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Guillermo woke up in the hospital. He knew he was in the hospital by the monitor lazily beeping and flashing next to his bed, and he knew which hospital by the weird oversaturated gray-green color of the walls. He’d noticed the color the last time he’d had to visit the hospital, during the incident where Guillermo had lost his “Nandor wears his uniform mask during sex” privileges until Guillermo could prove he wouldn’t beg Nandor to bite him.
Guillermo was examining the buttons on the armrest of his bed, trying to figure out how to move himself into a position that was in a slightly less liminal space between lying down and sitting up, when his train of thought was interrupted by voices in the hallway.
“Mr. War Machine, um, Mr. the Swordsman? You’re, um, not supposed to bring pillows in. The hospital provides them for their patients.”
Ah. His boyfriend was here.
Nandor stormed into the room, cape billowing behind him grandly, pillow clutched beneath one arm. He froze when he saw Guillermo, like a mannequin, and rushed around the bed and over to Guillermo’s side, where he gently grabbed and cradled Guillermo’s hand. Then he got up again, shut the door to the room, hurried back to his seat, and took Guillermo’s hand again before taking his metal mask off.
Guillermo thought he looked very tired, which made him look older, which was funny, because Nandor didn’t age. He laid his head down on Guillermo’s hospital bed, right next to their intertwined hands. It was nice of him to put his face so close to Guillermo’s hands, where he could pet his cheek and maybe make him look less sad.
“You’re alive,” Nandor said.
Guillermo blinked. “I didn’t think I was dead. Am I supposed to be dead?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Guillermo realized the stuff stuck to his chest was probably bandages. It was a lot of bandages. Nandor really was looking right at him, and it made him feel weird.
“Did you go to the animal shelter?” he asked. War Machine at the animal rescue had been a P.R. success on Guillermo’s part. It drew in media attention to the shelter, it helped make War Machine look personable and a little less terrifying, and it improved Nandor’s mood. Guillermo had started looking into a horse rescue upstate to take him to for his birthday (or whatever significant date Nandor would let him celebrate, Guillermo had hit a wall trying to figure out Nandor’s actual date of birth).
“Yes. Spaetzle got adopted,” Nandor said.
The afternoon sun shone through Nandor’s hair, catching on the strands and highlighting them in brown and gold. “That’s great,” Guillermo said.
“I told you I am very good at renaming them, am I not? I am giving no offense to the staff, but I know how to look into their soul and bestow the proper moniker on them.”
Nandor’s hair was really very soft, and it was nice to hold a hank of it and press the ends against the pad of his finger.
“Mm-hm,” Guillermo said.
“The animal staff doubted me when I designated that one kitten as ‘Appendix Devourer’, but then she went ‘viral’ on the internet.”
The individual strands of hair were so thick, too, and strong. They were nice to roll between his thumb and forefinger one at a time.
Nandor sighed. “The nurses said you were still loopy off of the medications for your injury.”
Guillmero decided he was going to ignore his boyfriend being rude to him, and started to turn a lock of Nandor’s hair into a tiny braid. It would be a small braid, too, so it wouldn’t even leave waves in his hair.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Colin Robinson stood in the doorway, clutching a small glass vase overstuffed with lilies on the verge of rotting. Guillermo could smell them from his bed, and it was not a small hospital room.
“You are.” Colin Robinson had been an unpleasant surprise, as Nandor’s unexpected third roommate. He enjoyed nothing more than emerging from his room right when Nandor started sucking on that point on Guillermo’s neck that made his toes curl and his cock harden.
“Well, that’s too bad. I’m here on behalf of the National Department of Powered Beings, to see you, Mr. de la Cruz.”
“I am not leaving,” Nandor said. His growly tone made his throat vibrate against Guillermo’s leg.
“Alright, alright, simmer down. Now, you might have noticed that you’re not dead, despite a nice piece of pipe piercing through your chest. Popped one of your lungs like a zit and shaved off a bit of your heart like a deli slicer, according to the doctors,” Colin Robinson said, sidling up to Guillermo’s bedside.
Memories from before he woke up in the hospital bed were beginning to crawl to the front of Guillermo’s mind. He’d intervened in a superpowered showdown between War Machine and the Piper and the Nightingale, which had really been an overblown roommate spat. His last memory had been of struggling to pull air into his lungs while staring at the gray beams of a warehouse ceiling.
“Basically, as a human, that little blow should have killed you. The surgeons were pretty confused, let me tell you. And it made my job at the Super FBI headquarters a bit more of a headache, having to bring in all the confidentiality agreements.” Colin coughed, thick and phlegmy. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you, Mr. de la Cruz. You see, we’ve got quite the file regarding your family history. Have you ever heard of The Slayer?”
“Yeah,” Guillermo said. After no one said anything for a second, he realized they were waiting for him to elaborate. “He’s, like, the worst supervillain? Or was, he’s in prison now.”
“Bingo-bongo. Number one supervillain on earth, thirteen years running, until War Machine here threw him in the slammer. Also, he’s your grandfather.”
Nandor had gone quiet. “You mean to tell Guillermo that his grandpappy is the most dangerous of supervillains?”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Guillermo asked. He realized he was yanking on Nandor’s hair when he heard a squeak of discomfort.
“I actually, uh, came in yesterday and told you all this, but the nurses said you probably don’t remember,” Colin Robinson said awkwardly.
“I don’t,” Guillermo said. Now that he’d been informed that the IV in his arm was pumping him full of pain meds, his own wooziness became more apparent to him.
He tried to think. He’d never known his paternal grandfather, or any of his dad’s side of the family. Based on his experience with his mom’s family, he was always secretly grateful not to have to wade through another whole sea of excitable relatives every holiday. It had just been something they’d never talked about.
“But I’ve worked at the bureau for years, and nobody said anything. I’ve gotten, like, promoted.” Though not to the emergency field team, now that he thought about it.
“Well, we’ve had some people on the inside keeping an eye on you.” Colin Robinson said. Guillermo tried to think of who he could be referring to, but his mind was too fuzzy to recall any of his coworkers at the moment.
“Should you be telling me this?” Guillermo asked.
Colin Robinson just waved a hand at him, leaving the other clutching the wobbling vase tremulously. “Eh. Also, Nandor, it would be great if you remind Guillermo about this if he’s still loopy tomorrow. These flowers are starting to stink up my office.”
Guillermo’s fingers twitched where they were intertwined with Nandor’s hand. Nandor had lifted his head up off the sheets and was looking at him.
“Are you mad at me?” Guillermo asked him. It wouldn’t be fair for Nandor to be mad at him over something he didn’t even know about until just then, but it was also not fair for Nandor to be dating the grandson of his archnemesis without knowing. What if Nandor wanted to break up? Guillermo didn’t want to break up.
“Alright, I’ve done my bit. I’ll leave you two to your argument.” Colin Robinson crammed the lilies on the side table, already perilously overstuffed with other assorted get-well flowers and gift baskets. It was a small table, though, so it didn’t take many flowers and gift baskets. “I’ll schedule a time for you to meet with the top brass about this, once your super-healing-skills get your internal organs back to spick-and-span.” Guillermo didn’t wave goodbye as he left.
“Did you know?” Guillermo wanted to squeeze Nandor’s hand, but he was afraid Nandor didn’t want him to squeeze his hand.
“I knew nothing of this. You do not resemble him at all,” Nandor said firmly.
“Oh, right. You’d know what he looks like.”
“Well, I could not recall his face from memory, it’s not a very memorable face, but I assure you, Guillermo, I would not keep this a secret from you.” Nandor’s face was entirely open and sincere. God, he looked so tired. How long had Guillermo been unconscious?
Guillermo didn’t say that he didn’t think Nandor would have been able to keep it a secret, considering his track record on not telling Guillermo things. “Do you have any pictures of you with the cats from this week?”
The table was the typical long rectangular conference room table, made of the kind of dark, heavy wood that indicated that whoever sat at it was very important. It figured that the offices at the Super FBI field station in New York would have nice furniture, while the Department of Powered Beings got stuck with layered plywood. Federal agencies always got better stuff.
One seat had been left open at the head of the table, right in front of Guillermo. The rest of the seats were occupied by serious-looking middle-aged men, most with the shorn haircuts and slightly baggy tailored suits favored by promoted federal agents, but Guillermo saw enough baggy outlet-mall discount button-downs to ascertain that there was more than one person from the Department of Defense. He recognized the D.C. style from hearings he’d had to watch, either for work or to watch War Machine do a poor job testifying.
Most of the men on the right side of the table had clustered their chairs as nearest as they could to the far end, nearly sitting on top of each other in their effort to place themselves as far away from War Machine as possible, who was sitting adjacent to Guillermo’s seat in a metal folding chair he had obviously brought in himself. He didn’t seem to notice the wary glances they were shooting at him.
The left side of the table was occupied by more suited men, their chairs reasonably spaced along its length. The man in the chair halfway down that side stood up and awkwardly offered Guillermo his hand. Everyone else remained seated, like they were guarding the paper briefings in front of them with their lives.
“My name is Doug Peterson, from the FBI’s Powered Beings Division. You may know it as the FBI-PBD.” He paused for a second, waiting in vain for comprehension to dawn in Guillermo’s eyes. “Or as the Super FBI.”
“You might be wondering why you’ve been summoned to this meeting,” the man sitting at the other head of the table said. Though he was interrupting Doug Peterson, he spoke with the kind of authority that indicated that his words were never considered a disruption.
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s about my grandfather. He’s the Slayer, right?” Guillermo should probably sit down, if just to stop War Machine patting the seat encouragingly.
“Yes, it is. You have been informally briefed on this matter by Mr. Colin Robinson, but we found it necessary to meet for an official briefing.”
“Is my job okay? Like, am I being fired?” Guillermo asked. Unfortunately, if there was ever a reason to let someone go from a superhero-adjacent agency, “direct descendent of an awful guy” probably qualified.
After most of the pain medications had worn off, he’d realized that this information made several things at work make a lot more sense. There was no reason Jenna and Shanice, who as far as he knew had been a pair of overpromoted summer interns, should have desks immediately adjacent to his, nor should they have had reason to pry into his weekend activities every Monday morning. His irritation at the latter wasn’t in any way related to the fact that for most of his acquaintance with them, his weekend activities had mostly consisted of video games and schlocky European art house cinema. Or episodes of Gilmore Girls.
Doug Peterson shifted where he had awkwardly re-seated himself in his chair. “Well, technically, as an employee of the state of New York, it’s not within our jurisdiction to let you go from your agency. However, we could file a complaint or legal claim with your department, which would be considered a ‘for-cause’ termination-”
“You’re not being fired,” Another man cut in, his menacing bulldog face slightly undercut by his inclusion in the crowd clustered away from War Machine.
“We wanted to ensure that you were aware of the nature of your lineage, for national security reasons. We've outlined potential security clearances it would bar you from, which you can see on the back page of the briefing in front of you. Regarding the emergency field deployment applications we can see on your records, those will continue to remain on hold,” The man at the head of the table said.
Guillermo paged through the briefing. In blurry black and white, there were photos. Guillermo saw-
He closed the briefing.
“The Slayer is currently being detained in a personal high-security prison, colloquially known as ‘turbo space jail’,” Doug Peterson said.
“I’m sorry- my grandfather’s in space?” He imagined a small, top-secret rover barrelling through the outer edges of the solar system.
“Well, no, it’s an extra-dimensional holding cell, but the nickname stuck.”
“Oh. Okay.” That made more sense.
“As several of his crimes crossed international boundaries, he qualified for immunity from execution in the United States. War Machine, as one of his main adversaries, was actually the one to suggest the holding cell. You might remember this stance on nonfatal engagement from the previous confrontation with the Baron in which you were involved, despite knowing that you were not cleared for emergency field deployment.” Doug Peterson’s voice took on an ill-suited scolding tone.
Guillermo didn’t say that War Machine never killed the Baron because he applied a “finders-keepers” principle to the antique weapons the Baron summoned with his powers. He also didn’t tell them he’d already been upbraided at work for that incident.
“You’re not permitted to visit him,” added another one of the men, the one with the shirt with monogrammed cuffs.
“I don’t want to go visit him,” Guillermo said.
“Good, because you’re not allowed to.”
“We’ve also made an uncensored version of your medical records available, for the next time you request them.” The man at the other head of the table said. Guillermo suddenly recognized him from the news as the director of the Super FBI.
“Why were my medical records being censored?” Guillermo asked slowly. He’d never requested his medical records, but the idea of them being edited with black marker gave him serious pause.
“Some… unusual numbers were turning up in your results. Atypical for non-powered humans. Primarily related to your highly enhanced healing abilities and physical endurance, along with an unusual lung capacity. Fortunately, it appears you never manifested teleportation abilities,” the man continued gravely.
“This is a good thing, Guillermo. Now that we know you are indestructible, I don’t have to hold back when I spank you anymore.” Nandor flashed him a little thumbs-up.
Guillermo froze, watching the director of the super FBI blush and stare down into the depths of his coffee mug. The rest of the table stared at War Machine.
“This is not the time, Na-War-Swordsman,” Guillermo whispered, when he finally managed to unstick his jaw.
“But you were concerned about me breaking you when we have rough sex, and you remember how worried I was about your weak circulation when I use the ropes too tightly to tie you up,” Nandor whispered, still much too loudly. Then he proceed to ask some of the most important men in the government whether this meant choking during sex was “a go-go”.
Doug Peterson adjusted his cuffs nervously. “Why don’t we go over the rest of this in an email. We’ll be in touch.”
“Leave the packet. That’s confidential,” another man butted in.
Guillermo had no intention of taking the briefing with him, but he pushed it towards the center of the table anyway. With that, War Machine shoved his chair back and stood, resting gloved fingertips on the back of Guillermo’s chair.
“I’ll see you tonight?” he said quietly.
“I’m going over to Jeremy’s, but you can let yourself in.” Guillermo would later wish he hadn’t been so worried about what all these suit-wearing assholes were thinking, that he taken Nandor’s hand and squeezed it, but in the moment he only nodded his head at War Machine and grabbed his bag.
Nandor didn’t seem put out, though. With a giddy whirl towards the door, he snapped his fingers and set all the briefings on fire.
Nandor was very glad to return home from dinner, even though the restaurant was very fancy and Guillermo was wearing a suit that was nicely tailored to show off his luscious body. He held the baggy with Guillermo’s leftovers in his lap on the bus from the restaurant in return for Guillermo laying his head on his shoulder for the ride home.
Laszlo had offered (or rather, been persuaded) to pay for dinner as an apology for sticking a piece of PVC pipe through Guillermo’s chest, which Nandor considered only fair. He would have rather had a reasonably-sized chunk of the man's lower intestine to display in a jar, but Nadja had intervened.
Guillermo shot him a grimace as they approached the house. They could hear the music seeping through the walls from the sidewalk, some modern noise that sounded like it was measuring a sick heartbeat. Once inside, Nandor returned from putting the doggie baggie in the refrigerator to see Guillermo lingering near the doorway to the living room.
Rat King, Nadja, and Laszlo were gathered around a folding card table set up in the center of the room, the coffee table pushed to the side. They were holding cards and focused on a board with a little clear plastic bubble in its center. They looked up when they saw Nandor standing before them.
“Why, hello there! If it isn’t War Machine and his little pet weakling!” Rat King, known to friends and Nandor as Simon, called.
“Do not refer to him as a weakling. He is an important employee at the Department of Powered Beings.” Nandor had learned it was very important to not ignore people saying these things about Guillermo, because Guillermo didn’t understand that it was not worth listening to plebeians who did not see his value, and Guillermo liked it when Nandor defended him.
“Oh, the Department of Powered Beings. You should have just said! I could have guessed he was one of those fuddy-duddies. They all wear those dull suits to go out,” Simon cackled. Next to Nandor, Guillermo shrunk in on himself.
“You should know, Simon, that apparently Guillermo is descended from a very serious supervillain. Did you ever meet the Slayer?” Nandor asked.
“The Slayer? I think I heard something about him. That attack on the children’s charity was him, that really awful one.” Simon looked to the ceiling and prodded at his lower lip with his pointer finger in an obnoxious imitation of deep thought.
“See, Guillermo is very dangerous. He could be a dangerous supervillain, if he wanted to do that!”
“This little guy? A supervillain?” Simon grinned at Guillermo, which did not make Guillermo stand up any straighter.
“He would be a very good supervillain! Very dangerous!” Nandor gestured at Guillermo in a manner meant to convey that Guillermo had gotten top marks on all of his field exams and could be mean as hell with a sword, too.
“Please. This guy couldn’t kill a superhero!” Simon sneered, idly fiddling with a game piece.
“He could kill so many superheroes! And civilians too!” Nandor pounded his fist on the table, making the game pieces jump and the dice in the clear bubble boggle.
“Nandor! Look at this, you have put a crack in our table, and worse, messed up my strategy,” Nadja said. “Now shoo, isn’t it enough that you made my husband pay for your fancy dinner?”
“Isn’t it enough that your husband blew a plastic pipe through my boyfriend’s chest? Perhaps he should stick to the other kind of blowi - nevermind. I will not lose my temper over a bundle of third-rate villains playing cards and listening to untz-untz music. Come, Guillermo,” Nandor said. He herded Guillermo out of the living room and stormed out behind him.
“Sor~ry!” Simons’ voice called after them from the living room.
“He is not sorry!” Nandor hissed.
“No, that’s the board game. They’re playing Sorry,” Guillermo said, already ascending the stairs. “At least, I think that’s what they were playing.”
“Yes, he is playing sorry, because he is lying about being sorry,” Nandor said.
Guillermo didn’t make any conversation as they headed up the stairs. In one way, Nandor appreciated it. It was difficult for him to talk and gaze upon Guillermo’s ass at the same time. In another way, it did not bode well for Guillermo’s emotions. He seemed very glum, even moreso than he had been these past few days.
He left Nandor to shut the bedroom door behind them and sat down on the bed without even taking his jacket off. His feet dangled over the edge of the bed frame, and Nandor watched Guillermo watch his feet kick gloomily at nothing.
Nandor didn’t want Guillermo to be upset, but it wasn’t as if he knew how to start a conversation about it either. Guillermo’s feelings were messy and tangled, like a bunch of chain necklaces crammed in a small jewelry box and left to knot around each other for years and years, and Nandor didn’t have the feelings-eyesight to unpick them, and he often ended up feeling like he’d snapped a few of them open and made things worse.
Fortunately, Guillermo decided he wanted to talk about it.
Guillermo looked up at him and sighed. “I wanted to be a superhero when I was growing up. I think I've mentioned that before? And like, part of that was that they helped people and everyone loved them for it, but they were also cool. They were powerful. Larger-than-life, like the wrestlers on old video tapes at my uncle’s house. Like El Diablo or Rena Titañon. My cousins and I used to wrestle in the living room of whoever’s apartment we were having dinner at. They always made me be Vicki Glori because I was the youngest, though.”
“And I wanted to do good things, but I also wanted to be, y’know. Admired. So I guess this feels like a punishment. Maybe I could become a supervillain and get the respect I wanted, but I couldn’t stroke my ego by lying to myself and saying it was all about saving people.”
Nandor crawled on to the bed and sprawled out. Guillermo leaned back to rest next to him.
“You do help people,” Nandor said. “You mostly help people, as your day job. And you do not get much appreciation for it, except for that gift basket they sent you in the hospital.”
Nandor watched Guillermo’s chest and belly rise and fall as he breathed. He admired the perfect little triangle of his nose, the dark curls of his hair, the soft curve of his cheek.
Putting his thoughts into words would be impossible, and he didn’t want to try. To him, Guillermo was like the sun, a regular and warm presence in his life, something to look forward to at the end of a long night.
“And I enjoy your company, which I can say for only very few people, so that is another piece of good you put in the world,” Nandor said.
“I know, I know, but why did his powers have to pass on to me? I mean, did you see some of the things he did? They were awful.”
Nandor did not say that he had been there for a lot of those things. “You did not do those things.”
“I know,” Guillermo said. Even from the side, his eyes looked full of pain.
Nandor ground his jaw, like he could chew on his words and baby-bird them to Guillermo so they were easily digestible. “I like you, because you are very regular for me, like the sun.”
“You could say the same thing about a bowel movement.”
“Yes, but I do not think about my bowel movements as the first thing when I wake up. I think about you, and when I will see you next.”
Guillermo rolled over onto his side- bringing him right into Nandor’s kissing range. He smiled at Nandor, just a little. “You know, I watch all of those videos of you fighting. The ones where you really hurt the other person? They turn me on. Watching those and thinking about you, and how vicious you are when you fight. Isn’t that fucked up?”
“Are you saying watching a video of me being very sexy and cool when I fight is comparable to the subway incident he caused in nineteen-eighty-six? Guillermo.” Nandor kissed him then, because this was his boyfriend, who did all the office parts of superhero work without even a complaint, who worried about people living in the buildings near a villainous showdown, who told Nandor while sleepy on the hospital loopy liquid that he wanted to take him to see horses for his birthday. Guillermo got sad when the leaves of his plant got droopy and he had found the Genghis Khan episode of Ancients Behaving Badly for Nandor when he wasn’t allowed to join in on the showdown with the Poker with all the other superheroes.
Guillermo pulled away, just enough to talk again. “If I start turning evil, let me know, okay? Please?”
“I will. And if I can’t, I will turn evil with you so you don’t have to feel too bad,” Nandor said, and leaned in to kiss him again.
“Thanks,” Guillermo said, muffled against Nandor’s persistent mouth.
“Do you still want to pretend during sex that you are the sexy supervillain and I am your superhero nemesis who has captured you and plans to do sordid, dirty things to your helpless body, or are you not in the mood anymore?” he asked.
Guillermo grinned at him, eyes half-lidded in the way that Nandor saw whenever he closed his eyes while jerking off. “Yeah. Tie me up?”
Nandor heaved himself up off the bed. “Well, you will have to get undressed first. I don’t want to tear your suit off of your body. Well, I do, but I know you will bitch about losing your suit, and it is a very nice suit on you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hang up my jacket for me, please.”
Guillermo lay naked on Nandor’s bed, hands tied to the headboard, while Nandor got ready in the bathroom. The bed itself was a heavy four-poster that dominated the room and had been intricately carved out of dark wood probably sometime before the United States became a country. Definitely before mattress sizes were standardized, since the current one left a gap between its edge and the frame of the bed, perfect for Guillermo’s leg to get wedged in while he slept.
He heard the bathroom door click open, and saw War Machine, armor on and metal mask firmly affixed to his face, standing outlined by the lights over the bathroom mirror. He imagined how a villain might feel, looking into the eyes of the mask and seeing only darkness.
War Machine stopped at the end of the bed and stared down at Guillermo’s prone form.
“It looks like you fell for my trap, Mr. Evil Guillermo,” he said. “And how fortuitous, it stripped you of your clothes as well.”
“It’s de la Cruz. We agreed on de la Cruz,” Guillermo whispered.
“Now your plan to… turn off the sun is thwarted,” War Machine said, his tone confident despite the moment he had needed to think up an idea for an evil plan.
“You’ll never thwart my plans. The sun is going down, War Machine!” Guillermo said, tossing his head back against the pillow dramatically.
“You’ll never defeat me and you’ll never defeat the sun, Slay-Boy. And you will never defeat… this penis,” Nandor declared, dramatically pulling said penis out of his uniform pants.
“Nandor. These nicknames are bad. Just go with the one I picked out.”
“Fine. de la Cruz, tonight is the night I stop you for good. I will take your evil virginity, and your freedom. Because you are going to sexy prison.” Nandor said, and clambered onto the bed. Guillermo eyed the sharp edges of his gauntlets and their proximity to the duvet.
“Oh, no, my evil virginity!” Guillermo cried. Never mind that Nandor had never seen hide nor hair of Guillermo’s virginity and didn’t seem to mind; de la Cruz had devoted his life, monk-like, to the pursuit of villainy and power, and as a result was as sexually unfulfilled as an old bus left to rot in the bus yard.
“Yesss. I will teach you the ways of sex, and then if you are good, I will visit you in sexy prison. Conjugally, I mean.” The sharp tips of Nandor’s gauntlets tickled Guillermo’s tender inner thighs as they traced up towards his hips.
Towards his cock, still nestled soft and lazy in its patch of pubic hair.
Nandor laid his hands flat across the top of Guillermo’s thighs. “Submit to me, de la Cruz.”
“You’ll have to try harder than that to get me to let down my guard, War Machine. I’ve trained in the deepest reaches of the Amazon rainforest on anti-erection techniques.” Guillermo really should have looked over the ideas he’d scribbled down beforehand one more time.
“Not that you would know anything about needing those,” he sneered, “what kind of gadgets are they giving you do-gooders nowadays to let you get it up?” He watched Nandor run a sharp fingertip down his chest and over his stomach, circling over his pubic bone. A thin layer of goosebumps rose over his skin, but his reaction remained confined to the surface.
Nandor sighed. “Are you not enjoying yourself, Guillermo?” he asked.
If Guillermo hadn’t been tied to the headboard at one end and pinned down by his boyfriend’s hands at the other, he would have curled in on himself, because he didn’t have a real answer to that question. He could only see the darkness of Nandor’s eyes through his mask, but it wasn’t the cold infinity of nothingness that most people saw. It was just his boyfriend, concerned about him.
“I am- I’m enjoying myself. You’re doing a great job,” he said.
“Guillermo.”
“I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like a real punishment,” he admitted.
Nandor sat down on the mattress, his legs draped over Guillermo’s thighs.“I don’t want to punish you, Guillermo. We just talked about this.”
“No, that’s the wrong word. There’s no… danger? I don’t feel like this is how you would treat a real bad guy.” Guillermo knew Nandor had been holding back recently, cowed by that embarrassing ER visit.
Nandor hesitated. Guillermo could see that he was thinking about it, flashing back to the blood on his sheets and in the metal teeth of his mask.
“Besides, don’t you want to put this super endurance to use? You did say you were excited about not holding back anymore,” he said.
“You’re right. I will treat you as a true threat, only I don’t usually have sex with supervillians when I am trying to stop them from doing crimes.” Nandor wiggled over to sit on the edge of the mattress. “Should I go back into the bathroom to start over?”
“No, just to the end of the bed is fine,” Guillermo said.
Nandor strode back around to the foot of the bed. He stood there for a moment too long, too still. It reminded Guillermo of a snake waiting to strike, stillness casting his image into unreality like a statue. It reminded him that his boyfriend was something unknown.
The fingers in their metal gauntlets began to curl in on themselves idly. Nandor took a step forward and tapped one finger against Guillermo’s instep.
“de la Cruz.”
“War Machine,” Guillermo spat, infusing it with as much vitriol as he could muster.
The sharp metal edge pressed more firmly against the delicate skin of his sole.
“When I get out of here, I’m going to make you regret this, you pompous asshole.” Guillermo pulled at the ropes restraining his wrists and tried to withdraw his foot out of reach.
“Ah, ah, ah.” War Machine caught Guillermo’s calves and pinned them, spread, onto the mattress. “It is your own arrogance that led you into this trap, de la Cruz.” He began to sidle onto the bed, his firm grip traveling up Guillermo’s body with the rest of him, until he hovered over Guillermo’s torso, hands on his chest.
Guillermo thrashed underneath him the entire time, acting like the cold, unfamiliar touch was horrifying him instead of sending sparks throughout his nervous system. War Machine loomed over him, hair spilling over his shoulders and falling around his masked visage.
“You could have a nice face, if it did not have such a nasty look in its eyes.” War Machine cradled his chin and gazed at him, turning his chin to and fro to get a better look, like a buyer appraising a purchase.
“Fuck you,” Guillermo spat, and then literally spat, right at War Machine’s face.
They both froze. The wad of saliva distorted the reflection in the metal, dripping viscously down his cheek.
Nandor slapped him. Guillermo’s ears rang and his vision swam.
“I need to teach you a lesson about how to behave when you have been captured, it seems,” War Machine growled.
He flipped Guillermo over and scraped the sharp metal edges of the teeth over the back of his neck. It was a threat, bright and clear in Guillermo’s mind as the shrieking of an alarm clock. Guillermo imagined those teeth severing the thick connective tissue between each vertebra and shuddered.
“No one wants to come and rescue a villain. Would you like to scream, so you can see?” War Machine asked, each word sending sharp metal points see-sawing across Guillermo’s skin.
Guillermo kept his mouth shut tight, refusing to give him the satisfaction. He could feel the entire heavy weight of War Machine’s body pressing him into the mattress and the pulse of the music downstairs, traveling through him and wobbling inside like a heartbeat. He wanted to clasp his hands together, but the angle at which they were tied meant he could barely grab at his wrists. He couldn’t ground himself, could only press his face into the pillow and wait helplessly.
They’d had sex while Nandor was in uniform before, but it had still felt like Nandor beneath the armor and the mask. Now he was the terrifying persona come to life, the ridiculousness and affection shrouded in his rough mannerisms and drained from his voice.
“You’re mine now. I caught you fairs squares.” Hands moved down his body, the familiar warmth of his boyfriend’s hands and body replaced with cold metal and leather. He kneaded the flesh of Guillermo’s back and dipped a finger in to tease the sensitive skin in the crook of his elbow. He groped and squeezed his ass roughly, obviously taking his time to luxuriate in the fact Guillermo couldn’t do anything about it.
Being flipped over had tightened the rope, giving him less leverage to move, but he still thrashed when Nandor parted his cheeks, fingers coming close to the sensitive skin of his taint.
“What are you doing?” This wouldn’t be typical protocol for a captured supervillain, and de la Cruz was entirely vulnerable, at the mercy of his worst nemesis.
“I told you I was going to teach you a lesson, did I not? About what happens to little supervillains who play with fire.”
“Don’t you fucking dare, War Machine.” Guillermo’s voice wavered with anticipation, but it sounded enough like a command disguising reflexive panic that he thought it worked for the moment.
“The only words I want to hear from you are ‘yes’ and ‘please’. Wait, you can also say my name. You can say ‘War Machine’ too.” War Machine responded, voice cold and smug with the knowledge that Guillermo’s protests meant nothing.
“No.”
A hand on his hip tightened right in the socket where it met his thighbone, hard enough to remind Guillermo that that same hand could dislocate his hip if it pleased. A warning, no need for words. Guillermo froze like he was afraid, despite his cock beginning to fill.
Guillermo heard the fumbling of metal against leather and cloth behind him, then the click of the lubricant tube lid and a slick hand over skin. Guillermo had prepared himself before Nandor tied him up, but the stretch as War Machine fucked into him in one slow movement still hovered deliciously on the edge of pain.
War Machine started out at a measured pace, and Guillermo knew it was Nandor being careful with him, yet it wobbled on the knifepoint edge between knowing that Nandor didn’t want to hurt him and the electric idea that War Machine didn’t want to damage his prize. Maybe he was savoring him, or maybe he was taunting Guillermo with the promise that he could do much, much worse.
Guillermo gasped from the overwhelming sensation, whispered a quiet no against the pillow mashed against his face, then again, louder. He didn’t mean it, not really, but he wanted to get a rise out of the heavy wall of muscle pinning him to the mattress.
He recoiled from the impact that struck his ass, hard, the talons on the gauntlets catching on his skin and leaving stinging marks.
War Machine’s voice, low in his ear. “What did I say about words, de la Cruz?”
Guillermo tried to breathe. Pain rose to the surface of his skin, and heat radiated from where he was struck, his face and his ass. “You can’t do this to me,” de la Cruz whimpered.
Another brutal strike on the other cheek, making Guillermo choke on his breath, before War Machine pulled out. Guillermo felt a moment of physical relief before the emotional confusion took over, his mind running through the scene, trying to figure out if he did something wrong.
War Machine flipped him over so fast his body bounced against the bed and the world spun. Guillermo was looking straight into the black, endless eye sockets of his mask, the face reduced to a rough simulacrum of personhood.
“I can do whatever I like to you. Including making you like it.” Guillermo could only hear his heart beat and the fine scrape of metal against metal as War Machine spoke, the jaws of the mask revealing only shifting shadows beneath.
War Machine proceed to fuck him like he was trying to break down a door. It felt good. It felt really, really good, every thrust hitting at just the right angle, making Guillermo gasp and moan. His legs spasmed from where they had wrapped themselves around War Machine’s waist to urge him deeper, harder. War Machine knew his body, knew how to make him scream and beg and moan loud enough that his neighbors gave him strange looks when they met in the halls, and it dragged him under like a jet engine sucking in a hapless bird.
Guillermo still squirmed like he was trying to get loose, just to feel the tight grip leave bruises as he was pinned down, pinned in the position War Machine wanted to take him in.
War Machine leaned in, his hair tickling Guillermo’s face and sticking to the sweat beading on his hairline. “You shouldn’t try villainous grandstanding. It does not suit you the way spreading your legs does. You are so well suited to taking my cock, you shouldn’t have ever bothered with anything else,” he growled, snapping his hips flush against Guillermo’s ass and sending a pulse of brutal pleasure up his spine.
“You’re already doing so good, laying there with your legs spread wide and your hips pushing back against me and mewling like a harlot. So much more convincing than you pretending to be a villain worth challenging me.” He praised him in a tone dripping with condescension, like all of de la Cruz’s efforts had been an entertaining diversion to him while he waited to trap him and bring him to heel. Heat was building low in his stomach, the harsh breathing in his ear making him shiver with adrenaline.
Guillermo felt the phantom burn of humiliation from someone he was not, pretending like his body’s reaction, the aching erection dripping onto his stomach, was against his will instead of the desired outcome. Like he didn’t want to be dissolving into a moaning, shuddering mess.
The idea of being pinned and overpowered by his nemesis was heady, the same font of repressed desire and shame that had overwhelmed him his entire life. He blinked and let the tears gathering on his lash line fall, like he really was ashamed of what War Machine was doing to him.
The rough scrape of leather against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs reminded him of how vulnerable he was, how vulnerable he looked, tied up, pinned down, and completely bare in contrast to the fully-armored War Machine. It drove home that he was being taken by force, that War Machine wanted him badly enough to seize his body without regard for Guillermo’s opinion.
de la Cruz panted, because he didn’t want to come, not from just his enemy fucking him without any friction or touch against his cock. But he couldn’t stop himself from hurtling towards that precipice, pleasure sending him higher and higher until one particularly well-tired thrust had him spasming and throwing his head back against the pillow.
His body had finished and he wanted to stop but much more than that, he wanted to keep going, to be dragged along the edge of pleasure and pain by Nandor’s drive for his own release.
It was humiliating to feel his own cum pool on his stomach as War Machine patted his hair. “Such a good boy. You will be good from now on, yes? No more schemes or speeches or silly attempts at evil deeds, because you will need my cock so badly. I would say that is more than a fair trade-off.”
Guillermo was afraid if he opened his mouth, he would melt down into yes, yes, because he did want to be good, he did want to let his existence be swept bare by War Machine’s power, scraped down like a cliff face by roaring winds. His universe nothing but what this man created for him. He was overstimulated, tugging at the rope around his wrists because it was a sensation that was clearly unpleasant instead of the confusing, overwhelming signals from the rest of his body.
“Yes, my pet, isn’t this nicer? Isn’t being my fucktoy much better than pretending you could ever be my nemesis?” War Machine was losing his pace, speeding up and breathing like a dying engine, threatening to break Guillermo in half. Guillermo’s cock had managed to become erect again and was leaking a delicate stream of precome down the shaft.
“You were not very good at it, everyone could see that.” He thrust in to the hilt and paused. Guillermo couldn’t think straight, couldn’t stop himself from sobbing with need. “But you are excellent for this.”
Guillermo envied this made-up version of himself, for the chance to be broken down completely, to be razed to his foundations and pay penance with War Machine squeezing his hips and growling in his ear as he came.
War Machine pulled out slowly, leaving Guillermo panting, burning with no more fuel for his fire. “There. Now isn’t that better?” he said, his tone taunting and pitiless. He grabbed both Guillermo’s ankles to lever his legs up and pressed a finger on his other hand against the rim of his hole, where Guillermo could feel the spend leaking out of him.
Guillermo shuddered, overstimulated but still unsatisfied. He was so, so close, but just far enough away from the edge that the gentle pressure against his perineum was a sadistic tease. War Machine was playing with him like a toy, without any regard for what Guillermo wanted, and it made him feel so used.
“Please,” he whimpered, his voice wobbling.
“What was that?” War Machine ignored the twitching of Guillermo’s hips, idly stroking a fingertip over the junction between his inner thighs.
“Please, War Machine. I’ll… I’ll be good.” He would do anything for him, let him do anything to him.
Guillermo couldn’t see the mouth behind the metal teeth, but he could hear the vicious grin in his voice. “I knew you would come around.” He released Guillermo’s ankles and placed a gauntleted hand over his cock, his palm barely grazing it. Guillermo realized he expected him to hump it like a dog in heat. He shamefully rolled his hips into that tentative pressure, chasing the fleeting friction.
“This is a reward for you, and more than you deserve. You should thank me, de la Cruz, and show me proper deference. You have been a nasty little villain, and very rude to me earlier on top of that.”
“Thank you,” Guillermo gasped, and he sincerely meant it. He was gasping and straining, feet pressed flat against the mattress for leverage.
The hand gently curled around his cock, barely a loose grip, but enough to send Guillermo shaking helplessly through another climax. He babbled, pleas that meant nothing even to his own ears, the elaborate fantasy they’d built crashing down in the intensity of his second orgasm and bringing him with it.
He lay there, barely inside his own body. He could feel the blankets against his back, and his knee brushed against leather, but awareness gently surged and receded in his mind like waves gently lapping against a beach.
A sharp fingertip prodded his cheek gently. “Are you alright, Guillermo?” Nandor asked.
Guillermo groaned something that he thought sounded passably like “I’m fine”, but Nandor continued to hover over him nervously, so Guillermo tried again.
“-’m fine.”
Guillermo watched Nandor sigh with relief and tug at the ropes around his wrists until Guillermo could drop his hands to the bed. Once he was certain Guillermo wasn’t about to pass out or start crying again or something, Nandor hopped off the bed to head towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. His mask clattered against the sink and his footsteps fumbled on the tile floor, before he emerged clad in the track pants that were too worn out to wear in public anymore and brought Guillermo a hand towel.
“Do you want some water, Guillermo?” Nandor didn’t have many pet names, but the way his mouth savored Guillermo’s name was good enough for Guillermo.
“Could I actually have some orange juice?” Guillermo kind of regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth, because they meant Nandor would have to leave him to go downstairs, but he really wanted some juice. Plus, he got to check out Nandor in his worn-thin track pants.
Guillermo set about cleaning himself up with the washcloth Nandor had tossed onto the bed while he waited for him to return. The red marks on his hips were certainly going to bruise in the way that meant sitting at his desk would bring tantalizing memories to the surface of his mind, but it looked like his wrists would get away with a little redness.
“We did not have any orange juice, so I poured you the juice from the container calling itself diet cran-blueberry juice. Simon was mixing it with his vodka,” Nandor said when he returned, clutching a glass full of lurid purple liquid.
“I love the way you say vodka,” Guillermo said, and reached out a hand to take it when Nandor sat back down on the bed. He pushed Guillermo up so he could slide his shoulder beneath his back until he was propped up, half on the pillow and half on Nandor’s chest. He wrapped an arm around Guillermo, placing his hand in a convenient place to grip at his hip.
“Don’t get squeezy,” Guillermo warned halfheartedly. Nandor tended to grope him all over when he was holding Guillermo like this.
Nandor squeezed his hip in response, before leaning back to reach into the nightstand and pull out a clipboard. “Now, because I am a responsible superhero, it is time for me to fill out an incident report for my domination of your sexy supervillain alter-ego,” he said, pulling a pen out of the metal clip.
“Let me see here. Date… employees involved, that is me…” Nandor muttered, scratching in the relevant information on the printed incident report attached to the clipboard.
“Injured parties: zero. Fatalities: zero,” Nandor said.
“Three small ones,” Guillermo muttered. Nandor looked down at him, his hair brushing against Guillermo’s cheek. “You know, le petit mort?”
“No, but I believe you are speaking correctly and will note it down on the sheet,” Nandor said, scratching out the zero and scribbling in 3 small in its place.
“Incident type is supervillain encounter, unplanned,” Guillermo offered.
“Incident summary: the supervillain known as ‘de la Cruz’ was captured handily by War Machine and restrained to prevent escape, upon which he submitted very quickly to advanced interrogation tactics,” Nandor said. Guillermo watched his pen scratch along the page. He had probably the nicest handwriting Guillermo had ever seen, elaborate in a way no one nowadays bothered to try for.
“Follow up recommendations: it is recommended that he remain under my care to prevent future misbehavior until further notice.” He looked at Guillermo. “With regular applications of behavioral training, I highly doubt he will give the citizens of New York much more trouble.”
Guillermo blushed. He certainly wouldn’t object to “regular applications” of Nandor fucking him like a demon straight out of either hell or his regular pre-relationship masturbatory fantasies.
“I do not need to fill in this page, because no property damage, nor this one, because there were no deaths. At least, not permanent ones.” Nandor scanned the form, flipping the pages over to check the other side.
“Aaand I sign my name here, and that is everything! Very good job, Guillermo.” Nandor placed the pen, book, paper, and Guillermo’s glass on the nightstand. He scooched down the bed to better lie back against the pillow, pulling Guillermo closer and twining his fingers through his hair.
Guillermo was content to let Nandor pet his hair and scratch his scalp. Nandor was thinking about something, which was fine, because Guillermo was content to not think at all.
“I am sorry that your grandfather is evil, but I am glad you are more resistant to things penetrating your chest cavity now. It was very scary holding you in my arms and thinking you were dying, I’ll have you know,” Nandor said.
Guillermo closed his eyes and pressed his face further into Nandor’s chest. “Mm. I noticed that when I was bleeding out, you didn’t soulfully look into my eyes and tell me that you loved me. A missed dramatic opportunity, War Machine.”
Above him, Nandor spluttered. “I was very worried about you bleeding out at the time, you know! I was getting your shirt open, and a chunk of your lung had slid out of the pipe and was lying on the floor like a dead fish, too, and I did not know if you needed that. But I was thinking it! I was thinking it very hard!”
Guillermo’s eyes snapped open. “What?”
“What?”
“You love me?” Guillermo sat up on his elbow, trying not to jam Nandor too hard in the chest as he did so, and stared him in the eye.
Nandor grimaced a little. “Well, yes.”
Guillermo felt giddy, and a little ridiculous. “I love you too.”
“You do?” Nandor looked genuinely confused.
“Is that a surprise to you?” Guillermo saw Nandor’s hair splayed over the pillow beneath his head, the grand arch of his nose, his wide eyes. His eyes had been ringed with pink and slightly puffy at the hospital, Guillermo remembered. He looked at the man lying beneath him and felt warmth suffuse his entire body, like he had come in from the midday sun and carried the heat on his skin as a reminder, radiating it.
He wanted to say it a thousand times, weave it in as another thread in the tapestry of their everyday lives, when Nandor lurked in the kitchen on the nights Guillermo made dinner and when he was spotting him at the gym and right when he was sinking into the depths of sleep.
He felt Nandor’s throat hum for a moment of thought. “No. I do not think it is,” Nandor finally said.
Guillermo looked down at their feet, his own pressed against Nandor’s shins in the eddies of the rumpled sheets. Words bubbled up out of his throat before he could bite down on them and keep them between his teeth. “I’m glad you said it now. I don’t want you to say it because you think I’m dying.” It was the truth.
Guillermo felt Nandor press his lips to the top of his head. “I am glad you did not die, as well,” he whispered.
The portal into the prison cell’s visitation room clung to War Machine as stepped through the portal into the prison cell’s visitation room, sucking at him like water swirling into an open drain. The green shimmering lights along the immaterial walls rippled like a stone had been skipped across them. They always threatened to give Nandor a headache. All ambient sounds had dropped out, leaving an ear-ringing silence and stillness in their wake.
The Slayer’s hands had been bound to the table at which he sat by a pair of cuffs ringed in more green light, each linked to a panel between them by a thread-like strand in the same color. Guillermo would likely have been able to guess which department the table had been requisitioned from. He was very clever in that way.
The man himself sat facing the portal, back to the door of his prison cell, back straight and mouth curled in polite disdain. Years of isolation had done little to warm the cold hatred in his eyes.
“The Slayer.”
“War Machine.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Nandor said. “Again with all this ‘War Machine’ shit. I turn in my reregistration forms on time every year and I write ‘The Swordsman’ in nice, clear letters on top, and what do the people do? They give me a nickname I did not ask for. The New York Times will not even print a retraction when they call me that.”
His relationship with the nickname ranged widely depending on his relationship with the person. When Guillermo called him that, it was cute, and Nandor also knew it was Guillermo going against the protocols of his department, which was even cuter. But this geriatric criminal just called him that to piss him off.
The Slayer raised his eyebrows at him. “So nice of you to stop by. I thought you might have forgotten about me.”
“Well, you know how it is. I only have so much time in my very busy schedule to visit old has-beens. Lots of new villains crowding the field, making big moves in the supervillainy industry,” Nandor scoffed.
“Are you quoting internal superhero office reports at me again? Did you get the speech you made when you had me arrested out of a how-to book?”
“Fuck you, I am plenty good at speeches. I say things all of the time.”
Nandor pulled out the chair across the table from the Slayer, either to sit down or hit him with it, he wasn’t sure yet.
He decided it would be bad sporting to hit someone with a chair when their hands were handcuffed down to the table, so he sat down, the rusted hinges of the cheap folding chair groaning.
“What is new in here? Have they given you some new books?” Nandor asked.
“Nothing. Nothing is new in here, and you know it.”
“Eh, well, you should have thought about that before you did all your crimes,” Nandor said.
The Slayer banged his clenched fists on the table and leaned over them, glaring at Nandor. “When I get out of here, I’m going to taxidermy your body and display it in Times Square for tourists to take pictures.”
“I don’t know if being stuffed full of wool will stop my body from moving around, but you are welcome to try. I see your previous escape attempts have been very fruitful.” Nandor gestured to the cuffs still vibrating gently around his wrists. The wires of light whined and rattled dutifully as the Slayer’s hands clenched.
“Let me finish. I will make you rue the day the freakish immortal collection of hams tied together you call a ‘body’ emerged from the primordial ooze, and I will salt the earth of your name so thoroughly that not even a scrap of paper containing any of your aliases remains within living memory. I might even rewrite your history to make you into a, say, failed birdwatcher. The fates of those who stood in my way the first time around will look like a Mardi Gras parade compared to the pain I will wreak on the country club you call ‘superheroes’,” the Slayer ranted.
Nandor thought it was much easier to have the Slayer locked away in space prison than to have him running loose and doing crimes, but it unfortunately gave him a lot more time to think up his big supervillain talks, and now Nandor was the only one around to listen.
But the nice part about not being the one in turbo space jail was that he was free to leave whenever he wanted.
“Well, it was nice to see you, but I have other things to do. Goodbye.” He got up and made for the portal-door.
“Your attention span is as short as ever, I see.”
“No, I really do have things I must be doing today. Farewell, auf wiedersehen, and all that.” When Nandor reached the doorway, he stopped. “By the way, your grandchild, the Guillermo one,” he said over his shoulder.
The air left the room as if it were really a space jail and the air locks had all failed. Nandor could feel the Slayer’s eyes burning into his back. He heard a mechanized whining as the energy bands were strained.
“He enjoys it very much when I pin him to the bed and bite his neck while I fuck him roughly and call him a little slut.”
A complete silence settled deliciously over the room. Nandor peeked back at the Slayer’s dumbfounded expression.
“It really makes me like being a superhero, because he is always begging for me to pin him to the wall and take him until he begs for mercy from my penis. It is also nice when he tells me how much he enjoys it when my penis finishes inside him.”
The Slayer’s open mouth began to twitch like he was chewing, barely more than a tremor in his lower jaw.
“He was also telling me last week how he had fixed the email soft serve for the Department of Powered Beings offices.” Nandor did not know exactly what that meant, but it was apparently a difficult enough task to gain commendations from his manager. Guillermo had come into the living room wielding his laptop and beaming with pride.
The old man’s eyes widened and the veins in his forehead twitched, reminding Nandor of a kettle about to boil over. The whining of the handcuff wires reaches a previously unheard pitch.
“He is also taking me to see horsies for my birthday.”
“GET OUT!”