|Fic: 5 Times Boostle Fucked Gender
||[Jul. 2nd, 2010|01:29 am]
All Blue Beetle and Booster Gold, all the time!
Title: Five Times Boostle Fucked Gender
Ratings: From G to NC-17, sweet to twisted
Word Count: 5616 for all five
Author's Notes: Done for the genderful prompt on the kinkmeme. Guest-stars the JLI, Gladys, and Dan Garrett. The Gladys one takes place in the same universe as Dignity Left to Lose, but all you need to know is that Booster’s affections for Ted weren’t returned, and Gladys is a kinky old bat. BDSM ahoy! Broken into five cuts for your convenience.
1. On Halloween
The JLI Halloween party is always a headache for Max, and a fantastic time for everyone else involved. This one is no exception.
Sue and Ralph go as Watson and Holmes of course, complete with deerstalker cap, bubble pipe, and cane (with which Sue semi-accidentally whacks a few people a few times during the night). They spend an inordinate amount of time searching for clues around Headquarters, shouting, "Great Scott!" and "Good Heavens!" at dramatic moments, and examining people with magnifying glasses. At the end of the party, Ralph declares in a Shakespearean voice that Max is responsible for the murder of Ted, (to which Ted hastily improvises a dramatic death scene, while Booster theatrically grieves). To his credit, Max puts on a look of overdone denial and sputters that he doesn't know a thing. “He’s only sleeping!” He insists. (Ted gurgles.)
Fire goes as a campfire, Ice as a marshmallow. Many bad pick-up lines are made about lighting fires and taking a bite out of Ice, but when Guy offers to stick a length of wood into her, he gets told he's inappropriate and put in the time-out corner for half an hour. Fire sings 'Disco Inferno' after the first drink.
J'onn goes as a gorilla. No one is sure why, and no one dares ask, because he's either in a great mood not to be wrecked, or totally cracked. He only responds to conversation in grunts, shrieks, and chest beating, but much to Booster and Guy's dismay, no poo is thrown. When Ted suggests to J'onn that real apes don't eat Chocos, J'onn only screeches at him. Ted and Booster make a lot of cracks about monkeying around and monkey business.
General Glory goes as FDR. This surprises no one.
Dmitri shows up as Pavel Chekov. With his beard shaved off, he is completely unrecognizable, and he actually gets dogpiled twice as a gatecrasher until his non-fake Soviet accent proves his identity (and even then, Guy claims he couldn’t tell the difference). Luckily, Dmitri has a sense of humor about it, and gets even by dogpiling his attackers back later during the evening. The JLI-ers learn their lesson: never turn your intoxicated back on a Soviet with a high alcohol tolerance.
L-Ron does a jerky dance everywhere he goes and declares, "I'm Kilroy!" whenever asked or just at random points during the evening. Only General Glory is out-of-date enough to ask for elaboration, and he sorely regrets it. It turns out that L-Ron can produce his own synthesizer sounds and sing passably well.
Guy Gardner puts on face paint, ties ribbons around his biceps, and stomps around bellowing vaguely threatening incoherent gibberish. He calls everyone Hulk Hogan. It turns out he's the Ultimate Warrior, and everyone shuns him for his unoriginality, even those who don’t know a thing about professional wrestling.
But Booster and Ted take the show. When they arrive, unfashionably late, everyone pauses to take in the sight. Bea looks pleased with herself. Glory looks puzzled. Dmitri has a good belly laugh.
Ted is decked out in leather and denim. He has a wallet on a chain, and someone has given him a crewcut. Everything he's wearing both fits and matches.
Booster is worse. He's in a flowery dress and heels--why they fit so well is a mystery. Someone (Bea, it turns out) has blow-dried his hair into an approximation of a fashionable hairstyle ala Pat Benatar, and put makeup on him. It's all done very skillfully, but it doesn't help. Booster is a handsome man, but it translates to the other side very badly.
"Look, we already knew you were gay," Guy says.
Obviously prepared for such a blatant straight line, Booster and Ted beam at him.
"We're not gay," they say together. "We're lesbians!"
They win the costume contest.
2. With Crotch Fu
Booster can't help but notice that Ted seems completely unafraid of plowing his groin into criminals' faces. In fact, it seems his favorite method of incapacitation, despite not wearing any armor under his suit. (He claims it slows him down and hinders his flexibility, and Booster has never figured out the polite way to ask, "But what about your future children?") As for himself, Booster wears a power suit capable of taking force blasts and superhuman punches, and he still can't imagine having the balls to try attacking anyone crotch-first. He likes the boots- or fists-first approach.
No one else seems to notice this peculiarity of Ted's. Booster suspects that it’s because no one else looks at Ted's groin when he's fighting. Is it Booster's fault that when he’s not making Booster grimace and cross his legs in sympathy, Ted looks good in a fight? Most of the powered people in the League, Booster included, tend to be of the, "hit it until it falls down" type. All force, no technique. Not Ted. He's all grace and sinuous, twisting movement, whatever his weight happens to be. He makes Booster think of words like 'sleek' and 'svelte.'
He's very distracting. Even when he's not hip-thrusting his enemies into submission.
Unfortunately, Ted's shamelessness about his groin doesn't extend to the bedroom. They've been having rushed, shove-up-against-a-wall sex sporadically for about a month now, and Booster has yet to see Ted naked. Whenever he goes for Ted's pants, Ted knocks his hands away and finds a way to distract him--not difficult when Booster is hard, horny, and pinned against a wall. It's not until later, when Ted grins and saunters off, leaving Booster a disheveled, panting puddle on the floor, that he realizes that once again, Ted's kept his pants on the whole time.
At first, Booster doesn't think that much about it. Maybe Ted is a giver, not a taker. Maybe Ted's as self-conscious about his dick as he is about his love handles.
But after a month's worth of blowjobs in the broom closet and handjobs in the hall, no mutuality or explanation, Booster starts to get a little concerned. Surely Ted can't be that self-conscious about how hung he is, if he's not self-conscious about doing Booster in near-public.
So maybe it's worse than that. Heroing is a rough job, after all, and Ted has no superhuman toughness or armor backing him up. Maybe he's had an accident. Maybe he's badly scarred, or can’t get it up, of even (eek!) lost a chunk of it.
The thought makes Booster cringe, cross his legs, and pray it's not true. Sure, heroing is about sacrifice, but yeesh...
Okay, enough is enough. There needs to be some communication here, and Booster's obviously going to have to initiate it. They're best friends, they've survived the end of the world numerous times, surely that means something. Surely that'll make the question less awkward--because there is no way Booster can imagine how to politely ask, "Hey, Ted, you still have functional equipment, right? You realize I'm so desperate for your dick, I don't care what it looks like, right?"
So the next time they're stuck in HQ alone together, (Booster's on monitor duty, Ted's house has been blown up by supervillains again) Booster takes a deep breath and bites the bullet.
"Hey, Ted..." but that's all he gets out, because apparently Ted is horny again, and the look he gives Booster makes any thoughts of serious conversation drip out his ears.
Before Booster can speak again, his back is against the wall and Ted's mouth is on his throat. Whatever's going on downstairs, one thing is for sure: Ted's libido is alive and well. His breathing is quick and rough, his hands possessive.
"Ted..." Booster tries again, but Ted takes it as encouragement and nips his earlobe, and Booster's IQ takes another dive.
Okay, fine. Ted wants sex; he'll get sex. It’s been almost a week anyway. Booster goes for Ted's groin, and as always, Ted jerks back and blocks him. Booster tries again, and gets his arm pinned above his head for his trouble.
“Stop that,” Ted says, but he sounds distracted.
“How come? You look interested.” True, Ted’s tights aren’t doing embarrassing things the way Booster’s are (skintight Spandex + throbbing erection = hilarity), but everything else looks hungry and aroused. Taking advantage of the power suit, he pulls his pinned arm free.
Ted tries to keep him up against the wall, but he’s too clumsy to be graceful. “That’s not the point—”
Booster shoves him across the narrow hallway against the opposite wall. “If you stay soft, that’s okay; I don’t care.”
"Booster," Ted's voice is anxious now, but with a hungry edge that undercuts the words, "Booster, wait--"
"Whatever it is," Booster pants, "it's not that bad." When he kisses Ted's neck, Ted gasps and arches under him. "I promise, it's okay."
“No, not okay, it is that bad—dammit, Booster, stop groping me!”
Ted tries to kick Booster off, but only succeeds in getting a leg wrapped around his waist. For a few seconds, there’s a clumsy, horny, grappling battle over Ted’s tights. Finally, Booster wins; while Ted’s busy trying to lock his arm without actually hurting him, he rips a seam and gets his free hand down Ted's pants.
Ted freezes, and at first, Booster thinks his heart’s stopped because oh god, he was right, there’s nothing there, Ted did lose his fun-fun bits to a superheroic kick to the groin! As though hoping it’s hiding somewhere, he fishes around for a moment—and he feels a small shape and warm wetness, and he realizes he's had it wrong all along.
“Oh.” He says.
Ted is still, his face unusually calm. The only sign that he's not perfectly at ease is that he’s whiplash tense and hasn’t moved to a more comfortable position, even though it means one of his legs is still locked around Booster’s hip.
"If you ask if I'm a girl," he says conversationally, crossing his arms, "you're not my friend anymore."
Booster's first instinct is to be offended. "Jesus, Ted, what kind of priorities do you think I have? I figured you'd had some kind of horrible accident, gotten kicked in the balls by Darkseid or something! I'm just glad everything works." He pats Ted’s pubic bone; at Ted's skeptical look, he adds, "Uh... it does work, right?"
Ted rolls his eyes. "There was an accident, but it involved my 5-alpha reductase, and yes, Michael. It works."
"Oh, thank God." His best friend is still capable of having sex, he hasn’t been egregiously injured, and for a few seconds, Booster just soaks in the relief. Then he gets around to trying to place this situation in the context of twentieth century society, and how he’s supposed to react to it.
Ted still has that uncharacteristically cool, guarded look. He's been in this situation before, Booster realizes, and the way he's acting, it must have gone very badly. History classes never covered this aspect of twentieth century sexuality, and Booster hasn’t seen that many twentieth-century dicks, but it seems like this is something many people look down on.
"So?" Ted asks briskly, like he's running a Kord Industries board meeting. "You said that whatever it is, it's okay."
Booster nods. "I did." And he kisses Ted.
They've been having sex for a while, but until now, Ted's never allowed Booster to kiss him. Booster tries to make it gentle and reassuring, and after a moment, Ted unclenches a little and kisses back.
“It’s okay,” Booster says when they part. “Like I said, I’m just glad everything still works.”
It's about then that Booster realizes that Ted’s leg is still around his waist, and his hand is still down Ted's pants. He winces, and Ted smiles, a little nervously, but sincerely.
"So… you going to do anything with that hand?"
"I dunno, it's kinda comfy down here..." Booster strokes experimentally, and Ted shivers.
"If I'd known you'd take it that well, I would never have spent a month jacking off after touching you," he breathes.
Booster chuckles. "And here I thought you just didn't like me." He tries curling his finger, and Ted whimpers and rolls his hips into Booster's hand.
"No, that--I like that, and you, very much." He kisses Booster, pulls Booster's hand from his pants, and adds, "I like you even more in a bed."
Booster beams. "We do have a month's work to catch up on..."
They hastily head to Ted's room, where Booster finds that no, now that it's out in the open, Ted doesn't mind shoving his crotch into friends' faces either.
Booster had started having sex with Gladys because she was his friend and also the only reason he wasn’t broke. Sex, it felt, was the least he could do, and he was sure he’d had worse over the years. To his surprise, it ended up being sweet and fun, and afterward, she woke him up with a plate of brownies. (They were horribly burned, but that made it somehow endearing.)
A few months later, she had broached the subject of a marriage of convenience.
“Purely for paperwork matters, of course,” she said, dipping her tea bag. “I wouldn’t expect you to dote on no one but a naughty old bat. But I am getting older, and I don’t want any of the businessmen in charge of my estate to try and take money from you. I don’t have any children, Michael; when I die, the company and all the money that goes with it passes on to the current vice-president. I’d rather have you in a position where I can more easily pass something on to you.”
“Gladys, you’re sixty-three. You’re not kicking the bucket any time soon; you’re fine.”
“Oh, they always say that, and next thing you know, you’re drooling in a chair and think it’s 1972.” She leaned over and patted his knee. “I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.”
Then she bustled off, prattling about knitting, as though it was no big deal, and Booster nodded and went, “Uh huh,” but he wasn’t thinking about that, or about getting married to an aging trophy widow. He was thinking that Gladys was sixty-two years old, rolling in money, and didn’t feel she had anyone more worth giving it to than a washed-up C-list superhero who’d been her boytoy for a year.
It was a pretty saddening thought.
“And I hear it’s very good for exercising the hands and preventing arthritis, plus I could make hats, do something useful—”
“I’ll marry you,” Booster said.
She paused. “What?”
“I’ll marry you.”
After all, Ted wasn’t interested, and after the news fiasco, Booster doubted there’d be any other offers any time soon.
The ceremony had been a trip to the judge and a nice dinner at a four-star restaurant afterward.
After that, Booster still did houseboy work and Gladys still gardened, but sex got a bit more regular. Still fun and nice, but nothing earth shattering. Until one day, Gladys blindfolded him.
“Michael,” she told him, “I have a proposition for you, and I’d like to know what you think of it.”
“A blindfold?” Booster asked. “Somehow, I’d already gathered that.”
She smacked him on the shoulder. “More than that. You’ve been kind to an old woman, and I’d like to return the favor.” When Booster opened his mouth to protest, to say she was already supporting him, she said, “Don’t make me gag you too. I’m not who you’re dreaming of; I know that. If you’d like, I can at least give you the fantasy of the person you are dreaming of for a night.”
Booster blinked. “Gladys, not to put down your powers of imagination, but you don’t… have a lot in common with—with him.”
“Michael, I’ve been a kinky old bat for coming up on half a century. Do you really think I would suggest this if I didn’t think I could pull it off? If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Honesty doesn’t offend me.”
Booster thought it over. Part of him recoiled from bringing up Ted-related thoughts with another person. Another part of him was intrigued; he’d known Gladys was kinky, but it’d never come up before, and he was curious what she could do.
Well, why not? It wasn’t like he was ever going to get the real Ted. And if he had to experiment with someone, he could do a lot worse than Gladys; he already knew he could have pleasant, non-awkward sex with her. Maybe it’d help him get over Ted once and for all.
He half-smiled. “I’ll go for it if you gag me.”
Which is how Booster ends up blindfolded, gagged, and standing in front of the kitchen table with his hands bound in front of him, waiting.
It’s been a few minutes, and he’s starting to get a little uncomfortable and wonder where Gladys went when he hears footsteps behind him—surprisingly loud. It has to be Gladys—they chose today specifically because nothing else was scheduled—but he doesn’t hear the tap of her cane either. He knows it’s her, but he’s still a bit impressed that she’s going through this much trouble to get the details.
Then there’s a gloved hand on his back, and it shoves. Caught off-guard, Booster stumbles over the table, and the hand pushes down for a moment: hold still. When Booster relaxes and stays bent over the table, it lets go.
He’s imagined this scenario many times, of Ted shoving him up against something, but he’d doubted Gladys—demure, frail, and sweet--could manage the force. He was wrong, and he’s both surprised, impressed, and starting to breathe hard.
Hands run over his back and sides, rough and proprietary. Even though he knows, knows they’re Gladys’s, they don’t feel like hers, don’t feel like a woman’s at all. They feel how he always fantasized Ted’s hands would feel, and by the time the hands make it to his ass, he’s willing to put aside the nagging you know it’s not him, right? in the back of his head and sink into it.
The fingertips (no nails, when had she cut them?) dig into his skin, and Booster jumps and moans around the gag.
With the blindfold on, he can imagine Ted’s smile, predatory and triumphant. He imagines Ted, who loves taking things apart, seeing how they work, would enjoy taking him apart as well, would love touching to see what go the greatest response. The hands on him are careful to touch in a way that doesn’t give him too many cues to their size, but they’re everywhere, caressing his thighs, tugging his hair. They give his cock only the most cursory of strokes (he grunts and shoves, trying to get more, and gets his ass smacked in reprimand) and then trail back behind his balls.
Booster spreads his legs and leans forward. Oh yes, this is what he wants, this is what he’s dreamed about since he was nineteen, joined the Justice League, and met that stocky engineer gymnast with that stupid bug-shaped ship, with those square, subtle hands and strong thighs. With those bad jokes and the smile that could talk Booster into buying a sentient tropical island. With the blindfold, he can see it, clear as day.
Fingers push into him and Booster whines. This is nothing like his own hands, this is rough, this is good, and with the gag in his mouth, he can say anything on his mind without embarrassing himself, so he does. He knows it’s not really Ted behind him, having his way with him, but it could be. It’s close enough, and as long as he keeps thinking that, it feels amazing.
Almost as good as the real thing.
He feels something thick and hard press against him from behind, and he pushes back against it, even as he feels wetness on his cheeks. He keeps talking through the gag, doesn’t do any of the movements he and Gladys set up to mean stop. He just pushes back and tries as hard as he can to keep himself in the fantasy.
It hurts, but it’s worth it.
Afterward, Gladys unties him, holds him, cleans him up. She wraps him in a hideous afghan that smells of dust and cedar, rocks him, croons soothing nonsense, and feeds him slices of mandarin orange until he feels like himself again.
When he’s up to talking again, she asks, “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” he says, curled to her side in a loose ball under the afghan. “It was just… more intense than I expected.”
They have other kinky sex after that, but they never use that fantasy again.
4. As Dora the Explorer
Dora is twelve years old, and it looks like his dreams of growing into a boy will never come to fruition. He had pretended his chest growing was just more weight gain, and had crowed over every new hair, but this morning, he woke up with blood on his underwear and an ache in his gut, and he realized the game was up. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to be a girl.
Dora’s mother had been waiting for this ‘told-you-so’ moment all year, so he didn’t tell her. He stuffed dirty socks into his underwear to staunch the flow, held in place with safety pins, and kept quiet. She’d find out eventually when she did his laundry, but no need to tell her right away.
While he waits for the aspirin to kick in, he watched the Head That Wouldn’t Die on TV, and that’s when they idea hits him like a thunderbolt. If science is enough to put people in space and make living disembodied heads plausible, surely science can keep Dora from turning into a girl! He’s not done for yet. He’s only twelve, so he’s got time, and Mom already says he’s a genius. He can figure this out.
There must be a way.
Dora starts reading medical journals at the local university. It’s only a long walk or a short bus ride away, and Dora figures it’s his best bet for finding out the newest medical news. Most of the staff ooh and ah, saying, “ooh, what a cutie, reading those!” and other silly things like that, except for the archaeologist professor Dr. Garrett. He looks at the medical journals under Dora’s arm curiously but lets Dora read in peace.
Then one day, he asks, “How do you like them?”
Dora shrugs. “They’re okay. Boring, but they’re journals. They’re not supposed to be interesting.”
That makes Dr. Garrett laugh, and Dora decides to like him.
For a few minutes, Dr. Garrett lets him read. Then he looks up over a book of Egyptian artifacts and says, “Have you found what you’re looking for?”
Dora frowns. “No.”
“Can I help?”
Dora looks at him skeptically. “I thought you were an archaeology doctor, not a medical doctor.”
“You thought right. But I probably know how to look for things in the library more than you do. I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Dora has to give him that. He looks Dr. Garrett over. So far, he hasn’t called Dora a cute little girl or acted like Dora is stupid; he seems pretty all right, for a grown-up. But Dora’s folks seemed pretty all right too, until Dora said he was a boy and made them mad.
Then again, there are a lot of schools in Chicago. If Dr. Garrett starts acting weird, Dora can always go somewhere else. And Dora is tired of getting mistaken for a girl.
So he says, “Dr. Garrett, can I talk to you in your office?”
Dr. Garrett looks perplexed, but he says okay and lets Dora come to his office, which is full of pictures of tombs, statues, and mummies. Normally, Dora would want to know all about them, but right now, he's too nervous. He wipes his sweaty palms on his skirt and tries to act grown-up. People take him more seriously that way.
“Dr. Garrett, I’m a boy but I’m growing up into a girl. I don’t want to be a girl, and I’m looking for ways science can help me to grow into a boy. I don’t know if you know about anything like that, though.”
Dr. Garrett is silent for a moment. His chin is in his hand, and he’s frowning, but he doesn’t look angry, just thoughtful. Dora looks back at him and tries not to fidget.
Finally, he says, “I do know something about that, actually. Has anyone ever told you about the pharaoh Hatshepsut?”
Dora hasn’t, so Dr. Garrett tells him, and after the story, Dora know everything will be just fine. He decides he wants to be an archaeologist when he grows up. If Dr. Garrett is any example, that’s where the cool grown-ups are.
For the next three weeks, Dora comes to visit Dr. Garrett’s office, and they talk about boys who grow up to be men with squishy chests and no nuts to get kicked. Or, if not men, they dress like men or do jobs that only men are supposed to do, like be king or knight. (At one point, Dr. Garrett tries to explain the idea of cultural relativism and how men and women might’ve been completely different things in the past, but it all goes over Dora’s head.) They talk about Hatshepsut, Jean D’Arc, Mulan, and people in tribes all over the world. It helps some. Dora still hopes to get his body less squishy, especially in the chest, though.
“Do you like the name Dora?” Dr. Garrett asks one day.
Dora shrugs. “It’s okay, I guess, for a girl’s name. At least I’m not, like, Priscilla.”
“Enthusiastic, I see. What’s your boy name, then?”
Dora is thunderstruck. He can’t believe that with all his thoughts about ironing his chest flat, putting on a tie, and hearing people call him Mr. Kord, he never thought of changing his name!
“I—I don’t know,” he admits. “I never thought about it.”
“How about Dor?” Dr. Garrett asks.
Dora gives him a, ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ look.
“How about Garrett? That’s a nice, strong name.”
Dora sticks his tongue out at him.
They toss some names back and forth—Theo, Chester, Ramses, John, Dan Jr., Bill—but none sound just right. Dora asks for a rain check on it, and Dr. Garrett says that until Dora finds the right name, would it be all right to just call him Mr. Boy?
Dora decides that Dr. Garrett is the coolest grown-up ever.
One day, when Dora’s parents are out, Dora steals one of his dad’s belts—an ugly one that’s too small, so it won’t be missed. He goes into his room, takes off his shirt, and pulls his hair back so it looks shorter. Wearing just a pair of shorts, he ties the belt around his chest, takes a deep breath in, and then cinches the belt as tight as it will go.
When he looks in the mirror, he grins. Flat as a board! Perfect. He spends a few minutes posing and flexing. The boy in the mirror doesn’t look squishy. He looks strong and confident. He looks like he could grow up to be a hero, even a superhero like Chicago’s own Blue Beetle.
He looks like he can do anything, and that’s when Dora knows his name.
Without bothering to undo the belt, he pulls on his shirt and runs all the way to the University of Chicago. Out of breath and wheezing (keeping the belt on wasn’t such a great idea), he pounds on Dr. Garrett’s office door, but he’s not in. The secretary says he’s at a class and won’t be back for hours.
So Dora leaves a note on Dr. Garrett’s door:
MY NAME IS TED NOW.
Ted carries Booster over the threshold. It’s not hard; Booster’s switched his flight ring to his right hand. Ted carries him to the bed in the center of the Bug and dumps him on it. Booster bounces once, laughs, and folds his arms behind his head.
“What a caveman you are, Mr. Kord,” he teases. “You didn’t even buy me a drink first.”
“Guy spiked the champagne,” Ted says, walking to the Bug’s dash. “You wouldn’t want any of it, Mr. Kord.” He gets the ship to take off, then comes to sit on the bed next to Booster and kiss him. “Boy, will that take some getting used to. You sure you want to take my name?”
Booster snorts. “Oh yeah, because you know, I’m so attached to the Carter family legacy.” He undoes Ted’s polka-dotted bow tie and kisses his jaw. “Besides, Booster Kord sounds like the name of a great sex toy.”
“Mm, he is,” Ted agrees, and leans down to kiss him.
The Bug comes to a gentle stop, and the window covers roll down. Booster sits up, missing the kiss, and goes, “oh, wow.”
Ted grins. “Like the view? I programmed in the coordinates last night.”
They’re overlooking the Gotham skyline. Sunset is blooming over the sky in pink, orange, and red.
“I mean, we’ve seen it before,” Ted continues, fiddling with his carnation, “but if we’re in the Bug, we’re usually chasing some doofus in a cape, and if we’re not, I’m always worried you’re going to drop me—“
“Ted, you big squishy romantic, and here I thought you made the Bug our honeymoon suite because you were clueless!” Booster laughed.
“Hey, there’s a no-Batman, no-Guy guarantee, I’ll have you know, and that makes the Bug a great place to have sex in.”
Booster beams and tugs Ted down by the collar. “Somehow I doubt it. You’re going to have to prove it to me.”
Booster tastes like wedding cake, and there’s still rice in his hair from the over-enthusiastic tosses of his teammates. Unlike Ted, who wrinkles suits just by putting them on, Booster’s tux remains uncreased—though Ted is working on fixing that. He fumbles at untucking Booster’s shirt, only to squeak indignantly when Booster grabs his ass and crows, “Look what I’ve got!”
“Yes, yes, look what you got.” He rolls his hips into Booster’s, making Booster snicker and squeeze Ted’s ass harder. “You’ll be getting plenty of that, fear not, Mr. Glamour’N’Class.”
“Thought I was Mr. Kord,” Booster complains, but he sounds a little breathless.
“Oh, you will be,” Ted agrees, finally getting Booster’s shirt free of his pants. “Gotta consummate it first, of course, make it legit…”
“You better be good,” Booster teases, “or I’ll go back to being Mr. Carteeek!”
Ted laughs and releases Booster’s nipple. “Looks like someone’s eager and sensitive tonight.”
“Like you haven’t been waiting for this all night,” Booster retorts, arching his hips up to rub.
Ted closes his eyes and purrs, already moving to Booster’s rhythm. “All night. All day. All week, all year. Since I met you and realized future pants were pornographically tight…”
After that, it’s a fight to get their clothes off, though Booster tries to get Ted to keep his on. (“It’s the first time I’ve seen you wear something that’s tailored properly and not hideous! It’s a kink I never knew I had!”) Despite the squirming and groping and that wonderful, increasing friction against God’s-gift-to-Ted, Ted manages to get Booster’s pants off. Then he pauses.
“Well, hello there,” he purrs.
Booster is the kind of shameless only found in superheroes who wear ridiculously tight, shiny tights to fight evil in. But he blushes.
“I researched the wedding traditions here,” he says. “Something old,” he touches the tux, “of course, everything in this time is old to me, but you get it. Something new,” he touches his wedding ring, “something ‘borrowed,’” he points to his flight ring with a rueful look, which makes Ted laugh, “but I didn’t have anything blue, so I got something hot instead.”
Booster is wearing women’s underwear. Even though they’re high-cut, it’s not enough fabric to contain a half-hard Booster, which is an interesting dichotomy that Ted would love to examine more closely, after tearing them off him, of course. They’re white and lacey and partially translucent, as is the garter. Hell, they even have little pink roses embroidered on them.
“Ta-da!” Booster says, snapping the waistband. “Delicate and pure as my virtue!”
Ted snorts and leans back to survey it better, rubbing his chin. “As skimpy and shameless, more like. God, you make Mother Teresa’s wedding undies look obscene, how’d you pull that off?”
Booster shrugs. He’s still blushing, but he’s smiling. “Hey, I’m a football jock/superhero/male model/self-made man. There’s only so much manliness I can take.”
Ted grins satanically. “Does that mean you get to be my blushing bride?”
In response, Booster just squirms and bites his lower lip. Both blush and smile deepen.
Ted pumps his fist. “Hot dog! You’re on!”
After a moment, Booster admits, “I was a little worried it’d turn you off.”
Ted kisses Booster’s cheek. “I’d bang you wearing a potato sack.”
“Aw, you love me.”
“Damn right. Now, how’s about I become your ‘something blue’…”
Booster laughs and lets Ted remove his garter. “You know, I didn’t get something blue, just so I could let you make that pun…”
Later, when the sky is dark and the skyscrapers and their skins are ablaze with electricity, Ted leans over and sings breathlessly in his ear, “Here comes the bride, all dressed in white…”
He’s off-key, and the source of his rhythm is obvious, and Booster nearly loses his erection laughing.
It’s the best wedding night ever.