0 comments/ 2965 views/ 1 favorites Fuck You, Eros By: CopperSkink Eros' unnamed replacement original concept by Rubyswallows, everything else is the product of my own boredom. Chapter 1 I fucking hate Valentine's day. Valentine was an alter-boy-loving... Emotions... control... That's better. Where was I? Today is the day boys run to Safeway at the last minute and buy whatever their month's allowance can get to tide angry girlfriends away until sexy season, spring. Here at Svensworth University, I get the unique pleasure of seeing the worst of them. Everyone's loaded to their ears with deadlines, reports are due, homework is backed up, jobs on the side, and they're all so busy procrastinating by hitting the bars and throwing parties that they have neither the time nor the money to make it through the semester. Yes, they actually think it's a good idea to date people at times like these. "'Nother Heartbreaker for you, hon?" "Keep 'm coming; thanks." Take that barista, for example. No tits, no ass, no confidence. It's no surprise she fell over herself for the opportunity to date some stud that offered to take her to bed at a party she somehow wound up at a few weeks ago. Since the inevitable rejection, she spends her nights at singles bars and mixers because she doesn't want to let go of the feeling of being needed by someone. Poor, stupid girl. Not her fault she didn't know any better to give her first time to Mister One Night on your Back. The gentleman in question is now hugging his toilet with the certainty that his shit-stained reflection is the most beautiful sight this Earth has to behold; you're welcome. Yeah, it was me. I do a number of other good deeds as well, but only in my spare time. Right now, I'm on the clock. See that couple over there? Damn shame, but they're a pair that seem serious about it. Both are glowing this matching red color that makes me wish today was named "All Lovers' Day" instead of that faggot asshole some pope decided to cannonize. It almost breaks my heart to see them parted, but rules are rules. The brass wants one or both of them to feel the sting of my lead tips, and my protestations would only fall on deaf ears. The gentle fuzz of delicate canary feathers brushing against my thrumming fingers by my right pants pocket keeps me sharp on my duties, as does the extra-special bitter coffee my tragic barista is kind enough to keep me supplied with. Oh, how I'd love to bless them both with a pair of like-feathered yards of cloth from the pouch in my back instead, and I'd even throw in busy Marsha as a gift; she could probably use the experience and I'll bet she'd grow as red as them with just the right nudge. The barista notices my thrumming fingers, but she doesn't see what isn't meant for her eyes. She asks if I need to switch to decaf. Right, like the gods on high ever watched their caffien intake. Neither she nor anyone else notices the arrow pouch strapped to my thigh or the one to my back; they see only adorable me and my yard-long shortbow. To them, I'm Betsy Heart, student and Olympic hopeful in the archery competition. To my bosses, I'm Bethsida Everheart, Bearer of the Arrows. Long story. By that, I mean a story your short-lived ass wouldn't live long enough to hear. Just take my word for it. The bell on the door rings when someone comes in. My back is to the door and I'm waiting for my shot. It shouldn't be taking so... oh there we go; Mister Perfect (pet name; don't mind me) has been putting away the rich stuff since he came in here at eight this morning, and he forgot to pee before he left the house, excited as he was about today. Hm... time to make... my move. "Excuse me, was that guy your boyfriend?" asks me upon approaching Miss Everything (again, don't bother me about my stupid pet names. You have no idea how much time is taken from me and my Xbox staking people out). "Yeah... and you are...?" The cautious girl's fire-like coating of heart-warmed rich red color flashes so quickly to that sickly green color that I nearly lose my precious coffee all over wool cardigan. That color always makes me sick and I wonder how anyone can bear having it inside them without getting sick themselves. "I'm Betsy," of course, "from the archery team?" Hold the bow up for credentials. Yeah, I carry it with me. Can't hide it from the common eye as easily as a closely-strapped quiver under baggy winter clothes. Those of us on the team have a good laugh at the kids from the fencing team that have to have their weapons thoroughly packed away from sight on campus or else get a visit from the campus police. "I'm sorry for not just minding my own business, but I got this really stupid idea, since it's Valentine's day and all." Her color switches back to that warming red again. So trusting; no matter she fell so easily in love. It's almost a shame to waste even one of my precious arrows when a quick lie and a flash of thigh could do all the work. But you know, reputation and everything. "Why don't you wait outside the bathroom and surprise him? Get him one of those cute chocolate cookies they made for today." "Hey, that's a great idea! Thanks!" Oh, please don't be such a gullible bimbo. Surprise him? Yeah, right. One of my favorite jobs I'd done was on a pair wherein the girl thought it'd be a good idea to show up at her boyfriend's house early on such February the fourteenth. He'd had his plans already, and she managed to shut them down by throwing herself in his face beforehand. A few pricks from me, and it was all over. They just didn't realise it for another four years. Off she goes, and I with her, both of us giggling (I'm faking, of course. I've seen true love, not this giddy flight-of-fancy fair-weather bullshit) to the bathrooms. The "His" door faces the "Hers" door and a body can quite easily watch someone coming out of one from peering from behind another. Neither can see me hiding off in the dark of some boxes a ways further back in the shop with my bow finally drawn for the big kill. I hate waiting. My arms start getting stiff. This stupid bow was made for that precious little baby everyone was sooo ga-ga over back when he was spawned. I'm five-foot-fuckin'-five and I've been doing this for the last... five thousand years? No one else will take the stupid thing, but can't I at least get one custom-made for me? Wait, score. The door to the boys' bathroom opens. Single-serving, only one person in there that can possibly come out. Same on the other side, and a line is growing by the look of people straining their necks around the corner to see what's taking so long. "Surprise!" comes the caterwail of the enthusiastic girlfriend from the other bathroom, weilding her spicy chocolate cookie and flopping tits. "Surprise," I whisper from my hiding place, loosing my tension in my left fingers, feeling the taut bowstring sliding free. In another moment... "Surprise!" "What? Where'd you... mmmff!" Truthfully, I could feel him before I saw him, that sexy smell that comes from a man's sweaty armpits that's strong enough to knock you on your ass and make you ovulate all at once. Little bastard snuck up on me from behind and had his arms around me before I knew what to do with myself, and he was making me melt with his special kisses on my usually-vacant lips. Strength to resist, to do anything, drained from my body as he kissed me. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around him and drag him onto the floor, through the floor, into my bed and never let him go. I could feel my bow slipping through my fingers as his masculinity took me. "Take me to bed, you monster," was what I said. Fast forward to tomorrow morning. If you don't mind, that is, only I can't remember much of last night (or the rest of the day earlier, to be perfectly frank). My body feels ravished and I have this sense of satisfaction that keeps a stupid, rediculous grin plastered on my face. I can't move my hand to pull the thin cotton sheet up past my breasts to keep the cool air off me, that's how fucked I am. My boy walks in from the shower with a fluffy white towel polishing his smooth, bald head, bulky muscles rippling, barely fitting through the door. His long penis bounced against his rippling thigh, balls throbbing in time with his heart. He was glowing a sort of even, clear color that you almost couldn't tell was a glow except for the way his aura thing distorted the air around it. It was the aura of a person perfectly content, wanting nothing more than a cigarette to round of a night of hot sex. That is, until he saw me sprawled out on the bed with my curly hair a perfect mess and my poor tits lying open to the world with hickies covering them and my neck. Then he turned a dark shade of puce; he was proud as hell at what he had done and the condition he had left me in. "Morning," the cheeky bastard says. No cup of joe to help bring me to my senses; and most importantly, no firey red glow. Whatever this may look like, we're not in love. And I'm fine with that. "You shouldn't have done that," I say in protest. He doesn't believe me, I can tell. If only I were able to wipe the disgusting grin off my face to make me a little more believable. "I was in the middle of a job when you did your little 'pay attention to me' thing." Oh yeah, the job. Oh well; I at least fired one arrow. Raven feathers, too. They shouldn't even be able to look at each other now. At least one of them, only I'm not sure which one. "Couldn't resist myself, being what day it is and all," the cheeky bastard says. I say "bastard" because he was born out of wedlock. I say "cheeky" because he stops my mouth with that lengthy dick he packs when he's had enough of my lecturing. I still don't remember much of last night, but my throat remembers being stretched so well that his dick, still soft (for now) slides easily down. It's a rather comforting experience that doesn't just make me wet, I feel like I get all the fun parts out of relationships without the stupid hangups like everyone has that I was watching at the coffee shop. About that time, the computer on my bedside table begins singing some epic tale complete with full orchestra led bravely by French horns and fifty or seventy violins. "Goddammit," I grumble inwardly before I can pull myself free from the meaty meat. The picture on the screen tells me what I already know: that the boss is calling, and she doesn't want to talk over hte phone. "Morning!" says I. "We need you to come in," my boss' secretary says rather coldly. "Right now, if you please." "But I have..." There's nothing indicitive in the room but that muscly, rather well-endowed mass before me, "class." "We'll expect you in half an hour." Click. Yeah, right. Who does she think I am, Hermes with winged wings of going really fast? "Hey you, with the dolly-wanger, make yourself useful and help me into the shower." Take a shower, get dressed, dry my hair, put on my makeup, walk down to the bus stop, wait for the bus, talk to my boy who calls just to flirt with me, miss my bus... the boss is gonna be pissed. "I'm pissed at you." Yeah, the boss is pissed. "Sorry I'm late; I missed my..." "Yeah, I was watching the little flirting match you were having. You really fucked me this time." "I said I was sorry; I'll set my alarm next..." "I'm not talking about being late, silly girl!" "Sorry, Your Honor." Her latest title. Her name is Athena. The Athena, Greek hottie of the Moon and kicking boys' butts and having of an extremely cute owl fast asleep on her shoulder at all times. Bubo glows that warm red color whenever he's near her that makes me forgive her own shades of red that can't decide amongst themselves which of them is the big dog. I actually have a hard time not chuckling to myself when I look at her. Back then, before TV and stuff, she actually looked alright, being happy with a nice toga and a wreath of ivy or something holding her curly hair up. Now she's got this startched white shirt with its buttons all polished, wrapped tightly around her fake tits that're way too big for her. I'm telling you, TV knocked half of us down. At least Rodi is keeping it real. That's Aphrodite, the hottie of love and all. It's her stupid son whistling his fool head off as he wanders throughout the courthouse all day whose job I'm doing, shooting arrows of love or spite into people's unknowing asses. Like I said, long story. Rodi, meanwhile, no huge boobs to make her feel more woman. The rest? Forget about it. The woman is a bigger mistake of plastic surgery than that anal bleaching girl ten years ago. You'd think being immortal and the hottest woman ever would mean you set the standard for hotness. But like I said, TV. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" Done... done... "You mean with Terminus? We do that all the time; I thought everybody knew." "I'm not talking about your blasted son!" Dang, settle down. Oh, by the way, that handsome piece of man of mine? Terminus the Ender? He's my son. Another long story. "I sent you on a simple mission to break up a couple, and what do you do?" "Shot them with the 'arrow of breaking couples up'?" I suggest. "Did you?" she asks with a glare, and it's not a glare I like. More because the red of anger glows hot around her, the red hot that burns your eyes to look at rather than keeps your warm and makes you feel at home. "Umm... yes?" Suddenly I don't feel so good. Athena signals to her secretary who's dressed as a court recorder or a legal secretary or whatever they're called. The secretary hits a few buttons that causes to be brought up the security recording of the scene of yesterday's job. There's me in the back of the shop, though I'm hidden rather well as skill may have it, and there's the two of them coming out of the bathroom. Everything looks good so far... Then there's Terminus sneaking in through the back to find me. I spend a lot of time at that shop during my current matriculation, and he's spotted me more than once staking the place out for a good hiding spot to shoot my stuff. You'd think my awesome station would allow me a hat of being really hard to see or something awesome. Nope, I have to hide so no one accuses me of firing a deadly weapon at someone in broad daylight. There's him putting the moves on me (the backs of the hairs on my head stand up), and... oh, damn, there goes my arrow, right past the intended couple and smacking some poor elderly gentleman right betwen the eyes right as he's looking upon... oh, shit. "Do you know who that is?" Athena questions. "No," I answer, not bothering to shroud myself from the shit cesspool I seem to have stepped in. "That was the dean of medicine from your school, and that was his wife he was taking morning coffee with when you shot him with your Arrow of Broken Love." "Yes, Your Honor," I answer as automically as possible to get this all over with. "Betsy?" "Yes, Your Honor?" "Do you have any idea what we do here?" "Keep the world safe from itself," I recite a bit dully. Not the whole world. Athena, in her wisdom (that part isn't exaggerated, whatever you've heard about her), was put in charge of the Americas while the big bosses stayed on their lofty mountain. Rodi came with her as I mentioned and her son; her husband came too, and her lover came flitting along. Called himself "his sister's muscle." "And we do that through carefully-caculated actions. Breaking a couple apart, for example, so a young man can rise to prominance after careful studies in university and marrying the right woman." "I didn't know you could see the future," I said in jest. She didn't take it kindly. "Careful calculations," she repeated with a bit of grinding teeth. "If he gets too distracted by this girlfriend of his now, it could comprimise future greatly. We have decided not to allow this to happen, and you were charged with correcting it. Now the dean of medicine will lose credibility with his peers when he decides to divorce his wife of thirty years, and when we needed stability in this school. What do you have to say for yourself?" "Sorry I picked up some asshole's bow? No offence, Rodi." Rodi glowed a bit of red herself for the moment. She keeps it better contained than most, being better at my job than I am. Pissing her off is not the way to go. "The role is yours, as is this task. But now that you mention it, I think perhaps you're right." "Really?" Have my bow taken away? There's a concept. No more immortality, but no more stupid responsibility I wasn't born into. "Yes. Sherrif?" The sherrif is Aries, of course. He's dressed in uniform according to his role of court sherrif as his sister is dressed as a judge without the robe. Rodi is the only one way back with her long evening gown showing off everything she was born with. Aries grinned at me with his stupid red eyes, came right up to me and snatched my bow from me. He took my quivers too. What he didn't take was the sting of immortality. I've been used to it for so long, I never realized I had it until a good thirty years after I got the stupid job of shooting people. My dad said, "Damn, but you haven't aged a day." I took a look in a pool, and he was right. I didn't feel any different than than I do now. I'm still shy about getting stabbed or something, which fortunately has never happened to me before. "Now go forth from this place and fix your blunder." The flickering colors... goddammit, I still have the sight, stopped tousling, switching to something more even. She'd finished speaking to me and was ready to focus her attentions onto other matters of worldly import. "That's it? Do my job, just without the tools that themselves are the definition of the job?" The secretary bumped me out and Aries did that grinning thing at me that was his joy someone wasn't doing what she was told and it would be his pleasure to put things right. If he had that grin, it was best for me to get moving. "God, I hate them. I never asked for this, you know." "So why do you stay?" Marsha asked, softly patting my hand. So I explained even more, each word a violation of various oaths people trained for years to understand, where as I undertook responsibility of them just by grabbing a goddammed stick of wood with a string attached to both ends. With nowhere else to turn to, I had invited Marsha out to drinks so I could melt my brain. We had never spoken, and she was strangely comforting to be around. Too bad one of the brass will wipe her memory and give me a talking-to in the morning. Too bad; I'm in pain, and I need a friend right now. "So, that guy you were with yesterday, he's your son, not your... boyfriend?" "He's both." I grinned at the memory of my once-lanky little boy who stared at an orange for an hour after seeing it fall from a tree before he came running to me to tell of his discovery. I'll never forgive that bitch Newton for getting that particular spotlight with his worm-ridden apple when my Terminus obviously had the whole thing figured out at twelve. "Back when I was still new at this, maybe a hundred years, two, I slid on down to Iceland to see what was up with the Norse immortals." "Really?" she asked with fascination. While she probably didn't believe I was a Greek immortal, what with not having the nose for it, she was a big myth buff and she was loving each word of my stories so far. "Did you find them?" "No, and they told me no one in Swedin or Norway or the Netherlands had seen or heard of anything of them as far back as any of the stories go." "What about Finland? Isn't that part of Scandinavia too?" "Different tribes there," I explained, "none of the other ones understand a fuckin' word the Fins say. Better rock bands there, in my opinion. Anyway, I did run into some frost giants." "Really?" she said with even wider eyes. Fuck You, Eros "Not that big, but bigger. Bluish skin, what with it being so cold. Bloodshot eyes, but not red." "And by 'big' you mean..." She was holding her hands about a foot apart, and it made my heart thump because she was describing my boy's father rather acurately. I nodded, making her all a-dither. "That was a fun trip. Being immortal at the time, and the frost giants themselves are known to be rather longevitous, he's still alive. After hooking up to hang out a few times every dozen years or so (after he grew up and struck out on his own, of course), the mother-son thing kind of disappeared. Or his trunks came off when he was getting out of the hot tub; I can't remember which..." My new friend had a good laugh, and she added that experience to a large collection of new things she'd have to consider if everything I told her over the last hour (and three rounds) were true. "So, what now?" she asked. "Fucking Cupid isn't going to take his stupid bow back," I said, "not as long as I'm still alive. And they'll kill me if I try to quit, probably. Not just let me live out my life and die, but send me down to Hades express delivery." "But people have made it out before, right? Of Tartarus? Is that where you're talking about?" "Yeah, Perseus and Heracles have gotten people out, and they were incredibly awesome. There's no one gonna come looking for me." "I bet Terminus would go find you." I sighed and took another drink. "He's a good boy, but whimsicle, always doing his own thing. I probably won't see him again until you're on your third husband." "I'm sorry, you said 'Cupid'?" "Yeah?" "Isn't he Roman? Didn't you say they were all Greek?" "It's all Greek to me. Huh? Oh yeah, Cupid. Yeah, he helps facilitate that name because it makes him sound all cherub-like. Made me believe it, too. Believe me, Eros is a grown man and he gets ideas about women. Bastard." "How're you gonna do this without your bow?" "I donno, love," I sighed. I gazed down at the dancing floor a few lit steps thataway, where the happy couple were frolicking together with perfect content. I had to fix this, and I'd have to do it with stupid know-how. Chapter 2 "Hi, you're Bradly, aren't you?" "Uhh... yeah... and you are?" "Betsy; nice to meet you. Can we talk for a bit?" The boy, my mark, my trial if you will, looked quite uneasy. I glanced down where he was glancing and blushed. Yes, I blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry; I had to run straight here after practice to talk to you; I didn't have time to change." In my gear for the university archery team, I look rather hot. The shorts are small enough to hold a baby's diapers up if the tape fails and the top uses less material than the shoulderguard and backguard I wear to keep my quiver and bowstring from chaffing me. I wore this outfit with a purpose, for today I am going to go about fixing what needs fixing. A few minutes of staring at me, he'll be putty in my hands. "I don't know if I should... I'm meeting someone..." "It's just for a few minutes," I said, already looping my arm through his and leading him off to one of the many garden benches there are to be sat upon on the university's vast quantity of grassy knolls. "I'm writing an article for the school paper about hot couples, and you made the top of my list." I got him to the bench, where I asked him to relay every detail of his relationship with Greta or something from how they met to all of her favorite everythings. His stories were boring and he didn't seem to know the first thing about her, only that she was hot and she let him touch her and he was already planning the wedding. I was laughing at his lame jokes and leaning on his knee and being a general flirt as I pretended to take notes; it was all very subtle of me. It's easy when you cheat. Yes, I'm not doing this all on my own, even if I'm not stabbing him with a lead-tipped arrow. It was back in Narsissus' days, see, or after them. That pool which reflected the boy's beauty so perfectly (yes, I knew him; ruff) was the perfect water for brewing love potions. One such potion, the likes of which I've never seen duplicated, imbued me with the power to see people's auras. They're color-coded, if you havn't picked up on it by now. I could tell exactly when the boy was feeling nervous, marking a moment for me to lean in for some skin-to-skin contact. When he felt angry, I would back off immediately. When he wanted to talk, I would listen. Oh, but he was very fond of me by the time the late afternoon bell tolled. "Aw crap; I'm late!" he said as he stood. "Is it that time already?" I asked to pretend I was party to his oblivion. "Well, thanks so much for the interview. I have to file this report now, but maybe we can hook up later for the rest of it? The party tonight?" I hate phrases like "hooking up", but the alegory works in my favor; I can see the confusion on his face without peering deeper to his emotions that he really has no clue that I'm hitting on him. He apologises that he's late for a date with his girlfriend and he runs off. I give my own apology that I won't get to see more of him, and that I'll be at the party if he changes his mind. Back in my flat, paid for by my patron immortals at the very most along with my tuition so I'd have time to do my duties rather than work all day, I quickly wrote the article for the school news, two hundred words per minute. It's not hard if you practice, and I've been going to school for a very long time though I still look young enough that I get carded at bars. Minutes after I filed the article, the editor posted it, and almost instantly it registered over a thousand hits when those who'd tabbed the news responded to its blip. "Take that, Super Couple," I said to myself with inner satisfaction, having publicly assigned them one of my pet names. Shortly after, while I was lying in bed with plans of action dancing across the ceiling, Terminus arrived as per my summons. "You know you just painted a bullseye across both their chests?" he asked right away, refering to my article already. I smiled with triumph that my intention had been so easily achieved, that Bradly and Greta would be targeted by every single boy and girl as a hot date. Everyone at the party would be going after them, including me. "That's the idea. Now if you'll get your ass over here, you've got something that belongs to me." He got over here, bringing that party pack with him. I grabbed his crotch in my hand, feeling my son's proud maleness, reflecting on the good parts of yesterday (and all of this morning) without none of the bad stuff, and pulled him onto the bed with me. After some necessary kisses, I fished that big dick out of his tight jeans and got him back down my throat where he belonged. It's as comforting as it is huge, and it gives me strength to complete a task no matter how hard. That is, difficult. For the few hours between now and the party, I rolled him around on the bed with me, both of us getting naked and lips going everywhere. I made him eat me out just as I sucked him off for a good long time, but I didn't let him fuck me. No, I had other plans for him. "Come on," he pried at the end of some two hours of hot and bothersome foreplay that left him unsatisfied, thrusting his magnificent body against me as his hot lips teased my skin. "Uh uh," I denied, though my resistance began falling to pieces when he began rubbing my asshole with his thumb. "I want you to save it for Miss Everything tonight." "Really?" Aww... my cute baby boy's ears tend to perk up when I offer him something. I can see the shades of lust sparking up in him that I would never be able to tolerate in a man who promised his heart to me. He's a good boy, but he follows that amazing prick of his, often into danger. Being immortal and hung like a hero can make a person often conceited and devoid of morality. I made my promise to my patrons to keep him somewhat tethered so that his lack of discipline wouldn't result in too many cases of tearful, unrequited love; and I'm able to use him like I will tonight in seducing poor windswept girls. I almost feel sorry for tonight's mark; my boy doesn't like to go long without it and he's especially worked up thanks to my special powers of seduction. Now it's just to get to this party and hope everything goes as planned. I still feel naked without my bow. My dress covers more than my archery outfit, but it's more revealing that way, you know what I mean? Professional by day, and all that. 'Minus shows up at a different time through a different door so no one thinks we're together. Since I'm late, the magic couple is already there. Of course they're there; I wrote down that they'd be making a sort of official debut at this party, some frat house party where everybody's at and nobody knows anybody else. Without pictures putting faces to (made-up) names, it took some being talked to for people to recognize them as the subjects of the article they'd just read. I waited peacefully for the crowd to separate them. "Excuse us, excuse us, coming through," I hollered through the crowd. With my special powers, I grabbed onto the poor, cornered Greta and got us some air (and drinks) onto an abandoned porch or something outside where it's too cold to party. She thanked me for my intervention and sipped at the drink I'd nabbed for her. "You're popular tonight," I reckoned out loud. "You win the lottery or something?" She shrugged. "Someone wrote an article about us in the school news. My boyfriend told some girl..." "That was about you?" I asked in feign surprise. "Man, I had no idea. The chick in the article, she was described as being, well..." I hefted my imaginary chest, which seemed to make her uncomfortable. "Well..." She shyly closed her arms around her sweatered chest. She seemed like Marsha, not knowing her way around the party scene. My prediction was that she'd fold under the pressure of her newfound popularity, and there would go the relationship. "Still," I mused, looking her up and down "I can see shades of it, and you don't show off. I'll admit, I got pretty wet when I read the article." She blushed deeply. "Yeah, my boyfriend's pretty cute. Hands off, of course." I laughed along with her though I'm a lot less nervous than she is. "Actually," I grinned, sliding my hand up her tight jeans (wat), "I'm quite comfortable right here." Now she blushed furiously red. With my special sight, I actually saw her skin and the air around her turning red as her heat rose from her heart quickly pounding hot blood everywhere in her system. The color was particularly deep in her special places, with lesser erogenous zones sparking up like her feet and her shoulders (isn't that odd?). But unlike most college women, she was running more on confusion than anything. It was time to be more careful than bold. "I'm happy for you and your boyfriend," I said. I used my hand on her thigh as a perch, sliding closer to her so I could use her for her heat, and she relaxed. "Although... you can still let a little more out just to tease everybody." "W-what do you mean?" she stuttered. "Well... for example..." I slid my hand up her stomach to her chest, where I felt a thick underwire bra doing quite a lot of work. "A sweater? At a party like this? At least a cardigan, and leave a few buttons open, know what I mean?" She didn't know. She was holding her breath because obviously no hand had ever been that close to her before. Virgins. With my sight, I eased up to her arm after teasing the underside of her breast just long enough to plant ideas into her head that she'd dismiss as quickly as she believed I was just playing around. Once my hand began massaging her shoulder, her firey red aura began circulating fluidly throughout her body. Her eyes were shut for the moment and her breathing deepened with the touching of a special place she didn't seem to be aware of. Our eyes met in that special moment where two people's eyes meet. She asked me my name, and I told her. Then there was quiet, me rubbing her shoulder affectionately. Then she was resting her face against mine, enjoying my close company. Then her lips began to glow that deep red. Then it was time to strike. I moved with her so subtly, making our lips touch. She flexed her lips on reflex, kissing me but not knowing she was kissing me. I kissed her as though she'd just given me the invitation. Though I could no longer see with my vantage, I was accustomed to a person's aura flowing brightly with a good kiss, and I'm practiced in giving such kisses. When the time was right, I moved my hand back to her breast. Not that it got me any further than her shoulder, but because I'm a pervert like that. A sound went off at the appropriate time to disrupt us. We parted with the mutual apologies and innocence with an extra "what just happened" from her. "I don't know," says I, "when you kissed me, I..." "I kissed you?" and so on. I keep telling you, I'm good at this. And so, as the nature of the game goes, the heated flush of reddish lust fueled the orange fire of shame. I kept my cool and parted from her before the rich blue surfaced beneath. Now then, to party. Before video games came out, that's all we immortals did, party. Mostly in disguise, sometimes in the night, resulting in a pregnancy, sometimes massive amounts of worship took place or even a temple got built. Never for me. I just distract myself until my next job comes along. At this party, I was quickly able to ascertain the location of my other quarry; I needed only to listen for the highest concentration of giggles. The bright orange of lust was also impossible to miss out on. You know, sometimes I wonder what the world looks like through the eyes of people that don't see others through the colors of their emotions. I clawed my way through the thick crowd of girls that thought themselves the next Miss Everything to be on the arm of Mister Perfect, and I drug him away against the promise of a second interview. Somewhere in the many-roomed house was a bench in a hallway somewhat removed from at least the majority of the noise. "So I can focus on you better," was my explanation, "since I didn't bring my computer." He was dealing with his newfound popularity about as well as his girlfriend. That is to say, not well at all. He was flushed with rapidly changing colors that went from imagining the possibilities with one or possibly more of the various girls who had clustered around him to feeling extreme guilt for being seen by so many of them instead of being next to poor Greta. Greta hadn't been breechable by my homosexuality, but thankfully her boyfriend was straight enough to show off his bright mixture of lust and guilt when I snuggled up next to him in my tight dress. "What kind of smells do you like?" I pried in my official-sounding voice, "And what romantic getaways do you fantasize about?" "Well... I..." I was leaning forward with my hand on his lap, giving him a show and letting him feel my body, cool from the outdoors. I could feel him getting snuckered in helplessly. He gave me a few answers now and then, choking on words like "fantasize" and "sexual" whether I said them or he. Then came the time for my partner in immortal justice to act. "I've got to find Greta..." "Come back quickly," I urged. "Maybe the three of us could all... talk together?" Oh, I'm wicked bad. But off he went, and I followed at a casual pace as though the booze was in that direction. On the second floor is the game room with the pool table and everything. That was where Terminus would likely be, having moved through the world of classy parties like a vampire, always staying young at heart and only coming out at night if you catch my meaning. In fact, he'd helped to spread the game of pool since he practiced so much to be good at it that it was no use learning a new game just to impress someone for the first time. I'd brought Bradly to the second floor for that purpose; and when he stood, I stood as well, in the middle of the hall, blocking him from going that way unless he pushed past me. When I caught up to him, his eyes were fastened where I needed them to be. I closed up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder like I'd bumped into him accidental-like and was just as curious as he was. Of course Terminus was in there, having cornered Greta. Greta was minding her own business, and Terminus was laying on the flattery thick, pinching her ass when she turned her back on him. She would swat away his hand, but she'd have such a grin on her face like no one had ever paid such attention to her. It was time for me to play it cool. I went in, grabbed a drink, and left like there was nothing there to interest me. I went back outside, the front door this time, waiting. It took Bradly a while to find me like he was supposed to. It meant he went all the way through the house looking for me instead of confronting the guy who was touching his woman. "What's wrong?" I asked. Of course he said nothing to badmouth her, just that the guys at this party didn't seem too cool and that the girls were too forward for his taste. That's where I said, "Aw... you're so sweet," bla, bla, bla, "Greta's really lucky to have met you; she must take real good care of you to keep such a handsome guy." He flashed hot mauve with his jealousy and rage, which gave rise to a flame of misplaced lust. It was my job to stoke that flame high enough to do what my arrows were supposed to do instead of all this grimy footwork. At least I was enjoying the slow seduction. It was time for me to leave, that I had more party to get to before the night was over, thinking out loud that I probably wasn't going to get lucky since I concurred with him that none of the other guys seemed to have that touch I needed. "'Other guys'?" he asked. "Besides you, of course," I giggled, and there I left him be. My my, how much fun this is! Only problem now is having to wait. Three thousand years of being awesome, and I don't get to just let time slip through my fingers like that. No, I have to live each moment like everybody else, needing sleep like everybody else and sometimes being too worked up to sleep, the whole payload. I actually had to put up with the pathetic attempts of amateurs and professional ladykillers who thought their juvinile lines and groping mechanisms could touch me. With experience like I have, I hardly notice most of them. The most agressive ones burn brightly, the ones you have to give a knee to if you don't want them bugging you all night. Then it was time, maybe an hour or two later, to start looking for Bradly. I had to look in the bedrooms, out in the back (no garden, the heathen fratboys), and in the attic. There's a dusty bedroom in the attic with light and bathroom, and that's where I found him. He was almost crying, the poor thing. "What's wrong? I wanted to let you know I was leaving, but I havn't seen you in a while." "My... my g-..." I'll spare you the tearful babble. My boy, Terminus the Ender, he'd been on top of Greta for half the night. There was even a moment where Bradly had found her away from my son, where they connected somewhat awkwardly. Minus came back, his pinching fingers on her tight bottom again until she gave him her attention. She made her apologies to her date that she'd promised to "show her friend something" and left with my son. It seems Bradly had been getting quite fed up with it, and his flaming jealousy had led him to searching for her. After his search for her turned up empty throughout all the open rooms, he began trying closed doors. The bathroom was one such door; and from within, he heard a man's moaning. He slid the door open gently, not having the burning anger to go knocking it down, and he found his sweet, virginal Greta on her knees in front of my boy, sucking him off to quell the fire he'd lit inside her with his godly sperm. It's a feeling I know well, even the flaming jealousy part, thinking of my son's beautiful cock down some slut's unworthy throat. Only on business, of course. Fuck You, Eros It took my soothing coaxing to calm him down enough to slow his tears. I whispered to him promises that he was better than that and that I'd make him forget all about her. His prick easily got hard under my fingers despite his lust not being properly aroused for me to find and tease his hot spots. I swallowed his penis with ease, something I'm guessing his girlfriend never did. In time, he woke up enough to join me, even to fuck me properly. Chapter 3 I had to wake up before he did so there wouldn't be any stupid regret speeches in the morning. With the drugs I pumped him full of, he'd be too tired. Sex drugs, not sleeping pills or rape drugs or anything. Just something to perk him up because I wanted more. Six time's dosage did that job. I met up with my son back at my flat to go over what had gone on; he'd scored big time with "Miss Tight Virgin" as he refered to her. I got insanely jealous again at the thought of his beautiful cum riding her virgin blood out of her mortal pussy when he should be fucking goddesses. He pumped her full of it, just as I gave my own quarry a ride he'd never forget. And I mean never. I may be old and I may not have been born into this job, but my body is perfect, eternally young and sculpted to perfection by my hard work. Also, I have hundreds of thousands of trips to bed worth of experience to fall back on besides my special ability to see people's erogenous zones and manipulate them better than anyone they'd ever meet. Soon Bradly would settle down with some woman that loved him for who he is, only after many years of hard work, never able to find satisfaction with one girl after having so much of me. Greta, Terminus was just insurance to make sure she didn't go crawling back to Bradly, especially after setting up a scene for him to find. My son held me in my arms, regailing me with his tale of conquering yet another helpless daughter. I cussed at him that he shouldn't talk to his mother like that, lest he make her jealous. He ended with declaring he'd finished her off one last time before walking out the door, right before finding me. That meant he hadn't washed yet. I got down on my knees in front of him like she had done, seeing his flaming shroud of lust. I tell you what, I love my son for that, his unbridled lust. It means he's always ready for sex that will knock your lights out, and he's especially not above embarassing me by making me suck some hussy's sweet cream off of him. He did taste like her, and after one lick I knew I'd have to go down on her myself, though I was already itching to see her naked after feeling her up earlier. I tasted his cum as well, and the coppery blood of her first time. Dammit, I'm gonna be late for school now. To be continued... Author's note, Two years without putting anything new up despite numerous requests to continue Derrick's life, and now all I have is this one-shot piece I threw together over the course of one day without doing any copy-editing or spell-checking. Fitting, since my submission for the Valentine's contest two or so years ago was of a similar mode. I decided to put this piece up as-is twelve hours after conceptualizing it first thing on waking up and writing it all up during my off hours between chores. I don't know much of why I wrote this or why I'm posting it except that I remember one of my favorite stories is Cupidity by my dear friend, co-author, quality-controller, and inspiration Rubyswallows and that the poor thing was too short to do it justice. As usual, my brain went from her original piece to what you see here as goes on in my head. Sorry about the lack of sex. It's always been one of my downfalls, I think, being such a fan of eroticism, in itself a place trying to balance between a good story and pornography. Personally, I like a good story that takes you to new and exciting places like Harry Potter did for the world without shying away from the rich possibilities that would probably go on in Hogwarts like the post-Quidditch orgies and of course a foursome between Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. In the case of this story, it went as you see it in my head for the hour or two I was awake in bed and then doing my chores until I could start writing; there just wasn't time or justice in writing a bunch of sex. Never fear; somewhere in my archives there are stories some forty thousand words long that are almost completely made of sex, and taking course over just the one night. This story isn't included in my usual Rotterdale canon, which is why it doesn't have the usual x-y-z format to it. I suppose I just wanted to write about superpowers my own way, really. I'd only finished watching Thor first time yesterdur and Valentine's was two days ago. Anyways, it was fun; there's more, though I never finish a story.