Lovesick Gods

by Amanda Meuwissen

  Scanning down Mal’s body from head to toe, it was like Danny expected nothing less than for all of that to have been a lie. “They don’t owe you,” he repeated, no censor to his skepticism.

  Mal shaped his face into as honest of an expression as he could—or at least as honest as he ever got. “I don’t work that way. Not unless I have to.”

  “If someone challenges you, you mean.”

  “If they’re someone like the Dunkirks or Mendozas, yes.”

  “Or me?” Danny’s face went neutral too, and Mal wasn’t quite sure he could read it.

  Frowning, he leaned into Danny’s space. “No one ever owes me like that.”

  Danny’s stoicism fell with a wave of embarrassment as his hands came out of his pockets and he reached for the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean for…”

  The sex. No, Danny wouldn’t think of what they were doing as an exchange of services. But truth was, sleeping together meant they could use their new arrangement as a weapon against each other.

  Naturally, Danny had never considered using Mal like that. Mal was just too used to being used for something. But then Danny did want to use him, didn’t he? Use him to forget, to lose himself, to leave his normal life behind for a while. Wasn’t that the same? Mal wasn’t so sure, since he liked losing himself in Danny too.

  “Think nothing of it,” Mal dismissed the tension that had crept into their conversation. “Look. I have more of these to do. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  Danny’s eyes darted to the side—definitely something with work, something with the case, something Danny was running from. “Took the afternoon off,” he lied all too easily. “I have time before patrol tonight, figured we’d get in that rain check early. What’s the big deal if I come with you? You know, seeing as how you’re not doing anything illegal.” He flicked his eyes back to Mal and smiled ever so sweetly.

  If they were just using each other, was it really so bad? It could be, oh Mal knew it could be, with how many open wounds they’d made known to each other, but he couldn’t bring himself to prompt that sad puppy look from Danny again. At least he’d already made his stop at the electronics store. Priestly would have complicated things when Danny recognized the face of Hephaestus.

  “Fine,” Mal said, pushing the bag of food into Danny’s arms, which he scrambled to take hold of. “Then you’re going to be useful. No asking questions. No interfering. No matter what you see or hear. Anyone asks you a question, you work for me.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Danny gave a little salute. “Do I need an alias?”

  Mal wavered between cringing and breaking into a smile. “Just…be Danny.”

  Danny—who apparently enjoyed make-believe. And dress up, if the Zeus suit was any indication.

  “Come on,” he said to Danny, turning to head down the street. “And try to keep up.”

  ß

  Danny almost couldn’t believe he’d convinced Cho to let him stay. And while he was keeping tabs on his ‘territory’. Little had Danny known how powerful Cho was. This was good intel. And kind of fun.

  There were several businesses they hit, one after the other. Cho was as smooth as ever asking how things were going. Some of the proprietors said very little and that was that. Some quietly mentioned the cops hanging about or one of the Dunkirks, to which Cho made a point of responding that he needed to know the second the man showed up again. Even fewer of them asked about Danny.

  “Oh, he’s new,” Cho would say. “Just giving him the fifty cent tour.”

  Danny smiled but didn’t say anything. If anyone thought he looked like a cop in his neatly pressed blazer and trench coat, none of them voiced it. After all, he was with Cho.

  It was after the third mention of Dunkirk that Danny realized Cho was usually the one to ask about the guy first, so between stops, he asked, “Which Dunkirk is giving you trouble? I thought the Irish—” but Cho shook his head.

  “No questions, remember?”

  There must be a territory war going on. Interesting. Danny would have to keep his ear to the ground.

  For now, he focused on gleaning what intel he could—and juggling the various items some of the shop owners insisted on giving them. Cho hadn’t been lying though; not once did he ever ask for anything; the people just kept trying to give him stuff. Usually food or something new from their shop. But never, ever cash.

  A few times Cho was able to deflect having to accept the gift, but the other times, Danny merely added to his burden. He had several bags to carry, some at least he could consolidate into one, by the time they reached a convenience store near Cho’s apartment.

  Danny wasn’t immune to how the people of the neighborhood acted around Cho. None of them seemed afraid. Intimidated maybe. Respectful for sure. But Cho didn’t usually resort to fear. He preferred showmanship.

  It was the long game, Danny told himself, as he clung to the belief that none of this—not even the young woman helping her grandmother at the local bakery who looked at Cho like some sort of savior—meant Cho was anything but bad news.

  This wasn’t goodness, protecting these people. It was killing them with kindness, just like what Danny was doing to Cho. Sure, it proved Cho didn’t need to be taken down like Thanatos—he wasn’t evil and he did care about the city—but that hardly made him good. Hardly made him exempt from a little payback. Hardly meant he didn’t deserve exactly what he had coming when Danny was through with him.

  Angry voices struck their ears as soon as Cho opened the door to the convenience store.

  “Open the register!”

  “Wrong neighborhood! Nothing for you! Go, go!” an accented voice Danny took for Middle Eastern answered the young-sounding assailant.

  The cashier counter was further into the back, but he and Cho spotted the commotion right away. Cho paused to roll up his sleeves, and a frosted mist rose into the air from his iced-over hands.

  “Cho,” Danny hissed.

  “No questions. No interfering,” Cho answered just as quietly as he moved forward with slow, clipped steps.

  The robber had a gun pointed at the cashier, who Danny could see had his hands raised but was inching toward a shotgun behind the counter. It was visible from Danny’s angle, but not from the robber’s.

  Readying himself to intervene, regardless of what he’d promised Cho, Danny wasn’t sure how old the robber was—he had a ski mask on—but his voice made him sound about fifteen.

  “Problem?” Cho asked, spreading his arms to show off the sheen of ice climbing to his elbows.

  The robber whirled around, pointing his revolver at Cho then back at the cashier. Danny saw the moment when the young man registered who it was he was looking at—the way his eyes widened beneath his mask, hand trembling worse than it already had been.

  Cho held up a misting hand to quiet the cashier when the man rattled off something Danny didn’t understand. Just how many languages did Cho speak?

  “Not at the point of no return yet, kid,” Cho said, all ease and guile and fluid motion forward. “Now you know what Rashid meant by this being the wrong neighborhood. But I’m forgiving. Put down the gun. Walk out the door. Stay away from my streets. And we won’t have a problem. Try something, however, and well…you wouldn’t create the most fashionable ice sculpture with that mask, but I can make do.”

  A thrill shot up Danny’s spine at hearing the more theatrical voice Cho used as Prometheus.

  Rashid was still inching toward the shotgun. Cho noticed as well and subtly shook his head. This could get messy fast, but Danny knew he was faster.

  Cho was faster too, apparently.

  Rashid vanished beneath the counter. The robber turned his gun toward Cho, but Cho charged forward to intercept the kid’s swing and caught his wrist in his left hand, while his right hovered in front of the young man’s face like a threat. Danny never had to move a
muscle.

  Pulling himself and the robber down just as Rashid rose from beneath the counter and fired over their heads, Cho was up again the next moment as if he’d been expecting that. He backed the kid against the counter while Rashid looked on in horror at having nearly taken Prometheus’s head off.

  The robber’s gun clattered to the counter with Cho pinning him, the chill of his touch on the kid’s wrist seeping into his jacket, making him hiss. Cho ripped his mask off with his other hand, icing the fabric in the process so that it crumbled like snow to the floor when he dropped it. Fifteen, all right. Maybe seventeen at most. And terrified.

  “I won’t be seeing you in my neighborhood again, will I?” Cho said low and dangerous.

  Even the kid’s breath came out frosted. He shook his head as he quivered beneath Cho’s weight and frigid touch.

  “Good.” Cho stepped back, raised both hands while receding his ice until almost none of it remained, and gestured at the door.

  The kid took off without looking back, leaving his gun behind.

  “Rashid,” Cho put his hand on top of the handgun before Rashid could reach for it, “what did I say about being so trigger happy?” He spoke more like chiding a child than a grown shop owner, and the man dutifully set his own gun aside. “Thank you. And be more careful next time. I’m rather fond of my face. Now—”

  “Sir, I have something for you, sir,” Rashid spoke quickly.

  “Rashid, I don’t—”

  “Please, sir, please,” Rashid said and ducked through a back door before Cho could protest further.

  Danny realized he still stood where he’d stopped when they first entered. He’d barely even felt the breeze of the kid run past him, he was so focused on Cho and how flawlessly he’d handled the situation, like there was never a moment when he didn’t have complete control, even when things went south.

  Cho looked back at him expectantly, and Danny took a few careful steps forward as he considered the building rush of—he didn’t know what he was feeling right now, but he knew it felt good. And exciting. And demanding.

  “It’s not as if I’m one of the good guys,” Cho said, like he needed to excuse his behavior.

  Cho was a villain. Danny couldn’t forget that. But he skirted the line between vile and virtuous enough that Danny could skirt the line too.

  He set the bags on the counter. “Let’s go back to your apartment.”

  “I have one more stop after this.”

  “Skip it.”

  Moving into Cho’s space to make sure he was being very, very clear, Danny met Cho’s curious stare without blinking.

  “I want you to fuck me,” he said, low and quiet and rough. “Right. Now.”

  Cho shuddered. Swallowed visibly. And eyed the tease of skin at Danny’s collarbone where his shirt opened.

  Rashid came back and Danny stepped away, reclaiming the bags so they could make their exit. The cashier had a bottle wrapped in brown paper—wine or whiskey or something—that he handed to Cho with a flutter of words in that other language. This time, Cho didn’t try to reject the gift.

  “And Rashid, if you really want to make this up to me, do me a favor. Give Teresa at the liquor store a message for me.” He mentioned Dunkirk again, said he needed to know the moment anyone spotted him.

  “Of course, sir, Mr. Cho, sir,” Rashid said with a dip of his head.

  “Thank you.”

  They left the shop swiftly after that and Cho led them into an alley. His building was only a block or two down, but once they were safely out of eyesight from anyone on the streets, Danny grabbed hold of him around the waist and lightning jumped them straight to his apartment.

  Chapter 14

  Danny’s collection of Cho’s gifts landed with a thud of discarded bags on the floor. It all would have seemed like a blurred rush to Cho, but he recovered instantly and had Danny pinned against the door to his apartment the second they arrived.

  Cho’s lips and tongue and hands. Danny whimpered into the other man’s mouth as they kissed. He felt Cho’s cool fingers tease up his abs beneath his button down and thrummed with sparks from the base of his spine into his palms.

  “No powers,” Cho spoke against his lips, as both hands caressed the muscles of Danny’s chest and stomach. Danny shivered from the faint tickle.

  “Huh…?” He felt feverish in his want; maybe he hadn’t heard right.

  “Save the sparks for when I tell you,” Cho said, sliding his hands around to grip the bare skin of Danny’s back.

  Nodding within the blissful haze of letting Cho lead, Danny agreed. He’d loved having all of the control the first time, but going along for the ride was nice too, letting Cho take what he wanted, knowing that it just made the man more and more thoroughly his.

  Cho’s hands left Danny, and he registered his jacket and blazer being pushed from his shoulders, then Cho’s jacket dropped as well. They stepped over the cast-off articles, kicked away their shoes without caring that they never made it to the rug, and moved through the apartment, Cho walking backwards with ease, while Danny eagerly followed.

  They bypassed the stairs, Danny noticed, only half-aware of his surroundings, though Cho clearly had the place mapped in his head like a GPS, because he never tripped or wavered. The moment they reached the desk against the far wall, Cho spun them around and hefted Danny on top of it.

  The desk was so tidy, only a few items were disturbed. The pen holder spilled over, the keyboard drawer shoved in, the mouse knocked aside just so, rousing the computer from sleep. Danny glanced behind him at the eruption of light as black was banished in favor of Cho’s desktop background. He blinked at it for a moment before the image registered.

  “Is that…?”

  “For research purposes,” Cho said, too winded for Danny to take seriously. The picture was one of the first photographs of Zeus—a white and gold figure surrounded by lightning.

  Danny didn’t try to hide his smirk as he turned forward. Cho had his hands up Danny’s shirt again. He spread Danny’s legs so he could crowd in close, with their lips mere inches apart, but Danny had to chuckle. “Sure it is,” he said, winding his arms around Cho’s neck. “Do you have a secret stash of Zeus pictures, Ice Man? Maybe some of the ones that get a really good angle of my ass.”

  There was a flush to Cho’s cheeks, but that was all arousal. If he harbored any embarrassment at being found out, he didn’t show it. “Any sites you recommend for finding shots like that?”

  Danny laughed harder, and Cho kissed the sound right out of his mouth.

  Leaning back wasn’t easy as Cho unbuttoned Danny’s shirt. He’d end up propped against the computer screen if he wasn’t careful, so he steadied himself on the edge of the desk, stomach muscles taut to keep him upright. Cho kissed down his bare chest, licking along his abs while deft fingers undid his slacks.

  Nearly thrumming with sparks again, Danny quickly quelled the urge. He could control his powers. He could control his powers. Cho just felt so good—every touch and kiss and lick. He looked great, too, wearing a black Henley, which Danny hadn’t noticed with the long jacket he’d had on before. The shirt sinfully clung to Cho’s shoulders as he pulled Danny’s pants and underwear down his thighs.

  He took Danny into his mouth like he was starved for it, and Danny groaned. This was so much better than touching himself, even with Cho’s eyes on him. But he wanted more than Cho’s mouth. He’d felt so empty for so long; he needed something to fill him.

  Tucked between Danny’s thighs, Cho seemed to be trying to get him as wet as possible, but before Danny had the chance to beg for more, he pulled up and undid his own slacks. Removing them and his underwear, he displayed an urgency that never looked desperate or sloppy, always powerful and in control, just like he’d been in the convenience store, facing down a gunman without anything but a shelf of potato chips getting hit.


  Danny coiled his arms around Cho’s neck again as soon as the man stepped in between his legs. Tipped back on the end of the desk, he wrapped his ankles around Cho’s waist and reveled in how they connected—this was why Cho wanted him wet, for the slick slide as they collided.

  Locked in this new position with Cho’s arms around his back, Danny felt the other man start to slow them. He had Danny pinned.

  “Faster,” Danny gasped into the side of Cho’s neck. “Please…”

  “No,” Cho panted equally breathless into his ear.

  Squeezing Cho’s neck, Danny struggled in vain to buck up and force him to pick up the pace. “Please…I need it…I’ve been so wound up, I just—”

  “Shhh…come on, Sparky, have some pride.” Cho’s voice was a low rumble, every phrase followed by a slow grind. “You can do this. I want to draw this out like you did with me. Want you shaking before we’ve even started. You want it good like that, don’t you? Want to come undone beneath my fingers, beneath the weight of me as I wreck you?”

  That sounded so good. Payback was a bitch and so was Cho, but Danny couldn’t complain. He was shaking already. Holding onto Cho’s neck all the more tightly, certain he was leaving bruises behind, he shuddered with a spark of power he couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried.

  “No lightning unless I say so,” Cho reminded him with a roll of his hips.

  “I’m trying.” Danny mouthed along the other man’s neck to ground himself. “Thought you liked it when I lose myself a little.”

  “I do. But resisting can be sweet too. And I do so owe you for last time…” Shifting so that his tip teased with the faintest pressure at Danny’s unprepared entrance, Cho was so wet. Even without any force, the promise of what would come next made Danny whimper.

  Cho dragged along the puckered skin again and again, but only ever barely pushed forward. Danny knew he didn’t actually want Cho to press inside like this—not at all stretched, no lube, no condom. But in the moments between, when Cho tormented him with that slow slide of heated skin, Danny was close to begging for him to just get on with it already.