Men of Steel

by Ryan Loveless

  Poltergeist wrapped his arms around his companion and lifted him upward. Stingray barely felt the rushing wind, his attention entirely focused on the lips that were desperately pushing into him. He was not even aware that they were moving until they landed gently in a strange room, a bedroom, and then with understanding, Stingray realized it was Poltergeist’s bedroom. They tumbled onto the bed, their hands an ecstasy of fumbling. Muscle and passion were all revealed, and with the shedding of tight lycra, soon flesh would be revealed too.

  But Stingray wanted to take off one item before all others. With one free hand, he tugged at the back of his mask, wanting his companion—his lover, his love, if the truth be known—to see him, to see him and to know him, to know his face, before he knew his body. But as he pulled off the mask, a hand grabbed his wrist.

  “We can’t,” Poltergeist whispered. The hero peered into his young lover’s eyes. They burned with anguish and betrayal. To escape the agony of denying this man, this boy he suddenly loved above all others, Poltergeist turned his attention to Stingray’s tights, to his lycra-covered crotch. Peeling back the green material he revealed the fleshy, turgid sex of Stingray, erect and enormous with desire. Poltergeist fisted Stingray’s cock and slowly opened his mouth, preparing to taste this man, preparing to take him inside….

  “Wait!” Stingray cried, an urgent sound. With a sudden motion he moved his cock away from Poltergeist’s hungry mouth. “You can’t,” he whispered in agony. “I mean, I can’t. I mean… I’m electric.”

  “I know,” Poltergeist responded, confused. “I’ve seen your powers.”

  “You have, but… for some reason, it affects me most down there. Whenever someone puts my thing inside of them… in their mouth, or… I get too excited and, well, it goes off. And not in the good way.”

  “They get shocked?” Poltergeist asked. Stingray nodded in miserable confirmation. “Well, that’s okay,” Poltergeist said. “Maybe you can….”

  Stingray shook his head. “The same thing happens when someone puts theirs inside me. I can’t… I can’t turn it off. I don’t know how.”

  Poltergeist considered this information. “So you can’t make love physically,” he said.

  Stingray made a small sound. “And you won’t make love any other way,” he said. “Pretty fucking ironic, huh?” Pausing, he added, “Still, maybe there is something I can do to you.” He slipped to the floor between Poltergeist’s legs and eagerly freed his companion’s engorged cock.

  “But I thought you couldn’t….” Poltergeist started.

  “I can’t,” Stingray said. “You can.” Stingray placed one hand on Poltergeist’s pulsing rod and another on his taut ball sack. “Do you trust me?” Looking up into his companion’s face, he waited for a sign, and when Poltergeist hesitantly nodded, Stingray closed his eyes and focused his energies wholly on the genitals of the man before him. His hands began to glow softly in the dim light of the bedroom.

  Poltergeist opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, a euphoric wave of sheer ecstasy overtook his body. He shivered in unanticipated glory. It felt as if every neuron of his entire being was focused now on his balls and cock, as if every sense he had—touch, sight, taste, smell, hearing—were all somehow being stroked and pleasured as Stingray gently cradled his balls. He wanted to speak, to say something encouraging, to let Stingray know of the joy he was giving him—but speech was denied him. He could only utter guttural cries, instinctual sounds of intense animal pleasure that continually wracked his body.

  After only a few minutes Poltergeist felt his entire body shake and watched in amazement as one, two… seven, yes, seven shots of white, sticky goo pumped out of his rod and all over his famous costume. If this was where it had ended, ecstasy would have won the day, but Stingray didn’t stop there; he continued to focus his energies on Poltergeist’s cock and balls, until the room was filled with the animalistic sounds of a man who had gone temporarily mad with rapture. It wasn’t until twenty minutes, and five separate orgasms, had passed that Stingray finally let go.

  Poltergeist lay on his bed, panting and exhausted, his face a portrait of sheer bliss. Stingray gave him a wan smile. “At least I could do that for you—” he began, but stopped when something seemed to grab him.

  It was as if a hundred separate hands, all strong and insistent, were lifting him into the air, caressing his muscles, peeling his costume off of him. Suddenly he found himself suspended in mid-air, naked save for his mask. He felt intense flicks of pressure everywhere—tousling his ruffled red hair, squeezing his manly, thick thighs, pinching his delicate nipples, rubbing intently the cheeks of his ass, and finally—yes—a hand, an invisible set of hands, wrapped themselves around his aching dick. Stingray moaned and thrashed with pleasure as the invisible hands continued their work. Never before had he felt anything like this. He looked down onto the face of the man who was giving him such pleasure, but Poltergeist was all concentration and could not—would not—return his gaze. Suddenly Stingray felt his legs split apart—felt something caressing the warm crack of his backside—felt those invisible hands pull his cheeks as far apart as possible, until, finally, achingly, something—something large, invisible, firm, and loving—pushed its way deep inside of him.

  The first moment—the first time—was exquisite pain, pressure born from tension and the release of all that had come before. The next moment was nothing but unbridled joy, joy mounting upon joy as Stingray realized that the hero beneath him—his hero—was making love to him. “Oh… my… God…” he said as the invisible cock in his ass grew more and more insistent, and the invisible mouth on his cock grew wetter, hotter, hungrier. Suddenly Stingray exploded in an electric moment of bliss, his white come and blue electricity intermingling together, shooting sparks all across the body of the hapless, helpless, and rapturous redheaded superhero who floated in suspended ecstasy.

  The concentration required to do all this—to manipulate this man in such a way—was more than Poltergeist had ever managed before. Now that Stingray was spent, the exhausted hero dropped his companion. Stingray landed with a flop onto the bed next to him. The two panted, covered with sweat, Stingray naked save for his mask, Poltergeist still with only his cock and balls exposed. They lay there, panting, spent, helpless with each other.

  Stingray did not know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say—I love you, I love you, I love you, and only you—but he felt the words inadequate without knowing the name of the man they were meant for. Confused, he said nothing, his mask-covered eyes pleading for Poltergeist to be the one to speak.

  But Poltergeist did not speak. He didn’t have to. His single, sole gesture said everything that Stingray needed to hear.

  He reached up, and with a sharp, violent tug, he removed his mask.

  Finally, Stingray saw him, naked and complete. He saw Poltergeist’s dark eyes and his shimmering dark hair, his round face and his shy smile. He saw him and knew, of course, that he had seen him all along.

  Stingray took his mask off too, and Poltergeist saw his green eyes dance with happiness, and, in spite of his exhaustion—and in spite of his fear—he laughed.

  Finally, they spoke.

  “I’m Ben,” one said.

  The other gave a short, barking laugh. “I’m Jerry,” he replied.

  “Oh my God,” the first man laughed. “We’re ice cream!”

  The second man shook his head. “No, we’re not,” he said. “We’re partners.”

  And then they kissed, but this time, they kissed not as superheroes, but as two ordinary men—two ordinary men in love.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MICHAEL G. CORNELIUS is the author of five books of fiction. His work has been nominated for an American Library Association Award and an Independent Press Award, and he was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Prize in 2002. In addition, he has published dozens of stories in journals and magazines, and has won several grants and awards for his writing. He has been with his partner for thirteen ye
ars, his dog for two, and he can’t imagine life without either of them.

  You can find Michael online at michaelgcornelius.blogspot.com.

  Prototype

  IT WAS mid-morning and the Prototype Technology Trial lab was buzzing. Robert Taunton stood in the midst of the chaos, cup of coffee clasped firmly in both hands, taking it all in. Situated on the very lowest basement level of the Augment Initiative’s headquarters, the lab was massive, roughly 1,100,000 square feet in area. The heavily lined and reinforced walls were able to withstand explosions of several kilotons, and housed the most sensitive and highly calibrated analysis computers available. Very little could happen in the PTT lab that would harm the room itself or that could avoid being recorded and analyzed in minute detail.

  The fact was that the PTT lab positively required every bit of its reinforcement and monitoring systems. Arguably the second most important laboratory in the Initiative after the main genetic augmentation lab, the PTT lab was where the final-version prototypes of developmental technology, the tech that was only one test away from being used by an augment in the field, underwent their last challenge. Of course, what that last challenge consisted of depended on what exactly was being tested and which augment was doing the testing.

  As was usual during an actual trial, the viewing area, a reinforced mezzanine level which looked down onto the lab, was standing room only. In addition to the prototype’s development team, most of the other Initiative scientists turned up for such tests, even if they weren’t scheduled to be on shift at that time. The Augment Initiative ran a twenty-four-hour operation with augments, scientists, geneticists, and medics all on rotations to ensure support was there whenever it was needed. The type of disasters the augments typically dealt with were natural, so predicting when one might occur, and what exactly it might involve, was no mean feat.

  Getting to see a prototype in action for the first time was a valuable opportunity, and one none of the scientists wanted to miss. It was a chance to see new tech in operation, to support their colleagues, and to get a feel for the type of technological support required by the augments. Although each research team leader had a weekly meeting with an augment support coordinator, there was nothing quite like seeing a real augment in action, using a new piece of equipment and showing off both its, and their own, capabilities.

  Robert had worked for the Augment Initiative for almost ten years, having been recruited right out of grad school. An engineer by training, he’d jumped at the chance, knowing the budget held by the Augment Initiative to be more than any university or research institute could ever hope to command. Since the set-up of the Augment Initiative by the United Nations some fifty years previous, more than fifty human embryos had been augmented and raised.

  It had been a long and difficult process, with early failures having raised doubts as to the viability of the project as a whole. Nevertheless, once the first batch of augmented embryos were successfully implanted, the project’s future—in the short-term at any rate—had been assured. Once these augmented children were born and proceeded to reach adulthood, the maturation of their abilities quickly silenced the remaining critics. In a world where floods, famines, tsunamis, and earthquakes were wreaking havoc and death on an unprecedented scale, the augments offered mankind an advantage against the elements that technology alone could not provide.

  The first two augments to be put into active service had operated as a two-man team, a practice still employed by the Initiative. Still both active at the age of forty-two, Henry Jones and Jacob Myers both exhibited physical strength and stamina far beyond that of regular humans, with Jake also demonstrating the additional augmentation of enhanced sight and hearing. As per the UN’s strict laws, the staff at the Augment Initiative had trained Henry and Jake to work specifically in natural disaster situations. They were dispatched to wherever in the world they could be of use, working alongside non-augmented rescue teams. The two men had quickly proven their worth—their strength and ability to carry out hard manual labor for days at a time, coupled with the stamina to withstand conditions which would be deadly to regular humans, and yet still retain the uniquely human ability to react to ever-changing scenarios, meant that they were perfect in emergency situations. Yet, above even this advantage lay the simple fact that the disaster victims the augments were sent to rescue longed to see another human face bringing them aid. The Initiative’s augments commanded the trust, respect, and, in many cases, love of most of the public the world over.

  However, despite what the general population might think, the genetic augmentation of embryos was only the beginning of the Initiative’s work. Once born, augmented children remained with their parents to be raised and educated as normal. They were then brought back to Augment headquarters at the age of sixteen, when their genetic augmentations began to kick-in, to complete their education and training. After two years of intensive training on how to handle their augmentations, the augments were then paired up and started to go out into the field, at first under the guardianship of an older team.

  It was with this stage of the process—the field work—that Robert and the rest of the Augment Initiative’s scientists were involved. Their genetic changes gave the augments many advantages, but even they had their limits. Often, despite speed and strength at least ten times that of a regular human, it was all too easy for an augment pair to find themselves out of even their depth when dealing with an emergency situation. Therefore, in addition to their genetic advantages, augments also had access to cutting-edge technology which was specifically designed to be operated by an augment with enhanced physical and cognitive functions. Even their weaponry—because, despite the Augment Initiative’s UN-approved peaceful mission statement, many of the emergency scenarios the augments were called in to deal with involved human conflict—was beyond that which any single country’s military could access, and calibrated to be used by someone with an augment’s specific advantages alone.

  It was into this latter category that the prototype to be tested that day fell. As Robert watched from above, managing to work his way through the crowd to a corner at the far side of the viewing area, Theresa Chow and her research team were uncovering the prototype device. Robert didn’t really know the details of what Chow’s team had been working on, only that it was bound to be big and brash and make an awful lot of mess. Sure enough, as the cover was pulled back, Robert could make out the distinctive shape of a shoulder-mounted weapon of some sort, probably with an energy-pulse discharge if the barrel casing was any indication. Robert knew from experience how difficult it was to build such a weapon—the chemical reaction needed to produce a discharge of pure energy was by its very nature unstable and therefore unpredictable. Even small-scale weapons, the kind that could be held in a single hand, could produce a discharge strong enough to give an augment minor burns and bruises—side-effects that would kill a regular human outright. However, judging by the size and obvious weight of the weapon Chow’s team had designed, it appeared they had managed to control these issues, probably by increasing the shielding of the reaction chamber. The overall effect was somewhat crude—the weapon itself was large and clunky-looking and no doubt extremely heavy—but Robert had to admit he was interested to see how an augment would deal with it and of what kind of power it was capable.

  “It looks pretty funky, doesn’t it?” came a voice from beside him, and Robert turned to find Stephanie Weddell smiling up at him as she tilted her head down toward the lab.

  “Not bad, I suppose,” he replied with a shrug. “If you’re into loud noises and bright lights.”

  Stephanie laughed at that. “And we’re not, of course,” she replied with a twinkle, her gaze darting around the packed room quickly before settling back on Robert. “That’s why we’re all here.”

  “Well, perhaps they do have their place,” Robert conceded reluctantly. “But they’re not going to be the next big thing in augment tech.”

  “No,” Stephanie agreed with a satisfied s
mile, settling back into the wall at Robert’s side and peering down at the laser gun. “You and I are going to make certain of that.”

  “Exactly,” Robert replied with a firm nod.

  “So, what are you doing here then?” Stephanie asked. “I mean, I expected you to be in even though we’ve got the next two days off, but I thought you’d be buried in the lab running the next set of simulations.”

  “They’re already up and running,” Robert replied, grinning at Stephanie’s surprised look. “I came in early and set them up.”

  “But what about the problem we were having with the distribution program?” she asked. “You can’t have solved it already.”

  “No,” Robert conceded. “But it suddenly occurred to me that I wouldn’t have to. Instead of worrying about the specific alignment of the powder coating, I simply reworked the nano-transmitters’ orientation program—they’ll now be user-controlled.”

  “Ah,” Stephanie said, a smile spreading across her face as she picked up the train of Robert’s thoughts. “Let the augment do the work. That makes sense.”

  “Well, yes,” Robert replied. “After all, most augments have the capacity to manage their own metabolism and control many tiny aspects of their augmentations; I’m sure learning how to orient the coating layer won’t prove to be too much of a challenge for them. I’ve bumped up the transmitter strength too, which hopefully will mean that the successful orientation of a large enough percentage of crystals will be sufficient to account for areas of clothing.”

  “They’ll need some training to manage it, I suspect,” Stephanie said, but she was nodding in agreement, her hands reaching into her lab coat to pull out a pen and pad of paper. “But I agree, they’re more than capable. Plus, it will have definite advantages in terms of the usability of the coating—we should come up with a method of application suitable for field conditions. I’ll have a chat with Eli about it.” She was scribbling away as she spoke, no doubt already sketching out some designs.