Zealous Lionhearts: The Fond Forays Of Champ And Apple, a misc. anime/manga fanfic

ZEALOUS LIONHEARTS: THE FONDEST FORAYS OF CHAMP AND APPLE

By Quillon42

Zealous was the word to describe the Noza enemy army which threatened constantly to cancel out the human population of the mundane and modest world of Maris. Upon the unassuming sphere also known as Earth Two (well before that mediocre series way back in the 1990s, then set on the negligible bastardy channel known as NBC) was a trio of heroes known as the White Knights, who were given not to abdicating their dignity in the defense of warriors of social justice, as their name might imply, but rather to eradicating the danger of so many invaders of their sovereign planet. Specifically the three were greatly outnumbered in their endeavor, but what evened the oppressive odds were those ever trusty, zesty zappers known as the Zillion Guns.

Similar to the Super Soldier Serum set in the universe of what was once a very Timely but is now such a less Marvelous comic book megacorporation, the supply supporting the hero(es) here regarding what substantiated the do-gooders' defense system was extremely limited. There were in fact only three Zillion Guns in existence upon Maris, and as such there also existed the videogamesque exigency to have only the same infinitesimal number of soldiers here to take on an alien army of thousands. Yet the Knights still managed to negate the Nozans' presence upon the planet, as potent as the Guns were even given their scary scarcity.

After a certain spell of episodes, then, the porcelain-masked problematic mofos that were the Noza were no longer a threat to the once-hapless Second Earthers. Yea, just as Parisians lived in a City of Light, these Marisians comprised a Celestial of Fight as the resistance to the impeding extraterrestrials proved too strong.

Ordeals continued for these humans expelled from the Earth, though. There were then the latter louts known as the Odama Clan, an enemy almost as ostentatious and insufferable as the Administration run by the nearly-identically-named forty-fourth Commander In Chief. These brash boors nabbed the comeliest of the Knights, who was the lavender-locked lady known only as Apple, and they absconded with her into a Night most Burning as the other two White warriors gave chase.

Indeed it was Champ of the sour Cameron-Frye face and snarky affect, as well as the childish Caucasian JJ of the afro so atramentous, who pursued their uncouth opponents into the wasteland where the stark Odama abode had been erected. With some luck and much gusto, the men managed to so snag their Apple back, and also send packing the pompous posers who would try to marry the wisteria-haired woman off to one of their unctuous number.

Now the three were taking it easy once again in the once-more-restored nightclub in which they all performed together on myriad evenings as the White Nuts. Apple astonished again and again as the lead vocalist, while Champ did all he could to back her on the bass. Beyond those two there was the portly powerhouse that was Dave pounding away on the skins in the back, while Amy proved serviceable on the perpetually style-ceaseless keytar. Then there was JJ on the fucking lead guitar as well.

Wryly the badass bassist thought that classless klutz to be Chump to the Champ that he himself had been. In truth the veteran Zillion cadet, whose name in fact was Chassimir Mavis Petruvius, had always viewed the other male in the group as a boy and never a man. All JJ had ever seemed to have was luck after all, while for Champ…for Champ his victories had issued forth from skill alone.

Yet perhaps it was luck that fueled the man's fortune this particular evening. As it turned out then, the Double J who wasn't a failed pro wrestling wannabe country crooner had ushered off Amy in a drunken stupor, under the pretense that the two compare the intensity of their respective top-heavy tresses. For certain that child's poofy follicles fared most inferiorly to Ames' expanded emerald mane; what mattered, though, was that for once the supposed principal hero of the team was out of the way.

Gamely Champ allowed himself to settle down in an alcove of the villa that the Maris Capital Mayor gifted to him, just as the others on the team had all been presented with the same. They were all of them arranged in the relaxed rural outskirts of that central metropolis, making up by themselves a miniature version of The Villages in Florida consisting of about six heady housing units in total (between the homes of all the Knights/Nuts as well as the most gussied-up domicile dedicated to none other than their main benefactor and commander Gord).

Dazedly the senior warrior of the Zillioner cadre was beginning to doze now when of a sudden

"Champ?"

he reared back with a start, even reached subconsciously for the ranged weapon he once regularly held upon his back, which of course was not positioned there at present. He squinted through the rays of the receding alien sun to see her now, as she had been all those years so long ago, Apple appareled in the celeste threads that she wore always on missions back when those mime-mien-ed monsters made to take over the entire primitive mound upon which they were all so tenuously situated. Champ had always so imagined the brawny beige of his own uniform collapsing to the floor alongside that of his female teammate's own baby blue complement.

With the tender glint sparking in the eye of his voluptuous visitor, perhaps she was now envisioning something similar.

Before this chariest of cosmic-combat Champs could conjecture about the same any further, the lady on the horizon hurried to his side. Hunkered down adjacent to the man, as he found himself seemingly hyperventilating a bit for a beat. Somehow, the fact that all the interstellar and intraplanetary excitement had died down actually resulted in occasional panic attacks for the adventurer; as far as he was concerned it was just too eerie not to be invaded by some sort of adverse entity, for once.

Merely the caress of the lady's palm upon his shoulder made the man tranquil. He felt a mite underdressed in relation to the mistress that was his visitor, as again she was in her unique uniform while he was only put together in a button-down and slacks. For the intimate mission the two were about to engage in, however, none of this really mattered.

She even had on the headset complete with the optical enhancer covering her right eye—at least momentarily she had it on. With efficiency yet urgency Apple doffed that ever so cute article of cranial tech, and then she burst out of her cerulean jumpsuit instantaneously thereafter. Before her the one she had always really wanted had no time to react as he watched the Opa-Opa-opalescence that was his cohort's fair flesh descending desirously upon him.

To be certain, with most deliberate determination the woman splashed down upon the object of her longstanding admiration. Furiously the heavy dropships of her fullest breasts landed upon the plain of his hastily-unclothed chest, the smooth hovercraft of her softest belly skimming against his stomach in turn. Now did the hungering howitzer barrels of their ravenous mouths converge most vindictively, now did the ordinance of each's affection for the other ever unload from tongue to tongue.

"App…"

"My real name's Apollonia…as I know your own in turn is Chass…Chassy. That's what I'm going to call you, if that's okay."

"Ohh…anything is okay with you, App…lonia…"

All of this as with fierce fervor the Man of Maris farmed the femme's flesh ever so fervently, he planting kisses upon the sides of "Apple"'s ample breasts, he focusing more upon the mount on the left (from the lady's perspective) as it once wore that sapphire laser sensor upon the same. Now Chassy aimed for the same sensuous space with the intense implements of his lips, in that same moment his redoubtable red photon underneath loading to utter saturation.

With vindictive vibrancy the seething scout cycles of Chass's hands chased along the pearly plains of Apollonia's alabaster back, then up and down the parchment thighways of her lineny legs, then along the chiffon canyon of her creamy ass. Following each foray was the ravenous rover of his voracious maw, the same conquering each erotic inch of his paramilitary mistress's figure. At one moment the canny commander needed to nuzzle his nose into his lover's navel to rest; then he resumed with raw reserves of energy, kissing her belly all over, then the sides of the front of her throat, then onto and between her florid lips.

When almost an hour later it appeared that he had earned the necessary clearance, the Champ carefully piloted his tensest Tri-Formation into the delectable dock of her hungriest hangar, its gates opening with moisture emanating from the parting halves, just as when the same occurred on Nozan missions with the ivory dispatch ship departing with its color-coordinated reconnaissance vehicle in tow.

Gingerly the gallant claimed with his Split-Second-Chance cannon the Hope City of this demigoddess's delicious garrison,

[ITCCHHHOOOMMMMMM]

the sumptuous strafing by the man's lurching launcher scorching the soldieress's earth (two) yet also ensuring its future fertility most forcefully.

They rested for the next several minutes, Apollonia reveling and not expiring in the passionate explosion (unlike the identically-named girl in The Godfather), the lion- and lioness-hearts of the White Knights having so zealously invaded one another's areas so amatively, one's trembling hand in the other's quaking palm. Then Champ, kind of faux-pas-ily:

"JJ…"

"…Stands for Juvenile Jerkoff. I don't know what the hell I ever saw in him. It doesn't matter because it's ov…it actually never really started. We had never even kissed."

Eyebrows exosphere high for the Champeen on that one.

Apple rolled on. "Yeah, like…we almost did, right before a most plot-predictable explosion at the Odama digs.

"But we never did after all, and when I got home I said to myself, like, 'How could I ever approach anything along the lines of interest for someone who fully copped a feel on me from behind?!' And then that was that between me and him.

"If you've ever seen him within a klick of me thereafter, it was all just cordiality, not to mention restrained rage on my part really."

"Honestly that night with the Odouches was probably…no, was most certainly the worst of my entire life."

To be sure, the evening was an awful ordeal involving escapes and abscondings, and cringy chibi interludes of the series' trinity of troopers, and violence by women against men that could only acceptably happen from the former to the latter and never vice versa, and posturing about the untenable amorality of the enemy in the midst of armed encounters, and a West Side Story knife fight between the Jayster and Appy's ex named Rick who was angsty emo in an era when it was remotely reasonably rad.

She looked fondly in her long-awaiting lover's direction. "…Although there was in fact one upstanding gentleman whose presence I didn't entirely mind then…"

And just like that another mission commenced between Champ and Apple, the second of a zillion to transpire in the calid concourse of their lives and afterlives.