Solo Is Overrated

Quincy laughed as they finally stopped running, even if laughing was sort of hard to do while gasping for breath. “Holy shit, we did it. Fucking yes. I’ve been after that bitch for months.”

“Months, honey? I’ve been after him for years,” Rodeo drawled, and Quincy forgot to laugh as the blood in his face promptly redirected to his cock. God, he loved Rodeo’s voice. And his ass. And his chest. And the whole goddamn package.

He worked solo. He always worked solo. Quincy had learned the hard way that partners just got in the way. As Technophile, he worked alone and was well known for it. But he hadn’t been able to pass up a chance at finally nailing Sunset, even if that chance entailed teaming up with Rodeo.

It was almost a pity they had to part ways, but nothing good would come from encouraging even professional relations. Technophile worked alone.

“Yeah, he won’t be coming ’round here no more,” Rodeo replied, grinning for all he was worth. “Let Sunrise spank his hide for a bit, give our town a bit of a break.”

Quincy refused to be moved by that ‘our town’—it was his town and Rodeo would move along eventually. The whole community knew he was a nomad. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You do good work.”

“I do great work,” Rodeo replied, the words slow and thick and just—god, Quincy could listen to him all damn day and jerk off ’til his cock fell off. He really needed to take a couple of nights off, now that Sunset had been driven off.

He stepped back warily as Rodeo drew closer to him, mentally reactivating parts of his bodysuit. “I’ve worked with worse,” he conceded.

Rodeo chuckled and just kept approaching. “So full of compliments. It’s hot, how tetchy and prissy you are.”

“I—what—” Quincy meant to do something, but couldn’t remember what, too startled by the way Rodeo just pinned him to the alley wall and kissed him like they’d done it a thousand times.

It should have been awkward and clumsy, a new kiss—but it felt like they’d done it a thousand times and he didn’t get why. They had worked together the same way, like they already knew each other in and out and it was the part he’d hated most because Technophile worked alone.

Except Technophile apparently could not think with anything but his dick, because instead of doing the smart thing, Quincy just fisted his hand in Rodeo’s jacket and kissed back for all he was worth, not even trying to be quiet. Him and sex and quiet just did not get on, and if Rodeo was kissing him like this and they weren’t having sex then someone was getting murdered.

When they finally pulled apart, Quincy said, “I don’t recall this being part of our arrangement.”

Rodeo reached down and fondled him through his well-fitted body suit. “Now I know you’re a Yankee and all, honey, but I ain’t going to believe for a moment that you missed me hitting on you all night.”

Quincy opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Chuckling, Rodeo bit his bottom lip, nibbling on it for a moment, then drew back to say, “As a friend of mine used to say, you’re as sharp as a drunk butterfly.”

“What in the—that doesn’t even make sense—” Quincy tugged on his shirt. “Stop saying stupid shit and get on with it, or we go our separate ways now.”

Rodeo grinned—then abruptly lifted him up, throwing Quincy over his shoulder. “Hold on, then.”

Quincy held on, because once Rodeo was on the move there was no stopping him. “You’re going to pay for this,” he snarled.

All he got in reply was more laughter, and he sat stewing until they stepped into what was obviously a cheap motel room. Rodeo dropped him down on the bed, then began to work on his own clothes. “You’re gonna have to get yourself out of that second skin. I don’t even know where the zipper is, and I been looking for it all night.”

“Idiot,” Quincy said, amused. He mentally activated the released, and the suit pulled apart, folding in on itself until it vanished into the cuffs at his wrists. All that remained was his mask, and he would never take that off for anyone—not even a hot, horny cowboy.

Rodeo hadn’t bothered with the lights, but just the street lamp pouring in was enough to show off all those lovely muscles that he had quietly admired all night. He twined his arms around Rodeo’s neck as Rodeo crawled on top of him, dragged him down for a lip-bruising kiss. It could only be better if the damned masks weren’t in the way, but that couldn’t be helped so he just ignored it as best he could.

“You do taste even finer than you look, honey,” Rodeo said, lapping at his lips before slowly moving his way down Quincy’s body, blazing a trail of heat to Quincy’s cock, where he suddenly stopped. He wrapped a hand around it, stroking slow, teasing. “How do you want it, cause I tell you, I can’t decide.”

He wanted—everything. God, why did he have to make the decision. “I think the only thing to do with a crazy son of a bitch named Rodeo is ride.”

Rodeo burst out laughing, hand tightening around Quincy’s cock, making him swear and buck up into it. He swore again when Rodeo let go—but let him live when Rodeo switched their positions, and he was suddenly splayed across that body he would be jacking off to for months. Rodeo thrust a condom packet into his hands, and before Quincy could make another tasteless riding joke Rodeo’s fingers were getting familiar with his ass.

Not that he had any complaints. Quincy only lifted up on his knees and made himself as available as the shameless slut he was—he deserved something, after all, for finally kicking Sunset to the curb. It didn’t take long to prep him, and only frustrating seconds to get the condom on Rodeo’s cock.

It had been way too long since he’d had this kind of fun, and god knew when he’d get to do it again—fighting crime didn’t leave much free time, and most of that he just wanted to sleep. He lifted up and then drove back down on Rodeo’s cock, going slowly until he was used to it and then riding with all the eagerness and desperation he just could not be bothered to hold back.

Rodeo’s hands were tight on his hips, and his eyes fucking blazed behind his mask and it was the hottest goddamn thing he’d enjoyed for months and possibly years. He shouted himself hoarse as he came, nails digging into Rodeo’s chest. Rodeo’s shout deafened his, and Quincy wondered absently if the front desk would be calling to tell them to shut the fuck up.

He pulled off Rodeo’s cock and collapsed next to him, dreading the moment where he would have to get dressed and slink off—and annoyed that he dreaded it. One time thing, he reminded himself.

“Right fine city you got here,” Rodeo said after several minutes. “Feller could learn to like it.”

Quincy tried one last time to tell himself he was being a dumbass, that he needed to reactivate his higher brain function. But, as he had the entire night, he blithely ignored his own advice. There was nothing wrong with a good time, he told himself. It wasn’t like he was in danger of getting attached or something. “It’s a good city, especially now that we got rid of Sunset.”

“Sure enough,” Rodeo agreed. “Wanna show me around, some night? Help me get acquainted.”

“Does ‘get acquainted’ involve ass-kicking and sex?” Quincy asked.

Rodeo grinned. “It had damn well better.”

Quincy sighed inwardly at himself, mostly at the fact his cock was already starting to indicate it would not mind a round two in the very very near future. “Then, yeah. I’ll help.”

“Good,” Rodeo said, and leaned over to kiss him in a way that said there might possibly be a round three before they were done for the night.

He just could not bring himself to mind right then; he’d deal with it in the morning. Even superheroes were allowed to have fun here and there.