Tuesday, May 13, 2008
2: Twilight Blue
3: Midnight Black
Season 8 (SPOILERS)
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Screencap from Dynamic Duo.
The Damage Done, Part 1
I've seen the needle
And the damage done
A little part of it in everyone...
-Neil Young, "The Needle and the Damage Done"
He wants sex.
He wants it more than he's ever wanted anything. He's filled with a lust beyond anything he's ever known, a desperate, aching need that has to be assuaged somehow.
Fortunately, she seems willing to help him.
She's impossibly sexy, long black hair, skin like milk chocolate, a curvaceous body. The soft fragrance of roses permeates the air around her.
He wants her.
He vaguely remembers a time when he wanted a blonde, when golden hair and the scent of vanilla turned him on. But that time seems very long ago and far away now. He thinks maybe it was only this morning that he last made love to his blonde, but it seems like a terribly distant memory.
There's nothing for him in the world except this cell, and the soft feminine body moving against his.
In some tiny corner of his mind, he remembers this started when the black-haired woman injected him with a burgundy red liquid that looked like blood but wasn't. Somewhere deep inside, he knows he's been drugged, and he's ashamed that he gave into the effects of the drug so easily. He thinks he ought to be stronger somehow. He thinks he should have been able to resist.
But he can't help himself. There's a fire in his veins he can't fight against. He needs her. He needs sex. There's no past, no future, no outside world, only this tiny cell and the brush of her body and the need that burns in his body, scorching him, consuming him.
She touches him, hands deftly stripping off his clothing, then caressing his bare skin. He sobs at the touch of her hands, begs for more. She gives it to him, stroking her fingers over his swollen, aching cock, teasing his balls. And then she's down on her knees, and her tongue, oh God her tongue...
He knows he's screaming with pleasure now, although he can barely hear himself past the roaring in his ears. He ought to be ashamed of himself, but he's not. He's given up all control, surrendered to her, and he'll do anything in the world for her, anything at all.
She tugs him down onto the metal flooring, and then he's on top of her, driving into her body. She's a tropical storm of moisture and heat, and he can't hold himself back. He's deep inside her, and it feels so good he gasps and sobs. Sweat breaks out on his skin, and he feels himself trembling.
His hands grip her hips, and he thrusts so hard he ought to be causing her pain. But she's squeezing his ass in return, asking for more.
She has some sort of superpowers, he remembers vaguely, and that's fortunate for her, because otherwise he might just kill her. He's that far out of control.
He slams into her, hard and deep, so desperate for a climax that he can't bear it. There's a pressure inside him, a frantic need that has to be fulfilled, right now, before he explodes. He's thrusting almost in superspeed, so violently that he'd kill a normal human.
And then his release overtakes him, a tremendous wave of rapture that makes him shudder. His voice rises to a roar of ecstasy, and he pours himself into her soft body, giving her everything, his come and his sweat and his soul. He's hers, for now, forever.
His blonde is forgotten. He can't even remember what she looks like, or what vanilla smells like. There's nothing in his head except the scent of roses and sweat. There's nothing except this incredible pleasure.
His climax seems to last for an eternity, but at last it fades away, and he slowly collapses to the hard metal floor. He ought to be warm with afterglow, but instead a terrible emptiness begins to fill him. He curls up on the metal plating, feeling himself begin to shake.
She doesn't try to comfort him. She's pulling away from him, standing up, staring down at him with cold, hard eyes.
"More," he whispers. His mouth is suddenly dry, and he aches everywhere. The awful emptiness fills every cell in his body, and he knows what he needs, what he has to have to survive. The burgundy liquid will make him better.
"Later," she says, her voice just as cold as her eyes. "If you behave yourself."
"Now." His voice cracks, and he's shaking so hard he can barely form words. "Please."
"Later," she tells him, and turns her back on him. She walks out, and he hears the iron door slam behind her.
Anguish and despair fill him, and a sudden terror squeezes at his chest, the terror that she won't come back, that she won't give him more of the burgundy red liquid. He can't live without it.
He can't live without her.
He tries to struggle to his feet and follow her, to force his way out of the cell, but he's too weak to even get up.
He lies on the floor, shudders racking his body, and cries.
"I've accomplished the first task, Mr. Luthor." Tess speaks into the phone, her voice crisp.
"Very good, Miss Tessmacher." The voice on the other end of the line sounds pleased. "He's addicted, then?"
"Yes. Clark Kent is addicted to the red meteor rocks." Knowing that Lex can't see her, Tess lets a small, satisfied smile curve her lips. "And... to me."
Read the sequel, Twilight Blue.