Rewq

CW for dysphoria in this one, it's not very heavy but a character does have a minor panic attack.

Even on good days, being left alone with my thoughts sucked. But tonight, I had eight whole hours of it and my brain had plenty of stupid decisions I’d made over the last few days to stew over. To start with, my supernym; I’d wanted to be Solaris, burning like the sun and all that, but apparently that had too much overlap with Helia and it would be bad for my brand to be considered her sidekick. Ifrit was okay, but people kept pronouncing it wrong, with a sharp ‘it’ rather than an ‘eet’ sound. Plus, it’s not like I was granting wishes or whatever, so half the connotations from it were useless.

Worse, the title meant that I’d had to fight to get even the stupid uniform I did have. Marketing had been pushing for a veil over my mouth, harem girl style, which would have received an even more inflammatory, and frankly appropriate response, were it not my first day. However, it was my first day, so I calmly declined and then awkwardly accepted the skintight flashy bodysuit more politely than it likely deserved.

The next issue was more pressing; when looking over cases to start my new career with, I’d seen the file on Nathan Krax, my boss. And, of course, it mentioned him gathering parts for a powersuit so ridiculous that the techs didn’t see how he’d ever power it. But, duh, rule two (or maybe three?) of superhero origins was that the source of a hero’s powers would later be the source of a villain’s too, so any idiot with a little context would be able to guess what Krax had planned. Unfortunately, I was the only idiot with all the pieces and that created a conundrum: I couldn’t explain any of this without outing my real identity, which would ruin everything! All that was left was to demand I be put on the case, and prove, by myself, what Krax had planned, before he finished building a compact version of the portal reactor.

That all led to my most recent fuckup; barely five minutes into our first meeting, I’d antagonised another superhero into totally blanking me. Worse, I’d done it talking out my arse about feminine sexualisation! Like I had a god damn clue about any of that. But she had also been a hypocrite, as well as rude and dismissive. It barely mattered if she, apparently, did more work than every other hero in the city, it was still no excuse to be a haughty bitch. It just went to show, I suppose, that even the most irritating people can do loads of good in the world.

Having resolved to dislike her, unfortunately, didn’t fix the issue. To stop Krax, I needed to investigate, and to investigate I really ought to continue with the surveillance. My insight from inside the company would, for sure, mean I’d get more from this than Miss ‘Also at home cosy with my cat’. It was worth my being here, but it’d be nice to be able to do more, especially if it meant showing the bitch that I really could contribute and do stuff she couldn’t. Maybe if I could get inside and… oh.

Hopefully Cascade didn’t notice my visible facepalming. I was already employed in a senior engineering position at the company, working on the project I wanted to investigate. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? I was the perfect undercover agent, with literally flawless cover. I could request access to design files and I might even be commended on it. Just let Miss Perfect call me ‘vapid eye candy’ when I solved this whole thing. Not that I’d be able to take credit, not without exposing myself, but I’d get to both feel smug and stop crime, an obvious win-win. And in the meantime, I would keep coming to the stakeouts, show her just how serious I was.

—

Work on Friday with planned drinks that evening made me very glad for my superpowers. Staying up all night would leave a normal person an exhausted wreck the next day. I'd historically been above average in my ability to function as an exhausted wreck, but those talents were no longer necessary. Switching back to my default form post stakeout, I felt sharp and awake and, after a quick, disappointingly lukewarm shower, I was ready again for work. Provided I spent long enough as Ifrit, sleep was now optional, meaning nights of superheroism were an easy choice. Especially given that the second morning since gaining powers, after I’d gone to sleep as Joe, I’d awoken with sweat pouring from me and a burning pressure in my core. A trip to the roof and blasting fire at the sky did fix the issue, but it wasn’t an experience I was keen to relive.

The new energy, and the lack of morning traffic, meant I entered work with a spring in my step and an energy usually reserved for days without work. I smiled, in a hopefully non-creepy way, to the folks at the welcome desk. I waited for the lift patiently, without even passing the useless thing any insults. For a moment, I thought that a whole day of Darrell might dampen my spirits, but a healthy dose of the surprisingly funny Matt did more than enough to keep my mood up. I was even looking forward to work drinks later, which continued right up until I arrived and remembered what Darrell and his friends in a bar meant.

“Hey, babe, if I call you beautiful, will you call me later?” Of all the cosmic oddities in the world, the strangest remained the fact that Darrell could say tripe like that to a stranger with a straight face.

“He really is awful, isn’t he?” volunteered Matt from a table behind me.

“I think the worst part is the other four idiots cheering each time.” I paused before clarifying. “Okay, no, the worst part is his treatment of women; the idiots cheering is just the most confusing.”

“Right? He got slapped earlier, and they cheered for that too.”

“Eh? That one checks out, though, right? I’d cheer for almost anyone who slapped him.” That got a chuckle out of him.

“True, but his friends seemed to take him getting slapped as a victory for him too, I just don’t get people like them, or him.” Truer words have rarely been said; Darrell, like most men, acted in ways that simply boggled my sane mind.

“I don’t think I’ve ever even seen it work? And it’s not for lack of him trying. Who even says yes to uncomfortable pickup lines?”

“Probably the only sort of woman who could stand dating him; maybe it’s part of a clever selection process?”

I giggled, I mean, uh, chuckled. “Good one, ‘clever’, very funny. Although I suppose it is a useful filter for picking a date; if she says yes to Darrell, then it’s definitely a no from me.”

“I’m pretty sure you’d need a finer filter than that, I can’t imagine you’re struggling much for girlfriends, or boyfriends, whatever you’re into.” What? Had he seen me?

Trying not to splutter, I replied. “Girlfriends, for me. And lord no, I wish! Turns out the market for ‘pudgy engineers with next to no social life’ is pretty barren, who’d have thought?”

“Oh yeah? And the market for ‘cute funny guys with stable jobs,’ how’s that one?” I was not blushing. Nope. No no. And that’s because he had not called me cute, the notion of me being cute was so brazenly illogical that it was inconceivable that it was what he’d really said. I must have misheard.

“C-cute?”

“Cute, yes, that is what I said. Also handsome.” What. Was. Happening. “Anyway, I’m gonna dash to the bathroom, back in a few.”

It was not fair for someone to say all that to me and then just leave me to my thoughts. My thoughts were the worst! Cute! What?! That just couldn’t be the case. Okay, deep breaths, Joe. Calm. Distract your mind for a bit until he comes back and – “Hi there!”

A new voice from behind me, a female voice that I didn’t recognise. She sounded pretty; I briefly wondered who she was talking to before feeling a tap on my shoulder and turning to see a nervous smile on a very pretty face. Me. She was talking to me. “ C-can I help you with something?” Brain, what was that? Okay, well, it’s not like my brain had any meaningful practice talking to pretty women.

She smiled, more confidently now. “I should hope so; I arrived a bit late to work drinks, and need someone to talk to. You seemed like a much better partner than the rest.” She took the seat next to me, her leg brushing mine in the process… and then staying there?! “I’m Sandra, by the way, one of the new secretaries; you’re Joe, right?” I’d known I recognised her from somewhere, but more importantly:

“P-partner?”

“Ooh, that’s a little presumptuous. I meant conversation partner, for now.” I was being hit on, right? That’s definitely what this was. Why? No, don’t worry about it, brain, you have a more important task; what do I do? And how? Please engage, brain, we need your A-game for this. Look, my heart’s on board, see how fast it’s going to deliver more blood?

“I uh, sorry?” Fuck. I was more nervous for this than for any of my appearances as Ifrit; how the heck do people talk to women without seeming like arseholes? And why was my heart going so very much faster than my stupid brain. “I mean, yes, I’m Joe, it’s lovely to meet you. So uh, what brings you into the workforce of our esteemed, definitely legal, company?” Was that a good question to ask? Aha, she giggled, that was probably good. Unless she was mocking me? How do people do this?!

“10% higher wages than anywhere else is kinda hard to turn down. You?” That was, objectively, not a sexy sentence, but dammit, she leaned all the way in, she even touched my arm! Would that have made anything she’d have said hot?

“Yeah, about the same. And you can’t forget the hush money every time you see something dubiously legal.” 

“Really? I suppose I’ll look forward to it, then. But you can’t be all about work, right? Tell me about Joe.” Okay, this must be the part where I describe myself, I probably need to avoid seeming boring or mentioning superpowers. Hmm. This would be so much easier if my heart wasn’t stuck between cardiac arrest and straight up exploding. Sitting this close to people should be illegal -- or mandatory, maybe.

“Hmm, well, I love music, though I’m terrible at singing. I have a personal vendetta against traffic and lifts, maybe waiting in general? And I’d love to have a cat, but am never home enough.” Phew, that made me sound like a broadly whole person.

“Well, singing I can hardly blame you for, but I will be asking you for song suggestions and then judging you for them. Waiting is the worst, but I never thought to try and fight the concept itself. As for the last one, are you saying you wish you could get some pussy?” I spat out my drink and then spluttered some more, because WHAT? Maybe I’d misheard because my heart was beating so damn loudly already.

I tried eight different ways of opening my mouth, in the hope of manifesting some sort of word or noise, before recovering the use of my tongue and eloquently saying. “Wha?”

She then very unhelpfully added, “I think I might have broken you a little; it’s cute.” ‘Cute’ was a poor description for the clueless idiot whose hands were 40% sweat already, and who was having a horny panic and or heart attack

Looking around the room for inspiration, or help, I spied Matt, who gave me a look that clearly said ‘I told you so, good luck’ before he stepped outside, leaving me to my fate.

“Apologies, I really shouldn’t speak in double entendres and tease you like that.” Okay, she was teasing, it’s all okay, the world still makes a little sense. A little sweat disappeared from my hands; my heart slowed by a measly percent or two. “What I mean is, do you want to take me back to your apartment and fuck me?”

In a hero’s life, there are sometimes moments where, through sheer grit, willpower and determination, a hero must, against all the odds, achieve the impossible. I closed my eyes, pouring every ounce of will I could muster into a single use of a single muscle. Once ready, with herculean effort and iron will, I made my stupid dumb tongue move. “Yes please?”

“Mmhm, perfect.”

If you’d asked me in the taxi, I’d definitely have said things were going well. A beautiful woman had her tongue down my throat, what was there to complain about? Okay, maybe, just maybe, I found myself wishing that my hands weren’t as shaky, that I’d received a brief introduction to one night stand etiquette or even just that I’d shaved that afternoon, to be more kissable, but largely, things were going great.

In the hall of my apartment, things got more complicated. Sure, the beautiful woman in front of me was taking her clothes off, but then, so was I! Seeing myself naked is not high on my list of ‘fun things to do’; in fact, it was only really placed behind ‘other people see me naked’. That, however, had been a most severe error. Higher still on the list should be ‘taking clothes off with someone else who is far more attractive than me, with the removal of clothes making that sad fact painfully obvious.’ Ugh, Ifrit wouldn’t have this problem. In fact, comparing my body to my beautiful alter ego’s made my current terror even more gripping. I knew what being beautiful felt like now and my default sad sack of flesh was not it! However, given that hitting on lesbians while in disguise was not an ethical option, I needed to make the most of any opportunities my body could get me. Thus, even with the discomfort I simply refused to think about it. Not one thought. Nope.

In the bedroom, I learned that I had exactly eight kisses and one long touch to my chest worth of ability to ignore my self-consciousness. How could someone as pretty as her ever want this. She was sat on top of me, naked and resplendent; surely she’d noticed that sitting on my leg hair was uncomfortable, that I was in at best average shape and not that good looking. She deserved better. She deserved something I could not deliver. And even though I wanted her, the thought of trying to take her, or trying to even be a bit intimate with her, was a total impossibility. I couldn’t run; what man would run from consensual sex with a beautiful woman? But I also couldn’t move beyond a fearful full body shudder. This can’t be how sex is supposed to feel.

“Hey, are you doing okay? I can slow things down, if you like? We’ve got all night, after all.”

It turns out my body could manage one action beyond shuddering, and that was weeping, sobbing tears. Fuck, if this was how sex was, I was kinda glad to have been missing out all these years.

“Okay, uh, do you want to talk? Maybe? This seems like something you should talk about.”

Talk about it?! Not a chance; I could barely think about it and she wanted me to talk about it with a near total stranger! My sheer indignation at the impossible suggestion got my tongue active enough to mumble. “I’m sorry, but please go.”

“I – Yeah, that’s fair. I’m gonna leave my phone number, just in case. I hope you feel better soon, okay.” And with that, she left me to my confused useless sobbing.

Rewq

A little heavy at the end there, but things get better for our heroes, I promise! This weeks recommendation is The Importance of Being a Team Player by Gwenington. I never thought I'd be this invested in a DOTA team but it simply can't be helped.