#yanjam

Ten minutes. All you had to do was keep him distracted for ten minutes.

You'd seen it clear as day this morning, if he managed to escape this room, a shitty warehouse somewhere in the city center, the hostages would die.

Nevermind that the 'hostages' were all low-level villains that had been bothering you for weeks, they weren't in their costumes, neither the public, nor the media, would know it as anything other then civilian deaths.

You'd already sent the brunt of the force towards the second location, if you could hold his attention for just ten minutes, everything would be okay.

Nobody would die. And more importantly, your reputation would be saved.

Chronos stood in the rooms center, illuminated by a single, shitty bulb.

"Come now, Oracle." He purred through the mask, the metallic tinge making your body tense. "Don't get distracted."

Right. Focus. Nine more minutes.

"I am focused. You're not getting away this time."

He'd grin if he could. You can tell in the way he sets his shoulders, the slight chuckle the mask can't quite filter out.

He takes a step back, shaking his head.

"I hate to disappoint you. But I most certainly am."

Shit. Wrong approach. He can't back away. He can't get away.

You need to lure him in closer.

He turns, angling his body away from you, looking for an escape?

"Wait!"

He stops. Despite it all, he stops to hear you out. Why does he do that?

"What? Hate to see me leave but love to watch me walk away, hm?"

Again with the flirting! Always flirting. It drives you up the wall.

But... maybe... There's nobody around but the two of you...

"You're wearing a coat. What is there for me to see when you leave?"

He tilts his head. You can feel his eyes boring into you.

"I can take it off."

"You wouldn't. Your suit is ridiculously tight. You wouldn't..."

You trail off, floundering, why is this working?!

"I wouldn't show it off for you? Hah! Why do you suppose I designed my suit like this in the first place?"

He drags a hand down his chest, gloved fingers trailing over defined abs. "I don't dress like this for the public, you know."

Eight minutes. Time feels like it's dragging on.

"You dress like that just for me, then? Prove it."

Chronos' hand stops. Shocked? Repulsed?

Then he grabs the jackets lapel, slowly pulling it off his tall frame.

He drops it to the ground next to him unceremoniously.

You swallow.

"How's that for proof?"

He strikes a pose. Lifting his arms to show off his waist. It's a little dorky. A smile creeps up on your face before you have the chance to fight it.

It's a little... something else, too. But you won't think like that. You can't.

"I don't know. Just taking off a jacket doesn't feel very personal. You could do that for anyone."

He takes a step towards you and you have to fight to calm your racing heart. This is good. Just seven more minutes.

"Now, now Oracle. That feels like you're baiting me to take off my mask. And we can't be having that, can we?"

You roll your eyes, he was the one who said it, not you.

"Scared I won't like what I find?"

For once, he doesn't seem to have a witty retort. But he takes another step forward, coming ever closer.

This is good. Great, even! You just need to keep him entertained.

"You know, Chronos. There's a lot more to your suit then just your mask."

That gets his attention. He pauses, motionless.

What catches your eye isn't your fault. It's his fault, really, with his stupid skin-tight suit. And the tent in his pants is so obnoxiously obvious.

You do the polite thing, averting your eyes, not that he can really tell through your mask. Not that he even particularly seems to care.

You'd meant, like, gloves or something! Maybe some of those stupid belts he wraps around his torso.

You didn't mean... well... did you mean... that? It would be... a distraction.

How many minutes do you have left? You've lost count.

After an excruciatingly long pause, he seems to find his tongue again.

"You should watch your words, Oracle. There's... interesting implications there."

You can't help but laugh. What use is there in beating around the bush like that when he's hard as a rock and basically vibrating where he stands.

"Implications? You're one to talk. Your... reaction, down-there, speaks louder than words."

He glances downward, as if he hadn't noticed. Then clenches, and unclenches his fist. An exercise in self-restraint, maybe?

"Ah." Is all he mumbles, before glancing back up at you. He clenches and unclenches his fists again, and then shrugs. "At least we chose a place without any cameras around. If this made a front page story I doubt either of us would live it down."

He leans down to scoop up his coat. How much time has passed? Not enough, surely.

"Leaving so soon?"

He hesitates, one hand nested in the material of his coat.

"You want me to stay?"

For the good of the people, if nothing else.

"Just seems like a... waste."

He straightens up, tilting his head curiously. It's so hard to read him, his expressionless mask not letting anything slip.

Then he places a hand, tentatively, on his belt buckle.

"A waste... of this?"

Are you doing this? To save a handful of hostages who you don't especially care about the safety of at the best of times?

"It's like you said. No cameras."

You're doing this. You hope those fuckers appreciate it.

"You're... serious? If this is your attempts at unmasking me, it's an underhanded tactic."

You shrug, trying to keep it casual despite your racing heart. Your mother can NOT find out about this.

"We can leave the masks on. This is between us, as hero and villain. Not whoever our real selves are."

He stills seems unsure, so you suck in a breath and step towards him, poking a finger against his chest.

In the past, he's dodged so many of your attacks so effortlessly. You almost expect him to breezily step out of your touch, but your finger simply bounces against the muscle.

"You've made plenty of advance at me in the past. I hope they weren't just for show."

He swallows. You're close enough that you can see his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. It makes you feel...

Nothing. It makes you feel nothing. There is no slight shiver that passes through you. No warmth between your thighs. This is work. Not pleasure.

He laughs, warm and metallic, and places a large hand against your waist. It isn't unpleasant. His thumb gliding across the material of your suit.

"There are much better suited places for this then a dingy warehouse, Oracle."

While the idea of fucking against a dirty warehouse floor like a bunch of animals is not exactly appealing, letting him leave the building at all is out of the cards.

"What, you're going to take me back to your place? Yeah right."

"The least I could do is a nice hotel."

Ugh, a hotel would be nice. A comfy bed, room service after, somewhere to sleep off the weirdness of it all and freshen up before the walk of shame home.

The warehouse will have to do. Fucking hostages.

You wrap your fingers around his belt loops, teasingly.

"And if I told you I didn't want to wait?"

He groans, it's a sound you're about to get incredibly familiar with. Future fights with this fucker are definitely going to get interesting.

"Fuck."

He uses his grasp on your waist to tug you closer, pinning your bodies together. Then he pushes his crotch against your side, rolling his hips to grind into you. It can't feel all that good behind several layers of fabric, but you suppose it is pretty skin-tight.

He groans again, right in your ear, loud and unrestrained. It's nicer sounding then the sirens outside, at least.

"You're so needy. All that talk about taking me a hotel when you're the one who couldn't wait."

Chronos whines, masked face buried into your shoulder as he rolls his hips more desperately. If you stood here, sweet-talking him, you're pretty sure you could get him to cum where he stands, right in his suit.

But where's the fun in that? If you're sinking this low, you're at least getting off too.

"If you're just going to stand there and get yourself off, Chronos, I might as well go home."

His needy whines turn into a throaty growl, his gentle grip on your waist becoming delightfully dangerous as you feel his nails catch in the suit's material.

If he rips a hole in your suit he is a dead man.

Thankfully, his grip relaxes. But only for a moment, as slides his other hand around your waist, and lifts you up, carrying you across the room with ease, and urgency.

A shock of cold goes through you as he drops you on a metal container, perched right on the edge so your legs dangle down.

You can hear his heavy breathing through the mask, as he glances down at you, like he's deciding what he wants to do first.

Then, without a word, he sinks to his knees, pushing your legs apart and laughing breathily.

He taps his metal mask, twice.

"No peaking."

You tilt your head up, half out of politeness, half necessity. If you break the rules, nothings stopping him from ripping your mask off at this distance.

"At least when you take off your mask I won't have to listen to your prattling on."

"Still swapping insults at a time like this, Oracle? No matter. I have much better things to do with my mouth."

At the thought of ripping, you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing, then a cool breeze caressing the inner-most curves of your thigh.

This motherfucker.

You don't even have time to gasp, nor raise a very reasonable complaint, before you hear him happily hum.

"I'll pay for it."

Then the click of metal, as you can only assume he pushes his mask up his face, freeing his mouth for... other activities.

You sneak a glance downwards as he buries his head between your thighs, but all you can see is a mop of blonde hair pushed messily back by his shifted mask. Worth a shot.

After that, you don't have the time, nor the mental fortitude to scheme, his tongue working hard to distract you from thoughts of hero's and villains.

It's a fight not to clamp your thighs around his head, an excellent position to squeeze the life out of him, but you're a little distracted. And it's not a great story to sell to the media.

Moans, both yours and his own, bounce off the run-down walls. If anything, his moans are almost louder than yours, moaning passionately against you with every spare breath he manages to take.

Air seems like the last thing on his mind. He'll choke himself out, at this rate. Desperately hungry for you. You decide not to think about it.

Instead you tilt your head back, basking in the rolling, sweeping pleasure of his tongue in all the right spots.

And it builds, and builds, and builds, and sudden the sweet waves you've been leisurely riding feel too close to breaking. You don't gently climb to orgasm as much as you hurtle towards it.

"Chronos, wait I-"

But it's like uttering his name flips an evil switch in his mind, and he burrows closer, hands gripping at your thighs for purchase so desperately his nails drag open little holes in your suit.

The waves break, and all you have the strength to do is slump forward, hands nesting in his hair, grabbing on for dear life, as you ride out your high on his face.

Not that he seems to mind, the way his hips are bucking into thin air, just as desperately.

When he finally pulls away, he manages to keep his face pointed downwards, identity secure, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. Before adjusting the mask back over his face.

Then he stands, looming above you as you sit, still slightly quivering, upon the metal box he set you on.

"I hope you don't think we're done here." He purrs, clicking open his belt with practiced ease.

Thank god for superhero stamina.

He slinks out of his pants, leaving them abandoned in a heap much like his jacket.

He rubs the head of his cock against your bare thigh, trailing pre-cum across your skin. He hisses with pure pleasure, both at the sight and the sensation.

"Hope you don't mind that I'm a little... unprepared. A little lube, a condom or two, could have gone a long way. I'll be more prepared next time."

"You think there's going to be a next time?"

He scoops up the cum on your thighs and slicks his fingers with it, pushing them against your entrance with far too much eagerness.

"Oh Oracle, you'll be weak in the knees at the sight of me after I'm done with you. I can guarantee a next time."

"Mmm... you're so cocky."

He chuckles, nudging the tip of his hard cock against your groin, sliding it against the slick opening as he retracts his fingers.

"I have good reason to be, clearly."

You go to refute, but your mind blanks as he pushes into you. Two inches, then four, then six, then further still, until his hips brush against yours. The moan that escapes him is unholy.

"Fuck. I'm going to be weak in the knees after this." He groans, right into your ear. The metal of his mask is cold as it brushes against your neck.

Absently, you wish his mouth was free to kiss it. From the way he's eyeing it and breathing heavily, you think he does too.

"Are you... in any pain?" He asks, a rare moment of pure consideration.

You adjust yourself, flex your insides to test the depth, the pressure. It's... a lot. Filling, certainly. And you have to bite back a small moan as you really relax against him.

But it doesn't hurt. And after a pause to catch your breath, you nod.

"I'm... good. It's good. Thanks."

"Just good? I'll have to do a better job then that."

He punctuates his sentence with a smooth roll of his hips, the length of his cock gliding out, then filling you up all over again. It's unbearably slow, the temptation to shuffle closer, to wrap your legs around his hips and trap him there, taunts you.

"You'll have... to do a little more... then that." You pant, gripping the sides of the metal container you're perched on for support.

"Oh? You want more?" He purrs, sliding out of you so slowly. And then he pauses, the two of you connected only by the very tip, a twitch away from sliding out entirely.

He's going to say something terrible, isn't he?

"Say please."

You called it.

Your eye twitches. You don't know what's bigger, his ego or his dick.

Definitely his ego.

He's lucky you can't say the same for yourself. You're not above basic manners. But you're not above a little bullying, either.

You lean as close as you can despite the distance, wrapping your arms around his neck, and whisper into his ear.

"Chronos... please just fuck me already."

You can almost hear the thread of tension in his body, snap. The eradication of his self-restraint.

He doesn't have anything witty to say, after that.

His hips snap forward with such strength that you tumble back, losing your grip on him as you lay down flat on the container. The new angle let's him push into you even further, and you both moan in delight.

He looms over you, every thrust punctuated with soft, needy moans.

You reach up, running your hands through his blonde hair. It would easy, to simple pull off his mask, see his real face looking down at you.

Would he be blushing? Smiling? Or would he have a more focused look... Your mind wanders. But it's almost more fun if you don't know.

Instead your fingers grip the strands, pulling slightly as he hits a particularly delicious angle. You both moan in equal surprise and debased pleasure.

There's a moment of pause, as you consider these new found techniques. And then you resume, with twice as much passion as before.

Him chasing that angle over and over, crashing into the spot that makes you shiver and buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. You pulling at his hair, and running your nails down his back, enjoying the throaty groans it elicits each and every time.

It isn't long before the feeling returns, waves of pleasure building and building and building inside you.

"Ah, fuck, I'm gonna cum Chronos-"

You don't even finish the final syllable of his name, before he's crashing his hips into you, warmth flooding you as he cums with a long, growl-like moan.

Your own orgasm follows but a second later, his orgasm hasn't slowed him down, if anything he seems to be chasing the afterglow. The uptick in speed pushing you tumbling over the metaphorical edge.

You both lay there for a moment, breathing heavily. Those ten minutes have to be up by now, right? Time to make a strategic exit to check on the hostages. Well, maybe after you've gotten your breath back.

You shift up, propping yourself up on your elbows. His head is bowed, his cock still buried inside you. But he'll pull out any second now, right?

Then he looks up. Slowly. Despite the mask, you can feel his shit-eating grin.

"I'm not done with you yet, Oracle."

When you stumble out the warehouse, only one lone officer remains on the scene. He gives you a questioning look, and you feel yourself flush, thankful for the mask all over again.

"The hostages are safe, Oracle, thanks for your help. But, uh, you know only had to keep him in there for ten minutes right? It's been..." The officer checks his watch, and then frowns. "Hours. Are you alright?"

You adjust Chronos' cloak, which is wrapped around your middle for privacy.

"It was a tough... fight. But I dealt some serious blows. Managed to snag his coat before he escaped."

"Great work! We could take it in for testing if you'd like."

"Ah, uh, no need! I'll do my own... uh... super testing! See if it triggers a vision.”

It's a terrible excuse. But thankfully, the officer seems stupid. Or maybe tired, it is late. But either way, he nods. And waves you goodbye as he packs himself away into his car.

Now to figure out how to get home without any camera's catching you... indisposed.

The next morning, there's a generous donation to your bank account, from a suspiciously anonymous donor. Enough to cover the expenses of your torn suit, and then some.

It's signed only with a C. Cocky bastard.