Help! My Lover's an Alien - 3. Chapter 3

Dillon’s day had been going from bad to worse. He had woken up late, and the only reason he wasn’t late for the first training session of the day was because he had finished late the day before and had decided to stay in the compound barracks rather than cycle all the way home to his apartment.

A trip to the communal showers had turned into him having to bear a round of teasing when he realized he had grabbed a hand towel and not a bath towel to dry himself with. The men had a field day yanking his chain until someone took pity on him and let him borrow their towel.

Then, he arrived at the first session only to be told to expect visitors being given a tour at some time during the day. He had heard that the aliens they had been communicating with for years were finally visiting, but he knew almost nothing about them and didn’t know what to expect. As he wasn’t part of the military, he didn’t have access to certain information, but on the plus side, as only an employee of the military, he had a lot more freedom than his trainees.

The first session went well. Some of the trainees in this mixed-martial-arts course were improving enough he would be able to graduate them to a higher course set soon. The only thing they really needed to work on was their egos; overconfidence was never a good thing when fighting or defending.

Lunch was a quick sub in the compound canteen. He also used the time to try and find out what he could about these visitors. All he could glean was they’d arrived and been taken to the compound guest suites— which had been built entirely with them in mind last year. Apparently, the ambassador and his wife were hosting them for lunch, and then the aliens had agreed to a tour of the compound. He found out there were seven guests and that they were mostly tall. So in all, he had found out nothing useful and went back to work irritated at the military and their love of secrets. The whole planet knew about the visitors, but the military had kept all other details classified.

There were only four in his next session. They were learning the advanced techniques, but like the previous lot, they were getting cocky.

He split the men into pairs and set them a sequence of moves to go through while he watched.

Dillon heard the door open and shut, but he ignored it to concentrate on the trainees. After the third time of Timothy Harrison being pinned, he called a halt.

“Harrison, get out here,” he called, and the burly man moved slowly up to him. “Now, you go through the moves with me, and I expect you to try harder.”

Harrison nodded and they took up their positions. The fight was over quickly, and he had Harrison pinned to the mat.

“What did he do wrong?” he called out to the watching men, who were now sniggering at their poor teammate.

Harold Gilbert put his hand in the air. “Yes, Gilbert?”

“He didn’t anticipate your moves, sir,” the man said, raising an eyebrow and looking far too cocky for Dillon’s liking.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Dillon responded with nod. “Now, you come and show them how it’s done. No sequence; first one pinned loses.” Gilbert flushed but stepped forward as ordered.

As Dillon circled Gilbert, he quickly flicked his eyes to check on the visitors without losing track of his opponent. But suddenly, he was captured by a stunning pair of blue eyes. He was brought back to the present when Gilbert nearly got the drop on him. He righted himself and soon pressed things to his advantage. His greater experience meant he knew when to take a hit and when to press forward. It didn’t take long for him to have Gilbert pinned to the mat and the rest of the trainees cheering him.

A shrill whistle pierced the noise and he looked back toward the visitors. Ambassador Vincent Marston was motioning him over.

“Colins,” he called and waited for the man to head his way. “Take over and finish with ten laps of the room.” Gerald Colins nodded while the rest of the men groaned at the mention of laps. “You all need to remember to watch your opponent and anticipate. Use the laps as thinking time,” he told them before turning and jogging over to the visitors. He was startled when he was caught by his arm and pulled nearer by Vincent.

“This is our head trainer, Mr. Dillon Stewart.” Ambassador Vincent sounded so much like a proud father that Dillon had to stop himself from blushing. Vincent had been there when no one else had been, and he owed him a lot. He listened as Vincent continued, “He is the top mixed-martial-arts teacher in the country and has been employed by the military since he was eighteen. He isn’t actually part of the military but is an outside employee.

“Dillon, these are the visitors from Debhunder I’m sure you’ve heard about. This is Minister Mora and his mate, Ziel.”

Dillon nodded respectfully to both aliens. “Welcome to Earth,” he said.

“Would it be acceptable if Mr. Stewart accompanied us on the rest of our tour? My guards may have some questions for him,” the minister asked, surprising both Dillon and Vincent.

Vincent agreed and turned to Dillon, but Dillon spoke first.

“Sir, I could meet you in a few minutes, if that’s okay? I just need to wash and change.”

“Yes, we’ll see you in fifteen minutes at the west entrance.” And with that Vincent led the group away.

****

Dillon had a five-minute shower and roughly dried off before dressing and hurrying out of the room.

He met up with the group just as they were exiting the building, and he noticed Blue Eyes was watching him intently.

Ignoring the impulse to raise an eyebrow at the staring alien, he turned to give his attention to Vincent and the alien minister.

“Ah, good. I thought you’d be here already,” Vincent said with a fond smile. “Now, we were just going to head out to see the grounds. I thought we’d start with the outside training arena and maybe the track area.”

Dillon nodded and fell into step next to Vincent.

As they walked, Blue Eyes moved up to walk beside him. The hood and cloak it was wearing covered it from head to toe; all Dillon could see was its face. It had high cheekbones and full pink lips. But the best feature was definitely the blue eyes that had first grabbed Dillon’s attention. The eyes seemed to glow with an inner light that was trying to draw Dillon in.

Blinking, he realized the alien was speaking. Its voice was low and compelled Dillon to lean closer to hear properly.

“I was impressed with what I saw, Mr. Stewart,” the alien was saying. “I think some of your moves could be integrated into our style of fighting. I would very much like to speak to you further.”

Dillon nodded. “If you get the okay from Ambassador Marston, then I will tell you all you want to know.”

The alien frowned. “What does ‘get the okay’ mean?”

Dillon fought the urge to giggle; the alien seemed to bring out the teenager in him. “It means you need to get Ambassador Marston to tell me that I have permission to give you the information you are requesting,” he answered, speaking as clearly as he knew how. “I can’t give out military information without permission, or I may lose my job, and I would get in to trouble with the government.”

The alien nodded.

Dillon was then distracted by a question from the alien minister. “Mr. Stewart, how long have you been doing this mixed martial arts?”

“I started when I was five, sir. My father taught me until I was ten, and then I joined a local class. I’ve won numerous awards. The military approached me when I was eighteen and asked me to lead a few courses for them in self-defense. After the courses finished, they asked me to stay on and train more people. I now run four courses here at the compound: one is a beginner’s course, two are intermediate, and one is for advanced. The course you witnessed was for my advanced trainees.”

The minister was nodding as Dillon spoke. “Thank you, Mr. Stewart. I think some of my guards would be interested in learning a few moves from you.”

Dillon smiled. “As I was just telling your guard here, I would need permission from the ambassador, but I would be more than willing.”

Vincent had obviously been listening in. “Oh my boy, you have my wholehearted permission to teach whomever you please. The minister and his party have been given total access to the compound and its facilities.”

“Yes, sir,” Dillon said to Vincent, then turned to the minister. “In that case, I would be privileged to show your guards a few moves. Maybe they can show me something new as well.”

The minister seemed to like this idea, as he turned back to Vincent, and they started an animated discussion on the value of sharing training and other information.

“Seems I may be seeing more of you then?” Blue Eyes said, drawing Dillon’s attention again.

“Very likely, I’d say,” Dillon said, trying hard not to stare at those blue eyes. They were very distracting, and every time the alien leaned in, a strange feeling would go through Dillon.

By this time, they had reached the training arena. It really wasn’t much more than a cleared grass circle.

At Vincent’s prompting, Dillon took up the commentary.

“I mainly use this area in the summer to teach my students how to conserve their energy in hot conditions and how not to end up passing out from heat exhaustion. Military personnel have to be able to fight and defend themselves in different locations and so in different climates. So I also use this area occasionally in the winter to teach in the rain and snow. Whatever the weather, the course is still taught in the shorts and T-shirts you saw us in when we were inside. This teaches tolerance and encourages the students to defeat their opponent as efficiently as possible— if for no other reason than to get back inside where it’s warm.”

The minister chuckled. “I wish we could try that, but our planet is constantly hot. Earth feels cool to us, and I believe this is your spring season at the moment?”

Vincent nodded. “Yes it is. The spring and summer are very hot, but in the autumn and winter, the temperature drops into minus figures.”

Blue Eyes leaned into Dillon again. “Minus figures?” he asked.

Dillon gritted his teeth as a shiver went through him before turning his head and replying in a low voice, “The higher the temperature in numbers, the hotter the weather. If the numbers go down to less than zero— or minus figures— it means that to go outside without adequate covering is dangerous.”

Blue Eyes nodded and they both turned back to the conversation.

The last stop was the track area. It was sectioned off into a long jump sandpit, a high jump, short and long distance tracks, and other areas that could be used for a variety of events.

Dillon listened as Vincent explained each event to the minister and jumped when Blue Eyes leaned in again— the alien definitely had no concept of personal space, and Dillon couldn’t work out why it seemed intent on only talking to him. He couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. Do the aliens even have genders? The low voice kept sending shivers— that Dillon now realized were signs of arousal— through him. God, he needed to get out of there, fast.

“Why are there separate tracks for the short and long distance running? Surely a better use of space would have been to just put a mark at the appropriate point on the longer track to indicate where the short distance runners should stop?”

Dillon had to admit the alien had a point, and it actually annoyed him that he couldn’t answer the question. “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to your question. The tracks have always been laid out this way and no one has thought to change it. I suppose it could be because the short distance is run faster than the long distance. Taking the corners at full speed could be dangerous to the runners.”

The alien seemed to run this through for a few moments and then nodded. “That makes some sense.”

The tour finished soon after, and Dillon took his leave to return to his own training.

The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough, and he rushed out and home as soon as he could. He just wanted to relax in a hot bath and sleep in his own bed.