Birds in the Hand

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"Frozen?" asked Dinah, interested despite herself.

"Metaphorically. These were all lesser demons, and so they had a lousy plan of attack. All the patrons and staff I'd seen in the museum were still paralyzed by the Sloth demons that had appeared first. Once the Sloth effect wore off the other demons would have been able to work on them, but that hadn't happened yet, which was good; the other demons hadn't had a chance to feed on human sin, which was what they wanted. If they had they'd have been that much stronger, more of a challenge. Even so the Wrath demons were tricky. If I struck them down, I'd be giving in to anger; if I didn't, they'd hurt or kill innocent people."

"So what did you do?" Dinah leaned forward, curious. Helena shot her a look, but Dinah missed it.

"I thought about how they were simply expressing their nature as demons, doing what they did. I had to stop them, but I didn't blame them for their actions, any more then we blame a hurricane for knocking down people's houses. You don't hate a hurricane, or a tiger, or tuberculosis; they're destructive, but they can't be otherwise. So you guard against them, but you don't hate them. I thought about that while I blasted those demons, and they fled.

"When I came to the director's office, and saw the thing on the desk, I knew I'd found what I was looking for. It was a little golden doorframe, about five inches high, with a miniature door built into it, which had been opened. Someone had pulled it out of storage and set it off somehow, I suppose. I just needed to close the little door, swing it back into its doorframe, and the gate would close. With my mystical vision, I could see the tiny silver cords stretching out of it, cords that connected to every demon that had yet come out. If I closed the door, and snapped the cords, all the demons would be thrown back to the Pit, no muss, no fuss. I thanked Heaven I'd gotten here before a really bad demon got through, like a demon of Pride. That kind is damned difficult to stop, no pun intended. I moved toward the desk, and then... well..."

"Let me guess," purred Helena. "A demon of Lust."

Martin's shoulders slumped. "Yeah. It manifested in front of me, in the form of… er… a naked girl."

"Uh-huh." Helena and Dinah stared at him coolly.

"It was gorgeous. Great features, great body. Perfect. It could read my mind, so it knew what turned me on, right? And it expressed itself in that form. I just stared at it. First I was surprised, but then I was aroused. It stepped forward and undid my trousers." He shrugged. "Demons aren't into foreplay. It pulled out my…"

"Your cock?" supplied Helena, her face expressionless.

"…Yeah. Then it started to…" He stopped, his face flaming. "Let me just say that I really think it's inappropriate…"

"Your objection is noted," Helena snapped.

"We might be able to help, but we need to hear it all," said Dinah, soothingly, her first words of the debriefing.

Privately, they each thought about how the good cop – bad cop routine never fails, even on people who should know better.

Addressing himself to Dinah now, he continued. "It used its hands on me. It felt good."

He looked down at the covers. "This superhero business has proved more trying than I thought it would. My marriage was on the rocks when I started, and I thought this... hobby... might bring some excitement and joy back into my life. It did, so much so that when my wife left I didn't mind. But it's been a long time since I've been… intimate… with anyone, over a year now. So the Lust demon had a good target in me. And, of course, the more it did to me, the more I was in its power.

"Pretty soon I was… ready to go. It turned around and spread itself across the desk, and I didn't even think about it; I just took it from behind. I knew that, once I finished, I'd be powerless to resist it, and it could devour me. Quite literally devour me. But I couldn't help myself."

He shrugged. "I was lucky. The desk wasn't heavy, the golden doorway was, and I was thrusting pretty energetically. Without intending it I knocked the doorway over, the door slammed shut, and all of a sudden the demon was gone, leaving me alone. I used the last dregs of magic I had to seal the doorway permanently, then I got out of there. My costume had been shredded, so I had to take some pants off of a frozen guard. I took back alleys and made it back to my shop, but a fair number of people saw me. I'll have a lot of explaining to do if any of them were customers. At least my secret identity is safe; no one knows that the Thaumaturge was there today, so no one can make the connection."

He looked up again. "And that's it."

He waited, his expression defiant, though his posture told the real story. "For the record, I don't think many people could have done better. But if you think I'm not League material, well, that's your business."

Helena and Dinah looked at one another. "Well, Canary, what do you think we should do about this?" Helena purred. "Is this guy 'League material?'"

"Oh, stop it. You've had your fun. Don't tease him." Dinah looked down at Martin. "Relax. We're not here to judge you or punish you."

"No? Then why…"

"Shh." Dinah gently put a finger to his lips, then leaned forward and kissed him.

It was a gentle kiss, her lips brushing against his. She pulled back a fraction of an inch, and then kissed him again, this time pushing her tongue softly against his teeth. Shocked, he pulled away, hard. He began to sputter, but Helena cut him off with a growl. "Questions later." Meanwhile Dinah came in for another kiss. Martin, at a loss, decided not to question his good fortune, and kissed her back, their tongues meeting delicately. After a moment she pulled away. Throwing the sheets back, she sat down next to him on the bed. Smiling warmly, she put a finger to her lips—ssh—and pulled at the zipper at her throat. With a long pull, her leather corset unfastened, and, no longer under tension, sprang away from her. With a graceful arch of her shoulders, it fell away.

Helena was also stripping down. She'd already removed her boots. Now she pulled off one glove, then the other, and daintily let them fall to the floor. Reaching behind her in a practiced move, she unclipped her cape and let it drop; then unzipped her top and slowly shimmied it off of her chest, down her arms, and away. It was an unusual striptease; her slow, sensual motions were completely at odds with the stony expression on her face. Her piercing gaze never left Martin's eyes, though. She was haughtiness personified; seductive, but scornful of the effect she produced. Finished, she joined Dinah on the bed, sitting on her quarry's right side while Dinah occupied the left.

Both women were now almost naked from the waist up, each clad only in a sports bra (though Helena had retained her mask). They looked at each other and smiled, wordlessly passing signals. Martin, utterly baffled but smart enough not to disturb whatever was happening with interruptions, waited, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. He was intensely aware of the cool air brushing against his now-exposed feet and belly, where his pajama top and bottoms didn't quite meet. His cock was also stiffening and beginning to rise, easily pushing aside his flimsy cotton sleepwear. His mouth tasted metallic. He licked his lips.

The Birds broke eye contact with each other and turned back to their prey. Helena nodded to herself and leaned forward, tilting her head slightly. Her lips parted just before they reached his and suddenly her tongue was in his mouth, pushing hard. Where Dinah had been gentle, Helena was rough; they kept up their good cop-bad cop personas even in bed. Martin was ready for her, though, and pushed back with equal force. Their tongues wrestled rather than danced. He reached out, trying to hold her head in his hands, but stopped when he felt Dinah firmly pull his hands to his sides. She held them there, briefly, and then let go. Helena meanwhile reached forward and took hold of the back of his head, holding him steady for her to kiss. Martin relaxed, having gotten the message; this was their show, and would proceed at their pace, without input from him. Not that he minded.

While Helena embraced him, Dinah reached forward with sure fingers and begin unbuttoning his nightshirt. When Dinah was finished, she picked up his hands and threaded them through the sleeves, one at a time, leaving him shirtless, as they were. When that was done, Helena broke her kiss and allowed him to come up for air. Leaning back, she looked at Dinah. More wordless signals were exchanged, then as one they each began pulling at their own brastraps. In a moment the catches were unhooked and the brassieres fell away, leaving both topless.

Martin knew not to speak, but rules or no rules, he couldn't let the moment pass unremarked. He let out a quiet whistle of admiration. Both women were superb athletes. Their figures were not as exaggeratedly voluptuous as those of some of their colleagues—one needed the unearthly gifts of a Wonder Woman or a Maxima to combine superlative fighting skills with a titanic chest—but both Dinah and Helena were blessed with ample breasts, made all the more stunning by extraordinarily slim waists. Either could have been a pinup girl or a centrefold, except perhaps for their bulging biceps. For some reason, Martin mused, many men found strong, athletic women to be unsexy. He had never thought that way, but if he had, the sight of these two would have cured him of it, that was certain.

Dinah grinned at his whistle, while Helena's lip twitched in a repressed smile of satisfaction. As one they reached out and took hold of his hands, Dinah taking his left and Helena his right. Gently they placed them on their respective chests. His mouth dry, he began to cup and fondle. He took Dinah's left breast in his hand and gently squeezed, feeling its warmth and fullness, while rubbing and massaging Helena's right nipple. Dinah cooed and arched her back, pressing her breast into his hand, but Helena played it cool, watching him with glittering eyes. He was gratified to feel her nipple become stiff; she wasn't entirely the ice queen she appeared to be.

As he touched them, they returned the favour, running their fingertips over his chest, down to his abs. These were mostly undefined—punching people was not his métier, and he did have a business to run, so he had never been a gym rat—but the Birds traced them nonetheless. In a moment, they had reached his waist and his pajama bottoms, which were now seriously tenting, forced up by his obviously erect cock. Without slowing the two took hold of the elastic waistband and pulled down; knowing what was coming, he arched his back and his pajama bottoms slid off his hips. Helena grabbed them, pulling them off his legs and throwing them into the corner. His cock sprang up, in its eight-inch glory, throbbing and hard, the foreskin pulled back and the head slick with pre-cum. It had been quite an arousing show. With broad smiles—Dinah's sunny, Helena's smoky—the two women pulled away from his hands and moved down toward the foot of the bed. Martin swallowed and tensed his leg muscles, praying that what he thought was about to happen was indeed about to happen.

His prayers were answered. The two women lay down, curling up around his legs, their heads just over his cock. As one they began to lick it, their pink tongues darting out and caressing his shaft. Dinah took the bottom, working around the base, while Helena went right to the source: she began lapping at the crown, taking in his pre-cum while leaving behind a shiny coat of saliva. They worked, as before, in silence. In a moment he was sopping wet from their attentions. He clenched his hands in anticipation.

He didn't have long to wait. Helena rose up, ribbons of semen dangling from her lips. Elbowing Dinah aside, she crawled around so she had pride of place between his legs. Dinah rolled off the bed and rose up. She began what appeared to be the complex task of removing the rest of her costume; her fishnets and her leather tights were fastened together quite securely, and the tights themselves were practically sprayed on. There was no way to get them off in a sexy or seductive manner; it required a lot of tugging and bracing of one's self against a wall or floor. If Martin had been paying attention, he might have found it amusing, but as it was he had other things on his mind: Helena had taken him into her mouth and was sucking his cock like he'd never had it sucked before.

His ex-wife was the only woman he'd ever been with who'd given him head, and she'd always made it seem like a disagreeable chore. In his naiveté, he'd thought that her perfunctory treatments were as good as it got, and hadn't minded that he rarely received any oral attention. Given Helena's ice-queen demeanour, he'd expected something similar to his earlier experiences: mildly arousing but not earth-shaking. His expectations were quickly shattered. She licked his head, yes, her tongue dancing around its circumference, with occasional darts up to the tip; but she also sucked at it, her head bobbing gently and her cheeks dimpling from the effort. With one hand she held his shaft and stroked it while she steadied herself with the other. Martin moaned and ran his fingers through her hair, careful not to disturb her mask as he did so. Helena seemed to approve, as she changed her technique: sealing her lips to make a tight bond around his cock, she pushed down on him, hard, over and over, fucking him with her mouth.

The pleasure Martin felt was intense, and he desperately tried to keep from coming. He began reciting his mantra in his head, trying to find his centre, his place of repose; from there he could enjoy the sensations rocking his body without being conquered by them. But it was no use; it had been too long since he'd been fulfilled, and the lack of consummation he'd had that afternoon had weakened him that much more. He grunted and gasped and Helena, knowing what was coming, coolly pulled her head away and began stroking him, firmly, until he couldn't hold out any more and burst, his ejaculation flying out across the room, spattering against his dresser. Helena continued to pump and the semen kept flowing, trickling down now onto her hand and the bedspread. Looking up at him, the first time she had done so during the whole exercise, she said in a deadpan: "I don't swallow on the first date."

Martin blinked as he came back to himself. He stared at her for a moment as she began wiping her hands on the duvet, then waved a hand and intoned "Nemes etaropave." Helena twitched in surprise as the bedspread, and her hands, became dry. "That's a good trick. No one likes to sleep on the wet spot." With a spring she rolled off the bed into a crouch. Straightening herself, she busied herself with removing the remnants of her costume, though she kept the mask. By this time Dinah had freed herself from her outfit: with a final pull she removed her panties and let them drop to the floor. Laying down on the bed, she rolled over next to the Thaumaturge. Resting her back against the headboard, she looked down at him where he lay, resting his head on a pillow. He looked up at her glassily but didn't say anything. Dinah smiled gently. " I suppose you have some questions, huh?"

He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "I certainly do. That was…" He paused, obviously searching for the right word. "That was exquisite."

"We aim to please," said Dinah, with a grin. Helena grunted and began pulling off her boots.

"But why is it that the first time two beautiful women I don't know surprise me in my bedroom and give me… er… their affections is after I commit the biggest screw-up in my vigilante career? I mean, stuff like this just doesn't happen, and if it does happen, it doesn't happen as a reward for failure. You can see why I'm confused."

Helena, now nude, crawled onto the bed and nestled in on Martin's right-hand side, leaving him sandwiched between them. Each draped a leg over his lower body, trapping him thoroughly. "You didn't fail," Helena answered, her voice less taut and hostile now. "You figured out what was happening at the museum; you intervened to stop it; you ended the infestation without loss of life, and without calling for help."

"But the incident with the succubus—"

"You were lucky," Helena interrupted. "We've all been lucky at one time or another. It doesn't detract from what you accomplished." Reaching down, she began to stroke his chest, slowly running her fingers from nipple to nipple. "But yes, you almost got killed. J'onn knew as much from the security camera footage."

"Security cameras?" Alarmed, he tried to sit up, but Helena held him down, her hand pushing against his sternum. "Relax. J'onn had the Flash retrieve them. J'onn watched them and then had them destroyed. They won't be coming back to haunt you.

"J'onn's no magic expert, but he's astute; he worked out what had happened from what he saw. You were sexually frustrated, and your opponents were able to use that against you. You're not the first one of us to whom that's happened. We have mechanisms to deal with it. That's why Canary and I are here."

"You mean that you—"

Dinah joined Helena in her caresses, clasping Martin's left shoulder in her hands and massaging it softly. Ignoring his interruption, Helena continued to speak. "Vigilante work is demanding. It takes a big commitment of emotional energy to do what we do over the long term. Not only that, but we can't talk about our work to most people in our lives. Taken as a whole, that means our emotional lives tend to be feast or famine. You either marry somebody and they carry the weight for you, or you don't get married, and you carry it yourself."

"And sometimes you get married and carry it yourself anyway," added Dinah. All three were silent for a moment, Helena embarrassed, Dinah and Martin mulling old wounds. "Uh, right. But my point is this, Dinah; when you're in the biz, casual relationships are impossible: too much of our lives have to be kept hidden. You either move to a committed relationship really fast, or you don't have a relationship at all."

"Yeah," admitted the Thaumaturge. "Between patrol and running my store I didn't have time to date, and when I did I'd have to break them to go off and fight crime. Being super wasn't as glamorous as I expected."

"So that's why Wonder Woman started this program. She saw that a lot of us weren't getting the intimacy that we needed, and it was affecting our work: good people were burning out. She doesn't have any sexual hang-ups herself, and when she saw that her comrades did, she began helping them out: giving lays to the ones that needed it. All the big Leaguers—Superman, Batman, the Manhunter—or at least that's the way I hear it. No one's got the guts to ask them to their faces, and Diana refuses to say. But when the League opened its doors wide, well, she's just one woman, despite all the powers. She couldn't keep the whole League going. So she and J'onn made an informal program."

"If you need, and I mean really need, to get it on," Dinah said, "then J'onn asks someone to take care of you. Someday after that, he'll ask you to take care of someone else, and you'll do it, no questions or complaints. And then that person will do the same for yet another." She broke into a snatch of song: "It's the cirrr-cle of liiife…"

"I see. So you two both—"

"Just me, actually," murmured Helena. "I was horny as hell, and got too rough with some thugs. That night I got a visit from Steel. That man…" She smiled dreamily. "Well, he gave me what I needed, leave it at that. Dinah hasn't partaken, as far as I know. She just came to keep me company."

"Close enough," said Dinah. She grinned lasciviously. "Steel, huh? So is it true what they say—"