17. Dec

Chapter seventeen

Dec

(Plan B it is)

T horen walks with me back to the basement where, instead of the conference room, I'm introduced to the command center. It looks like the bridge of a Star Trek starship. 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 clothes Maxime 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.

"This is my 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 in Fantasia that 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 about all 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's too 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, and then 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?"

Someone assured me yesterday that the tinkral would have universal translation magic because the spell was created to encompass the entire universe. It doesn't work on most humans, and sometimes, even with the humans the spell does work for, it only works for some species. We don't know if I will be able to hear the tinkral in my own language, but we're hoping that the spell will work since I can perceive the small gargoyles and the cards think I should represent Earth on this mission.

One of the tinkral steps up with their scales pulsing between a vibrant green and a brick red. Somehow I know that means they're laughing. "Hello, little Dec," the dragon replies, and it sounds like they're from the midwest.

Not the part of the midwest that speaks in a standard American accent except that they have a few weird names thrown in, but the part of the midwest where the phrase "don'tcha know" is commonly used. Why would the translation give them a midwestern accent?

"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing I've ever seen. You said your name was Dec? That's adorable. Did your mother have a litter of ten? I didn't realize humans were so prolific." As an aside to one of the other dragons looking at me, they add, "We might have to sterilize most of the population so they aren't breeding out of control."

I've never been talked to like I'm a pet, and now that I have, I can say from experience that it's really fucking demeaning. "Sir or ma'am or other, please refrain from treating me like a pet. I'm not here to entertain you or keep you company. I'm here to discover the reason for your visit and to remind you that the Intergalactic Planetary Preservation Society has designated Earth as a protected planet and humans as an endangered species, and the Alliance of Species ratified that status in the Abron accords. The protected status is to remain in effect until such time as more than fifty percent of the human population is capable of perceiving magic."

"Aww, he thinks he's a diplomat," the dragon says to their friends, and they all laugh by fluctuating the color of their scales between green and reddish brown.

Fun. How do I convince these dragons to take me seriously?

I take a deep breath and glance back at Thoren who's standing behind me. His breathing is getting heavier like he's ready to attack, but I'm really hoping for a peaceful resolution. I tighten the reins I have on my butler training and give the dragon a bland smile, keeping my tone cool and even. "I am not a diplomat. I'm not here to negotiate. I'm here to greet you. Whether that greeting is a ‘please enjoy your visit' or a ‘we are not accepting visitors at this time' is entirely up to you."

The lead dragon bends over to put us eye to eye, speaking with a smile in their tone. "You're adorable. We're here to take responsibility for the humans and their planet. They're not good stewards of their resources and the IPPS is failing at influencing the world leaders into creating serious conservation efforts. We're going to preserve Earth and occupy it. Humans will quickly be interbred with other species that can perceive magic, and within fifty years, half of the humans on the planet will be able to perceive magic. You can tell your ambassador that. The tinkral are taking responsibility for the preservation of Earth."

"Ah, I do apologize, but I regret to inform you that Earth will not be accepting visitors at this time. Please exit the solar system as quickly as possible and call before planning a return trip. I will inform the ambassador that you have chosen to be unwelcome." I put my hands behind my back, indicating to Thoren that now is the time to initiate the disabling.

The scales on the dragon turn a shade of blue that I suddenly know communicates their disappointment. "There's really no stopping us. Earth isn't well protected enough to stop us from coming to its aid."

This person is completely delusional. "As I have said, please make your exit out of the solar system as quickly as possible. If you fail to comply, it will be a galactic standard month before anyone from the Alliance of Species will be able to respond to your distress." That last part isn't necessarily true, but I don't think it will take much convincing to keep anyone from sending aid to these fuckers.

"It's a good thing you're cute, little human. Tell you what, why don't you follow my nice friend here to a lovely playroom where you can relax and have fun without worrying about what we're doing. We'll make sure your ambassador knows what's happening and keep him informed of your wellbeing."

I sigh and look back at Thoren. "Shall we?"

We've got a few engines to disable.

Thoren starts to say something, but then he stops and tilts his head, swiveling his pointed ears like he's listening for something. The dragons still and their coloring shifts from green to red, telling me that they're amused again.

"Did the little gargoyles arrive?" I ask, fairly certain Thoren is listening to his friends making minced meat of the ship's innards.

I can't hear them, but once Thoren explained that all stone-based creatures with magic can teleport (including all the species of gargoyles in the known universe), I asked if the little gargoyles might be able to infiltrate and disable the ships without putting the brothers at risk, and they all agreed they should have thought of that option too. According to the brothers, the little gargoyles were the originals on Earth and have a vested interest in keeping Earth safe, which is why they hang out on the mansion's roof.

The cards made their opinion known by somehow calling Thoren an idiot. I don't know how he read that in the cards, but he did.

Me? I think the cards were just fucking with me. There's absolutely no reason I should have come at all. I've gotten nowhere with the dragons, and I'm basically just a pet to them. They're not taking me seriously, and why hasn't Thoren said anything?

"Is that how you got here?" the midwestern dragon asks surprised. "I wondered how you got past the wards."

I stare at him confused, then point to the big ass gargoyle standing directly behind me. "My escort brought me."

The dragon looks beyond me and his scales turn reddish brown again. "What do you mean?"

These fuckers are laughing at me.

I reach back to pull Thoren forward, but he's not where I expect him, so I turn to grab him, and he's right there. I reach for his arm, but instead of my hand meeting his flesh, I pass right through him. We both have a moment of disbelief before Thoren disappears, leaving me alone with the dragons.

I straighten my spine, call on my inner badass butler, and return my focus to the dragons in the room that think I'm cute and like to tease.

Time to find out what they did with Thoren, and I don't mind playing dirty.