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Behind You	By : PersonOfDisinterest Category: +A through F > Alien: Isolation Views: 27918 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Alien: Isolation or its characters and make no profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 1-Amanda
- 2-Waits
- 3-Sevastopol
- 4-Alien
- 5-Marlow
- 6-Breeder
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- 2
Amanda was hot and sweaty. The natural sheen to her skin glistened beneath the dim light of the room, tucked away inside the abandoned living quarters. She had this tiny corner of the derelict station all to herself. No humans, not a Working Joe in sight, and certainly not a black, terrifying vision of every childhood nightmare multiplied a hundredfold. No, Amanda was alone – and glad for it. After hours of playing a lethal game of cat and mouse, she finally had a chance to unwind. But first, she needed to get out of her boiler suit.
The plain, dark military green uniform did well to insulate Amanda when her working conditions slipped towards the chillier end of the scale. But with fear-induced adrenaline pumping through the young engineer's veins as she pressed herself against the back walls of narrow personnel lockers, sweat dripping from her armpits and down the shallow crevice of her spine, the suit quickly became a stifling trap for Amanda's body heat.
The boiler suit was typically a loose, comfortable fit. Thickly woven, it padded down and flattened the feminine contours of her body. Not that she had much to show off in the first place. Amanda thought she was rather unremarkable in that department.
A gaze coolly shaded green coupled with the dry, straightforward tone she preferred did enough to make her appear cold and uninteresting. She supposed the freckles underneath her eyes were cute, dotted around lightly defined cheekbones. Her hair was russet brown in colour, brushing her shoulders once she pulled it free of the simple band maintaining her short, high ponytail. She shook loose her thin locks, grimacing as she combed her fingers back through sweat-damp hair.
Amanda lowered her hands afterwards to the zipper at the front of the suit, tugging apart the teeth. An old, faded denim shirt served as a textured layer beneath it. Amanda's distaste was evident as she felt the grimy cotton of the tank top she wore underneath that cling to her skin. The shirt wasn't hiding much either as she pulled her left arm out of one of the boiler suit's sleeves. Puberty came and went and the young woman barely filled out a full B-cup. She was nothing much to look at, nothing to fawn over, except for the one thing that turned Amanda's otherwise indifference for her working attire towards irritation.
Countless hours squatting in front of machines in need of repair had conditioned her legs, making her resilient to the cramps that would have plagued her otherwise as she carefully picked her way around the Sevastopol. It was a literal pain in the beginning, but something she had long since gotten used to. By now it was nothing to her, merely a facet of the job, inconsequential - had not Ripley genetics decided to fill out her lower half rather than her chest.
The fabric of the boiler suit fit all too snugly around her bottom, stretching – comfortably at least, thank goodness – around full globes of womanly flesh. The suit outlined the curves of her ass whenever Amanda squatted down, conforming to her plump shape. She could feel it stretch around the back of her thighs, pulled tight...even the slightest movement left her with the impression of a ghostly caress, the boiler suit pressing up into the crack between her soft cheeks. The inexplicable wiggle of thighs and hips drew looks and raised eyebrows. Amanda had had to covertly work out a few wedgies in her time, often with muttered cursing and the averting of her gaze from nearby peers.
She had long since resigned herself to the fact that her ass would always find a way to earn itself attention. Amanda, sometimes, quietly appreciated it, though it was the cause of flushed cheeks and embarrassment when she first realised just how well the uniform defined her assets. More often than not, that attention was irksome, particularly when wayward hands decided to stray. Amanda had threatened more than one male colleague with a spitting plasma torch when a brush against her backside was most definitely not 'accidental'.
If there was one thing the engineer was not, it was a damn petting gallery.
Pulling her other arm free, she pushed the suit down to her waist. The front zipper stopped just below her navel, so it took some wriggling of her hips to work the suit down past her plump glutes. That was another small pain Amanda simple had to learn to endure; getting in and out of the thing, all thanks to the extra junk in her trunk. The suit caught onto the band of her panties as she tugged it down, sliding them halfway down her buttocks before she noticed and paused.
With a huff, Amanda craned her neck to look over her shoulder. She spied the cotton-white of her underwear pinched between one of the folds of her uniform. The shape of her back pushed out her tush an inch or two, and she glimpsed the soft round curve of creamy white cheeks. The engineer lightly bit her lip after untangling her panties from the suit. It wasn't above her to enjoy a small moment of vanity. Amanda liked to think that her ass was the object of a few fantasies. She was reserved, for the most part, but she wasn't a prude. She knew a trick or two that appealed to the eye.
Amanda hooked her thumbs into her panties as she slowly shimmed out of her uniform. The suit was tight around her hips as it pressed into her shapely rear, etching dimples into soft, yielding flesh. Slipping down to the back of her legs, the young woman trapped her full, luscious ass between her forearms, tugging up the stretched band of her panties until it pressed into the smooth curvature of firmly toned thighs.
Pulling upwards and pushing inwards with her wrists, the young woman squashed together her cushy, apple-shaped bottom. In the moment she wished for a mirror. Being able to fully appreciate the picture she had created was something else entirely. A deep line of cleavage plunged between her plump cheeks and a steamy thought crossed the engineer's mind. However, almost as soon as the playful image of a long finger sliding teasingly down into her tight crack took shape, the small slant of Amanda's pale pink lips faltered at the emergence of another: Axel, the cold barrel of his revolver pressed to the back of her head as, shaking, she slowly lifted her hands in surrender.
"Don't fuckin' move," the Irishman had hissed, yanking the heavy wrench from Amanda's slick grasp. "Hands against the door, now!"
In hindsight, Amanda thought if she turned around quickly enough she could have brained the bastard. She didn't believe, now, that he would be prepared to actually pull the trigger. But hindsight was 20/20 and such things were easier said when your heart wasn't pounding in your throat.
Trembling as she lay her palms flat against the cold, thick steel, Amanda endured with gritted teeth a poor excuse for a full body search. There were only two things the Irishman could have been looking for as his hand snaked around to her front, crawling up the front of her boiler suit with probing fingers, and it was soon evident that what he found wasn't up to snuff. Amanda didn't know whether or not it was a blessing in the moment that her uniform practically flattened her chest, but Axel's attempt to grope her was brief.
She yelped when the man stepped in close, pressing himself against the dark, faded blue-grey duffel bag strapped across her left shoulder. He smelt like he hadn't seen a shower cubicle in days, Amanda's nostrils pinching at the strong musk. She caught her breath when Axel's hips curved forward at the same time a wandering hand slipped down between her thighs, and suddenly the young woman was no longer counting her blessings. A hoarse grunt escaped the man's throat as she felt him grind against her, a sharp whimper leaving her lips as something stiff poked into her ass.
"There's a ship! I came in a ship," Amanda blurted out, cutting through the man's husky ramblings about some kind of monster prowling the station.
"There are no ships, sweetheart."
"There is now," Amanda said quickly, swallowing as Axel leaned in and sniffed her hair, "the Torrens. I can get you a place on board, but it's going to leave any moment now if I don't get in contact with the captain."
That last part was a halfway between the truth and a lie. She had no idea how long Verlaine was willing to wait; she could only hope the woman was a patient one. Amanda just needed the Irishman to believe her, here and now. It was her lucky day, he told her seconds later, when his fear of the thing apparently hunting him proved greater than the need to sate his arousal. In the moment, Amanda was all too happy to agree. When a black, spiked tail later exploded out of Axel's chest and dragged the man screaming into the vents in a gory splatter of blood, Amanda was no longer so sure.
She had nothing to fear from it now though, Amanda told herself again, sitting down on the edge of a bunk and rolling the boiler suit down her legs. The creature was gone, locked in the Project KB348 Labs and jettisoned entirely off the Sevastopol. Amanda shuddered at the thought that she had almost been trapped along with it, no thanks to that bastard Waits. She turned the air blue when she got back aboard the station. Amanda's nerves were too raw to go back and face him now. She'd be more than inclined to club the man with her wrench. Heavens knew the temptation was real, sitting there just beneath the skin. The wet crunch of hefty metal meeting a perpetual sneer was a disturbingly satisfying idea.
Finally, Amanda kicked off the boiler suit, flailing her right foot in the air for a few moments when it stubbornly clung on. She shrugged out of the denim shirt next, the textured material slipping down her shoulders. Amanda balled it up and tossed it onto the floor. That left her in her panties and a plain black vest as she carefully ducked her head underneath the upper bunk's metal railing, bringing her legs up onto the bed and folding them. Her hand rose to toy with the small key looped around her neck with a length of thin string as she leaned against the wall. The key to her locker aboard the Torrens, Amanda briefly wondered if she would ever get the chance to use it again. Then she shook her head. That was defeatist talk.
God, she just needed a break.
A grimace rose to her face when Amanda sat up and her vest peeled away from her back, glued to her shoulder blades by sweat residue. She was in desperate need of a shower. Free of her suit and shirt, the smell of Amanda's pits filled her nostrils and she was glad to be alone. She was filthy and could feel the grime soiling her skin. After being relentlessly hunted down, forced to crawl on hands and knees through cramped vents and whimper soft prayers as she curled herself amongst the shadows, coupled with the pungent smell of accumulated fear around her, Amanda felt like animal.
Her face grew warm with embarrassment, briefly, as the locker key bumped against her collarbone. With no one around, however, the young woman realised she didn't need to care that she stank. She had the room to herself - the entire living quarters. Solitude, right now, was the existence she craved, and Amanda was determined to enjoy it. She would damn well revel in it. She had earned the right. She'd survived.
A shower then, could wait. She wanted to be filthy, wanted to obey a baser instinct for a moment other than the one that had somehow kept her alive for so long. Pleasure was the great reliever of tension, the ultimate reminder that she was alive. Amanda, bluntly, wanted to fuck, wanted to selfishly rut like an animal. The admission didn't shame her; the lack of willing partner annoyed her, though. However, there were always alternatives. So she lowered her hand from the key around her throat, unfolding her legs as it strayed down towards her stomach, and in a Marshal Bureau some place else in the Sevastopol, an older man staring avidly at a grainy screen wrapped a warm, pudgy hand around the stiff length of his cock.
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Behind You