Scott Mason: Gay Superhero (boyxboy)

Chapter 4

I had my head buried into the crook of his neck in the first five minutes of flight. As embarrassing as it sounded, the arms made me feel safe and all, (excluding the fact that they were all that kept me from falling hundreds of feet to my death) but the height proved to be too much. I was used to low-flying, like between buildings. With butterflies. And happiness. And knowing that if I fell no one would have to deal with the grease spot on the pavement.
The only thing that made me feel calm was the darkness that covered my eyes when I buried my face in his neck. It was complete, it was motionless, and I could almost imagine that I was alone at home on my bed, besides the fact the chill from the wind never left my body.
We had been flying for who knows how long. I had given up on pestering him about where we were, still angry at him for water-violating my face.
Not cool.
Thinking of that, why had he done it? No one just throws water at anyone's faces for kicks and giggles; you had to have a reason.
It took me a minute to register that we had stopped moving, and the wind had stopped stealing away the warmth from my side. I raised my head, squeezing my eyes shut when soft light pressed against my eyes. I blinked a few times and looked at my surroundings.
There was only one way to describe it:
Ugh.
I pushed myself away from him, stumbling until I gained my footing. We were at the top of an abandoned warehouse, that by the smell of it- I sniffed -used to manufacture paint. We were standing on the roof of an abandoned paint factory. Around us were many factories just like it, all very decrepit and unused. The giant windows were boarded up, broken glass showing through squares and triangles left by gaps in the many boards that covered them.
Now that I wasn't in the air, I had the time to say what I wanted to.
"What the hell?" I spluttered, whirling around and pouting my fingers at Pitch Black. "Where am I? Who are you?"
"Somewhere, and someone," He said, smirking. That just made me even more angry. Him and his stupid mask that I had barely seen for a total of ten minutes in my entire lifetime. Stupid eyes. Stupid everything!
"Dammit!" I shouted, stomping my foot like a little girl. This only made his smirk grow wider.
"I only wanted to talk." He said simply. He folded his arms over his chest, looking at me in a mock glare. "Now we don't want me to get angry now, do we, Scotty?"
I clenched my jaw, glaring at him. "If you only wanted to talk, why couldn't you just talk, like, I dunno, somewhere else than this dump!" Wherever this dump is.
Pitch Black didn't find this as amusing and came out with his subject upright. "I know who you are." He said simply. He unfolded his arms and took a step towards me.
"I got that, considering that you called me by my first name." I stopped smiling now.
"Pretty observant for a normal teenager." He accused, getting closer. I took a step back, feeling the ceiling groan underneath my weight.
"Uhh..thank you?" I rubbed my palms together, feeling them get all sweaty. What did he really want?
"You're welcome." He said again, getting closer. And closer. And even more uncomfortably closer.
"Uh-" I drifted off, backing up.
"You're Samandriel, aren't you?" He said, stopping.
I faltered, trying to come up with a witty comeback. How did he know? Did I make a mistake? Could I act like I wasn't? My mind filled with even more questions that my vocabulary was momentarily inhibited.
A feeble "Whaaaa?" Was all that I could muster. Shoot. Well, there goes all of my efforts. Busted by an amateur superhero. Wow.
"Mmm hmmm." He said, his wings twitching.
I took a deep breath. This was kind of creepy. "N-"
"Don't even say no." He interrupted.
"Look, I think you have the wrong guy, I'm just a regular high school student." I held up my hands to show that they were empty, portraying a universal sign of peace.
His smirk returned. "I still think you're Samandriel." He persisted.
"Well, I'm not." I clipped, forcing the words out harshly. "Now take me home." I folded my arms, ordering him like a dog. I hoped this worked.
"No."
I groaned. "What the heck, man!" I stomped my foot again. "Take." I stomped my foot again, heedless of the creaking noise. "Me." I stomped again, looking at the hesitation on the super's face.
"I think you should be care-"
"Home!" I stomped my foot again, and the boards beneath my feet gave way to free fall. I slipped down into the open air inside the building and felt him grab for my hands. He slipped and missed, pushing his arm through the hole like it would help me catch it better.
It felt like I was flying. Downwards. To the ground.
Gravity, you bitch.
Suddenly, I landed on something long, hard and metal. The impact jostled me, and I was stunned for a moment. Pain shattered along my back and the back of my head. Couldn't I just have a normal day?! I tried to blink away the stars.
Conclusion: I didn't hit the floor. Nothing felt broken. But I did land on something.
I looked up, dust twirling through the air everywhere, leaving small patterns for me to look at in a daze. The last light of the dying day filtered from the hole above, and I saw the outline of Pitch Black through it.
"Are you OK? I heard you land on something!" He called down.
I looked around, the dust settling just a tiny bit. I was in the middle of a conveyor belt, unfinished paint cans strewn all over the place. Giant machines dominated each side of the line, looking and establishing their superiority over me. I couldn't have fallen more than ten to fifteen feet.
I patted myself down. No broken bones: check. Able to stand: check. No major injuries: check. Everything was alright. Besides the fact that I was in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of who-knows-where, with a superhero who correctly thinks that I am a superhero.
I peeked over the side of the belt, looking at the many more conveyors that cris-crossed each other to make a makeshift stairway to the ground.
"Wait there, I'll come and get you," Pitch called from behind, and I responded with a half-hearted yeah.
I swung my legs over the sides of the conveyor, to push them as far as I could, pointing out my toes. I felt the metal of another belt beneath my feet, and put more pressure on it.
Twelve belts later, I was hopping onto the ground. Dust churned when I landed, making me cough and sneeze more than a few times. A harsh, loud thump surprised me, coming from behind me. I jumped a little, peeking over my shoulder. Pitch stood there, arms folded.
"Is this supposed to be your, like, superhero lair?" I started to walk around, absorbing my surroundings.
"Yeah, so?" Pitch sounded a bit defensive. He followed me, mirroring my footsteps. "This is where I go before I do anything superhero-y."
I thought for a moment, running my hand along one of the machines. "Where exactly is here?" I asked.
"Detroit." He said casually. I stopped, turning around. No no no no no, we were not in Detroit.
"We're not in Michigan," I said, more to reassure myself than him.
"I can teleport, you know." He said softly, walking up to stand next to me. "Who's to say I didn't do that while flying?"
I tried to breathe, getting much-needed oxygen to my brain. Detroit. We were in Detroit. But no, we couldn't be! But could we?
"I want to go home," I demanded, turning to him. "Take me home now."
"Are you sure?" He asked, raising his eyebrows over his mask. "You haven't been here long, and we haven't gone anywhere with our conversation."
"Yes, and I'm pretty sure we established that I'm not a superhero." I grabbed his arm. "Take me home now."
"Suit yourself." He murmured, and just after he said that, everything went black.