Men of Steel

by Ryan Loveless

  “Two, gimme two,” Simon demanded, and Matt’s moan was muffled. He sank two fingers into Simon’s ass to the second knuckle and took him deep in his mouth at the same time. Simon groaned aloud, and one of his hands found the back of Matt’s head. He felt Matt nod jerkily and he tightened his grip. Matt lifted up when Simon gave him a gentle pull, sucking wetly and flickering his tongue over the head of Simon’s cock, and when Simon pushed again he sank down, almost until he gagged. Simon felt the tension of the muscles in his back, and he rubbed his other hand over Matt’s shoulders and down his spine as he let go.

  “Feels so good,” he murmured, breathless with amazement and desire. Matt moaned in answer, and twisted his two fingers inside Simon’s body. He lifted his head against the pressure of Simon’s hand and gazed up at him, his eyes heavy-lidded. Simon’s cock still stretched his lips, and he hollowed his cheeks as Simon shallowly fucked his mouth. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile, and he circled his fingers closer and closer to Simon’s spot inside. He was winding him up, teasing him with the promise of touch, and Simon’s breathing got more shallow as they stared at one another. “Please,” he whispered.

  Matt swallowed, blinked, and touched him, stroking across his prostate and making him jolt with pleasure. Simon cried out, body tensing, and his cock slapped against his belly when Matt pulled away.

  “Christ, you’re incredible,” Matt said, kneeling up on the bed and sinking his fingers deeper into Simon’s ass. Simon laughed, shouting again when Matt rubbed that spot more deliberately, and shook his head.

  “You’re the one—” he said, and cut off on another moan as Matt added another finger. “Fuck, what are you waiting for?”

  Matt’s eyes blazed with desire, and he bent to kiss Simon, uncoordinated and hungry. Simon grabbed his head, cradled his skull in his hands, his thumbs against Matt’s temples and his fingertips almost touching at the top of Matt’s spine. He whined against Matt’s mouth when Matt pulled his fingers out, but Matt soothed him with another kiss and pulled away. He dropped his sweats to the floor, his cock bouncing up between his thighs, thick and flushed with blood. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the tanned, densely muscled expanse of his chest. His nipples were dark and tight, and his arms flexed when he threw the shirt behind him. The suit he wore when he was Aero didn’t hide much, but it never gave away this kind of incredible detail.

  Simon reached for him, rubbing his hand up the middle of Matt’s chest, through the light patch of hair between his pecs and over the thick bulge of his left shoulder. Matt climbed between his spread legs again, and Simon let his hands drop, following the trail of hair to Matt’s groin to wrap around the girth of his cock. Matt was big, not as long as Simon but thicker, his plummy head sticking out from the circle of Simon’s fist. Simon jerked him slowly, milking out a drop of precome, and Matt opened a condom packet with his teeth. He brushed Simon’s hand aside to roll it on and then slicked himself with lube. Simon squirmed on the bed, arching his back and spreading his thighs, and Matt finally, finally, leaned over him again, pressing the fat head of his cock against Simon’s hole. He didn’t push in right away though, just rubbed the tip up and down Simon’s slippery crack, catching on the rim of his hole and sliding away again.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Simon said, almost meaning it. His body ached for it, needed to get filled up with cock, and Matt’s was the one he wanted. Matt grinned and lowered his eyes, looking down between them, where Simon’s erection stood up from his body. He was so hard, his balls tight and full.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous,” Matt murmured. His left hand rustled the sheet beside Simon’s head, and he lowered himself onto one elbow.

  “Fuck me,” Simon demanded, “right now, or I’m leaving.”

  “You’re not leaving,” Matt said, laughing, but he gave up his teasing and pushed in. Simon closed his eyes against the stretch, breathed out, and Matt’s cock sank into him a few inches. “Christ, you’re tight,” Matt gasped, nosing against Simon’s temple and panting into his ear. He lifted his other arm up and straightened out, the width of his knees pushing Simon’s thighs apart and up.

  “Tell me about it,” Simon said, begging his body to relax. The three fingers had only been for a moment, and they didn’t reach nearly as deep as Matt’s dick could. He hadn’t had anything but fingers inside him for months, just his own, working himself over in the shower after a job, driven to distraction by the memory of Matt’s smile, his hands, his incredible physique.

  Matt kissed him again, wiping his messy fingers on the sheet before he cupped Simon’s face, and rocked into him slowly, pushing in a little more each time. Every push shoved a whimper out of Simon’s throat, and Matt swallowed them down, licking them from his mouth. Simon could feel him restraining his strength, holding back and being gentle, and he wanted that to end. He let go of Matt’s head and worked his hand under Matt’s arm to grab at his ass and pull him sharply in. Matt huffed in surprise, and his pelvis hit Simon’s ass with a soft slap. He was so fucking deep Simon thought he could feel it in his spine, and it was fucking perfect.

  “We need to do this again,” Matt said, working his hips in a slow circle, pushing deep and stretching the rim of Simon’s asshole at the same time. “I want to get my mouth on you everywhere, find every spot that makes you drip, rim you until you cry.”

  “Fuck,” Simon said, hips flexing helplessly. “Matt, Jesus.”

  Matt pulled out halfway and slotted back in, hipbones sharp against Simon’s ass.

  “Again,” Simon demanded, gripping Matt’s ass cheek hard. His fingers were going to get sore if he had to do too much more encouraging. “Christ, just fuck me.”

  Matt bit his lower lip and moved, rocking his hips harder and deeper, his thrusts turning powerful. Simon groaned and hooked his hand under his knee, pulling it toward his chest. The angle of their bodies changed, and Matt’s cock went even deeper. Matt growled and fucked him harder, faster, hammering into Simon’s body. He kept it up for a minute, hips working furiously, and then stopped. He pulled out slowly, almost until the fat head of his cock left Simon’s body, and pushed in again even slower. He lifted up on his hands, separating their bodies, and shifted his arm to the outside of Simon’s leg, so that Simon’s calf rested on his broad shoulder.

  “Oh my God,” Simon said, scrabbling to get a grip on him, his whole body trembling. The fire that lived in his blood was roaring, and he felt as if he was about to erupt into flame. It was a real, terrifying possibility, and Matt’s skin couldn’t take it like Simon’s could. “Stop, stop a second, I’m—”

  “Close?” Matt asked hopefully, his voice strained.

  “Too hot,” Simon said. “Can’t you feel it? I’m gonna burn you.”

  Matt laughed and pushed Simon’s hair out of his face. He gave a little thrust of his hips, making Simon’s breath hitch. “You are really warm,” he said. “I guess that’s why.” He started to move again, slower than before but really moving now, and Simon tipped his head back onto the sheets and rocked with him, digging his heel into the bed to lift his hips. Matt cupped Simon’s ass and lifted him into his thrusts. Simon curled his fingers around Matt’s biceps and shuddered as the flashes of pleasure darted up his spine. He could feel it building, thick and hot in his gut, and his balls were heavy and tight. His left knee was almost touching his shoulder, and every one of Matt’s thrusts speared him so deep. He was losing control, shaking all over, and burning up from the inside.

  “Matt,” he said, gasping, and Matt ducked to kiss him, one hand on the bed, one hand under the small of his back. He matched his kiss to his hips, the same rhythm, but it dissolved quickly into just panting, their lips catching and dragging, sometimes with a hint of teeth. Simon’s body tensed, the heat and pleasure in him gathering fast. He got a hand between them, and his fingertips brushed the wet, sensitive head of his cock.

  “Fuck, I can feel you—” Matt muttered, and Simon came, groaning, his muscles all contracting i
n sympathetic pulses as he spilled over his hand and belly. Matt grunted, dropped to his elbow and tucked his face into the curve of Simon’s neck, and Simon could feel it when he switched abruptly from fast, short thrusts to long, slow ones, grinding deep as he blew his load.

  Matt panted warmly against Simon’s neck, and Simon ran a shaking hand up his spine, mapping the muscles in Matt’s back with his fingertips. He stared at the ceiling, the edges of his vision a little fuzzy. Matt kissed the skin under his mouth, working his way up Simon’s neck to his jaw, his chin, and finally his lips, dropping a tender kiss there and pressing his nose to Simon’s.

  Simon couldn’t think of anything to say, so they stared at each other for a while, just breathing. Matt’s eyes were sparkling, deeply green, and his face was pink with effort and damp with sweat. Simon traced the line of his eyebrow with his thumb and kissed him again. Matt smiled and pulled reluctantly away. He let Simon’s leg slip from his shoulder and eased his hips away from Simon’s ass, and Simon winced at the emptiness. Matt turned aside, peeled the condom off, and tossed it in the trash. Simon linked his hands behind his head and lifted up to watch as Matt wiped absently at his own spunk on his softening cock, and then wiped his hand on a tissue. Simon wrinkled his nose at the mess on his own stomach, and Matt held out another one.

  Sitting up, Simon cleaned himself off and aimed for the trash can, and then glanced up at Matt, suddenly unsure. He was naked on Matt’s bed, utterly vulnerable, and the only way out of this situation was to run for it, top speed, in the nude, back to his own place.

  But then Matt was climbing back into bed, bearing him down with one hand on his shoulder, and tucking himself neatly against Simon’s side. He looped Simon’s arm around his shoulders and rested his cheek on Simon’s bicep, and Simon laid his hand over Matt’s on his still-sticky stomach.

  Simon cleared his throat uncertainly. “We can still fight crime, right?” he said.

  Matt huffed a quiet laugh and pressed a kiss to Simon’s arm. “I hope so,” he said, “unless sex ruins your ability to function.”

  “Only for about ten minutes,” Simon said. His head was clearing now, and he realized that they weren’t in such dire straits as he had imagined. They’d fucked, and it had been awesome, and Matt hadn’t thrown him out or left the room or anything like that. It was okay. It might be okay.

  “This is going to be awkward, later, isn’t it?” Matt said.

  Simon shook his head, and turned to meet his eyes. “I have to come clean about something.”

  “Oh Christ.”

  “When I was in high school, I had a poster of you up on my wall.”

  “Oh, fuck,” Matt said, taking his hand off Simon’s stomach to cover his face, but he was laughing.

  “I used to jerk off to scenarios where Aero rescued me and took me somewhere to have his way with me.” Simon knew he was blushing.

  “Jesus,” Matt muttered.

  “And then when your ad came up, my friend Stephen knew about my crush and he dared me to apply. I never, ever thought you’d pick me. And then you did, and not only did I get to look at your ass in action all fucking day, but I—” He took a deep breath; here was the tricky part—“I got to know you, and I kind of, by accident, fell in love with you.”

  Matt was silent for a moment, and then he breathed, “Wow.”

  “Now it’s awkward,” Simon said, feeling a little sick.

  Matt pushed up on one elbow and leaned over him, cupping his face in his hand. He kissed Simon, sweetly, on the mouth, and said, “No, it’s not. I hired you because you were hot, and I mean that literally as well as figuratively, and I liked you, and I thought we’d get along. And then we did, and it was amazing, and I—” He smiled. “Kind of, by accident, fell in love with you.”

  “So we’re even,” Simon said. He was almost limp with relief, and he ran his fingers through Matt’s hair to cradle the back of his neck.

  “More or less.” Matt kissed his cheek this time, chaste and fond, and then made a face. “God, sorry, I’m starving. I was waiting for you to wake up, but then we… got distracted. You wanna eat?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost noon.”

  “Hell yeah,” Simon said. They both sat up, and Matt pulled him back in for one more kiss before leaving the bed to find his clothing.

  “I have cereal,” he said, “or I could make pancakes.”

  “You had pancakes... what, yesterday?”

  “Day before.”

  “Shit.” He’d lost a whole day in that warehouse. Matt must have gone nuts trying to find him.

  “So they’re an option,” Matt said, finding his pajama pants on the floor and turning them right-side out. He pulled them on and tossed Simon his briefs, which Simon tugged on somewhat reluctantly. “Or we could go out.”

  “Stay,” Simon said, shaking out his T-shirt. “I don’t feel like leaving ever again.”

  Matt grinned at him, and once he had both arms in his sleeves Simon stood up and stepped into his space.

  “Well, eventually we’ll get a call about a car hijacking or a cat in a tree, and we’ll have to save the day,” Matt said, rubbing his hands up and down Simon’s bare arms, “but I told Dawson you were going to need twenty-four hours. Think that’ll be enough?”

  Simon bit his lip. “For all the things I want to do to you?” He pretended to consider. “Maybe, if we’re efficient.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ELINOR GRAY is a writer and a student, hailing originally from Baltimore but beginning to set down roots in Philadelphia. She is currently working on an undergraduate Anthropology thesis on polyamory, and takes creative writing classes as often as possible. Once she was quoted in a fashion magazine: “I just love cats.” She is hard-pressed to live that down.

  As a writer, Elinor has an affinity for sci-fi, fantasy, and wild west romances, but she has dabbled in short literary fiction as well. She can’t seem to stay away from erotica, try as she might (as if!). She is happiest when she can combine several of the elements, to come up with erotic space cowboy romances, or morally ambiguous gay superheros. She also writes slash fiction in several fandoms, and is a big supporter of the OTP.

  As a reader, Elinor prefers mystery and crime, fantasy and sci-fi, romance and sex, and action and explosions, but not necessarily in that order.

  You can contact Elinor on Twitter: @elinorgray, at her web site: http://elinorgray.weebly.com/, or find her on Goodreads at http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4719654.Elinor_Gray.

  First Timers

  “DUCK!” a nervous voice quavered over Poltergeist’s shoulder.

  It was just in time. Quickly the handsome superhero bent backward, balancing himself on the tips of his fingers and toes as a purple mass of shivering energy floated over the spot where his head had just been. The mass hit a kiosk behind Poltergeist, causing it to shimmer before the display shrank to half its size.

  “Thanks!” Poltergeist responded. Effortlessly, he flung himself back to his feet and focused his gaze on the now shrunken kiosk. Pointing his hand at the display, Poltergeist sent it hurtling at an amazing speed towards his opponent, who barely escaped the crash behind a bank teller’s counter.

  Poltergeist paused for a moment to consider the man who had warned him to duck. He was—well, he looked a little different than your average bank customer, to tell the truth. He was dressed in an ill-fitting, oddly-shaped brown costume that appeared way too wide in the shoulders and way too snug around his legs. The costume covered every square inch of the guy except for his hands, and ended in a large piece of fabric that seemed to be some kind of tail—it was all the man could do not to trip on it as he shuffled forward to join the fray. Poltergeist could not help but smile when he saw it. I wonder what his power is, he thought, before clearing his throat and speaking up.

  “Who the hell—” Poltergeist began when he saw a hulking, streaking form out of the corner of his eye. “Look out!” he shouted, but the words barely came out of
his mouth before an enormous fist smashed into the brown-costumed man. Poltergeist cringed as he watched the man hurtle across the floor.

  “Who asked you to get involved!?” the villainous strongman roared as he made his way to the hapless form lying prone before him. “I’m Black-Eyed Susan, and I’ll teach you to mess with the Flower Children!”

  Poltergeist was about to intervene when he saw the brown-clad man raise his hands in front of him and bring them together. Much to the surprise of both Poltergeist and the evil ruffian charging toward him, a streak of blue lightning burst forth from the man’s hands, sending the robber clear across the bank before he ended up crashing into the marble wall on the other end of the lobby.

  “Not bad,” Poltergeist mumbled, but his attention was diverted by a green-clad villain sneaking toward the man in brown, who was desperately trying to stand up. The villain, codenamed Rose, took a sudden leap toward him. While in midair, the villain’s body exploded with thorns that sprang up from every inch of his skin. If he managed to tackle the man in brown, he would surely cut him to pieces. But Poltergeist used his powers to stop Rose in mid-air.

  Surprised, the villain turned and faced Poltergeist. “You meddlesome twerp!” he yelled. Poltergeist grimaced. At only five foot five inches tall, he was sensitive about his stature, and it was common knowledge among all the villains in Chelsea that they should needle him about his height. With a sudden gesture, Rose went hurtling thirty feet into the air until he was lodged against the ceiling of the bank. Squirming, he shook his fists at Poltergeist. “When I get loose, I’ll get you!” the wriggling man screamed.