How It Feels Now

Man, I'm dead serious, I completely forgot how great it feels to just sit back and let someone else do the work for a change. The hum of the clippers is almost a soothing melody as the barber gets to work and the scent of old-fashioned antiseptic, aftershave, and fresh clippings just gets me all at once. And it isn't some spiffy robot and all this sort of thing either, no way. Just this guy in his 40s with sideburns and loads of experience to his name as well.

"Come on man, relax for a second," he says somewhat calmly but gripping on tight. "I really don't want to be the one to mess up your fade,"

"My bad, I just spaced out for a second," I mention, struggling to remain motionless. This chair is really comfortable, much nicer than most things I sit in these days. It's the leather type, slightly faded but still looking good, the sort of chair where you sink into it if you're not careful.

I'm looking at him in the mirror, and wow, he's really on his game. Super relaxed but completely concentrated. Each swipe of the clippers is absolute perfection, as if he's really an expert at this sort of thing. I can feel the chill of the metal against my head as he begins to shave in that swooping curved line into my hair with this tiny pull on the razor that's creating the perfection. It's really all those little details that make a haircut really stand out.

"Been a minute since you had time for this, huh?"

"With all the craziness between battling interdimensional warlords, kaijus, thwarting extraterrestrial invasions, and preventing supervillains from destroying another city square, I don't really have any downtime."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Sounds like a wacky job. Do you ever get paid overtime?"

I smile. "Kind of, yeah"

He doesn't ask a million questions, just nods and continues to do his thing. I absolutely appreciate that. Most people, once they realize who I am, either bombard me with questions or clam up like they're afraid I'll flip out on them if they say something wrong. But this guy? He acts like I'm just another normal customer. I cannot even tell you how much that means to me.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Normally my hair's really short or in this little afro, and that's pretty much my style ever since I finished up on Battle Beast. Today? Today I could finally change that. Something different, something unusual. Something that'd make me feel human again and not just a weapon Cecil can use when the Guardians couldn't handle shit.

But dude, Cecil was rolling in it big time, or he must have made a fortune on the side or something. I seriously believed I was going to have to fat budget, but then my paycheck became whatever I felt like. No lie. If I speak a figure aloud, it just appears. It all sounds great on paper, but what's the point of all this cash when I'm too busy saving the world to even spend it?

The barber steps back to survey his work. He tilts my head slightly to the side, ensures everything looks even, then nods to himself. "Okay, I think we're good to go. Let me spray this on you."

I can feel this fantastic refreshing chill on my head as he sprays me and this wonderful barber fragrance just tops it all off and makes the cut feel all the better. He brushes my cheek to remove any stray hairs and then lets me have a look in the mirror to inspect the cut from all sides.

I turn my head and inspect the sharpness of the fade, the shape up, those incredible curls and how this curved line into my hair just adds an extra kick to it. It really looks very clean. Extremely clean.

"Wow," I exclaim, nodding. "You got it right!"

He's laughing, completely pleased with himself. "It's just years of practice, you know? Need anything else?"

"No, I'm good. Do you accept card?"

"Cash only."

I reached into my pocket and rummaged through the cash and produced two hundred-dollar bills to hand to him. "Keep the change."

His eyes widen in shock, but he remains mute. All he does is nod and say, "Thanks, man. Call me whenever you need another."

With another pat on the head, I was happy. Come on, nothing beats a brand-new haircut. I just shake my head and feel lighter somehow, as if some of the trash I'd been carrying around got cut off along with my hair.

I just left the barbershop at the Pentagon and all I can think about is how great places like this are. They're a small piece of regular life in an otherwise completely abnormal world. Honestly, who knows when I'll ever be able to do this again?

I'm taking off, and I'm soaring through the darkness of the night sky with the wind rushing through my ears as I cross the sound barrier. Stars are just a blur overhead and the wacky city lights of the East Coast are in my rearview as I set my sights on the Midwest. This flight's been done a million times and yet this evening it doesn't feel right. Is it 'cause I know what awaits me when I arrive?

Chicago appears out of nowhere, the Willis Tower looming above all those glitzy skyscrapers. I'm coming down at a slow pace, sort of getting into the feel of the city with all the automobiles and trains and people moving around everywhere. Carla's building appears very near now. I divert my route, my brain moving much faster than my flight can manage.

I touch down on the balcony, and as I land, the wind stirs up the white curtains so they flap around like open fans. My boots make little noise on the concrete, but Carla's already outside, waiting in the dim light which is coming from the living room. She's got her arms folded, lips tight, and her eyes trained on me like a sharpshooter taking aim at his mark.

Shit.

"Zandale." Her pronunciation of my name isn't sweet at all. It cuts through all of my feeble excuses before I ever have a chance to throw them out there.

"Hey, Carla," I say exhaling and spreading my arms slightly as if trying to soothe a rabid animal. "Look, I understand that I—"

"How long has it been?" she interrupts, scooting in a bit closer, her reddish-brown hair bouncing in all directions. "Come on. Spill it. How long?"

I swallow and look away for a moment. "A few days."

"A few?" she laughs instead, though it isn't funny and she shakes her head. "Zan, it's been more than a week. I had to find out you were even alive from the news."

I rub my hand over my face and my larger hand sweeps over my pencil 'stache. She definitely has a point. With Cecil yelling orders at me constantly, fighting those interdimensional creatures, and struggling to avoid passing out from fatigue, I completely dropped the ball on her.

I inch in a bit closer, narrowing the space between us. She doesn't flinch. Just keeps looking at me straight on. That flame in her eyes? Yeah, and so much else that had made me completely fall for her. "Carla, I'm really sorry. I should have called or messaged— I should have dropped by for even a minute."

She crosses her arms over her chest but twitches at the corner of her lips as if she's keeping something inside—anger? A smile? No idea yet. "You're damn right you should have."

I couldn't help but smile slightly but don't overdo it. So instead, I extend my arms and rub them up and down over her arms, enjoying the heat of her skin, my larger hands sort of overwhelming her small frame. She shudders-not from cold-but from me. I completely understand why she would do this.

"Carla, I ain't got a good excuse," I admit, voice low. "Just been swamped with Cecil's shit. The world don't take breaks, and neither do I."

She exhales and finally relaxes just bit, but not fully. "I understand, Zan. I really do. Just can't keep going on like this, all this uncertainty of whether this day will be the day we'll watch Bastion Prime get killed live on television."

I flinch at that. Not 'cause she's wrong. But 'cause I know she watches. I know she waits.

"I promise you won't," I tell her, gently tilting up her chin so she looks at me straight on. "I'm not leaving."

She sort of relaxes a bit. "You're acting as if you can absolutely guarantee it."

I lean in and place my forehead against hers so she can sense my breath and know where I am. "I can't promise the world won't continue to throw things at me," I say, "but this much I promise you: I'll return for you."

It's completely quiet. Just us breathing now. I hear the hum of the city in the distance. Then her fingers release their hold on her chest and come up my arms, gripping my suit.

"You're an asshole," she whispers in response, joking around.

I smile. "Of course, but I'm your asshole."

She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. "Seriously, do you think your silly charm is gonna get you out of trouble every single day?"

I chuckle, putting my arms around her waist and drawing her near. "I mean, so far? Absolutely."

She groans, but I can completely see that little smile breaking out. "I hate you."

"Nah, you love me," I murmur into her hair, allowing her to cool off a little against me.

She sighs again, but less forcefully this time. "... Yeah. I do."

The atmosphere between us completely shifts. It's as if someone flipped a switch and all this anger becomes something entirely different. She hugs me around my throat and gets really up in my space, as if that's precisely where she belongs. Her heat and the desire in her eyes as she looks at me, it's as if she's hungry to devour me. And honestly speaking, I'm all up for it.

"I've missed you so much," she whispers, her hot breath teasing my neck.

"I have missed you too, love," I say and can completely feel myself getting aroused in my pants.

Carla is wearing this ridiculously tight tank top and it really flaunts those huge, round boobs of hers and you can practically see her nipples through it. And those jean shorts? They're hugging her curvy ass just right and showcasing those thick thighs and this cute little bit of space between her cheeks. She really knows how much this gets me hot and bothered. She's pretty mellow, but loves to gets me revved up.

"You've been looking at me like that since I opened the door."

"I can't help it," I tell her, stealing a glance at how well the tank top hugs her curves, the fabric sort of sticking to her firm nipples. "You're just too fine."

She smiles and changes it into a huge grin. "So what are you gonna do about it?"

I lean in slightly, my hands moving down to catch her fat ass, feeling that tight skin beneath her jeans. Her eyes narrow slightly as she pushes against my hand. "What do you want me to do?"

"Zan, get me into bed now and make it interesting," she orders in a bossy yet sexy tone.

I don't require a further invitation. I simply lift her up in my arms, and her legs go around my waist as if they were always intended to, and I walk through the apartment. She's so light, it's like cradling a feather, and her body presses against mine like we're two pieces of a puzzle that fit together. The way she gazes at me, with those dark reddish-brown eyes burning with desire and something more—something fierce—makes my dick ache.

We sneak into her bedroom in silence and the door closes behind us. Her legs leave my chest and she's all over me again, trying to unzip my superhero costume. It's as if she's very eager to have a glimpse of what's hiding beneath—so desperate to have me that she can't tolerate any piece of fabric between us for a second.

"Let me," I say quietly, stepping in and my hands shaking a little bit. I remove the suit, and the chill hits my chest and stomach as I expose my broad muscular chest and abs.

She lights up those huge eyes of hers whenever she sees me now. This isn't the old Zandale she knew and loved. This is the improved and buff version of me with all the veins sticking out. And yeah, my cock's larger now than ever before. The suit's been fitted, of course, but the bloke in it? All me. All due to all the effort I've made just to survive all the rubbish the universe dishes out on me.

"Woah, Zan, I knew you were different but..." she whispers, tracing my abs with her hand and scratching just lightly enough to cause a small shiver in my system. "Do you work out at the gym?"

"Yeah," I lied casually as she scanned me out. "Just trying to stay in shape for work."

She just had to admire my fantastic eight-pack, as she licked her lips. She looked down at my bulge in those fitted briefs. "Wow, all this hard work really pays off," she said in a very sensual tone.

My cock was just straining against the fabric, eager to escape. And with Carla staring at me like this? I was more than willing to plunge in. I ripped my briefs down, and my huge, fat cock sprang up, the head all glistening with pre-cum. She gasped and her eyes widened considerably. "Fuck, you weren't joking," she said in a shocked tone.

"Surprise" I laughed, my grin widening as I watched my girl eyeing me up, my gear feeling really tight and heavy on me. I'd never been small in my life, but at this moment? I was like a porn star.

"Jesus," she breathed and reached out to touch it gently, her fingers lightly grazing the tender skin. "You're gonna have to give me a second to process this."

I chuckled, inched a little nearer. "Take all the time you need."

Her hand lingered for a second before she wrapped her fingers around my penis. She grasped it tightly, but not tightly enough. She slid her hand from the base to the tip, her thumb spreading the bead of pre-cum. I experienced a powerful wave of pleasure, a swift rush. "Fuck, Carla," I moaned, thrusting my hips against her hand.

But she didn't stop there. She sank to her knees, her eyes never leaving mine. And then, she leaned in, her warm breath teasing my cock before she took me in her mouth. It was slow, almost painfully so, her lips sliding over me inch by inch until she had me all the way in, her tongue swirling around the head. And then, she started sucking, her cheeks hollowing out with each bob, her hand still working my shaft.

"Fuck yes," I groaned, leaning over to brush my fingers through her hair, grasping those smooth locks. "That's it."

Her eyes welled up a bit, but she didn't push me away. No, she drew me in closer, her throat tight around me, and her tongue was licking at the underside of my shaft. I was moving my hips back and forth, finding a rhythm that had her moving up and down, taking more of me with each stroke. And man, she was incredible. So incredible. It was like she'd been practicing while I was out there doing my thing.

"You like that, baby?" I asked my voice all raspy and rough. "You enjoy having my dick in your mouth?"

Carla moaned around me, the energy striking me squarely in the balls. "Mmhmm," she murmured, still crying.