Page 30 of The Planetary Systems Preservation Committee Decided We Needed a Nanny

“It is because you smell strongly, and I know that you prefer to smell more like your soaps,” he replies without a bit of guile.

I press my lips into a thin line instead of letting my jaw drop in offended shock. I am one hundred percent sure he did not mean to tell me that I stink. Lora definitely wouldn’t do that. “Ok. Thank you for taking my hygiene into consideration. What are you going to do?”

Lora kisses my hair. “I will watch,” he replies softly with a lusty little glint in his eyes.

“And? What about your hygiene? You just woke up, don’t you have to pee or something?” I grimace. “I realize you don’t have a hole for solid waste.”

Lora laughs. “My body consumes everything I intake and there is no waste that is not breathed out. My breath is the waste disposal system of this evolution,” he explains as he sets me down in the shower. He indicates his body before pulling at my shirt to help me undress. “I am very much looking forward to seeing your nude body again, my Ollie. I have missed your pleasure while I was incapable of giving it to you.”

Oh my god. I’m going to die an extremely happy man with Lora if he’s going to be like this for the rest of our lives. Oops. Here I am thinking forever kind of thoughts, and we haven’t even gotten to the good parts of this relationship. I mean, it’s all good, but I like the idea of rocking chairs on porches and sunsets with cups of decaf, you know what I mean? The good parts. It won’t look like that with Lora, but I’m envisioning getting to sit on his lap for the rest of our lives, and that’s also a really good part.

“If you want to give me an orgasm or two, I wouldn’t be at all upset by that.”

Lora chuckles softly. “I intend to enjoy your pleasure as much as you can bear today.”

With that promise giving me the best of anticipation, his vambrace erupts into an alert that sounds like an alarm.

Lora tosses my shirt into the laundry pile before looking at his digital readout. “I apologize, Ollie. I did not realize that there would be a general alert for all enforcers. The InvasiveParasiticBodySnatchers have infiltrated further into the world than we expected. Their advanced scouts have been here longer than expected and the technology of their ships has advanced since our last encounter. The timer countdown was wrong. They are almost here already. Please shower and relax. Stay in your assigned domicile today, and I will return when we have turned back the invasion. Do not allow yourself to be convinced to join the fight. Humans do not need to fight.”

“I remember. Vera told me that humans fighting would be akin to the crime of negligence to the galactic commission that sent you guys here to nanny us.” I don’t want Lora out there fighting, but the only part of this I can control is what I do, which will be what he tells me to do.

Lora runs his hands up my body and cups my face in his hands. “I will return to pleasure you, my Ollie.”

“I’ll expect a lot of pleasure, my Lora.” I sure as fuck hope that he’s not about to come back to me after another healing rest. “You will keep me updated and let me know before you fall into a healing rest if you do it again.”

Lora kisses me, just a gentle peck to my lips. “I will not be allowed near the battle because I just finished a healing cycle. I will be very safe in the… operations room.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “I’m not going to be mad about that.”

Lora presses his thin lips to mine and lingers there for several seconds. He’s cooler than usual, maybe still warming up from his stint as a corpse impersonator, but it’s the warmest touch I’ve ever received from another person. He’s telling me with a kiss that he cares about me, that he’s going to miss me, that he regrets that he must go, but that he will be contributing to keep me safe because I matter to him. I pour my hope for his safety, health, and return into that moment with him. I’m already halfway in love with him, but those words are reserved for moments without the duress of real death hanging over us.

When he releases me, his fingers linger on my cheek until he teleports away. I take a moment to settle the worry, then I scrub every last inch of me, preparing for his return. When he gets back, I fully expect his tongue in my ass, and I will be prepared for that no matter when the battle is over, even if that means douching every day for the next month. Hopefully this battle is going to go like the battle for Earth did. (It wasn’t even close, and there were zero casualties on either side until the ship was destroyed.)

CHAPTER TWENTY

I don’t think people have really thought about what it means for humanity to have been assigned alien nannies to keep us from blowing ourselves up or destroying ourselves and our planet. Seriously, what do people think a nanny’s job is? Nannies keep their charges alive, they feed them, they help them with the things they need help with, and they watch over them. Nannies exist to make sure children reach adulthood relatively unscathed.

The fact that humans keep having their nannies metaphorically smack their hands to keep them from reaching for their weapons to fight against the ParasiticInvasiveBodySnatchers is a prime example of our aliens nannying extra hard. We are not allowed in this fight because the goal is to keep us alive long enough to get us to adulthood as a species. We are children fighting against the people charged with our safety and security.

Literally, humanity needs a therapist. We’re so gung-ho about being independent little shits that we’re doing things that endanger us when we don’t have to!

I’m keeping a tally of how many little rebellions the ScaryDarkAlienVampires are quelling while fighting off the invasion of the ParasiticInvasiveBodySnatchers, and it’s embarrassing how many of them are in what was the United States before our alien nannies dismantled every human government. They are gentle-parenting us, don’t get me wrong, but this isn’t a democracy. This is an authoritarian regime meant to help us grow up with a moral compass pointed toward egalitarianism.

The TV’s one channel that was hosting the administrator person and that subscript announcement has changed since the battle for Earth started. The TV now shows the command central war room where Lora is currently working to organize the aliens’ war effort against the body snatchers. He’s actually the main person on screen most of the time, which is a genuine relief for me. I get to see him all the time, but the subscript scrolling along is the casualty count for this war effort. It includes the number of dead and injured on both sides of the war. Humans are steady at zero deaths, but the rising number of injuries is annoying. We have over ten thousand injuries. The ScaryDarkAlienVampires have a zero death count and an injury count of literally two. The body snatchers death count moved from zero to in the tens of millions with the destruction of a single ship, and Lora explained on the TV that the death count is so high because the ship was carrying mature larva ready for implantation.

So why are humans getting injured? Honestly, it’s because it’s like the fourth of July with people fucking around with explosives and finding out that small explosions and large quantities of alcohol are a bad idea. It’s so stupid. There was a little town in Tennessee that heard it had a body snatcher working at the morgue (it did), and the town mob went to address the issue. There were fifty burn injuries in that little riot before the ScaryDarkAlienVampires got everyone re-educated and tucked back into their beds at home.

It’s embarrassing how bad we are at staying the fuck out of the way.

Bee plops onto the sofa right next to me, handing me a plate with a deconstructed sandwich on it. Do I know why we’re doing deconstructed sammies today? No. Am I bothered about it? Fuck no. I didn’t have to make this plate of food, why the fuck would I complain about it? I wouldn’t.

“Thanks,” I tell her before biting into the hoagie bread.

“Anything new?” Bee asks, looking at the TV.

I shake my head, throwing her a little smirk. “The human injury counter ticked up seventy three numbers because of a riot in Florida. A bunch of elderly shitheads decided to take their canes to the streets. The aliens put an end to that in about three seconds, but there’s been a bunch of newly scheduled hip replacements.”

Bee smacks my chest. “You’re ridiculous. No one told you how many hip replacements their shenanigans resulted in.”