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THE LOOKBOOK: LIGHT SKIES COLLECTION

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Prompt:  “Wow,” the villain said, their lips tugging into a smirk as they sat up in the bed. “That was-“

“A one time thing.” The hero said.

 1924 words

 He never really knew the meaning of regret. He could recite Webster's definition, could explain the concept to someone, but never truly understood regret until this moment - this exact second.  Staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed across his chest clutching the blanket tightly, he thought maybe this was a dream - no, a nightmare.  It really could be the only explanation. How the hell else could he possibly have gotten into this situation?  Panic began to rise in his gut.  He concentrated on slowing his breathing.  He couldn't let himself get out of control.

 "You alright?"

 Nope, that definitely wasn't someone in his bed.  That couldn't have been.  He didn't know of anyone that he'd be willing to open himself up to like that.  That definitely wasn't someone's nose nuzzling into his ear.  That couldn't be anyone's lips grazing his earlobe, and the teeth gently tugging - totally imaginary.  Had to be.  There was no alternative.

 "Hey. You're not answering me. You alright?"

 "Nope. Not alright."   He sat straight up in the bed, the blanket falling down his bare chest and pooling in his lap.  He couldn't bring himself to turn his head.  That would make things too real.  More real than he wanted them to be.  

 "It's ok that you're not alright. I get it."

 "Do you? Cuz I feel like you're strangely fine with what happened."

 "Why wouldn't I be fine?"

 Why wouldn't he?  'Why shouldn't he be?' would be a better question.  He should be embarrassed. He should be humiliated. He should be..  should be.. Fuck.  He was thankful, grateful even.  He could hear it in his voice.  "This can never happen again."

No answer.  Just a chuckle.  Really?  A chuckle?  Still can't look at him. He turned away from the biggest mistake he had ever made in his life and slowly stood on trembling legs. Still naked. Damn.

 "Nice ass.  Love me a naked ass."

 "I'm going to get in the shower.  I want you gone by the time I get out."

 "You're walking away? Why are you walking away, did you not enjoy last night?"

 "I take fast showers!" he called over his shoulder, still not wanting to look at the man in his bed.

 "Of course, you do." came the mumbled reply.

 The hot water felt like silk on his back, easing all of the muscles that screamed from the workout the night before.  The water beating on the top of his head rang in his ears, but still did not drown out the inner voice that screamed in his subconscious.  His moral compasses beat out the rhythm. Never again. Never again. Never again.

 "Are you going to stay in there all day?"

 "I told you to leave."

 "Do you honestly want me to leave?"  His voice was thick like honey, low and rumbling like rolling thunder.  It sounded like heaven opening up.  It wasn't fair.

 "I do." He didn't.

 "You don't."

 "I do." He didn't.

 He let out a deep sigh. It pierced his heart in its core. "Fine.  I'll leave you to stew in your memories. Don't forget, I know what you're thinking."

 Damn it. He was right.

 "Of course, I'm right, love.  I'm always right."

 "Stop that."

 "I wish I could.  Drawbacks of mind reading. I can't turn it off."  He turned to leave him alone in his regret-filled shower.  Never again. Never again. Never again.

 The water ran cold and still he stood.  His newly discovered regret as his only friend.  He stayed, the water now beating like falling needles into his prickled skin. He deserved it.  He deserved much more than the minor inconvenience of an ice-cold shower.

 Finally shivering so much that he could hardly stand still, he turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist.  His hair dripped water that ran like little rivers between his eyes and down his nose. He walked out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into the kitchen, puddles following him the entire way.  The remnants of last night were scattered throughout the house - an empty bottle of whiskey, two dirty tumblers tossed onto the couch, a crumpled wrapper from the takeout on the corner.  He reached for the door of the fridge to find a juice, but what he found instead was the note.

 Thanks again. See you next week.

 The fundraiser.  Fuck!  He is going to crash the fundraiser for the children's cancer ward. 

 **************************************

 "What are you wearing tomorrow night? I want to coordinate."

 "Coordinate?"

 "For the kids.  Are you wearing your suit or a tux?"

 "I thought you could read my mind." 

 "Not over the phone, love.  Besides, I'm probably across town from you.  You're at home, right?  There's a limit to my power, y'know."

 "Why are you coming?"

 "Oh, I was most definitely invited."

 "Invited? You were not invited."

 "Sure I was.  You're not the only person in charge of invitations to this thing."

 "Ok, I'll bite.  Who invited you?" Why did he answer the phone?  The number was unlisted, but he knew who it was. He didn't even need to be a mind reader to know who was calling him.

 "Tyler Finch."

 "Who the fuck is Tyler Finch?" 

 "Hey, now. That attitude is not nice.  Tyler Finch. Ten years old. Stage three pancreatic cancer. Apparently, he's my biggest fan."

 "Jesus. You have a fan?"

 "Fans. Plural. People love a supervillain with a tragic backstory. So, superhero suit or tux?"

 "It's for the kids. What do you think?"

 "Love, you don't want to hear what I'm thinking right now."  Again, with the warm honey voice. 

 "Supersuit." He knew he sounded defeated, because he was. They both knew it.

 "Tsk. Tsk.  Dear heart, no need for that tone.  You sound so sad.  I know what cheers you up."

 "Don't."

 "I'll see you tonight. A little pre-game for tomorrow. Can't have the famous Wildfire depressed in front of the sick kiddies."

 He tried to object. He really did. But nothing came out of his mouth. And then the call ended. It was too late. Mentallo was definitely coming over tonight.

 At least he didn't come empty handed.

 "Johnny Walker.  I know it's your favorite."

 Thanks.  He took the bottle without a word and stepped aside to let him in.

 "You're welcome."  He strode past, his spicy musk wafting behind him. "I have it specially made by the perfumer across town. It's got an earthy tone to it, doesn't it?"

 "Please stop doing that. It's unnerving."

 "I know. I'm sorry.  I'll try harder, papi." 

 Fuck him and his sly grin. Fuck him and his 'earthy tone'. Fuck him and ... you know what? Just fuck him already.

 Why was he like this? Why couldn't he stop himself from wanting what he shouldn't have? What would people think if they found out that their precious superhero was fuckbuddies with the dreaded supervillian?

 "Because I know what you like, my love. I know what your heart wants, and honestly, I'm a little hurt by the term 'fuckbuddies'. We are way past that."

 "Shut up." 

 "Make me."

 So he did.

 *************************************************

 “Why is sex with you always so angry?”

 “Because I’m mad at myself.”

 “Yes, I know that, but shouldn’t sex calm you down? That’s how it normally works.”

 “C’mon.” he let out a sigh while climbing out of the bed. “You know.”

 “Of course, I do, but you don’t like me using my powers on you, so I want to hear you say it.”

“Because we shouldn’t be a thing.  Besides, always is a strong word.  We’ve only done this twice.”

 “And both times it has been incredibly angry.”

 Never again. Never again. Never again. The beat pounded in his brain in time with his footsteps on the way to the bathroom.  He needed a shower.  Why? He didn’t break a sweat; he didn’t feel dirty. One of the perks of controlling fire – higher tolerance for heat.

 “Not physically dirty, anyway.” He heard from the bedroom.  “Emotionally, you’re a muddy mess, but no amount of soap and water is going to wash that away.”

 “For the love of god. Stop doing that.”

 “I can’t help it. I swear.”

 “How is it that I can turn my power on and off, but you are constantly reading my mind?”

 “Two different things entirely.  Your power is physical, mine is not.” Mentallo had moved to the doorway into the bathroom and was studying him closely.  He could feel the stares through the shower door.

 “So how much mind control do you actually have?”

“None.” The showed door opened and he stepped in.  “I can read minds, hear thoughts, and if the connection is personal enough, can insert my thoughts into someone’s mind.  I absolutely can not make anyone do anything that they wouldn’t normally do.”  He grabbed the soap and started to help wash up.

“Why can’t I hear you then? What we did was pretty personal.”

“Sure, physically, but the connection has to be emotional.  So far, I’ve only been able to connect with my mother.”

“You have a mother?”

He laughed. “I’m alive, aren’t I?  Yes, I have a mother.”

“Does she know?”

“Yes. She’s extremely proud.”

“You don’t have to be snarky about it.”

“I’m absolutely not. My mother is very proud of me. She tells me every day.”

He turned so that they faced each other.  “Why does that make you more personable?”

“Less evil?” That sly grin would be the death of him. He knew it. They both knew it.

 *****************************************************

 “Mister Wildfire?”

He felt the small tug on the leg of his pants.  Looking down, he saw the cutest little kid with a bald head and bright green eyes.  “Hi. What’s your name?” He knelt down to get eye level with him.

“Tyler.”

“Lemme guess, Tyler Finch?”

Huge grin.  “Yes!”

“I thought you were Mentallo’s biggest fan. Why aren’t you over there with him?”

Tyler glanced over to Mentallo on the other side of the room surrounded by half a dozen little ones in hospital gowns.  “I was, but he said you needed a hug.”

“Did he now? Well, he was right.  I’ve had quite the week.”

Tyler threw his arms around his neck and squeezed as tight as his little arms would allow.  “Hugs always make me feel better, Mister Wildfire.”

“Thank you, Tyler.” He stood back up.  “You can go back to Mentallo now.  I feel much better.”

He watched as Tyler skipped back across the room to be picked up by Mentallo.  He was amazed how tenderly he treated his young fans – how loving and careful he was with them. It was almost like watching a Hallmark movie. He was patient and kind, listened to every word they said, made them feel truly wanted and loved.  No wonder he couldn’t get enough of his touch. Who wouldn’t want to feel like that?  

Hi, Handsome.

I can hear you.

You finally let me in.

All I had to do was let you in?

No, you had to fall in love with me.

Did I? He watched as Mentallo looked up at him with a smile.  Not the usual sly grin, a genuine smile.

My mother is in the corner. Purple dress. Carmella Alvarez.

He turned to face the sweet older lady sitting by herself watching the crowd.  She smiled up at him as he approached.

“Mrs. Alvarez?”

“Si, si. You must be Samuel.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My Tito talks about you all the time. He loves you, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am. I know. The feeling is very mutual.”