The stale smell of the ship's filtered air still let through Anissa's scent - some wild flower smell that stuck to me, maybe warning, maybe daring. Can't read her lately. Through the window, Earth floated, bright blue and green in the dark, felt close but full of old hurts. Wonder if Diana broke when she heard what really went down. Wonder if Thragg tore through the Graysons like cheap foil. Was Oliver just dust drifting past some forgotten star cluster by now? Those thoughts kept banging around in my head, constant pressure under this calm face I wear. There was movement inside me - a quiet electric buzz that wouldn't quit - some leftover jolt from recent chaos plus Anissa's wild mood swings mixing together.
Beside me, Anissa reached into a stretch - tight fabric pulling across her shoulders. Her blue eyes, normally sharp with doubt or coldness, stayed fixed on Earth drawing near, but gentler this time. She always lived in opposites. Back in that cell once, she'd pulled me close and kissed like fire, only to snarl about snapping me apart moments after. Today? Today I'm allowed nearby. Sometimes even welcomed.
"Still pretending to be calm, huh?" Her tone rumbled low - rough yet smooth, like stones wrapped in velvet. Slumping into the seat, she let herself go loose on purpose, making it look like she didn't care at all - or maybe like she dared me to react. Not that I did. But she noticed anyway. Said she could sense how tight I felt. Like something was bugging me. Then came her hand, tracing my jawline slow, just enough touch to make things tingle. That small brush sent a jolt through me; my eyes flared without warning, glowing orange for a flash, painting the dim space in sudden firelight hues. My gut stirred. Under her careful coolness, things clashed - spikes of bitterness mixed with grudging regard, twisted tight into the bare, sharp hunger of someone dangerous. Then deeper… something softer, messier: a pull like returning somewhere known. Desire again. And it was aimed right at me.
"Just running numbers," I said, moving my foot. My mind zipped through moves - how she stared, where her arm might swing, what mood flickered under her skin. Guessing Anissa's next move? Like tracking a storm that changes direction mid-breath. Wild. Draining. From this spot, Earth seems fine. Not bad.
She let out a sharp little laugh. "Hope? Really? Since you came back from being dead?" She shifted nearer, and warmth poured off her Viltrumite body - strange, since we sat in a cooled cockpit space. Her smell hit me harder now - like storms, fights, and some wild kind of womanhood that didn't play nice. Maybe she wasn't buying my act at all. Fingers slid down my chest, dragging lightly with dull nails over dense muscle under the alien-made fabric I wore. I caught the faint rise in her pulse, sensed her heat climbing just a notch. No act, no confusion, just raw want - simple, real - for this moment.
The pull between us started in that cramped Coalition cell, where I'd laid out exactly what I wanted - no filters, no shame. She fired back with fury, full of fire and spite, yet didn't crush me on the spot. That counted as a win at the time. Now, racing into an unknown version of Earth, that old spark flared again, buzzing like live current. I was still being a jerk, sure - but this time, it wasn't just on me. My kinetic absorption flickered quiet-like, soaking up loose sparks zipping under my skin, shunting them… off somewhere else. Pay attention, idiot. Ground yourself. Get answers before anything else. Then her hand caught the edge of my pants - Anissa - and suddenly the numbers didn't add up right.
"Distracting someone can actually work," I said, my voice rougher than meant. I grabbed her wrist, holding it tight - not harsh, just firm. My eyes flared, glowing like hot coals. Especially useful when things drag on. Every bit of feeling in me locked onto her - the tiny shift in her gaze, how she held her breath, that sharp hunger beneath the surface tangled with sweet loathing. She craved the clash same as the heat. Craved it deep.
The couch jerked under us when my knee hit hers - she'd shoved it right in. "Strategies?" she breathed, nibbling at my ear. "Way too many words." Then she sprang up sharp, tight like a spring, every inch focused, crashing her lips into mine hard, no softness left. Pure takeover.
Beneath my skin, energy crackled - barely held back - making every touch sharper than it should've been. The sudden bite on my lip hit hard; her body pressed down with a force that didn't care about grace. I crashed into the cold plas-steel wall, its chill seeping through fabric just as her heat followed. My shirt tore apart under her grip - one quick twist, gone like dry leaves. Air rushed over me right before her mouth clamped on, rough and claiming. I grabbed fistfuls of her dark hair, yanking until her neck stretched toward me. A growl rolled out from inside her - not quite words, but clear enough: bring it.
She ripped my trousers clean off, fabric dissolving under her grasp. She took in my donkey dick with obvious approval and her hands went to caress it immediately. My eyes rolled back as her rough palms scraped along my skin. She climbed onto my lap, frayed Coalition tunic bunched around her waist, straddling me in one violent, efficient motion. Her ass slapped my thighs as she settled her weight. Her blue eyes burned as she leaned forward, fingers digging into my shoulders as she balanced herself, her breath hot against my chin.
I moved faster than her with enhanced reflexes, grabbing her hips and lifting her off me entirely before slamming her down onto her knees before me. Her startled curse was muffled against my lap as I guided her mouth onto me, hips bucking uncontrollably as the wet heat enveloped me. Her throat muscles worked against the intrusion, fingers clawing into my thighs as she fought for control, fought *not* to gag as I filled her. I kept her head locked in place with one hand tangled in her hair, forcing her mouth down to the base, pulling her back up slowly only to thrust deep again. Spit slicked her chin, mingling with the rapid pulse thrumming at her throat. It felt heavenly. Each drag of her tongue sent fire licking up my spine. Her orange gaze flickered up, furious, challenging. I saw the calculation behind it—the angle of escape, the leverage she might gain.
Her fingers dug deeper, blunt nails threatening to pierce my skin as she sank her teeth into my thigh, biting hard enough to bruise. Pain flashed bright and sharp before my absorption kicked in, diffusing it into a low thrumming wave that amplified the pleasure. She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks, rhythm turning punishing. Her hatred was palpable, a tangible force radiating from her like radiation, fueling her need to dominate. It only made me harder. My grip tightened in her hair as I drove her deeper onto me, thrusting into her throat with abandon as she choked and gagged around me, her nails drawing blood that evaporated under my skin's reactive field. The heat built low in my gut, tightening impossibly with her hateful gaze locked on mine. With a ragged groan, I came violently down her throat, thick ropes spurting past her lips. She swallowed convulsively, gagging again, attempting to pull away as I pushed deeper until every drop was spent.
She broke away coughing, spitting onto the deck plating, wiping her swollen mouth with the back of her hand. Anger still burned in her eyes, but beneath it roiled satisfaction in having wrung that reaction from me. She didn't waste time. Before I could recover from the wave of climax, she rolled forward onto all fours in predatory readiness, presenting her ass to me. Her wetness gleamed in the cabin light as she arched her back, white skin kissed softly by bruises already forming from my grip. An invitation and a dare.
I gripped her hips, fingers sinking into dense, yielding muscle. Alignment was instantaneous, angles calculated and compensated for effortlessly as I thrust forward hard, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. Her cry tore through the cabin—half shock, half savage delight—as her claws raked deep furrows in the deck plating. Her inner muscles clenched around me, a vice grip that threatened to drag me under. I pulled back almost entirely, relishing the slick friction, before plunging in again, setting a punishing rhythm that verged on painful. Each thrust slammed her forward, forcing a high, keening gasp from her lips. My hands moved lower, sliding beneath her to cup her breasts, pinching her dark nipples hard as I drove into her with unrestrained force. Beneath the ferocity, the hatred and competition that fueled her, the base truth of her passion resonated through my empathetic awareness—pure, unfiltered need. She wanted it savage. She wanted it brutal. She wanted to *feel* overpowered.
I obliged. Yanking her up onto her knees, I wrapped one arm around her throat in a chokehold, pulling her back flush against my sweat-slicked chest as I continued to pound into her slow and deep. The other hand slipped between her legs, fingers finding her clit and stroking viciously. She threw her head back against my shoulder, exposing the vulnerable column of her throat as she gasped. "Is this—ah!—what you'd do to an enemy?" she gasped out, her voice thick with exertion and something dangerously close to surrender.
"Enemies don't get this," I growled against her ear, my teeth scraping the sensitive skin. My fingers worked her clit faster, relentless. "Only mine." Her hips bucked wildly against mine, her breaths coming in sharp, desperate pants. The tension coiled tighter and tighter inside her, a bowstring stretched to snapping. With a final thrust so deep it lifted her off her knees, my fingers pressed hard against her clit. She shattered. A raw, guttural scream ripped from her throat as she came violently against me, her body locking rigid before collapsing like a puppet with cut strings against my chest. Her inner muscles milked me, pulsing waves dragging a second, deeper climax from me. I spilled inside her with a groan muffled against her sweat-damp hair, my vision exploding in shades of orange.
I held her slumped form against me, chests heaving in unison against the quiet hum of the ship. Her skin was fever-hot beneath my palms. Possessiveness surged through me, thick and primal. My fingers traced idle patterns on her damp stomach. "Mine," I breathed against her temple, the word less a reminder than a benediction. I didn't need my empathy sense to feel her reaction—the subtle relaxation against me, the acquiescence riding her exhaustion. In her haze, exhaustion compounded, she murmured something indistinct, her head lolling against my shoulder as unconsciousness claimed her. Viltrumite pride required dominance. I had delivered and she had accepted.
I stayed like that for long moments, cradling her limp form, listening to the deep steady rhythm of her breathing against my skin. The kinetic charge in my veins had fallen to a low thrumming beat, sated for the moment. Earth stared up at me outside the viewport. The dread returned, creeping tendrils of ice past the afterglow. Gently, I extracted myself, laying Anissa down on the couch. She muttered something and shifted but didn't wake. I focused my orange laser vision with great care on the mangled couch, the scattered scraps of Coalition fabric… and wiped away the remains of our encounter and then wore a spare. It was efficient and practical. My skin tingled where her claws had tried to gouge my flesh, the faint scratches already easing as my reactive field knit the nonexistent damage together. There was almost no way for me to remember this aside from a scent and a recollection.
Impatience gnawed at me. The waiting—docking procedures, clearance—was intolerable. Anissa shifted slightly against me, drawing in deep, even breaths indicative of slumber and I ran a possessive thumb over her bruised hipbone. Satisfied she wouldn't wake anytime soon, I stole over to the airlock controls. Manual override. The hatch fumed open angrily and vacuum clawed at the interior air before I slammed it shut behind me. Bitter cold and silence and starlight filled my world. Earth shimmered below, close enough to touch. Fuck protocol, fuck coordinates. I kicked off the hull, orienting myself effortlessly with a consideration of launch angle and atmospheric drag flickered silently in my quaternary mental processing lobe, an entry vector was plotted easily against the probable orbital flotsam predictions, murmured at the edges of my augmented reality vision. Then I launched myself planetward. The atmosphere howled tirelessly around me, friction escalating into an orange corona that my kinetic absorption drank greedily, fueling my descent until I sliced through the final layer of cloud cover.
Chicago sprawled out beneath me. It was intact and familiar. The skyline cut into the heavy morning haze. Relief was at war with suspicion as I scanned, patterns collecting and collapsing across my field of view. Signs of cataclysm were conspicuously absent. There weren't any craters where Viltrumite enclaves should've been headquartered. There weren't any trouble swarming the Willis Tower. There were… pedestrians... walking. Normal was wrong. Normal was suspicious.
I banked toward the Gold Coast. My penthouse—the one Cecil co-signed on because I could more or less get paid as much as I wanted whenever I wanted via taxpayer dollars—was perched near the top of a glimmering tower. The balcony doors whisked open silently at my approach. Inside, the air smelled like expensive leather and stale popcorn. Soft electronica percolated through the surround system. Diana Prince—Wonder Woman herself, or more specifically, Absolute Wonder Woman—lounged on the sectional, legs tucked beneath her, absorbed in an episode of Real Housewives? Her attention flicked over to me as I landed lightly inside, barely disturbing the plush carpet. Surprise registered, shifting quickly into a deep warmth that lit up her face.
"Zandale?" She vaulted to her feet, crossing the room in two strides. Her Amazonian strength swept me into a hug so energetic my bones bent beneath it. "By Heras girdle! Where in Tartarus have you been?" She drew away, her eyes scouring over my face. "The war... Your suspicious unexplained absence when Invincible and his father returned." Her look changed, harder. "Did Thragg?..."
The tension coiled inside me snapped relief swift and scouring as the loss of it left an oddly hollow lightness. Diana didnt know. She hadn't gone berserk on the Viltrumite moon settlers. The world hadn't ended. Thragg hadn't gutted Mark halfway to Rigel. It was... okay, better then okay even. "There's a peace." I spoke, and the word tasted like a ice cream. "Truce." I walked past her, toward the wide glass windows overlooking Lake Michigan. It couldnt be that easy. Not with Marks luck. But the sunshine looked honest enough, glittering banded bright on the morning-water, and with my supervision I could see the Viltrumites on the moon, rebuilding. Carefully, warily, if Diana's power was to be considered, but it was there. Hope. "Slowly." I paused and turned back to her. "They're rebuilding. Slowly. Here. On Earth," I said, "in the planets own subtle, underhanded way. Earth will domesticate them. Earth wears hard edges soft." I squared my shoulders, and smiled at her. "Best case scenario, Diana. Better than we deserve, really." Because, after all, I knew. Passively, reflexively, with my metaknowledge. Viltrumites, vicious and hard-headed and all, will change. Earth will soften them. That change, that softness, could save the universe. (Or me.).
Diana regarded me with close attention, her warriors gaze scrutinised me, missing nothing. The set of my shoulders, the scent of Coalition disinfectant and traces of Anissa that clung to me. Her features softened. A familiar hand settled on my arm. "It's good to see you alive, Zandale. Truly." Her thumb smoothed lightly over the fabric of my overalls. There was a silent offer in the gesture, in the warmth of her palm, the promise of comfort. "Stay. Talk. Tell me everything."
I gave her hand a little squeeze. For an instant mine was filled with urgency that had not quite passed altogether. "Not yet." I indicated the window with a nod. "Gotta see Cecil. Fill him in." There was understanding behind her smile, and a hint of disappointment. She nodded.
Stepping back out onto the balcony, I stopped for a moment. Earth spread out ahead of me intact, buzzing, unconcerned. The war was over. The future was still and quiet. Unwritten. For now. Estimating wind shear and air density and the best path to D.C., I bent my knees and jumped away from the building. Away from Chicago. The sun was warm on my face. The answers were out ahead of me. And Cecil Stedman, the GOAT, didnt like to be kept waiting.