Which brings you to the now, feigning disinterest as you fondle your cute boyfriend sitting back between your thighs. Dick’s torn between just taking it (if he really wanted to, he could put up just as strong a front) or moaning like a little bitch just to piss you off. He settles for something in the middle. Mostly silent but squirmy. Dick can feel the grin you're fighting pressing into his nape, so he knows he’s getting somewhere at least. When you start to push him off and down to the side, however, is when he huffs. “Baby,” He drawls, fighting a nervous grin, “noo!”

His shorts peel back easily enough, regardless, and you’re left to work the worn-out jockstrap he always seems to be wearing off too. The weirdo doesn’t need them for day-to-day life, but he seems to enjoy the freedom they provide anyway. Perv.

Dick rolls his eyes when you murmur a greeting to his cock as if it could respond, but whatever remark he was saving next was quickly swallowed by your mouth closing in around him. You always do this! Never giving him a real chance to warm up (though he was already hard from the prior fondling). “Ah, shit.” He pants, jerking a bit to sit up on his hands, watching your head lean this way and that to better suckle around him. That’s right, suckle. He’s so small that you don’t even need to bob. If you’re feeling generous, you could use your hands to play with his balls a bit, but for the most part, all you need to get him off is the very tip of your tongue. He’s so cute.

“Sweetheart, mh, it’s not going anywhere!” Dick laughs, patting the top of your head some. “No need to be so rough…” His advice rubs more like a challenge, though, and you take it as such. Dick playfully squeals when you force him back against the cushions harder, lifting his legs to wrap around the back of your shoulders for the hell of it. His cooes die off the harder you swirl your tongue, lapping up every bit of pre that pearls from his tiny tip. “Oh…oh, that’s it…ah,” He hisses, throwing his head back. His hands flex and wander from his sides to up his own abdomen. Feeling over pudge and muscle all the way up to the armrest behind him. He’s beautiful like this. Like he always is.

“M’gonna cum beautiful,” Dick pants, his eyes tightly screwed shut. “Oo, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Anticipating his load, you ease on your suction whirlpool, and part your lips. The sensation is both heartbreaking and arousing, enough for your boyfriend to finish. Some of it splatters atop your upper lip, but you catch most of it in your awaiting mouth. A swallow and a shine of your tongue is all it takes to get Dicks cock sticking up again when you present your empty mouth.

The city is burning.

You hover above the chaos, watching the alien warships carve through skyscrapers like they're made of paper. The screams rise up from below, a symphony of terror that makes your jaw clench. You've heard those screams before—on Tamaran, when the sky turned black with ships just like these.

Your hands ignite with green energy, crackling and hungry.

Then you see him—a streak of yellow and blue cutting through the smoke. Invincible. Mark Grayson. You've heard of him, seen him on the news, but never met him in person. He's fighting three of the invaders at once, his fists connecting with satisfying crunches, but there are dozens more pouring from the ships.

He's alone.

You dive.

The wind screams past you as you accelerate, and you slam into the nearest alien with enough force to send it careening into a building. Mark spins, fists raised, then freezes when he sees you.

"Who—"

"Later," you say, firing a starbolt that incinerates two more aliens mid-flight. "You need help."

Mark's eyes widen as he takes you in—your revealing costume, your glowing hands, the way you move through the air like you were born to it. "I'm not complaining, but—"

An alien lunges. You catch it by the throat, your fingers burning through its armor, and hurl it into the stratosphere. "These are Gordanians," you say, your voice tight. "I know them."

Mark punches through another one's chest, his expression grim. "Know them how?"

"They invaded my home." You fire another volley of starbolts, each one finding its mark with lethal precision. "Destroyed everything. Everyone."

Mark's communicator crackles. "Mark, I can't send backup to your location. Everyone's engaged. You're on your own."

Mark glances at you, something shifting in his expression. He presses the comm. "Cecil, I've got help. Someone who knows these aliens. They're called Gordanians."

There's a pause. "Who's with you?"

"New hero," Mark says, watching you tear through three Gordanians with your bare hands. "What's your name? Your hero name?"

You decapitate a Gordanian with a burst of green energy, then glance back at Mark with a sharp grin. "Sunfire," you call out, already moving toward the next wave of invaders. "Now focus—more incoming from the east!"

"Got it," Mark says. "There's another hero here—goes by Sunfire. He knows how to take these aliens down. I'm working with him." He pauses. "Keep me posted on the rest of the city." The line goes quiet for a moment. "Will do, Mark. Good work," Cecil finally responds, and the line goes dead.

You and Mark fall into a rhythm. He's strong—stronger than you expected—and fast. His punches have real weight behind them, the kind that comes from Viltrumite blood. You've heard the stories about his father, about Omni-Man's betrayal, but right now all you see is a young man fighting with everything he has.

"Left!" you shout, and Mark ducks as you send a wave of energy over his head, obliterating the Gordanians trying to flank him.

"Thanks!" He grins, breathless, and something in your chest tightens.

You work together, clearing the sector block by block. The Gordanians are vicious, but they're not prepared for the two of you. Mark's raw power combined with your knowledge of their weaknesses makes you devastating. You know where their armor is thinnest, which weapons to avoid, how to disable their ships.

"How do you know all this?" Mark asks as you rip the power core from a Gordanian fighter, sending it spiraling into the river.

"Experience," you say darkly. "I've killed a lot of them."

Mark looks at you, really looks at you, and you see something in his eyes—recognition, maybe. Understanding. He knows what it's like to carry that weight.

"Come on," you say, nodding toward the smoke rising from downtown. "The others need help."

You fly side by side across the city, and despite the destruction below, despite the screams and the fire, you feel something you haven't felt in a long time.

You're not alone.

"So, Sunfire," Mark says as you both dodge debris from a collapsing building. "That's a pretty cool name."

"Better than Invincible?" you tease, firing a starbolt that takes out a Gordanian gunship.

Mark laughs—actually laughs—and the sound is startling in the middle of all this chaos. "Hey, I didn't pick it. The media did."

"Sure they did." You bank left, and Mark follows, the two of you moving in sync like you've been doing this for years instead of minutes.

You find Robot and Monster Girl pinned down by a squadron of Gordanian soldiers. You and Mark hit them from above, a coordinated strike that scatters them like leaves. Monster Girl looks up, her massive form covered in wounds, and nods her thanks.

"We've got this sector," Robot says through his drone. "Move on."

You do. The next hour is a blur of violence and adrenaline. You and Mark tear through the Gordanian forces, and with every fight, you learn more about each other. Mark is strong, but he's also smart—he adapts quickly, learns from watching you, anticipates your moves. And he's got a mouth on him.

"Behind you!" he shouts, and you spin, catching a Gordanian blade on your forearm. Your skin barely bruises.

"I had it," you say, snapping the alien's neck.

"Sure you did." Mark grins, and there's something in that grin—something warm and alive that makes your pulse quicken.

You learn that Mark jokes when he's nervous. That he fights with a kind of desperate intensity, like he's trying to prove something. That he watches you when he thinks you're not looking, his eyes tracking the way you move, the way your powers flare.

And you learn that he's carrying something heavy. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches when he thinks no one's watching. He's eighteen and fighting a war, and he's doing it alone.

"You're good at this," Mark says as you both hover above a cleared intersection, catching your breath.

"So are you." You glance at him, taking in the way his suit clings to his body, the way his dark hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat. He's beautiful, you realize. Young and strong and beautiful.

"I mean it," Mark says, his voice softer now. "The way you fight—it's like you've been doing this your whole life."

"I have," you say. "On Tamaran, everyone learns to fight. It's part of our culture."

"Tamaran," Mark repeats. "That's where you're from?"

"Was from." The words taste bitter. "It's gone now."

Mark's expression shifts, something painful flickering across his face. "I'm sorry."

You shake your head. "Don't be. Let's keep moving."

You find Eve and Rex struggling against a Gordanian war machine. You and Mark dismantle it together, your starbolts melting through its armor while Mark tears it apart from the inside. Eve gives you a curious look, but there's no time for introductions.

The battle rages on. You and Mark are everywhere, a whirlwind of power and precision. And through it all, you can't stop watching him. The way he moves, the way he fights, the way he looks at you like you're something extraordinary.

By the time the last Gordanian ships begin their retreat into the atmosphere, the sun is starting to rise. The city is in ruins, but it's still standing. You and Mark hover above it all, breathing hard, covered in blood and ash.

"We did it," Mark says, relief flooding his voice as he watches the ships flee. "They're running—"

"No."

The word comes out cold, final. Mark turns to look at you, and whatever he sees in your face makes him go still.

"They don't get to run," you say, and your voice is shaking with something dark and ancient. "They don't get to escape and do this to someone else. Not again. Never again."

"Sunfire—" Mark starts, but you're already rising higher, your body beginning to glow.

Green energy crackles across your skin, brighter and hotter than it's been all night. You can feel your power building, drawing from reserves you've never fully tapped, from the rage and grief you've carried since Tamaran burned. Your eyes blaze with emerald fire as you stare up at the retreating fleet.

"They took everything from me," you say, and you're not sure if you're talking to Mark or yourself or the ghosts of everyone you've lost. "My home. My people. My family. They don't get to do it again."

The energy around you intensifies, a corona of green flame that makes the rising sun look dim by comparison. Mark shields his eyes, hovering below you, and you can hear him calling your name, but it's distant, muffled by the roar of power in your ears.

You think of your sister's face. Your parents' palace in flames. The screams of your people as the Gordanians tore through the capital. The weight of the crown you'll never wear, the throne of a world that no longer exists.

And you let it all out.

The starbolt that erupts from your body isn't a blast—it's a supernova. A miniature sun born from Tamaranean fury and grief, expanding outward in a sphere of annihilating light. It catches the fleeing ships instantly, and for a moment, the sky is nothing but green fire.

The explosion is silent at first, too massive for sound. Then the shockwave hits, a thunderclap that rattles windows across the entire city. The Gordanian fleet simply ceases to exist—vaporized, atomized, erased from existence in a flash of emerald brilliance.

When the light fades, you're still hovering there, arms outstretched, chest heaving. The glow around you dims slowly, flickering like a dying flame. You feel hollowed out, exhausted in a way that goes deeper than physical fatigue.

But you also feel... lighter.

For the first time since you fled Tamaran, since you killed your sister and watched your world burn, you feel like you've done something that matters. Like you've taken back some small measure of control. The Gordanians who destroyed your home are gone. They'll never invade another world. Never burn another city. Never make another refugee.

You did that.

You protected Earth the way no one could protect Tamaran.

Slowly, you descend. Mark is staring at you with wide eyes, his expression caught somewhere between awe and concern. When you reach his level, he reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering near your shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

You take a shuddering breath and nod. "Yeah. I am." And you mean it. "They're gone. They can't hurt anyone else now."

Mark's hand settles on your shoulder, warm and grounding. "That was... I've never seen anything like that."

"Neither have I," you admit. A tired smile tugs at your lips. "I didn't know I could do that."

"Remind me never to piss you off," Mark says, and there's a hint of his usual humor in his voice, but his eyes are serious. Understanding.

You look down at the city below—battered, smoking, but still standing. Still alive. "Come on," you say. "Let's go help with cleanup."

Mark nods, but he doesn't let go of your shoulder right away. "Thank you," he says. "For being here. For... all of it."

You meet his eyes, and something passes between you. Something that feels like the beginning of understanding. "Thank you for fighting with me."

Mark smiles, and it's like the sun breaking through clouds. "Anytime."

You fly higher, away from the smoke and the sirens, until the city is just a glittering sprawl below you. Mark follows, and when you finally stop, you're so high that the air is thin and cold.

"Why up here?" Mark asks, hovering beside you.

"Because it's quiet," you say. "And because I need to tell you something."

Mark waits, his expression open and patient.

"Those aliens—the Gordanians—they didn't just invade my home. They destroyed it. Every city, every village, every person I ever knew." The words come easier than you expected, maybe because Mark is looking at you like he understands. "My sister brought them. She wanted the throne, and when she couldn't have it, she made a deal with them. She sold out our entire planet for power."

"Jesus," Mark breathes.

"I killed her," you say flatly. "I killed my own sister to stop the invasion, but it was too late. Tamaran was already burning. So I ran. I came here, to Earth, because I had nowhere else to go."

Mark is quiet for a long moment. Then he says, "My dad tried to conquer Earth."

You look at him, surprised.

"He's Viltrumite," Mark continues, his voice rough. "They're this race of—of conquerors. They destroy planets, enslave populations, and my dad was supposed to do that here. He was supposed to weaken Earth so the Viltrumites could take over. But he didn't. He—" Mark's voice cracks. "He left. He just left, and now I don't know if he's coming back or if he's going to bring an army with him."

"Mark—"

"I'm eighteen," Mark says, and there's so much pain in his voice that it makes your chest ache. "I'm eighteen, and I'm supposed to protect the entire planet from my own father. I'm supposed to be strong enough, good enough, but I don't know if I am. And everyone's counting on me, and I—" He stops, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be dumping this on you."

"Yes, you should," you say firmly. You reach out, your hand finding his shoulder. "Mark, you're not alone. I know what it's like to carry that weight. I know what it's like to lose everything and still have to keep fighting."

Mark looks at you, and his eyes are bright with unshed tears. "How do you do it? How do you keep going?"

"Because I have to," you say. "Because if I stop, then they win. The Gordanians, my sister, everyone who tried to destroy me—they win. And I won't let them."

Mark nods slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that."

You float there together, suspended in the sky, and something passes between you. An understanding. A connection. You've both been broken by the people you loved, both been forced to become something harder, something stronger. And maybe, just maybe, you don't have to do it alone anymore.

"Thank you," Mark says quietly. "For telling me. For being here."

"Thank you for listening," you say.

Mark smiles, and it's small but genuine. "We should do this again. Work together, I mean. You're—you're really good."

"So are you," you say, and you mean it.

As you fly back toward the city, you can't shake the feeling that something has shifted. That this—whatever this is—is just the beginning.

The first mission is a bank robbery. Nothing major, just some idiots with stolen tech trying to make a quick score. You and Mark take them down in under five minutes, and afterward, Mark suggests getting food.

You end up on a rooftop with burgers and fries, talking about everything and nothing. Mark tells you about his mom, about college, about trying to balance being a hero with being a normal teenager. You tell him about Tamaran, about the culture and the people, about what it was like to grow up as a prince.

"A prince?" Mark says, his eyes wide. "You're royalty?"

"Was royalty," you correct. "Now I'm just a guy in a tight suit."

Mark laughs, and the sound makes something warm bloom in your chest.

The second mission is a fire. An apartment building, dozens of people trapped inside. You and Mark work together to evacuate everyone, and when it's over, Mark looks at you with something like awe.

"You saved that kid," he says. "The one on the top floor. I saw you go back for him."

"So did you," you point out. "You went back for the family on the third floor."

"Yeah, but—" Mark shakes his head. "You didn't hesitate. You just went."

"So did you," you say again, and Mark smiles.

The third mission is Gordanian remnants. A small group trying to regroup in the sewers. You and Mark hunt them down, and this time, Mark sees the way you fight when it's personal. The way your starbolts burn hotter, the way your punches land harder.

Afterward, Mark asks if you're okay.

"I'm fine," you say, but your hands are shaking.

Mark takes one of your hands in his, his touch warm and steady. "It's okay not to be fine."

You look at him, at this eighteen-year-old boy who's been through hell and still has the capacity for kindness, and something in your chest cracks open.

The missions keep coming. A supervillain here, a natural disaster there, more Gordanian stragglers. And with every mission, you and Mark grow closer. You learn to anticipate each other's moves, to communicate without words. You learn that Mark likes terrible puns and that he hums when he's concentrating. You learn that he watches you when he thinks you're not looking, his gaze lingering on your body, your face, your hands.

And you learn that you're doing the same thing.

It starts small—a brush of hands when you're flying side by side, a lingering look that lasts a heartbeat too long. But it grows. Mark starts finding excuses to touch you, to stand close, to lean into your space. And you let him, because you want it too.

By the third week, the tension is unbearable. Every time Mark smiles at you, every time his hand brushes yours, every time you catch him staring, it feels like a live wire under your skin. You want him. You want him so badly it's like a physical ache, and you're pretty sure he wants you too.

But neither of you says anything. Neither of you makes a move.

Until tonight.

"Want to fly?" Mark asks after you've finished clearing out a drug den.

It's late—past midnight—and the city is quiet below you. You should go home, get some sleep, but the thought of leaving Mark makes your chest tight.

"Sure," you say.

You fly together, high above the city, until the lights below look like stars. Mark is quiet beside you, his expression thoughtful, and you can feel the tension radiating off him.

"You okay?" you ask.

Mark looks at you, and there's something in his eyes—something hungry and desperate and uncertain all at once. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Do you—" Mark stops, swallows hard. "Do you feel it too? This—whatever this is between us?"

Your heart hammers against your ribs. "Yes."

Mark's breath hitches. "I've never—I mean, I've thought about it, but I've never actually—"

"Mark," you say gently, moving closer. "Are you saying you're a virgin?"

Mark's cheeks flush, visible even in the dim light. "Yeah. Is that—is that weird?"

"No," you say, and you reach out, cupping his face in your hand. "It's not weird. But if we do this, I want you to be sure. I want you to want this."

"I do," Mark says immediately, leaning into your touch. "I want this. I want you. I've wanted you since the first time I saw you fight."

Something hot and possessive surges through you. "Then come here."

You kiss him, and Mark makes a sound—a desperate, needy sound that goes straight to your cock. His lips are soft and eager, and when you deepen the kiss, he opens for you immediately, his tongue sliding against yours.

You pull back just enough to look at him. "We're doing this here? In the sky?"

"Yeah," Mark breathes. "I don't want to wait. I don't want to go anywhere else. I just want you."

"Okay," you say, and you kiss him again, harder this time.

Mark's hands are everywhere—tangling in your hair, gripping your shoulders, sliding down your back. You can feel how hard he is already, his cock pressing against you through his suit, and the knowledge that you're the one making him feel this way is intoxicating.

"Tell me what you need," you murmur against his lips.

"You," Mark gasps. "Just you. Please."

You pull back enough to start working at his suit. Mark helps, his hands shaking slightly, and when you finally get it off, you take a moment to just look at him. He's beautiful—all lean muscle and golden skin, his cock hard and flushed and leaking.

"You're perfect," you say, and Mark's breath hitches.

"I'm not—"

"You are," you insist, wrapping your hand around his cock. Mark's whole body jerks, a low moan escaping his throat. "So perfect, Mark. So beautiful."

"Fuck," Mark breathes, his hips bucking into your hand. "That feels—oh god, that feels so good."

You stroke him slowly, watching the way his face contorts with pleasure. His cock is hot and heavy in your hand, and you can feel his pulse throbbing through it. "You're so sensitive," you murmur. "Is it always like this?"

"I don't know," Mark gasps. "I've never—it's never felt like this before."

"Is it because you're a Viltrumite?" you ask, stroking him from base to tip. "Your senses are heightened. Every touch, every sensation—it's all amplified."

Mark hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly even as pleasure washes over his features. "Maybe," he says uncertainly, his voice shaky. "I... I don't think so, though. I mean, I don't know if that's..." He trails off, his cheeks flushing deeper. "It's just... it's you. It's all you. I've never felt anything like this before, and I don't think it's just because of what I am. It's because it's you."

Mark's eyes go wide. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck, I'm not going to last—"

"It's okay," you soothe, releasing his cock. "We have all night. And I'm going to make you feel so good, Mark. I'm going to take care of you."

Mark nods, his breathing ragged, and you kiss him again. This time, you let your hands wander, exploring the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs, the curve of his ass. Mark is trembling under your touch, little gasps and moans escaping him with every caress.

"I need to prep you," you say, pulling back to look at him. "I need to open you up so I don't hurt you."

"Okay," Mark breathes. "Okay, yeah. Do it."

You move to be between Mark's legs, and he watches you with wide eyes, breathing hard. You don't hesitate—you lean down and run your tongue along his entrance, preparing him with your mouth. Mark's eyes widen.

You work him open with your mouth, tasting him, feeling the way his body responds to every flick of your tongue. Mark is gasping above you, his hands tangling in your hair, his hips twitching with the effort of staying still.

"Oh god, oh god," he moans, and you pull back, spitting into your palm. You coat your fingers with your saliva, and then you're reaching between Mark's legs, rubbing on his hole. He's tight—so tight—and when you press the tip of one finger inside, Mark's whole body goes rigid.

"Breathe," you murmur, your other hand stroking his hip. "Just breathe, Mark. I've got you."

Mark takes a shaky breath, and you push deeper, working your finger inside him. The heat is incredible, and you can feel every flutter and clench of his muscles. Mark is making these little desperate sounds, his hands gripping your shoulders hard enough to bruise.

"How does it feel?" you ask, slowly pumping your finger in and out.

"Weird," Mark gasps. "But—but good. Really good."

"Good," you say, and you add a second finger.

Mark cries out, his back arching, and you still, giving him time to adjust. "Too much?"

"No," Mark pants. "No, keep going. Please keep going."

You do, scissoring your fingers, stretching him open. Mark is so responsive, his body opening for you like he was made for this. You find his prostate, and when you press against it, Mark nearly sobs.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, what was that?"

"That," you say, stroking over it again, "is your prostate. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Mark gasps, his hips rocking back onto your fingers. "Yes, fuck, do that again."

You do, over and over, until Mark is writhing in your arms, desperate and needy and so fucking beautiful. You add a third finger, and Mark takes it easily now, his hole slick and open.

"I think you're ready," you say, slowly withdrawing your fingers.

"Wait," Mark says, his hand catching your wrist. "I want—can you use your mouth again? Please?"

Your cock throbs at the request. "You want me to eat you out more?"

"Yes," Mark breathes, his cheeks flushed. "I want to feel your mouth on me."

"Fuck, Mark," you groan. "You're going to kill me."

You maneuver him carefully, turning him so his back is to you. Mark's legs wrap around your waist, and you support his weight easily as you spread his cheeks. His hole is pink and slick, clenching around nothing, and the sight makes your mouth water.

You lean in and lick a long stripe over his hole. Mark shouts, his whole body jerking, and you have to tighten your grip to keep him steady.

"Oh my god," Mark gasps. "Oh my god, that's—fuck, that's so good."

You do it again, this time pressing your tongue inside. Mark tastes clean and slightly sweet, and the way he's trembling in your arms makes you want to devour him. You work your tongue deeper, fucking him with it, and Mark is making the most incredible sounds—desperate, broken moans that echo in the night air.

"Please," Mark begs, his hands fisting in your hair. "Please, I need—I need more. I need you inside me."

You pull back, your lips and chin slick. "You sure?"

"Yes," Mark says desperately. "Yes, please, I'm ready. I want you."

You shift him again, positioning him so he's facing you. His legs wrap around your waist, and you line your cock up with his hole. Mark's eyes are wide and dark, his lips parted, and he looks so fucking beautiful like this—open and wanting and trusting.

"This might hurt at first," you warn, pressing the head of your cock against his entrance.

"I can take it," Mark says, and there's steel in his voice. "I want to take it. I want to take you."

You push inside, slowly, and Mark's breath leaves him in a rush. He's so tight, so hot, and it takes everything you have not to just slam into him. You go inch by inch, watching Mark's face, ready to stop if he shows any sign of pain.

But Mark doesn't look pained. He looks overwhelmed, his eyes wide and glassy, his mouth open in a silent moan. When you're finally fully seated inside him, you both pause, breathing hard.

"How do you feel?" you ask, your voice strained.

"Full," Mark gasps. "So full. It's—it's so much, but it's good. It's so good."

"You're doing so well," you murmur, pressing kisses to his jaw, his neck. "Taking me so well, Mark. You're perfect."

Mark makes a sound that's half-moan, half-sob. "Move. Please move."

You do, pulling out slowly before pushing back in. Mark cries out, his head falling back, and you set a steady rhythm. Every thrust makes Mark gasp and moan, his body clenching around you, and the sensation is almost overwhelming.

"You feel so good," you groan, your hands gripping his hips. "So tight, so perfect. You were made for this, Mark. Made for me."

"Yes," Mark gasps, his nails digging into your shoulders. "Yes, fuck, I was made for you. Only you."

You angle your hips, searching, and when you hit his prostate, Mark screams. His whole body goes rigid, his cock leaking steadily between you, and you know he's close.

"That's it," you murmur, hitting that spot again and again. "That's it, Mark. Let go. Cum for me."

"I can't—it's too much—I'm going to—"

"Cum," you command, and Mark does.

He cums with a shout, his cock pulsing between you, painting both your stomachs with white. His hole clenches around you, rhythmic and tight, and it's almost enough to send you over the edge too. But you hold back, wanting to make this last.

Mark is trembling in your arms, his breathing ragged, and you slow your thrusts, letting him ride out the aftershocks. "You okay?"

"That was—" Mark's voice is hoarse. "That was incredible. I've never felt anything like that."

"We're not done yet," you say, and Mark's eyes widen.

"We're not?"

"Not even close." You kiss him deeply, tasting his desperation. "Viltrumite stamina, remember? You're going to recover fast. And when you do, I'm going to fuck you again."

Mark moans, and you can already feel his cock starting to harden again against your stomach. "Fuck. Okay. Yes."

You give him a few more minutes, keeping your cock buried inside him, letting him adjust. And sure enough, within minutes, Mark is squirming in your arms, his breathing picking up again.

"Ready for round two?" you ask.

"Yes," Mark breathes. "But—can we try something different?"

"What do you want?"

Mark's cheeks flush. "I want—I want you to hold me. Like, really hold me. I want to feel how strong you are."

Understanding dawns, and your cock throbs. "You want me to put you in a full nelson."

"Is that what it's called?" Mark asks, and there's something shy in his expression that makes your chest tight.

"Yeah," you say. "It means I'll be holding you up, supporting all your weight. You'll be completely at my mercy."

Mark's breath hitches. "Yes. That. I want that."

You pull out of him slowly, and Mark whimpers at the loss. Then you maneuver him, turning him so his back is to your chest. You hook your arms under his knees, lifting him easily, and then you clasp your hands behind his neck, locking him in place.

Mark is completely exposed like this, his legs spread wide, his hole on display. He's helpless, unable to move, entirely dependent on you to hold him up. And from the way his cock is leaking, he loves it.

"Fuck," Mark breathes. "This is—I can't move."

"That's the point," you murmur against his ear. "You're mine now, Mark. Completely mine. And I'm going to make you feel so good."

You line your cock up with his hole and push inside in one smooth thrust. Mark cries out, his body arching, but he can't move away. He can only take it, can only feel every inch of you filling him up.

"Oh god," Mark gasps. "Oh god, it's so deep. You're so deep."

"That's right," you say, starting to move. "I'm going to fuck you so deep, Mark. Going to make you feel me for days."

You set a brutal pace, using your strength to lift Mark up and down on your cock. He's completely at your mercy, unable to do anything but take it, and the sounds he's making are obscene—desperate, broken moans and gasps that make your balls tighten.

"You're taking me so well," you praise, your voice rough. "Such a good boy, Mark. So eager, so perfect. You love this, don't you? Love being held like this, love being fucked like this."

"Yes," Mark sobs. "Yes, I love it. I love it so much. Please don't stop."

"I won't," you promise. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. Until all you can think about is my cock inside you."

Mark's cock is rock hard again, bouncing with every thrust, and you know he's close. You angle your hips, hitting his prostate with every stroke, and Mark screams.

"I'm going to cum," he gasps. "Fuck, I'm going to cum again."

"Do it," you command. "Cum for me, Mark. Show me how good I make you feel."

Mark cums with a loud long moan, his cock pulsing, painting the air below you with his release. His hole clenches around you, tight and rhythmic, and this time you can't hold back. You fuck into him harder, chasing your own release, and Mark takes it all, his body pliant and willing in your arms.

"So good," you groan. "You feel so good, Mark. So perfect. I'm going to—fuck, I'm going to cum."

"Yes," Mark gasps. "Cum inside me. Please, I want to feel it."

But you're not ready to finish yet. You slow your thrusts, pulling back from the edge, and Mark whimpers.

"Not yet," you say. "One more round. I want to make this last."

Mark nods, his body trembling, and you carefully release him from the full nelson. He slumps against you, boneless and sated, and you hold him close, your cock still buried inside him.

"You're incredible," you murmur, pressing kisses to his neck. "So strong, so beautiful. I could do this forever."

"Me too," Mark breathes. "I never want this to end."

You give him a few minutes to recover, and then you're moving again. This time, you turn him to face you, his legs wrapping around your waist, and you fuck him slow and deep. The city lights glitter below you, the stars shine above, and it's just the two of you, suspended in the sky, connected in the most intimate way possible.

"I'm close," you warn after a while, your thrusts becoming erratic. "I'm so close, Mark."

"Me too," Mark gasps, his cock hard again between you. "Cum with me. Please, I want us to cum together."

You reach between you, wrapping your hand around his cock, and stroke him in time with your thrusts. Mark's eyes roll back, his mouth falling open, and you can feel him teetering on the edge.

"Now," you groan. "Cum now, Mark."

You both cum together, Mark's cock pulsing in your hand while you spill inside him. The pleasure is overwhelming, white-hot and all-consuming, and for a moment, you can't think, can't breathe, can only feel.

When you finally come back to yourself, Mark is slumped against you, his breathing ragged, his body trembling. You hold him close, your cock still inside him, and press kisses to his hair, his forehead, his cheeks.

"You did so well," you murmur. "So perfect, Mark. I'm so proud of you."

Mark makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-sob. "That was—I can't even describe it. That was the most intense thing I've ever felt."

"Me too," you admit, and it's true. You've had sex before, but never like this. Never with someone who made you feel so much, so deeply.

"Can we—" Mark's voice is small. "Can we go to my place? I don't think I can fly right now."

You laugh softly. "Of course. Hold on to me."

Mark wraps his arms around your neck, and you carefully pull out of him. He whimpers at the loss, and you can see your cum leaking out of his hole, dripping down his thighs. The sight makes your spent cock twitch with interest, but you ignore it. Mark needs rest, and so do you.

You fly to Mark's apartment, moving slowly, and when you land on his balcony, Mark's legs are shaking so badly he can barely stand. You scoop him up easily, carrying him inside, and he buries his face in your neck.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "For everything."

"Thank you," you say back. "For trusting me. For letting me be your first."

Mark pulls back to look at you, and his eyes are bright with emotion. "I'm glad it was you. I wouldn't want it to be anyone else."

Your chest tightens, and you kiss him softly. "Me neither."

You carry Mark to his bedroom and lay him down gently on the bed. He winces slightly, and you frown.

"Are you sore?"

"A little," Mark admits. "But it's a good sore. I'll be fine."

You disappear into the bathroom and return with a warm, wet cloth. Mark watches as you carefully clean him up, wiping away the sweat and cum, and when you're done, you toss the cloth aside and climb into bed beside him.

Mark immediately curls into you, his head on your chest, and you wrap your arms around him. For a long moment, you just lie there, listening to each other breathe.

"I can't believe we just did that," Mark says finally, his voice soft.

"Regret it?" you ask, trying to keep your voice light.

"No," Mark says immediately, lifting his head to look at you. "God, no. That was—that was amazing. I just—I can't believe it was real. That you're real."

You cup his face in your hand, your thumb stroking his cheek. "I'm real. And this is real. Whatever this is between us, it's real."

Mark's eyes search yours. "What is this? Between us, I mean."

"I don't know," you admit. "But I know I don't want it to end. I know I want to keep seeing you, keep being with you. If that's what you want too."

"It is," Mark says, his voice fervent. "I want that. I want you."

You kiss him, slow and deep, and Mark melts into you. When you pull back, he's smiling, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

"I'm glad you came to Earth," Mark says quietly. "I'm glad you found me."

"Me too," you say, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.

You lie there together, tangled up in each other, and for the first time since Tamaran fell, you feel like you're home. Not because of the place, but because of the person in your arms.

Mark falls asleep first, his breathing evening out, his body relaxing completely. You stay awake a little longer, watching him, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelashes, the way his lips are slightly parted.

You've lost so much—your home, your family, your sister. But maybe, just maybe, you've found something worth holding on to. Someone worth fighting for.

You press a kiss to Mark's forehead and close your eyes, letting sleep pull you under. And for the first time in a long time, you don't dream of fire and destruction.

You dream of flying, of the sky, of Mark's smile.

"Baby, sweetheart," He gasps between breaths, groaning softly. He finally manages to get away from your insistent kisses to pant against the wood. "Jesus, let me breathe a little." Instead, you begin to tug his compression shirt off. It's awkward, having to maneuver just enough to shrug off his other protective gear while you refuse to let up. He manages, though, and tears the rest of the restrictive fabric off for you to dive in. "Ah, shit, damn."

You start at his navel, licking into the small divot before drumming up the pudgy muscle of his stomach and abs. You're on your hands and knees before him, occupied with both mouth and hand. Jason never knows what to think, what to say. He's just...dizzy. He keeps his touch to himself while you do everything in your power to merge in against him. To melt into him. Jason wants that. He really does.

He's gained some heft recently, you've noticed. Especially around his hips. He isn't the scrawny little boy fighting for his life on the streets anymore, nor is he so toned that it's obvious how dehydrated he is either. He's loved. Obviously so. Consistent date night out, sweet treat runs, and movie night snacks have kept Jason consistently full. Healthy. It's a good look for him. Sexy, too. Jason hisses as you descend lower, nuzzling at the growing problem he's sporting between his hefty thighs. You can feel the outline of his jockstrap under his cargo pants. Nice.

"You missed me, ah, that much, huh? Barely gone the whole night." He tries for a scoff, but it comes out as more of a needy whine. Jason missed you too; he just won't say it. His hips shift as you undo his belt. Impatiently shaking his head this way and that, yet still his hands remain by his side. Balled up into white fists. His restraint lets you take your sweet time, though, that is, tasting him as fast as possible.

It takes all of Jason's willpower not to melt into jelly the second your mouth is on him. He slides slightly downwards, and you help hook one of his knees over your shoulder for support instead. He's thick there too, hairy. A real man. He's adorable. His taste on your tongue is sweet, thanks to the sweat, musk, and his natural aroma. You've joked it's his true nature seeping out through his cock, but he just swats at you every time.

You don't spare so much as a glance to the love of your life as he whines and thrashes in place. His pale hips lift off the chair he's bound to by red rope in both an offering and a half-assed attempt to chase friction in the air. His cock, standing tall and neglected, fights back against the rod you had inserted into it earlier. Mark feels full, but not in the way he wants to be.

In his should be place, Rex is literally face down, ass up, as you pound into the red head. His friend's hair is loose, but tightly restrained by the fist you have at the back of his scalp, using it as an anchor to keep his muscular body close. Rex's skin is hot and sweaty, moaning and groaning uncharacteristically free. Mark knew Rex always had the hots for you, but he didn't think he'd ever be so unbashful about it. Then again, who could keep it together when presented with a cock like yours?

"So fucking good, so-! Fucking good!" Rex wasn't even bothering to taunt Mark anymore. Totally lost in the pleasure that was your domineering grip and positioning hips against the fat of his ass. "Hah, oh, babe, you're way too good at this!"

You tsk, scowling some at the nickname. He was just a hole, and you were so not interested. The obvious disgust on your face is the only thing keeping Mark sane through the harsh storm of jealousy raining through his heart. Even with the intensity that you're pounding Rex with, your disposition remains cold and withdrawn. Every 'hot shot, come on' ignored, every attempt to paw and reach your hands swatted. Sure, you were fucking Rex, but it was all to fuck with Mark. The condom only solidified that even more, something you rarely put on with your boyfriend.

"I won't ever, baby, I won't ever do it again. I-I I didn't mean it." Mark hiccuped, his neck rolling back and forth, front and forward, both helpless and restless with nothing to do but watch and plead for your attention. Your mercy. "Hah, I didn't mean to make you jealous! I wasn't teasing, wasn't being bad, please, please please, I promise." His prayers fall deaf upon your ears, but Rex scoffs at them. Muttering something about ruining the mood. The slurred tone of his words just serves to agitate Mark further. It wasn't fair that that asshole was the one feeling it! He didn't appreciate you. Didn't love you. Not like Mark does.

It's hard not to cave. Not to throw Rex out of your bed, your apartment, and smother your boyfriend. The second he started crying was the moment you had forgiven him, but you couldn't show him that. It was a mixed bag, honestly. The body below you, while physically hot due to his powers, wasn't as warm as Mark's. It felt wrong, from the way that Rex moaned to the shape of his hole. It sufficed, but again, it wasn't Mark.

To seal the performance, you thrusted until you finished. One load for the several Rex had been marinating in for the past hour or so. Mark lets out a howl of a cry; it should be him! It should be him! With a sigh, you pull out, carefully tying the condom and tossing it. You take a moment to breathe, to think, before stepping off the bed. Ignoring how Rex whimpers as you ignore him. Mark lights up as if it were Christmas day. Finally! Finally, you were paying attention to him! "Baby, honey, please?" He mewls, trying to offer himself up to you.

Did it feel good to be ignored even when he was apologizing?

"N-no,"

Internalize it.

"I will, I am, I promise, baby."

Is he going to continue talking to people you've asked him not to? Hurting your feelings even though you love him so much? Is he going to make you do this again?

"No." Mark swallows, sitting back down. "No, I won't. I'll listen to you."

Good.

Mark squeals when you tug that silver rod out of his urethra, snapping the ropes you had so carefully bound him in. Ah...

Distantly, you can hear Rex snicker behind you.

You don't spare so much as a glance to the love of your life as he whines and thrashes in place. His pale hips lift off the chair he's bound to by red rope in both an offering and a half-assed attempt to chase friction in the air. His cock, standing tall and neglected, fights back against the rod you had inserted into it earlier. Mark feels full, but not in the way he wants to be.

In his should be place, Rex is literally face down, ass up, as you pound into the red head. His friend's hair is loose, but tightly restrained by the fist you have at the back of his scalp, using it as an anchor to keep his muscular body close. Rex's skin is hot and sweaty, moaning and groaning uncharacteristically free. Mark knew Rex always had the hots for you, but he didn't think he'd ever be so unbashful about it. Then again, who could keep it together when presented with a cock like yours?

"So fucking good, so-! Fucking good!" Rex wasn't even bothering to taunt Mark anymore. Totally lost in the pleasure that was your domineering grip and positioning hips against the fat of his ass. "Hah, oh, babe, you're way too good at this!"

You tsk, scowling some at the nickname. He was just a hole, and you were so not interested. The obvious disgust on your face is the only thing keeping Mark sane through the harsh storm of jealousy raining through his heart. Even with the intensity that you're pounding Rex with, your disposition remains cold and withdrawn. Every 'hot shot, come on' ignored, every attempt to paw and reach your hands swatted. Sure, you were fucking Rex, but it was all to fuck with Mark. The condom only solidified that even more, something you rarely put on with your boyfriend.

"I won't ever, baby, I won't ever do it again. I-I I didn't mean it." Mark hiccuped, his neck rolling back and forth, front and forward, both helpless and restless with nothing to do but watch and plead for your attention. Your mercy. "Hah, I didn't mean to make you jealous! I wasn't teasing, wasn't being bad, please, please please, I promise." His prayers fall deaf upon your ears, but Rex scoffs at them. Muttering something about ruining the mood. The slurred tone of his words just serves to agitate Mark further. It wasn't fair that that asshole was the one feeling it! He didn't appreciate you. Didn't love you. Not like Mark does.

It's hard not to cave. Not to throw Rex out of your bed, your apartment, and smother your boyfriend. The second he started crying was the moment you had forgiven him, but you couldn't show him that. It was a mixed bag, honestly. The body below you, while physically hot due to his powers, wasn't as warm as Mark's. It felt wrong, from the way that Rex moaned to the shape of his hole. It sufficed, but again, it wasn't Mark.

To seal the performance, you thrusted until you finished. One load for the several Rex had been marinating in for the past hour or so. Mark lets out a howl of a cry; it should be him! It should be him! With a sigh, you pull out, carefully tying the condom and tossing it. You take a moment to breathe, to think, before stepping off the bed. Ignoring how Rex whimpers as you ignore him. Mark lights up as if it were Christmas day. Finally! Finally, you were paying attention to him! "Baby, honey, please?" He mewls, trying to offer himself up to you.

Did it feel good to be ignored even when he was apologizing?

"N-no,"

Internalize it.

"I will, I am, I promise, baby."

Is he going to continue talking to people you've asked him not to? Hurting your feelings even though you love him so much? Is he going to make you do this again?

"No." Mark swallows, sitting back down. "No, I won't. I'll listen to you."

Good.

Mark squeals when you tug that silver rod out of his urethra, snapping the ropes you had so carefully bound him in. Ah...

Distantly, you can hear Rex snicker behind you.

Your boyfriend is… mouth-watering-ly muscular. His back is expansive and cavernous in its ridges and bumps. Colorful with his constant bruises and scrapes, even more so with old scars and faded freckles scattered about. His chest is firm, and his thighs are enormous. All in all, Jason is a pretty big guy. The two of you have to shuffle a bit to squeeze into the glass container together.

Due to his exhaustion, he lets you manhandle him a bit without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. Feel over the ridges of his knuckles to the curve of his clavicle. The plushness of his pouty lips to the grease in his matted hair. You work on Jason's body with love and care. Letting your eyes wander while your hands remain well behaved.

Your attention remains glued to his thick cock hanging between his legs, though. Just as fittingly large as the rest of him. 

Jason’s uncut, and it’s one of your favorite things about him. His hood colors the fullness of his length a little darker than the rest of his tan skin, and its wrinkles beckon you to tongue your way through the folds. Jesus, you need to get yourself together.

Your boyfriend's none the wiser as you oh so helpfully aid him in washing up. Massaging gently through thick muscles you plan on properly bulldozing through later. Noting new bumps and booboos to dote on and kiss over. Jason soaks up the attention with a silent purr; it’s a bit of a hazard as he leans back against you. Subtlety arching into your touch.

Finally, when you deem your good deeds accomplished enough, you allow yourself to caress down his wet muscles and full stomach to circle his V-line. Jason takes slight attention to it, but is far too relaxed to play a hissy fit at the small gesture. You meet gazes over his shoulders, his tired gaze lulls heavy-lidded, but non-expectant. Take it slow, and Jason will typically let you do what you want. That’s what you’ve learned after being with him for so long, at least. “Should have known you had an ulterior motive.”

You hum, hiding your face against him as you grasp at that heavy cock of his. It fits nicely between both of your hands, a decent sixer if you had to guess off the top of your head. Hot. 

“You enjoy this shit way too much, I swear.” Jason sighs as you begin to jerk him off. Using the water as a shitty lubrication to continuously pull Jason's foreskin down with every stroke. His tip is pink and shiny as it peeks out, and Jason hisses a bit when the water hits it. With the arm not holding onto yours, he reaches up to pet the back of your head. Allowing himself to close his eyes and let you have your way with him.

It’s enthralling to feel his length fight back against you in real time. Jason scoffs when your lips press wider still against his shoulder. You’re so easily pleased, he thinks. 

Annoying too, when those now misfit fingers of yours move to prod at the skin between his cock head and hood. Jason really doesn’t see what the appeal is for you, but he can’t deny that it feels amazing when you constantly stimulate him there. He doesn’t think a single week has gone by that you haven’t fiddled with the excess skin.

“Ah shit, sweetheart.” Jason groans, biting at his lip when your teeth busy themselves with finally digging into their hiding place. His head rolls back against you, giving you the perfect opportunity to suck and lick down his neck all you want. You’re a needy mutt, and he’s your only chew toy. “Easy…easy, yeah, that’s it, baby.”

Jason slowly grinds his hips up into your half-assed fist. He has a quarter of a mind to snap at you to close it, but decides to not let his attitude ruin the mood you’ve set. See? He can be nice when he wants to be. His reward is an unteasing finish. You stroke to the pace Jason instructs you to, and his cum spurts out across the shower's cream-tiled wall. A beautiful painting many would ever be lucky to cherish, if only in their wildest dreams.

 “I can tell you’re thinking something weird. Stop it.” Jason pants against your ear.

At first, the sex was awkward and unsatisfying. Not to either of your faults - just the fear of harming the baby scared off any penetration from happening. You continiously blue balled yourself for the sake of your husband. Dropping to your knees at his convenience to lap and worship his cute pussy. That part wasn't terrible, and you'd quickly mastered the ability of taking a splash to the face without pause with the amount of facials he painted over you. But Dick wanted more.

By the fourth month, he'd had enough. His breasts were constantly tender, his head dizzy with lust, and his cunt felt so neglected and empty it almost hurt. He needed your cock, and he needed it now!

You felt the mood the second you stepped into the apartment. Small tin candles lined the floor up to the bedroom with tacky roses scattered about to elevate the tension. Dick is humming along to a gentle tune inside, languidly fingering himself open atop his maternity pillow for support. The site had you palming your cock through your work jeans.

"Baby," He purred, instantly presenting himself for you. "Hi, welcome home." Dick met you halfway for a kiss, though the grip he had on your collar made it impossible to pull away. "I need you, yeah?" He pouted. "Inside, 's been too long, hun. Way too long." His thick lashes bat, and it's all you need to drop your belt.

"Just...be gentle, mh, I trust you." Dick sighs as you line up to his wet hole. His bottom lip catches under his teeth when you press in. "Hah! Fuck yes, god!" His head threw back, instantly kicking his legs out to tighten around your waist. The relief on your end was likewise immediate; sinking into his warmth was exactly the warm embrace you'd been longing for. Regardless of how tempting it is to lose yourself in his hot canal and fuck yourself into oblivion, Dicks hands just under his belly kept you at bay. Shifting your hips at a slow, shallow pace back and forth.

"Shit, baby, you have no idea how good you are to me," Dick sniffled. His breasts bounced and bobbed with every smack of your balls against him, swollen nipples just begging for attention, and who were you to deny him? "Mh, yeah?" Dick stiffled as you leaned down to latch. Suckling softly between each of the pery nubs. "Such a nice Daddy for me... uh-huh, yeah, you are."

You couldn't wait until they started producing. It shouldn't be much longer, since he's in his second trimester. You already had pumps sitting in your kitchen cabinet for the day it finally happened. You were going to be the most annoying guy in the world once it did, you were sure.

When you bring the set box for him, Bruce stares at you long...and hard. His thick brows cock as he gingerly takes it from you, already anticipating the worst. I'd say he's pleasantly surprised to find a babydoll set rather than just a G-string like he was anticipating.

He isn't a one-and-done type of guy, though. You want Bruce to dress up? Oh, he'll dress up alright.

Bruce purchases a matching set of furry black bedroom heels, the classic sheer fuzzy robe, he's getting some sexy black tights, and a matching garter belt. He's not so proud as to be adverse to these more delicate feminine things. Honestly, the more you talk about it, the more fond he becomes of playing the role of 'wifey'.

He makes a romantic night out of it. A lot of the time, Bruce carries a heavy sense of guilt for not being able to spend as much time as he should with you. Knowing that both of you have a shared outlet to bond as partners closes that gap greatly. Candles are lit, the lights are dim, rose petals...the works.

Bruce definitely lays it on thick, lying on his back with heavy-lidded eyes. You know Clinique's Black Honey shade line of lipsticks, liners, and blushes? The brand may not meet Bruce's standards, but the shade suits him perfectly. He does his lashes...the perfect face to fuck out.

OMg, 'Do you wanna get me pregnant again tonight? - Bruce Wayne' by @/shisuni is a beautiful non-smutty piece about drunk femme Bruce!! I'm channeling that energy from him there into a more serious, seductive Bruce now.

Augh...you know he's teasing you about treating your wife right, happy wife, happy life, you know?

Dick Grayson

I wanna fuck him in something nice and frilly!

Dick has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face when you approach him, and is immediately teasing you for it. "Oh wow? You bought this for little old me? Huh?" He purrs, holding it up in front of him.

He's eager to get it on, turning and flexing in front of your bedroom mirror. "This is sexy, alright." I can see him rocking a matching blue hair clip if you have one lying around.

It's totally a 0-100 scene; he throws it on the second you give it, and he's rock hard a second later. Dick has fallen in love with being your little girlfriend, and it's one of his favorite things to roleplay.

He'll curl up and coo with a massive smile, pretending to be shy and bashful as he turns his back to you. Maybe even does a little dance number from those old movies to show off how well the slip suits him.

Dick makes a game out of running around the room from you, laughing about it until you tackle him onto the bed, peppering him in kisses.

His arms go around you then, and so do his legs. He's such a pretty girl, isn't he? Tell him how much of a doll he is. You'd have to think so to buy him something like this. Where'd you even go, hm? Dick wants to hear all about it as you drag your tongue down his body and begin working him open.

You're in for a long night of fun.

Jason Todd

At your deadpan request, Jason glares at you. I mentioned in my first feminization ask about Jason that he prefers to be the one bringing the subject up to you, and not the other way around. It's not that he doesn't like that you're into it, more like he'd rather avoid further embarrassment.

He glances at your present but leaves it at that for a few days. You leave it on the counter, only for it to disappear under the bed for safekeeping while Jason works up the nerve to wear it. That's to be expected, however, and you leave him to it without mentioning it again until he's ready.

He'll wear it around casually under a robe around the apartment a few times to get used to it before begrudingly revealing it to you one night. His gaze remains averted and his expression passive. "Happy?"

Pet and paw over his hard torso through the delicate fabric; it makes him feel small in the best way possible. He's quiet through it all, breathing softly and all relaxed as you kiss and murmur at him. This is the best. Not that he'd say that, though.

He goes to straddle you before long, nuzzling into the side of your neck and over your head while you massage his thick and heavy thighs.

The kisses start off slow and sweet before they grow more heated, and your hands slip under the lingerie to draw down his spine.

As a proxy, you’re expected to keep your cool, totally professional self all together, even in the most unique of situations. You can’t be a north star if you blink in and out of sight, can you? You’ve survived hollow after hollow, ethereals ten times the size of the bangboo you send in to play as a living talking compass to your customers. And yet, none of the many years of such situations could prepare you for this.

Dating an Intelligent Construct was already a gamble few were willing to take. When cold metal and grinding gears replace warm flesh and blood, it’s easy to feel repelled. It’s unnatural, unsettling to the normal boring human. But you’re not just anyone, no. You’ve decided to keep the Cunning Hares beloved Starlight Knight as your personal lover.

 That is, your personal lover who’s currently humping your leg like a rabbit in heat.

“C’mon Manager, I’ve waited all day.” The sweet and needy hum of your cyborg is like sweetener in bitter coffee, and you spare a glance from your phone to look down at the pitious thing that is your boyfriend. 

The other reason 90% of humanity preferred to have a partner of the same species, was because it was predictable. Easy to manage. After all, you can’t get the surprises Billy comes with, with the average person. The constant need for repairs and top-ups to his metal body was pricey, but your pockets were deep enough to plate him in gold and still have enough to afford anything New Eridu offered. The reward of being such a high-end proxy, the legendary so-called ‘Phaethon.’ 

A certain pressure against your shin drags you back into reality, Billy’s face pressed against your knee, and if he had eyeballs, they’d be glazed in tears. Mockingly, you reach down to tug his head away from you, fingers grasping him by the white tufts of his hair, exposing his throat just slightly. 

Apparently, that was the right move to make, throat cables flexing as he swallows, a soft moan leaving the cyborg. 

“Manager…” He pouts, all breathy, and his hips twitch against your foot. 

“If anyone should be complaining, it’s me.” You raise an eyebrow at his pathetic stance. He’s almost entirely naked, shirt and bold leather jacket stripped. 

His belt is askew and loose, unbuckled purely from the amount of desperate grinding he’s done on your sneakers to get some kind of friction to the obvious heat between his legs. There’s a growing wet patch between his legs that stain his jeans like a filthy truth, knees parted to splay himself all over you like a true dog desperate for his master’s bone. It’s almost cute that despite the debauched image he’s presenting himself in for you, he still has the audacity to feign innocence. 

“I didn’t know,” he whines, wriggling in your grasp, but there’s no real strength in it, as if he isn’t fighting the hold you have on his hair at all. “I swear, I was thinking for the best! And Lighter said to wait for you, so I waited.” 

You drag your eyes over his figure, unimpressed. Billy’s in absolutely no state to be denying you, after everything. Especially in this state, nearly entirely undressed and curled up around your leg. 

“The best.” You drawl slowly. 

“And the best seemed to have been installing a drive that would increase your heat instead of suppress it?” 

See, Billy wasn’t just any mech. At least, not at the moment. The idiot had gone and got himself a virus a while ago that made him so hungrily, insatiably horny every now and then. It was almost like some sexy form of a menstrual cycle, kicking in every month and not leaving until he gets his desired serving of a dicking down. It was a little funny at first, and you were never one to deny breeding your favourite cyborg, alongside Lighter. You three had even found something of a fix to this temporary issue, until they could get the bug out entirely. It was simple. Go to Enzo, pick up a little extension and make sure it’s installed properly in the mech in question. 

Somehow, Billy had not only managed to fuck that up, but make it do the exact opposite of it’s original effects. 

Now, you’re no saint. You adore listening to Billy beg to fuck every now and then and doing exactly that. Sometimes, if you’re feeling it, you’ll even watch him bump purses with Lighter when you’re feeling extra freaky and lazy. But this month, you’d been jam-packed with commission after commission, and with Billy being your only form of security, you had specifically told him to make sure he keeps his head on straight for at least a week extra, until he gets his current commission finished. 

Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. 

You had come home rather late in the evening, drenched in sweat and carrying your things back home after a long, long day, only to find a whimpering Billy in your bed, palming between his legs and nuzzling against your pillows. 

And now here you were. 

Billy inches closer, now fully covering your foot with his pelvis, hips bucking down in an attempt to chase a hint of release, and you can feel the dampness of his jeans, the twitch of his arousal beneath the starchy cloth. It almost makes you break and give him everything he needs. Almost.

“Poor you.” You croon, your hand finally releasing the grip on his head, threading through the white waves of hair and settling at the nape of his neck. “If it weren't for the fact that it cost me a leg’s worth of dennies for that stupid hard drive, I’d feel bad for you.”

..You did, but you weren’t going to admit that just yet.

Billy makes a pitiful sound that’s halfway between a moan and a whine, leaning into your touch, and you do your best to ignore the heat that stirs in your groin at the simpering display of desire and affection. 

Gently, you push Billy off of you and away at an arms reach distance. He whines and tries his best to cling, but eventually stills, fidgety and clearly still very horny. 

“Until you tell me exactly how you managed to screw up this bad, I’m not fucking you.” You’re not usually mean. Heck, you love to spoil your sweethearts. But you had been working yourself to the bone, and this was really going to set back your work schedule. You deserved to be petty about this. 

Billy opens his mouth, but before he can speak, you raise a finger to silence him, wagging the digit in the air. 

“Ah, one moment.” Readjusting yourself momentarily, you lean back into your chair and look towards the door of your bedroom. 

“Lighter, come in now.” Your voice changes, from deadpan and gravelly to sweet. 

The door creaks open, and like the good boy he is, the champion of the outer ring steps in, eyes flickering between Billy’s shivering figure on the floor to you, calmly sitting cross-legged at your desk. 

You swivel a little closer to Lighter as he enters, a simple and innocent smile on your face that betrays the sin stirring in your mind. 

“Billy here’s been having a bit of trouble following simple directions, so I think it’s up to you and I to give him a demonstration, hm?” 

Lighter blinks, and you can see the gears shifting in his head. It’s nothing obvious, no glimmer in his eyes or movement on his face, but his ears get just a bit pinker. 

“Sure, proxy.” He hums, and you beam up at him.

“Good, very good. Strip and take a seat.” You pat your thigh casually, as if you’ve announced an order for coffee instead. 

And like clockwork, Lighter casually slips everything off, studded jacket and black jeans slipping off to accompany where Billy’s clothes had been tossed aside. When his fingers come to pull at the scarlet scarf around his neck, you click your tongue.

“Keep that, actually. The sunglasses too.” 

God knows why he wears them indoors, but he manages to pull them off with a charm you’ve grown to enjoy.

Lighter’s eyebrow arches curiously, but he doesn’t question you, leaving the shades and scarlet garment around his neck loosely and shifts to seat himself on your lap. He’s casual with it, but polite. Legs swinging over to straddle you because he knows that’s just how you like it, and his half-hard cock bobs slightly with the movement of it. He does his best to ignore his own growing arousal, and you give a pleased hum when he settles against you. 

You waste no time, one hand holding his waist to steady him while the other comes to palm at his cock, and Lighter jerks a little in surprise despite seeing it coming, a sharp intake of breath at the first stroke against his shaft. Billy, who’s practically vibrating on the floor from how much arousal is radiating from him, hasn’t taken your eyes off of you once. He hasn’t even paused to glance at Lighter, who gives an appreciative moan into your neck when you thumb over the slit of his cock. It beads a pearly drop of pre-cum in response, and with a few more heavy pets, it’s standing at full attention, just as eager as its owner. 

“Proxy,” Lighter breathes, shaky slightly. 

“Manager-” Billy cries, high pitched and crackly from the floor, and you hush him instantly with a click of your tongue. 

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.” The words are spoken flippantly, as if they don’t make Billy wilt a little, and he tucks his legs together as if trying to bundle himself and his arousal into himself. 

Despite himself, he only makes a small, pitiful noise that sounds almost like a weak whistle of a kettle, and Billy obediently silences himself. 

“Good boy.”

Both of them react to the praise, Billy shuddering on the floor whilst Lighter arches into your touch, a breathy whine escaping him as your hands pick up the pace on his cock. 

Lighter is nice and thick, not too long, but the amount of pre he always spurts makes up for it. Some would call it messy, but you love how responsive his body is to you, weakly spilling milky white over your knuckles as you stroke, and he’s begun to thrust up against the fist-shape your hands have made in tandem. The rhythm is filthy, the sound of wet skin slicking against each other and his low moans filling the room while he makes a personal fleshlight out of your hand. 

The champion in your lap twitches, spine arching up all pretty at a sudden squeeze of your fist against his weeping member, cries pitching higher, and he writhes a little in your lap. You can tell he’s close, but he’s holding himself back, or at least trying to, waiting until you give him the word to come. 

“Billy.” You finally say, and the cyborg jolts as if he’s been electrocuted. While he’s got no blood to get him blushing, his face is lit up with a soft glow, his signature way of blushing, and you notice he’s been not-so-secretly grinding against his own hand that’s been shoved down his pants. 

Billy’s eyes stray between your hand roughly pumping Lighter’s flushed cock to your relaxed eyes, your posture still slack and leaning back in your leather swivel chair like you don’t have two feared killers begging for a slice of you. You’re fully clothed, yet these two are nearly entirely nude and soaking their panties. It should be humiliating, but Billy just fights back pants and moans of his own at the sight of you getting Lighter off. 

“You want to tell me what happened with Enzo’s stuff?” You speak low and soft, like you’re speaking to a little puppy that’s accidentally peed on the carpet. 

Your puppy whimpers in response, buckling over slightly, and he crawls towards you, metal knees hitting the floor and scooting towards you. On your lap, Lighter grips your bicep tight, riding up the short sleeve of your tee,nails digging crescents into your bare arm. He’s shaking, just slightly, like the hum of an airplane in the distance, but you know he’s desperate for release, barely holding on with the way you’re sinking your thumb repeatedly against his slit. Your hands are almost entirely soaked, and the scent of sex is heavy in the room as Lighter whines something like a plea into your ear, eyelashes dotted with moisture and a drip of saliva sliding over his chin.. 

It’s the picture of sex. 

“I put it through my computer, because I wanted to know what was in it.” Billy blurts, and he looks like he wants to touch you, Lighter, to touch both of you. He instead claws at the wooden floor, metal fingers leaving light scrapes across the wood, something you’ll look at fondly with the memory of all this in the future. 

As for your own hands, they speed up in pace against Lighter’s cock, and he can’t help himself, lurching forward to bite into your shoulder to stifle the mewl building up in his throat. 

“And I- I forgot to close it, and I guess while I was doing my own stuff, it could’ve gotten transferred over. I dunno, I was drunk.” He says miserably, and you can’t help but laugh at that. 

“Lighter, you can come.” You say, and Lighter lets out a muffled wail against your collar as he does, white ropes of thick cum spurting from his tip and over your fist. Some of it manages to splatter against the arm rest, and most of it lands on your shirt. When he’s finally spent and gently slumping against you, you offer Lighter a gentle kiss to the temple before signaling him to get off. 

“Leave your scarf.” You murmur, and he gently shucks it off, getting as little of his spend as he can on it. 

“I’ll draw you a bath in a moment.” You mumble between kisses, lapping the excess saliva off the corners of his mouth and giving him another soft kiss to his nose before letting him go, and he makes a soft grunt of acknowledgement, eyes softening at your affection. 

When his footsteps finally fade, you turn to look at Billy, poor sweet Billy who’s on his knees still and looking up at you with wide hazy eyes. 

There’s heat radiating from the construct, a subtle sensation you can feel from the steadily climbing temperature of your room and even through the cloth of your pants, from where your legs are just a few inches away from the cyborg. His thighs are trembling, and suddenly his hand and knee position on the floor makes much more sense. 

You reach your hand out, the one covered in Lighter’s white seed, and gently clean it off with a spare napkin. Then, you pick up the scarf and curl your fingers into a beckoning motion. Billy doesn’t hesitate, practically scrambling towards you like a rabid animal, but unlike before, this time he doesn’t immediately get to grinding against your foot. 

You tie the crimson cloth around the construct’s neck like a makeshift collar, tugging for good measure and taking immense pleasure in the way Billy has to lean uncomfortably forward to follow the motion. He nearly topples headfirst into your lap if not for your second hand coming to nudge under his chin and guide him to look up at you. 

“The next time I ask you to do something, you’ll do exactly as you’re told, understand?” Your voice is unthreatening, but firm as an anchor, and Billy nods at lightning speed. 

“Yes, please, I promise Manager. I won’t do anything out of your orders, I didn’t mean to mess up, I-” Your foot gracefully sweeps under him to press right between his legs where it’s practically soaking, and his voice breaks off into a whine full of static. 

“Manager-” 

“Off.” You nudge at his belt with your toe, and Billy wastes no time in practically tearing off the remnants of clothing on him. 

All while he’s wrestling off a sneaker, you stand and bend down to pull him up onto his feet in one grand motion, his shoe rolling off to the side as you do so, and he’s like a big lanky metal cat when you dispose him onto your bed, belly up and slightly disoriented. All that’s left on him is his boxers, which you peel off with little dignity to expose the treat beneath. The cloth’s completely soaked through, and when it’s off, you can’t help but breath a slight chuckle at the slight. 

For a combat model, he’s incredibly advanced. You know for a fact that even for an outer ring desert-dweller, they don’t exactly come packing with what he’s got, but by the ethereals are you thankful. 

His cunt is soft, made of a kind of silicone that’s somewhat squishy when you apply the right amount of pleasure, and it molds to the touch it receives, or more specifically, the shape of your cock. Whatever self-lubrication system he’s got is working overtime, pussy lips glossy from the amount of slick oozing from the slit, and it twitches as you openly admire him. 

“Don’t stare.” Billy wheedles, hands coming to paw cutely at your arms, and when you let him go to undo your belt buckle, you can practically see his pussy pulse with anticipation as the tent of your erection is finally freed from the combines of your pants. It unfurls with a lewd fwop, heavy member sticky with your own arousal, and you palm over it in self indulgence. You hadn’t gotten to touch yourself once throughout the whole ordeal of Lighter cumming in your lap or when Billy had so cutely grinded on your foot. 

You yank at the scarf-collar before Billy can get his hands on your dick, and he practically wails with deprivation, but takes his hands back. 

“Just sit back, pretty.” You coo, hands tucking beneath Billy’s knees and folding him into a more vulnerable position. His hips face you, cunt twitching from the sudden exposure to cold air, and he shudders, another whine trilling out of him. He’s so warm, like a toasted oven, and there’s puffs of hot air venting out from Billy’s faceplate. He writhes a little, hips desperately trying to buck up towards you. 

“You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you?” His legs come to perch up on your shoulders, kneecaps sliding close to your ears, and you rub his thighs in comfort, big hands cupping the metal plates, and Billy practically sobs as you lean down to lick a long strip up between his legs. 

His slick isn’t exactly flavoured, but it doesn’t taste like nothing either. An unspoken sweetness that’s hidden within it, the way vodka tastes when you really get it in your mouth. You eat him out like he’s your last meal, and you’re on deathrow, and Billy wraps his thighs suffocatingly tight around your head. Not that you’d mind if this is how you go. The cyborg sobs and hiccups as your tongue laps over his sensitive folds, taking your time to map out the shape of his cunt before you really dive in.

“Manager!” He cries and arches right off the covers, and you can feel him clench around your tongue, silicone folds fluttering open to take your tongue in before they’re closing around it tight, like it’s desperate to keep you inside. The hands at his thighs come to grip at his waist, then his hips, and pin him down, rough enough to keep him in place as you have your meal. 

There’s a little nub, much softer than the usual silicone his cunt’s made out of, something special that whatever genius invented knew exactly what they were doing when they did it, and when he finds the sensitive little path and laves his tongue over it, Billy mewls, thighs spasming, and then he’s squirting, spilling over your nose and chin like champagne that’s been popped. 

“...Holy shit.” You gasp between his folds, and the vibration of your voice goes straight to his makeshift clit. 

“Manager,” He pants. “I’m- I don’t think-” 

“You’re a whole lot more sensitive than last time, huh?” You’re musing to yourself mostly, but with the way Billy’s face lights up in mock-blush confirms it. 

“How do you think you’re going to take my cock like this?” You feign a disappointed sigh, pushing yourself up to crawl over him. 

Billy’s hands circle your shoulders, grasping at your back, and he lets out a silky whine when the tip of your cock kisses the hood of his cunt. 

You’re not exactly small, no. The first time you had bedded the cyborg, he had shouted–rather embarrassingly– ‘holy monster cock’ before Lighter clocked him over the head. But it had been a while since that, and now when you nudge against the slick entrance, it eagerly flutters against it. You tap the tip against the sticky wet entrance, watching as Billy bites out little curses and complains, and you distract him with a big wet smooch to that screen of a face of his, before slowly sinking in. 

The reaction is immediate, the stretch of your length making him clutch you like a lifeline. It takes a minute before you’ve bottomed out, balls tapping against the wet surface of his taint, and he’s panting, short little ah’s and poorly hidden whimpers escaping him. Despite his attempt to remain as unaffected as possible, his cunt is telling a different story. It practically throbs with pleasure around you, clenching, then gushing out another fresh wave of slick. If he was warm outside, he was practically searing on the inside. It’s velvety and hot, the cyborgs pretty pussy sheathing you perfectly, and while you try to keep yourself at bay, you can’t help but buck into it.

“Manager, wait, I- ah-” 

His legs find themselves locking around your waist, and what becomes shallow rolls of your hips are now eager half-thrusts, pulling out half way and watching the way his pussy stretches around your length, clenched tight each time you rear back and rippling when you sink back in, the wet resounding smack of skin on silicone. 

It’s easy for you to lose control like this, Billy’s lewd cries echoing through the room as you shift from a simple pace to a pounding one, and if not for his metal skin, you’re sure he’d be bruised in the morning after with the way you’re slipping out all the way to the tip before slamming back into him. Belatedly, your hand comes to roll over the makeshift clit of his, and the combined stimulation of your cock bullying your way into his cervix and the constant rubbing, he mewls your name with a crackle of static, and he’s squirting again, spilling over your abdomen. The clench of his cunt from orgasm is tight, the wet and warm channel squeezing you just right, and you know from the building burning heat in your gut that you’re achingly close. 

Your hips snapping forward with fervour, almost animalistic, and you practically burrow yourself into his cunt as your cock spills with seed, stars and static bursting behind your eyes as you curl forward and clutch the cyborg beneath you close as you fill him full with your come. The legs around your waist tighten, another soft mewl of pleasure coming from Billy at the feeling of being filled full with your seed, and he thanks his lack of ovaries for being allowed to take it raw from you every time. 

You can feel the metal of Billy cooling down almost instantly, the ventilation system coming to a slow, and you gently reach one hand to comb through Billy’s hair. 

A beat of silence.

“Maybe you ought to fuck around with Enzo’s shit more often.” You murmur, giving Billy’s oversensitive cunt an experimental roll of your hips. 

He yanks the cloth leash out of your hands, face aglow and lower half of his body still trembling from impact.

A/N: I originally wanted all 3 of them (you, billy and lighter) going at it but I couldn't think of a position where both of them could be bottoming for you that had billy in the center so I thought to just cuck the poor guy instead LMAO. Oops. I promise I'll do more of them/lighter content in the future.