The mission started like any other—intel drop, quick gear-up, rooftop launch into the night.
A rogue metahuman calling himself Rift had torn open unstable portals across three city blocks. Civilians trapped in collapsing buildings. Strange, shadowy creatures spilling through the rifts like oil given claws.
Thick Chick and Loverman on the scene.
We'd gotten good at this.
She handled the heavy lifting—closing rifts with raw power surges, smashing creatures that got too close. I ran interference—grapnel swings to evacuate trapped people, EMP darts to disrupt Rift's portal anchors, smoke and flashbangs to cover her charges.
It was going perfectly until it wasn't.
Rift spotted me mid-swing, smirked, and flicked a wrist. A micro-portal snapped open right in my path—razor-thin, like a guillotine blade made of void.
I twisted at the last second.
The edge caught my side instead of my spine.
Pain exploded—white-hot, searing. I hit the rooftop hard, suit torn, blood soaking the fabric.
Elena's roar echoed across the block.
She blurred—super speed kicking in full throttle—and hit Rift like a freight train. Purple lightning cracked the sky as she pummeled him, fists glowing brighter with every strike fueled by pure rage.
He didn't stand a chance.
One final uppercut sent him through his own portal. She sealed it behind him with a shockwave that shattered nearby windows.
Then she was at my side.
"Alex—talk to me."
I tried for a grin through the pain. "Just a scratch. Fashion statement."
Her mask was off, eyes wide and terrified. She scooped me up bridal-style—ignoring my protests—and flew us home faster than ever before.
Back in the lair, she laid me on the exam table (a reinforced cot with medical supplies she'd stockpiled for emergencies).
The wound wasn't deep—long gash along my ribs, bleeding but no organ damage. She cleaned it with steady hands, stitched it with practiced efficiency (turns out superheroes take field medic courses), and wrapped it tight.
But her expression stayed stormy.
"You could have died," she said quietly, voice shaking.
"I didn't."
"This time." She stepped back, arms crossed. "You're human. Fragile. And these threats are getting worse."
I sat up slowly, wincing. "We knew that going in."
She paced, hair loose and wild from the fight.
"I've been thinking about it since Rome. Since the collapse. You keep putting yourself in danger for me. To protect me." She stopped, eyes locking on mine. "What if we could make you safer? Stronger?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean… powers?"
She nodded. "Mine are tied to the energy surge I absorbed years ago. But they're also amplified by—" She hesitated, cheeks flushing slightly. "—intense physical release. Orgasms recharge me faster than anything else. What if prolonged, repeated exposure… transferred something to you?"
Heat flashed through me despite the pain.
"You want to experiment."
"I want you alive," she corrected fiercely. "And if science-fantasy biology gives us a way… I'm willing to try."
She stepped closer, hands sliding up my thighs.
"Starting now."
The lair was dim, lit only by the soft purple glow of charging gadgets. She unzipped my torn suit slowly, peeling it down to my waist. Her fingers traced the bandage, then lower.
I was already hard—adrenaline, her proximity, the raw need in her eyes.
She sank to her knees between my legs.
"Tell me if it hurts," she murmured.
Then her mouth was on me.
Warm. Wet. Perfect.
She started slow—lips sealing around the head, tongue swirling in lazy circles. Her hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as she took me deeper inch by inch. The suction was exquisite, pressure just right.
Then she ramped up.
Super speed wasn't just for flying.
Her head moved in a blur—fast, rhythmic, relentless. The sensation was beyond anything human: friction and heat and wet suction all amplified into a storm of pleasure. One hand cupped my balls, rolling gently; the other stroked the base in perfect sync.
I groaned, fingers tangling in her hair.
"Elena—fuck—"
She hummed around me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. Purple energy flickered along her skin, dancing across her lips, tingling where we connected. It felt like static electricity mixed with pure ecstasy.
I lasted maybe two minutes—tops—before the orgasm hit like a freight train. I came hard down her throat, hips bucking, vision whiting out.
She didn't spill a drop.
Swallowed slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on mine the whole time. When she finally pulled back, lips swollen and glistening, a thin strand of violet energy arced between us for a split second before fading.
I slumped back, panting.
"Did it… work?"
She licked her lips, considering.
"I felt something. A spark. But it's too soon to tell." She stood, peeling off her own suit in one smooth motion. "We'll need more data."
I laughed breathlessly. "Scientific method. I like it."
She climbed onto the table, straddling me carefully to avoid the bandage.
Round two was slower—her riding me face-to-face, hands on my chest, hips rolling in deep, grinding circles. Her pussy gripped me with that same superhuman strength, clenching rhythmically until I was seeing stars again. Purple glow built around us both—brighter this time, pulsing in time with her movements.
When she came, head thrown back, breasts bouncing, the energy flared outward in a soft wave that warmed my skin from the inside.
I followed right after, thrusting up into her, filling her as she milked every last drop.
We stayed like that—joined, breathing hard, glowing faintly together.
Afterward, she traced lazy patterns over the bandage.
"No change yet," I admitted. "Still feel human."
She smiled softly. "Then we keep experimenting. Every night. After every fight. Until it takes."
I pulled her down for a slow kiss.
"Deal."
Over the next week, we turned it into ritual.
Post-mission sex became recharge and research.
Sometimes fast and desperate—her bending over the workbench, me taking her from behind while gadgets clattered around us.
Sometimes slow and exploratory—hours in bed, edging each other, drawing out every orgasm to maximize exposure.
She blew me in the shower, on the rooftop under stars, even mid-flight once (don't ask how we managed the logistics).
Purple sparks grew stronger each time—lingering longer on my skin, sinking deeper.
But no real powers yet.
Just anticipation.
And the growing certainty that something was building inside me.
Waiting for the right trigger.
We kept fighting—small threats mostly, honing our teamwork.
Rift's portals had been a warning shot. Bigger things were coming.
But now we had a new weapon in development.
And a bond deeper than ever.
Thick Chick and Loverman.
Partners in battle.
Lovers in everything else.
Ready for whatever came next.