equatorials,” Railha said, her own speech now starting to come through a little less eloquent. “No appreciation for romance, all you want to do is fuck like savages and then go your separate ways. Humans don’t like that any more than Polars do, they want to make a connection, they want you to make them feel special and ... wanted.”
“Say that to the last recruit I had,” Datz laughed, “he wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t walking straight afterwards either.”
“And will he come back because he can’t get you out of his head? Will he bring you gifts and shower you with attention in that adorable way that that humans tend to do when you’ve charmed them?”
“What’s the point of all that? If I can have him now, why wait? If I want him a second time, or a third, then I’ll go fetch him.”
Railha shook her head in disbelief, and sighed, gesturing for James to pour her another shot.
“When you eat, do you go straight for the main course or do you savor the entree? Every subtle taste contributes to the overall dining experience, you want the flavors of your cheeses or your veal to compliment and enhance the main course, even the garnish adds to the mood. The strawberry and rhubarb in your pavlova is as much a component of the meal as your suckling pig, the condiments as important as the choice of meats.”
“Trust a Polar to compare sex to food,” Datz laughed, “screw the entree. I want juicy meat, and lots of it. When I attend a banquet before the winters I want my pick of the dishes, and I want to eat my fill until I pass out. No waiting around for the servers to bring me this and that, I want to sink my claws into a freshly roasted carcass and strip it until I see the white of its bones.”
“And this is why Elysian cuisine doesn’t make it out of Elysia.”
“Sex should be raw and violent,” Datz clarified, her eyes glazing over as she daydreamed about the subject. “Like a good fight, you listen to your gut and trust your instincts, if you overthink it you lose that primal fire.”
Railha shook her head as she drank another helping of wine, what were they on now, five or six shots each?
“You know, we have a human in our company, maybe it would be best to just let him decide who is right?” Railha leaned down so that she could whisper into James’ ear, her breath warm on his skin, she smelled of the wine. “How about it, James? What would you choose?”
His cheeks flushed red and he looked around momentarily as if someone in the room might be able to help him, but the crowds had thinned as their competition had gone on, most of the personnel had gone back to their quarters to get some rest before their next shift.
“You’re already doing it wrong,” Datz complained. “Here, watch this.” She discarded her cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke, then set upon James. She gripped him by the collar and spun him in his chair so that his back was facing the bar, then lifted him out of his seat with the ease that one might lift a doll, slamming him onto the counter and looming over him. She sank her clawed fingers into his hair, gripping him somewhat painfully, then slammed her oversized lips against his. His yelp of surprise was cut short as she forced her long, rough tongue into his mouth, the wet muscle wriggling like some kind of fleshy serpent as she subjected him to a deep and sordid kiss. There was so much of it, it just kept coming, like some kind of party trick where a magician would pull a length of ribbons from his pocket, thick and powerful as its tapered tip explored his head. He did his best to fight it off with his own tongue, but the muscle was so wet and vigorous, slimy with her saliva as it bulged his cheeks. He felt it glance the back of his throat, and he choked a little, the organ painting the inside of his mouth as it roved and coiled.
Nobody had ever kissed him like this before, it was wanton and greedy, callous in its indifference to his human limitations. Something about that made his heart hammer in his chest, his legs going weak as she drew the kiss out. Datz tasted of wine and tobacco, her tongue wrestling with his own as she held him by the hair, her claws pricking his scalp. She had him pinned against the counter, trapped between the fake wood finish, and the weight of her body as her large breasts rested atop his torso. They were so damned heavy, it was like having two military backpacks loaded with gear perched on top of him.
It just kept going, shivers ran down his spine like questing fingers as she licked and mouthed, her lips full and soft as they interlocked clumsily with his, a strand of her thick saliva escaping to wet his chin as her organ grazed the roof of his mouth. This wasn’t a kiss it was an invasion, crude and bawdy, yet he couldn’t help but push back against her in search of more. His cheeks burned fever hot as he started to see stars dance before his eyes, he was beginning to run out of air and with her higher lung capacity, Datz might not even notice. His spine arched off the bar as she delivered an especially deft and salacious swipe with her slippery tongue, his brain fogging, but just as he felt as if he might pass out she released his hair and drew back with a wet smack. A strand of her viscous saliva connected her rosy lips to his, before she wiped it away with the back of her hand, grinning down toothily at the panting wreck she had created.
She lifted him again, and roughly dropped him back into his seat, turning him to face the bar as if nothing had happened. James took a moment to get his bearings as he leaned on the counter for support, chest heaving and heart pounding, an unwelcome erection now straining against the fabric of his underwear.
“Look how red he is,” Datz declared to Railha with a wave of her hand, “that’s how you woo a human.” She turned her attention back to the beleaguered James and leaned in close, pinching his ear between her sharp teeth before murmuring to him in her husky voice. “If I told you to, you’d come back to my quarters with me, wouldn’t you? You’d do anything I wanted, right?”
Before James could stammer his reply, Railha wrapped her long arm around his shoulders, pulling him away from the Equatorial and hugging him against her paunchy body as if to protect him. Datz frowned at her and crossed her arms.
“Nonsense, I’m sure he’s shocked and insulted by your unsolicited advances, isn’t that right James? So uncouth...” He didn’t reply, still recovering from Datz’s invasive kiss. “You just skipped all of the foreplay, there’s no tact, no finesse. A kiss should start slow and gentle, then build along with your arousal, growing more intimate until it reaches a crescendo and you can’t help but fall upon eachother. All you did was stick your tongue down his throat,” she added, with a disparaging glance towards the scowling Equatorial. Datz slammed another shot of wine, getting comfortable in her seat as if she was about to watch a show.
“This is how you’re supposed to do it,” Railha declared, cupping James’ face in her furry palm and turning him to towards her. Her eyes were so blue he realized, as she gazed down at him, reflective in the low light of the dingy bar. Her stare sent a fresh shiver rolling down his spine as she leaned nearer to him, unwavering and covetous, and again he felt his heartbeat begin to quicken. Her fur was silky and soft on his cheek, and she stroked him with her thumb as she closed in, placating and considerate in comparison to Datz’s ruthless attentions.
“Relax,” she whispered, her voice low and reassuring. “I won’t bite.”
She pressed her forehead against his, chuckling softly, then kissed him. Her lips were smooth and soft, her first kiss little more than a peck, then she caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged it gently. All the while her downy hands were on his face or in his hair, stroking his skin, holding him. He felt as if he were floating on a cloud, surrounded by white velvet as Railha mouthed a little more ardently, slipping her tongue into his mouth ever so slightly to tease him with her copper taste. She too smelled of wine, though the cigarette smell was absent, the flavor of her saliva was metallic and her natural scent was musky.
She seemed reluctant to push deeper, modest and measured in her gentle embrace, as if waiting for him to reciprocate. Finally the teasing became too much for him to bear, an unfamiliar urgency rising in his chest as he met her kiss, leaning into her inviting body and delving his fingers into the delicate fur on her cheek as she wrapped her arms around him. He felt her hand on the back of his head, another crawling down his back, her dexterous tongue entering his mouth with a skill and delicacy that set the hair on his arms standing on end.
She rewarded him with placid strokes of her agile tongue, tender and loving, as if she might express some deep longing for him through nothing more than her embrace. Her organ was just as long and rough as Datz’s had been, but the way she maneuvered it was so much more sympathetic and subdued. James felt his muscles relax, letting her hold him with a hand on the small of his back for support, her fingers combing his hair and sending pulses of seething pleasure through his body.
She broke away for a moment, keeping him close, panting warm breath on his face.
“Do you like it? Do you want me to stop?”
“God ... d-don’t stop,” he mumbled. Railha smiled and closed in again, leaning him over so that he was almost prone in her arms, Datz grumbling to herself as she watched them with her drink in her hand. This next kiss was stronger and more passionate, her long tongue sliding past his lips and coiling around his own like a snake, his breath coming in sharp gasps whenever she relented a little and gave him room to breathe. It was so thick and meaty, its somewhat rough, feline surface grazing him as she piled more of its obscene length inside. She moaned softly as she roved, the sound making his erection throb beneath his clothing, his eyes watering as she explored his throat.
He sucked it and played his tongue over its surface, their slimy flesh entwined in a wonderful dance, Railha relentless in her efforts. James worried that he might climax if she were to touch him below the belt right now, such was the intensity and raw sexuality of her kiss, becoming less measured and more erotic as it dragged on.
She broke off suddenly, her tongue sliding back out his mouth like a giant strand of spaghetti, leaving him feeling cold and dissatisfied as she propped him up on his chair again. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and what he had been doing, his face a shade of beet red as he looked up at her.
“See?” Railha said with a proud tone, directing her comment towards Datz. “That’s how it’s done, I have him wrapped around my finger. I wouldn’t even need to ask him to follow me back to my quarters, he’d do it of his own accord. That’s the beauty of a little foreplay, a bit of tenderness.”
James shook his head as he tried to dispel his dizziness, the damned aliens were using him as a prop in their game and treating him as if he wasn’t even there, it was starting to get on his nerves.
“It’s plain to see which approach he prefers,” Railha continued as she took another shot of wine. Datz sneered, following suit, both of them growing drunker as the competition went on.
“That was only a kiss,” the Equatorial protested, “if I had him on his back he wouldn’t look twice at you.”
“Is that so?” Railha replied, a sinister smile curling her lips. “Would you care to put that claim to the test?”
Datz slammed a newly empty shot glass down on the bar and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
“Any day, Polar.” She leaned her arm around James’ neck, putting more of her weight on him than he could support and almost knocking him off his chair, she was uncoordinated and clearly inebriated. “Lemme take him into the supply room for a quickie, I’ll show you how Elysians fuck,” she slurred. James’ face burned again, this time with embarrassment at the alien’s vulgarity. “See? He’s down for it.”
“Blushing doesn’t necessarily mean he’s happy,” Railha stated, “they do that when they’re tired or angry too.” The Polar had started on the drink later than Datz had, but she too was growing clumsy. “Making love in a supply closet, the very idea...” She stood unsteadily on her long legs, placing her heavy hand on James’ shoulder and pricking him with her pointed claws. “Let’s take him back to my quarters, then he can decide who the winner is, straight from the horse’s mouth as the humans say.”
“What’s a horse?” Datz mumbled.
“What about the drinking competition?” James protested as Datz rose from her bar stool and brushed herself off. “You’re not finished yet!”
Railha steered him towards the exit to the Pinwheel’s torus, Datz following behind them.
“This is a matter of philosophy now, my dear James. You must settle an age-old feud and decide once and for all which of the two races does it better.”
“I don’t know about this ... I’m supposed to be back at the barracks for roll call tomorrow morning.”
“So you’re already expecting to spend the night with me?” Railha glanced down at him with a smirk. “How presumptuous of you, James.”
“I-I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m just...”
“Relax,” she said, leaning closer to him to nuzzle his hair like a cat. “We’re going to have some fun. You want to come with us, right? Did you like my kiss? Do you want me?”
His heart quickened again, he wasn’t accustomed to this kind of attention, and he stammered his reply.
“Y-Yes, I suppose, I mean-”
“Excellent,” Railha declared as she clapped her enormous hands together. “Follow closely now, you wouldn’t want to get lost on the station.”
Far from making the Borealans pass out and allowing James slip away, his plan had completely backfired, the two aliens were now as drunk as sailors and intent on settling a disagreement that he felt pre-dated their encounter at the bar. Oh well, it was sure to be more interesting than languishing in the recreational facility or heading back to the barracks for an early night, and he felt a sort of morbid curiosity overcome him as the pair of aliens led him away.
The trio marched down the torus, the fat ring that housed most of the Pinwheel’s facilities, spinning around the central hub like a wheel to create artificial gravity. It was decorated to give the illusion that the occupants were walking through a street on some terrestrial planet, the structures that extended from the walls on either side of them were sculpted to look like the facades of buildings, and there was an abundance of flowers and trees in planters. The ceiling above their heads was painted blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the massive lighting strips that simulated the sun were now darkening as the station neared its night cycle.
“How much did you drink, Datz?” Railha asked. “I swear if I have to pump your stomach again...”
“I had a few drinks before you arrived to poach my human,” she muttered. “I’m fine, ain’t gonna slow me down. Besides I fuck better when I’m drunk.” She looked back over her shoulder at James with a sadistic grin, and he averted his gaze.
“This is the problem with you Elysians, you learn your English from Raz and the Marines, that damned instructor has a mouth like a waste recycler and most of the humans are no better.”
“Well I didn’t go to no fancy medical school, do you see a white coat on me, hairball? What’s it matter to you, anyhow? Better to be direct, that’s what I say, not gonna dress up my words all fancy rather than say what I mean.”