Men of Steel

by Ryan Loveless

  HE WOKE again to a stinging pain in his cheek, and was treated immediately to another blow that rocked his head back on his shoulders. He grunted in pain, curling his body away from his attacker, and didn’t suffer another hit right away.

  “Good,” Blackout’s voice said, “you’re up. Everyone’s favorite hero is on his way, and I want you to be awake for his demise.”

  “Do people,” Simon asked, his tongue thick in his mouth, “really use words like ‘demise’ these days?”

  That got him another hit, and he tasted blood. He spat to the side, into nothingness, and tried to wipe his mouth on the shoulder of his shirt. He had no idea how long he’d been here, hadn’t even really had time to worry, just been dropped in and out of consciousness without any sort of regard for proper suspense. He didn’t know how many people were waiting in the darkness for Matt to show up. He didn’t even know why Blackout wanted them gone. Maybe Simon had been right—he was the Super equivalent of the mafia, and he wanted this town for himself. Aero and his puny sidekick Sparks stood in the way, and now they were going to pay for it. Simon had a sudden, visceral fear for Kate, what she was going to do in the face of this threat. She had never really considered herself part of their duo, was happier as a free agent and a friend, but if this was Blackout’s plan then she was almost certainly next on the list.

  Simon heard another voice nearby, making a report and addressing Blackout as “sir.” It might mean nothing, but the quasi-military tone took Simon by surprise. How big was his operation anyway?

  He didn’t have a chance to puzzle it out. There was a loud bang: not a gunshot, but the sound of a door being forced violently open. Then there were gunshots, six or ten or a dozen of them, and Simon ducked with each one, blind and terrified. He’d been to a firing range once, but they’d all worn ear protection, and it hadn’t been half as loud as this. He felt like he was slipping sideways, trying to get as small as possible, but he couldn’t escape his bindings. His heart was going a thousand miles an hour in his chest, and he’d never felt more useless or more like a civilian.

  He heard shouting and radios, and realized it was the police, at least twenty of them, swarming into the building. He needed to warn them; couldn’t they tell? It was Blackout, and he couldn’t see a fucking thing. No one could. They’d thought about night vision before, but there wasn’t anything for it to enhance. He dropped his head between his shoulders and tried to breathe.

  Things came into view without warning, and even the little bit of light that Simon could identify now as pre-dawn or twilight made him wince. Looking up, he could see the form of the warehouse around him: the high windows, the bare beams above, the behemoth of sugar-refining machinery off to the left. But what caught his attention was Aero, fifteen feet in front of him, holding a man in heavy boots and a trench coat off the ground by his throat. He was in his full costume, and over his mask he wore a pair of huge, black goggles. Even with that, Simon could see the fury and determination in his face.

  He turned his head to look at Simon, and Simon shrank back.

  “You okay?” Aero asked.

  Simon shook his head.

  Aero bared his teeth and squeezed harder, and the man’s whole body twitched.

  “I think he’s dead,” Simon said helpfully.

  That gave Aero pause. He looked back at his victim and lowered him slowly to the ground. The man’s legs crumpled under him, so Aero dropped him in a heap.

  “Was that him?”

  Aero nodded.

  “How did you do it?”

  “Thermography. Heat vision.” Aero stripped off the unfamiliar headgear and, ignoring the police officer that came hurrying to check on the body on the ground, strode over to Simon. He knelt behind him and untied his wrists and ankles, and then brought Simon’s hands around to his lap. “What happened to you?” he whispered.

  “They gave me something,” Simon said, slumping into Aero’s arms. “Something cold, I can’t—my flames are gone.”

  “Shh,” Aero said, “you’re okay now.”

  “Sure am.”

  “He’s not dead,” the officer behind him said. She had her fingers on his throat, feeling for a pulse.

  “Fine.” Aero stood up and pulled Simon to his feet. “I got what I came for.” He draped Simon’s arm over his shoulder and bent to lift Simon’s knees. Simon grunted a protest, but Aero gathered him up securely and pushed off the ground. “Call me if there’s anything else,” he told the officer, and left with Simon in his arms.

  THE flight to Matt’s apartment only took five or six minutes, but Simon kept his arms tight around Matt’s neck and his nose pressed to Matt’s throat. He watched the warehouse past Turtle Point with the bent sign for a long time, until Matt changed direction and it vanished from view. Simon was shivering, his core heat feeling dangerously low, but Matt’s grip was tight and he was warm everywhere he was touching Simon. Simon was glad he didn’t have to hold out one arm in front of him to fly; that would make this mutual-clutching thing they had going on a little awkward.

  It was dawn, but Simon had no idea how long it had been since the bar. It could have been six hours or sixteen. He gazed over Matt’s shoulder at the pink glow in the sky until his eyes watered.

  Matt slowed down as they approached his apartment, and swooped neatly around the building to his balcony window. He let go of Simon briefly to push the window open, and stepped through and onto solid ground. Simon’s head swam, and he hung on tighter to Matt’s neck. Matt murmured something into his ear and carried him through the living room and into his own bedroom. He deposited Simon on the bed and stripped him quickly of his sweatshirt, shoes, and jeans, and then rolled him under the comforter.

  “Matt,” Simon said, reaching clumsily for him, “what’s—”

  “Quiet,” Matt said, and placed a gentle hand on Simon’s forehead. “Sleep it off, okay? I’ll be here.”

  Simon reached out again and touched Matt’s cheek. “You’re bleeding,” he said. “When did that happen?” The cut was long and shallow, and the blood had dried in a line down to Matt’s chin.

  “When I saved your ass,” Matt said, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Forget it. I’m keeping an eye on you tonight. Don’t think you’re getting out of this one.”

  Simon couldn’t keep his eyes open. “You don’t have to…” he mumbled, but he couldn’t remember the rest.

  “Yes I do,” Matt said as Simon dropped rapidly from consciousness. “Yes, I do.”

  SIMON woke up with the sun in his face, at completely the wrong angle for his apartment. He squinted at the unfamiliar ceiling for a minute, and then sat upright in the shock of his realization. This was Matt’s apartment. He was in Matt’s bed. He remembered almost everything from the night before—the crash of Matt’s arrival at the warehouse, the ensuing fight in the darkness that turned abruptly to light as Blackout lost consciousness in Matt’s grip, the arrival of the police. Being untied and carried through the air away from the scene. Matt pouring him into bed and telling him to shut up.

  He clambered out of the bed, steadied himself on the nightstand, and took a breath. He felt considerably better than he had twelve—had it been twelve?—hours ago, and he tried a spark between his fingers to make sure. The flame burst to life instantly and flickered there as if it had never been gone.

  “Matt?” Simon called, extinguishing the flame and opening the door. “Are you—?”

  Matt leaped off the sofa and crossed the room to him without touching the ground. He landed an inch from Simon’s toes and cupped Simon’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes and then turning his head to inspect the bruise on his cheekbone.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice soft. Simon swallowed hard, the touch of Matt’s fingers on his cheeks heating him up on the inside the way his powers did.

  “All right,” he said. “Better. I’ve got my flames back.”

  “Good,” Matt said, pushing him away abruptly, “because if you ever do t
hat to me again, I am going to kick your sorry ass from here to Argentina.”

  “What?” Simon’s brain switched gears in an instant, startled by this change in demeanor. “Do what again?”

  “You need to be careful on the streets,” Matt snapped, pointing a finger at him. “I can’t come after you every time you get yourself into trouble.”

  Simon recoiled, angry now. “Every time—! Oh, excuse me for getting kidnapped!” He pushed Matt’s accusing finger down. “It’s not like I left the bar thinking, you know what would be a great end to this night? Getting drugged and shoved into a fucking van. I didn’t go walking down the street saying to myself, gosh, I’d really like to be tied to a chair in a warehouse, so that I can really appreciate being rescued by my knight in goddamn leggings.” Simon wanted to punch him, split that pretty lower lip and make it bleed.

  “You’re a sidekick, you’re supposed to be good at looking out for yourself,” Matt said, spreading his arms wide in challenge. “How am I supposed to be able to work if I have to—”

  Simon did punch him then, punched him right in the jaw and heard his teeth clack together. Matt stumbled backward, caught off guard, and then surged right back and tried to land a punch of his own. Simon darted out of his way, but he caught the fist to the shoulder and Matt’s strength behind it sent them both to the ground. Matt landed on top, and Simon took advantage of the martial arts classes Matt had insisted on to flip them, slamming into the coffee table in the meantime but gaining the upper hand all the same. But Matt was stronger, infinitely stronger, and it didn’t last. They rolled again, grappling, and then Simon was pinned, breathless, beneath him.

  They stared at each other for a second, frozen in time, and then Matt closed the distance. The kiss was rough, almost painful, and Simon gave back as good as he got, biting at Matt’s mouth and trying to break his grip.

  “Let me go,” he hissed, straining to lift his shoulders from the floor. “Let me go!”

  Matt pulled back sharply, releasing Simon and starting to push off of him. His expression was stricken, dismayed, but Simon grabbed him by the collar and wrapped both legs around his hips. He pulled hard, hard enough that Matt came back down on his elbows, and threw caution out the window. Matt had started it, anyway. Simon kissed him, fitting their mouths together as if they’d done it a thousand times before. Matt inhaled, surprised, and Simon didn’t let up until he began to kiss back, opening his mouth to be explored.

  He tasted like coffee and nothing else, was probably running on fumes since last night, and Simon thought of the morning before, the one that he remembered, when Matt had pressed his knee to Simon’s and asked him about Viz and drunk Simon’s coffee out of his cup. Fuck.

  Matt was shoving up Simon’s T-shirt as they kissed, getting his hands on bare skin, and Simon couldn’t help the moan that it dragged from him. He was hard already, his erection pressed up tight against Matt’s stomach. He arched his hips, legs spread wide, and Matt gave an aborted thrust against his ass. There was hardly any clothing between them, just Simon’s tight cotton briefs and Matt’s old, worn sweatpants. Simon could feel the stiff jut of Matt’s dick between his cheeks, and he wanted it.

  Matt broke the kiss, gasping, and pressed their foreheads together. “You’re my weakness,” he said into the space between them. He was cradling Simon’s shoulder blades in his hands, curling his body over Simon’s protectively. “You’re my fucking weakness, and they knew it. They knew how to get to me.”

  “I’m sorry you hired me, then,” Simon said roughly, letting go of Matt’s shirt to curl his fingers in short hair instead.

  “I’m not.” Matt flashed him a grin, all the anger and angst suddenly gone. Simon bared his teeth and bit Matt’s lower lip, and Matt groaned aloud and kissed him again. He took the lead this time, licking into Simon’s mouth. Simon got lost there gladly, still blazing with adrenaline and so fucking desperate. He couldn’t think, he was so turned on.

  “Fuck me,” he said against Matt’s mouth, “fuck me, right here.”

  “No,” Matt protested, sliding sideways and kissing Simon’s throat, the hinge of his jaw. “This is hardwood, I’ll kill you.”

  “Think you’re that good?” Simon panted. Matt’s mouth was hot on his neck, finding all his weak spots, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. His whole body was lit up with need, his cock throbbing between his legs.

  Matt bit his collarbone. “Think you make me that crazy.” He had both hands under Simon’s body, and Simon felt it as he shifted them, settling Simon’s spine in the crook of his right arm, and lifted. He pushed off with his left hand and picked Simon up off the floor like he was picking up a book. Simon’s grip on him tightened instinctively, and Matt palmed his ass with his free hand, keeping Simon tight against his body.

  “Fuck,” Simon hissed, his cock jerking in his briefs at the show of strength. “Do you even know—”

  “You like that?” Matt teased, hitching Simon up a little higher, tightening Simon’s legs around his waist. The hand on Simon’s back was warm and strong, and Matt’s expression was elated, effortless. He carried Simon the five steps to his bedroom door, and Simon had to bite back a moan. He’d always liked his men a little buff, stronger than him, but Matt was just…. Fuck. The epitome of that.

  “This is humiliating,” he lied. He could feel himself trembling, and he clenched his hands tighter in Matt’s hair. Matt smeared his mouth against the bare inch of throat he could reach and nipped him sharply. His hands moved down the length of Simon’s spine to his ass and squeezed, one cheek in each palm. Simon’s body tensed with the pulse of desire that shot through him, and he nudged his forehead against Matt’s until he could kiss him again, fitting their mouths together hungrily.

  Matt groaned, deep in his chest, and pulled Simon’s briefs tight against his crack, two fingers finding their way in there and rubbing teasingly against Simon’s hole.

  “You gonna let me—?” Matt asked, eyes closed, whispering against Simon’s mouth.

  “Let you? Fuck.” Simon bit Matt’s lip and arched his back, trying to get more of that pressure against him, in him. “Were you listening?”

  Matt laughed, and Simon felt him jolt as his knees hit the side of the bed frame. Matt hesitated, smiling at him a little shyly, and then dumped him, sprawling, on the bed. Simon reached back between his shoulder blades and pulled his shirt off over his head, and Matt smoothed appreciative hands up his sides as he crawled up between Simon’s wide-spread thighs. He murmured something and dipped his head, opening his mouth against Simon’s ribs.

  Simon let his head drop back, and he stifled a whimper when Matt’s warm tongue found the peak of his nipple. He slid his fingers into Matt’s hair again, and Matt teased him, licking and sucking, nibbling gently, until Simon was squirming under the assault, gasping, his cock leaking in his briefs and dampening the cotton.

  Matt gave his nipple one last lick, almost soothing after his pleasurable abuse, and kissed his way to the other, at the same time slipping a hand between them. He palmed Simon’s cock through his briefs, thumbing the wet spot and growling against Simon’s skin. His fingers molded to the length of it, feeling from the sensitive tip to the thick root, and Simon’s hips left the bed, pushing up into Matt’s grip.

  “Shit,” Matt muttered, and darted up for another kiss. Simon fumbled at his shoulders, the back of his head, biting at his mouth and breathing heavily through his nose. He couldn’t get enough of Matt’s taste, the smell of him, his hair, the feeling of his hands on Simon’s body. He arched up into him, groaning, and Matt pressed him firmly back to the bed. “I gotcha,” he whispered, and kissed Simon again, more softly this time.

  Simon relaxed and returned the kiss, cradling Matt’s neck between his palms and smiling against his mouth. “God,” he said, “this is crazy.”

  “I dunno,” Matt said, rubbing at his erection through his briefs, “this seems pretty vanilla to me.”

  “Shut up and suck me,” Simon snapped, push
ing on the top of his head. “You know what I mean.”

  Matt snorted and went where he was told, sliding down Simon’s body until he was level with the tent in his briefs. He contemplated it for a moment, weighing it in his hand, and then opened his mouth against the ridge and breathed out hotly. It sent a shiver up Simon’s spine and his cock twitched, jerking to bump against Matt’s cheek. Matt smirked and pulled Simon’s briefs down.

  “Christ, that’s nice,” Matt said, admiring Simon’s bare cock, lying flushed and stiff against his belly. Simon blushed, all the way down his chest, but Matt didn’t give him much time to be embarrassed about it. He threw Simon’s underwear on the floor and ducked down between his legs, licking from the base of Simon’s cock to the wet, slippery tip.

  “Fuck,” Simon gasped, his hips bucking up. Matt circled his hand around Simon’s cock and lifted it up to his mouth, squeezing firmly and moving his hand up and squeezing it again until he had milked a fat blob of precome out of the slit. He licked it off, smeared it on his lips, and Simon had to close his eyes, worried he might spontaneously explode, or come, or both.

  Matt fit the tip of Simon’s cock into his mouth and lowered his head, his lips sliding sweetly down the shaft. He wiggled his tongue against the tender underside of the head, and Simon’s gut clenched, cock pulsing out another hot blurt of fluid. He fisted his hands in the sheets by his hips, trying to spread his legs even wider, and pulled his heels up to his ass.

  “Gimme your fingers,” he said, lifting his pelvis and sinking deeper into Matt’s mouth, “while you suck me, please, oh God.”

  Matt pulled off and spat messily into his open palm. He rubbed his fingers together and then touched them carefully to the exposed crack of Simon’s ass. He fumbled with his other hand for the drawer of the nightstand. Simon could hear him rattling around, but he was focused on the teasing pressure of Matt’s fingertip against his asshole. Matt pushed in a little, just enough to make the muscle clench in protest, and eased away again. Simon whimpered, arching his hips back. Matt stopped fumbling and Simon heard the snick of a cap opening, and then Matt’s fingers were cold and slick against his hole, and Matt’s mouth was back on his cock.