#arch nemesis: a black cat that doesn't accept my bed is not his bed too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

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#5 Sternclay please? SFW or NSFW, doesn't matter to me. Thank you!

I went NSFW, minor CW for light D/S and a brief mention of suicide.

5 Should I update my outfit again? I think they like my new boots but the cape didn’t get the reaction I was hoping for

“Okay, I want your honest opinion.” Barclay turns towards the communication screen.

On the screen, Indrid Cold raises an eyebrow, “My honest, unvarnished opinion?”

“Yeah.”

His friend throws his silver haired head back and cackles, the kind of supervillain laugh that makes Barclay jealous, “Oh, oh my friend, that is the most absurd get up I have ever seen on any hero, villain, anit-hero, supermodel, or psuedovillain.”

Barclay sags, “that’s kinda what I figured.”

“I mean, the tight black tank-top? The black pants? Those boots, goodness, did you get rid of your modified hiking boots?”

“No. Pretty sure he liked those.” He mumbles.

“Ah haaah.” Indrid tents his fingers, leaning forward with a grin, “still pining for your man in black, I see.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Barclay, I doubt changing your outfit is going to bring him over to your point of view. And what happened to the trans-pride patterned flannel top you got for the last time? I recall you being proud of how it flattered your physique?”

“He didn’t even mention it.”

“Wasn’t he chasing you off government property at the time?”

“So? He’s commented on things like that before. Uggggh.” Barclay slumps down in his command chair, “How did you get the Ranger to move things to the next level?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

Barclay stares him down. Indrid stares right back.

Finally, his friend sighs, “My wires got crossed during a fight and I kissed him instead of headbutting him. Not one of my prouder moments. Though it has decreased the number of fights in my life and increased the number of orgasms.”

“Don’t think that’ll work. No offense to the Ranger, but Agent X is all business. I try kissing him, he’ll taze me or some shit.”

“Well then, you’ll have to get creative. Perhaps...oh drat, he’s early.”

Barclay’s about to ask who when a crash echoes offscreen.

“We should catch up again soon, Barclay.” As the feed goes dark, Indrid turns and shouts, “You green-clad nuisance, I just had that door fixed!”

Barclay shuts off his end of the communication, stands and stretches as he regards the security feeds from his cameras scattered through the woods. Being fifty miles from the nearest town was supposed to make him feel safer; lately it makes him the frustrating combo of lonely and paranoid.

Then again, does it really count as paranoia if Agent X is always on his tail? The man is intelligent, and has government resources behind him. If he wants to find Barclay, Barclay has a bad feeling he’ll be found.

Worse, he suspects he wouldn’t mind being found.

That’s part of why he’d called Indrid. Yes, he wanted feedback on his new look, but Indrid is one of the few people he trusts to understand his situation. They each chose cryptid aliases (Mothman and Bigfoot). They fell into villainy through similar channels; Indrid from being chased out of towns with (usually figurative) pitchforks one too many times when he was just trying to help, Barclay because he’d learned to survive mostly on his own and grown tired of seeing certain kinds of evil rewarded while things that didn’t even count as evil were harshly punished. But Indrid also understood what it meant to get a crush on the very person who was hunting you.

He knows the affection is one-sided. Agent X is the put-together, cultured, cosmopolitan; Barclay is not (were you to ask his friends, they would argue that being tidy, well-read, and widely traveled shakes out to the same thing).

The elevator ride from his underground hideout to the main cabin is brief. Another ding in his villainy score is that he really loves his rustic, cozy home, and only uses his fancier tech for work. What’s the point of a suite in some skyscraper? You can’t even have a proper back porch.

Maybe he should start a fire in the fireplace, or read that stack of food magazines he has squirreled away. He could reheat dinner too, homemade green onion pancakes and bao for one.

In any case, he’s not going to get anything serious done tonight, as he doesn’t really scheme in the way his fellow villains do. His actions are a tad more impulsive, in response to the government or certain corporations doing corrupt shit. Besides, the forecast calls for a snowstorm, and he’d rather not get stranded in the woods.

After settling on the couch he picks up the top magazine, a travel issue.

Twenty romantic getaways off the beaten path

Hmmmm, would Agent X like the beach? Or is he more of a mountains guy?

He should read a different article

8 recipes to cook for a special someone

What the fuck, this is supposed to be the travel issue, not the valentines day issue.

After sorting through the pile, he grabs the Halloween issue from last year and heads upstairs. He needs to sleep, only partially because sleep might keep him from daydreaming about his arch-nemisis.

The black boots come off and he sets them in his closet. Hops onto the bed and stretches out.

Somewhere in the middle of a fascinating article on cast iron pans, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, his arms are trapped above his head and someone else is reading his magazine.

“I’d been meaning to read this issue. Their writing is always excellent.” Agent X looks up, smiling mildly.

“Glad I could help. Now help me back by untying me.”

Agent X sighs, “You know very well I can’t do that.”

“So what, you break in here just to read my shit?”

“Of course not. Actually, I didn’t choose to come this time.” he stands, producing a slender, silver device from his sleeve, “In fact, I’m being reassigned.”

“Wait, how the fuck is that even a thing? You’re a ‘hero’ you pick your enemies.”

“No, I’m a government agent. And they’ve decided that you are not nearly a large enough threat for me to keep chasing you. Never mind that I devoted years of my life to the endeavor.” Barclay finds the bitterness oddly flattering. As the agent talks, Barclay moves his hands; there’s a reason he taught his security AI ASL. The mirror behind his enemy flickers to life, showing him a video feed of the Snowspeeder Agent X used to get there.

“They were going to assign me to chase The Mothman, but his nemesis is….very territorial and they decided that was not a wise move.”

Barclay can’t help snorting out a laugh.

“This isn’t funny.”

“Trust me, that bit’s hilariou-oh shit” he registers the solemn look on Agent X’s face, “Are you supposed to fucking kill me?”

The tricky thing about a nemesis who wears glorified sunglasses is that it makes his face hard to read most times, but right now he looks horrified.

“No. I, I was allowed to decide how best to handle you as a threat, and I do not believe you’re that dangerous. So I’m just going to install a tracking chip in your spine and be on my way.”

“Like hell you are.” Barclay curls in defensively, signs “destroy.” In the mirror, the snowspeeder silently explodes.

“Barclay, please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Don’t fucking tag me like some wild animal then.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Barclay growls, “That’s been your line for three fucking years. You’ve got choices, agent, we all do.”

“You’re right. And you could have chosen something other than a life of crime.”

“Don’t act like you know what I choices I was given. And don’t come any closer with that thing.”

Agent X takes a half step before Barclays feet connect with his chest, sending him clattering into the dresser and the tracker pen under the bed.

“Shoulda tied those too agent!” With all his might he yanks on the cuffs snapping the wrung of the headboard.

“Is this really how you want our last interaction to go?” Agent X stands, nightstick coming free from his belt.

“Nope.” Barclay charges him, the agent sliding gracefully out of is path. Just as they pass, Barclay spins, cuffs connecting with the agents hand.

They glow green, accepting the fingerprint.

“Damn it.” The Agent turns on a dime, launching at him.

“Three years, agent, I know your gadgets as well as you do. Sorry about the speeder.”

He points at the mirror and Agent X glances away momentarily to look.

“Shit.”

“Yep. Have fun getting back on foot. If you stop fighting, I can loan you a snow-cat.”

Agent X turns the stun function of his nightstick on in response.

“C’mon really?!” Barclay growls, pounces before the agent has a chance to react, and hurls him into the mirror.

It shatters, and the agent falls, crumpled and clutching his arm, to the ground. Barclay straddles him, pinning him on his stomach, immaculate black suit ripped in the back.

“Okay, let’s try this again: You’re going to stop attacking me, break that tracker thing in half, and then I’ll give you the keys to something that can get you out of here.”

“I can’t, I cannot fail this mission.”

Barclay does his best, wicked smirk, “In that case, I get one more thing for all the trouble you’ve caused.”

With that, he rips off Agent X’s mask and goggles.

The face beneath them is better than he ever envisioned: sharp cheekbones, blue eyes, movie star handsome in every way.

His gaze is unflinching, enraged, and when his fingers curl minutely Barclay grabs his hand and pries it open.

In the center is white, cylindrical pill.

“Is this...fuck, is this a suicide pill?”

“Yes. Now give it back.”

“Not a fucking chance.” He stands, crosses to the window and chucks the pill out into the night, “Christ, agent, do you really think I’m going to torture you?”

When he turns back, arms crossed, the veneer of Agent X’s expression cracks, and he presses his face into the floor with a shuddering gasp.

“It’s p-protocol. If, if my identity is compromised.”

He wants to be moved by the tears in that voice, but he’s still pretty pissed.

“You’d swallow a pill for them, just like that. Shit, they really do brainwash you guys.”

“It’s not that.” The agent raises his head, spits out blood, “I still have family. If an enemy knows who I am, they could go after them for leverage. Ending my own life keeps the people I love safe.”

The fight goes out of him and he sighs, “Look, I’m not gonna go after your family, I promise. I won’t share your identity either; I know you’ve probably figured out the identities of people I care about and haven’t ratted them out. Consider this a thank you for that.”

“They’ll terminate me anyway.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“That’s protocol.”

“Fuck protocol.”

The agent giggles, the sound increasingly hysterical, “I’m quite the triple threat; in one move I lose my job, my safety, and my purpose. I guess I live on your floor now.”

“I’m not gonna make you live on my floor.”

“Your holding cell, then.”

“Uhhhh” Barclay rubs his arm, “I don’t have one. It’s not like anyone besides you has ever tried to infiltrate here.”

“Please tell me you have a guest room.” The agent is still hiccuping laughs.

“Yeah. I can fix it up real quick for you.”

Agent X sits up, wincing, “You’re really letting me stay?”

“I mean, yeah? No way I’m sending you back to people who we know will kill you. I know you think I’m a villain, but I don’t really want people getting hurt. And I respect you as an adversary, not to mention I actually kind of like you, Agent X.”

“Joseph.” The agent slowly drags himself up onto the bed. “It’s just Joseph now. Joseph Stern.”

“Don’t seem like there’s much ‘just’ to you, Mr. Overachiever.”

Joseph tries flipping him off, only to flinch when he moves his arm.

“Good lord, I thought that wasn’t a real mirror, why is there so much glass in my skin?”

“Uh, you know how when you drop a cell phone and the screen kinda-splinters and you can get bits of it in your fingers? That’s basically what happened to your back. Uh, sorry.”

“It was in self defense.”

“Will you let me help? I got lots of first aid stuff.”

Joseph nods and Barclay hurries into the bathroom to grab one of the two dozen med kits scattered around the house.

“On your stomach.”

The other man rolls over, and Barclay gets to work on his back. Joseph remains stoic the entire time, until Barclay begins dousing the cuts with disinfectant, at which point he hisses.

“I know, I hate this shit too. Dunno why people are always inventing new torture devices and interrogation techniques, this’d do the trick on most people I know.”

“Very true. It’s alright, pain is deserved when you fuck up as royally as I did tonight.”

“Hey, none of that, okay?” Barclay says gently, easing the tatters of Josephs shirt off, “That pain isn’t a punishment, it’s something I’m doing to keep you safe and so you can heal. You don’t deserve to be hurt, Joseph. And I’m sorry for all the times you ended up that way because we fought. I know it comes with the territory, but that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize.”

Silence as he finishes bandaging that well-developed back, and as he cleans up the debris from the fight and the aftermath.

“In that case” Joseph murmurs, “ I’m sorry too. For, well, for any time during the last three years where I hurt you.”

“Apology accepted.” Barclay sits down on the bed, facing his guest, who turns his head to smile weakly at him.

“What happens now?”

“No clue. I can heat up some dinner, and there’s lots of books here, and some movies. Even got a couple of video games for when friends visit. Or you can sleep, if you want.”

Joseph gives him a curious look, “I meant to ask, is this what you wear at home all the time?”

Barclay blushes, “No, uh, I was just trying out a new costume. Usually wear, like, my flannel shirts and stuff.”

Joseph cautiously rolls onto his side for a better look. A prolonged, hungry, better look.

“What do you think?” Barclay keeps his eyes fixed on the headboard and not on the lines of muscle on Josephs stomach.

“I think you look like you should be cruising the Folsom Street Fair looking for some gym bunny who’ll call you sir.”

“Is that a...good thing?”

“Yes.”

When he meets those blue eyes, their pupils are wide.

Barclay chuckles, “You gonna call me, ‘sir, babe?”

“Only if you want me to.”

The bed dips as shifts to be next to Stern, “Nah, but I’ve been dying to fuck you since the Pipeline Incident.”

“Lord, Barclay, that was a year ago. But the answer is yes.” Stern tries to sit up, but Barclay rests a hand on his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

“I just patched you up, babe, so how’s about we keep this simple for tonight?”

“Oh, okay, uh, how should we?” Stern is blushing, head dipping in slight deference, and it’s the most gratifying goddamn thing Barclay has ever seen.

“Get those pants off, lay on your stomach, and put your ass in the air.” He sits back so Stern can obey, which he does as quickly as possible.

“Good boy.” Barclay rumbles, sitting behind him, “Shit, all that superhero training makes for an amazing ass.” He rubs it possessively, Stern moaning softly at the touch.

“Thank you.”

“Think it’ll look even better with my handprints on it?” The question is breezy as he drags a nail along the right cheek, waiting for Sterns permission.

“Yes.” Stern whispers into the pillows.

Barclay swats the right side, “What was that?”

“Yes!” Stern cries out, wiggling his hips in response.

“Much better.” He hits four more times, two for each side, Stern yelping with delight at each one.

“Now, let’s get one thing straight,” He grabs Sterns hips, pulls his ass against his crotch, grinding slowly, the pants for his definitely not for work anymore outfit just tight enough to give excellent friction from the movement, “I get the feeling you get off on a little pain. And I sure as hell like watching you squirm from it. And” he smacks his left side, for fun, “I bet you think you deserve this.”

Five slaps, fast and with more force behind them.

“Yes, yes, Barclay, please.”

“You’re right, you do. But not because you deserve to be hurt, or to suffer. You deserve to feel good, Joseph. And the second this stops feeling good and you start using it as punishment, I stop doing it. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Stern whimpers at the next slap, and Barclay bends forward to loving kiss a line up his throat and nuzzle his cheek.

“Good boy. You okay to touch yourself--hah, that answers that.” He laughs as Sterns right hand disappears beneath him and his mouth parts in a moan.

“Fuck, Barclay, I, I’ve, nhhnn, I’ve wanted this so long.”

“Me too babe. God, Joseph, you got any idea how fucking incredible you are?” He finds an angle that lets him continue rutting against his ass and kissing his neck and face without touching his injuries.

“No, perhaps you can say more?” Stern grins

Barclay growls, delivers a particularly hard slap, “Oughta make you stop jerking off since you’re fishing for compliments but, fuck, babe, you look so goddamn hot when you’re moaning and twisting around under me, shit, I love hearing your voice, and your smile makes me forget my fucking name and fuck, fuck, yeah, ohyeah.” He tugs Stern close as he comes, keeps pouring out increasingly jumbled praise as Stern tenses in his arms and comes across the covers with the most erotic sound Barclay has ever had the good luck to hear.

“Lord almighty I needed that.”

Barclay chuckles, guides them both down into a comfortable cuddle, “Glad I could help. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Okay, lemme rinse off and I can make us dinner.”

By the time he’s out of the shower Stern has stripped and remade the bed with clean covers, and takes his hand as they head downstairs. Barclay reheats the leftovers and makes them tea while Stern reads to him about fifty of the best new restaurants in the west.

The next morning, the FBI’s villain control division receives word that Agent X has been killed in the line of duty.

Three weeks later, they learn that Bigfoot has a new partner: the man in black.

#sternclay #agent stern/barclay #TAZ Amnesty #superhero au

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