As heroes went, Marcus Moreno was a modest one.

He had no flashy outfit, just his weapons, a simple black layer with matching tac vest and gloves, and no fancy superhero moniker. He was simply a straightforward man with extraordinary abilities. As leader of the Heroics he was known the world over for his feats of daring and skills with a blade. 'Clark Kent'-ing in his downtime and out of the field, he hid his very recognisable face behind thick-framed glasses, favouring a shirt and tie, smart leather jacket, and a tidy side-part.

Part of his efforts to be unnoticeable while not in hero mode required him to keep a low profile. He didn't get intimately involved with any of his team-mates any more, unlike some who had chosen to pair up. His late wife had been a wonderful person and incredible team mate, who fully supported him in his rise to heroic greatness and stardom. These days he preferred to stay out of the spotlight where possible, leaving that honour to Miracle Guy who, quite frankly, lived for the attention.

Unlike Miracle Guy's love of the spotlight, Marcus was well-accustomed to not drawing attention to himself in an awkward way, by actively suppressing any kind of physiological reaction he may have to the female form, thus freeing him from being drawn into temptation with a consciously higher-profile hero. Being surrounded daily by athletic, well-endowed, lycra-clad women he had learned early on how to avoid embarrassing himself in the presence of his team mates. Added to this the fact that his voluptuous and beautiful boss regularly strutted around the headquarters in skin-tight pencil skirts, cleavage-baring blouses, and high, spiked heels, and Marcus had very little need to fantasize or imagine what an attractive woman might look like under her clothes. He had it available to him whenever he cared to pay attention.

The new tactical advisor however, was an intriguing addition to the office-based branch of his Heroics team. A former field agent who had been benched by injury, she had joined the base-team three weeks ago. Her power was a chess-like predictive ability that allowed her to foresee what an enemy would do several moves before they did it. She was clever and organised, always carrying a digital clipboard with a pencil or stylus clenched between her teeth or twirling in her fingers. Uncaring about the male gaze, she dressed according to the office dress code, smart-casual, but with nothing to prove. Her cleavage was covered, her curves kept under wraps, her face hidden behind frames just as thick as Marcus's, and her hair tied tightly back with a couple of severe-looking chopsticks thrust neatly through the knot. She kept herself to herself, did the job, and went home at the end of the day. No muss, no fuss.

Marcus found her fascinating.

She had a kill license and he knew from her records that she had used it more than once; the knowledge added an extra level of thrill to the fact that he found her attractive. The self-control that he prided himself on was tested from the moment she stepped into the department.

But, he was a professional. He wouldn't act on his attraction.

However…

She had to know that he watched her every time she left her desk in their shared workspace, trying his best to keep his face pointed dutifully at his screen and his fingers on his keyboard as his treacherous eyes hungrily followed her movements from behind his thick glasses. She had to have heard the just-audible intakes of breath that he took whenever she got too close and her choice of perfume floated through his space, mingling with her natural pheromones and muddling his senses. And surely she had noticed the subtle tremble of his swords in their cradle on the wall whenever she accidentally exposed the tiniest flash of extra flesh or glimpse of curve with her movements to reach something just beyond her range.

He was in trouble.

For someone so adept at suppressing his natural responses to an attractive woman, he was doing a terrible, terrible job with her.

It was Tuesday, just a normal day at Heroics headquarters with nothing out of the ordinary happening. Marcus was on long-range scanning duty, with literally nothing to report. He stretched in his seat after having sat in the same position for far too long, monitoring the non-existent activity on his scanner. His spine popped comfortably in several places as the cotton of his shirt stretched tightly across his chest, and he sighed deeply with the accompanying release of tension. As he relaxed out of the stretch an instant message pinged up silently on his screen. Grateful for any distraction from his incredibly boring job-du-jour, he opened the chat window and tried not to catch his breath when he saw who the sender was.

~Bored?~

Marcus immediately hunched minutely over his work station, wary of his exposed desk space and trying to shroud his screen as best he could without drawing attention to himself. Not having an office of his own had suddenly in that one moment become a thing that troubled him terribly. He typed a reply as nonchalantly as he could.

~A bit. Not much happening.~

He had initially intended to leave it at that, but curiosity and boredom (a tricky combination for the best of people, let alone someone who thrived on action) got the better of him, so he added,

~You must be idle too if you have the time spare to watch me.~

The breathing pattern that he had been trying so hard to keep in check decided to hold itself as she typed back, three dots flashing in the corner of his screen, taunting him with a silent sing-song rhythm of [you shouldn't be do-ing this… you shouldn't be do-ing this…]

~I *was* pretty idle, but things just got interesting.~

Marcus swallowed and glanced furtively around before replying,

~Oh really? Do tell?~

He heard a quiet snigger from across the room and tried his damnedest not to blush, feeling caught in the act as someone else in the open plan office who was wholly unrelated to the furtive interaction innocently cleared their throat. In fact, he stood up and took himself away from the situation completely, by paying a visit to the water cooler out in the corridor. Pouring himself a cold drink and immediately throwing it back in an attempt to cool down, he cursed himself for having chosen to keep his leather jacket on in the office today. A nervous bead of sweat had appeared at the nape of his neck, and was now tracking its way slowly between his shoulder blades as his temperature rose. He couldn't very well take it off now, lest he draw attention to himself, which was something he was very much trying to avoid, as this little office flirtation blinked its tiny eyes open, got to its tiny knees and started paying attention. Giving himself five minutes to calm his nerves before returning to his desk, he re-entered the office and tried to look casual as he sat back down at his station.

There was a message waiting.

His heart leapt into his throat.

~There's a guy in my office, he's kind of cute, all repressed sexiness and disguised power. Do you know what I mean?~

Marcus swallowed. He kept reading.

~I was never quite sure what he kept under his office-wear, but I just got a glimpse and I don't mind telling you it got me a bit hot and bothered. Not feeling quite so idle any more…~

"Marcus?"

He all but jumped out of his chair as his name was called across the office, startling him from his illicit interaction. He closed the chat window with a guilty slap on his keyboard and shot to his feet, all but running across the office to Dave at Communications, who had addressed him.

He didn't look in her direction for the rest of the day.

Wednesday.

He would see her again today.

Marcus got ready for work the same way he did every day. If he combed his hair a little more meticulously than usual, or put an extra splash of cologne on his throat than he normally did, or chose a shirt that was cut a little closer to his trim figure than usual, well that was purely coincidental.

It was certainly nothing to do with the state he woke up in this morning.

A quick moment to himself in the shower had done nothing to abate the tingle that had permeated his being since yesterday. Nor had tending to his usual morning rituals, the pattern of which normally gave him a sense of daily stability. Even Missy had noticed something different about him this morning, her eyebrows raising one at a time at him over her customary bowl of oatmeal as he stared off into space during his morning coffee.

After he had dropped Missy at school and parked his car in the headquarters' carpark, Marcus stepped distractedly onto the company tram. Paying no attention to the people around him, he slid himself into a table seat, and stared out of the window while bracing his travel mug of too-strong coffee on the table between his hands.

A throat being cleared near to him jerked him from his distracted stupor.

"Good morning."

Marcus stiffened in his seat and looked over, adrenaline surging immediately through him as if he was face-to-face with an enemy. How the Hell had he missed the fact that the person he had sat across the table from on the busy tram was her?

He shifted in his seat, trying to lean subtly away from her, not trusting himself to be in such close quarters in such a publicly-frequented vehicle. His senses had flared into life the instant that his distracted brain had recognised who it was, and he felt himself flail for an appropriate response to the simple, cordial greeting.

"Mo-Morning." He cursed himself for the stutter and looked away again with a small grimace. Real cool, Moreno.

She smirked at him, turning politely away and looking out of the window with her face, but giving him a sly side-eye and keeping her voice low, "You look tired. Bad night?"

Marcus swallowed as he involuntarily thought back to the disturbed night he'd had, courtesy of her, and hummed a non-committal, "Mmhmm."

She licked her lips, her smile widening, and whispered, "Mm, me too."

He cleared his throat as her silky whisper slipped in between the cracks in his self-control. He shifted in his seat in an attempt to hide his reaction; thank fuck he had chosen to sit at a table seat so his lower half was hidden.

She spoke again, facing him this time, "Anything interesting planned for today? Or are you desk-bound again?"

Professionalism slunk back to the front and elbowed Excited Arousal out of the way, as he did his best to slip into casual conversation. "I have some admin to do this morning, but after lunch I'm heading over to the team dojo to train."

Her head cocked with interest, "Oh? I thought you were retired from field work."

He couldn't help himself: a tiny, mildly flirtatious smile quirked his lips, "Never hurts to stay in shape."

As she nodded in agreement her eyes skimmed over the form-fitting shirt he had deliberately chosen this morning. Marcus straightened in his seat under the scrutiny, and swallowed as she raised an approving eyebrow at what she saw.

So much for professionalism.

As the tram pulled up to the main headquarters building, Marcus couldn't avoid disembarking with her; mostly because it would be rude not to, but also because she had appeared to have magnetised him more effectively than his own powers could. As they walked side by side into the foyer, Marcus felt the back of her hand brush oh-so-lightly against his. That faint touch was enough to make the muscle in his jaw jump, and a brushed steel dish of complimentary mints that had been sitting on the top of the reception desk flew across the room to skitter across the marble-tiled floor. The other people in the room jumped and looked toward the loud clang of metal hitting stone, and Marcus blushed furiously, quickly ducking into the nearest elevator before anyone could look at him. As the doors closed he heard the muffled sound of supressed hysterics from his walking partner, who had remained in the foyer to watch the confusion unfold with barely restrained glee.

Leaning his body back against the cool, mirrored wall of the lift and clunking his head lightly against it, Marcus groaned at himself. If she hadn't known about her effect on him before, she certainly knew it now.

It was going to be a long day.

The morning passed blissfully uneventfully, and Marcus was able to finish up his very boring administrative jobs in plenty of time to get over to the training facility for the afternoon. As he changed out of his restrictive office clothes and into his movement-friendly Heroics uniform, he sighed with relief. The swords on his back were a comforting weight, and he felt all the tension from the last few weeks drain out of him as he closed his day clothes into his locker.

Then he stepped out into the facility waiting area and immediately regretted his choices.

She was there.

In lycra.

Marcus sucked in a slow, deep breath and deployed his well-developed physiological controls to stop every drop of available blood from rushing to his dick at the sight of her in such tight clothing.

Incredibly grateful for the fact that his outfit had a cup, he swallowed and approached her.

Again, it would be rude not to… "I didn't know you were going to be here this afternoon; what are you working on?"

She turned to face him with a bright smile, "I'm putting in some time in the shooting range." She indicated the thigh holster strapped to her left leg, "Trying to build up my non-dominant hand for when the other one gets blown off." She flexed her right hand by her side, demonstrating the injury that had pulled her from the field and placed her in Marcus' path in the first place. "I'm still re-strengthening this one after a knife fight last month; I went to block and the blade went straight through my palm and out the other side." She wiggled her fingers, "Missed the artery by a millimetre; I was lucky not to bleed out right there on the jungle floor."

Marcus blinked at the reminder of her temporarily suspended black ops status. For a minute he had forgotten just how dangerous her line of work was. How dangerous she was. Of course she was at risk of being maimed or killed in the line of duty, no less than him when he had been out in the field, but there was a difference to hers. Special operations didn't have the full slew of company resources that the mainstream team did. While Marcus and Miracle Guy had been fighting the latest big bad, with no fear of ever being left without a medevac if required, she and her team were deep underground laying the necessary groundwork for a Heroics win; gathering intelligence; sabotaging supply routes; bribing guards; infiltrating bases in the dead of night; assassinating targets; basically doing the dirty work so the big boys and girls from Heroics HQ didn't have to. If anything ever happened to send a mission south, SOG were effectively on their own out there.

Plausible deniability.

Changing the subject, she nodded to the swords crossed on his back, "Aikido?"

He nodded.

She held out a hand, palm up, "May I?"

Marcus reached up to unsheathe a katana and handed it to her, balancing the blade in one hand and the hilt in the other. She took it from him gently and turned it slowly in her grip, admiring it from several angles.

"This is a beautiful piece," she breathed, mesmerised by the play of light over the carefully crafted blade. Marcus held his breath when she hovered a finger over the cutting edge; his swords were incredibly sharp and it was weirdly arousing to watch her handle one so delicately. "Who made this for you?" When he didn't answer straight away, she gazed up at him to find him staring at her, so she whispered, "Moreno?"

He shivered, coming back to himself with a jolt as her mouth caressed his name for the first time, with his weapon in her hands.

"Um, It-It, uh, they were originally made for Miyamoto Musashi, and then passed down through the generations, before being gifted to my predecessor by the Japanese government after a Heroics defence of Chiba." He shrugged self-consciously, he'd never felt worthy of such an historic pair of blades. "I guess my ability is why they gave them to me when I joined the team."

She raised an eyebrow at him, "I'm sure it was for more than that. You don't just get handed weapons like these for no better reason than that you can make them move."

Marcus smiled shyly and ducked his head, his modesty getting the better of him as usual. She handed the sword back and licked her lips as she watched him grasp it with confident finesse to slide it smoothly back into its sheath on his back, his arm and shoulder muscles rippling as he did so.

Looking down at her own feet with a wry smirk and shake of her head she bade him farewell and turned on her heel, walking away in the direction of the gun range.

He watched her go, feeling his mouth go dry as her undisguised curves gripped his attention and refused to relent.

Friday night.

Company mixer.

He fucking hated these things. They generally followed the same sort of routine: Miracle Guy commanding the general flow of conversation; Mrs. Vox charming the room with her personal selection of ballads; Crimson Legend arguing with Red Lightning Fury in the corner; Tech-no trying to hack the pre-programmed playlists to forcibly inflict his psy-trance choices on the room; and Marcus nursing one drink all night while counting down the seconds until he could politely and quietly escape.

This time however, was different.

No guesses as to why.

She was here.

In a dress.

In a tight dress.

In a tight dress with a dangerously low neckline and dangerously high hem. Her stiletto heels looked deadly (and probably were, all things considered), and her hair tumbled around her bare shoulders in seductive waves. She was presently situated across the room from Marcus, her head thrown back as she laughed at a joke that Lightning Fast had just told her.

Marcus felt a simultaneous surge of jealousy and need; jealousy at Lightning Fast being the one to make her laugh so heartily, and a burning need to press his lips to the deliciously exposed length of her throat. He threw back his third drink of the night and bared his teeth as the burn tracked down his gullet.

Fucking cheap whisky.

Turning to the bartender he ordered another stiff drink and leaned his elbows against the polished wood of the bar. He was halfway through his first sip when a familiar perfume drifted into his nose, and he felt his insides tug in recognition.

She slid elegantly onto the bar stool beside him and indicated her drink to the bartender. Crossing her long, toned legs, she leaned into Marcus' personal space and murmured, "After three solid weeks I was beginning to think you didn't own anything other than white shirts and blue ties." Her eyes appraised his tight, black jeans, dark, fitted shirt - the top couple of shirt buttons open, with his customary leather jacket over the top. She leaned closer still, her voice lowering to a whisper and her lips brushing his ear, "You look good enough to eat."

Marcus slammed the rest of his drink back.

Her own drink arriving, she nodded her thanks to the bartender and sipped delicately at a flute of sparkling wine. She watched Marcus with calculating eyes as he straightened up and turned to face her, the alcohol making him bold.

"Then why don't you do something about it?"

She smiled widely, her eyebrows raising in approval; she had found the lion lurking behind the mouse it would seem. Licking her lips and sliding smoothly down from her stool, she angled herself to press a discrete hip into his groin under the pretence of reaching into her clutch. The hot gasp that whispered out of him at the contact was all the invitation she needed.

"Go and wait by your car. I'll make my excuses and follow in ten minutes."

Marcus nodded once, swallowed hard, and all but ran from the room. The cursory wave that he threw to Granada on his way out didn't raise any suspicion, as all the Heroics knew that Marcus would be gone well before midnight; he always was.

Once he made it to his car, Marcus took a moment to catch his breath and talk himself down. He didn't get inside because he knew better than to drive with a few sheets to the wind. He would meet her here and then hail a cab.

What was he doing?! He didn't fraternise within the company, he knew not to shit where he slept as it were, and he most certainly didn't run off for late night trysts with co-workers, no matter how hot they looked in a cocktail dress. Taking some slow, deep, calming breaths, he relaxed and shook himself. When she came out he would simply take her home, drop her off and then head back to his house in the suburbs. Missy was away for the night, staying with family, so he had no-one to answer to or for; he could simply go home, sober up or sleep it off, then return in the morning for his car. Sensible.

She appeared a few minutes later and he may as well have not bothered talking sense to himself; he was lost the moment she stepped into his space and pressed him up against his car.

Marcus huffed out a heated breath into her hair as her body pressed firmly and with purpose into his. She snared his lips in hers and he melted into her, a needy whine coming from a deep, hidden place within him as she made every effort to claim him as hers for the night. As her hands found their home under his shirt and splayed along his lower back, his threaded into her hair and angled her face so he could better bite into the kiss she offered. Her hips arched into his and he broke the kiss to hiss against her lips as she made definitive contact with his excitement.

He whispered against her lips, "Want to get out of here?"

She smiled up at him, "Love to."

She'd planned ahead and pre-ordered a cab as she'd left the building; she could tell that he was in no fit state to drive, and she had left her own car at home this evening. Looping an arm around his trim waist, she guided him to the nearby taxi rank where their ride was waiting. They climbed inside, Marcus gave the address, and then they sat back in tense silence while the driver took over.

Keeping their hands to themselves for the ride heightened the sexual tension in the back seat. They looked at each other periodically while fingers flexed, lips were bitten, and thighs were pressed together. They had no desire to give the cab driver a show, and Marcus was too recognisable to risk a scandal, so they controlled themselves until the cab pulled up outside Marcus' house.

As the driver took off, Marcus wasted no time. He grabbed her hand and all but hauled her into his home. They were no sooner through the door than she was on him, all hands, lips, and legs in the hallway, and it was all he could do to remember how to breathe. Her hand slid down his front, unerringly tracking a path to its target, and as she slipped beneath his waistband and took hold of her prize, his head thunked back against the wall where she had pushed him, as a hoarse cry was wrenched from his throat. Just as impatient as he, she took her turn at time conservation and set straight to work unravelling him in his own hallway. His knees gave way and he slid down the wall with a desperate groan as she chased him and dragged him towards his first orgasm with unrelenting speed.

Marcus cried out as he came, his hands reaching for her, his body snapping at the waist as his hips thrust himself deeper into her hand, seeking to prolong the exquisite torture she had thrust upon his willing body. Grinning at her success as he petered off with a whimper, she wiped her hand off on his shirt, rose effortlessly to her feet from her kneeling position, smoothed her dress nonchalantly, and looked down at him puddled and panting at her feet.

"Come along, Moreno."

As she commanded him, he obediently struggled to his feet, using his palms pressed back against the wall as leverage. Taking his hand firmly in hers, she led him further into the house, her stilettoes clicking expensively on the parquet floor as she searched for his bedroom. When she found it she manoeuvred his pliant form into the room and backed him towards the bed.

Marcus dragged himself back from his fluffy cloud of climax to the present, and assessing the situation concluded that they were both far too dressed to be in this particular room under this particular set of circumstances. Thus he received no sign of complaint from her as he set about ridding them both of their clothes. Every inch of her skin that he revealed received a grateful kiss, rewarded with a sigh; every erogenous zone was given a nibble, rewarded by a gasp, and by the time he had shed them both of their formal attire he was rock hard and ready to go again.

He wasn't going to get the chance to call the shots however.

Taking brisk control of the situation and guiding his excited and more-than-ready frame down to the bed to lay on his back, she knelt over him and whispered in his ear, "You're the boss all day every day. I bet that's stressful, but don't worry; I'm taking charge now," then absorbed his grateful whimper into a kiss so powerful that it blasted full submission into him.

Before he could draw breath, Marcus felt his arms being guided up above his head on his own bed, and his wrists being secured to his own bedframe. He gasped as her touch feathered down his front and he was about to protest, but the words died in his throat and morphed into a whine as she wasted no time and moved her lips to his lap. He had no time to decipher how she had managed to restrain him so quickly and efficiently, because his cock was sucked between her lips and any conscious thought was robbed from him. All that remained was breathlessness, panted entreaties to not stop, please, don't stop, oh god, please, tension coiling in his gut and then…

She stopped.

Marcus gave a hoarse cry of frustration as all stimulus was abruptly removed from his body. He opened his eyes, having squeezed them shut what felt like an age ago, and looked down at her, only to immediately lose any breath that was remaining in his lungs. She'd manoeuvred herself to the prime position and was poised to take him. He sucked in short, shallow breaths and met her gaze, trying his best to recall how speech worked.

"Why… st… why did you… stop?

She smirked and licked her lips, "Because I wanted to see your eyes as I did this-" then slid slowly, and unerringly down his throbbing length and welcomed him into her body.

Fire seared through him and Marcus strained hard against the restraints at his wrists, trying his powers against them in case they were metal (they weren't), his body flexing desperately in an attempt to reach her, his deep brown irises blown black as he locked deep into her flashing green eyes. The language he had located had promptly vacated again, leaving him with nothing but guttural, animalistic sounds to express his state.

It didn't take long.

Within seconds he was releasing like a gunshot, a deep, rough shout torn from his throat along with it.

As he collapsed to the bed, his lungs burning as he panted desperately for air, his arms going limp against the restraints, she let him slip out of her, then reached up to release him. He didn't have much time to recover though, as she continued to move up the bed, coming to a rest hovering over his mouth, and he groaned hotly as he realised her intent.

"Finish me."

A simple command and one that he was more than willing to obey. He took hold of her hips, tilted up his head and tapped into the stamina required of all superheroes. His tongue slipped out from between his lips and into hers, and he moaned into her as he tasted his own musk mingled with her spice spilling out of her and into his mouth. It was a hedonistic sort of pleasure that he had not felt for a very long time. She sighed and threaded her fingers through his now mussed hair, her hips moving lightly against him as he went to work. He growled as he focused in and picked up speed, determined to repay the favour she had bestowed, and felt a dark jab of pleasure as she cried out in surprise over him, clearly having underestimated her target.

This, too, did not take long. Marcus may have been out of practice, but he was nothing if not a thorough and tenacious tactician. She yelled into the darkness as he shoved her over the edge with one final press of his tongue, lips, nose, and chin into her nerve centre.

The next morning she was gone.

Marcus had passed out not long after completing his mission, his nemesis wrapped in his arms, his face buried into the crook of her neck as they breathed together. When he awoke there was a note propped up on his bedside table, along with a glass of fresh water and a bottle of painkillers.

~Didn't want to wake you, you're cute when you're sleeping.

They called first thing with a mission, I have to deploy straight away.

Thanks for a great night. x~

Marcus's lips twisted in disappointment. With the nature of her work it was unlikely that she would be back any time soon.

He didn't see her for a week.

One week became two, became three, became five.

Two months later he accepted an offer of a date with Mindy from Systems Control.