By Minim Calibre
For Porn Battle VIII prompt: Dark Angel, Alec/Normal, sides, fantasy. Originally posted here.
“TV news here to interview you again, Normal.” Original Cindy said in her best loud, carrying tone to the wooden surface of the door her crazy-ass boss had locked hisself behind again. She heard a rustle and a clatter and then, “Tell them I’ll be out in just a minute! And get your lazy rear back to work! I’m not paying you to sit around! Bip!” and then she was pretty sure she heard him mutter something ’bout his ‘Golden Boy’ and lord, she did not even want to know.
***
“They’re people. Like you and me. Some of them are lazy, good for nothing, should have been fired people. But some of them are more than that. Some of them, one in particular, are born heroes.”
“Could you explain for our viewers what you mean by that, Mr Ronald?”
Normal pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You’d just have to see him to know.”
“So you’d say you’re on the side of the transgenic movement? The freaks, as people call them?
“They prefer genetically empowered.”
***
Original Cindy was going go on record: this was all Sketchy’s fault.
“Fool, you do NOT want to know what Normal does all day back in that new office of his.” She had a pretty good idea, and would have been happy bleach it out of her brain from the first time she heard those tell-tale slapping sounds. What she did not want was confirmation, but Sketchy’d agreed to help her get some supplies out to her Boo, so Original Cindy owed him, like the damn fool kept reminding her.
“OC, it’s my journalistic duty. Normal’s kind of a celebrity now, and he’s keeping secrets behind a locked door, and we all know what happened the last time people kept secrets around here.”
Men. Never could leave well enough alone. “Your funeral.”
“Just hand me the paper clip. Alec swears it’ll get us in there.”
“We could have Normal’s keys in hand, and I wouldn’t want us to go in there, and what do you mean by ‘us’? I’m strictly lookout.” Original Cindy handed him the paper clip and planted her back against the wall. She managed to get seven of her nails filed down nice and neat before Sketchy came out, looking whiter than usual and more than a little green around the gills. She looked him up and down and shook her head. “Told you. Lock it back up, and whatever you do, don’t let him know that you know.”
***
Ingrates, the lot of them. Every single Jam Pony employee should count his or herself lucky to even have a job. “Get to work, people! If you think these packages are going to sprout legs and walk, you’re out of luck!”
With a sigh, Normal stalked back to the office he’d had installed as part of the post-siege repair and renovation and locked the door behind him. He flicked on the TV and pressed play on the DVD he’d spent two year’s profits having made for him, and there he was in all his glistening glory: Alec, Monty Cora, Normal’s very own Golden Boy. Normal sunk into the worn comfort of his armchair, unzipped his fly and pumped a fistful of lotion into his palm.
He closed his hand around his dick, stroking in time to the punches as best he could. Those sleek, rippling muscles. That lush, Adonis-like mouth. Normal made it to the third fight on his Best Of collection before he reached for a Kleenex and collapsed with a satisfied smile.
This, this was living.
A private office, where none of the ingrates could bother him, where a man could have a little peace and quiet and relaxation when he needed it. What in god’s name had taken him so long?