Surge - Ch. 01: The Fantasy

I wanted to try something a little bit different. I randomly got into reading some comics for some reason, and after reading some Spider-Man, I thought a super hero inspired gay litrotica would make for an interesting collection of stories. Let's see how it goes!

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The audacity of a criminal stealing money in broad daylight and darting into an alley where the sun's rays don't dare to poke through. Either way, it made for a typical morning for twenty-year-old Roan. Spinning into the alley, Roan hopped over a dumpster, landing knee-first in a patch of questionable grime.

"Gross," he muttered, then shouted, "Will you wait up, good sir! How can I mete out justice if you're sprinting so far ahead?"

The young man got to his feet, his shoes squeaking over the grime. The criminal kicked over a trash can and rolled it toward Roan. "Get away from me, loser!" the man shouted.

Roan dodged just in time and then had a bright idea. He opened his hand and threw it toward the trashcan. Mysteriously white energy bubbled around his palm and then sprung into the trashcan, where it disappeared. Roan felt his mind connect to the trashcan, like a key twisting into a lock. The trashcan levitated like an obedient pet and rocketed toward the criminal.

The silver can flew past the wall of graffiti while old food and wrappers trailed behind like smoke. It careened into the criminal, tossing the man into the wall. He screamed in pain and gripped his shoulder as he slumped to the floor.

Roan caught up to him and grinned under his red mask. "How's that for trash talk?"

The criminal groaned, either from the pain of his shoulder slamming into the wall or from Roan's remarks. Either way, Roan would take it.

"You idiot," the man said. "You chased the wrong person."

Roan's eyes widened as he scanned the ground for the bag of money. It wasn't anywhere in the alley. "Wait, what do you mean? Why did you run into the alley?"

"Because!" The man pointed a finger at Roan. "Some mad man in a red mask started chasing me after people were screaming from the burglary."

Roan scratched his head through the overhead mask. "Really? Are you sure you aren't the guy?" Roan heard sirens swell in the distance. "Well, can you pretend to be the criminal?"

The man groaned and stood to his feet but stopped. "Can I get up?"

"Oh, right, sorry!" Roan helped him to his feet. "Anyway, stay safe, and uh, maybe put some ice on that shoulder." He shot his hand toward the roof, firing a wave of energy to the top. With the new mental connection, he pulled himself, flinging him into the air and over onto the roof.

"Hey! Get back here!"

---

"Well, I guess that was embarrassing," Roan said to no one as he took off his mask and costume, stuffing it into his backpack and changing back into his normal clothes. He shoved his backpack in the crack of the wall behind the science building and snuck his way back into the college, just in time for class.

He swung around the corner and ran into someone.

"Oof!" the boy said, nearly dropping his books.

"Oh, sorry!" Roan said. When he caught the eye of the boy, his heart skipped a beat. It was Gil, the handsomest guy Roan had ever seen, with those brown eyes to match his brown hair. But it was his jaw that struck Roan each time. Angular and sharp, it gave Gil a powerful and striking look. Of course, it also didn't help that Gil would lock eyes with yours when talking, never diverting his attention.

"It's all good, Roan. Where were you even coming from, the roof?"

"Ha!" Roan laughed loudly, sounding like an idiot. Perhaps that faux criminal was right. "I was just helping with something..." Roan skirt around him and got to class, hoping he didn't come off as awkward as he felt.

Roan and Gil used to be friends since elementary school, but ever since he got his powers in high school, Roan ended up neglecting everyone to protect the city. He never asked to be struck by the lightning bolt that unlocked his powers. Although, perhaps climbing the highest building and raising a metal antenna during a storm was an invitation. But the reason behind that ridiculous act was a story for another time.

Roan made his way to Chemistry 208, with Gil trailing closely behind. They took their seats beside one another, rarely ever saying a word to one another.

"Alright everyone, pair up!" the professor exclaimed. "It's time for a little bit of kinetics. Collect your chemicals and mix them, taking note of their reaction speed."

Gil had looked to his right to his best friend, but he had already paired up with their soccer buddy. He then turned to Roan and flashed a smile. "Partners?"

Roan tried so hard not to grin at that question. "Yeah, sure, why not?" Cool. Play it cool, Roan.

They got to work mixing different chemicals together, watching as they would change into different colors.

"So, Light, what have you been up to lately? It seems like every time class is over, you're rushing out of here like your ass is on fire."

Light. Roan couldn't believe he just heard that. It was a nickname Gil had given him a long time ago, on account of his red hair, and because of Roan's fascination with lightning and storms. Little did he know how apropos that was.

"Oh, just the usual -- wrestling with textbooks and charming the numbers off my calculator. You know, the glamorous life of a grade chaser."

"Heh." Gil poured a chemical into the jar. "Little good that seems to be doing you in Calculus."

Roan's eyes opened wide. "Calculus? How do you--"

"As the professor's assistant in Calculus, I've had a peek at your grades. Let's just say, even with an old-school abacus, it's easy to tally up your score from the last exam. Impressive stuff!"

Roan's face ran hot. He just wanted to shove his face into the chemicals and burn away into nothing. "I guess math isn't my thing. Plus, hold on, why are you searching out my grades?"

Gil's gaze locked with his, a familiar intensity there. "Just making sure an old friend is still keeping afloat."

A pause lingered before Gil spoke again, "We need the green chemical, but I don't see any at the front."

Roan spotted a flask across the room. With a discreet gesture, the flask seemed to float through the air, landing softly beside their setup. "Oh, must've left it on the ground earlier."

They continued their experiment, nearing its completion when Gil mentioned, "I know you're good at dodging these, but we're having a small get-together this weekend. My place. You should come."

"Your place?" Roan echoed playfully. "You mean the frat house?"

Gil rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. "I keep it decent enough to call it mine. So, will you show up?"

Roan nodded, a genuine smile breaking through. "I'll try."

"Try, huh?" Gil laughed softly. "Maybe you won't be too buried in calculus studies for once."

Roan nudged him lightly, the moment feeling lighter, more like the old days.

---

As dusk embraced the city, Roan devoted his evening to disrupting the dark underbelly of crime. His unique power allowed him to merge his essence with objects, creating a telekinetic bond that continued to astonish him. Yet, each use of this power was as draining as running a marathon.

Exhausted, he stumbled into his apartment just as rain started lashing against the windows. "Phew, that was intense," he muttered, dropping his bag with a thud. His red suit clung to him, a second skin he was too weary to peel off. As he removed his mask, flinging it carelessly on the bed, his thoughts wandered. "This weekend. Gil's place." The idea of a night off was tempting but filled him with a sense of neglect. Could he really afford to take time for himself?

Shrugging off his suit, Roan approached the standing mirror in the corner, his movements sluggish. Outside, a flash of lightning illuminated his tired reflection, highlighting the bruises marring his skin--a souvenir from a dangerous tumble down a fire escape. The burn mark on his side, a badge from a fiery rescue, stood out starkly. He grimaced, remembering the challenge of channeling his energy into flames.

His muscles, defined yet weary from the night's exertions, protested as he struggled to remove his pants. The physical toll of his double life was evident, yet his resolve remained unshaken. "Gil," Roan sighed. He ran his hands up and down his chest, sliding his finger over his nipple. He quivered, thinking of Gil running his hands over him. Something he had always wanted.

Overcome with a wave of energy swelling in his groin, he fell back onto his bed and scooted back until his head rested on his pillow.

The sound of the rain covered his quiet moan as he ran his hand over his skintight underwear, lingering over his bulge. "Like that, Gil," he said, closing his eyes and imagining the boy of his dreams in the room with him.

In his fantasy, Gil crawled into bed and pressed his lips to Roan's bulge, licking around the outline of his dick. With each imaginary lick, Roan pressed his fingers around his cock.

Roan slipped his underwear down and gripped his meat, rubbing it. It throbbed and grew in his hand, reacting to the image of his friend. He had no idea what Gill looked like underneath, but he could only imagine a beautiful piece that matched his beautiful face.

Roan opened his hand and summoned a wave of energy into the lube bottle on his desk and levitated it over. Unscrewing the cap with his mind, the bottle compressed, and a stream of oil fell and layered his cock.

"Oh, God, yes," Roan said, rubbing his hands all over himself, circling his finger over the head and squeezing tightly as he ran his hand up and down the length of his shaft.

Gil's lips mirrored his hand movements, the oil mimicking the saliva dripping down Gil's mouth and over Roan's balls. He was in extasy, his dick shoving deep down Gil's throat.

"Lower, Gil," Roan moaned, his legs squirming over the bed. "Lower."

Roan moved his hand over his balls and down toward his ass where he ran his finger up and down his hole. As he did, Gil' got on his knees and grabbed his own dick and pressed it against Roan. He pushed down Roan's leg and danced it across his ass. "I want you," Gil whispered, the words sending Roan over. With a thrust of his pelvis, Gil shoved his dick inside, just as Roan shoved his oily finger deep inside his ass.

He pounded his meat with one hand and finger his ass with his other, fantasizing about this beautiful man fucking him. "Yes, Gil, keep going!"

Gil leaned forward and hugged Roan as he pounded him, his lips biting down on Roan's ear. Roan imagined Gil's face running red before he shoved his cock deep into his soul, pumping buckets of cum inside. A roar of thunder exploded outside. As he did, Roan let out a shout of extasy as ropes of cum shot out and over his head. He gripped his dick as, keeping the violent shakes of his orgasm in place and pointing the semen away from his face.

As the last drop came out, he lay defeated on his bed, his breath ragged. If only that fantasy were real.

Roan looked to his right where he saw his suit resting on the bed next to him, with glops of cum splattered over it. "Great." He huffed, catching his breath. "Perhaps I can find a superhero dry cleaner."

---Surge Will Return--