Ancient Astronauts

Cuckolded Lions

"Hans."

"Hans."

"HANS, baby please. Say something. Lift a finger. Make fun of me, anything!"

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"That's.....that's....that's Aly's voice," Hans thought, "is this another dream?" His voice sounded like a hollow echo to him.

Hans ran down a passage of the Astral Ark. Every room was empty. Not a living soul anywhere. He ran and ran, and found himself on the bridge, still a raging inferno.

So it was every single time he fled from that place, from the scorching heat, from the screams of his dying crew. He'd run down endless hallways, taking different turns each time, or hurling himself into space on a prayer of being reborn again in the real world...only to find himself out of breath...on the bridge, in flames or otherwise.

He didn't know how long this had been going on. He only knew it wasn't real...and yet it was. There was something in that room. Something he needed to see or remember. But he couldn't find it.

He sank to the ground and clutched his head in two massive, meaty, burned hands. The blisters boiled and agony ripped through him. He was either insane or asleep, and he had to snap out of it...had to.

"HANS!"

"ALYONNA!"

"HANS!"

"How do I speak again?" he thought. He was speaking...he thought, but Alyonna kept calling him like he wasn't.

"But she's here," he decided firmly, "C'mon you big three hundred pound, muscle bound, macho manchild, your girlfriend hasn't seen you in decades. What did you do? Go out for a pack of cigs and never come back? May as well have."

If love wasn't enough, maybe being pissed too would do the trick.

"ALYONNA!"

No reply. She couldn't hear him. He began to sob, head between his hands, the bridge a burning wreck around him. The screams of his dying second shift staff filled his mind. There had been an impact, he remembered that. Fragments of an asteroid...and something else...

Then he heard it...CLACK CLACK TICK...a pause...CLACK CLACK TICK...pause...CLACK CLACK–.

His eyes flicked open, and he saw her. Alyonna, her pale face flushed with worry and turned away. Then he felt again: the warmth of her hand in his. He mustered all the strength he had. He had to get her attention, let her know he was still in here. He opened his mouth to speak.

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"Boobs."

The word was almost imperceptible, but Alyonna heard it.

She turned her head back toward him, and brushed an errant lock of flame red hair over one ear. A mix of emotions worked their way across her face. Sadness, relief, joy, worry, all competing for room on a single tapestry.

"What?" The whispered word was half gasped, "What did you say?"

"Boobs," he repeated weakly, reaching out a hand with great effort and pointing at one of them, "like cuckolded lions."

Alyonna struggled to control a laugh. It came out as a gurgling giggle. Hans, her Hans, was back.

His hand began to fall, she grasped it and held it fast against her chest.

Hans felt her heartbeat through it. "Yes," he thought, "I'm awake, back in my own dreamland."

Alyonna leaned toward his ear and whispered something that ended with "All you want."

"Boinky dance?" He muttered.

"All the boinkies," she whispered back, still holding his hand.

A grin spread over his face. What a way to wake up!

Aly held his face with her other hand. The burn scars had paled away under treatment, but they were still there. His lips, a delicate organ, were the slowest to heal, but they were recovering nicely. She kissed them very gently, before reluctantly getting up and calling for the doctor and her men.