The Telemachus Story Archive

Angry Sun
Part 8 - Jimmy/Jamie?
By Rick Henry

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Part Eight—Jimmy/Jamie?

In his dream, he was the mighty one, his partner passive—yet massively larger and strong—completely in his power, under his control, compliant: a helpless pawn. He owned him! An astonishing truth: blended with supposition, fact, reality, and fantasy. Kal, now his weakened, earth-bound lover; he, the superior one, the former blue-eyed god desperate in his arms… his own powerful green eyes commanding his captive prey. Telepathically knowing he was the conqueror, enforcing his will silently… over-ruling any thought of protest or defense, his surrendered alien, ever accepting of his strident, pure male dominance. Futilely unable to resist.

It was him, now, who had taken his raven-haired, “super-boy” into the air, held him safe, while stripping him naked… letting the clothing blow freely away towards the ground (himself already bare), while he stroked every part of the quavering, gloriously defined mature male body imprisoned in his arms, the dark silkiness of his body hair his only covering: savoring also with his mouth, the surging thighs, arms, pubis, belly, chest, shoulders, neck, biceps, torso. Sighs and moans rising steadily… and down over the beyond large, full nipples, which caused the man-body he was holding, to arc and thrash in total vanquishment; teasing down and over with his fingers, the multiple mounds of his abdomen, the treasured trail of the hairline to the base of his richly thatched pubis, where his member burstingly thick and staunch, already leaking-full, extended a full foot from his body, taunt and vulnerable. His great testicles below, alternately rising and lowering, tightening and relaxing, both involuntarily and by his own control… surged forth, and throbbing, awaiting their suckling and caress. Jimmy’s hands and mouth an endless ravishment. Then, further, his hands between those incomparable thighs, tendering the testicles, onto the perineum… and stealthily into the male opening of his sought for plunder.

Both ready, in mid-air, his hands securely on each side of Kal’s wonderfully small waist, he lifted him, himself falling at a backwards slant, his own engorged male rod so eager and wet-ready—pulling him close, plunged his sweet weapon into the receptive man-hole above him, at the same time, his mouth slipping over the groaning Kryptonian’s rod as far as he could take him… ever lifting and pulling his mate up and down upon him, mouth and member, while drinking from the river of his flow, the both of them in overheated abandon. In rhythmic nirvana. His youthful bold cock, not as comparative in size as the one he was scoring; but the man being cored was in a separate heaven, being drilled to explosive eruption, thoroughly enraptured and fulfilled beyond his need. Hopelessly his….

“Mr. Olsen, Mr. Olsen!”

The brisk knocking, the intrusive female voice, brought him out of his reverie and back to earth. Hastily pulling out his shirt, to cover his noticeable erection, Jimmy surged groggily to answer the door. It was the lady receptionist, part owner of the inn.

“This came just a few minutes ago, thought you should have it. It was marked urgent.” Her face was lined, but warm and sweet. “So sorry to have disturbed your nap.”

He smiled, and thanked her. “Yes, right. Fine… thank you.”

Tearing open the message, he sighed. Moaned, exasperated.

Been delayed. Perhaps a week. Hold fast. Yours, Black.”

Now, what the fuck was he going to do for a week? He rubbed at the stubble on his cheek, looked curiously into the mirror. Instructions in his previous envelope had also said: “Grow a beard. Contact no one whatsoever. For no reason. No one! A cousin will visit you.”

* * *

Jimmy spent the first few days rehashing old sites: the botanical gardens, the closed mines. Glad for the decreased traffic of early September, and by mid-week decided to work on his tan. Being moderately fair-skinned, but not susceptible to easy burning, he was blessed, perhaps freckling more than normal, but not all over. His hair not a pale ginger, but more inclined to a bright rust… mostly more prominent in the surge of his beard, and his pubis, but milder on his arms, thighs, and pecs. Remembering his Kal ever adoring him, the contrast of their coloring, even his much lesser musculature—as much as he was enthralled with his darker, more stolid wonder-man. Clark/Kal, being a continual configuration of almost two distinct persons. As Clark, self-depreciating, coy, humorous, witty, and mild; Kal, an impregnable monolith of both gentleness and incomparable strength and pride, strong, decisive, capable of anything. Yet in his arms, the Superman of both : sometimes so dominant he wondered if he could survive, at others, cuddly and fragile as a new born puppy. Intriguing and astonishing him to no end. So madly in love, he could hardly breathe.

Now, depressed out of his mind—would he, or never find him?

He climbed the hill, two towels tucked under his arm, carrying a snack bag, a portable sunchair, and down onto the more secluded beach of Praa Sands. In the distance somewhere, he could have trudged to St. Michael’s Mount, reminiscent of the similar famed Mont St. Michel, Normandy, across the Channel. But was content for the quieter surroundings here. Having pulled off his loose shirt for a prideful, early display, a newsmagazine with him… he found and settled in a discrete spot and unpacked. Even did some silly pushups between some rocks, to pump his pecs and arms; but who would care? Less than a dozen other bathers were around. And in his skimpy, tight briefs, he shouldn’t cause too much of a sensation, slim-hipped, and bulge-hung though he noticeably was.

“Aye, mate. Mind for some company?” he paused in mid-article, a strange, slightly older man above him, looking down. Almost in shock, very well-muscled, the guy above: Australian or Scottish, maybe—looking much like a fair copy of himself. He was already scrunching down beside him.

Taken aback, Jimmy sort of stammered, “Well, for a few minutes. Okay.”

“You’re on holiday. American?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Unconsciously taking the offered hand, which was incredibly strong and warm, and held onto his… almost intimately, a bit longer than expected. The nearness of his handsome, muscled, nearly cloned form caused a shocking reaction in his loins. Sporting a set of revealing Speedos, Jimmy couldn’t help to but also be aware of the man’s notably trim waist, and bulge. Like his own.

He suddenly realized men don’t usually go to the beach in such form-fitting gear, unless they are supremely self-confident, wish to egotistically exhibit themselves, or were on obvious prowl—or all three. Jimmy swallowed uncomfortably. He thought of why he, himself, had done so. He was confident. And proud. But not priming to be on sexual display, nor distasteful.

“Call me, Jamie, mate. You?” The encompassing hand again extended, grasped his.

“Uhh, Jimmy. Jimmy.” Still startled at their similarity, the man’s desirable, confident presence. Unexpected surges going through his fingers, he had to let go.

“Been here long, traveling through?”

“Just a few days. Waiting for a friend.”

The grin was wide and mischievous. “Lady-love? Companion? Lover?

“Friend!” Jimmy snapped. “Why so personal?” rather miffed.

The guy locked into his eyes, hazel into greens. Commanding.

“Guys nicely built as us, and endowed. Aren’t usually alone. Nor want to be.”

In all his life, no one had ever come onto him like this. Jimmy was not only shocked, a bit offended—and as much ego-complimented as intrigued.

“I’m not a player!” he replied, gruffly as he could.

“You don’t find me attractive?” flexing his pecs, tightening his abs. With a smile.


“You know, mate, when I first saw you, my guts rolled. Saw you move across the beach. So much alike—we should be brothers. If not mates. Built fine and tight and strong, symmetrical. Hung like near twins, I’ll bet—. Unusual, to say the least….” pausing.

“I-I, thank you. But… I have someone,” taking a breath. “What made you think I was interested in men?”

“Built-like, bulged as you… and oh, those really big nips and areolae? Can’t help but want yourself, looking in the mirror? Likely do a bit of self-sucking—like me, too. When alone; or with him?”

Jimmy’s flush all over was obvious: dry-mouthed, trying to swallow—imprisoned in fascination by the stranger’s eyes. His bold, but gentle nature; not at all crude.

Jamie went on. “Being an honorable guy, I value that. Love, having a true love, nothing better to live with or for. But I saw how alone and depressed you were. He… isn’t here. Nothing more unnerving than to be without. Separated. Or, never to be with again?” He paused again, quietly. “I’d miss that, too. Never had it. And now?”

“What… are you suggesting?” Jimmy asked. The courage in his voice failing.

“That we wrap each other in our arms. Suck each other’s cocks, sweet and crazy. Share ourselves. And our pain. Be safe, real…. A few moments peace. Joy?”

His heart and mind in shreds. His need and want overwhelming him, Jimmy said, “Okay, where? It can’t be my hotel,” rising, gathering his things as the other man also rose.

“Nor mine,” said the other, cryptically. Then, “How about here? Over there. In the broad of day. With nature, the sound of the sea….”

There were high grasses, and thick foliage along the farther stretches of the beach. No one would ever see them. Jimmy nodded.

* * *

Jamie’s mouth on his… was as miraculous as his dream with Kal had been. Even tears formed in his eyes. They slipped off their suits, each tilting their heads, first going for each other’s nipples, savoring arms and pecs, sighing, groaning. Caressing in deep hunger, want, reverence of each…. And they were so near-equally endowed: yet Jamie topped him by almost an inch, while Jimmy’s thickness and his were perfectly matched, probably hardly a half inch less or more. Both cut. Copious flowing heads. Their mouths mutually acceding to receive the other, with wondrous appreciation. Thrashing nakedly in the sea grasses, a new and exciting experience for both. Incredibly enchanted. Jimmy came first, Jamie later. No problem. And not done, they fucked each other equally, also. And each in turn came again.

Both of them rather dazed.

And Jamie, almost sportingly, yet nearly serious after, said: “Hey, Yank, if you were nearer, and you weren’t involved… I think I’d ask you to marry me. Wow! You are truly fine!”

“I could about say the same about you,” Jimmy assented. “But, really, I can’t.”

“Maybe… another world. Another time. I’ll miss you…. I really will.”

“Me, too.”

* * *

Even though his heart was busted wide open and despairing of would he/would he not ever see his beloved Kal, the memory of his round with Jamie equally tormented him. And yearned with all his being for their embrace to be rejoined. Holy God, a nearly true matching equal—almost a twin—like making love to one’s self with total abandon, though the other’s musculature had deeply more inflamed him. The thought of running his hand through the other’s darker rust hair, their beards emerging, their members… and how Jamie had ravaged his nipples, (grown now twice-plus bigger than ever before, the result of the mingling with Kal’s DNA, effectively working in his system?), he suddenly realized the intoxication that he must endlessly be giving his own lover, or had … (except no milk yet flowed from them), to add to Kal’s ever powerlessness in his arms, conquering his mammothly muscled paramour into a true, helpless submission. Something he at last understood more fully. He the lesser, most always taking the greater. He wondered if he, too, would begin to lactate eventually? Other changes that had slowly occurred within the past year, such as his discernible increasing muscular size and strength; slow, but of definite note, even though he’d not really worked out as much. And Kal almost never had! Superman’s hormones having infused into him something never expected, and now how he yearned to give back so much more to him.

If he only could!! Where was he, where? Was he alive?

Alone with the endless night, quaffing a few pints at a local pub, he, war-weary, ambled unsteadily back to his hotel. Stripped off his clothes, snuggled into the sheets, naturally erect, ready for bed… dismal Friday night, already—and thought of their first time. Sighing groggily… running one of his hands over his cobbled torso and belly, down to his loins, cupping his now even fuller balls, half inch larger cock. The other at his sensitive-nubbed pecs…. Thinking .

* * *

Their first time.

Lois and Jimmy had gone to a late night concert. Afterwards, Lois catching up with the conductor for an on-the-spot quickie, they were on their way through the deserted parking garage, when accosted by two darkies with knives demanding Lois’s purse. Jimmy valiantly said, “No,” and there was a scuffle. Two more hooded characters appeared from behind; the winning Jimmy was then grabbed securely, and had begun to be pounded, Lois screaming for help all the while—till security arrived and the villains fled. Seeing that Jimmy had almost won the conflict, four against one, but was now severely exhausted… though not needing medical care, Lois suggested taking Jimmy to Clark’s place. She felt he should not be left alone for the night to recoup, just in case. She called Clark and said she would drop him off, but couldn’t stay for a chat. Clark said fine, concerned for his young friend.

The addled Jimmy, though still proud of his two black belt Taekwondo skills, and saving Lois, appeared ragged and displaced at Clark’s door… who opened it, and Jimmy was nearly floored. Staggered at the view of Clark’s hastily pulled on robe—partially opened down the front, exposing a gap of a hugely broad, hairy-muscled chest, honed-cut abs beyond belief, and an overloaded thong bulging prominently below his waist—Jimmy stammered, “Holy shit, Clark, I knew you were built, even under those baggy clothes. But you… you’re unbelievable!”

The red-faced Clark quickly tightened his robe, pulled Jimmy in. “I – uhh, the doc has me loaded with steroids… for my, my lung condition. Guess I am a little startling. No-no one ever sees me. But, I’m, I’m just “Clark,”” And grinned sheepishly.

Jimmy unloaded, worn and tired. Clark gave him a stiff drink, then another, and suggested he relax; said he thought a really hot shower would help, considering what he’d been through. Jimmy agreed. As Clark led him to the bathroom, Jimmy leaned hard against him, wobbly on his feet. And Clark said, “I think you need some help.” He turned on the shower in the wide stall, and started to assist Jimmy in getting undressed. Jimmy, a little vague, and intoxicated, let Clark help remove his clothes. Clark positioned him close to water flow, and when Jimmy had lowered his briefs, Clark stared. His young, finely muscled, yet woozy friend was hung like a fine horse. Clark stunned, swallowed. Moved closer.

Jimmy very much then wanting to, leaned more into him. “Thank you… Clark.” Heart racing. He’d long had a guy-crush on Kent, since the first day they met. Never knew what to do about it. He wasn’t gay. Clark wasn’t queer. They were just friends—

Clark inexplicably, unexpectedly, clasped down over his magnificent endowment. Held onto him gently. Firmly. Eyes meeting. Then Jimmy watched mesmerized, as Clark dropped to his knees, getting thoroughly doused in the shower, saying, “I-I’m sorry, Jimmy, I can’t help it… forgive me,” and took the young man’s cock into his mouth.

Jimmy was stunned, as Clark swallowed him deep into his throat; his balls, too. Even as he became fully erect.

“Clark, Clark,” he moaned. And in the process somehow managed to de-robe his hugely bigger friend, who was beyond soaked, still expertly sucking him. Gaping in wonder at the mass of his shoulders and arms, and even more astounding penis.

Jimmy came rather quickly. Clark still on his knees, drank all of him. Then, from below, looking up… a plaintive strange look on his face, implored him to please, never speak of this! Apologizing profusely, shyly. Something he’d never, never done before! Flushed thoroughly. Jimmy looked down at him, senses churning, and gasped, “Ge-get up. I-I won’t tell….” Kissed the palm of his hand as Clark rose unsteadily.

And seeing the overwhelming, fully naked Clark before him, an impossible monolith of pure, manly muscle, hung larger than he was himself, and still hugely erect: “Wow—oh, Lord, you are big !” (Not exactly so much speaking of his thickly-long cock, and bull-heavy gonads—but at the entirety, the all of him! ), Jimmy, reaching a natural, worshipping clasp around the might of his friend’s erection, unable to get one hand closed over him, due to his risen richness, cupping his other under, to treasure at the over-loaded scrotum… heard the pliant Clark reverently sigh at his owner-ing touch. Though still reticent and shy.

“You, you didn’t come—did you?”

Clark shook his head, no, biting his lips, swallowed. “I-I’m not gay. I’m not. I-I just don’t know what got over me.” Almost afraid, yet riveting into his eyes. Feeling the sacred touch of the younger man’s hands over him, fingers more firmly, incessantly caressing him.

Jimmy then hardly believing also, the involuntary up-tilt of Clark’s wide pecs, his deepening breath, as he continued treasuring him—his eyes widening at the sight of Clark’s beyond three-inch long, and very thick, alien-sized nipples, erecting: an impossible wonder. Rock hard and loaded, thrust out insanely and bold from his chest. Jimmy gaped.

“No. No, I didn’t. It’s alright. I’m, I’m sorry. You don’t…” almost strangling in obvious, acute distress: embarrassment. Desperate. Clark, coyly trying to cross-cover his chest with his arms. Jimmy grabbed at his wrists, pulled them down. And Jimmy knew.

In mutual awe, facing each other, the water still running warm over them… Jimmy reached out, unable to help himself, grasped onto him—the base of his huge nipples, slowly squeezed, and pulled him in, fisting over them. Their mouths adhered instantly, hard and long and deep.

Clark quivered instantly, in shock, compliant, and completely paralyzed. Drowned in his arousal, defenseless. Jimmy’s hands pressuring rhythmically onto him: his never before revealed, secret Kryptonian Achilles’ heel, now nakedly exposed… major source of his power and strength. Never touched, controlled by another—. Mouths locked. Clark’s groans rising.

Jimmy, Jimmy!”

Never had he been more vulnerable.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jimmy breathed. As if in another world: the both of them.

Fastening his grip more tightly then, with thumbs and forefingers onto, back and deep into his man’s areolae, Jimmy’s fingers then slipped slowly forwards along the lengths of his friend’s uddered shafts… squeezing, loosening, pressuring in short-spaced intervals. Clark hopelessly “Ohhhh-ing.” Jimmy, pressuring further and further down, until he reached the near ends… where they crested, swollen and erect, a crowned pair of boys’ glandesed tips—rolled and twisted them.

“Ayyh-annhh. Ayy-uunhhHHH!” Clark cried out, completely ensnared, arching—his alien nectar shot forth in notable spurts, not near as thick, but clear and sweet as Cowper’s fluid. Trembling all over. Clark’s fingers urgently gripping deep into him, arms and shoulders, like a life-line. Knowing he was conquered.

I love you,” Jimmy unconsciously moaned—couldn’t stop himself, tilted his head, took one of the turgid appendages into his mouth.

Clark groaned, gasped, stiffened; his arms curling Jimmy’s head in close, up and against his chest, while the younger, lesser man savored his muscled pecs. “Jimmy—oh, Jimmy...!!” Clark, totally lost, writhing in his arms. His strident companion alternately sucking, chewing on, kissing them/him—feeling the flow of his juices being drawn through the shafts of his nipples into Jimmy’s mouth. Bringing each nipple to near orgasm.

“Oh, God! Please! Help me , Jimmy!” Out of his mind. “Milk me. Take me. Please—inside! ” Powerless, and fevered. “Mate me, mate me! Mate….” Delirious.

Jimmy in stunned awe.

The huge man now crashed back against the tiles, head thrown back, eyes glazing, slipping downwards, one big muscular thigh seeking to enwrap around his waist… Jimmy’s enflamed cock slipping up and into him. “Oh, oh, ahhh-oohhhhh!!” a fervid sigh of peace, of ecstasy—no lubricant needed; his alien body more than naturally ready. Staggered, overcome.

His impossible fortress bridged. Reserves failed. Surrendered.

No one had ever dared touch or possess him like this: someone he wanted, cared for, trusted —at last! Who was also beautiful to him, and richly endowed.

And they were down suddenly on the floor of the shower, while Jimmy ravaged his milk-laden teats, sucked at and laved over his glans… and fucked the great MOS nearly senseless. Big muscle under him, thrashing, groaning, completely his. Clark came almost instantly, then three times more in gradual succession, nipples and cock each , orgasming, bellowing; Jimmy, unloading also twice more. They were in heaven.

It was the first time for either. And they were now enjoined, indelibly ever-after. Though Clark also later fucked him, semi-regularly… too often an ordeal, not easily accomplished till carefully learned. So it was the lesser taking the greater more often than not. Both of them fully male about it; but Jimmy’s bolder youth became the dominant edge. Superman adoring, in his surrender to him—Jimmy ever nursing from his male breasts.

Though the MOS still had to privately/daily take of his own milk and seed, and the sun, to maintain his strength. Part of his incomparable physiology. But at last, how sweet to be neutralized, giving of himself; no longer the all-conquering hero. Captive and tamed into an extraordinary submission by a lesser, but soon very skilled cocksman: Jimmy learning… as they both did, startled, and overwhelmed. Each crazy in love with the other.

Superman soon revealing to him who he was, and most of his secrets. Jimmy not altogether too surprised. He had known Clark was stupendously built, and similar in looks to the superhero. What the hell can a thick pair of glasses, and a differently styled hair-comb do? Not much if you are an astute reporter. Lois may have perceived it sooner. But with a twisted crush on him, never quite figuring out the very strange difference between the demure Clark she knew, and the quite ballsy (but not rough) Superman of her acquaintance. She had forever scratched her brain over it. Neither one of the two “as one” made sense. Clark just didn’t have the testosterone…. Even if with impressive biceps, nonetheless, barely cloaked under his shaggy sports coats, which he wore constantly, regardless of the season. More than one in the office had tried to lure him to the beach, to gaze on what they knew must be unusual; but he always begged off saying, while he was on steroids, it wasn’t healthy for him to be too long in the damp air. Doctor’s orders: a rare genetic condition. Sure, and what was that monster bulge in his pants, no amount of pleated trousers could hide? Maybe he was closetedly queer. Or a-sexual?

* * *

Of course, he sucked himself off after, as usual. And his nipples. Remembering. Deeply distressed. What well-endowed men do, and can when alone. Craving his partner, and union. Wondering how, when, where—or if ever again? Falling into a fitful, restless sleep….

“Mr. Olsen, Mr. Olsen!” the landlady again, banging at his door. He awoke with a start, slipping a hasty towel around his waist. Smiling brightly as usual, she handed him a note.

“Your cousin, Mr. Black, had this sent. Says it is urgent you meet him at eleven.” She gave him the name of an inn, and the note: “A “super” day. I’ll be wearing a green pullover, and dark cap.” His heart surged. He hastily bathed and dressed.

Entering the dining room apprehensive, he looked around. No one he recognized. Non-plussed, he found a seat by a window, ordered some Earl Grey and waited. About to take a third sip, gazing out the seaward side window—

“Aye, mate! Fancy seeing you here.”

The voice familiar, the trimly muscled torso evident, the shoulders—all in green, a rakish brown leather cap, on a charmingly cocked head. Jimmy almost dropped his cup, “You!” he exclaimed. As the figure of Jamie unceremoniously seated himself, with a broad grin. Extended his hand. Which Jimmy took unsteadily.


“One and the same!”

Jimmy swallowed. This made no sense at all.

“—I’ve fucked your man, too.”

Jamie leaned in close, enjoying himself—Jimmy’s eyes, widened saucers.

“When we had him down…. Powerless as shit.”

It took about three seconds, and Jimmy lunged for this throat. “You sonofabitch! You bastard!! You goddamned—”

“The best fuck of my life. Besides you.”

Though Jamie was quicker, rising, more lethal, was out of his hands, had Jimmy’s arms behind him before he knew what was happening.

The tearoom went deathly silent. All eyes on them.

“Sorry, folks. A karate move we were practicing,” and smiled graciously, like a Duke. Twisting Jimmy’s arm ferociously, he spun him around, whispered in his ear. “The dinner’s paid for. Now out we go. Quietly.” Propelled him towards the door—and out.

Jimmy, as much raging, as captive, as flabbergasted. Once outside, he broke free, whirled, was about to strike—was blocked, and knocked on his ass.

“I love you, mate. I truly do. And ache for you, again. But we have business. If you want to see your boy again, follow me. Or forget we ever met.”

Jamie tipped his hat, turned, and began an easy saunter down the street.

Jimmy stunned, gathered himself together, arose. Still seething, he hurried to catch up. They walked together, silent. After a block, Jamie nodded his head, indicated going further and towards the sea. Jimmy concurred. Jamie put a hand on his shoulder; he shrugged it off.

Did it again, held onto him. He acquiesced.

They continued to walk in silence along the ancient cobbled streets, then followed the road sweeping around the small harbor to the stone pier, and trudged off into the sand. No one in hearing distance, Jamie stopped him, facing, stood still.

“I had to test you, mate. Sorry if I was a bit rough.”

“Test, for what?”

“We’ve already stretched our intimacies. Have to play with more than our balls, now. But again, your man’s were superb. Savored them highly.”

Jimmy gritted his teeth. “You fuck-hound! Who are you? What do you want? Where is Superman?”

“Had to see if yours were as large. Though not. At least, tough enough to proceed.”

His damn green eyes were driving Jimmy crazy.

Satisfied?” he finally got out. Knowing Jamie could probably whip the shit out of him—he was pissed enough not to care, ready to tackle him again.

“I kissed them. Really big’uns. Wow!”

With that, Jimmy was on the hit again, Jamie dodged, and had him in the sand. On top of him, he said smoothly. “Cool it. Just cool it. Did what I had to do—saved his life a couple of times…. Even if I had to dick him silly. For the crowd.”

“Bastard. You bastard!” Jimmy was suddenly crying. “Where is he—is he okay?”

“I’m with MI6. The Brits. All you need to know. If I hadn’t been there, they might have finished him off. End of story.” And rolled away off of him.

“Then he’s alive?”

Jamie nodded. Not wickedly, but suddenly endearing. “Now roll over and hold onto me, lad. I need you to.”

“Right here?”

“Right here. Two queer blokes, not afraid to be holding in public.”

Jimmy’s breath caught in his throat. This was fucking nuts!! But he did. Laid his head against Jamie’s chest, arms around, the feel of him so wonderful he could have died.

“We caught him in Lviv, the Ukraine. In the midst of catching us, the sun blew up, and we caught him. Powerless, confused, easy prey. One big muscle man, whittled down to less than normal size. Simple. Against 15, he was dead. Would have been, had I not intervened. Saved his ass from immediate destruction, by getting him offered to the highest bidder. Tortured hell out of him, before packing him off to Don Lucio—Budapest, to Italy. I had to be part of it. Or he wouldn’t be breathing now.”

“You… raped him! In front of others?”

“Saved his life. Stole his seed. Did the best I could, playing both sides. Not an easy game. I had to make it real.”

“I-I guess, I can understand.”

“Now, I have to whip you into shape in less than seven days, or there may never be any hope of saving him.”


“You’ve proved willing to take the risk—may be the only link that can.”

“How so?”

“Yet, wonder if we’re not too late. They’ve fucked his mind, destroyed him, Jimmy. He’s not really alive. Turned him into a brainless…”

“But the sun’s okay, now!”

“… he isn’t. They got him, Jimmy. Got him worse than bad.”

Jimmy clamped onto him tight as his skin. “Help me, Jamie. Help me then, to help him.”

The explanations needed unfolding. Jamie had to push him back. Felt an incredible desire to know him again—sloughed it off. Time to get to work. He stood, Jimmy following.

“The guesthouse, that room? How did you know, or me tracking Luthor?”

With a wry resignation, he had to tell him. The Scot smiled sheepishly.

“Well, bud, let’s make it simple. You don’t think MI6 wouldn’t take interest, when Superman in his “Clark Kent guise,” comes tripping off to the UK privately for a week, books a room with one double bed for himself and another man? We’ve known who he was, even if your CIA says they can’t figure it…. We stay mum.”

“Damn!” Jimmy’s jaw dropped.

“Thus, purely in the interests of maintaining accurate information, on someone of such international, planetary significance, you were both monitored and bugged from the time of arrival until you left. A bit voyeuristic, I know, given the nature of your visit; but necessary and unavoidable.”


“I have to admit I was astounded, and hopelessly jealous. Your mate is an amazing example of masculine beauty, and from the little I was privileged to view—the tape astutely edited—you celebrated your union with great care, energy and enthusiasm. I about came, watching you…. Though I can’t vouch for any Kryptonian rites you may have performed in the Fortress of Solitude, as constituting legal marriage in the US, or the UK.”

“You, you saw?! Us?! Videos, pictures—that’s a flagrant violation of personal privacy! And you personally, then, set out to fuck both of us?? You are a warped, goddamned animal—depraved!”

“Jimmy! Not so…. Wanting that I would, if I could. Never dreaming it would ever happen. And under such impossible circumstances! Forgive me. What I did with him, temporarily saved his life! With you, what I truly desired. The opportunity there. For you, as you. No agenda…. Can we each help what we are, what we need—if we are able to make it happen?”

Jimmy shook his head, and shivered. Stared up at the sky. “I love him—love him so much!” Sighed deep. “Have never been unfaithful, nor even… ever thought to be. You were an anomaly. Like the sun. I hope he forgives me.”

“Forgive yourself, mate. He may not have a mind, anymore. And you, you’re alive. But I understand. It was more than, more than—well, you know. But we have work to do. Must carry on.”

Jimmy choked down his fear, his anger, his despair. And wholeheartedly then listened to Jamie, the agent explaining as best he could. “Austin” had been his deep cover on the Levkowicz arms trading gang, and that it was he who had provided MI6 with the information about the illegal sale of Abrams tanks to mercenaries in the civil war, part of the former USSR. MI6 had contacted Superman via his go-between, Clark Kent, and the Kryptonian superhero had been in process of thwarting the transaction when the Great Solar Anomaly had struck—rendering him vulnerable, decommissioned, and in the hands of the Levkowicz gang.

Jimmy winced, grimaced… as Jamie described the treatment that had been meted out to his lover. The beatings, the rapes, his ultimate degradation, and the horror of the birching—concluding with the planned erasure of his will and person-hood, through sustained CIA sensory deprivation techniques, which almost no one was ever known to have survived. The man of him, Jimmy, now a bereft boy, in unrestrained sobbing at the possible true loss of his beloved.

Jamie carefully braced an arm around his shoulders. Letting him.

“I did what I could, without blowing my cover. I know it wasn’t enough—.” Tightening his grp around his near-brother’s form, “Now, I’m here to see the mission through. And you are a pivotal part of the plan to rescue him. Your life will very much be on the line, as well. Can you handle it?”

“Anything. I’ll do anything to save Kal.”

“As I thought. Good. Listen carefully.”

* * *

They continued their slow stroll around the quaint harbor, heads down. Jamie speaking with soft intensity; Jimmy focused and only interrupting occasionally for clarification.

Apparently, MI6 had begun planning to rescue the Man of Steel as soon as Jamie had been able to discover his final destination: the Lake Maggiore palazzo of Don Lucio Lucifero. Dismissed from Levkowicz’s service with a secretly fat bank account of 80 million, and later fortuitously having escaped somehow, as a rare favorite of Lev’s—when most of the others were methodically, stealthily dispatched by Lev himself, quite unexpectedly, one by one—Jamie had gone his way after delivery of their captive, the senseless Super-victim in Budapest. Was told to be gone, disappear. Or else! But had covertly returned with an urgency to his original, clandestine British post, and the news of Il Grande Blu’s true fate.

The seemingly insurmountable obstacle now, however, was the unpredictability of Superman’s possible reactions. If his free will and personality were/had been virtually annihilated, smothered beneath layers of intense conditioning—was he not just as likely to assault his rescuers as welcome them? Extreme Stockholm-ism could see the deaths of every MI6 operative involved in a conventional rescue. Another possibility was the complete collapse of whatever remained of the Kryptonian’s mind: a feared psychological disintegration, following the inability to make sense of what was happening around him. Or even to think rationally? So many tentative factors increased the dangers exponentially. Was he worth it?

In light of these dangers and risks, the proposed rescue was put on hold. It was only later at MI6 headquarters in London when, as part of his debriefing, Jamie was shown the images from the Olsen-Superman honeymoon, that a revised plan suddenly formed in the young Scot’s mind. (He felt responsible, and had for a brief moment given the broken MOS a fragile hope; and could not in his heart let go of wanting to save the most unique male figure in the world. Who was also stunningly beautiful, and with whom he had been of a rarity forbiddenly intimate. He felt he owed him.)

The love-bond between the redheaded journalist and the powerful alien was obvious from the videos and pictures. If they could involve Olsen in the rescue, might not the sight of him alone be well enough to break through the conditioning which held the prisoner in check, and which enabled Lucifero’s thugs to control him? It was better than a long-shot, Jamie had argued. There was no way Superman would not recognize his young lover—the most important person in his world and life, and respond accordingly. He was sure of it.

The grey senior heads of MI6 and the British Cabinet were not that easily convinced, but agreed once Jamie had finessed the plan, so that Olsen alone would enter the Italian palazzo and no other operative’s life would be on the line, initially. (Other than to be waiting stealthily outside the villa to charge-in when necessary.) Jamie, as “Austin”, would use his connection with Lev Levkowicz to make contact with the Lucifero gang. He would thus be seeking to join them, asking for a specific role in the management and dominance of their special prisoner. Levkowicz could attest to the integral part Austin had played in giving him the idea to save and sell him , as well as having helped in the torment and depowering of the secured Superman… which should just about guarantee him carte blanche access to the prisoner, and to be of further assistance.

Although Austin’s sudden return to the scene could be suspect. Why should he? Except to say it would give him the greatest satisfaction to be able to continue controlling the most uncontrollable being in the universe—continue demeaning him in any way possible. It really gave him such a hard-on!

However, it would not be Jamie, who would present himself at the palazzo in the role of “Austin,” but Jimmy Olsen. With a slight change in hair style, perhaps a bit of subtle makeup, he should be sufficiently enough like Jamie to be able to pass inspection by the guards and criminals who had not met him before. Once admitted to the confines where Superman was being held, he would then use the close physical and verbal proximity to do whatever was necessary to break through the layers of conditioning which had all but extinguished his lover’s mind and personality—and then rely on the “restored” superhero to enable their escape.

Would it work? If not, he could be instantly killed. The outside operatives could not be summoned in time. But they could storm the place, if it appeared at least half of the rescue in progress were succeeding—Jamie on their tail. Jimmy would wear a special device to alert them.

“You’ll have to dye your hair a wee darker… erase some of those freckles. And I’m to give you a crash-course in further lethal fight techniques over the next five days. Up to it?”

“Aye, mate. Aye!” Jimmy determined.

The two men stood side by side, arms around shoulders, at the end of the small stone pier. Few gave them much notice. The way things were these days…. What’s the fuss? The two, with knitted brows, staring over the stormy Atlantic.

“Italy, end of next week, laddie. Hang to it,” Jamie smiled.

Wanted to kiss him. But refrained.

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