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It was the kind of rain you fall asleep to, but not the kind you expect to wake you up in the middle of the night. The gentle patter on my window helped me drift off after Dad tucked me in (as if Dad’s special tuck-in play didn’t tire me out enough), but when the flashes behind my eyelids interrupted a nice dream filled with boy parts I sat up in bed and stared at the wall. And waited.
And it came, five seconds later. An earth-shattering KABOOM, though I had a feeling it wasn’t caused by an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator. My heart fluttered behind my ribs, my window rattled in its casing, and the statue of Roni Collins I had pieced together from spare Legos fell over, snapping off something nobody wants snapped off, ever.
The storm didn’t even have the balls to be windy or anything, just flash...BOOM like that. First I tried to lie back down, pulling the covers up to my chin and hoping the worst was over, while at the same time admonishing myself for being afraid of a little rain anyway. But the flash came again, and though I pressed my ears to my head and closed my eyes tight I could still hear it...and feel it in my chest.
Before it came again I threw my blanket off and hit the floor running. Another flash cast my silhouette against the hallway as my pads skidded on the wood, my tail trying to curl itself against my pumping legs. Fearing the approaching noise, I ran full-tilt toward Dad’s room, catching the doorframe with my shoulder, sending me hurtling toward his bed.
He was on his back, the covers only half on, his belly safe and round. The boom caused me to yelp and leap from a few feet away, trying to roll into a ball to cushion my landing. It didn’t work. Instead I crashed sidelong into him and unfolded, his startled grunt coming right on the tail of the dwindling thunder. Before he could ask me what I was doing I had hidden myself in his sheets and blankets.
“Oof,” he said against the white noise of rain on his window. “What’s up, Scooter?” Just hearing my pet name made me feel better. I turned around, belly-to-belly, and poked my head out of my hideaway. Only the outline of his head was visible, but his ears were way more up than mine. I wondered if you just got used to thunder the more it happened to you.
I wouldn’t cry, though. I wasn’t terrified, just scared.
“Lightning?” he asked, and suddenly I had a big warm paw on my flank, squeezing.
“No...”
“Thunder?”
I nodded.
“Ahhh. I gotcha. Kind of hard to sleep when the house is shaking all over the place, isn’t it?” Another flash lit up the room, momentarily highlighting his gentle blue eyes. Then I remembered what was coming and buried my face in the fuzz of his chest, clinging to his bulk, vaguely aware of his sheath poking me in the balls. It gave me a measure of comfort. When the boom came I flinched but it wasn’t nearly as scary as the others. Dad stroked my side the whole time, armpit to butt and back again.
I was glad this wasn’t one of those times when he would say “Walk it off” like when I fell off my bike and skinned my knee. Only after I rode down the street and back, bleeding but without training wheels, did he take me inside and carefully clean and bandage me, topping it off with a kiss.
The closeness had started to elicit a typical response from me despite my fear. Feeling him right under me, the reassuring fullness of his sheath combined with my own up against his stomach, always did things to me...like he did things to me and I to him. Clutching his chest fur, I humped a little and looked up at him. I still couldn’t see his eyes but I smelled his breath, middle-of-the-night stale mint, before he locked lips and gave me his tongue.
Dad always knew exactly what to do.
By the next flash he was busy licking over my teeth and sharing air so the boom only made me flinch. The next one--a minute or an hour later, I wasn’t paying attention--I was so caught up sucking his tongue into my throat and humping my hardened sheath into his paw I didn’t even notice it. Eventually he forced himself away with a slick pop.
“As much as I could spend the rest of the night trading spit,” he said, “we should really get some sleep.” He hefted my balls and the tip of his cock left slime on my cheeks.
“I don’t wanna go back to my room.”
He replied through a smile. “Never said you had to. Here, Scoot, turn around.” So I rotated with his help, until we were spooning and his paw came up between my legs so two fingers could manipulate me from below. He held me tight with his other arm, his cock resting heavily on my tail, as he worked me up through three more flash-booms I didn’t care about until my whole body sparkled from the sheath outword like he was so good at doing. He even bit my neck while I squeaked out my climax.
Afterward, I came down hard, barely able to kiss him goodnight through a massive yawn. I snuggled, back-to, the insistent heat of his cock pressed between my spread cheeks, comforting and comfy and wet. He’d probably spoon me until he spooged all over my hole, but he wouldn’t go in because it’d keep me up. But I didn’t care, because it was Dad, and no matter what he would make sure I was safe while I slept.
That’s why dads have such big paws...to hold onto the things they love. I sure hope mine get that big one day.
***
Guest characters invited Sebastien and Hector-and belongs to \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
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Lineart by Victor/colors by me