Page 10 of Space Daddy and a Boy Called Twink

While I was still adjusting to the lexicon and emotional language of Twink’s community, what we exchanged now with a look was something far more primal, the initial click that had piqued my interest. My new form reacted viscerally as I desired to take him right there, ravage him the way his expression begged to be ravaged, take his body and make it my own, filling him with my seed and having him caring for my offspring.

But still unaware of the customs of his species, I forced myself to release his wrist, just as a sound caught my attention—someone was entering his dwelling. I pushed to my feet, ready to defend Twink. Perhaps the scan results from last night had come back to Chelsea and I’d been discovered? But then it turned out, it was someone I recognized.

“You forgot to lock your door,” he said, heading along the kitchen island. “Must’ve had a real good—oh, whoa. Hey there, Daddy.”

“Powerbottom.”

“And don’t you forget it,” he said with a wink. “Well, well, so much for heading home to get to sleep.” He eyed Twink.

I probed his emotions, sensing no harm in his words, only playfulness.

“Kind of a weird story,” Twink said, “but basically, Daddy saved my ass.”

“I’ll bet he did more than that with it.”

Twink rolled his eyes.

Powerbottom said, “Figured you might want to come get some breakfast with me before work, but I see we’re having breakfast here. Rude of you not to make me a waffle or two, though.”

Powerbottom approached the waffle contraption and began pouring the mix into the device, helping himself to Twink’s space.

“Work?” I asked Twink.

“I work at the bookstore down the street—well, in the coffee shop part since we’ve been short-staffed. There’s this girl Monika who stopped coming in, but for whatever reason, my boss hasn’t fired her. Something to do with corporate red tape. Anyway, I’m not a very good barista. They need to hire someone and get on with it.”

So many words, so many elements I couldn’t make sense of, the customs and hierarchal order of his community.

“What doyoudo, Daddy?” Powerbottom asked. “Some cushy job with lots of benefits, I hope. Charlie needs some decent health insurance, and the bookstore ain’t cutting it.”

Charlie must’ve been a nickname for Twink.

As Twink and Powerbottom awaited my response, I considered my options. I couldn’t sayintergalactic scientistwithout giving too much away, so I played it safe. “It’s complicated.”

Powerbottom shrugged. “I hear that.”

“That said, if Twink must get to work, I have work I need to get to as well.”

“Oh, he works on Saturday?” Powerbottom said to Twink. “Might not be such a cushy job after all. You’re still fucked.”

“Did you want me to put these waffles in a container for you?” Twink asked me.

Again, there was this nurturer in him that assured me of what a good mate he’d make. This was clearly a man who would do a good job caring for my young.

“I would like that,” I told Twink, and he pushed to his feet.

He found a container in a cabinet—an opaque box—and placed the waffles inside. “There. Now you have to see me againto return it.” He passed it across the kitchen island. His eyes illuminated as his lips curled into that gorgeous smirk I was quickly becoming obsessed with.

I pushed to my feet and started for the door when Twink said, “Dude!”

I wasn’t sure what this was—another nickname?—so I turned back.

“You can’t go out there wearing that.”

I searched myself over, uncertain what the issue could be, since I was still in the clothes I donned the night before. I’d already beenout therein them, and they had proved a success.

“What are you worried about?” Powerbottom asked. “Worst thing that could happen is he winds up getting a BJ on the way home.”

This earned a look from Twink, who approached, saying, “You are not doing a walk of shame in that.” He took my hand, guiding me into a bathroom, which connected to a short hallway back into the bedroom. On one side of the hall, clothes were hung up opposite two dressers, and Twink sifted through the drawers of these dressers before handing me a few garments. “Here. You can throw these on.”