Armed with a bucket of warm water and my gathering of supplies, I make my way out to the garage. The day has subtly transitioned towards the afternoon, the sun hot and high in the sky, radiating stuffy warmth into our makeshift workshop.
As I step into the garage, I find Ravok standing bare-chested, his hoodie lying crumpled on a nearby workbench. Thankfully, his back is to me so he can’t witness the ravenous look on my face. The muscles beneath his silvery skin ripple and flex as he hovers over a panel of his spaceship, deep in concentration. His exposed torso glistens with a slight sheen of sweat under the glare of the lone lightbulb hanging overhead. The musty air is tinged with a hint of the electrifyingly unique aroma that is purely Ravok. Heat swarms through my lungs that isn’t just from the hot, stuffy garage.
Ravok turns and smiles as I set down all my supplies. “Do you want some help?”
“Nah, you concentrate on your ship while I deal with the dust. If I get in your way, just let me know.”
“You’re never in the way, Leelee,” Ravok says. I have to blink several times because his words almost make tears well up in my eyes. These are the sorts of sentiments I always wanted from Marcus but never got after the initial honeymoon phase. Why do I have to meet the kind of guy I always wanted and he’s leaving the planet soon?
After giving Ravok a wide grin so he won’t realize I’m feeling emotional, I turn away and open all the windows to create a breeze. Then I get to work. I decide to get rid of the dust first, then deal with the rest.
The first time our shoulders brush against one another, an electrifying shock zips through my body. I pretend not to notice as every nerve in my body comes alive. Ravok continues his task, focused on some rusty tool he’s dug out of a toolbox’s depths. My heart thunders in my chest, and against my better judgment, I yearn for another accidental touch, another spark.
Despite my best efforts to keep it settled, the dust I’m kicking up dances around us in the narrow beams of sunlight filtering in through the dirty windows. I wipe a layer of grime off an old workbench with a rag, releasing a musty scent that makes me want to sneeze.
The garage feels much smaller than it is, and Ravok seems to take up every bit of space. Each time we brush past the other, the touch tightens the coils of desire and need inside me. This is like a delicious kind of torture.
We are like two opposite poles of a magnet, the attraction between us an unseen, undeniable force. I can’t shake this strange feeling nor bring myself to confront it. One thing is clear, though – our dance of accidental brushes and lingering glances is leading us down a road that will end in only one way. There’s no way Ravok’s not aware of the sexual tension that is as thick in the air as the stifling heat.
We spend hours in this dance – the soft touches, the aborted glances. I watch enraptured as Ravok works on his spaceship, his metallic skin glistening in the faint light leaking through the now-clean windows. His eyes are lit with intense focus, the glow eerily beautiful, and the muscles on his rugged arms flex in sync with each precise movement. The room buzzes with a charged atmosphere, a delicious tension brewing between us, and for a fleeting moment, I revel in anticipation. I’d forgotten what it felt like – the charged feeling of truly wanting someone and being wanted in return.
Suddenly, Ravok lets out a noise of vexation, pulling me out of my imaginings. The deep sound rumbles through the room, causing my heart to lurch. I quickly shake off my reverie, approaching him with a concerned look. His strong brows furrow in evident frustration as he straightens up, his gaze fixated on something in his hands. Sitting on his open palm is a sharp metal fragment with a rainbow sheen that reminds me of an oversized computer chip.
“What’s wrong, Ravok?”
My voice seems to break his trance, his glowing gaze shifting to meet mine. “Leelee,” he begins, his voice deep and edged with worry, “I need telrinite… It’s an alloy that I need to repair some damaged components in my ship.”
“Telrinite,” I repeat. I shrug because I’ve never heard of it – who knows if that’s because it doesn’t exist on Earth or because it has an entirely different name in my language. I feel a pang of helplessness claw its way into my chest.
Ravok gives me a determined look. “I will program my ship to scan the area for the alloy. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find some.”
“How long will that take?”
Ravok shrugs. “It depends on how far away any source of telrinite is. It will probably take a few hours, if not more.”
“Okay, that sounds like a plan. Once you set your ship to scan, let’s take a break, Ravok. I can heat up some more of the chili. We can get something to eat and drink and plan our next steps. We’ll figure this out, even if we can’t find the alloy you need,” I assure him, my words echoing in the quiet room. “Besides, both of us could use a shower.”
Ravok hesitates for a moment, then nods, setting aside the defective piece of alien technology. I can’t help but hope that our shared dinner might serve to lighten his spirits.
The hot water from the shower works wonders on my stiff muscles, washing away the dirt, sweat, and, to some extent, the fatigue of the day. As I step out, wrapping myself in a fluffy towel, I feel lighter. I tie my wet hair up in a messy bun and pad into the main room to the sight of a very grimy Ravok.
He stands frozen by the doorway, his graphite skin decorated with dirt and dust. His clothes are almost as bad as mine were, stained with sweat and dirt.
My heart pangs with sympathy as I say, “Ravok, the shower is available if you want and there’s still plenty of hot water.”
His eyes light up at the suggestion. I guide him towards the bathroom and hand him a fluffy towel and a white sheet I find in the linen closet. “How ‘bout you give me your clothes, and I will wash them for you. You can wrap this sheet around yourself while they get clean since you don’t have any spare clothes,” I suggest.
Ravok’s eyebrows furrow as he fingers the sheet. “I have a spare spacesuit in the ship I could wear if you don’t want to wash these,” he gestures at the hoodie and sweatpants he’s wearing. “It’s meant for interstellar travel, but I could grab that, so you don’t have to rush cleaning my clothes for me.”
I blink at him in surprise and state, “You don’t need to do that. Plus, if anyone spots you, a spacesuit will draw too much attention, I think it’s better to keep you in regular human clothes, just in case.” Ravok nods in agreement, a pleased smile spreading across his face.
A moment after the bathroom door closes, separating me from Ravok, the sound of the shower starts. Then the door creaks slightly open, and a silver hand reaches out, dirt-streaked clothes balled up in his broad palm. When I take them, I hear a quiet “thank you” before the door closes again. I go to get the washer started, my heart echoing with the foreign rhythm of an alien ‘thank you’.
Pulling the containers out of the fridge, I prepare two bowls with the last of the chili. While it heats up, I pull out two of the largest glasses I can find and fill them with ice water. After all the hot, hard work today, I don’t want either of us to get dehydrated.
I’m poking around the fridge, wondering if I have enough lettuce and veggies to make a salad, when I hear the sound of the shower turning off. My hands still for a moment, caught on the mental image of Ravok naked in a steam-filled bathroom. I shake my head at my naughty thoughts and re-apply myself to the study of the fridge’s contents.
A few minutes later, Ravok emerges – clad only in the sheet.
The sight of him stops me dead in my tracks. With the sheet wrapped around his rugged form, he walks around the corner to join me in the kitchen, completely unaware of the devastating effect he is having on my composure. My heart flutters wildly in my chest, and I have the urge to fan myself. Droplets of water still glisten on his metallic skin in the soft, low lighting. Holy moly. He looks like a sexy toga-clad Roman emperor straight out of a fantasy novel.
Julius Caesar, eat your heart out.
I feel like I need to check the corners of my mouth for drool.
Thankfully, the ding of the microwave pulls my attention away from staring at Ravok like a dog with a bone.
When I grab the bowls to bring to the table, Ravok rushes over to help. Between the two of us, we balance bowls and cups as we make our way to the small rustic table that rests against the kitchen wall.
As we settle down to eat, I can’t help but let my gaze wander a little. My eyes are drawn to the scattering of precise scars that trek across Ravok’s broad chest. The sight shutters my growing desire like the final curtain on a play.
A tight knot resides in the pit of my stomach as I try to keep my wandering gaze focused fully on my meal. I take a bite of my chili, but it feels like it gets stuck as I try to swallow it. My throat feels constricted from nerves and dread.
“Ravok,” I finally force myself to begin after taking a sip of water to wash down the bite, glancing up at him from under my lashes, “The scars on your body… did… did humans – my people – do that to you?” The words tumble out in a rush, sharp like shards of glass slicing through the quiet as I point at a huge scar running the center line of his chest.
“Yes,” he answers simply, his gaze meeting mine, devoid of emotion. His response is a gut punch. Guilt and horror take root in my heart, done by the simple fact that my people have marred this magnificent alien being.
