by Alex Gabriel
Hoagies, seriously. They’d had the minion discussion already. It was like superheroes left their brains at home when they got into the uniform.
But Nick didn’t respond as expected — namely by flying into a righteous rage, launching into a sanctimonious speech or strafing Pat with weapons-grade superiority. Instead, he crowded in closer, a warm presence all along Pat’s back.
“Is that what these are? Enemy hands?” He was looming so close that his breath stirred the fine hair at Pat’s temple when he spoke, making Pat shiver.
What…?
Pat had been prepared for many things, but not this low, intimate tone of voice… not the way Nick was standing so near, fencing Pat in against the desk. He’d turned off the force fields, a distant corner of Pat’s mind noted; there was none of Silver Paladin’s trademarked teeth-rattling thrum. Only Nick, pressed up against Pat’s back in a solid line of muscle from thigh to shoulder.
He would have known how to react to any of the expected hero options. This, on the other hand…
One of Nick’s large gloved hands was pressed to Pat’s stomach now, spread fingers just centimeters from Pat’s groin. Sure didn’t feel like an enemy hand, Pat had to admit. Pretty much the exact opposite, really.
“Yeah,” he squeaked, and then stopped to clear his throat. What was he saying? What had the question been, again? “I — no. I mean. Obviously not, you know, not enemy enemy.”
Nick’s breath was warm against the back of Pat’s neck. Was he really — no, surely not. Except he was, he was leaning in to slide his mouth softly along the side of Pat’s throat, all velvet flick of tongue and the faintest hint of teeth.
“We’re just, it doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything, okay?” Pat blurted almost desperately as Nick nuzzled the sensitive skin behind his ear. “We don’t have to let it be that. It’s just roles. Parts we play. You’re the hoagie with more money than sense, and I’m the part-time minion. That’s not who we are, it’s just what we do. We don’t have to let it be this huge thing.”
Nick was a warm, solid wall between Pat and the rest of the world. “There’s no meaningful difference between who we are and what we do, Patrick.”
How could Nick talk about that kind of philosophical shit at a time like this? Pat’s mind was scattering, desperate to focus entirely on the way Nick felt pressed up against him, how his definitely non-enemy hand was pulling Pat back into what felt like a burgeoning erection trapped underneath skin-tight quantum armor. But he wasn’t going to just fold like that, not when Nick was still speaking in complete sentences.
“Fine, whatever,” Pat managed. It came out rather more breathy than he would have liked, but given the circumstances, he was calling it a win. “Not like there’s anything wrong with being a minion. What would you hoagies do without challengers anyway? You’d go bad, that’s what. You need to be watched and called on your bullshit so you don’t get too big for your — you’re not any different from, from — it’s a two-way street, is what I’m saying. And Sir Toby is cool, he’s an old friend.”
“An old friend?”
“Family friend.” Pat was dangerously close to babbling, which had at least a little to do with the fact Nick’s hand was sliding down over his stomach now. He barely found time to gulp before it had settled squarely over his fly, beginning to slowly and thoroughly feel him up through his pants. “An old — family — oh gods, what do you think you’re doing right now?”
A warm puff of air gusted against his neck as Nick laughed. He hooked his chin over Pat’s shoulder, evidently in order to watch himself flick open Pat’s pants. It was a bizarre sight because Nick was wearing Silver Paladin’s gloves, and — wow, maybe that shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, but holy hell, seriously. “Three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”
Pat’s guess was that Nick was pulling open his pants, pushing aside his boxers and taking out his already rock-hard cock, proceeding to stroke it slowly and torturously from root to tip, gloved fingertips sliding weirdly over the crown.
“You’re, uh… interrogating an opposing minion?”
Nick laughed again, much lower than before. “Yeah, sounds about right. Let’s go with that.”
A second later Pat found himself spun around and lifted bodily onto the desk, various office supplies clattering to the floor, swept aside by what looked for all the world like a flick of Nick’s hand. Pat might have thought he’d imagined it, except that then Nick crooked silver-clad fingers and Pat’s pants and underwear slid down his hips as though caught in the grip of an invisible creature. He glimpsed the slightest hint of a force field haze as the bunched-up fabric hit the floor, right along with Pat’s sneakers and socks.
What the fuck, Nick could do that kind of thing with his force fields? That had to be new, Pat had never even heard —
But he lost that train of thought when Nick stepped in between his knees and took off Pat’s minion mask with his actual hands, tracing the fastenings behind his ears and at the back of his head with the lightest of touches.
When the mask came loose and slid down Pat’s face and neck in a warm silken whisper, the touch of the fabric against sensitized skin made him shiver. The air felt cool against his exposed face. Nick was staring at him fixedly, dark eyes burning with intensity, and Pat was overcome by a thrill of unfamiliar uncertainty. He felt caught, defenseless… laid bare.
Nick’s helmet was off, revealing mussed hair and a slightly flushed face, but otherwise he was completely dressed as Silver Paladin. It was a sexy outfit, what with the way the skin-tight armor clung to every line and curve of Nick’s body, gleaming like liquid silver when he moved. Usually it stopped short of being obscene, though, some kind of built-in force field codpiece or whatever preventing Nick from unintentionally flashing the world every time he stepped outside.
Looked like the codpiece (or whatever) wasn’t built to deal with erections. The way Silver Paladin’s heroic crotch bulged right now was a lot of things, but definitely not fit for the general public.
“Dude.” Pat sounded every bit as breathless as he felt. It might have been embarrassing… except, come on. He was only human. Nobody who had Silver Paladin standing between their legs — all burning stare and straining cock — could be expected to remain unimpressed.
Nick smirked and posed, chin up and chest out, turning his head to present Pat with the a three-quarters profile, fists stemmed into his hips. It was the kind of heroic stance magazines loved to put on their covers, and it was ridiculous that Nick thought it was funny to dust it off now.
Pat should probably not have been finding the superhero pose hot. Sadly, though, he did.
Discussions on infoweb forums grew contentious on the topic of how superhero uniforms opened — people got passionate about whether specific outfits were more likely to be one-piece designs, have hidden zippers, or be spun right onto the hoagie’s body by nanobots. In Silver Paladin’s case, the truth turned out to be fairly prosaic: An invisible stasis seam opened the quantum armor right down the front, splitting it open from neck to crotch to reveal a generous V of warm skin and Nick’s engorged, flushed-pink erection. (No underwear. Huh.)
Under the circumstances, Pat couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed at the lack of clothes-spinning nanobots.
“You shouldn’t do this kind of work,” Nick said. He was evidently trying to sound stern, but the way his words caught in his throat ruined the effect. Pat felt completely justified in ignoring him, anyway. If he’d wanted Pat to pay attention, he should have picked a different time to have this conversation. And he certainly shouldn’t have —
Wow, Pat hadn’t thought it was even possible to tear someone’s shirt and undershirt apart with your hands. It must have been some kind of superhero trick; the fabric ripped like paper in Nick’s grasp, shirt buttons pinging off and undershirt sagging to the sides to bare Pat’s chest. A moment later, Pat gasped and jerked as he was pushed back to his elbows by an intangible force. His hips raised
off the desk without his doing, his thighs spreading further apart in mid-air.
Holy fuck, it was the force fields again. Pat could feel the energy holding him up, solid and firm to the touch — could feel it lift his legs higher, push his knees up towards his chest. Nick was using his force fields to arrange Pat just the way he wanted him and hold him in position. Hold him open and ready for Nick’s cock, ready to be fucked, taken, claimed…
The force of Nick’s stare was a near-palpable thing, but he wasn’t touching Pat at all. The still-gloved fingers of his right hand were moving subtly as he directed the energy manhandling Pat, and his free hand was on his own cock, stroking himself. He hardly seemed to realize he was touching himself, though, what with the way his attention was completely locked on Pat.
There was something ragged and wild about the groan that escaped Pat. His hips wanted to jerk, but he couldn’t move much; the unseen force was holding him too tightly in place. He gasped for air, arched his back as much as he could. He couldn’t get any harder than he already was, but he could feel precome beginning to slick his stomach. He wondered what kind of sight he made, all flushed and desperate, near out of his mind.
“You like — that? My force fields?” There was a definite note of smugness to Nick’s voice, but also an odd hesitancy. It was unexpected, and Pat forced his brain back online enough to take in the expression on Nick’s face.
“Yeah,” Pat rasped. He sounded exactly as raw and wrecked as he felt. “They’re awesome, man. Come on, come on already, you caught me, got me all tight and wrapped up… are you just gonna stare at me all day?”
For a second, Pat couldn’t place the look on Nick’s face; then, Nick blinked and closed the last bit of distance between them, pressing right up between Pat’s spread thighs. Pat whined high in his throat and strained against the hold of the force fields, head falling back, breath trembling. He couldn’t move at all, couldn’t press his aching erection against the matching hardness that lay tantalizingly against his balls and ass, couldn’t…
“There’s no use fighting it.” Nick’s voice was lower than Pat had ever heard it, a dark echo of the hero voice laden with sex and something harder, more dangerous. “I’ve caught you, evil minion, and you aren’t getting away. You are entirely at my mercy.”
It took Pat’s endorphin-laden brain a long moment to catch on. When he finally did, he gave a short, breathless huff of laughter. Nick’s eyes flew to his face immediately, hesitancy eclipsing everything else in his expression in the brief moment until Pat shook his head, licking dry lips while searching for the right words. “No, I — yeah.”
Nick of the misleadingly stony mien and charmingly unexpected open-mindedness, flexibility and curiosity… Nick who’d taken to Mars Ascending like a snake to the prairie, and had never shot down a single one of Pat’s fun ideas.
Pat was ridiculously, insanely lucky. Hell yes. If Nick was game, then Pat was there with fucking bells on. “Yeah, right, like you’re going to do anything to me. Everyone knows you’re all righteous and —”
He broke off on a squeak because something soft and firm was brushing his throat, his collarbone, his chest; when he looked down, he could see a shimmer in the air, like heat wavering over water.
Nick’s expression was fierce with concentration, a vertical line forming between his brows as he stared at Pat. The invisible touch firmed on Pat’s chest, solidifying into what felt a whole lot like fingers rubbing at his nipples, tweaking just a little. Pat arched his back again and moaned, and when another touch stroked lightly across his lips, he snapped at it playfully. It was as firm and material as a real finger would have been, but without texture or taste.
“I am righteous,” Nick growled. “Yes, I am righteous, but I am also a man, and you have pushed me too far. You must be taught a lesson, villain, and I will be the one to deliver it. And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
The touch was between his legs now, a soft diffuse pressure all over his cock and balls and ass, solidifying slowly into something more tangible. Too slowly. Pat tried to push into the touch, stretched —
Nick made an odd, gutted sound. When Pat’s eyes flew to him, he was squeezing his cock at the base with his free hand; his gaze was expectant, and he raised his eyebrows at Pat in a clear prompt.
Pat licked his lips, trying to gather his wits. Nick’s force fields were shifting him forward, spreading his legs open even wider. Sliding too-gently along his aching shaft. Teasing against his opening.
“You’re just bluffing,” he said shakily. “I’m not afraid of you, you’re not going to — oh gods.”
This. This — being opened up by a force field while other fields caressed you everywhere, your body held in place open and ready for the gorgeous man watching you hungrily, stroking his swollen cock… this was. Just.
“You were saying?” Smugness twisted Nick’s mouth upwards, crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Smugness really shouldn’t be this hot. “How does it feel, knowing that you’re mine to do whatever I please with? How does it feel, knowing that I’m going to take you every way I want, sate myself on your body, open you up and fuck you until you beg…”
“Oh hell yeah. I mean, uh —” Pat gulped, tried for a glare that probably fell pitifully short. “You can’t do that, you — you’d better not, okay, if you do I’ll tell everyone, I’ll tell them all —”
“You’ll tell them what?” It was no more than a whisper, ragged and hot. Nick stroked himself once more, slowly, lazily, before guiding himself down until the tip of his cock pressed blunt and hot against Pat’s opening. “Will you tell them I —”
And Nick faltered, falling silent. He pyro-stared at Pat for an endless moment before Pat realized he was waiting for some kind of go-ahead, and quickly and frantically nodded.
Nick pushed in slowly, letting Pat feel every centimeter of his cock as he spread Pat open and filled him up. Pat forgot to breathe, forgot everything except the hard burn of Nick sliding into him. He wanted to reach for him, and discovered that he could; grabbed onto Nick’s hips, ridiculously anchored by the feeling of solid muscle and bone underneath thin armor.
“Will you tell them I — I —”
“Yeah,” Pat husked. “Yes, Nick, Nicky, come on, move, are you trying to kill me or what?”
But Nick didn’t move, at least not to thrust; instead, he leaned forward, taking Pat’s mouth in a soft, gentle kiss. The enveloping force field trembled, and Pat found that his legs were free to wrap around Nick’s waist, though they slid awkwardly over the slick material of the armor.
“I love being inside you,” Nick whispered against Pat’s lips. “Every time I see you, I want to tear off your clothes and bury my cock in you.”
Pat suspected it was a terrible line, especially given Nick’s track record when it came to dirty talk. Right now, though, when he was trembling apart on Nick’s cock, his entire body thrilling to Nick’s touch… right now, it really worked. Just as the shift of Nick’s hips worked, and his subtle scent of storm and spice, the brush of his hair against Pat’s face, the glorious press of his muscled abdomen against Pat’s cock, the low rasp of his voice…
Nick moved, pulling back with torturous slowness, muscles shifting. When he drove back in, it was hard and fast, at the perfect angle. A wild burn of pleasure spiraled through Pat, and he cried out raggedly, clutching at Nick with helpless greed.
“Patrick,” Nick gasped, sounding just as lost as Pat felt. “Patrick, Pat — Pat.”
Pat lost track of things after that. All he knew was that Nick gave up on slow and gentle in favor of fast and hard, finding a quick, demanding rhythm that had Pat going to pieces in no time at all. Then, Nick curled his hand around Pat’s cock and jerked him to the rhythm his hips were setting as he drove inside him, and that was it. Game over, thanks for playing, hope you have this much luck next time.
Once Pat had come, Nick lasted only several more strokes. He groaned and trembled and clutched Pat close, and Pat was so blis
sed out he found himself thinking that even the man’s dumb, terrible orgasm face was beautiful.
Afterwards, Nick dispelled his force fields (he’d even used one as a combination of lubricant and condom — there was a reason they called this man a genius). They spent several minutes lolling about in an exhausted, sweaty heap. Nick was a heavy weight on Pat’s chest, but he didn’t mind; it was nice having him there, even though the way he was snuffling into the side of Pat’s neck kinda tickled.
He jostled Nick until he shifted to bury his face against Pat’s throat instead. Sir Toby’s desk wasn’t the most comfortable place to chill out on, but even so he could probably have fallen asleep there, all naked and sweaty and semen-spattered, sleepy hoagie draped over him like a blanket… except, of course, for the sirens blaring out in the hall.
They were quite loud, really.
“Wow,” Pat said, after another while. “That was… wow.”
“It was, wasn’t it.”
Wasn’t there some kind of rule about smugness being terminally unattractive? Pat would have told Nick as much, except he suspected it would have been obvious what a huge honker of a lie it was.
“Your force fields.” Pat struggled to his elbows to look down on Nick, stomach fluttering weakly. He felt as limp as though he’d swum a marathon, every limb heavy and warm with the best kind of exhaustion. “That was awesome, man. I had no idea you could do that kind of thing with them.”
Smugness hadn’t grown less attractive now that Pat could see it in the cast of Nick’s smile, rather than merely hearing it layered in his voice. “I’m very good at what I do.”
Pat managed a doubtful face as a matter of principle. The way Nick’s smile edged dangerously into smirk territory suggested he wasn’t fooled. Which was a little annoying, really.
Less annoying was the way Nick was now absently petting Pat’s legs, stroking soothingly from knee to mid-thigh. Pat would have told him to stop — might even have shoved him away and gotten down from that stupid table to make a point — if it hadn’t felt so nice. Relaxing, like.