Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Caroline gazed at her morning erection with a thoughtful expression. Between the voices and her worries, she’d had neither time nor inclination to explore the body she found herself in.

The bracelet around her wrist glinted in the morning sun shining into the hotel room. The voices were quiet. She was taking a break before resuming her meditation. If all went well, she would be in her own body soon.

Which meant… her window of opportunity was closing.

Curiosity poked and prodded at her. How did male and female orgasms compare anyway? She was in the… well, maybe not unique, but certainly rare position to find out.

She tentatively pushed down the white cotton, biting her lip at the sight that greeted her. For a long moment, she simply stared at it, her brain short-circuiting a little at the thought that the hard cock was hers. Yes, she’d been walking around with it for two days, but she’d studiously avoided looking at it when undressed.

It was… big. Impressively so. She licked her lips.

Then, almost shyly, she reached out, brushing a fingertip along the base and hissed in a sharp breath at the sensitivity.

Her long fingers wrapped around the hard flesh.

Caroline slowly, very slowly started stroking. Her touch was gentle at first, but she grew bolder with each stroke until she was breathing heavily while her fist was pumping away. Low, guttural sounds were coming from her throat, which made her cock throb all the harder.

She groaned loudly and it was his voice.

Her mind filled with images of the handsome man who gazed back at her from the mirror, and whom she saw in her dreams each night. She thought of the swirl of color that surrounded him and her cock jerked.

Caroline did not understand how he could desire her after all the things he had seen in her.

The only men who’d ever been attracted to Caroline after being made aware of her nature were sociopathic. He was not. In fact, he seemed…kind. Someone kind wanted her and she hissed in a sharp breath at that thought, thrusting her hip against her fist. She closed her eyes and listened to the delectably masculine sounds spilling from her lips, savoring each and every one as the pressure just kept building until pure pleasure exploded from within her, searing hot liquid pooling on her belly.

Touching her cock was unpleasant now, so she withdrew her hand, absently running her fingertip through the rapidly cooling cum on her skin. Eyes still closed, she brought it up to her lips and licked, sucking on her finger with a moan.

He was delicious.

PsyKick woke up lying in a dark alley.

He blinked in confusion against the pale sunlight of the morning sun.

What the fuck?

He slowly pushed himself to stand up, wincing as the dirty pavement bit into the delicate skin of his bare feet, and adjusted the overly large shirt he had slept in, tugging it to cover his boxers. He became acutely aware that he was in the middle of Paragon City wearing no pants.

How had he gotten here?

He tiptoed to the entrance of the narrow backstreet, peering outside. His breath left him as he recognized exactly where he was.

Standing in front of him was his old apartment block, where he and Tex used to be roommates. Their home was perfectly situated to be in walking distance of both Paragon University and the Tenacious Teens headquarters.

He had been thinking about Tex.

Caroline had woken before him tonight, leaving him to while away some time in his own mindscape. Her avoidance of her sibling had reminded him that he was doing much the same with his own friends. Shame and guilt gnawed at him for the things he’d said to them, but… they’d be happy to see him, wouldn’t they?

And yet…

Three years was still a very long time. Long enough for friends to drift apart without the aid of brainwashing. The things he had screamed at them in his madness could never be unsaid, and he wasn’t sure how to apologize or make it right.

In some ways it was better to put off meeting them so reconciliation remained a possibility rather than to face them and find out things would never be the same again.

PsyKick stared hard at the front doors, wondering if Tex still lived here.

And then he was in front of those doors, blinking in bewilderment.

Oh.

He must have teleported here in his sleep.

His gaze instantly dropped to the list of names next to the door.

Mark Matthews.

His finger was almost on the doorbell when he remembered that he was wearing no pants. And also a woman’s body. Not quite the reunion he had in mind. He lowered his hand, then drew back and slumped to sit on the porch.

Once he had his body back…

Maybe.

The morning air was freezing, and he shivered, crossing his arms over his chest. His stiff nipples rubbed against his arms through the thin fabric, as if to drive home how utterly wrong everything was.

PsyKick squeezed his eyes shut and pictured his room in the mansion, willing himself to teleport back.

He tentatively cracked open an eye, and sighed when he saw the same rundown street.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

Stephen froze at the familiar southern drawl. Then he slowly craned his neck up. Tex, sickeningly early riser that he was, was blinking down at the half-naked woman sitting on his doorway with a mix of bemusement and concern.

PsyKick’s lips parted and he stared at his best friend.

Three years hadn’t changed him at all. Even his haircut was the same, his blond hair artfully disheveled. PsyKick’s gaze slowly trailed down, taking in the jogging outfit. Tex was nothing if not a creature of habit, and apparently still went out for his morning run.

“Miss?” Tex’ voice was soothing, the concern in his face now more evident. “Do you need help?”

Stephen slowly shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“If you’re sure,” Tex said doubtfully. “It’d be no trouble.” PsyKick must have been quite the miserable sight wearing nothing but his ragged oversized shirt; no wonder he was tripping Tex’ chivalry instincts. His friend could never resist a damsel in distress.

PsyKick awkwardly cleared his throat, and made the rather absurd decision to shift his voice an octave higher even though it was already unrecognizable to begin with. “I, um. I could use a phone.”

Tex smiled, and fished out his smartphone, handing it to PsyKick with no questions asked. Stephen averted his gaze and dialed Diane’s number.

“Mi – Diane. Hi. It’s me.” Quick glance up at Tex who politely pretended he wasn’t listening. “Yeah, Caroline’s powers acted up. Could you pick me up?” He rattled off the address, and then handed Tex his phone back.

“Uncontrolled powers?” his friend asked with a sympathetic nod and a knowing air that came only with being a native Paragonian who thought such problems were a completely normal part of life.

Of course, Tex wasn’t actually native to Paragon, having grown up in, as the name implied, Texas. An orphan like Stephen, he’d been shipped to Paragon, away from his narrow-minded adoptive family, after his powers had started manifesting and he’d accidentally set a building on fire at age 13. They’d ended up in the same META-sponsored foster home for at risk mutant youths.

They’d met Dawn at school, and somehow their little teenage supergroup had grown from that.

“Yeah,” Stephen said softly. “Thanks for the phone.”

“No problem.” Tex flashed his best ‘I’m a hero, that’s what I’m here for’-smile, and made his way down the stairs, breaking into a light jog. “Have a nice day, ma’am. Good luck with those powers.”

And then he was gone.

A sleek silver car pulled up in front of PsyKick. A door slammed and soon enough he heard high heels clacking on the ground, coming to a halt in front of him.

“Hello, Mistress,” he said in a dull voice, reminding himself that he couldn’t throw himself at her feet in public. How could he possibly face Tex – face anyone – when he was like this? Just the thought of his friends finding out what kind of comfort PsyKick craved these days was humiliating.

A leader of a supergroup should not want this.

Diane gently brushed her fingers through his hair and he sighed softly. Then he got up and docilely followed her into the car, taking the passenger’s seat while Mistress brightly chattered at him, apparently in an attempt to cheer him up.

All he wanted was an order to follow, but she did not give those anymore.

After a while he noticed that they were driving the wrong way, headed toward the city’s center instead to its outskirts. His brows furrowed.

“Where are we going?”

Diane’s red eyes gleamed as she grinned. “Shopping!”

“What.”

“Kara said it’s likely that you’ll keep teleporting at random, because she kept doing it, too, when she was younger. So unless you want to end up on some street in rags again, you need clothes that actually fit!”

PsyKick’s only answer was a reluctant “Yes, Mistress.”

Then his brows furrowed and he glanced down at himself. “I can’t go into a store like this.”

“I brought you some of my clothes! They’re in the backseat.”

He twisted to look at them – and froze.

A miniskirt.

A spaghetti top. A pink spaghetti top.

And strappy sandals with a small heel. They sparkled.

Mistress was prone to dressing skimpily, but she usually had taste.

“Are you… Did I do something wrong, Mistress? Is this my punishment?”

She merely smiled at him.

“I suggest you put these on, we’re almost there.”

He would never have thought it was possible to have such visceral hatred for mere pieces of fabric.

The sandals’ small heels forced him to walk without slouching, displaying the cleavage the top barely concealed.

Men were looking at him. Leering.

As if the universe was out to mock just how low he’d fallen, on their way into the shopping mile PsyKick had noticed a wall plastered with posters for what was apparently an extremely popular rock band, advertising their next concert. He’d recognized the lead singer as one of his younger teammates.

Howler.

He remembered a shy young man who couldn’t control his devastating sonic powers and needed to wear a power suppressor at all times just so he could speak without leveling the building he was in. PsyKick used to give him gentle advice, trying to coax him out of the depression the loss of his musical abilities had caused. Howler used to look up to him.

And now Howler had fame and fortune.

PsyKick had questionable sanity and a miniskirt riding up his ass.

He was about one available blade away from taking a page from Shade’s book and threatening to stab everyone.

Diane was absolutely no help whatsoever. He kept trying to steer them toward the jeans and long-sleeved shirts, and she kept dragging him to the skirts and dresses. He tried in vain to explain that just because he happened to be in a woman’s body that did not make him one.

His eye twitched when she held out a glossy monstrosity of a gown.

“How about this?” Her eyes were shining with joy, and he did not understand how she could be enjoying his discomfort so much. She had never shown such callous disregard for his wishes before.

“No,” he gritted out.

“Stephen,” she purred. “Won’t you try it on?”

“No.”

And then her voice changed, laced with the steel of a command. “Try it on. Now.”

“I SAID NO, DIANE!”

With that, he stomped toward the unisex department, not even caring that everyone was staring at him for his outburst.

He did not see Diane’s pleased smile.