Thoren walks with meback to the basement where, instead of the conference room, I’m introduced to the command center. It looks like the bridge of aStar Trekstarship. Take your pick, any of them will do as long as we’re talking the iterations with shiny touch pads. Each of the brothers occupy a different shiny touchpad, and I decide not to touch anything at all, standing with my hands behind my back equidistant from anything that looks remotely breakable or like a big red button that might launch a nuclear missile.
Maxime stands from a captain chair that has multiple holographic displays at his fingertips, and he grimaces at my black suit. It’s one of three I now own because Thoren’s claws rip fabric like it’s cotton candy and his enthusiasm for my ass precludes unbuttoning my pants. Honestly, it’s just so hot seeing him shred my clothes that I’m willing to spend Maxime’s money on a new wardrobe for it. (I won’t let Thoren rip the clothesMaxime buys for me; that’s slightly more unethical than I’m willing to go.)
“You’re going to wear a black suit to talk to the tinkral?” Maxime sounds dubious, and if it were anyone else, I’d question my style choice, but he’s adamantly against my suits because they’re boring, not because they’re inappropriate.
“Thisismy work uniform,” I confirm, “but you’ll be delighted to hear that Thoren has ruined two of my suits and I will be replacing them with your stipend as soon as possible.”
Maxime still looks dubious. “You know you don’t have to wear formal suits here, right?”
I chuckle, and if it comes out nervous, it’s only because Faulkes suddenly pulls up a holographic image of an alien that looks like an unwinged, quadrupedal dragon with arms. They remind me of the dancing alligators inFantasiathat walked upright with their tails straight out behind them and their heads sitting at an anthropomorphic angle.
Is that terrifying image a representation of what I’m about to face? “I, um, I know—Is that a tinkral?”
Faulkes turns his face without moving his body and gives me a reassuring smile. “Yes. They look scary, but really it’s their technological power that you should be wary of. They use both magic and tech to overpower the worlds they conquer, but they stick to the accords that set rules for conduct during warfare. They’re civilized for an expansionist species.”
“Better than the In’ai,” Walker grumbles from the station he’s currently manning that has a holographic projection of what are possibly the blueprints of the big ship that we’re going to be teleporting into.
I’m not going to ask about the In’ai right now, because I’m pretty sure that I’ll piss my pants if they give me the answer I suspect I’m going to get. I really do not need nightmares aboutall the possible ways Earth can be destroyed right before I go talk to the current threat.
“Alright, at least I’m prepared for what they look like.” I manage to sound somewhat normal saying that. “What do we need to do to prepare to board their ship?”
Greeley holds up a canister of what looks like ointment. “The only thing we need to do is paint you with this. It will protect your skin from the slightly denser presence of nitric acid in the atmospheres of their ships. You’ll have to use an oxygen filter so you don’t irritate your lungs. They’re capable of long term exposure to Earth's atmosphere, but the opposite isn’t true for you, mate.”
Thoren takes the canister from Greeley, who gives him a slightly manic grin. “You don’t want me putting ointment on your boy?”
Thoren’s threat rumbles from him. “Touch him and I’ll tear your wings off.”
Greeley takes an immediate step backwards and spreads his hands palms up in surrender, shooting Thoren a winning smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it, mate.”
Thoren barely nods and turns back to me. “I’ll rub this on you,” he grumbles, pushing me back out of the command center and into a small office with a tidy desk and a modicum of privacy. He smirks as soon as we’re alone. “Should I rip these off you, or are you going to undress yourself?”
I don't even know why I think it’s so hot when he destroys my clothes, but since I’m not walking onto an alien spaceship naked, I very quickly untuck my shirt and start unbuttoning it. Thoren watches me with hunger in his gaze as I pull off my bow tie and fold my shirt and jacket onto the desk with it. He licks his lower lip at the lacy white bralette I’m wearing, and his greedy eyes rev me up so much I’m half hard by the time I push my pants over my hips to reveal the lacy scrap of fabric holding my balls up. It’stoo small to cover my dick while it’s half hard, but the way he rumbles makes me think he prefers that it doesn’t.
I love the beginning stages of a relationship when you can’t keep your hands off your partner and all you want is to spend hours in bed making each other crazy. It’s why I wear my pretty little things. I own boring old boxer briefs, but panties are life when you’re trying to feel confident and drive your partner wild.
“Thoren, you can’t look at me like that. You can fuck me in these when we successfully stop a tinkral incursion. Right now, you have to rub me down and pretend you’re not achingly hard while doing it.” We can both pretend, in fact. The moment he puts his hands on me, I’m going to go from half chub to a full mast, and we’re going to pretend like I’m not.
“I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to bury my face in your ass and live there. I will, however, control myself. Don’t take off your under things; I’ll work around them,” he orders me, twisting off the lid of the jar.
The ointment doesn’t immediately smell like anything when he dips a scoop out and I lean over to smell it. It tickles my senses a moment later, but it’s just the barely there hint of clean and fresh. Maybe there’s a bit of ozone, but that’s stretching the imagination. He rubs the glob between his hands and spreads it over me in a thin layer. It feels slightly sticky but only for about ten seconds, and then it feels like I’m wearing lotion. So that’s nice. I don't mind the feel of lotion on my skin; I lather up every time I get out of the shower. I put extra lotion on my feet before I put my socks on so my feet stay moisturized all day, and I quite like that the results make me feel baby soft.
Thoren spreads the ointment over me in a slow, sensual glide of his hands, dipping out more from the jar every time he runs out. He avoids getting any on my underwear, but when he turns me around, he discovers that the panties are a thong, and he groans in a mixture of pleasure and pain as he slips to his knees.He spends a bit more time than necessary on my ass, rubbing and kneading my cheeks. I don’t complain even when my dick escapes my underwear, standing proudly like he’s about to get a nut. He’s an idiot but an insistent and loud one, and it makes me think maybe we have time for a little hanky panky before we leave.
Fortunately the big head wins out, and before Thoren can reach for my prick, I steal some of the ointment and quickly spread it over my cock and balls.
“Just to avoid temptation,” I explain softly.
Thoren sniffs in frustration but nods, and he proceeds to spread the remainder under my bralette, massaging my pecs a couple of times before standing back up and screwing the lid on the jar. “You can redress now,” he grunts, stepping back.
His gaze gets caught on my hard on, and I tuck it up into my underwear again. It’s not likely to stay in place with him watching, but hopefully by the time I get my clothes on, it will have deflated. I just have to stop looking at Thoren, because the tenting of his loincloth is far too sexy to ignore with my eyes open.
Turning, I stand with my back to him until I’m dressed again, and then we return to mission control where Reeves fits a lightweight, translucent breathing mask over my mouth and nose. It’s held on by magic, apparently, because it doesn’t require a strap or over the ears loops. It just stays in place with no visible explanation.
Maxime smiles at me with satisfaction. “Perfect. You’ll do wonderfully, but we will monitor from here in case things go awry. If there is any problem, Thoren will get you out of there and the rest of us will back you up if things get dicey. They won’t, obviously, but if they do, we’re here. Good luck!”
That’s it. That’s his pep talk, and there's no explanation for what happens next. Thoren places a hand on my shoulder, andthen we’re no longer in the control room. We’re on the bridge of a ship, standing directly in front of a whole bunch of dragons. That’s right; I’m calling them dragons because that’s what they are. Also, the holographic image that Faulkes was studying? Too small. Waay too small. These things tower over me. They’re probably twice my height.
It’s unnerving, but I pull my butler professionalism around me like a security blanket and pretend I’m just the assistant representing Maxime and I’m only here to open the door and greet his guests. “Greetings, you must be the tinkral. I’m Dec Scion, a representative of Earth and of Maxime Staiano, the ambassador stationed on Earth by the Intergalactic Planetary Preservation Society. May I ask the purpose of this visit to Sol?”
