Chapter Text
Deep gray overcast creeps across the sky. Storm clouds bathe the evening in a soft filter of cool blue, complemented by notes of titian red from electroliers and shop windows. An earthy aroma , warnings of an impending cold rain, permeates the air. The street already wet with puddles from an earlier downpour.
Far off, you hear the splashing of car tires driving on wet pavement. Amplified by the dead silence of the strip mall. This was one of the rare moments of peace where most were tucked away in their homes and apartments, sharing a warm dinner, playing a board game, or preparing for the upcoming holiday season.
You hold your shopping bag close to your chest, protecting it from a strong gust of wind and the splatter of roof water that comes with it. Wind chimes taunt you from above and a wooden pumpkin sign dances in the breeze.
There truly is no better season than autumn.
Sliding into the drivers seat of your vehicle, you turn the key and bring the engine to life with a steady thrum. Frigid windows immediately fog against the sudden heat of the AC. There was no time to warm your hands against the air blasting from the vents, you still have to set everything up before he arrives.
Darkness sets over the valley during the drive home. You were still adjusting to early nightfall that came with the turn of the season. Just a few months ago, the sun would be high in the sky and you would’ve been headed to a state fair or maybe even to pick up any left overs from the farmers market. There’s a strange beauty in it.
Your house greets you at the end of the road, all lights off except the porch light you flicked on when leaving. Smiling to yourself, you hurry to park and grab everything from the passenger seat. Your were early. Or he was just late. Either would work. Entering the front door, you remove your coat and drop the bags off in the hallway, before heading into the kitchen, flicking lights on as you go.
Dinner was already cooked, everything just needed a quick heat up in the oven and on the stove. You had prepared his favorite. A slow roasted pork haunch, lightly seasoned of course. Too much salt never agrees with him, especially if you were making dessert. No need to add to the agony he was going to be in after his alien body inevitably rejected the pie.
He could eat raw animals from any planet, but god, er, ‘paya’ forbid he be able to enjoy gluten or dairy. It was probably a good thing Yautja couldn’t eat sweets, else bakeries would start seeing their stockrooms raided.
Setting the frozen pie on the table, it would have to wait for the ham to be done, you move to the living room and begin rearranging furniture. Usually, your interstellar lover only returned during late spring, staying until the last warm day of summer, before leaving again. So, when he sent you a transmission that he would be coming back for a weekend, you had been ecstatic, immediately taking off work and preparing for his arrival.
After moving the furniture, you hurry over to the shopping backs, taking out the candles and setting them on various surfaces. They were unscented as to not irritate your guest, but the soft light was preferable to the overhead one. You also unpacked the handful of dollar bin horror movies and splay them out on the floor in front of the tv, before going back to the project in the middle of your living room.
Satisfied, you take a moment to appreciate your work. It had been years since you’ve made a proper blanket fort, but this one went fucking hard. Your magnum opus. We’re talking string lights with bulbs shaped like little leaves, the fluffiest of all pillows , and the star of the show: a nest of heated blankets, as many as the store would let you buy.
Now, all you had left to do is-
A strange hissing noise sounds from the kitchen. You blink. Was something boiling over? Did your oven catch fire?
Another noise. Like a dogs claws struggling to find purchase on a stretch of ice, followed by a frantic crunching.
You grab the broom. Raccoons. They had found there way into your home… again.
You pad softly forward, silent in your ghost themed socks, wielding the broom out infront of you. The inhuman noises only increasing in fervor as you turn the corner.
There in the kitchen, a hulking figure. It hunches over the table, too enthralled with its task to notice it wasn’t alone. In one fluid motion, you cross the kitchen, thwacking at the creature with the bristle end of the broom.
“Bhu’ja!!” Whack. “Stop! It’s Frozen!” WhackWhack.
Slowly, the Yautja turns to face you. Two chunks of frozen pumpkin pie in each hand, a third suspended infront of his face, held in place by four mandibles. His eyes wide with the same surprise as a child who was caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Technically he was. If a child was a giant murder alien, and the hypothetical cookie was a literal pumpkin ice block.
He drops the two in his hand, but pushes the third into his mouth, inner fangs making quick work with those same sickening crunches. You might have gagged, if you weren’t so happy to see him.
He spreads his top mandibles in his gesture of a smile, his chest puffing slightly. “It is good.” His English considerable better than when you first met. “ But Bhu’ja’s mate taste is better.”
He must be so fucking proud of himself for that one.
You cross you arms and let out an indignant huff. “Oh, no you’re not getting out of thi-“ His deep purring rumble cuts you off mid-sentence, pulling you into him. Before you can protest, you’re wrapped in his warmth, breathing in his scent. The rough edges of his armor dig into your skin, but the soft rumbling eases any tension.
“It’s good to see you.” You mumble, your voice muffled by his chest. He only grumbles in response, clawed fingers drawing circles between your shoulder blades.
You arch your back ever so slightly, a gasp on your lips.
He wastes no time, delicately , as much as someone of his stature could be delicate, picking you up and sitting you on the counter, leaning over you. Hot breath dances across your face as he leans forward, drinking in your features and the way your eyelashes flutter when he drags his claws down against your-
“Bhu’ja.”
He growls a warning, not wanting to be interrupted.
“Bhu’ja the ham is burning and my hair is in the pie.”
He shoots up, pulling you back to your feet before letting you go. You didn’t need to tell him twice.