5 comments/ 38669 views/ 23 favorites Birds in the Hand By: Mild Mannered Author Please consider the following: 1) The following is a work of erotic fiction. Those under 18 (or whatever is the age of majority in your jurisdiction) should stop reading now. 2) This story contains characters and settings copyrighted by DC Comics. This story should be considered a parody of those characters and settings. It is also distributed free of charge and is a non-commercial enterprise; the author derives no profit from its distribution. No copyright infringement is intended. 3) This story contains depictions of sex as a healthy, non-degrading activity that consenting adults engage in for fun and pleasure. Those who prefer their depictions of sex to be debased should go find something else to read: this being the Internet, you shouldn't have to look hard. 4) Like all my stories to date, this one uses the TV show Justice League Unlimited and its ancestors as its model, though some elements are borrowed from Gail Simone's excellent run on the Birds of Prey comic book: in particular the Birds' costumes and tendency to banter. On the show Barbara Gordon is still Batgirl, so in this story the Martian Manhunter and the League fill the role that Oracle plays in the comics. The Thaumaturge is an original creation; I wanted a male magician, and Dr. Fate just didn't fit. 5) Stories like this take time and effort to write (only now as I write the header do I realize it's been a year since my last effort). The chief reward an author receives for this labour is the knowledge that other people have found them good. If you enjoyed this story, or if you have constructive criticism, please drop me a line at the link below and let me know. The more feedback I receive, the more likely it is I'll keep writing new stories. ****** The smugglers didn't see it coming. They had docked their ship at an empty berth on Pier Twenty-Seven. Moving swiftly and quietly, they split into two groups. One began carrying crates out of the hold, down the gangplank, and across the dock into a decrepit warehouse. The other group fanned out, pistols at the ready, watching for any intruders. The moonlight glinted off of the guards' gun barrels; the wind ruffled their jackets and caps. Coming off of Gotham Sound this late at night, the wind was fast and cold, like an icy razor. These men were unfazed, though. They were professionals, and so despite the fact that the job was nearly done, they remained intent on their task. It would only take moments to unload the ship, and then they could disappear. They were only employed to bring the drugs into the city; distributing them from that point was someone else's affair. Suddenly one guard cried out, dropping his pistol with a clatter. The others turned, startled. His gun hand had sprouted a wooden shaft. With a hiss a second bolt sped out of the darkness, impaling another man's hand. Caught flat-footed, it wasn't until a third smuggler lost his gun that they began to take action. "Can't see him! Can't see him!" "Down! Take cover!" "There! There! In the alley!" A fusillade of shots rang out as the remaining guards fired blindly into the alley's mouth. Between the roar of the pistols and the screams of the wounded, the crate-carrying smugglers, terrified at the sudden cacophony, had dropped their cargo. The smart ones, knowing that the deal had gone bad, ran into the night. They wouldn't get paid, but they wouldn't go to jail either. Others, less bright or less present of mind, retreated backwards, out of the crossfire, onto the ship. A new sound erupted, burying the others. From below the dock came an unearthly scream. With a muffled BOOM the sonic wave blasted into the side of the ship. The boat lurched onto its side and began to list in the water. The ropes tethering it to the dock began to snap and the gangplank, unmoored, fell into the black waves. The gunmen on the dock, already reeling, were now paralyzed with fear. Torn between watching behind them for whatever had crippled their ship and in front of them for whoever was shooting bolts at them, they completely missed the small sphere that rolled out of the alley, along the dock, into their midst. It exploded in a burst of light. Staggering and blinded, the smugglers didn't see the blows land, but only felt them; a quick, sudden strike to the neck or head, and they were unconscious. It was only afterwards, when they came to in police custody, that they found out what had happened. Their compatriots, rescued from the sinking boat by the Gotham P.D., had worked it out. They had fallen victim to the Birds of Prey. ***** "Thanks for the lift, hon," shouted the Black Canary, straining to be heard over the roar of the motorcycle. Her blonde hair, tied back into a ponytail, whipped in the wind. "My pleasure. You're paying for the gas, though," yelled the Huntress in reply. "Cheapskate!" "Do you know what teachers make these days?" The motorcycle's roar settled into a growl and finally a purr as the Huntress brought the bike to a halt in front of a florist's shop, which was shuttered and grilled for the evening. As she turned off the ignition the Canary, impatient, made an acrobatic dismount. "Still full of piss and vinegar, I see." The blonde woman shrugged. "Well, you didn't leave me very much to do. Just park myself under the dock until you went after them, than disable the boat with my canary cry. By the time I got topside again, your flash grenade and your fists had already taken most of them out." "Oh, don't whine. You got your share." The wind, less painful in the interior than right by the Sound, twisted and rippled the brunette's cape. She opened her mouth to make a quip, but paused. Dinah seemed her usual jovial self, but Helena knew her well enough to recognize the façade. Beneath it she was hurting. Helena thought better of making a gibe. "Canary, listen. I know I don't usually say things like this, but… thanks for the assist tonight. I appreciate it." "Can it, will you? You and I both know you didn't need me just to bust up some drug runners. You could have handed this on your own." Dinah stared at her friend, challenging her. Helena met her gaze, but said nothing. "Let's not kid ourselves. You wanted to help me get my mind off of Ollie." Helena didn't say anything for a moment. Finally, she sighed and looked at the pavement. "Yeah, you got me." Idly she fiddled with her mask. "You're the strongest person I know, but you've been so down ever since the break-up. I guess I thought that... since I don't normally ask for help... if I did this time, you might…" "I appreciate the thought, but it's not necessary. I'm doing okay. It's not like he hasn't cheated before, so I'm used to it, all right? We're through, but I'm not angry with him… or with me. It just wasn't going to work out. Now we both know it. I'm fine. Really. Fine." "Uh huh." Helena's face was unreadable. Dinah mustered up a smile. "Sure. Anyway, thanks for the lift. I'm parked around back. I'll be in the shop for the next few days, so... We'll talk later, 'kay? This wind isn't doing me—" she gestured at the fishnet stockings on her legs—"or you—" she gestured at Helena's exposed legs and stomach—"any good." Dinah had already disappeared into the alley when Helena called out "Canary!" Dinah poked her head around the corner. "What is it?" "I've got something else to do. You might want to tag along." "The last thing I need is to drive around with you on patrol. I've kicked enough thugs and gotten enough insects in my teeth for one evening." "It's not patrol. It's something else. A League assignment. One of the… special League assignments. And since you're free now, and you're doing fine…" ***** The transport beam dazzled Dinah's eyes. As her vision returned, she reflexively went into a combat stance. They had materialized in a dark alley. Alleys were the same everywhere, she had found—same litter, debris, and foul smells of ordure and urine—but the warm, humid air was enough to tell her, if she hadn't known already, they weren't in Gotham anymore, but rather in San Diego. Huh. I had to pick a line of work where I spend so much time hanging around in alleys I can recognize the city from them. Seeing they were alone, Dinah relaxed. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe you're doing this." "Mmm." Helena didn't reply. She folded up her JLA transponder, which she had used to signal the Watchtower, and tucked it into one of the pockets on her belt. The Manhunter had been expecting her signal, and hadn't bothered to bring the two of them to the satellite; he had instead beamed them up and then directly down to California. It had seemed an uninterrupted trip. "No, really. I want to know. This just doesn't seem to be in your line. Why not Zatanna, or Supergirl, or even Wonder Woman?" Even though they were alone, Dinah used code names instead of real names. It was a habit one learned early in the capes-and-costumes game. "Quid pro quo. If you get, you gotta give." "No! You? And you never told me? Come on, spill. I want details." Helena averted her gaze. Gritting her teeth, she muttered "Later. Let's just do this, okay?" "All right, I'll let it drop, for now. You're going to have to come up with the goods soon, though..." Not bothering to suppress a grin, Black Canary sauntered out of the alley, followed closely by a sulking Huntress. It was a few hours earlier in San Diego: just past midnight, local time. Even so, this block, quiet and residential, was empty of pedestrians. Arms akimbo, Dinah surveyed the scene. It was nice. Trees lined the sidewalk, and the buildings, low-rise apartment houses, were older but well maintained. "You sure you have the right address? The atmosphere doesn't seem right. It's less Mean Streets and more Clean Streets." "Oh, the address is right. I made sure of that... he doesn't know we're coming, so I couldn't very well call ahead." "He doesn't know?" "That's right." Helena's bad mood fell away. Now she smiled, her dark eyes flashing. "That's why I took this one. The surprise will make it all worthwhile." Standing straight, she pulled her cape around her. "Come on, let's go." The two darted quickly and purposefully across the street to the low-rise opposite. It was a long-standing modus operandi for both of them. It was true that sudden movement might startle or concern any onlookers, but walking slowly and nonchalantly would attract even more attention. Experience said that when people caught glimpses of a blonde in a leather corset and fishnet stockings, or a brunette in a mask, cape, halter-top, tights, and boots, all purple, they stopped whatever they were doing to gape. Swiftly, the pair navigated the alley around back to the parking lot. Helena, without speaking, pointed at a particular balcony on the top floor, three flights up. Pulling out a zip line, she loaded it into her crossbow, aimed, and fired. The bolt extended grapples as it flew and hooked with a clang onto the balcony rail. Helena took hold of the cable that had uncoiled in its wake. Tugging it to ensure the hold was tight, she swiftly scaled the side of the building and jumped onto the balcony, Dinah close behind. They held their position silently for a moment, listening; after a moment, they relaxed. Experience also said that if anyone had seen them, they'd have yelled. "Next time you need me to climb a zip line, let me know in advance. I'll bring gloves," muttered Dinah, rubbing her palms. Her martial arts training had left her with enough calluses that the ascent hadn't cut her, but her hands stung nonetheless. "Shh! Crybaby..." muttered Helena. She gestured toward the lock on the balcony door. She could have picked it herself, but both of them knew Dinah was better at it. Dinah shook her head no, holding out her palms. Smirking, she pantomimed "sore hands." With a hiss of annoyance, Helena produced a pair of lockpicks from another belt pocket and set to work. In less than a minute the lock was sprung, the door was open, and the costumed duo entered the dark apartment. There was enough ambient light from the streetlights outside that the two had no difficulty navigating the unlit rooms. They passed through the living area, along a short hall, through an open doorway into a large bedroom. A figure lay in the bed, bunched under the covers, its breath coming in a soft, regular pattern. The two looked at each other and smiled; their entrance hadn't woken their target. Helena motioned Dinah to the bedside, within arm's reach of the figure. Once Dinah was in position Helena reached out and flipped the lightswitch by the entryway. The lamps on the twin nightstands burst to life, and Helena growled "Rise and shine!" With a start the man awoke. He was good; he didn't cry out. His eyes snapped open and he froze, taking in the scene, but not making any sudden, clumsy moves. Eyes darting from side to side, he took in the two women standing over him. His expression went from taut hostility to confusion. His voice hoarse with sleep, he said, "I recognize you—Huntress, right? And the Black Canary? What's going on? How did you get in here?" "Getting into places is what we do, Thaumaturge," snapped Helena. "You're a long way from... Gotham, isn't it?" "We're here on League business. They sent us." She tented her fingers. It was not an innocent gesture; Dinah recognized it as one of their private signals, one that meant stand down. Both she and Helena kept their faces impassive, but each was privately impressed. The two had expected that, being surprised by strangers in his bedchamber at night, their quarry would have instinctively tried to cast a spell against them. What else would one expect a sorcerer to do? For that reason Dinah had stood within arm's reach, ready to disable him with a quick judo strike, breaking up the spell without injuring him. However the Thaumaturge, their magic-wielding colleague from the League, had instead instantly and correctly assessed the situation as non-threatening. That showed a remarkable degree of perceptiveness. Smiling inwardly, Dinah went into a relaxed stance, content to let her partner do the talking. Before she could begin the Thaumaturge took the initiative. "Do you mind telling me what you're doing here? If the League wanted me, they could have called," he said, glancing at his League transponder that sat on his dresser on the far side of the room. "We're here to debrief you on the incident today, at the Museum." Helena smirked as she watched their prey's confidence desert him. His shoulders sagged and a note of embarrassment entered his voice. "Well... okay, but, uh, I don't know if this is the time or place for..." "Oh, yes it is." Helena's voice dripped satisfaction. "You want we should take a meeting? Sometime next week? Maybe book a conference room up at the Watchtower? This is my assignment, and we do it when and how I want to do it... and that's right here, right now." "Okay... okay. But, uh, with all due respect, I'd really rather not discuss this with... ah... with..." He glanced at Dinah, hoping for support, but she maintained her stony demeanour, although privately she was amused as Helena was. "With whom? With me? All right. Would you prefer Maxima? Barda? Wonder Woman?" Helena smirked again. "No! No. Uh... what about... uh... Green Lantern?" "Oh, I see. You want to talk about this with a man, huh?" "Well..." "Too bad. You're on the team, you play by the team's rules. They've asked me to go over this with you. So stop pussyfooting around"—she accented pussy, and the Thaumaturge winced—"and do what you're told! Now. Why don't you tell us what happened today? Take it from the top." "Couldn't we at least go into the dining room? I mean, it'd be more comfortable for—" "You're stalling…" "Fine! Fine!" He threw up his hands. Adjusting the pillows behind him so he could comfortably lean back against the headboard, he began to speak. "Seeing as how you're here in my apartment, I guess you know that my real name's Martin York, and in civilian life I'm a bookseller. I specialize in antiquarian and rare tomes. If you want a first edition, I can get it for you, whether it's Dashiell Hammett, Matthew Arnold, Benjamin Franklin, Philip Sidney, or someone even older. That's how I got started as a sorcerer, by the way. A number of grimoires and occult texts have passed through my hands. Becoming a true adept, initiated into all of the Ten Houses of the Fundamental Way, that required more. I had to—" Helena scowled and cleared her throat. "—Right. Anyway, my bookshop is near the Marshfield Institute, a private museum downtown. The Institute has a rotating exhibit of old man Marshfield's artefact collection, drawn from all over the world; we share a clientele, which is why I put the shop there. Because I'm so close to Institute, when the cops began pulling up outside it I noticed immediately. My store is only open to the public a few hours a week, and the rest of the time it's by appointment only. I didn't have any appointments, so off I went. I got into costume and slipped out the back. For once, I thought, protecting the city from danger would be convenient. The crime had come to me instead of the other way around. "I cast a simple invisibility charm and checked out the disturbance without being seen. It was clear what had caught the cops' attention; there were at least eight people collapsed on the steps, not moving. Had they been shot? There wasn't any blood. So what had happened? As the cops moved forward, one by one, they slowed down. Not like in slow motion, but as if they were running out of energy. First they ran, then they jogged, then they walked, then they stood still, then they just lay down and didn't move. As I watched, the same happened to bystanders watching from across the street. I didn't feel too lively myself, I realized. It seemed there was some sort of field spreading out from the museum, and anyone caught in it became lethargic to the point of collapse. "To me, it was obvious what was happening." He glanced up at Helena and Dinah, but they refused to bite. "It was demonic, of course. Infernal spirits were entrancing them; with my mystical vision I could see them, sort of. These were demons of Sloth, among the weakest of the denizens of the Pit. A charm of protection guarded me from their influence, and I ran past them, up the steps, through the doors and into the Institute. "The running was key. This kind of demon wants to encourage the sin with which it's associated itself, and the more you give in to that sin, the more you want to keep giving into it, the way a snowball grows and picks up speed as it rolls down a hill. Doing the opposite is the way to defeat them. The charm helped, but it was my exertion that was key in driving these ones off. They couldn't abide dynamism. It was painful to them. "Once inside I turned off my invisibility spell. I didn't need it any more, and I knew I would need all of my mystical energy to deal with the stronger demons within. That's the way demons work, the weaker ones can move faster. I knew that as I closed in on the source I'd meet stronger and stronger ones, with the worst surrounding the gate itself. I had to find and close that gate before some really terrible ones arrived. "I won't bore you with the details. There were demons of Envy in the entranceway, but I just thought about how grateful I was to Marshfield for sharing his wealth with the community and I got past them. Demons of Avarice came at me in the exhibit halls, but I thought about how much work caring for all those pots and jewellery and canoes and armour would be, and they let me alone. In the administrative offices I found demons of Wrath; they actually manifested themselves to me, unlike their weaker brethren, who tried to work on me in secret. These ones, they appeared to me as monsters, and tried to menace the frozen staff." Birds in the Hand "Frozen?" asked Dinah, interested despite herself. "Metaphorically. These were all lesser demons, and so they had a lousy plan of attack. All the patrons and staff I'd seen in the museum were still paralyzed by the Sloth demons that had appeared first. Once the Sloth effect wore off the other demons would have been able to work on them, but that hadn't happened yet, which was good; the other demons hadn't had a chance to feed on human sin, which was what they wanted. If they had they'd have been that much stronger, more of a challenge. Even so the Wrath demons were tricky. If I struck them down, I'd be giving in to anger; if I didn't, they'd hurt or kill innocent people." "So what did you do?" Dinah leaned forward, curious. Helena shot her a look, but Dinah missed it. "I thought about how they were simply expressing their nature as demons, doing what they did. I had to stop them, but I didn't blame them for their actions, any more then we blame a hurricane for knocking down people's houses. You don't hate a hurricane, or a tiger, or tuberculosis; they're destructive, but they can't be otherwise. So you guard against them, but you don't hate them. I thought about that while I blasted those demons, and they fled. "When I came to the director's office, and saw the thing on the desk, I knew I'd found what I was looking for. It was a little golden doorframe, about five inches high, with a miniature door built into it, which had been opened. Someone had pulled it out of storage and set it off somehow, I suppose. I just needed to close the little door, swing it back into its doorframe, and the gate would close. With my mystical vision, I could see the tiny silver cords stretching out of it, cords that connected to every demon that had yet come out. If I closed the door, and snapped the cords, all the demons would be thrown back to the Pit, no muss, no fuss. I thanked Heaven I'd gotten here before a really bad demon got through, like a demon of Pride. That kind is damned difficult to stop, no pun intended. I moved toward the desk, and then... well..." "Let me guess," purred Helena. "A demon of Lust." Martin's shoulders slumped. "Yeah. It manifested in front of me, in the form of… er… a naked girl." "Uh-huh." Helena and Dinah stared at him coolly. "It was gorgeous. Great features, great body. Perfect. It could read my mind, so it knew what turned me on, right? And it expressed itself in that form. I just stared at it. First I was surprised, but then I was aroused. It stepped forward and undid my trousers." He shrugged. "Demons aren't into foreplay. It pulled out my…" "Your cock?" supplied Helena, her face expressionless. "…Yeah. Then it started to…" He stopped, his face flaming. "Let me just say that I really think it's inappropriate…" "Your objection is noted," Helena snapped. "We might be able to help, but we need to hear it all," said Dinah, soothingly, her first words of the debriefing. Privately, they each thought about how the good cop – bad cop routine never fails, even on people who should know better. Addressing himself to Dinah now, he continued. "It used its hands on me. It felt good." He looked down at the covers. "This superhero business has proved more trying than I thought it would. My marriage was on the rocks when I started, and I thought this... hobby... might bring some excitement and joy back into my life. It did, so much so that when my wife left I didn't mind. But it's been a long time since I've been… intimate… with anyone, over a year now. So the Lust demon had a good target in me. And, of course, the more it did to me, the more I was in its power. "Pretty soon I was… ready to go. It turned around and spread itself across the desk, and I didn't even think about it; I just took it from behind. I knew that, once I finished, I'd be powerless to resist it, and it could devour me. Quite literally devour me. But I couldn't help myself." He shrugged. "I was lucky. The desk wasn't heavy, the golden doorway was, and I was thrusting pretty energetically. Without intending it I knocked the doorway over, the door slammed shut, and all of a sudden the demon was gone, leaving me alone. I used the last dregs of magic I had to seal the doorway permanently, then I got out of there. My costume had been shredded, so I had to take some pants off of a frozen guard. I took back alleys and made it back to my shop, but a fair number of people saw me. I'll have a lot of explaining to do if any of them were customers. At least my secret identity is safe; no one knows that the Thaumaturge was there today, so no one can make the connection." He looked up again. "And that's it." He waited, his expression defiant, though his posture told the real story. "For the record, I don't think many people could have done better. But if you think I'm not League material, well, that's your business." Helena and Dinah looked at one another. "Well, Canary, what do you think we should do about this?" Helena purred. "Is this guy 'League material?'" "Oh, stop it. You've had your fun. Don't tease him." Dinah looked down at Martin. "Relax. We're not here to judge you or punish you." "No? Then why…" "Shh." Dinah gently put a finger to his lips, then leaned forward and kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, her lips brushing against his. She pulled back a fraction of an inch, and then kissed him again, this time pushing her tongue softly against his teeth. Shocked, he pulled away, hard. He began to sputter, but Helena cut him off with a growl. "Questions later." Meanwhile Dinah came in for another kiss. Martin, at a loss, decided not to question his good fortune, and kissed her back, their tongues meeting delicately. After a moment she pulled away. Throwing the sheets back, she sat down next to him on the bed. Smiling warmly, she put a finger to her lips—ssh—and pulled at the zipper at her throat. With a long pull, her leather corset unfastened, and, no longer under tension, sprang away from her. With a graceful arch of her shoulders, it fell away. Helena was also stripping down. She'd already removed her boots. Now she pulled off one glove, then the other, and daintily let them fall to the floor. Reaching behind her in a practiced move, she unclipped her cape and let it drop; then unzipped her top and slowly shimmied it off of her chest, down her arms, and away. It was an unusual striptease; her slow, sensual motions were completely at odds with the stony expression on her face. Her piercing gaze never left Martin's eyes, though. She was haughtiness personified; seductive, but scornful of the effect she produced. Finished, she joined Dinah on the bed, sitting on her quarry's right side while Dinah occupied the left. Both women were now almost naked from the waist up, each clad only in a sports bra (though Helena had retained her mask). They looked at each other and smiled, wordlessly passing signals. Martin, utterly baffled but smart enough not to disturb whatever was happening with interruptions, waited, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. He was intensely aware of the cool air brushing against his now-exposed feet and belly, where his pajama top and bottoms didn't quite meet. His cock was also stiffening and beginning to rise, easily pushing aside his flimsy cotton sleepwear. His mouth tasted metallic. He licked his lips. The Birds broke eye contact with each other and turned back to their prey. Helena nodded to herself and leaned forward, tilting her head slightly. Her lips parted just before they reached his and suddenly her tongue was in his mouth, pushing hard. Where Dinah had been gentle, Helena was rough; they kept up their good cop-bad cop personas even in bed. Martin was ready for her, though, and pushed back with equal force. Their tongues wrestled rather than danced. He reached out, trying to hold her head in his hands, but stopped when he felt Dinah firmly pull his hands to his sides. She held them there, briefly, and then let go. Helena meanwhile reached forward and took hold of the back of his head, holding him steady for her to kiss. Martin relaxed, having gotten the message; this was their show, and would proceed at their pace, without input from him. Not that he minded. While Helena embraced him, Dinah reached forward with sure fingers and begin unbuttoning his nightshirt. When Dinah was finished, she picked up his hands and threaded them through the sleeves, one at a time, leaving him shirtless, as they were. When that was done, Helena broke her kiss and allowed him to come up for air. Leaning back, she looked at Dinah. More wordless signals were exchanged, then as one they each began pulling at their own brastraps. In a moment the catches were unhooked and the brassieres fell away, leaving both topless. Martin knew not to speak, but rules or no rules, he couldn't let the moment pass unremarked. He let out a quiet whistle of admiration. Both women were superb athletes. Their figures were not as exaggeratedly voluptuous as those of some of their colleagues—one needed the unearthly gifts of a Wonder Woman or a Maxima to combine superlative fighting skills with a titanic chest—but both Dinah and Helena were blessed with ample breasts, made all the more stunning by extraordinarily slim waists. Either could have been a pinup girl or a centrefold, except perhaps for their bulging biceps. For some reason, Martin mused, many men found strong, athletic women to be unsexy. He had never thought that way, but if he had, the sight of these two would have cured him of it, that was certain. Dinah grinned at his whistle, while Helena's lip twitched in a repressed smile of satisfaction. As one they reached out and took hold of his hands, Dinah taking his left and Helena his right. Gently they placed them on their respective chests. His mouth dry, he began to cup and fondle. He took Dinah's left breast in his hand and gently squeezed, feeling its warmth and fullness, while rubbing and massaging Helena's right nipple. Dinah cooed and arched her back, pressing her breast into his hand, but Helena played it cool, watching him with glittering eyes. He was gratified to feel her nipple become stiff; she wasn't entirely the ice queen she appeared to be. As he touched them, they returned the favour, running their fingertips over his chest, down to his abs. These were mostly undefined—punching people was not his métier, and he did have a business to run, so he had never been a gym rat—but the Birds traced them nonetheless. In a moment, they had reached his waist and his pajama bottoms, which were now seriously tenting, forced up by his obviously erect cock. Without slowing the two took hold of the elastic waistband and pulled down; knowing what was coming, he arched his back and his pajama bottoms slid off his hips. Helena grabbed them, pulling them off his legs and throwing them into the corner. His cock sprang up, in its eight-inch glory, throbbing and hard, the foreskin pulled back and the head slick with pre-cum. It had been quite an arousing show. With broad smiles—Dinah's sunny, Helena's smoky—the two women pulled away from his hands and moved down toward the foot of the bed. Martin swallowed and tensed his leg muscles, praying that what he thought was about to happen was indeed about to happen. His prayers were answered. The two women lay down, curling up around his legs, their heads just over his cock. As one they began to lick it, their pink tongues darting out and caressing his shaft. Dinah took the bottom, working around the base, while Helena went right to the source: she began lapping at the crown, taking in his pre-cum while leaving behind a shiny coat of saliva. They worked, as before, in silence. In a moment he was sopping wet from their attentions. He clenched his hands in anticipation. He didn't have long to wait. Helena rose up, ribbons of semen dangling from her lips. Elbowing Dinah aside, she crawled around so she had pride of place between his legs. Dinah rolled off the bed and rose up. She began what appeared to be the complex task of removing the rest of her costume; her fishnets and her leather tights were fastened together quite securely, and the tights themselves were practically sprayed on. There was no way to get them off in a sexy or seductive manner; it required a lot of tugging and bracing of one's self against a wall or floor. If Martin had been paying attention, he might have found it amusing, but as it was he had other things on his mind: Helena had taken him into her mouth and was sucking his cock like he'd never had it sucked before. His ex-wife was the only woman he'd ever been with who'd given him head, and she'd always made it seem like a disagreeable chore. In his naiveté, he'd thought that her perfunctory treatments were as good as it got, and hadn't minded that he rarely received any oral attention. Given Helena's ice-queen demeanour, he'd expected something similar to his earlier experiences: mildly arousing but not earth-shaking. His expectations were quickly shattered. She licked his head, yes, her tongue dancing around its circumference, with occasional darts up to the tip; but she also sucked at it, her head bobbing gently and her cheeks dimpling from the effort. With one hand she held his shaft and stroked it while she steadied herself with the other. Martin moaned and ran his fingers through her hair, careful not to disturb her mask as he did so. Helena seemed to approve, as she changed her technique: sealing her lips to make a tight bond around his cock, she pushed down on him, hard, over and over, fucking him with her mouth. The pleasure Martin felt was intense, and he desperately tried to keep from coming. He began reciting his mantra in his head, trying to find his centre, his place of repose; from there he could enjoy the sensations rocking his body without being conquered by them. But it was no use; it had been too long since he'd been fulfilled, and the lack of consummation he'd had that afternoon had weakened him that much more. He grunted and gasped and Helena, knowing what was coming, coolly pulled her head away and began stroking him, firmly, until he couldn't hold out any more and burst, his ejaculation flying out across the room, spattering against his dresser. Helena continued to pump and the semen kept flowing, trickling down now onto her hand and the bedspread. Looking up at him, the first time she had done so during the whole exercise, she said in a deadpan: "I don't swallow on the first date." Martin blinked as he came back to himself. He stared at her for a moment as she began wiping her hands on the duvet, then waved a hand and intoned "Nemes etaropave." Helena twitched in surprise as the bedspread, and her hands, became dry. "That's a good trick. No one likes to sleep on the wet spot." With a spring she rolled off the bed into a crouch. Straightening herself, she busied herself with removing the remnants of her costume, though she kept the mask. By this time Dinah had freed herself from her outfit: with a final pull she removed her panties and let them drop to the floor. Laying down on the bed, she rolled over next to the Thaumaturge. Resting her back against the headboard, she looked down at him where he lay, resting his head on a pillow. He looked up at her glassily but didn't say anything. Dinah smiled gently. " I suppose you have some questions, huh?" He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "I certainly do. That was…" He paused, obviously searching for the right word. "That was exquisite." "We aim to please," said Dinah, with a grin. Helena grunted and began pulling off her boots. "But why is it that the first time two beautiful women I don't know surprise me in my bedroom and give me… er… their affections is after I commit the biggest screw-up in my vigilante career? I mean, stuff like this just doesn't happen, and if it does happen, it doesn't happen as a reward for failure. You can see why I'm confused." Helena, now nude, crawled onto the bed and nestled in on Martin's right-hand side, leaving him sandwiched between them. Each draped a leg over his lower body, trapping him thoroughly. "You didn't fail," Helena answered, her voice less taut and hostile now. "You figured out what was happening at the museum; you intervened to stop it; you ended the infestation without loss of life, and without calling for help." "But the incident with the succubus—" "You were lucky," Helena interrupted. "We've all been lucky at one time or another. It doesn't detract from what you accomplished." Reaching down, she began to stroke his chest, slowly running her fingers from nipple to nipple. "But yes, you almost got killed. J'onn knew as much from the security camera footage." "Security cameras?" Alarmed, he tried to sit up, but Helena held him down, her hand pushing against his sternum. "Relax. J'onn had the Flash retrieve them. J'onn watched them and then had them destroyed. They won't be coming back to haunt you. "J'onn's no magic expert, but he's astute; he worked out what had happened from what he saw. You were sexually frustrated, and your opponents were able to use that against you. You're not the first one of us to whom that's happened. We have mechanisms to deal with it. That's why Canary and I are here." "You mean that you—" Dinah joined Helena in her caresses, clasping Martin's left shoulder in her hands and massaging it softly. Ignoring his interruption, Helena continued to speak. "Vigilante work is demanding. It takes a big commitment of emotional energy to do what we do over the long term. Not only that, but we can't talk about our work to most people in our lives. Taken as a whole, that means our emotional lives tend to be feast or famine. You either marry somebody and they carry the weight for you, or you don't get married, and you carry it yourself." "And sometimes you get married and carry it yourself anyway," added Dinah. All three were silent for a moment, Helena embarrassed, Dinah and Martin mulling old wounds. "Uh, right. But my point is this, Dinah; when you're in the biz, casual relationships are impossible: too much of our lives have to be kept hidden. You either move to a committed relationship really fast, or you don't have a relationship at all." "Yeah," admitted the Thaumaturge. "Between patrol and running my store I didn't have time to date, and when I did I'd have to break them to go off and fight crime. Being super wasn't as glamorous as I expected." "So that's why Wonder Woman started this program. She saw that a lot of us weren't getting the intimacy that we needed, and it was affecting our work: good people were burning out. She doesn't have any sexual hang-ups herself, and when she saw that her comrades did, she began helping them out: giving lays to the ones that needed it. All the big Leaguers—Superman, Batman, the Manhunter—or at least that's the way I hear it. No one's got the guts to ask them to their faces, and Diana refuses to say. But when the League opened its doors wide, well, she's just one woman, despite all the powers. She couldn't keep the whole League going. So she and J'onn made an informal program." "If you need, and I mean really need, to get it on," Dinah said, "then J'onn asks someone to take care of you. Someday after that, he'll ask you to take care of someone else, and you'll do it, no questions or complaints. And then that person will do the same for yet another." She broke into a snatch of song: "It's the cirrr-cle of liiife…" "I see. So you two both—" "Just me, actually," murmured Helena. "I was horny as hell, and got too rough with some thugs. That night I got a visit from Steel. That man…" She smiled dreamily. "Well, he gave me what I needed, leave it at that. Dinah hasn't partaken, as far as I know. She just came to keep me company." "Close enough," said Dinah. She grinned lasciviously. "Steel, huh? So is it true what they say—" Birds in the Hand "Not now!" hissed Helena. She sat up and adjusted her mask. "Sorry, but this stays on. Canary's gone public but I haven't and don't plan to." Sure, Martin thought. Secret identity. The fact that wearing the mask while you fuck gets you hot has nothing to do with it. Aloud he said "I'm neglecting my duties as host. Can I offer you anything to drink?" "I thought you just did," purred Dinah. She smiled as her shot hit home; Martin blushed and, amazingly, Helena did too. To take the sting off Dinah added, "I'd… take a drink… myself, but I can't do that anymore." She tapped her throat. "What with my canary cry and all, it's too risky to use my throat for that kind of recreation." Sitting up, she turned to look him in the eyes. Helena took the same position on his other side. "I'll have to make it up to you," Dinah breathed, and licked her lips. Martin gulped as he looked up at the two Birds. Each was any man's fantasy. In the dim light of his bedside lamp Helena's olive complexion blended her into the shadows; from behind her mask her eyes glittered down at him. She looked at him with a hungry expression and shifted her weight; her dark tresses shimmered. In contrast Dinah, with her fair skin and golden hair, seemed to glow in the lamplight. Her breasts, which were slightly smaller than Helena's but every bit as perky, jiggled slightly as she breathed. Leaning over him the way they were the duo's chests thrust down at him. He'd always been a breast man, and these were the finest he'd ever seen in person. He reached out and caressed the Birds' flat stomachs, then slowly brought his hands up. He cupped their right breasts and felt their hearts beat. Helena glanced down at his member, still limp from his exertions. "That won't do us much good," she said, frowning. She pulled away from Martin's hand and stood at the bedside. Reaching down, she helped Martin to his feet, then took his former place. She took a moment to rest her head on the pillows and arched her back with a sigh. As Dinah nestled in beside her, Helena spread her legs. Looking up at Martin, she cocked her head and gave him a challenging stare. He didn't need to be told what she expected. He climbed onto the foot of the bed, crawled between her knees, and lowered his mouth to her slit. Her pubic hair was shaved, leaving only a small landing strip above her pussy. Her labia glistening in the dim light. He grabbed her kneecaps to steady himself, then set to work, licking her with a passion. He started off sloppy, coating her with saliva, getting her as lubed up as he could; then he began slipping his tongue up her lips to her clit. His strokes were short and light and precise, each pass as careful as the one before. Helena squirmed and shivered under his attentions. Dinah held up her head with one hand and looked down at Helena, a tiny smile on her face, watching as her friend quivered. Casually Dinah reached out with her free hand and lay it across Helena's tight belly, stroking her abs. "Is this fair? You're supposed to be relieving his sexual tension, not the other way around." "Shut… UP…" growled Helena. She squeaked as Martin changed his technique, flicking his tongue at her clit and sucking on it. Her own juices had begun to flow, making her well and truly wet. "Just seems to me—" Helena grabbed Dinah's wrist and squeezed tightly. "Not… right… NOW… okay?" Dinah chuckled. She watched with interest as Helena began to tense, her superbly defined muscles tightening and coming into relief on her arms, her torso, and her legs. Her thighs began to close, pinching Martin's head, but he kept going, increasing his tempo. Helena clenched her toes and clutched at the bedsheets; then she burst. She was too tightly wound to cry out, but she let out a loud gasp and her body spasmed. In a moment all the tension ran out of her like water from a pitcher, and she relaxed, her legs and arms dropping to her sides. She looked down at the Thaumaturge, who had crawled forward to rest his head on her belly, a wide grin plastered across his face. "You didn't learn THAT from a book," she said. "But if you did, I know some people who could use a copy." He shrugged. "Natural talent, I guess." "Honey, if I had a man who could do that, I would never have left him." Dinah raised an eyebrow fractionally. That seems out of character. Helena shrugged her shoulders, almost imperceptibly. Something he needs to hear. Helena's instinct was right; Martin smiled a half-smile. Turning his gaze to Dinah, he asked "Would you like me to—" "Thanks for the offer, sweetie, but I'll pass." Ollie had been a champion cunnilinguist. That sort of attention right now would start her thinking about things she had come on this 'mission' to forget. "I think I'd like something else." She beckoned him forward. "C'mere." He rolled off of Helena to Dinah and crawled forward. Dinah loosely encircled his waist with her legs and he stopped moving, his head now level with her chest. She took hold of his head and ran her fingers through his sweaty hair. Sighing, she pulled him down, burying his head in her breasts. With a muffled purr he pulled left and right, rubbing his face in the Canary's ample bosom. Her nipples pushed against him, limning his cheeks, eyes, and nose. His delight knew no bounds. His cock began to stiffen again. Helena, still lying at Dinah's side, propped herself up on her left elbow and watched, lip curled. Dinah had closed her eyes and was beaming as Martin moaned and thrashed in her embrace. "I just don't get it. Show men your tits and they're like putty in your hands. It's pathetic." "Oh, be nice. You're the same way around a nice ass. I've seen you ogle Superman's when his cape doesn't block the view." For once Helena had no snappy comeback. Instead she shifted her position so that her chest lined up with her partner's, then pushed against her. Helena gently pulled the Thaumaturge's head over to her own assets and took a deep breath. Given that her bust was even more ample than her partner's, Martin's moans of excitement reached a new pitch. Dinah pushed Helena away, slowly but firmly. "Back off, wench. You've had your turn." Dinah relaxed her scissor-hold on Martin's upper body, then grasped at his shoulders, pushing him off, up onto his hands and knees. She spread her legs and brushed her kneecaps against his hips. "Take me, lover. I'm yours," she whispered. Her smile was bright. Martin, who had been horny to begin with, had become stiff and ready in Dinah's embrace, but her breathy command made all of the nerves in his cock tingle. He struggled forward and pressed his member against her crotch. In a moment he found her slit and entered her. It only took a few moments for him to find his rhythm. He pushed into her, taking long strokes, pushing in, endlessly in. Dinah moaned and sighed and encouraged him, whispering endearments as he rode her. Helena, laying beside them, watched, her lip curled in a half-smile. To her surprise the Canary's cries proved to be quite a turn-on, and she began to massage her own clit, her vigor increasing as Dinah's gasps reached new pitch. Taken aback by this turn of events, she watched her partner with new interest. Martin had forgotten Helena was there, so intent was he on what he was doing. Thanks to Dinah's first-rate muscle tone, her stamina was excellent and her pussy was tight; she rose to meet his every thrust. Martin's ex-wife had never been so capable or fit. Even the succubus he'd encountered hadn't been this good. As a spiritual being, it took its cues on sex from his own mind, and provided as lacklustre a performance as he'd become used to in his marriage. What Dinah was giving him was beyond compare with that: this was easily the best sex he'd had in his life. He tried as best he could to give her the same in return. Dinah, too, was comparing her lover's ability to that of others she'd had. Martin wasn't as strong or as vigorous as Ollie, but he was more generous, shifting his strokes, responding to her feedback. I guess Ollie was taking me for granted. How long has it been since he got me off? As if the thought was parent to the act, she felt an orgasm begin to bud in her loins, her first in months. Immediately thoughts of Green Arrow were banished as she concentrated on coming. Martin sensed what was happening and began working harder. When she came she reached up and grasped his shoulder blades, pulling her down onto him with a moan; later he would find ugly bruises there, but in the moment he didn't feel anything but his own sweet release. He collapsed into her embrace, making weak passes into her until he was drained. They lay there for a time, savouring the afterglow. Helena tried to let them be, but her self-stimulation had gone on too long. She needed release. She considered finishing herself off, but decided that her mission took precedence. J'onn was a mindreader, after all, and might pick up on her lack of commitment to the task. So she grabbed Martin by his shoulders and pushed. After a moment, he acquiesced and rolled off of Dinah, onto his back, prompting Dinah to murmur complaints at losing her blanket. Thankfully the bed was king-size and had room for them all. With a hint of steel in her voice, Helena said "You probably want to go to sleep now. Too bad. She came along for the ride, so she's just the appetizer. I'm the main event." Chuckling, Dinah groped her way to the end of the bed and got to her feet. "Better do what she says, hon. When she gets testy people can get hurt." She disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, and in a moment Helena and Martin could hear the shower running. Martin sat up. Two orgasms had taken the edge off of his need, but he was far from satiated. Even had he been, never before had he had the chance to make it with a woman like Helena and he wasn't about to let it pass by. He was also competitive enough to recognize the implicit challenge she had offered, the claim he wasn't up to another go. Little did she know. With a gleam in his eye, he intoned "Ecnesse fo rytas!" and snapped his fingers. Helena started again at this reminder of his unearthly abilities. As she watched his body rippled. He wasn't obviously different, but… he seemed larger, stronger, more vital. He bounded off the bed and she frowned; he was more dextrous now. What was more, she could see now he had indeed changed in one obvious way; his cock was erect again, and had grown. It was longer, at least twelve inches, and had increased in girth as well. She'd never seen or heard of any man being hung like that, and she had gotten around. Involuntarily, she gasped. He smirked and beckoned her forwards. She rose and, adjusting her mask, stalked towards him, her game face on. They came together in a grapple. Their tongues met in a fierce kiss; he grabbed and squeezed her breasts as she grabbed and squeezed his buttocks. His magnificent cock pressed against her belly as they wrestled. In other circumstances both enjoyed foreplay, but not at this moment. Both were too aroused, and too determined to demonstrate their sexual fitness, to care. They embraced for only a moment before Martin grabbed Helena by her shoulders. He spun her about and pushed her toward the bed. She fell forward and braced herself as he came at her from behind. Leaning forward he grabbed her hips and positioned his member. Helena was already wet from her ministrations to herself, and Martin was soaked in his own and Dinah's juices. He slid into her easily, and slowly, for despite his desire to prove himself he didn't want to hurt her. Helena groaned as he worked into her, inch by inch, but she was every bit as athletic as Dinah: her body was a tuned instrument. She could take him in, all of him. Before Martin had been gentle and generous, but not now. He began to buck, giving Helena all he had, as strong and as fast as he could. Helena matched him, pushing back with all the power her legs could muster. Grunting, Martin thrust into her, again and again, giving Helena everything he could. And Helena took it, sweating, groaning, but keeping up, meeting him stroke for stroke. Their grunts and cries increased in intensity and pitch as they approached climax: Helena cursed at Martin in gutter Italian, demanding he fuck her harder, harder; Martin responded with snarls. Helena's orgasm came first. It burst upon her, as it always did, like a wave, a red tide of lava that coursed through her from head to toe, burning away her consciousness, leaving her unaware, her pains and troubles forgotten. She was barely cognizant of his final thrusts into her; neither was he, so focused was he on his own orgasm, the explosion of pleasure in his cock as he burst. He shrieked his delight as he came. As his semen left him so did the magic. The loss of the spell's support, coupled with the fatigue he had had before casting it, flung him into the abyss. The spell hadn't given him new energy so much as borrowed it from his reserves: he'd burned power meant to carry him through the next few days in just a few minutes. He was barely able to pull out of Helena before falling down beside her on the bed, unconscious. Helena rolled over and sprawled out across the remaining space, enjoying the afterglow. She tried not to think how sore she would be when her adrenaline and endorphin count levelled off. Dinah strolled in from the bathroom. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and her body in a white terrycloth bathrobe she'd found hanging on the door. She was humming to herself. Plunking herself down on the bed next to her supine partner, she continued to hum as she dried her hair. After a while she said "I guess you enjoyed yourself. I bet the whole building heard that." Helena grunted. They were quiet for a while, each absorbed in her own thoughts. Finally Dinah said "Thanks, hon. You were right. This was just what I needed. I haven't felt this good in weeks." Helena managed a shrug. "You live in your own head too much. Spending a little time on the rest of your body usually helps." "Hmmm." Dinah considered. "I'll have to speak to J'onn about volunteering for some more of these 'special' missions." "Tell him I'm willing to provide you with backup." Dinah raised an eyebrow and Helena smiled a small, wicked smile. "You know what they say: two birds in the hand—" Dinah hit her with a pillow.