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Rating: Mature
That ass, damn girl. Dorian didn’t mind the cold or wait at all as the female bent over once again, rearranging the unlit lanterns just so in the snow. Maybe he shouldn’t be admiring her, or maybe because she was a supervillain, objectifying her isn’t as immoral as, say, Jameeka in Human Resources. Either way the Ice Queen had one of the finest asses in the state. Perfect heart shape.
He had been a little disappointed when he first arrived to find she wasn’t wearing the impractical catsuit and high heels costume. But the tight white skiing pants, turtleneck sweater, quilted jacket, and fur-lined cap made a fine substitute, at least according his libido. Especially when she bent over, and she had been bending over a lot in the last half an hour. A couple of steps in one direction in the snow in knee-high boots, adjusting something, sometimes burying something, sometimes removing debris, and then she would be moving again. She had said to arrive around midnight, more or less, but not to bother if he was later than one. And not to bother her if she was already there.
Guess she figured I would scope out the area. It’s not like they trusted each other – villain to hero. But that didn’t make the lust go away. She bent forward again and he bit his tongue to keep from moaning. He imagined grabbing that fine white Ice Queen ass, the soft moon-pale flesh slightly red on either cheek after his broad hands had warmed them up with a couple of smacks for being bad. The woman was always bad. Maybe even handcuffs, if he had them. Then she look over her shoulder, her ash-blonde hair in a failing braid like it is now, wisps and stray tresses framing her ice-blue eyes, and say…
“I’m ready for you now.”
Her voice soft and husky from effort.
“Hey Revenger, alley-alley-alley-out.” The Ice Queen stood brushing the snow off her white leather gloves, clapping them. “You can come now.”
Come, she said come…not…cum. Dorian shook his head to clear out the last of the fantasy. He nearly missed the snow falling from the gloves, hover in the moonlight, take on the sparkle of new snow, and fly in a dozen directions. Before he had dropped from the tree where he was hiding, every step, footprint, handprint, and symbol she had made was erased.
So much for his theory, based on the lack of snow tracks when he had initially arrived, that she had flown in. He was positive she was a flyer, but no one had ever recorded it. The agency records were woefully blank on her abilities, as they are on any unregistered hero or uncaptured villain, some temperature control at the cold end of the spectrum, possible telekinesis abilities, and, unproven, magic. Magic itself being unproven. So far everyone had tested psychic, technological, or natural mutant.
Her file was nearly as slim on suspected crimes. He had written most of the entries himself and none of them had enough evidence for a legal arrest warrant, let alone a court conviction. Plenty of photos thanks to her saving his bacon when King Khaos attacked the museum, but no real information. Street thugs were silent about her.
(words 545; first published 8/18/19)
