V Box Set

The V in Valor-4

Matt turned in mid-step, heading instead for the short corridor that led to the reception area. Pushing through the swinging door that put him out behind Roxie’s desk, he tucked his key card in his back pocket as he surveyed the cluttered spot around her computer. Sure enough, a box of Krispy Kreme donuts sat unopened underneath the counter, where it wouldn’t be seen by patrons and any employees who might enter the gym through the front door. “Thank you,” he said, nodding at Roxie in a mock bow. “I’m forever in your debt. Tell me you have Boston cream.”

Sinking into her seat, Roxie opened the box, displaying an assortment of a half dozen hot, fresh donuts. There were two chocolate-covered ones in particular that caught Matt’s eye. “Just for you,” she said as she held out the box. “I figure if Vic likes you, you can’t be all bad.”

“Ha ha.” Matt snatched both donuts before she could change her mind and take them back. The first bite was heavenly—the thick, sugary cream inside melted in his mouth. Much better than the waffles had been, for sure. “You’re the greatest, Roxie.”

Loftily, she replied, “I know.”

As Matt finished off the first donut, Roxie turned back to her computer to resume checking her e-mail. Matt glanced at the screen and looked away quickly before she could accuse him of reading over her shoulder. Then he noticed a chunky black picture frame sitting by her keyboard. In the frame was a photo of a small black and white kitten stretched out across a windowsill, soaking up bright sunlight. Pointing at the frame, Matt asked, “What’s this?”

Roxie didn’t look up from her computer, where she was now scrolling through her own f*******: profile. “A picture.”

Sometimes Roxie could be particularly stubborn. He knew it was a picture. “Of what?”

Now she gave him a sidelong look that made him feel stupid. “A cat.”

“No, I mean…” He sighed and bit into the second donut. “Never mind.”

Too late. Roxie closed her browser window and turned to pick up the frame. “This is Miss Priss. Isn’t she cute? I got her a few months’ back.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat. We had one this weekend.” At the odd look Roxie gave him, Matt recounted what had happened, going into great detail about Vic’s discomfort around the animal. “He’s not a cat person, that’s for sure. You should’ve seen the look on his face when I made him hold it.”

Roxie laughed as she looked at the photo. “That’s it, the wedding’s off. It would’ve never worked out anyway. How can you not like cats?”

“What wedding?” Matt reminded her, “It wouldn’t work out because he’s already shacking up with me. Hands off, sister.”

Roxie gave him a withering look. “Oh, please. This is Virginia, Matt. You can’t marry him. Let a girl dream, will you?”

He felt like a jealous sibling when he pointed out, “Dream all you want, honey. He’s still mine. Unless you manage to grow an added appendage somewhere—”

“Enough.” She covered her ears with both hands, which made Matt smirk in triumph. Who was being childish now? “I don’t need your wildly homoerotic evil tainting my innocent thoughts.”

Beneath his breath, Matt muttered, “They’re tainted enough already, I’m sure.”

He had to jump back to avoid the small fist swung his way. “You’re lucky you ate those donuts, mister,” Roxie warned, “or I’d take them back.”

“Indian giver!” he cried.

With a laugh, he pushed through the door before she could stand and swing again. When he finally reached the pool’s office a few minutes later, he turned on his own computer to find a message from Roxie in his inbox. You’re lucky I don’t buy a big strap-on dildo and steal your man!! He’d leave you for me in a heart beat.

Matt grinned as he typed a short response. Keep telling yourself that.

* * * *

Vic woke a little before ten and stumbled to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he splashed cold water on his face and frowned at his visage in the mirror. Faint lines were beginning to develop in the corners of his eyes. He grimaced, an intimidating look, but the lines didn’t deepen. So he smiled widely instead, and his eyes crinkled. One more thing Matt was giving him—before he met his lover, Vic hadn’t been much for smiling before. Now that Matt was in his life, he had wrinkles. If I didn’t shave it all off, I’m sure I’d have grey hair, too, from all the freaky situations his powers have put me in over the years.

But honestly? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Without turning, he stretched an arm behind him and tried to will the towel off its rack. Sunday evening they’d made love the same way they had earlier in the weekend, giving Vic the telekinetic ability to move objects with his mind. Last night’s coupling had been partially out of curiosity—would the same position yield the same results a second time? Plus Vic liked the position, himself on his belly, his d**k stimulated by the weight of his own body and the firm mattress beneath him. The pillow in his arms, his toes curled in the sheets. Matt straddling him, and his lover’s weight was a welcome one when he lay above Vic just before he came. The telekinetic ability hadn’t been that bad…or, at least, it was easy to hide. If the same position worked a second time…

But the towel stayed in place without so much as a wiggle. Maybe the powers had negated each other? Vic had never tried to cancel a power out by repeating the position that had given it to him. In the past if he drew a sucky ability—say, like the time his skin paled until it looked like frosted glass, nothing but a thin membrane stretched taut over his veins and bones—then he and Matt always tried for a different power to replace it. That time, with the glassy skin, had been the only time Vic had ever insisted on keeping the lights out when they f****d. The sight of his own insides flexing and pumping away had nauseated him so much, Matt had to use every trick at his disposal to arouse his lover. The memory of looking at himself in the mirror that day and seeing through his own skin still made Vic shudder.

So perhaps repeating a position didn’t increase the ability. Vic had noticed in the past that the things he or Matty wore or thought about during the deed could affect the superpower he received afterward. Maybe his mind had drifted, or they’d done something just slightly different, and now he’d have to just wait for the consequences. As long as it didn’t keep him from work. He’d used up most of his sick days already, calling in with a variety of comic book ailments that kept him home. An image flashed before him—himself, ghost-like, his skin transparent, a look of horror airbrushed onto his skull as he had watched his heart beat obscenely beneath the cage of ribs in his chest.

With a violent shake, Vic closed his eyes and turned from the mirror. Worst power ever, that had been, without question. He reached for his robe, hanging on the back of the bathroom door…

And ducked as it zoomed at him to crash into the closed shower curtain. The screw on which it had hung clattered into the porcelain tub and rolled toward the drain.

Frowning, Vic held out his hand again and willed the robe to rise. It didn’t. The fabric lay where it had fallen. Well then why…?

Vic tugged back the shower curtain. The screw from the back of the door was a good four inches long, with splinters of wood still in its threads. It had rolled to a stop across the mouth of the drain. Vic bent down over the edge of the tub, reaching out to pick up the nail.

Before he could touch it, it flew into his hand.

So maybe repetition didn’t cancel out a power so much as modify it. He’d gone from being able to mentally move any object to…what? Only metal?

He glanced up at the shower head above him. It trembled under the weight of his gaze, a faint squeal rising in the pipes as it tried to move. Vic shut his eyes—the noise stopped. Blindly he leaned back, reaching for the towel rack to help him stand.

A loud tearing sound rent the air. Vic felt the metal bar hit his palm with no support behind it. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw it had pulled itself free from the wall at his command—in its place, a dark hole gaped in the broken tiles, and the bar hung at an awkward angle, only anchored at the far end.

Damn.

“Yeah,” he muttered, jamming the loose end of the bar back into the wall. “Only metal.”

How many metal things did he come across during the day? Let’s see, he thought, retrieving his robe from the floor. The car, the bus, the time clock, the lockers at work, the handle on the toilet—he looked over at the commode and, as if on cue, it flushed itself.

This was going to be a long day.

* * * *

Vic worked an eight hour shift with a thirty minute break around late afternoon for lunch. But he usually stopped somewhere downtown for a bite to eat before he got to the bus garage. This morning it was a bit disconcerting—and more than a little fun, if he were honest—to wave a hand across the small end table by the front door to his apartment and watch his car keys jump eagerly into his palm. A gesture over his shoulder closed the door behind him, locking it for good measure as the keys floated a few inches nearby. On his way downstairs, the door to his building opened, waiting for him. Hinges contained metal, as did door knobs and locks. This power might not be so bad after all.

At the curb, his car jumped like an eager puppy when he walked around it, heading for the driver’s side. He unlocked the door without using the key, and probably could’ve started the engine the same way, but he wasn’t quite sure the mechanics of it all and settled for guiding the keys into the ignition and commanding them to turn with a flick of his wrist. Beneath him, the car roared to life.

Unfortunately, that was the limit of his ability. The steering wheel was plastic, as was the cover on the gear shaft. Putting the car into first, Vic edged away from the curb, his mind already drifting to food. After the fiasco in the bathroom, he was running a little late. Not a sit-down restaurant, then, and nowhere with slow service. At quarter to noon on a weekday, however, that eliminated most of the busy little delis and eateries downtown getting ready for the lunchtime rush.

Avoiding the interstate, Vic took a more circuitous route as he appraised his options. No burger joints, and definitely nothing that was part of a chain. He wanted to fill up, not bulk up. At the corner of Boulevard and Leigh Street, he slowed as he drove by a small barbecue stand. Now that might work. A large bun filled with pulled pork, dripping with barbecue sauce and homemade cole slaw…

Wait. Vic noticed a vendor cart farther down Leigh and turned in the middle of the intersection. A couple construction workers queued up at the cart, which was always a sign of good eats. Vic parked across the street, in front of the battered husk of an old warehouse whose concrete block walls appeared to be held up with nothing but scaffolding and a prayer. Huge yellow excavators and backhoes sat around the structure like discarded children’s toys. It must’ve been lunch time for the crew—no one lingered on the scaffolding, and there was an aura of neglect about the site. A smaller building farther back on the lot hunched by the chain link fence, in worse shape than the main building. As Vic climbed out of his car, he saw a construction sign hanging on the fence that enclosed the site. MOVIELAND! Coming Soon!