Fic - "(Now I'm Thinking) What The Hell"
Title: (Now I'm Thinking) What The Hell
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Megamind, Metro Man. Megamind [dur].
Word Count: 6,912
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Metro Man disobeys his conscience and pays a visit to Megamind's lair. A late night visit. And he's not calling for a cup of sugar.
Warnings: Slash, gratuitous oral sex, unhealthy amounts of banter, emotional constipation.
Notes: Third in my Dirty Little Secret series, with Metro Man sinking deeper and deeper into his "flirting with the dark side" phase. Feelings are discovered. Emotional feelings. I promised that people were gonna finally get naked in this one. I delivered. Nakedness galore. Ab worship was rightfully inspired by the awesome tripperfunster, who has made Metro Bear into a thing of legend. This one in particular was my guiding light while writing this piece. Title is taken from the Avril Lavgine song, whose chorus reminds me without fail of Metro Man: All my life I've been good, and now I'm thinking: WHAT THE HELL.
NOW WITH A GREASERIFFIC ILLUSTRATION BY junosunderland: ROCK THAT T-SHIRT!!
AND A SMOOCHY ILLUSTRATION BY tripperfunster: LITTLE BLUE RUMP AHOY!!
For the first time in years, Metro Man takes flight without his costume. A boy once asked him if it was the cape that gave him the ability to fly, and he was almost tempted to answer yes--- the power had become so inextricably linked to his superhero persona that he couldn’t even fathom using it for anything else. Now, as the crescent moon rolls up towards the center of the sky, he rises to meet it in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans. It’s not exactly what he would have chosen for such a trip, but he didn’t really give himself that much time to plan ahead. He didn’t want to second-guess himself into submission, so the moment the impulse came upon him, he was throwing open the bay windows of his bedroom and jumping into the air.
The night wind breaks on his bare arms like waves on the shore, cool and refreshing. He’s got an impressive five o’clock shadow, he’s not wearing any shoes, his t-shirt isn’t even one of those hip designer things, it’s just a plain white Hanes tagless that he sometimes sleeps in. He could hardly look any less like his public self, and that could hardly be more appropriate.
For years he’s pretended not to know where Megamind’s hideout is. Now he arcs up towards the stars and glides right down onto the rooftop, landing soundlessly on bare feet and peering through the ceilings and floors, his super vision scanning not for the villain but the sidekick. He finds Minion in a big glass tank out by the monitors in the observation bay. The fish is settled in one corner of an underwater castle, not moving, clearly asleep. Perfect. Metro Man sweeps back up into the air, slips around to one side of the warehouse, and lets himself in through the window that he scouted out days ago.
He’s in the hallway between Megamind’s bedroom and his bathroom. Although he planned to sneak into the former, he hears a distinct rustling in the latter and peeks around the half-open door to find the source. Megamind, clad in probably the most adorable and ridiculous pajamas Metro Man has ever seen, is slouched in front of the sink, brushing his teeth with a disinterested expression. For the second time in as many minutes, Metro Man uses one of his heroic powers for his own selfish gain, and in a burst of super speed he sneaks up behind the little villain, taking hold of his collar and striking a familiar I’m-about-to-haul-your-perfect-blue-ass-to-prison pose. He appears like a flash in the reflection and Megamind’s sleepy eyes bulge out of their sockets, his startled squawk spraying the mirror with a mouthful of minty white foam.
“Metro Man!” he squeals, whirling around and clutching the sink for support. “What are you--- ugh, oh, how embarrassing---”
He fumbles for a towel to wipe the slobber from his face, his other hand holding the hero at bay while he cleans himself up. Metro Man stoops and retrieves the toothbrush that got dropped in the scare, and when he offers it to Megamind, the villain snatches it from his hand and slings it into the sink.
“You have a lot of nerve,” he hisses. “Breaking in? In the middle of the night? I’m not even alone, you could have been seen by---” Shrill gasp. “---Minion!”
Vaulting past Metro Man, he flings the bathroom door shut and flattens himself against it, his skinny chest pumping frantically as his blood pressure skyrockets in a surge of panic. The hero can actually hear the beat of his heart accelerate into something close to a purr as he splays his limbs this way and that, as though unable to decide the most efficient way to prevent their discovery.
“Relax, little buddy. Your fish is fast asleep.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked.”
Green eyes narrow suspiciously, but his cute little mouth is already curling up in a grin of grudging admiration.
“For such a goody two-shoes,” he smirks. “You’re pretty good at sneaking around.”
“I learned from watching the master.”
Megamind gives his chin a devious stroke, an in-character gesture that looks glaringly out of place in his pajamas. His thumb finds a smear of toothpaste and he frowns, his brow crinkling in mortification as turns back to the sink and twists the handles. Water pours into his cupped hands and he scrubs his face vigorously.
“You could have let me know you were coming,” he accuses between splashes. “I must look a mess--- I haven’t even plucked my brows yet--- and oh, God, my pajamas, you must think I’m an imbecile---”
“Hey, no worries,” Metro Man holds out reassuring hands, then indicates himself. “I’m hardly dressed for the red carpet, here.”
Megamind squints peevishly at the reflection over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you didn’t plan that look. It reeks of the fetishized ‘50s greaser. Your American everyman act won’t work on me, playboy!”
“No, really, I just threw something on after work.”
The villain dunks his face abruptly in the sink, surfacing with a splutter of, “And he’s stylish without meaning to be. Is there anything you can’t do?”
His gaze tracing the curve of the slender shoulders, Metro Man murmurs, “I can’t stay away from you.”
Their eyes meet in the mirror, Megamind’s wide and amazed greens finding the steady blues.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “Uh, victory is mine?”
And as the hero lurches forward, Megamind spins to meet him, their mouths connecting in a sloppy kiss. Metro Man cups a face that’s still cold and wet from the washing, the skin as fresh as it can be. His touch is the first to be smeared across the clean slate.
“Unf,” Megamind groans into him. “You haven’t shaved--- hmmf--- it feels good.”
“And you taste so minty fresh,” the hero chuckles.
Megamind’s hands flutter like birds at his chest, skittering down to find the hem of his t-shirt and tug upwards. Cool blue palms skate adoringly along his ribcage.
“Your skin is so warm,” the villain pants. “Warmer than I thought.”
Hooking a finger in the collar of his pajama shirt, Metro Man tugs it towards him and fumbles with the top button. Megamind grabs his wrists anxiously.
“Are you undressing me?” he gasps, flustered by every new change in the routine.
“Yes,” the hero answers calmly, button after button coming undone at his touch. “Is that okay?”
“That is--- that is definitely okay,” Megamind giggles to hide his nervousness. “I was actually kind of hoping that you would, ah--- never mind.”
Baring one pale shoulder, Metro Man covers it with his mouth and sighs, “Tell me.”
“Ohhh,” the slender body shivers. “I just---” He scratches his nails lightly, teasingly, down those massive forearms. “I really like it when you touch my feet.”
“You just want me to touch them?”
“No,” Megamind huffs against his neck. “I want you to suck them.”
“I was planning on sucking something else, actually.”
The patterned flannel finally pulls open, revealing a chest even skinnier than Metro Man had pictured. He knew that his nemesis was thin, but somehow he had not anticipated that every little rib would be visible under the blue skin, as if his torso has been painted with gently scalloped edges. He runs his enormous hands over the peaks and valleys, the softer parts of his palms filling in the channels. Megamind’s skin twitches in time with his pounding heart.
Metro Man pries the needy blue hands off of him long enough to pull the shirt down and off his arms entirely. Naked to the waist, Megamind flushes pink at the ears and throat, covering his grinning mouth with one disbelieving hand.
“You move pretty fast,” he observes.
“I’m making up for lost time.”
Down the ribs to the sloping hips, where his thumbs tug out the elastic waistband and shuck the pajama pants down to his knees. Megamind arches towards him and Metro Man uses that momentum to sweep him off his feet, hoisting him up and seating him on the bathroom counter, making up a small fraction of their height difference. The villain kicks and squirms until he gets the pants down to his ankles, at which point he shakes them to the floor and wraps his naked legs around the hero’s waist, pulling him in flush against his body.
They kiss recklessly, noisily, all hungry tongues and heavy breathing. Megamind’s hands, bare for the first time, fumble with the hero’s ears, a clumsy attempt to steer the kiss, and although it would take Metro Man no effort to resist, he lays his pride and strength aside and lets himself be guided. It’s exciting, not knowing what comes next. It’s not a feeling he gets to have very often. In fact, this whole situation is so unique that he wants to be able to commit every single detail to memory, just in case he never gets to feel this way again.
So he opens his eyes.
The mirror shows him Megamind’s slim back, the undulating curve of his spine, the angular shoulderblades straining against the skin like wings fighting to grow. Pillowed on the countertop, the little blue rump looks more than anything like the top of a little blue heart. And over one little blue shoulder, Metro Man sees himself.
It’s funny. He’s seen his own image so many thousands of times--- on televisions, on magazine covers--- that it’s become artificial even to him. Now he hardly recognizes himself. It’s not that his face has changed--- just the expression. It’s distorted with lust. He’s never seen himself like this before. Probably because he’s never really done this before. By definition, then, it must be bad. The logic is simple. He is Metro Man. He only does good. If he’s never done something, then it’s probably bad. Simple enough, but...
But it feels good. It feels so good when Megamind kisses him just like that, and he aches with the desire for it to never stop. He can’t remember the last time anything felt this good. Not when he extinguished the orphanage fire with one blast of his cooling breath. Not when he caught the plunging 747 and carried it all the way to Metro City International Airport. Not even the first time they presented him with the key to the city, when he was only twenty years old and too young to legally share in the celebratory champagne.
Should he stop? It’s bad, it’s wrong, he should stop, but he can’t, he wants it too much. And at this point, he figures he’s been good for long enough. He’s been good his whole life, and it hasn’t done him a lick of good in return. Not like this. Not even close. So he closes his eyes again and loses himself in the roar of Megamind’s racing heartbeat.
“I want to taste you,” he groans. “Will you let me do that?”
“Let you?” Megamind wheezes. “I was going to beg you, but sure, whatever works, go for it, I won’t stop you.”
Metro Man sinks to his knees. Megamind’s cock is small and a rich purple, the blue skin deepened to the color of wine by the red blood beneath it. When he leans forward, the villain flinches backward with a nervous hiss of “ah!” Then he takes it in his mouth, and Megamind jerks forward with an incoherent grunt, a grunt that turns into a moan when he finds out that Metro Man can easily fit all of him. There’s a dull thud as the villain’s head tilts back into the mirror, his body arching in a bow of pleasure. And Metro Man hasn’t even gone to work yet.
He flattens his tongue and draws a thick, wet line from base to tip. Megamind’s hands burrow into his hair, his legs hooking over his shoulders, the heels dug deep into the invulnerable skin. Metro Man clasps a hip with one hand, cups a thigh with the other. He holds him hard enough to leave bruises. Megamind doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he seems to enjoy that part especially.
“Harder!” he demands, tearing at that perfect hair. “Come on, you fucker--- I mean--- ungh--- Metro Man--- I’m sorry, I just--- hahhh--- I just got carried away--- you fuh--- you fuh--- you fungus--- ugh, that’s worse---”
“Hey, little buddy,” the hero says between mouthfuls. “Relax. I like the dirty words.”
“Mmmf--- fuck!--- okay, are you happy--- nnngh--- you’re reducing me to this--- this kind of language--- after I’ve worked so hard to--- fuck fuck!--- to cultivate the image of a sophistacay-ay-ated--- oh that right there--- that’s so good---”
Metro Man has no idea what he’s doing. He just licks and kisses and sucks, and when Megamind’s speech breaks he figures that means he’s doing something right, so he does it a few more times before he tries something else. The villain keeps trying to scoot closer and closer to him, and if Metro Man didn’t have at least one hand on him to hold him back then he’d probably scoot right off the edge of the counter. As it is, the hero keeps both hands on his companion, only because he’s so fucking turned on that if he doesn’t keep his hands busy then he might not be able to stop himself from jerking off before Megamind even gets a chance to return the favor.
But he can do more, and he knows exactly what it should be. He leaves one hand still cradling the villain’s thigh, but with the other he reaches over his shoulder and finds one of the feet that are currently digging into his back. He lifts it and presses until Megamind yields, the knee pulling up to his chest, the foot now in a position where Metro Man can comfortably reach it. It fits snugly into the cocoon of his hand, and as he curls his fingers into a sensuous squeeze, he plows his thumb up the center of the arch.
Megamind yelps, his leg kicking in a helpless spasm of pleasure. Metro Man’s hand remains exactly in place, immoveable, so the villain’s kick ends up launching him back into the mirror with a terrific bang. The huge plane of glass wobbles but holds, while Megamind huddles and slaps his hands protectively over the back of his head, his eyes screwed shut in pain.
“Whoa, whoa!” Metro Man reaches up and lays concerned hands on his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Megamind mumbles, clearly mortified.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. That was my fault.”
He is not prepared for those eyes to open wide, for them to be wet with frustrated tears, glistening and deeply green. They paralyze him.
“Whoa,” he says again, at a loss, and he wonders if it’s possible to recognize the exact moment when you fall in love with someone.
“It’s just,” Megamind sniffs, his voice thick with disappointment. “You’re so cool and naturally charismatic. You’re a snappy dresser and you give great interviews. You must think I’m so... lame.”
“I don’t think you’re lame.”
“What are you even doing here?” he frets. “Shouldn’t you be on a date with Miss Ritchi, wining and dining at one of those really nice restaurants where there are musicians walking around, and I mean like violinists, not like those horrible Mexican restaurants where there are mariachi bands screaming in your ear and everyone speaks Mexican so you can’t even tell them to go away so you just have to smile and nod like you’re enjoying the fact that your dinner conversation has to be put on hold for the next ten minutes while you’re forced to listen to---”
Metro Man silences him with a kiss, both hands firmly pulling his face down to him, his open mouth catching the last few words before Megamind shuts up and kisses him back. Twice during the kiss he feels Megamind try to pull back and he won’t let him. He kisses him senseless, and when he finally breaks away and sits back on his heels, the villain’s expression is so dazed and dreamy that he half-expects the pupils of his eyes to turn into hearts.
“Does that answer your question?” he asks, and he has to admit, he does feel pretty cool right now.
“Technically, no,” Megamind murmurs. “But I think you got your point across.”
“You know how I roll,” Metro Man gives him a dashing wink. “Less conversation, more action. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish what I’ve started.”
“Hmmf,” the villain blushes. “Okay.”
Metro Man kisses him again, and again, first on the mouth and then on the neck, his lips leaving a trail across the sweet dip of his collarbone and down the curve of his chest and stomach--- a curve that starts as a shy concave and swells to an eager convex as Megamind rolls back with a long, luxurious moan.
“That’s more like it,” the hero chuckles, lavishing kisses on his belly.
“I thought you said less conversation,” Megamind teases, the edge of the taunt made razor-sharp by the want in his voice.
And Metro Man answers him the only way he can. He buries his face between the slim blue thighs, his own hips jerking convulsively at the ecstatic whimper that breaks like lightning over his super hearing. He devotes himself to the task, to the taste, to the heat that begs to be released. He tries taking the cock in his hand, compressing his mouth on just the head of it, his tongue flicking and fondling while his fingers slide back and forth. And when he chances a look up to gauge his progress, he sees Megamind looking right back at him.
Their eyes meet, and hold. The villain has one hand braced on the edge of the counter, but the other he slides shakily through the perfect hair that has begun to go silver at the temples, his palm feeling scorching hot as it brushes the hero’s ear. Suddenly, more than anything, Metro Man wants to make him come. What do you even call this? When you touch someone and it suddenly fits, suddenly makes sense, and you absolutely know what you want to do? Megamind trembles under his hands, in his mouth, and he never thought it could be like this. He holds his eyes and takes him in deep, and even though the green eyes flutter and almost roll over, Megamind won’t look away.
It’s so quiet, no words, just the hot wet sounds of sex and the muffled grunts that catch in the back of Megamind’s throat, full-bodied cries that he bites his lip to contain. His breathing gets faster, his nostrils flaring, and Metro Man can feel the fingers in his hair curling into a fist. It doesn’t hurt, but even if it did, he wouldn’t give a damn. He’s almost there.
“Fuck---” Megamind gasps. “I can’t--- mmf--- ah--- Metro Man---”
Then all at once he comes, and Metro Man isn’t ready for it, and it gets all over his face and he doesn’t care. He just swipes his mouth and chin against the sleeve of his t-shirt and smiles up at Megamind’s woozy face, at the exquisite eyes gone half-lidded and the jaw gone slack.
He wants to say: God you’re beautiful.
And instead he says, “So, who’s the man?”
The villain takes a quick breath, then changes his mind and releases it in a sigh of objection, his brow furrowed.
“I don’t think that question can be answered at this point.”
“Why not?”
Megamind has a smile like a crescent moon in a pale blue sky. It was one of the first things that Metro Man ever noticed about him, how that funny blue kid had such white white teeth, back when he still smiled, when he still thought he could make friends. His smile has changed so much since then--- he’s lost his baby teeth, and the softer angles of his face have sharpened into something a bit more predatory, like a kitten growing into a cat. What a funny-looking kid he used to be. What a sexy-looking man he’s grown into. Sometimes that ugly duckling thing really rings true.
“Because,” the villain smirks. “I haven’t had a turn yet.”
“Oh,” Metro Man raises his eyebrows. “You think you can do better?”
“I think I can do a lot better.”
“You think you’re going to make me kick so hard that I almost break a mirror?”
“I think I’m going to make you come so hard you see stars.”
Well, it’s pretty hard to remain suave following something like that. Metro Man feels the cheeky grin drop right off of his face, replaced by a gaping mouth and goggled eyes. Megamind coughs self-consciously.
“Hmm. I... I don’t think I meant to say that out loud.”
Like a lovestruck teenager, Metro Man breathes, “I am so glad you did.”
Megamind crinkles his nose, equal parts titillated and disbelieving, his eyes narrowed in glee--- not so different from a lovestruck teenager himself.
“Okay, Mr. Not-So-Goody Two-Shoes,” he snickers, then tries to school his voice into something a little more confident and seductive. “How about we take this to the bedroom?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Little bare feet make the cutest slapping sound on the tile floor, as Megamind hops down from the counter and scampers over to the bathroom door, pressing his ear against the crack.
“We’ll have to be very quiet,” he mutters. “If Minion catches us I think he will literally die from shock. Literally. Okay, I’ll go first, and I’ll sneak down to the end of the hall and listen for any footsteps, and if I---”
Without waiting for him to finish, Metro Man scoops the villain up into his arms and switches into super speed, then opens the door and saunters boldly into the hall. Megamind clings to him like a cat that doesn’t want to go into the bathtub, all terrified tension and furious indignation.
“Are you crazy? Don’t go out into the--- no no no--- okay well now that we’re in the hall don’t just stand here--- Metro Man--- hurry hurry hurry--- what are you doing we’re gonna get caught---”
“Take it easy,” the hero laughs. “No one can see us. Watch.”
Shifting Megamind’s weight into the crook of one massive arm, he rummages in the pockets of his jeans with the other. The only thing he has on him is a plastic clothespin--- the housekeeper at the mansion uses them to close the bags in the pantry, and after he polished off the last of the Fritos he wasn’t sure what to do with and just stuck it in his pocket. Now he tosses it out in front of them, and as it leaves his hand, it loses the effect of the super speed. It freezes in mid-air.
“Oh!” Megamind exclaims. “Oh, I guess we’re--- you’re doing the thing with the--- yes. Well. Carry on.”
Metro Man doesn’t bring them out of it until he’s just about to close the bedroom door behind them, and then the click of the latch is echoed by the clatter of the clothespin hitting the floor in the hallway outside.
“That’s a very useful trick,” the villain observes, then gestures a bit nervously at the room. “And here we are.”
As far as bedrooms go, this one is almost hilariously ordinary. A bed with a table and lamp beside it, a desk scattered with papers and tiny models (mostly depicting robots of a no doubt sinister nature). There are no dressers or cabinets--- in fact, there’s no sign at all of the villain’s massive costume collection. He must keep it elsewhere. There’s probably an entire room in this building that’s devoted solely to capes. Comparing it to his own bedroom, the hero realizes that there isn’t a TV, either. Metro Man has had a TV in his bedroom for as long as he can remember. Maybe that’s just a “rich people” thing.
“I like it,” he says. “It’s cozy.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure it hardly compares to yours. You probably have sheets made of silk, and a giant crystal chandelier, and pillows stuffed with... peacock feathers. Or something.”
“Just plain eiderdown, actually.”
While Megamind locks the door and presses his ear against it to verify their secrecy, Metro Man takes a few steps towards the bed. The bedding is all jet black, from the comforter to the pillowcases, and on the bedside table is a pile of magazines. In the bedroom of a single man he might have expected something a little racier (he prefers vintage Playboys himself), but it’s just old copies of Metro Monthly and Time Out: Metro City. Then he notices that they all have his picture on the cover.
Suddenly Megamind is diving past him, a naked blue blur as he throws himself on the night table in a desperate attempt to shield its contents from view.
“Just some--- reading material--- I have, um, narcolepsy--- I mean insomnia--- this is just something to pass the time---”
He fumbles with the table’s drawer, yanking it open and mashing the magazines in as quickly as he can. Paper tears and crinkles. There’s definitely a bottle of lotion in there. Megamind is blushing like a rose, and when he finally slams the drawer shut he slumps back against it and covers his face with his hands.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“But I did.” Metro Man takes a step closer. “So, you think about me at night, huh?”
A defeated sigh. “Yes.”
Another step closer. “You fantasize about me?”
A tantalizing shiver. “All the time.”
Another step. “You fantasize about what you want to do to me?”
A raised eyebrow. “You have no idea.”
One more step and Megamind is in his shadow. “So,” he says. “Do you want to show me?”
Megamind purses his lips. “In my fantasies, you’re usually naked.”
“So let’s fix that.”
He saunters back and sits on the edge of the bed, but when he crosses his arms and reaches down to grab his t-shirt, Megamind says, “Wait.” At Metro Man’s intrigued look, he continues, “I want to do it.”
He comes close, close enough to share a breath, but he hesitates when he touches the white cotton hem. “Moment of truth,” he laughs weakly. “Okay, uh, arms up?”
Metro Man raises his hands and loses sight of his companion as the t-shirt turns inside-out over his shoulders and head. It reaches his hands and he pulls it the rest of the way off, balling it up and tossing it for the corner. Then he drops his elbows to his knees and shrugs, feeling extremely weird. Is this... self-consciousness? Is he feeling self-conscious? That would be a first.
“Well,” he quirks his mouth. “What do you think?”
Megamind doesn’t answer. He just stares. His eyes are as wide as they can possibly be, his mouth formed into a soundless o.
“Great Neptune’s beard...” he whispers at last. “It’s glorious...”
Rapt with wonder, he slowly brings his hands up to his face. Then he slowly reaches them towards the hero’s chest, where they nestle palm-first into the thick dark hair. They remain perfectly still. Then they start to rub tentatively back and forth.
“Like the Black Forest!” he breathes.
Emboldened, intoxicated, his hands spread out, sliding again and again through the fur, scratching and tugging at it in amazement. Hairs catch between his fingers and tug sharp, hot on Metro Man’s nerves--- he’s unaccustomed to the stinging sensation. Sheer overexposure has dulled him to the feeling of bullets and blunt objects, but these lighter touches seem to be reaching him on a whole other level, and he shivers as Megamind rubs and paws at his belly.
“It’s all over your chest... it’s all over your abs... my God, you have amazing abs--- no, you have an amazing body! I can’t... ungh, it feels so good to rub it...”
His praise is so energetic and earnest, his appreciation so genuine and passionate, that Metro Man actually hums with pleasure. He has never felt more proud of his body, never felt more handsome or more sexy. He almost loses it completely when Megamind suddenly buries his face into the center of his chest.
“Ohhhhh, God,” the villain moans. “It smells so fucking good. Oh my God. What is that smell, what are you wearing, I mean please tell me that’s a cologne and you don’t just naturally smell like that because that would be too unfair.”
“It’s Jean Paul Gaultier, Pour Homme.”
“Thank God.”
Megamind snuffles around like an addict, as if he’s decided that he has to rub his face against every square inch from shoulders on down. Just when Metro Man thinks it can’t get any better, he starts licking, and then he starts biting, and yeah, that might be the best yet. The villain finds one nipple and lavishes it with attention from his mouth, finding the other one with his fingers and giving it a hard tweak.
“I love your chest,” he gushes, nose smushed against the left pectoral. “I could live on this chest. Forever. You’re like a bear. A majestic Metro Bear. And your fur is an aphrodisiac.”
Metro Man makes a strangled squawking sound that seems to snap him out of it, for Megamind sits back and wonders, “What, what’s wrong?”
“Uh, little buddy,” the hero says faintly. “I hate to rush you, but could you hurry up with the undressing thing, please?”
Following the indicative jerk of his chin, Megamind looks down and notices the blue jeans straining almost to the point of bursting, zipper and seams alike in peril of being torn apart. He gives a yelp of dismay and hurries to unbutton and unzip. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he babbles. “Is it hurting you?”
“It’d take a lot worse to hurt me,” Metro Man smirks. “But these are my favorite jeans and I’d like to wear them again if I could.”
There’s a flurry of mutual effort, and then the jeans end up on top of the t-shirt, far away and forgotten. Before Metro Man even has a chance to say anything, Megamind gapes, “There’s more?”
“Uh, more what?”
“Hair.” Megamind reflexively touches his own chest. “You have so much hair. All over you. It’s kind of... intimidating. And exotic. And of course, um, you have that, um, that.” He makes a vague upwards gesture that seems to indicate erection. “It’s very exciting.” He reaches an index finger towards it, then freezes and looks up into the hero’s eyes. “Can I touch it?”
Metro Man cants his aching hips towards him. “I really wish you would.”
Megamind starts with just his hands. The skin of them is bewitchingly soft after spending most of his adult life hidden and protected inside of gloves, and they stroke smoothly along Metro Man’s length. His touch is a bit shaky at first, but his confidence mounts with every draw, and his grip gets harder every time. Soon enough Metro Man is gasping, his hands fisting in the black comforter underneath him.
Twice Megamind leans in as though about to apply his mouth, but both times he shies away at the last moment. On the third approach, he murmurs, “God, you’re huge,” before finally taking the head of the cock into him. It takes every ounce of Metro Man’s willpower not to buck towards the contact. It feels fucking amazing and his body instantly begs for more. The villain’s mouth is hot and wet and good--- and then there’s the first burning stroke from his clever tongue, which is evidently skilled at much more than banter. Metro Man’s eyes roll in his skull like tossed dice. This might drive him crazy.
“Agh, buddy---” he rasps. “Megamind--- that feels so amazing---”
“Really?” Megamind squeaks, then says hastily, “I mean--- of course it does. I told you so.”
“Nuh uh uh,” Metro Man scolds. “I’m not seeing stars yet.”
“That’s because I’m just warming up.”
If that was the warm-up, then what comes next must be the main event--- Megamind’s mouth rolls down one side of the cock, laving it with his tongue all the way down to the base, his nose buried in the curly dark hair. Then he goes back up and over, echoing the gesture on the other side. Metro Man’s hips roll in time with him, finding his rhythm and matching it, magnifying it. His mind bubbles up into heat and white noise. He forgets that this ever felt wrong. Right now it only feels good.
Megamind’s mouth hardly ever leaves Metro Man’s cock, but his hands soon begin to wander freely about the muscular body. First they massages his thighs, kneading at him like a big cat. Then one hand glides up over his hip and then down around to his ass, wriggling between his flesh and the comforter and squeezing an enthusiastic handful of the former.
Of course, Megamind saves his favorite treat for last, and as his oral ministrations intensify, he burrows his remaining hand into the fur on Metro Man’s abs.
“I love your body,” he grunts, then fastens on and sucks hard.
Metro Man thought it would be Megamind’s touch that satisfied him. He just figured that if he could finally release some of this pent-up physical energy then maybe he would stop thinking such crazy thoughts and get back to his normal life. He’s only just now realized that it’s not going to be enough. It’s not his body that needs the attention. No, what’s turning him on the hardest and touching him the deepest--- is Megamind’s words. He doesn’t just want some empty physical relief. He wants to hear Megamind say he’s sexy.
Everyone in the world tells him he’s handsome. Everyone tells him he’s exceptional and gorgeous and worthy of love. The only person who’s never once told him that before is Megamind, and because of that, because he’s waited this long to say it, this is the first time that Metro Man has ever believed it’s true.
He comes, his body arching, his senses singing, and he squeezes his eyes shut so tight that, oh shit, he sees stars. He’s actually not surprised. As the orgasm splinters out through him like a shockwave, he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw fireworks.
He slumps back onto the bed, feeling kind of like a shell casing after a tremendous gunshot, spent but satisfied. Megamind crawls up beside him, licking his lips, a smug blue feline.
“Did you swallow?” Metro Man gawks.
“You bet your ass I did.”
The hero slaps an incredulous hand over his forehead. “How the hell did you get so good at that?”
“I once overheard a very interesting conversation between Uncle Toby and Aunt Christopher,” the villain taps his chin contemplatively. “And ever since then I’ve wanted to try some of those techniques firsthand. I take it they were a success?”
“My compliments to the both of them.”
“So,” Megamind purrs, very near his ear. “Did you see stars?”
He isn’t even tempted to lie. “I sure did, little buddy.”
“That technically answers the question, but I think I’d like to hear you say it anyway. Who’s the man?”
“Megamind,” he points a cautionary finger. “For now.”
“Are we gonna do that again?” Megamind pounces on his chest. “Are you gonna stay the night? Can we have a sleepover, but like, with sex? Wouldn’t that be the most awesome thing ever?”
It would totally be the most awesome thing ever.
But--- no. No. It has a whole host of connotations that Metro Man is suddenly extremely aware of. I mean, what is he saying if he spends the night in Megamind’s bed? Wouldn’t that take this to a whole other level of weirdness? It would be almost like making it official, or saying that it was permanent, a guarantee that the behavior would continue, which, maybe that could be nice for a little while, but in the long run, are either of them really prepared to deal with a relationship like this? They have a routine, an amazing routine that has taken them so safely through all these years. Doesn’t spending the night kind of mean that routine is officially broken?
Is Metro Man ready for the routine to be broken?
“I wish I could stay,” he says quietly. “But I can’t. I have an early day tomorrow---”
“Oh! Well, we could set an alarm---”
“---yeah, you know, I really can’t risk not being there, they’ll wonder where I am---”
“---I guess, okay, if you think that would be a problem---”
“---plus, you know, Minion could walk in at anytime, and what would we do then---”
“---no, no, you’re right, you’re totally right, you should probably go.”
They both sort of stare at each other in awkward silence. Metro Man jerks a thumb towards the corner where his clothes are heaped. Megamind nods. Metro Man goes to get his clothes. Megamind watches him. It’s so painful and awkward and Metro Man tries to reason with himself, to rationalize staying even just a little while longer--- but his heart lurches and he’s not ready for it so he struggles back into his jeans and t-shirt as fast as he can without invoking his powers.
From the bed, Megamind says sincerely, “I’m glad you came.” Then he snorts and slaps his face. “I’m glad you came to see me. I mean, obviously I’m also glad that you, well, came, but thanks for coming--- arriving--- visiting. In the first place. I am so lame.”
“You can be pretty lame sometimes,” Metro Man smiles, chucking him under the chin. “But that’s because Justice rules and Evil drools.”
They used to scream that taunt at each other across the playground, the names switching up depending on who was doing the screaming. Megamind chuckles in remembrance.
“Evil rules,” he says. Then he says, “Kiss me.”
And Metro Man does. Megamind is still kneeling on the bed and he rises up as high as he can, but the hero still has to stoop to meet him, placing a hand at the small of his back to dip him. Megamind throws his arms around his neck, his hands pushing up into his hair, which must be a complete and utter disaster by now. When they break apart, Megamind is smiling.
“Let’s do this again,” he says, then rubs his nose against Metro Man’s in an Eskimo kiss. “Soon. Like, really soon. Okay?”
“Okay,” Metro Man agrees, then adds as a safeguard, “We’ll see.”
He’s just about to exit into the hall when Megamind calls one last time, “Who’s the man?”
Metro Man grins grudgingly. “You are.”
“I knew it.”
“For now.”
“I’m looking forward to the rematch.”
“Be ready.”
Then he nips into super speed and darts out the hall window into the sky, towards the stars. He doesn’t want to linger. He knows he’ll change his mind.
- - -
The next day, Minion is bringing fresh towels up to the bathroom when he nearly trips on something in the hall, something small that catches between the joints of one long mechanical toe. Bracing himself on the wall, he stoops and pulls out a plastic clothespin.
“What the hell...?”
_________end.
Author: colonel_bastard
Characters/Fandom: Megamind, Metro Man. Megamind [dur].
Word Count: 6,912
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Metro Man disobeys his conscience and pays a visit to Megamind's lair. A late night visit. And he's not calling for a cup of sugar.
Warnings: Slash, gratuitous oral sex, unhealthy amounts of banter, emotional constipation.
Notes: Third in my Dirty Little Secret series, with Metro Man sinking deeper and deeper into his "flirting with the dark side" phase. Feelings are discovered. Emotional feelings. I promised that people were gonna finally get naked in this one. I delivered. Nakedness galore. Ab worship was rightfully inspired by the awesome tripperfunster, who has made Metro Bear into a thing of legend. This one in particular was my guiding light while writing this piece. Title is taken from the Avril Lavgine song, whose chorus reminds me without fail of Metro Man: All my life I've been good, and now I'm thinking: WHAT THE HELL.
NOW WITH A GREASERIFFIC ILLUSTRATION BY junosunderland: ROCK THAT T-SHIRT!!
AND A SMOOCHY ILLUSTRATION BY tripperfunster: LITTLE BLUE RUMP AHOY!!
For the first time in years, Metro Man takes flight without his costume. A boy once asked him if it was the cape that gave him the ability to fly, and he was almost tempted to answer yes--- the power had become so inextricably linked to his superhero persona that he couldn’t even fathom using it for anything else. Now, as the crescent moon rolls up towards the center of the sky, he rises to meet it in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans. It’s not exactly what he would have chosen for such a trip, but he didn’t really give himself that much time to plan ahead. He didn’t want to second-guess himself into submission, so the moment the impulse came upon him, he was throwing open the bay windows of his bedroom and jumping into the air.
The night wind breaks on his bare arms like waves on the shore, cool and refreshing. He’s got an impressive five o’clock shadow, he’s not wearing any shoes, his t-shirt isn’t even one of those hip designer things, it’s just a plain white Hanes tagless that he sometimes sleeps in. He could hardly look any less like his public self, and that could hardly be more appropriate.
For years he’s pretended not to know where Megamind’s hideout is. Now he arcs up towards the stars and glides right down onto the rooftop, landing soundlessly on bare feet and peering through the ceilings and floors, his super vision scanning not for the villain but the sidekick. He finds Minion in a big glass tank out by the monitors in the observation bay. The fish is settled in one corner of an underwater castle, not moving, clearly asleep. Perfect. Metro Man sweeps back up into the air, slips around to one side of the warehouse, and lets himself in through the window that he scouted out days ago.
He’s in the hallway between Megamind’s bedroom and his bathroom. Although he planned to sneak into the former, he hears a distinct rustling in the latter and peeks around the half-open door to find the source. Megamind, clad in probably the most adorable and ridiculous pajamas Metro Man has ever seen, is slouched in front of the sink, brushing his teeth with a disinterested expression. For the second time in as many minutes, Metro Man uses one of his heroic powers for his own selfish gain, and in a burst of super speed he sneaks up behind the little villain, taking hold of his collar and striking a familiar I’m-about-to-haul-your-perfect-blue-ass-to-prison pose. He appears like a flash in the reflection and Megamind’s sleepy eyes bulge out of their sockets, his startled squawk spraying the mirror with a mouthful of minty white foam.
“Metro Man!” he squeals, whirling around and clutching the sink for support. “What are you--- ugh, oh, how embarrassing---”
He fumbles for a towel to wipe the slobber from his face, his other hand holding the hero at bay while he cleans himself up. Metro Man stoops and retrieves the toothbrush that got dropped in the scare, and when he offers it to Megamind, the villain snatches it from his hand and slings it into the sink.
“You have a lot of nerve,” he hisses. “Breaking in? In the middle of the night? I’m not even alone, you could have been seen by---” Shrill gasp. “---Minion!”
Vaulting past Metro Man, he flings the bathroom door shut and flattens himself against it, his skinny chest pumping frantically as his blood pressure skyrockets in a surge of panic. The hero can actually hear the beat of his heart accelerate into something close to a purr as he splays his limbs this way and that, as though unable to decide the most efficient way to prevent their discovery.
“Relax, little buddy. Your fish is fast asleep.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked.”
Green eyes narrow suspiciously, but his cute little mouth is already curling up in a grin of grudging admiration.
“For such a goody two-shoes,” he smirks. “You’re pretty good at sneaking around.”
“I learned from watching the master.”
Megamind gives his chin a devious stroke, an in-character gesture that looks glaringly out of place in his pajamas. His thumb finds a smear of toothpaste and he frowns, his brow crinkling in mortification as turns back to the sink and twists the handles. Water pours into his cupped hands and he scrubs his face vigorously.
“You could have let me know you were coming,” he accuses between splashes. “I must look a mess--- I haven’t even plucked my brows yet--- and oh, God, my pajamas, you must think I’m an imbecile---”
“Hey, no worries,” Metro Man holds out reassuring hands, then indicates himself. “I’m hardly dressed for the red carpet, here.”
Megamind squints peevishly at the reflection over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you didn’t plan that look. It reeks of the fetishized ‘50s greaser. Your American everyman act won’t work on me, playboy!”
“No, really, I just threw something on after work.”
The villain dunks his face abruptly in the sink, surfacing with a splutter of, “And he’s stylish without meaning to be. Is there anything you can’t do?”
His gaze tracing the curve of the slender shoulders, Metro Man murmurs, “I can’t stay away from you.”
Their eyes meet in the mirror, Megamind’s wide and amazed greens finding the steady blues.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “Uh, victory is mine?”
And as the hero lurches forward, Megamind spins to meet him, their mouths connecting in a sloppy kiss. Metro Man cups a face that’s still cold and wet from the washing, the skin as fresh as it can be. His touch is the first to be smeared across the clean slate.
“Unf,” Megamind groans into him. “You haven’t shaved--- hmmf--- it feels good.”
“And you taste so minty fresh,” the hero chuckles.
Megamind’s hands flutter like birds at his chest, skittering down to find the hem of his t-shirt and tug upwards. Cool blue palms skate adoringly along his ribcage.
“Your skin is so warm,” the villain pants. “Warmer than I thought.”
Hooking a finger in the collar of his pajama shirt, Metro Man tugs it towards him and fumbles with the top button. Megamind grabs his wrists anxiously.
“Are you undressing me?” he gasps, flustered by every new change in the routine.
“Yes,” the hero answers calmly, button after button coming undone at his touch. “Is that okay?”
“That is--- that is definitely okay,” Megamind giggles to hide his nervousness. “I was actually kind of hoping that you would, ah--- never mind.”
Baring one pale shoulder, Metro Man covers it with his mouth and sighs, “Tell me.”
“Ohhh,” the slender body shivers. “I just---” He scratches his nails lightly, teasingly, down those massive forearms. “I really like it when you touch my feet.”
“You just want me to touch them?”
“No,” Megamind huffs against his neck. “I want you to suck them.”
“I was planning on sucking something else, actually.”
The patterned flannel finally pulls open, revealing a chest even skinnier than Metro Man had pictured. He knew that his nemesis was thin, but somehow he had not anticipated that every little rib would be visible under the blue skin, as if his torso has been painted with gently scalloped edges. He runs his enormous hands over the peaks and valleys, the softer parts of his palms filling in the channels. Megamind’s skin twitches in time with his pounding heart.
Metro Man pries the needy blue hands off of him long enough to pull the shirt down and off his arms entirely. Naked to the waist, Megamind flushes pink at the ears and throat, covering his grinning mouth with one disbelieving hand.
“You move pretty fast,” he observes.
“I’m making up for lost time.”
Down the ribs to the sloping hips, where his thumbs tug out the elastic waistband and shuck the pajama pants down to his knees. Megamind arches towards him and Metro Man uses that momentum to sweep him off his feet, hoisting him up and seating him on the bathroom counter, making up a small fraction of their height difference. The villain kicks and squirms until he gets the pants down to his ankles, at which point he shakes them to the floor and wraps his naked legs around the hero’s waist, pulling him in flush against his body.
They kiss recklessly, noisily, all hungry tongues and heavy breathing. Megamind’s hands, bare for the first time, fumble with the hero’s ears, a clumsy attempt to steer the kiss, and although it would take Metro Man no effort to resist, he lays his pride and strength aside and lets himself be guided. It’s exciting, not knowing what comes next. It’s not a feeling he gets to have very often. In fact, this whole situation is so unique that he wants to be able to commit every single detail to memory, just in case he never gets to feel this way again.
So he opens his eyes.
The mirror shows him Megamind’s slim back, the undulating curve of his spine, the angular shoulderblades straining against the skin like wings fighting to grow. Pillowed on the countertop, the little blue rump looks more than anything like the top of a little blue heart. And over one little blue shoulder, Metro Man sees himself.
It’s funny. He’s seen his own image so many thousands of times--- on televisions, on magazine covers--- that it’s become artificial even to him. Now he hardly recognizes himself. It’s not that his face has changed--- just the expression. It’s distorted with lust. He’s never seen himself like this before. Probably because he’s never really done this before. By definition, then, it must be bad. The logic is simple. He is Metro Man. He only does good. If he’s never done something, then it’s probably bad. Simple enough, but...
But it feels good. It feels so good when Megamind kisses him just like that, and he aches with the desire for it to never stop. He can’t remember the last time anything felt this good. Not when he extinguished the orphanage fire with one blast of his cooling breath. Not when he caught the plunging 747 and carried it all the way to Metro City International Airport. Not even the first time they presented him with the key to the city, when he was only twenty years old and too young to legally share in the celebratory champagne.
Should he stop? It’s bad, it’s wrong, he should stop, but he can’t, he wants it too much. And at this point, he figures he’s been good for long enough. He’s been good his whole life, and it hasn’t done him a lick of good in return. Not like this. Not even close. So he closes his eyes again and loses himself in the roar of Megamind’s racing heartbeat.
“I want to taste you,” he groans. “Will you let me do that?”
“Let you?” Megamind wheezes. “I was going to beg you, but sure, whatever works, go for it, I won’t stop you.”
Metro Man sinks to his knees. Megamind’s cock is small and a rich purple, the blue skin deepened to the color of wine by the red blood beneath it. When he leans forward, the villain flinches backward with a nervous hiss of “ah!” Then he takes it in his mouth, and Megamind jerks forward with an incoherent grunt, a grunt that turns into a moan when he finds out that Metro Man can easily fit all of him. There’s a dull thud as the villain’s head tilts back into the mirror, his body arching in a bow of pleasure. And Metro Man hasn’t even gone to work yet.
He flattens his tongue and draws a thick, wet line from base to tip. Megamind’s hands burrow into his hair, his legs hooking over his shoulders, the heels dug deep into the invulnerable skin. Metro Man clasps a hip with one hand, cups a thigh with the other. He holds him hard enough to leave bruises. Megamind doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he seems to enjoy that part especially.
“Harder!” he demands, tearing at that perfect hair. “Come on, you fucker--- I mean--- ungh--- Metro Man--- I’m sorry, I just--- hahhh--- I just got carried away--- you fuh--- you fuh--- you fungus--- ugh, that’s worse---”
“Hey, little buddy,” the hero says between mouthfuls. “Relax. I like the dirty words.”
“Mmmf--- fuck!--- okay, are you happy--- nnngh--- you’re reducing me to this--- this kind of language--- after I’ve worked so hard to--- fuck fuck!--- to cultivate the image of a sophistacay-ay-ated--- oh that right there--- that’s so good---”
Metro Man has no idea what he’s doing. He just licks and kisses and sucks, and when Megamind’s speech breaks he figures that means he’s doing something right, so he does it a few more times before he tries something else. The villain keeps trying to scoot closer and closer to him, and if Metro Man didn’t have at least one hand on him to hold him back then he’d probably scoot right off the edge of the counter. As it is, the hero keeps both hands on his companion, only because he’s so fucking turned on that if he doesn’t keep his hands busy then he might not be able to stop himself from jerking off before Megamind even gets a chance to return the favor.
But he can do more, and he knows exactly what it should be. He leaves one hand still cradling the villain’s thigh, but with the other he reaches over his shoulder and finds one of the feet that are currently digging into his back. He lifts it and presses until Megamind yields, the knee pulling up to his chest, the foot now in a position where Metro Man can comfortably reach it. It fits snugly into the cocoon of his hand, and as he curls his fingers into a sensuous squeeze, he plows his thumb up the center of the arch.
Megamind yelps, his leg kicking in a helpless spasm of pleasure. Metro Man’s hand remains exactly in place, immoveable, so the villain’s kick ends up launching him back into the mirror with a terrific bang. The huge plane of glass wobbles but holds, while Megamind huddles and slaps his hands protectively over the back of his head, his eyes screwed shut in pain.
“Whoa, whoa!” Metro Man reaches up and lays concerned hands on his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Megamind mumbles, clearly mortified.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. That was my fault.”
He is not prepared for those eyes to open wide, for them to be wet with frustrated tears, glistening and deeply green. They paralyze him.
“Whoa,” he says again, at a loss, and he wonders if it’s possible to recognize the exact moment when you fall in love with someone.
“It’s just,” Megamind sniffs, his voice thick with disappointment. “You’re so cool and naturally charismatic. You’re a snappy dresser and you give great interviews. You must think I’m so... lame.”
“I don’t think you’re lame.”
“What are you even doing here?” he frets. “Shouldn’t you be on a date with Miss Ritchi, wining and dining at one of those really nice restaurants where there are musicians walking around, and I mean like violinists, not like those horrible Mexican restaurants where there are mariachi bands screaming in your ear and everyone speaks Mexican so you can’t even tell them to go away so you just have to smile and nod like you’re enjoying the fact that your dinner conversation has to be put on hold for the next ten minutes while you’re forced to listen to---”
Metro Man silences him with a kiss, both hands firmly pulling his face down to him, his open mouth catching the last few words before Megamind shuts up and kisses him back. Twice during the kiss he feels Megamind try to pull back and he won’t let him. He kisses him senseless, and when he finally breaks away and sits back on his heels, the villain’s expression is so dazed and dreamy that he half-expects the pupils of his eyes to turn into hearts.
“Does that answer your question?” he asks, and he has to admit, he does feel pretty cool right now.
“Technically, no,” Megamind murmurs. “But I think you got your point across.”
“You know how I roll,” Metro Man gives him a dashing wink. “Less conversation, more action. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish what I’ve started.”
“Hmmf,” the villain blushes. “Okay.”
Metro Man kisses him again, and again, first on the mouth and then on the neck, his lips leaving a trail across the sweet dip of his collarbone and down the curve of his chest and stomach--- a curve that starts as a shy concave and swells to an eager convex as Megamind rolls back with a long, luxurious moan.
“That’s more like it,” the hero chuckles, lavishing kisses on his belly.
“I thought you said less conversation,” Megamind teases, the edge of the taunt made razor-sharp by the want in his voice.
And Metro Man answers him the only way he can. He buries his face between the slim blue thighs, his own hips jerking convulsively at the ecstatic whimper that breaks like lightning over his super hearing. He devotes himself to the task, to the taste, to the heat that begs to be released. He tries taking the cock in his hand, compressing his mouth on just the head of it, his tongue flicking and fondling while his fingers slide back and forth. And when he chances a look up to gauge his progress, he sees Megamind looking right back at him.
Their eyes meet, and hold. The villain has one hand braced on the edge of the counter, but the other he slides shakily through the perfect hair that has begun to go silver at the temples, his palm feeling scorching hot as it brushes the hero’s ear. Suddenly, more than anything, Metro Man wants to make him come. What do you even call this? When you touch someone and it suddenly fits, suddenly makes sense, and you absolutely know what you want to do? Megamind trembles under his hands, in his mouth, and he never thought it could be like this. He holds his eyes and takes him in deep, and even though the green eyes flutter and almost roll over, Megamind won’t look away.
It’s so quiet, no words, just the hot wet sounds of sex and the muffled grunts that catch in the back of Megamind’s throat, full-bodied cries that he bites his lip to contain. His breathing gets faster, his nostrils flaring, and Metro Man can feel the fingers in his hair curling into a fist. It doesn’t hurt, but even if it did, he wouldn’t give a damn. He’s almost there.
“Fuck---” Megamind gasps. “I can’t--- mmf--- ah--- Metro Man---”
Then all at once he comes, and Metro Man isn’t ready for it, and it gets all over his face and he doesn’t care. He just swipes his mouth and chin against the sleeve of his t-shirt and smiles up at Megamind’s woozy face, at the exquisite eyes gone half-lidded and the jaw gone slack.
He wants to say: God you’re beautiful.
And instead he says, “So, who’s the man?”
The villain takes a quick breath, then changes his mind and releases it in a sigh of objection, his brow furrowed.
“I don’t think that question can be answered at this point.”
“Why not?”
Megamind has a smile like a crescent moon in a pale blue sky. It was one of the first things that Metro Man ever noticed about him, how that funny blue kid had such white white teeth, back when he still smiled, when he still thought he could make friends. His smile has changed so much since then--- he’s lost his baby teeth, and the softer angles of his face have sharpened into something a bit more predatory, like a kitten growing into a cat. What a funny-looking kid he used to be. What a sexy-looking man he’s grown into. Sometimes that ugly duckling thing really rings true.
“Because,” the villain smirks. “I haven’t had a turn yet.”
“Oh,” Metro Man raises his eyebrows. “You think you can do better?”
“I think I can do a lot better.”
“You think you’re going to make me kick so hard that I almost break a mirror?”
“I think I’m going to make you come so hard you see stars.”
Well, it’s pretty hard to remain suave following something like that. Metro Man feels the cheeky grin drop right off of his face, replaced by a gaping mouth and goggled eyes. Megamind coughs self-consciously.
“Hmm. I... I don’t think I meant to say that out loud.”
Like a lovestruck teenager, Metro Man breathes, “I am so glad you did.”
Megamind crinkles his nose, equal parts titillated and disbelieving, his eyes narrowed in glee--- not so different from a lovestruck teenager himself.
“Okay, Mr. Not-So-Goody Two-Shoes,” he snickers, then tries to school his voice into something a little more confident and seductive. “How about we take this to the bedroom?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Little bare feet make the cutest slapping sound on the tile floor, as Megamind hops down from the counter and scampers over to the bathroom door, pressing his ear against the crack.
“We’ll have to be very quiet,” he mutters. “If Minion catches us I think he will literally die from shock. Literally. Okay, I’ll go first, and I’ll sneak down to the end of the hall and listen for any footsteps, and if I---”
Without waiting for him to finish, Metro Man scoops the villain up into his arms and switches into super speed, then opens the door and saunters boldly into the hall. Megamind clings to him like a cat that doesn’t want to go into the bathtub, all terrified tension and furious indignation.
“Are you crazy? Don’t go out into the--- no no no--- okay well now that we’re in the hall don’t just stand here--- Metro Man--- hurry hurry hurry--- what are you doing we’re gonna get caught---”
“Take it easy,” the hero laughs. “No one can see us. Watch.”
Shifting Megamind’s weight into the crook of one massive arm, he rummages in the pockets of his jeans with the other. The only thing he has on him is a plastic clothespin--- the housekeeper at the mansion uses them to close the bags in the pantry, and after he polished off the last of the Fritos he wasn’t sure what to do with and just stuck it in his pocket. Now he tosses it out in front of them, and as it leaves his hand, it loses the effect of the super speed. It freezes in mid-air.
“Oh!” Megamind exclaims. “Oh, I guess we’re--- you’re doing the thing with the--- yes. Well. Carry on.”
Metro Man doesn’t bring them out of it until he’s just about to close the bedroom door behind them, and then the click of the latch is echoed by the clatter of the clothespin hitting the floor in the hallway outside.
“That’s a very useful trick,” the villain observes, then gestures a bit nervously at the room. “And here we are.”
As far as bedrooms go, this one is almost hilariously ordinary. A bed with a table and lamp beside it, a desk scattered with papers and tiny models (mostly depicting robots of a no doubt sinister nature). There are no dressers or cabinets--- in fact, there’s no sign at all of the villain’s massive costume collection. He must keep it elsewhere. There’s probably an entire room in this building that’s devoted solely to capes. Comparing it to his own bedroom, the hero realizes that there isn’t a TV, either. Metro Man has had a TV in his bedroom for as long as he can remember. Maybe that’s just a “rich people” thing.
“I like it,” he says. “It’s cozy.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure it hardly compares to yours. You probably have sheets made of silk, and a giant crystal chandelier, and pillows stuffed with... peacock feathers. Or something.”
“Just plain eiderdown, actually.”
While Megamind locks the door and presses his ear against it to verify their secrecy, Metro Man takes a few steps towards the bed. The bedding is all jet black, from the comforter to the pillowcases, and on the bedside table is a pile of magazines. In the bedroom of a single man he might have expected something a little racier (he prefers vintage Playboys himself), but it’s just old copies of Metro Monthly and Time Out: Metro City. Then he notices that they all have his picture on the cover.
Suddenly Megamind is diving past him, a naked blue blur as he throws himself on the night table in a desperate attempt to shield its contents from view.
“Just some--- reading material--- I have, um, narcolepsy--- I mean insomnia--- this is just something to pass the time---”
He fumbles with the table’s drawer, yanking it open and mashing the magazines in as quickly as he can. Paper tears and crinkles. There’s definitely a bottle of lotion in there. Megamind is blushing like a rose, and when he finally slams the drawer shut he slumps back against it and covers his face with his hands.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“But I did.” Metro Man takes a step closer. “So, you think about me at night, huh?”
A defeated sigh. “Yes.”
Another step closer. “You fantasize about me?”
A tantalizing shiver. “All the time.”
Another step. “You fantasize about what you want to do to me?”
A raised eyebrow. “You have no idea.”
One more step and Megamind is in his shadow. “So,” he says. “Do you want to show me?”
Megamind purses his lips. “In my fantasies, you’re usually naked.”
“So let’s fix that.”
He saunters back and sits on the edge of the bed, but when he crosses his arms and reaches down to grab his t-shirt, Megamind says, “Wait.” At Metro Man’s intrigued look, he continues, “I want to do it.”
He comes close, close enough to share a breath, but he hesitates when he touches the white cotton hem. “Moment of truth,” he laughs weakly. “Okay, uh, arms up?”
Metro Man raises his hands and loses sight of his companion as the t-shirt turns inside-out over his shoulders and head. It reaches his hands and he pulls it the rest of the way off, balling it up and tossing it for the corner. Then he drops his elbows to his knees and shrugs, feeling extremely weird. Is this... self-consciousness? Is he feeling self-conscious? That would be a first.
“Well,” he quirks his mouth. “What do you think?”
Megamind doesn’t answer. He just stares. His eyes are as wide as they can possibly be, his mouth formed into a soundless o.
“Great Neptune’s beard...” he whispers at last. “It’s glorious...”
Rapt with wonder, he slowly brings his hands up to his face. Then he slowly reaches them towards the hero’s chest, where they nestle palm-first into the thick dark hair. They remain perfectly still. Then they start to rub tentatively back and forth.
“Like the Black Forest!” he breathes.
Emboldened, intoxicated, his hands spread out, sliding again and again through the fur, scratching and tugging at it in amazement. Hairs catch between his fingers and tug sharp, hot on Metro Man’s nerves--- he’s unaccustomed to the stinging sensation. Sheer overexposure has dulled him to the feeling of bullets and blunt objects, but these lighter touches seem to be reaching him on a whole other level, and he shivers as Megamind rubs and paws at his belly.
“It’s all over your chest... it’s all over your abs... my God, you have amazing abs--- no, you have an amazing body! I can’t... ungh, it feels so good to rub it...”
His praise is so energetic and earnest, his appreciation so genuine and passionate, that Metro Man actually hums with pleasure. He has never felt more proud of his body, never felt more handsome or more sexy. He almost loses it completely when Megamind suddenly buries his face into the center of his chest.
“Ohhhhh, God,” the villain moans. “It smells so fucking good. Oh my God. What is that smell, what are you wearing, I mean please tell me that’s a cologne and you don’t just naturally smell like that because that would be too unfair.”
“It’s Jean Paul Gaultier, Pour Homme.”
“Thank God.”
Megamind snuffles around like an addict, as if he’s decided that he has to rub his face against every square inch from shoulders on down. Just when Metro Man thinks it can’t get any better, he starts licking, and then he starts biting, and yeah, that might be the best yet. The villain finds one nipple and lavishes it with attention from his mouth, finding the other one with his fingers and giving it a hard tweak.
“I love your chest,” he gushes, nose smushed against the left pectoral. “I could live on this chest. Forever. You’re like a bear. A majestic Metro Bear. And your fur is an aphrodisiac.”
Metro Man makes a strangled squawking sound that seems to snap him out of it, for Megamind sits back and wonders, “What, what’s wrong?”
“Uh, little buddy,” the hero says faintly. “I hate to rush you, but could you hurry up with the undressing thing, please?”
Following the indicative jerk of his chin, Megamind looks down and notices the blue jeans straining almost to the point of bursting, zipper and seams alike in peril of being torn apart. He gives a yelp of dismay and hurries to unbutton and unzip. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he babbles. “Is it hurting you?”
“It’d take a lot worse to hurt me,” Metro Man smirks. “But these are my favorite jeans and I’d like to wear them again if I could.”
There’s a flurry of mutual effort, and then the jeans end up on top of the t-shirt, far away and forgotten. Before Metro Man even has a chance to say anything, Megamind gapes, “There’s more?”
“Uh, more what?”
“Hair.” Megamind reflexively touches his own chest. “You have so much hair. All over you. It’s kind of... intimidating. And exotic. And of course, um, you have that, um, that.” He makes a vague upwards gesture that seems to indicate erection. “It’s very exciting.” He reaches an index finger towards it, then freezes and looks up into the hero’s eyes. “Can I touch it?”
Metro Man cants his aching hips towards him. “I really wish you would.”
Megamind starts with just his hands. The skin of them is bewitchingly soft after spending most of his adult life hidden and protected inside of gloves, and they stroke smoothly along Metro Man’s length. His touch is a bit shaky at first, but his confidence mounts with every draw, and his grip gets harder every time. Soon enough Metro Man is gasping, his hands fisting in the black comforter underneath him.
Twice Megamind leans in as though about to apply his mouth, but both times he shies away at the last moment. On the third approach, he murmurs, “God, you’re huge,” before finally taking the head of the cock into him. It takes every ounce of Metro Man’s willpower not to buck towards the contact. It feels fucking amazing and his body instantly begs for more. The villain’s mouth is hot and wet and good--- and then there’s the first burning stroke from his clever tongue, which is evidently skilled at much more than banter. Metro Man’s eyes roll in his skull like tossed dice. This might drive him crazy.
“Agh, buddy---” he rasps. “Megamind--- that feels so amazing---”
“Really?” Megamind squeaks, then says hastily, “I mean--- of course it does. I told you so.”
“Nuh uh uh,” Metro Man scolds. “I’m not seeing stars yet.”
“That’s because I’m just warming up.”
If that was the warm-up, then what comes next must be the main event--- Megamind’s mouth rolls down one side of the cock, laving it with his tongue all the way down to the base, his nose buried in the curly dark hair. Then he goes back up and over, echoing the gesture on the other side. Metro Man’s hips roll in time with him, finding his rhythm and matching it, magnifying it. His mind bubbles up into heat and white noise. He forgets that this ever felt wrong. Right now it only feels good.
Megamind’s mouth hardly ever leaves Metro Man’s cock, but his hands soon begin to wander freely about the muscular body. First they massages his thighs, kneading at him like a big cat. Then one hand glides up over his hip and then down around to his ass, wriggling between his flesh and the comforter and squeezing an enthusiastic handful of the former.
Of course, Megamind saves his favorite treat for last, and as his oral ministrations intensify, he burrows his remaining hand into the fur on Metro Man’s abs.
“I love your body,” he grunts, then fastens on and sucks hard.
Metro Man thought it would be Megamind’s touch that satisfied him. He just figured that if he could finally release some of this pent-up physical energy then maybe he would stop thinking such crazy thoughts and get back to his normal life. He’s only just now realized that it’s not going to be enough. It’s not his body that needs the attention. No, what’s turning him on the hardest and touching him the deepest--- is Megamind’s words. He doesn’t just want some empty physical relief. He wants to hear Megamind say he’s sexy.
Everyone in the world tells him he’s handsome. Everyone tells him he’s exceptional and gorgeous and worthy of love. The only person who’s never once told him that before is Megamind, and because of that, because he’s waited this long to say it, this is the first time that Metro Man has ever believed it’s true.
He comes, his body arching, his senses singing, and he squeezes his eyes shut so tight that, oh shit, he sees stars. He’s actually not surprised. As the orgasm splinters out through him like a shockwave, he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw fireworks.
He slumps back onto the bed, feeling kind of like a shell casing after a tremendous gunshot, spent but satisfied. Megamind crawls up beside him, licking his lips, a smug blue feline.
“Did you swallow?” Metro Man gawks.
“You bet your ass I did.”
The hero slaps an incredulous hand over his forehead. “How the hell did you get so good at that?”
“I once overheard a very interesting conversation between Uncle Toby and Aunt Christopher,” the villain taps his chin contemplatively. “And ever since then I’ve wanted to try some of those techniques firsthand. I take it they were a success?”
“My compliments to the both of them.”
“So,” Megamind purrs, very near his ear. “Did you see stars?”
He isn’t even tempted to lie. “I sure did, little buddy.”
“That technically answers the question, but I think I’d like to hear you say it anyway. Who’s the man?”
“Megamind,” he points a cautionary finger. “For now.”
“Are we gonna do that again?” Megamind pounces on his chest. “Are you gonna stay the night? Can we have a sleepover, but like, with sex? Wouldn’t that be the most awesome thing ever?”
It would totally be the most awesome thing ever.
But--- no. No. It has a whole host of connotations that Metro Man is suddenly extremely aware of. I mean, what is he saying if he spends the night in Megamind’s bed? Wouldn’t that take this to a whole other level of weirdness? It would be almost like making it official, or saying that it was permanent, a guarantee that the behavior would continue, which, maybe that could be nice for a little while, but in the long run, are either of them really prepared to deal with a relationship like this? They have a routine, an amazing routine that has taken them so safely through all these years. Doesn’t spending the night kind of mean that routine is officially broken?
Is Metro Man ready for the routine to be broken?
“I wish I could stay,” he says quietly. “But I can’t. I have an early day tomorrow---”
“Oh! Well, we could set an alarm---”
“---yeah, you know, I really can’t risk not being there, they’ll wonder where I am---”
“---I guess, okay, if you think that would be a problem---”
“---plus, you know, Minion could walk in at anytime, and what would we do then---”
“---no, no, you’re right, you’re totally right, you should probably go.”
They both sort of stare at each other in awkward silence. Metro Man jerks a thumb towards the corner where his clothes are heaped. Megamind nods. Metro Man goes to get his clothes. Megamind watches him. It’s so painful and awkward and Metro Man tries to reason with himself, to rationalize staying even just a little while longer--- but his heart lurches and he’s not ready for it so he struggles back into his jeans and t-shirt as fast as he can without invoking his powers.
From the bed, Megamind says sincerely, “I’m glad you came.” Then he snorts and slaps his face. “I’m glad you came to see me. I mean, obviously I’m also glad that you, well, came, but thanks for coming--- arriving--- visiting. In the first place. I am so lame.”
“You can be pretty lame sometimes,” Metro Man smiles, chucking him under the chin. “But that’s because Justice rules and Evil drools.”
They used to scream that taunt at each other across the playground, the names switching up depending on who was doing the screaming. Megamind chuckles in remembrance.
“Evil rules,” he says. Then he says, “Kiss me.”
And Metro Man does. Megamind is still kneeling on the bed and he rises up as high as he can, but the hero still has to stoop to meet him, placing a hand at the small of his back to dip him. Megamind throws his arms around his neck, his hands pushing up into his hair, which must be a complete and utter disaster by now. When they break apart, Megamind is smiling.
“Let’s do this again,” he says, then rubs his nose against Metro Man’s in an Eskimo kiss. “Soon. Like, really soon. Okay?”
“Okay,” Metro Man agrees, then adds as a safeguard, “We’ll see.”
He’s just about to exit into the hall when Megamind calls one last time, “Who’s the man?”
Metro Man grins grudgingly. “You are.”
“I knew it.”
“For now.”
“I’m looking forward to the rematch.”
“Be ready.”
Then he nips into super speed and darts out the hall window into the sky, towards the stars. He doesn’t want to linger. He knows he’ll change his mind.
- - -
The next day, Minion is bringing fresh towels up to the bathroom when he nearly trips on something in the hall, something small that catches between the joints of one long mechanical toe. Bracing himself on the wall, he stoops and pulls out a plastic clothespin.
“What the hell...?”
_________end.