Men of Steel

by Ryan Loveless

  “I—oh.” Kevin smiled and bent in for a firmer kiss. He’d never noticed before that most of the equations floating in his vision were the exact shade of Locke’s energy bubbles. He sat back in the seat, arm firmly around Locke’s shoulders, unable to get the smile off his face.

  KEVIN let himself out onto the balcony, making sure the door shut firmly behind him. The tables and chairs stood stark and empty against the white concrete, made brighter by the reflection of the sun. The sky was a stunning blue, only a few clouds floating by, high up and thin.

  Fifty stories up, the wind pulled at his hair and suit coat as he made his way over to the lone figure leaning against the railing. Thankfully, there was no visual element to the wind, so it didn’t trigger the physics chalkboard that was his brain.

  Kevin leaned his elbows on the chest-height railing. “Pretty day.”

  “Yeah.” Locke had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring out at the city.

  “You okay?” Kevin reached over and rubbed Locke’s spine through the navy suit coat.

  “Sure.”

  “Growing up with a psychic taught you horrible lying skills.” Kevin wrapped his arm around Locke, pulling the other man close. He hadn’t expected his lover to stiffen.

  “We’re outside.”

  “And fifty stories up. Camera drones can’t navigate this high up.” Kevin pressed a kiss into Locke’s hair. “And you need me.”

  “I do.” Locke sighed and angled his body against Kevin’s. “Most of the time, I’m barely empathic. I can count how many folks are in a room and tell you their general attitudes, but that’s it. Having Mom in close proximity is like being forcibly plugged into an amplifier. I can feel folks five floors in either direction. And not just emotions, actual thoughts. Sometimes even deep thoughts. I’m not used to all this input.”

  “Oh, babe.” Kevin lifted his hand to stroke at Locke’s neck. “Can I do anything?”

  “Keep touching my skin. It helps.”

  Kevin reached over with his free hand to twine his fingers through Locke’s. “I’ve got you, Locke.”

  Locke’s head jerked up, possibly recognizing his own words from the previous day. “You do, Kev. You’re always there for me.” Kevin spooned up behind Locke, holding him more firmly, nuzzling the bare skin of Locke’s neck.

  Locke relaxed, leaning his head against Kevin’s jaw. “Tell me something true.”

  “Making love with you is the only time I stop seeing the equations. It’s never happened with anyone else.”

  Cloth rustled as Locke shifted in his arms to gaze up at him. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Huh.” Locke turned so they were both facing outward again. Every so often, Kevin caught a glimpse of the sunlight sparkling off the lake on the far side of the city. “No wonder you always want to fuck, then.”

  Kevin snorted and grabbed Locke’s ass. “That’s not why. Brat.”

  Locke grabbed Kevin’s hand and pulled it up so it circled his waist. “Now who’s lying?” He was acting grumpy, but even from the side Kevin could see the smug smile.

  “Okay, that’s not always the reason.”

  “They’re nearly ready for us to go back in.” Locke made to pull away, but Kevin started a slow rubbing massage at the base of Locke’s skull.

  “Did your mom actually call you, or did you just pick that up?”

  “Picked it up.”

  “Then ignore it. The day’s too pretty to waste.” Kevin tugged Locke in a little closer. “When my contract is up, the first day like this we have? We’re gonna go to the lake together. Swim. Get ice cream. Hold hands. All day.”

  “Promise?” Locke’s hand tightened in his.

  Kevin brought the hand he held up to his lips. “I do.”

  “How much longer?”

  “Eight months, nine days, ten hours, seventeen minutes, thirty-four seconds.”

  Thirty-three… thirty-two… thirty-one….

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  LIAM GREY is a Grad Student and IT Support technician by day, an aspiring author and hopeful romantic by night. While he has only recently started submitting stories, Liam has been writing them for many years, and reading for even longer. He is grateful for an early love of books that was fostered both by his parents and many of his school teachers. It’s doubtful any of them imagined it leading to him writing gay romance. He currently resides in Northern California, but dreams of the day he lives somewhere where the summers are green and a little less than 100 degrees in the shade.

  Visit Liam at his web site: http://liamgrey.com or e-mail him at liam.c.grey@gmail.com.

  Behind the Mask

  AS THE skylight above him shattered, glass raining down through the darkness, Mack found himself thinking about masks.

  They were all the rage in Metropolis. The good guys wore them as they fought evil, and the bad guys did the same. Some wore capes and some tights. Bright colors on hard bodies. Muscled bodies.

  But the common denominator amongst them all was the masks.

  Mack never wore one. Oh no.

  Mack fought evil in the nude.

  Or at least two minutes ago, that’s what he’d been trying to do. Kaos had been just about to open the case to the Banner Diamond, the centerpiece of the city museum’s collection, and Mack had been right behind him, hidden as ever, even right in plain sight. He’d planned to wait for Kaos to trigger the alarm before springing on him, tripping him, doing whatever he had to do to take the man down.

  Nothing was going according to plan tonight.

  Holding his arms in front of his face, Mack squinted up at the patch of sky above him and at the figures rappelling down through the opening. All of them in masks. Through the darkness, it was hard to make out the colors of their uniforms, but a flash of red shone out, a bright negative sign emblazoned on a chest and a gray cape.

  Mack took another step back, only to plant his bare heel down on glass. A scream of pain tore through him, and he had to clench his teeth to keep the sound from bursting forth. He stumbled the rest of the way, avoiding shards until his spine met the cold plaster of the wall. He braced himself against it, let his head fall backwards, and with a low grunt, reached for his foot.

  The chunk of glass wasn’t deep, but as he pried it away, his hands still came back slick with blood. His stomach lurched at the sight, but there wasn’t time to dwell.

  A thundering crack rang out through the space, then laughter. Mack’s head jerked up, his eyes peering through the darkness at a room that was blooming with smoke. There were voices, figures moving, and a shout.

  And then, at the far end of the room, a glimpse of a man in black.

  Ignoring the sharp pain in his heel, dancing around glass, Mack tore through the fog, running hard. For a second, he almost lost Kaos in the rush. When he spotted him again, he didn’t hesitate. With all his strength, Mack flew at him, blindsiding him and tackling him to the ground.

  Instants later, the others were upon them.

  “You got him?”

  “Yeah.” Red and gray spandex-covered arms appeared out of nowhere. Bare hands connected with Kaos’s chest, and the smoke cleared. Like magic.

  Terrified, Mack let go and staggered back.

  It was his worst fear. His fantasy.

  “Did you see him trip or something?”

  A third voice rang out through the darkness. “I don’t even know, man. It was like he got tackled out of nowhere.”

  “Hmm.” The man in gray and red looked up, and for a second, Mack felt like his heart had stopped. Piercing blue eyes seemed to focus right on him.

  For the first time in a decade, Mack felt like he’d been seen.

  One of the other do-gooders spoke, and the man looked away, but the heat of his gaze still lingered on Mack’s skin. In those few brief seconds, Mack had memorized the man’s features—everything that could be seen of him around the edges of his mask—matching them to every picture he’d saved and studied. And there
was no doubt, especially considering what the man had just done.

  Mack was three feet away from the Neutralizer.

  The only openly gay superhero in Metropolis.

  And the only man in the world who might have the power to make the Invisible Man… visible.

  IT WAS just a flash, the hazy shadow of a figure and a glimpse of flesh. The instant Jeff put his hands on Kaos’s chest, stifling the superpower he’d been named for and clearing the room of smoke, he swore he saw it. The image of a man.

  A naked man.

  And then it was gone. Or maybe not gone. Maybe just… hidden.

  As the others in his team argued, Jeff peered into the darkness, squinting, and—there. The image was faint, barely visible in the dim room. A hint of a shadow, dark brown eyes and a full mouth, bare shoulders and hips, and....

  “Hey, Neutralizer. Get him up, will ya?”

  Jeff started and turned his head to see the others staring at him expectantly. The Ranger had his rope out, Electro-Man his shock-manacles. It didn’t take a lot of work to figure out what they wanted. As he hoisted Kaos up to his feet, Jeff snuck one more glance at the patch of empty air where he swore he’d seen….

  “Hold his hands out.”

  Still scanning the room in distraction, Jeff did as they requested, helping them to get Kaos bound. Once he was satisfied with the job they’d done, Electro-Man nodded. “All right, boys. Nice work. Let’s get this jerk downstairs. The Commissioner’s waiting.”

  The Ranger tugged on Kaos’s arm, and Jeff let go, let the others lead him away.

  Electro-Man hesitated, frowning. “You coming?”

  “Yeah,” Jeff said, but he was still searching. There was someone here. Something.

  Something that had tackled Kaos without anybody seeing.

  Jeff only knew of one superhero who could do such a thing. One legend.

  Electro-Man prodded him again. “Now?”

  Just then, Jeff’s gaze fixed upon a smear of something dark against the floorboards. His eyes widened. Not just a smear of something—a trail of blood. It led across the room, back toward the diamond. To more spots of crimson amongst the glass.

  Jeff waved at his companions. “You two go ahead. I just want to check the diamond is still secure.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Of course they were willing to let him hang back. All the more glory for them.

  Jeff chuckled to himself, the sound bitter in his throat. That was all the other superheroes seemed to care about these days. Fame. Accolades. Jeff was tired of it. Tired of being a symbol, of being idolized.

  Tired of no one caring about the man behind the mask.

  As he pondered, Ranger and Electro-Man maneuvered Kaos out of the room, and a minute later the door swung shut behind them. It was just Jeff and an empty room.

  Or was it?

  He was instantly alert again.

  “Hello?” He kept his voice low, his eyes still sweeping the room relentlessly. Beneath his boots, glass crunched and floorboards squeaked, the sounds all loud in the space. He paused, listening for anything else. For breathing. A heartbeat.

  A whimper.

  At the sound, Jeff’s gaze shot to the corner of the room, just in time to see another scarlet splotch appear on wood, like a Polaroid photograph developing. Only this was real.

  He ran the rest of the way.

  Three feet from the spot, he staggered, though, stopped cold by a ghost of a face appearing in the blackness, parted lips and wide eyes, all terrified. It made Jeff pause.

  He was the good guy. People weren’t supposed to be afraid of him.

  Not unless they had something to hide.

  RUN.

  Nearly every instinct was crying out in Mack’s brain, telling him to run.

  He’d been carrying on his life like this for years now. He was fine, unseen, unnoticed. Generally speaking, unsung. Getting caught now was such a risk, throwing not only his work but his whole existence into jeopardy. He couldn’t afford this.

  And yet….

  And yet there was another instinct. One that still made him curl in on himself at night, the loneliness a physical ache inside his chest. A part of him that longed for someone to know his name and to tell him he mattered. One that needed to be seen. Touched.

  Time stretched out before him as he stood there, paralyzed with indecision and staring at the man across from him. God, but he looked good. Mack had always admired his photos in the papers, had found his gaze drawn to the sharp edge of his jaw and the surprising depth behind his eyes.

  Those eyes were staring at Mack now. Staring at him.

  The panic and longing swirled inside Mack’s chest again, and he took one staggering step backward. It was the tiniest of motions, but it broke the stalemate, and suddenly Neutralizer sprang into action. In one deft move, he drew his weapon, held it out in one hand, and extended the other, his bare palm facing Mack. Both were equally threatening, one promising harm, the other exposure.

  And then he spoke. “I know you’re there.”

  In spite of himself, Mack felt his eyes water. The Neutralizer was speaking to him.

  Mack had forgotten what that was like.

  He wanted to respond, to fall down in thanks, but any words he might have spoken all caught in the back of his throat. And besides, there was still a gun pointed at him, and for all that there was a subtle waver to the masked man’s voice, there was menace there too. Mack swallowed hard and kept his composure, letting his desire to be known win for a moment, triumphing over the visceral instinct to run. Slowly, so slowly, he raised his palms in front of himself to say he meant no harm. That he wasn’t going anywhere. Yet.

  Neutralizer’s posture softened slightly, the hand with the gun dropping by an inch or two, but his grip on the weapon didn’t loosen any. Quieter now, less accusing, he said, “Show yourself.”

  Mack’s stomach dropped, the irony of it painful. With a low, bitter laugh, he answered honestly, “I wish I could.”

  THE image in front of Jeff was still hazy, the colors washed out, but there was nothing faint about the voice curling out of the darkness. It was deep and warm, and it sent a tremor up his spine. For the briefest moment, Jeff let the sound of it wrap around him, let his eyes drift down from the ghost-image of a face to the ghost-image of pectorals and abdominals. Not an overly muscled body-builder like so many of the people Jeff worked with, this shadow of a man was lithe and wiry.

  And perfect. He’d be perfect, if only he was real.

  Working hard to keep his voice steady, Jeff asked, “Who are you?” Even though, on some level, he already knew.

  The man’s mouth cracked into a broken smile. “No one.”

  It was such a flippant answer, but there was such pain behind it.

  “That’s not true.” Jeff narrowed his eyes and let his defenses fall a little further, taking one small step forward. “You’re—”

  It was one step too far. The man’s expression shifted, flashing from pained to panicked faster than Jeff could process. His gaze darted from Jeff’s to his stun gun to the door, telegraphing his movements, and yet Jeff was taken by surprise, unprepared for the way, with his first sidestep toward the exit, the man’s already faint outline shivered and dissipated.

  And Jeff should have shot. In any other situation, he would have. But with a mumbled curse, he holstered his weapon instead and dove, lunging for the whisper of an ankle he could still just make out, only to close on air, all the breath pushed out of his chest with the force of his impact with the floor. He recovered quickly, though, regained his feet and scanned the floor for the same telltale trail of blood that had led him to the man in the first place. The instant he spotted it, he took off with a burst of speed, crossing the distance in seconds.

  This time, when he threw himself forward, his hands connected with flesh.

  Unhesitating, Jeff pushed and tackled, took his mystery man down to the ground. All his attention was bent on subdual, his years of training t
aking over. But then he looked down.

  Instead of a shadow, colorless and insubstantial, beneath him was a man. A man of flesh and bone, warm skin and deep brown eyes, full lips the color of a rose.

  A naked man.

  Jeff sucked in a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he hissed again, “Who are you?”

  And where have you been all my life?

  IT WAS too much. Mack fought for breath, fought to think beyond the feel of hands around his wrists, knees on his thighs, and so much heat.

  The only thing he didn’t fight for was his freedom.

  His throat tight, his cock filling, he gasped out the simple truth. “Mack. My name is Mack.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  God, his breath was warm, his mouth so close. So close. Mack stared up at clenched-shut eyes, at the square jaw he’d always admired from afar. It looked even better in the flesh.

  Disarmed and aroused, confronted for the very first time in so many years, Mack didn’t have the strength for dissemblance. As naïve as it sounded, he offered up, “Trying to save the world.”

  The eyes above him snapped open, the deep blue of them filled with fire. Mack glanced between their bodies, over the layers of muscle barely hidden by gray-and-red spandex to the sight of his own treacherous erection. He laughed. An inconvenient hard-on wasn’t something he’d ever had to worry about before. Or at least he hadn’t had to worry about anyone seeing it.

  But then Neutralizer shifted, and Mack wasn’t laughing anymore. Not when he saw the matching bulge beneath those tights. In that moment, he decided to play his own cards. Darting his gaze back up to the other man’s face, Mack licked his lips and sucked in a deep breath. “I know who you are,” he said.

  “Is that right?”

  Mack nodded. “You’re Neutralizer.”