V: Vic and Matt Series

The V in Valor-5

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.