Thirteen

“Poultry Man!” He exclaimed, spotting the feathered menace on that building on the opposite side of the street that had the mediocre coffee and the good maple pecan danishes.

“Hello Hotguy,” Poultry man replied, spreading his wings and taking flight.

Hotguy ducked a moment too late as the foul fowl descended on him with his spurs out. Hotguy was not wounded, but the fabric of his bulletproof super suit was torn across the middle by the razor sharp spurs, revealing his diamond hard abs.

“Poultry Man,” he gasped. “We don’t have to do this…”

“Oh, but we do,” Poultry Man said, unable to stop himself from gloating at least a little bit, villain that he was. “This city isn’t big enough for both of us, Hotguy.”

Hotguy sighed, pushing himself to his feet and grasping his bow in his big, strong hands.

“Then let’s dance,” he challenged his nemesis.

And dance they did.

Hotguy fired shot after shot, only ever gracing Poultry Man, at the same time as he expertly dodged the brigand’s egg bombs.

The fight was brutal. Where Hotguy was merely trying to incapacitate the bird he once called a friend, Poultry Man was obviously going for the kill. And although he was very nearly perfect, not even Hotguy could anticipate Poultry Man’s every move.

An egg bomb whooshed past his face, through a window, and landed inside the Sahara Headquarters.

Hotguy turned around just in time to see it go off, the explosion lighting up his face and highlighting his sharp jawline.

“No! There are civilians inside!” Hotguy exclaimed, as always full of love for the people in his care.

He ran into the building, finding himself inside the legal department. He sensed immediately that no one at Sahara liked the Legal department, but even so he began to look for civilians who might have been caught in the blast.

“Oh, Hotguy,” called Poultry Man as he entered the Sahara headquarters as well. “Come out and plaaayyy.”

This was his chance. Poultry Man was searching near the good water cooler, which Legal had stolen at the last Christmas party, completely oblivious to the sunglasses clad eyes that had landed on him.

Hotguy nocked his arrow, aiming it at Poultry Man’s heart. It would be so easy so take the villain out for good and rid the world of his evil. Hotguy had killed before, but only in the line of duty. He felt bad about it, but sometimes these things were necessary.

But somehow it was different when it was Poultry Man…

“I can’t do it…” Hotguy said to himself, lowering his weapon.

He realised his mistake a moment later. Poultry Man looked up, levelling his beady little bird eyes on Hotguy.

“My little chicken,” Hotguy pleaded. “Don’t you see that we don’t have to fight? I know there’s still good in you…”

“The good in me died long ago,” Poultry Man denied. “And now I’m going to kill you too.”

Hotguy’s heart broke in his chest. Maybe the chicken he had once known was truly gone…

His hesitation nearly became the end of him. He was a moment too slow as Poultry Man leapt at him with his needle-sharp beak.

Hotguy closed his eyes, resigning himself to death, his only regret being that he had to leave his beloved city to fend for itself.

Instead of the pain he had expected, Hotguy heard a heavy thud. He opened his eyes again to see the most handsome man he had ever seen standing between him and Poultry Man, holding the remnants of the wooden chair he had just smashed over Poultry Man’s head.

The man had ebony hair and a perfectly groomed moustache, but perfect in the sort of effortless way that Hotguy knew meant it was naturally that lush. His red tie was tied in a perfect Windsor knot, the ideal knot for a young professional such as the handsome man. Somehow Hotguy just knew that the beautiful man had recently taken up exercising again, no doubt because of his impressive biceps straining against the fabric of his dark suit.

“You imbecile!” Poultry Man clucked, lashing out at the handsome man with his claws.

“No!” Cried Hotguy, feeling some kind of innate connection to the man who had just saved him.

Hotguy took the man’s hand, pulling him out of the way of the attack. In doing so the man found himself pressed against Hotguy’s perfectly sculpted pecs and his exposed and.

“Thank you for saving me,” Hotguy told him, scooping the man into his strong arms in a bridal carry. “Now let me return the favour.”

Hotguy took off sprinting, slinging the handsome man over his shoulder and carrying him with ease. It was no feat for a man as strong as Hotguy.

“What’s your name?” He asked, blaming his interest in the man on the fact that he had saved his life.

“The name is Limbo Jimbo,” the man introduced himself. “I work in the building and I heard you and Poultry Man fighting.”

“You are very brave,” Hotguy confessed. “Going up against the dreaded Poultry Man like that.”

“I don’t know if I’m brave,” Limbo Jimbo said humbly. “I just couldn’t let him kill you. With how many times you have saved the city, you deserve someone willing to save you too.”

The words struck a chord with Hotguy as he rounded a corner and dove into a closet, carefully setting Limbo down.

“Are you hurt, mr Jimbo?” He asked, eyes roaming the handsome man’s body for signs of injury.

“Please, call me Limbo. All of my friends do.”

Limbo ran his fingers through his hair, and Hotguy found it hard to look away.

“I think I may have twisted my ankle,” he confessed. “I’m not sure if I can walk out of here.”

Hotguy followed Limbo gaze, taking in the sight of the man’s ankle. It was twisted, alright. In fact, with his expert first aid knowledge, Hotguy was certain it was broken.

Limbo must be very level headed to go up against Poultry Man of all people with a broken ankle.

“Are you okay, mr Hotguy?” Limbo asked, reaching out and offering his hand. “Emotionally, I mean. Only you seemed very distressed in your fight with Poultry Man back there.”

Was it so obvious? Hotguy had told no one about his shared past with Poultry Man. Was Limbo some sort of spy?

No, Hotguy was certain that was not the case. Perhaps it was the warmth of the man’s voice? The softness of his hands, or his impeccable sense of fashion, but something told Hotguy to trust Limbo. To trust that there was still someone out there who could see him not just as Hotguy but also the hot guy that was hidden beneath the supersuit.

Hotguy reached up and removed his dark shades, revealing brilliant cerulean eyes.

“Limbo, my friend,” he started. “You must never tell anyone what I am about to tell you. Poultry Man… is my ex!”

Limbo gasped, tears welling in his eyes.

“Oh Hotguy,” Limbo sighed. “I did suspect. The way he looks at you gives it away.”

“He was my sidekick once, and my fiancé. But everything changed that day on the chemical plant, when the evil Goat injected him with brainwashing fluid and chicken DNA that mutated him into the rooster he is now. One time I thought that maybe I would be able to find another man to be my Cuteguy, but no one has the combination of cyber security skills, dexterity, and slightly below average endurance the job demands.”

Limbo squeezed Hotguy’s hand and that mysterious connection flared between them again.

“I may be no Cuteguy, but I will help you in any way I-”

———

“Mumbo Jumbo?” The voice was familiar, as was the mildly annoyed tone. “If you don’t get your ass into gear I am going to go to lunch without you.”

Mumbo sat up with a start, immediately minimising the window he had had open mere moments ago.

With a quick ctrl+s he saved the changes to the latest chapter of his story ‘Stuck in Limbo’ and looked up at his friend and colleague, Iskall, who was waiting in the door of the Sahara IT department, i.e. Mumbo’s office.

“You wouldn’t,” he called back to Iskall. “Not when it means you might have to pay for your own food.”

Mumbo closed the creative writing program just in time as Iskall approached.

“I will have you know I am more than capable of paying for my own lunch.”

Mumbo closed the computer entirely, stretching his limbs as he stood up and put the ‘be back in 22 minutes’ sign in his desk to signal he had gone out to take his lunch break.

“How kind of you to offer,” Mumbo’s grinned. “Chinese?”

Iskall groaned, rolling their eyes as they stepped into the elevator and pressed the ground floor button.

“If I’m paying we are not getting Chinese again. I want a burger.”

Mumbo smiled, thinking about the half finished chapter of his story. If he could manage to complete his afternoon tasks in an hour or less he might finish it today.