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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
- 3
When she turned back up on the Sevastopol promising blue murder, Waits wondered whether he'd have to dump the engineer in one of the Bureau holding cells for an hour or two to calm down. She was certainly armed enough to cause trouble, both physically with an array of junk-turned-weaponry and in disposition. The woman didn't sound too pleased, yelling at him through the radio. Waits had more than enough experience with the antics of displeased women.
In this particular circumstance though, he supposed Ripley had plenty reasons to be pissed off. Perhaps he would be too, in her shoes. At the end of the day, however, he had a job to do and people to keep safe.
Waits thought he was being reasonable; was it worth the sacrifice of one life to protect many others? Yes. And it helped that all the pieces fit nicely together along with it. Ripley was trusting, the hellish creature seemed preoccupied with hunting her and she knew her way around the station's busted electronics. Who the hell else was he supposed to send? Waits himself was certainly no hero. His only real regret was the loss of one fine piece of ass.
He'd cast an appraising glance over her when she turned up after surviving his failed trap to kill the creature. Ripley wasn't exactly the prettiest thing he had ever lain eyes on, though she wasn't necessarily a sore sight either. She was just rather plain and her attire did her no favours. Whatever curves the woman might have had were hidden underneath her suit, and either way she didn't priortise showing them off. She was at her companions' side in a moment and interrogating him about medical bays the next. It was only after he had petulantly sent the engineer off to patch up the Transit Control Center that Waits found himself mistaken about the woman's lack of feminine charms.
As she jogged away, Waits was able to appreciate the sculpted shape of Ripley's backside, courtesy of the tight fit of her boiler suit. He watched until she disappeared up the stairs, mouth forming something of a leer as he privately enjoyed the moment. The rest of his men were busy attending to the other woman, Taylor. She was nothing much to look at either, but it was hard to tell when she was severely injured and drifting half in and out of consciousness. Waits supposed she might score a few more points on his scale if she took off her glasses and shook out her conservatively pinned up hair. The woman looked bookish and all around uninteresting.
Back to the present, Waits was more than pleasantly surprised that Ripley had survived. He brushed off her accusations with the success of his plan, the monster stalking her no doubt crushed to less than dust by KG348's gravity well. That she was still alive was an added bonus, for both of them. He still had a useful engineer to hand and Ripley, her life. Not to mention the opportunities he would have to study the real woman's assets. A memory was only so sweet. Said opportunities came about sooner than Waits had expected, however, as Ripley took off and found herself a quiet, lonesome corner in the Sevastopol; an empty living quarters where she appeared to be making herself right at home.
Waits was enjoying every single moment of it. From the Bureau he had idly watched her make her way across the station, tapping into the Sevastopol's shrinking network of functional cameras as he drafted up a plan of action now that the creature was out of the equation. The living quarters Ripley had discovered curved to match the shape of the corridor outside it and Waits had access to a pair of cameras placed along its length. A large transparent window allowed a direct view into the common room, a round table stationed in the middle with a trio of plain brown leather sofas sitting around it. Waits, however, found he could angle one of the cameras to peer into one of the bunk rooms.
The door between it and the common room absent, the Marshal earned himself a somewhat obstructed view of a young woman stripping down out of her uniform.
An older gentleman he may have been, but that didn't stop Waits from stirring in his pants. Right then a small thumbnail sitting in the corner of the monitor, he quickly pulled up the camera feed to fill the central portion of the computer screen. The already poor picture quality degraded even further and the man cursed at the grainy filter he was forced to look through. Still, considering what he was looking at, Waits figured only a fool would discount his luck.
Part of her out of shot thanks to the door frame, Waits watched as Ripley apparently struggled to work her hips out of the boiler suit. It gave him ample time to let his eyes rove over her fine plump cheeks, packed tightly into the suit and presently squashed between her arms. Waits fiddled with the camera settings and zoomed in as far as he could without sacrificing too much picture clarity.
Afterwards, the Marshal leaned back in his chair. That was an ass he wouldn't mind bending over his desk. A knee between her thighs would spread her legs apart and he'd cuff her hands behind her back. Waits figured Ripley would be the type to kick up a fuss. He would win that fight, obviously, in fact he almost wished the woman had stormed the Bureau like she promised him. Waits could do with a distraction, something to bleed off the tension he felt in his back and shoulders. Screwing a twenty something year old woman's brains out sounded perfect for the job.
Of course, the presence of his colleagues rendered that fantasy null and void. If only he were alone. Idly, the Marshal glanced over at the Bureau's rudimentary med-bay. Taylor was out like a light in there, for the moment unattended by Samuels who was currently talking with Ricardo, Waits' deputy, out in the foyer. Waits mulled over the thought for a moment, then shook it out of his head. That was low, even for him. Again, perhaps if he were alone in the Bureau...No, the man thought it best not to consider the idea any further. He turned back to the computer monitor.
Ripley had her legs spread open. Finally free of her engineer's outfit, she had tucked herself into one of the bunks and propped her back against the wall. Waits, thanks to the position she'd taken and the door frame partially blocking the camera's view, could only see just about half of the young woman's body. It was enough, however, to have him finally throw caution aside and reach down to unbuckle his belt.
Ripley was slowly massaging herself through her panties as Waits unzipped and beneath the table pulled his cock out into the open. He tugged on its stiffening length as she tipped back her head and through her tank top cupped the small bumps on her chest. They looked hardly any bigger than when she had been fully dressed, merely appetisers on the way to the main course. Waits willed the young engineer to face her back to him, balancing herself on her knees as she reached around to sink a finger or two into her cunt. Ripley denied him the view he wanted most though, quickly pulling her panties to the side altogether.
Waits smirked as the woman brought her hand away some moments later with what looked to be disappointment. A nice, hard cock would be just the thing to cheer her up. Waits was nice and hard, though the tight grip of his hand was not the best company. Had he had things his way he would be warm and snug between Ripley's legs, grunting his pleasure as he held onto her hips. A good fuck was exactly what the engineer needed to cure her of the cheek she had given him earlier. He could think of better uses for that crude mouth, too. Waits pumped his meat; what a sight it would be to split her frowning lips open around his shaft.
The Marshal wondered what Ripley was up to when she moved out of shot, seemingly reaching for something. He leaned in, curious. His brow wrinkled when she pulled her duffel bag up onto the bunk and rummaged impatiently through the contents. What was she looking for? The answer almost made him laugh out loud.
"Christ, Ripley," Waits murmured through his grin, "you're one helluva slut."
"Hey, Marshal."
Waits jumped, startled by the disembodied voice. He winced sharply afterwards when the action smacked his knee into the bottom of the desk. The Marshal shoved himself back into his pants and pulled his chair forwards, turning to scowl at the face leering at him through a holding cell door's porthole.
"Marlow!" Waits hissed.
"Enjoying yourself?" the man asked him, grinning.
"Get away from the window, Marlow," Waits ordered, roughly zipping up.
"Don't know about that," he replied, "I'm enjoying the show as much as you are." Marlow's smirk widened. "I'm not too sure Mama Ripley would be too happy about an old man jerking off to her little girl, though."
Waits swiped a random sheet of paper off of his desk and stood to his feet. Marlow's laughter, slightly muffled by the door of the holding cell, was nonetheless audible as the Marshal slammed a thin leaflet over the glass of the window, holding it in place with a ball of sticky tack.
"Can't perform to an audience, Waits?" Marlow called out as he retook his seat.
"Sit down and shut up," Waits retorted. "You're a rat trapped in a cage and I can make things mighty uncomfortable for you in there."
Marlow chuckled. "Alright, man. Relax, I'll let you beat one off to the girl in pe -"
The Sevastopol shook. All manner of documents and stationary clattered to the ground, Waits hands leaping out to grip onto the desk as the floor beneath his feet briefly shuddered. They jumped up to save the computer when it slid precariously towards him. Waits noticed immediately that the window displaying the camera feed he had been watching was now little more than a flickering screen of static.
The Marshal's priorities were most certainly in order as thickset fingers flayed the keyboard in order to restore the connection. Marlow's distraction had softened him between the legs and his impatience flared as the station's camera network sluggishly responded to his attempts to gain access. A growing sense of frustration gave an edge to his temperament as the computer scrawled a single line of text across his screen: CAMERA OFFLINE.
Waits was far from as proficient in computing as he would have liked to be in that moment. The man knew enough to get his reports written and catalogued in the Sevastopol's database; the rest he left to the nerds, thickly rimmed glasses and all. So it was several minutes before he was able to bring the cameras outside Ripley's living quarters back online again. When he did, the Marshal's stubborn jaw unclenched. He sat forwards, face pale with the light reflecting off the computer monitor and eyes wide in disbelief. His carefully laid plans, the ever mounting sacrifices he and his men had been forced to make - rendered meaningless, all of it.
Ripley was standing in the doorway with a hand resting against the frame, facing the common room. The young woman stood completely still, and she never blinked. A long shadow roved over her stiff, trembling body, slinking down towards her thighs. And behind her, behind her was -
"Goddamn it," Waits muttered.
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