Chapter XXIII

Aphrodite and Psyche

As his head engineer, Buddy always admired the dedication Liam had to finishing work, putting overtime in the lab and on the building floor. It was the same volume of tenacity and devotion to creation, and moreover, to the research, Buddy possessed. He was no genius IQ on paper, but he was quick and clever and loyalty to his craft made him invaluable. The modifications to the Omnidroid that would have taken years instead took months with Mac at his side.

Now, however, standing in the bathroom of his lab bedroom and hearing the man tinker about outside his door, Buddy was ready to strangle him. He spat in the sink and rinsed his mouth free of toothpaste-he was absolutely certain Violet would not be pleased if he tried kissing her with smoke on his breath. He took one last quick check in the mirror, trying his best to avoid the scar, but making sure he hadn't missed any spots in his shave. She had soft skin and he didn't want to leave stubble burn on her thighs. "Leave it for tomorrow, Mac, and go to bed. You're far too drunk to stand up straight and piss, let alone work," he called, taking off his pendant and placing it in the empty soap holder.

"Aye, I'm goin', just cleaning up-God forbid you ever pick up after yourself." Liam was putting back the tools they had been using to dismantle Baby in preparation for their project: light refracting metal.

Buddy walked through the spartan bedroom out into the cavernous lab. The air was cool, boarding on chilly, being dug so deep into the earth, which was fine for him and his now fevered body. Where they stood was the lab proper with the observation and testing room. It was the size of an air hanger and bisected by a partition. One half was a secure chamber to observe and test various parts and machinery caged in by transparent aluminum to protect the two engineers from any explosion or out-of-control AI. The other half was open and free for the actual building. There was a small runway where the old models of his hovercrafts still sat beneath hanger doors that opened up to a clearing deeper in the woods, some miles away from the manor.

Above them was the preliminary lab, the room that sat directly behind the heavy metal door at the bottom of the basement stairs. There they drew up blueprints, brainstormed, and watched the test tapes back. It was a tidy little setup, even if it was paltry compared to having a whole island to work with. But considering the cramped quarters he had been trapped in for eight years, it seemed more than he would ever need.

Not that he gave much of a damn about it now.

"I'll bring her down here tomorrow and we can observe her properly, see what exactly her shields are doing on her skin to make her invisible."

"On talking terms again, then?" His friend shut the tool cabinet and turned, crossing his arms. "I see we are. All groomed and clean-and here I thought you were shavin' for little 'ole me."

Buddy lifted his eyes to the ceiling, but a smirk crawled over his features as he walked to one of the computer desks. Typing in a few commands, he accessed the houses' security cameras. The rooms that housed the Parrs he had already taken offline-he didn't even want to think about whatever might be going on within those walls. The one to Liam's room was turned towards the door. On, just in case there was an emergency, but dislodged enough to give privacy-it was another room that Buddy was better off not thinking about.

But in small black and white, he watched Violet move about her bedroom, already in her pajamas, a toothbrush sticking from her mouth as she cleaned up, tossing clothes and a towel into the hamper. He began typing in new commands, safeguards to make sure their night went on uninterrupted. As he hit enter, he lingered a moment just to watch her in her nightgown as she disappeared from sight, returning to the bathroom. "Go to bed."

"Oh, aye, bed is where you're headin'." Liam gestured to his friend, who was already dressed in lounge pants and a t-shirt. "Tomorrow'll be grand-working with you half-awake in the morning is always a treat. Let me get out so you can head up and get a start on it, and maybe get an hour of sleep tonight."

Just as he began making his way up the stairs, the door opened. Natalya leaned her head in. "I knew you'd both be here. Don't you know what time it is? You can tinker tomorrow when you're both sober."

"I'm comin', m'love. We're not wanted anyway, someone has a doctor appointment!"

Before they disappeared together, Buddy called without turning, "Actually, Nat I need to speak with you." He saw in the lab's security camera the pair of them glance at each other. Buddy and Natalya had communicated easily in these past years the three had been reunited, almost picking up cadence from where they had left off eight years ago. But never alone. They had been avoiding that prospect for a while; easy, as Buddy was very rarely free from Fell and when he was only for a day or two at a time, if that.

Liam kissed his wife's cheek and murmured something before he left. Buddy took the bottle by his monitor and shook out five pills–the low count making the remaining tablets rattle ominously. He'd need an extra dose to stave off the ever-present ache with what he was going to do with Violet. He knew he'd probably drop dead asleep when it was over with this particularly strong overdose, though his resistance had grown frighteningly fast lately.

After completing his task, Buddy shut off the computer and ascended the stairs. Natalya waited at the top, propping open the heavy door with her body. They moved into the blueprint room, Buddy shutting the lab door, and spinning the wheel handle until he heard the lock activate, and the air pressure seal. This room had a long glass table that dominated the space, and Buddy leaned against it easily, hands flat on the top behind him.

Natalya folded her arms and waited, eyeing him almost suspiciously. That was a new look on her, and Buddy hated it, knowing it was well deserved.

His Natalya had never looked at him like that before Mr. Incredible. She had never doubted him, not once. Oh, she had confronted him, corrected him, nudged him with argument and seduction when she thought his course incorrect. But she never suspected him before. Losing her trust felt similar to living without a heartbeat; he knew it ought to be there, but when he searched for it, went to rely on it, found it missing, and was violently reminded that there was no return to what was. Her trust was a phantom limb, and he still felt the itch of wanting it.

Buddy rubbed his nose and came out with it quick, like setting a bone: "I wanted to say sorry." The word never tasted good on his tongue, and the flavor was so rare it made his face twist every time he had to swallow his pride.

Now she simply looked skeptical. "Sorry?"

"Even though it wasn't a gamble I...I shouldn't have let you believe I would have risked your life."

"Buddy, don't." She turned away, facing the old blueprints for the parting waterfall that was sitting in decay on Nomanisan like so many futures, hopes, and supers. "It doesn't matter now."

"I know but-"

She hung her head, a hand going to her forehead as she continued to speak to the wall. "Please, just don't. I don't want you to apologize to me just because you've finally found someone you'll beg for."

The accusation met its mark, the truth of it lancing through him. Natalya, in her usual, direct and cutting way was right. Buddy, who would never bend the knee to another master be it person or idea, made of steel and determination, had finally found the one knick in his armor.

It was the reason why he had at first rebuffed his princess. Buddy knew he was going to die. For all her talk of right and law, in his bones, be them organic or machinery, he felt the truth of how this would all end.

He and Fell, dead.

They could work until their hands bled and their bodies gave out these ten days, but still, Buddy didn't know what they would be facing when they finally cornered the doctor. Armies of minions? Russian aide, armed and ready to shoot on command? A man-made super, the fire to Fell's Prometheus? All of these were factors, all of these were possibilities, equally as plausible as they were absurd.

But one factor remained constant, a control to their fatal experiment: Violet would fight. She was a quiet sort of woman, reclusive and introverted, but he had seen her in battle before. Even as a child she was bold, and as a fully grown woman she was fierce; he'd seen the way her eyes lit with holy rage, how that soft-spoken persona flaked and burned away with the fire of her courage.

Most importantly, he had seen her fling herself in front of the ones she loved. And, God help them both, she loved him. So she would fight, and she would put herself between Buddy and Fell's machinations. She would risk herself to protect him.

And Buddy would die before any harm came to her.

The choice was surprisingly easy to make-it didn't even shock him when the thought formed in his mind, a racing flash of insight when he had snatched her back from the edge of the ship right before she tumbled into the dark waves below. He had crushed her to him, his blood practically humming in his ears with fear. And as he held her, Buddy had realized he would have jumped straight into the Pacific for her, that he'd never let harm come to her-that I would die for her.

Proceeded to do just that, too, because it felt like he was dying an agonizingly slow death, being so close to her in the hours after rejecting her advances. Violet in all her burning rage had declared him the very thing he had despaired of becoming his entire life-the very thing his 'rebirth' had been penance for.

Villain.

That had been painful enough, but then every glance she'd given him, every heartbroken stare had sliced into him, deeper and more painful than any of Fell's knives. Being so near to her and knowing he could and should never be hers was like standing at the mouth of hell, feeling the heat sear him, but not yet touch. He had accepted it, figuring that was where he was bound anyway. Might as well get used to the sweltering now.

It was only when she had confessed to her the loneliness that he had broken, and disregarded the flames altogether, jumping headfirst into destruction. If he was going to die for her anyway, why not know and take some joy in the woman he wanted to preserve? If his end was a certainty, and it promised to be a gruesome painful thing if previous experience was any indicator, then why was he wasting his time with smaller sufferings?

Besides, he couldn't bear to think of Violet moving along in the world, of being so lonely, without something of his to carry with her. Of her mourning his place beside her, her own phantom limb, without knowing the reality of it; it was a special kind of agony, to long and despair for affection and acceptance you never actually had in the first place. In Buddy's library of suffering, that particular pain was a book well worn with reference. It clutched at the place in his chest where his heart ought to have been to think that she would remember him only in angry words, cutting remarks, and harsh touches. That she would have nothing of his newfound gentility or warmth to gather close at night and remember him by when she was alone in her suffering, the one person to understand gone and dead from this world.

And she understood so much more than just the scars and nightmares. Her talk of being different had rang true in him-whatever her loneliness was made of, he too was created from the same stuff. He knew how empty it was to be in a crowd of people and still be alone. To see and understand things so clearly, try to communicate his vision, and fail. Worse, be mocked-or told to go home. It was a loneliness that made him create a masked monster that fed on hate and fear but was fierce enough to protect the hurting man inside.

And Violet had thoroughly defeated Syndrome, that black and white plated armor he had used to box in the vulnerable Buddy. She'd done what she claimed she never would-used her powers and grabbed a tight hold of his heart, made that metal thing in his chest pump with something more frightening than rage or blood. Violet had broken his defenses, his stubborn perception, and his vow to never yield and forced him to love again.

Who better to own his weakness? What better alter to kneel before?

But now that it was free, his heart could not willingly go to its new master without bidding goodbye to its previous owner. After all, this was the woman who had been by his side through every milestone, failure, and triumph. The reason why it truly felt odd to sleep in a bed alone was for want of Natalya's body taking up space. She was the empty air he turned to when talking aloud, still unused to her absence.

Violet was whom he went to now, planned with, fought with, and hopefully, for whatever precious days he had left, loved with. But it was Nat who had designed the space in his heart where he loved, first. It was on the foundations of her temple that Violet's pillars now rose.

Nat-poor, beautiful, strong Nat, who was once his but never Syndrome's. If he had aspired to be a god, naming even his operation after the most powerful of titans, then Natalya was his Aphrodite; both beautiful and unshakable, affectionate and fierce. All that had been love to his understanding was by her grace and tutelage since their childhood. The flush of affection, the joys of adoration, the strength of enduring connection. Even the devastation of love lost, she had taught him.

Nat, with whom he had never been gentle, and Buddy was something like sorry for it now.

He had been so accustomed to her presence, her loyalty, and love, that he had taken it for granted. She had been his right hand since they were kids, and because of the familiarity and the longevity of the use, Buddy had thought losing her as impossible as losing a limb; aware it could happen in the abstract, but dismissing the possibility in reality.

Buddy flexed his hand on the table, the right one with its new skin and metal bones. As Syndrome, he had been full of so many stupid and prideful ideas. Like Phaethon, demanding the chance to prove himself, and arranging his own death in the process.

He had no wish to go back and steal Liam's place by her side, however. Natalya and Buddy had been jagged pieces that fit tightly together for a time, a long time at that; but the years had eroded their edges, softened their touch and now they knocked against one another, chipping off flakes of trust and loyalty. Fearful of further cracking, it was best they were separated, together but at arm's length.

But it seemed too wrong to climb into his lover's bed and give her the tenderness and care that ought to have been Natalya's in the first place without some sort of apology. Buddy had never been rough with Nat, or even forceful. But familiarity often bred a particular apathy; familiar love had a danger in it that was greater than wild passion. It was what had caused Nat to turn a blind eye to the growing cancer of Syndrome she clearly saw metastasize over the years and had caused Buddy to assume more loyalty than he ever tried to earn.

He winced, remembering one of the last times they had been together, physically. It had been the night she had dined with his former idol. The scent of his cheap cologne clung to her, and he had wanted to replace it with his own. Long after the super had been sent home, they lingered in the dining room, sending the empty serving plates and champagne glasses to the floor in shattering pieces. It had seemed well enough at the time-he'd made sure she'd enjoyed herself. But it hadn't been…

"I just wanted to say I know I didn't do right by you, is all."

Natalya let out a watery laugh. When she faced him, she was grinning. But her eyes sparkled with tears. "My, she's really done a number on you. You're speaking about right and wrong now?"

He wanted to argue back, to snap that she could leave if she didn't want to take it seriously. But Buddy bit his tongue. He held back his famous rage because she was his friend and ally; Because she was his kin and because he didn't want to cause her more pain. Buddy didn't cut her because she was still, in some small broken way, still his Nat. He wouldn't beg for her, he wouldn't die for her. But that didn't mean he didn't respect her. It was something he had put aside when he wore the mask-something lost in the apathy of familiarity. Even after all she had done to bring him to this place...he couldn't hurt her.

"...My goodness, Buddy, look at you. I never thought I'd see you restrained."

He pushed off the table. "Forget I said anything."

Her hand on his arm didn't stop his journey to the door-her gasp did. Her fingers had fallen on one of the thick bands of scarring, right above his elbow where Fell cut into to replace the humerus, radius, and ulna. Nat had seen the scars briefly and had touched him since he had shown up on her doorstep that horrible night. Casual touches, on the shoulder or hand, but nothing more. She hadn't felt the damage he bore.

Buddy pulled away, rubbing the place her fingers had touched. He had quite enough of females crying over the mutilation that was his body. He saw Nat swallow hard, her eyes glued to his bare forearms, and wished desperately for Violet. She, too, had looked at him with sadness and horror-but it was a different flavor. It was an understanding that created the sickened look. Or maybe it was just the woman herself that made her sympathy acceptable. For a very reason well known to him now, vulnerability before Violet wasn't the shameful thing he had deemed for so long. It almost felt safe.

Vulnerability before Nat, however, felt like failure. It always had-Natalya had looked to him for protection, guidance, and opportunity. He was as much her turn-key as lover and friend. And between his affection for her and his own ambition, it was a vocation he executed with pride. They both had a weakness for power and prestige, a common want that often informed their relationship; vacillating between romantic and transactional. He took care of her, protected and provided for her.

It was what heroes did.

"I'll accept your apology if you tell me something." She was standing in front of him now, head tilted back to look into his eyes instead of at his body. His hands itched to reach out and hold her chin up-not from want, but from pure simple habit. Muscle memory.

"You already know the codes to all houses and my social. What more could you want?"

"Just one thing. I'm not going to stand here and say you never cared about me-I know you did. But you never cared for me more than you hated him." She didn't need to clarify what man had embodied his revenge before the fall. "I just want to know if you love her more than you hate Fell."

The question probably should have shaken him. It should have felt like a slap to the face. After all, their years of hits and sabotage, fighting and hiding and secrets had been fueled by his loathing for the doctor, supplemented by the righteous anger of his friends. But Buddy's hatred had always been the guiding beacon; the lighthouse to bring Ultra's boat safely to shore each time they were on the verge of being caught. They could not fail, because his hateful revenge needed to run its course.

But in the end, the answer came as easily as accepting his death. "Yes." And with a calming breath said, "I'd say sorry again but you never ask a question you don't already know the answer to, Nat."

She blinked, and the tears finally did fall. But she was still smiling. The crazy woman was laughing. "Yes. I just wanted to hear you say it. Please, please stop apologizing. I want you to be happy-and now you have her and you are happy. Maybe you two will end up better than we did at the end of all this. I think you could behead Fell and put it over the door and she'd still love you. Not like…" Her streaming eyes flickered to his arm again, before she covered her mouth, crying in earnest now.

Buddy patted his hip-but his extra handkerchief was in his slacks downstairs. Goddamnit, he was awful with crying-he didn't have a clue what to do. The last time she had cried in front of him, they had stood by two open graves, and he had put his arm around her and kissed her face. Not an option now.

"Hey, c'mon, stop. Nat, please, I can't-Lee is going to murder me if you go up there with big puffy eyes and a nose full of snot." He bent slightly, trying to look into her eyes. "You're killing me here. Listen, I'll take the dumb apology back."

That at least got a hiccuping burp of laughter from her. "No-I accept it. It's just...I wasn't wrong either, doing what I did. It was the right thing to do...but I'm sorry, too, Buddy." She reached out, trying to be brave, and touched his ravaged arm again. "I'm sorry that it happened to you, I'm sorry I had a part in it. I'm so sorry."

His fingers closed over hers. If he wanted, he could think of it that way, and work himself into an almighty rage. If it wasn't for her betrayal, his former idol wouldn't have been free to down his jet, and Fell would have never gotten him. But if it weren't for Syndrome, there would have been no turn of heart. And if it hadn't been for Mr. Incredible, and if and if and if…

He could backtrack all the woes of his life from preceding blame to blame, reaching all the way to creation itself. It wouldn't change a damn thing. There was only the future ahead, frighteningly nebulous and, for him, short. There just wasn't time anymore for hate.

Besides, he had glutted himself enough on it, like a child with too much candy. It turned his stomach, the thought of adding more. Above him there waited a chance for a better, kinder emotion. "I know who did this to me, Natalya. And it wasn't you."

A nod was his answer. Neither of them would recant their actions. Power and pride were what they shared, and both aspects could not condone such retractions. But they had a connection stronger than romance, and if their affair could not handle the betrayals, this could. It was a different type of together. Natalya took a breath and shook off her grief. He could almost see it slip away, like a physical veil lifting from her still wet face. And with that fierce, unshakable directness, Natalya declared, "I love you. Even after everything."

Finally, he did reach out and trace his fingers under her face, tips lifting her chin. It was a familiar path that probably bore a mark from years of use. "I know. Me too, even after everything."

Her arms wound their way about his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest, just like she used to. Deciding he could take the beating if his friend deemed it necessary, Buddy held her back, knowing this slim waist and round shoulders as well as his own body. Better, technically, than the current form he possessed. She smelled like coconuts and rose water, and the scent registered like a home he had long since moved from. Always there, always safe, but perhaps a little less familiar than before.

"Go on." He let her go, taking a step back and leaning back against the table. "Before you turn on the waterworks again."

She scoffed. "Right. I should probably attend to my husband, and make sure he didn't break his neck on the stairs."

"Right. Just don't attend too late. We have work to do in the morning."

Mirage shot him a narrowed glare over her shoulder. "I think if I see you before noon it'll be a miracle. Don't play too rough, we still need the super."

It was only when she closed the door behind her that Buddy finally bid her a soft goodbye.

In every house he designed, Buddy made escape routes. There were multiple exits, ones both obvious and ones known only to him. He played a most dangerous game as an arms dealer and knew it, always a little flighty when it came to anyone finding his base of operations, especially when he began using an alias. Most of his empire hinged on a great deal of anonymity. Secrets and whispers were his methods, and in times like tonight, proved most useful.

From the basement, between the theater and lab, there was a slender door that opened to his touch which led to a network of passages just behind the walls of the house. Slipping into the darkness, Buddy found he was slimmer than his youth, as he always used to complain he had built this too small. The pathways were nothing special, really just showing off the infrastructure of the house with no drywall to cover the beams and nothing but sanded hardwood underneath. They were for emergencies, not comfort.

It took a few trips to the kitchen by accident for him to get his bearings and find the ladder up to the second level. Each bedroom had an entrance into passages through the bathroom, and Violet's was damp from her shower and dark when he entered, closing the tile-covered door between sink and shower behind him. Carefully picking his way across, mindful of his bare feet and the hard ceramic fixtures, Buddy eased open the door. He checked one last time to make sure she was alone, cautious of fathers saying good nights.

Instead, all that was there was Violet keeping vigil on her bed. She was hugging her knees, looking out at the rather spectacular view from her window. Here in the mountains the light barely brushed the sky, leaving it clear for the stars and moon to dangle above the dark trees. It was a crescent tonight, but still strong enough to bathe the woman in silvery light.

Memory pierced him: bored at an art gallery he had been invited to, showing up for clout rather than purpose, wandering the rooms and stumbling upon an empty one with older frames. A painting of a man kneeling by a lake, women gathered round, emerging delicately from the water, speaking softly, holding onto his arm. He had thought it rather pretty and been surprised to learn it depicted an abduction. Such sweetly attractive things hiding such devious cunning.

And here was his own nymph, her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, so silky it looked wet against her pale arms. Patient Psyche, wide-eyed and beautiful, hiding beneath her snowy soft skin iron and fight. Without so much as lifting a slim finger, she had brought him to his knees-and barely even knew it. If he stood at the mouth of hell for loving her, then he would gladly allow Violet to drag him beneath the waters of her ador, soothing the heat with her cool voice and deviously gentle touch.

And he did burn. After all, besides his insanely intense attraction to her, Buddy had not been with a woman in eight years. If drowning in VIolet cured that drought, then he was ready to be taken by the current.

Before stepping into the room, he pulled off his shirt, still damp with Mirage's tears. It didn't seem right to bring the stains in here. Violet heard the creak of the door, and whipped around, going to her knees. Her eyes slid over him, and he felt her amethyst gaze as if her hands were trailing where her sight led. Those hands reached out to him, beaconing him and Buddy was helpless to resist. His own fingers tangled in her tresses, holding her head captive before his mouth captured her lips. It was novel, to kiss her with impunity, and a year of longing poured out in the action, sparing very little time for sweet build-up.

Not that she was complaining.

Her head fell back, her mouth open and eager to his plundering, active in a kiss that stole their breath and sent them panting quickly. Her nails scratched along the back of his head, holding him down, keeping him close as shivers cascaded down his spine. He broke away, lips marking a trail across her round blushing cheek to murmur in her ear, "Is the door locked?"

Violet nodded, tilting her face so that his lips could continue exploring the sensitive flesh of her jaw. Then her eyes flicked to the door in question. "...Well now you've made me nervous."

Buddy grinned, watching as she slid from his grasp and hurried to the door with a hopping gate, hissing as her bare feet danced across the cold floor. He sauntered behind, enjoying the view of her form in the silky nightgown, especially southern regions. He waited for her to jiggle the handle and make sure it was locked before placing his hands on the frame and trapping her between his arms. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, cheek against her hair. "Good. Then there's no escape for you now."

Buddy planned to take his time with the little hero, to make her introduction into love play quite enjoyable. He knew he had few talents; he was awful at social interactions, wasn't a kind man, and had absolutely no patience, added on to his rather blase stance on human life. But he excelled in exactly three things: math, machines, and sex; and was certain of his prowess when the subjects intersected.

Before, he had hypothesized to her that humans ran on programming, like computers. Added to that, the body was nothing more than an organic machine, something that his time as a lab rat had confirmed between personal and scientific experience. For it to function without discomfort depended entirely on angles, pressure, and preparation. Most, including himself in his inexperience, relied on the second and utterly disregarded the others. His own first time had been fumbling and apologetic for this reason, even though it was natural for a young, naive couple.

But he and Violet were neither young nor naive. He didn't want that for her.

Partly from care, but furthermore, he liked the idea that when he was nothing more than a rusting skeleton, Violet would still compare every man she loved to him, to these nights. He wanted to make the comparison difficult to live up to. And he wanted her to be enthusiastic to repeat the experience as many times as possible.

By Violet's shiver, he figured he was off to a good start. Buddy leaned in closer, his warm chest covering her back, pressing her against the door. For a split second, grief gripped his lungs and robbed him of breath. He could really only feel her on his left half, the right registering temperature and pressure, but it was a muted sensation. Most of the nerves were dead on that side. The agony disappeared when she turned her head so he could see her in profile, murmuring, "what if I don't want to escape?"

"Going off script, huh?" He gathered her hair, sliding it off her shoulder so that his teeth could find the tender muscle of her neck, and nip. "I'm pretty adaptable. I'd say then, you've asked for this."

Her arms felt so slender and breakable under his fingers as he trailed them down to her hands resting on the door where she leaned against it. Buddy slid her palms along the wood, over her head and over each other so he could lace the fingers on hand with hers and hold them there. Thus pinned, she balanced precariously, only upright from his grip, back arching.

His free hand trailed from shoulder to her waist, feeling the contours through the satin of her nightgown. Violet was more slender than curvy, but there was real toned muscle here, firm and shapely and jumping at his every touch as it traveled along her stomach. Palm flat against her belly, he began gathering the skirt of her nightgown, bunching until he felt (to him) cool flesh beneath.

She had her lower lip crushed between her teeth now, eyes drifting closed as her head rested against her arms. He was afraid she might draw blood as his fingers began to travel, but there was no need. Once his hand slid beneath the elastic of her underwear, her lips parted in silent wordless cry. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of harsh manual work, a stark contrast to the smooth, delicate flesh he found between her thighs. Apparently, she didn't mind the abrasion.

Her legs snapped close around his wrist, hard enough to make him wince. He'd have to watch his neck later. Knees buckling, elbows knocking the door as she collapsed against the wood, Violet writhed under his touch, but she was trapped between his exploring hand and his unyielding form behind her. Truly no escape left, and by the little keens she emitted, Buddy knew she didn't mind.

His fingers were slick after just a few gentle touches and slid inside her with ease as he began a steady rhythm, his thumb continuing to stroke her. He kissed the back of her head, face buried in her hair as he murmured soft encouragement: Good? Good. More? Here? Oh, you liked that...

He let her wrists go so that his free hand could snake under her gown and cup her breasts. The rough pad of his thumb coaxed the flesh to firm, making it easier to pinch and tease. Violet's fingers manacled themselves around his wrists but didn't hinder him. Instead, her head fell back into the crook of his neck as she rocked into his fingers, finding his pattern and meeting his thrusts with her own, her panting sending cool puffs of air across his jaw.

The way she was pressing firmly against him, her backside fitting perfectly against his hips, was both a help and a hindrance-it kept her from wriggling free in her pleasure, but her motions were enough to end their fun a little early if he wasn't careful. Still, Buddy couldn't help himself, moaning low against her temple, and finding some relief in the friction. Bed-they needed to make it to bed. And he needed to get these clothes off her before he started ripping fabric. He doubted she'd be pleased to have the few things she brought destroyed, though there was something to be said about private naturism.

Buddy found her whining "No," absolutely adorable when he pulled away from her. Not that her pouting lasted long. He took the cap sleeves of her nightgown and pulled, sliding the loose silky fabric off her slender frame, grabbing her panties on the way down until the cloth puddled at her feet.

Violet disappeared.

For a second, kneeling on the ground, he was a little disoriented-what the hell-but humor quickly won out. "Vi," he singsonged, rising again. He placed his hands on the door, trapping her again. He could feel her close, feel her brushing against him as she moved. He just couldn't see what she was doing. "You know I can't touch you like that again if I can't see you. And I want to see you. It's only fair you know-You got to get a good eyeful of me real early."

"I didn't want to then," came her disembodied voice.

"And now?"

"I thought that show was too expensive?"

"I'll put it on your tab. C'mon."

He felt a huff of air against his chest before she reappeared, her hair tactically covering her chest and her hands doing the rest beneath her waist. Buddy raised a brow, and with paired fingers, flicked the concealing locks off her breasts and over her shoulders. Her hands hesitated, wanting to hide again, but he caught her wrists, holding them firmly behind her back.

God, she was gorgeous. A natural work of art, especially the way she canted her head to the side as if avoiding his stare, blushing and shy. But she watched him under her lashes, and he knew she was enjoying his adoring gaze.

With her arms trapped, it made her arch and put her totally on display. Pale and smooth, all shades of coral and cream, from the flat of her stomach to the divot of hips, to the sweet roundness of her breasts that rose and fell under labored breath. In the low light, he could see the shine of her arousal on her toned thighs as well. Buddy's excitement was the same as seeing a fresh patch of unmarked snow. And he planned to leave his marks all over her. Get her in bed, savage, or do you want to have her up against the door with the hinges cutting into her back?

Right. His first attempts at romance with her had gone totally FUBAR, and he was determined that this would be different. If there was ever a time for stupid charming gestures, it was now. Quickly he bent, and lifted her into his arms, Violet letting out a squeak of surprise, clinging to his shoulders. God, it was even worse when she was all pressed up against him, softness and curves against his chest. And the way she was staring up at him, with those big eyes, lips kiss swollen and pink... Bed, now. Blindly, he carried her to the mattress.

Bad idea, Buddy discovered, as his foot collided with the bedside table. They collapsed onto the mattress in a heap, rather than the graceful laying out he had planned. "Ah! Shit-fuck-me!"

But far from being deterred, Violet began to laugh. "I'm trying," she spluttered between unsuccessful attempts to stifle her giggles behind bitten lips. She held his face, as if afraid he might pull away, offended. "I'm sorry, are you okay?"

It was such an endearing sight, and the joke so unsuspected, Buddy had no choice but to grin, resting his forehead against hers as they descended into laughter. "Yeah-well, sorry, that's the last time I try to be romantic." Pushing up, he slid off his pants before climbing onto the bed with her, kneeling by her legs.

Violet propped herself on her elbows, purple gaze raking over him. His scars were ugly, and his body had the form of pique fitness only in outline; the rest was a museum to poor healing and sadistic practices. Still, he forced himself to be still under her gaze, especially since her expression betrayed nothing but desire when the path of her staring tended south. She wet her lips, swallowing hard before she looked him in the eye again and beaconed him close with a finger.

And like a fool drawn to siren song, he obeyed, letting her pull him down into a long, slow kiss. It was hypnotic, and for a few moments all his plans crumbled into dust; nothing was as important as keeping Violet Parr engaged in that sultry kiss. Her tongue pushed into his mouth, exploring before she pulled back, teeth testing the elasticity of his lower lip. "You're right."

Buddy was a little dazed, answering with a dumb, "...Huh?"

"Sweets made you sweet," she murmured against his lips, pecking them softly in light teasing touches.

He grinned into her mouth, returning to the task at hand with new vigor. "Yeah? I could taste sweeter…" Fingers found a familiar home around her throat, pushing her back against the pillows. His thumb tilted her chin up, leaving her throat exposed to his tongue as he ran it along her jugular. His lips closed, and he bit down, leaving a rather impressive red mark right where her jaw met neck. He hoped her quick healing would erase the evidence by morning, but a larger more reckless part of him didn't give a damn.

He left a path of biting kisses down her collar and chest, tongue quickly following teeth to soothe the stings, to her hips and thighs. He didn't try and pry her legs open when she instinctively pressed them together. Instead, Buddy sat back on his heels and lifted her toned limb, nuzzling against her calf and nipping playfully at her ankle until he felt her relax.

Violet lay back against the pillows, eyes shut in luxurious lethargy, modesty forgotten, lulled calm by his caresses. Buddy banked on this as he began to slowly reverse the trail of his kissing, letting her leg drape over his shoulder as he bent. He was sure she didn't realize just what he was doing, not until he gently blew cool air over the sensitive flesh of her womanhood.

By that time it was far too late-Violet squeaked and tried to wriggle away, but he held her thighs fast on his shoulders. The poor super was utterly at his mercy when his mouth pressed a kiss there and helpless when his tongue dragged flat against her.

"Buddy!" Jesus, his name had never sounded so good than when it tumbled from her lips. She seemed unable to decide whether she was wriggling away from his busy mouth or towards it-not that it mattered much. His hands pinned her writhing hips to the mattress, giving him a steady place to work. She came to a decision soon enough when Buddy found that specific spot sure to make her wild.

Her fingers twisted in his hair as she rocked against him, making him growl from the sting as he worked-adding to the delightful sensations which only strengthened her grip. It was a vicious cycle, building closer and closer to completion. Buddy grinned when he pulled back just before she tumbled over the edge. Violet, usually so stoic and quiet was anything but now. For the first time, he saw her emotions play freely across her face-desire, excitement, and at the moment, desperation.

Please, Buddy, please-God, why had he ever settled for the begging of clients? This was so much better. "Please, please, please," Buddy mimicked, dropping light kisses along her thighs, before giving her what she pleaded for. He could grow drunk on her satisfied moan, rising in pitch when he let go of her thigh to slid a finger inside, crooking it just right-

Violet cried out when she fell apart, back arching off the mattress. It was the most fascinating sight, especially when she winked out of existence once or twice. Even if he discovered the secrets of creation itself, nothing would compare to Violet Parr whimpering his name as she came.

One last kiss to her knee before he sat up. Her legs draped lethargically over his thighs, still trembling in aftershocks. He ran a thumb along his lower lip and casually informed her, "Much better than sugar, princess. Did you know you flickered during...?"

His lover blinked, having sunk too deep into satisfaction to really grasp what he was saying. Violet spent from pleasure made for a most impressive portrait; her mane of hair trickling over the sheets in ebony rivulets, arms flung over her head, and face flushed with passion. "I...I guess I can't control myself sometimes."

"God, I hope so." He bent to grab one of the pillows threatening to tumble off the bed from all her wriggling. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifted her to slide the cushion under her hips. Angles and preparation-some discomfort was inevitable, but he was determined to limit it as much as possible.

Still wrapped in her afterglow, Violet reached out lazily to trace her fingers along his stomach, attempting to dip lower. He caught her hands, settling them on his waist and holding them there when she tried to pull free. "Don't make me pin you down. Be a good girl and let me work, hm?"

He saw her eyes flash in defiance, always ready for a fight. Before she could try and strike the first verbal blow or perhaps maneuver out of his grip in some sensual revenge, he held her hips steady again, pressing himself against her center. He felt her body stiffen in anticipation, the tension melting when he made no move to enter her. Instead, he slid his firm length against her slick flesh, teasing her overstimulated nerves. Between the welcoming feeling of her readiness and the way Violet once again matched his rocking as much as she could in his grip, this teasing was the greatest test of patience; a sweet agony.

Violet whimpered his name, fingers moving from his waist to tug at his arms, pulling him down to brace himself on his elbows above her. He swallowed her words in a kiss as their bodies continued to move in tandem. When he felt her legs tighten around him, distracted with anticipating another delicious release, he reached down and finally pushed into her. Their kiss broke, Violet making a small noise as she adjusted, Buddy dropping his head into her neck to muffle his moan.

He was suddenly very thankful he no longer had a heart because surely it would be beating out of his chest by now. She felt so good. Buddy reached for something to distract and calm his need to start thrusting with abandon. A mathematical problem, a theorem, a memory, anything to distract from the fact that he had the most beautiful and passionate woman underneath him, around him, and panting his name.

Except it was getting exceedingly goddamn difficult to do when she was moving under him, trying to encourage him. Buddy lifted his head to look into Violet's face. "Good?"

Violet nodded, eyes heavy-lidded.

"More?"

A smirk was his only answer. That, and a roll of her hips, as much as she could under his weight. Who was he to deny her?

Buddy wished he could keep the steady even rocking he began with, but Violet seemed to suddenly remember their little game of hero and villain; she was determined to kill him. Now it was her mouth dropping biting kisses along his jaw, and throat, strong legs wrapped around him, locking in the small of his back. Her skilled hands left burningly cool trails along his chest and stomach, caresses focusing on his left side where Buddy could really feel it. Soon their pace was savage, one of his hands braced on the headboard, the other gripping her hair to keep her mouth still long enough for him to claim it.

But if she wasn't complaining, he wasn't stopping-which should have been his first clue. The second ought to have been the wicked smile she gave him when he pulled back for breath. One moment her hands were clutching at his shoulders, the next her nails dug in and carved red trails down his back.

If Buddy had any sense of himself he would have been embarrassed by his shout of "Vi", or concerned about how her poor non-metal hips held up against the quick hard thrusts as he finished. But all he knew was the drowning: in pleasure, in the smell of her hair, and the music of her sighs.

He had enough awareness at least to roll to the side rather than collapse his entire weight onto her slender body. They lay there, unwilling or perhaps unable to move except for the back of her fingers gently running along his cheek. Exhaustion pulled at him immediately, but Buddy knew neither of them would like sleeping in a wet spot. He forced his eyes open, catching her hand and pressing a kiss into its palm. Propped up on an elbow, Buddy began searching for his discarded pants. They were flung across the floor and her clothes were still by the door. With how exhausted he was, they might have been across the country for all he was willing to move and get them.

"What's wrong?" Violet looked in no hurry to move from her current position. Buddy took a moment to appreciate the sight of his well-loved hero, before answering.

"I just need to get a cloth or something."

"There." Lazily she nodded to the bedside table that had attacked him earlier. It was stacked with a few hand towels, water bottles and a container of Tylenol.

"Oh." It paid to jump in bed with a doctor who also knew the importance of preparation. He carefully cleaned her legs with one of the hand towels, and then himself, dropping it on the floor within easy reach should they need it again. By that time Violet found the strength to move, cracking open one of the water bottles to share.

They settled against each other, Buddy wrapping an arm tightly around her waist. She seemed to like it, nuzzling her face against the hollow of his throat with a happy sigh. Buddy trailed his fingers along her spine, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin. It had been so long since he had even considered delicate things like softness, or the quiet moments of peace.

His world had been sterile metal and cold light for so long, only the interludes of sneaking about in the shadows and blood to puncture the unending whiteness of his slavery. Violet had burst into his life with shades of colored emotions, splattering the prestige haze his existence had become; crimson frustration, sunny elation, an aubergine joy-the same color of her eyes when she grinned.

Now, as he caressed the woman loved, he associated calm with the cream of her skin. Here in the dark of his lover's bedroom, bathed in gentle moonlight, he knew peace; the simple pleasures of listening to Violet's breathing, the brush of her lashes on his collar, how her fingers trailed little patterns along his skin.

Tranquility rose like a wave, cresting and falling into a sea of sorrow. This was all he would have, these nights together before their final battle. There was a future for Violet he would never share-and want sliced through him for a moment.

Buddy, whose ambition never settled for anything less than grandiose, suddenly longed for simple things with a desire that was bone deep. He wanted months worth of mornings, waking slowly to find her curled next to him. He wanted weeks of sitting together in the evening, talking about science and futures and philosophy and movies. Buddy wanted years with Violet, to watch time stretch out behind them like a wedding gown train, embroidered with memories.

He should be used to warning things he could not have by now. But the familiarity didn't soften the blow.

So he was grateful when she decided to speak, and break through his melancholy. Violet had an uncanny talent for undoing him, whether in planning or spirit. "So that's why everyone's so obsessed," she murmured.

"Yeah. Not too bad, huh?"

"Mmm. Much better with a partner, too."

Buddy groaned at the image her words conjured. "Seriously, you're going to kill me one day. You'll have to give me a little more time before an encore performance."

Violet wrinkled her nose. "Encore? This is just intermission."

His eyes snapped open at that, suddenly very much awake. "Yeah?"

Violet leaned back and leveled that wicked smirk at him. Buddy knew he was in trouble, and all he could do was match her grin. Violet had, after all, proven to be a quick study. He heard the buzz of her shield before he felt the hand on her back encased in the forcefield. Without moving a muscle, she flung him back against the bed, pinning his hand above his head on the mattress. Violet sat up, stretching lazily before guiding his other hand up, extending her shield to hold it too.

Carefully, Violet swung a leg over him, seating herself quite happily. She patted his belly, explaining, "If this show is going to cost me so much, I'm getting every penny's worth you see. But you rest, let me work this time, hm?"

She vanished from sight, and left her villain pinned, trapped and wondering just what she would do next, the only sense at his disposal being touch. He felt her lips against his collar beginning a determined path downwards, and Buddy, who was never at a loss for words as Violet had complained so often, threw back his head in joyus defeat, reduced to only one syllable:

"Oh!"