Of Heroes And Villains

In which a superhero meets his match, masks are uncovered and a mad scientist just tries to get some mad science-ing done without getting distracted by the antics of her magical minion.

Fanart by the talented Ian Samson, creator of City of Reality and artist of The Wotch


Diane pressed her lips to Kara’s neck, their sweat slicked bodies tightly entwined. Kara was insatiable. Diane had always had a high libido but that surpassed even hers. Still, she’d finally exhausted her and now they were basking in the afterglow, heated skin pressed to heated skin.

“Again,” Kara demanded and Diane choked out a soft laugh. Clearly, she had created a monster.

She pressed a kiss to her lips and made an apologetic noise in the back of her throat. “I’m exhausted. We have all the time in the world to explore your new body. We don’t need to do it all in one day.”

Kara’s voice was a low rumble of grudging acquiescence, and she reached out to gently stroke Diane’s hair. “Take a break, love.” Love. Diane was quickly learning to adore that endearment.

And then Kara got a wicked gleam in her eyes and her free hand moved lower and Diane watched in disbelief as the pure, virtuous heroine whom she’d had to patiently guide through every step of their sexual relationship started masturbating right in front of her.

Diane drew back and simply watched in what was maybe awe.

The subtle yet strong muscles in Kara’s arm shifted under her skin as she moved her hand, fingering her sex. Diane let her gaze linger on Kara’s form, finally taking the time to compare and contrast which she hadn’t yet truly gotten the chance to do.

Kara was slender yet curvy, her ample breasts rising and falling with each labored breath. Her body was lean and muscled, clearly still the athletic build she’d always had, yet no less feminine for it. Amazonian, in the best possible way. Her face was screwed up in concentration; and in that face Diane could still clearly see the man she’d fallen for. It was more delicate and rounded now, but it shared the high cheekbones and the eyes and above all the expression that was just so quintessentially Kara.

That expression shifted to frustration mixed with longing. Diane knew that one well, too.

She realized that Kara was trying to masturbate like a guy, roughly stroking her clit with a semi-closed palm. So Diane reached out to lay her hand on Kara’s, stilling the agitated movement.

“Be gentle,” she said softly, and then she guided Kara’s hand with her own and taught her how to use her fingers, how to stroke and tease and how to hit the right angle with one’s own hands which was really quite a bit different from doing the same to someone else.

Kara was a very good student.


***


“We should really get up.”

“We should.”

“Or we could do this multiple orgasm thing again.”

“Yes.”

And then they did.


***


Kara finally managed to pry herself away from Diane, her body sore and aching and tingling in the most delicious way. She stumbled a bit as she got up, her knees weak, but steadied herself.

She looked around the room. Then to her toes.

“Diane?”

She was curled up and blinked up at Kara liked a sleepy kitten. “Mhm?”

“Could you stand up for a moment?”

“Why?”

“It’s important.”

Diane sort of flopped over, almost falling off the edge, and then stood up, slouching. Kara reached out, straightening her and then kept her hands on her shoulders.

They stood almost toe-to-toe. Diane gazed up into Kara’s eyes.

Gazed. Up.

At the same angle as always.

Kara smirked and headed toward the shower with a spring in her step, leaving Diane a little confused, but too exhausted to care.


***


A soft moan escaped Kara’s lips as the warm water ran down her hypersensitive skin, droplets trailing down her breasts and tracing their rounded profile. She watched in fascination. Was it wrong to get turned on by one’s own body?

She laughed at that thought, and then clamped her mouth shut. That… that had been a giggle. The giddiest girly girl giggle that ever girled.

After a moment’s thought Kara decided that this was an appropriate reaction she could now allow herself to indulge in. On occasion. In moderation.

She would just have to be extra intimidating later to make up for it.

Maybe throw in some rooftop brooding, too.

Kara cocked her head as she heard faint sounds from the other room, and after a moment determined that Diane must have turned the TV on.

Returning to the matter of hand, Kara gleefully selected Diane’s (pink!) feminine body wash and started lathering her ridiculously smooth skin. She was glad to note she hadn’t lost any more muscle definition; that could have put a damper on her happiness.

As it was, Kara sounded like one of those women in a cheesy shampoo commercial, moaning happily and displaying an entirely disproportionate enthusiasm for completely mundane tasks.

She was in the process of massaging the sweetest-smelling shampoo she could find into her short hair, feeling quite decadent for doing so, when she heard Diane’s scream.

Kara teleported next to her instantly, ready to mangle anyone threatening her happiness.

Diane stared at her with wide eyes, pointing an accusing finger at the TV screen.

It was a news broadcast.

The headline read:

STANDOFF BETWEEN AMETHYST STAR AND VILLAIN DIYONEYA AT LOCAL HOSPITAL

“They misspelled my name,” Diane wailed.

Kara exhaled and kissed Diane’s forehead, dripping water on her.

“…nobody was hurt due to a timely evacuation by the authorities, although the building has sustained severe damage. Dionaea remains on the loose, rescued by an unknown woman, possibly a new supervillain. Stay tuned for further developments!”

Kara’s heart clenched.

New supervillain.

The TV was now playing footage from the fight, showing the moment she had teleported the two of them away. Shade’s powers did not photograph well – something about the transdimensional space she used did not agree with the laws of physic, which was why it appeared as inky blackness; a complete absence of light as the human eye refused to process what it was seeing. On cameras it looked different, somehow both over- and underexposing the picture. There she was, leaning over Diane and shielding her, then there was a lens flare, and they were gone.

But Amethyst had seen it.

The screen went black, and Shade threw the remote away.

“No news,” she murmured, pressing another kiss to Diane’s hair. “Just us. Just for one day.”

Amelia was still out there. She’d made an enemy out of Amethyst and, knowing the heroine’s temper, there would be consequences. Kara still had not a clue what to do about her civilian identity. Diane was far from reformed. And to top it off the news had just called both of them villains.

But, just for today, she wanted to forget about all these worries and just bask in the knowledge that she was Diane’s and Diane was hers.


***


Two of Shade’s worries could have been soothed had she kept watching.

As the day ground on, their coverage of a rampaging lizard was broken by a bulletin informing the public that the child the villain Dionaea had held hostage was not only unharmed but completely healed of his terminal brain tumor. In fact, he insisted that he had not been held hostage at all but had only been having a chat with the cool lady whom he’d found looking sad in a hallway.

This sent reporters – sensing a redemption narrative like a shark scented blood in the water – into quite a tizzy.

According to the media, there were only 4 types of capes. There were Heroes. There were Villains. And then there were the two grey areas in between – Fallen Heroes and Reformed Villains. Whenever any public caped figure did much of anything that did not fit neatly into their box, they tried their hardest to hammer them into a new one they didn’t necessarily belong in.

And now they were spinning the story of a poor villain trying to reform only to be attacked by a dogmatic fallen hero who had long ago crossed the line.

Somewhere in Paragon, there was an apartment. It was small and cramped, located in one of the poorer neighborhoods, paid for with a crappy waitress job that had been taken after college and cape had clashed and the cape had won, costing a scholarship in the process.

And in that apartment there was a red-haired woman curled up on a secondhand couch, her knees to her chest, watching the news personalities turn against her. Again.

She had arrested 16 villains of Threat Level 5 or higher since her trial had concluded. One had been about to poison the drinking water. Another had mind-controlled an important political figure. A third she had narrowly prevented from blowing up a crowded area. This was the first time anchors were discussing her again.

And as Amethyst Star watched one panelist explain at length what a grievous miscarriage of justice it was that she was not in jail, something deep within her started to crack.