Mr. Terrific (Superhero BoyxBoy)

Issue #12 "Never Been Kissed"

"DIDN'T I KILL YOU ALREADY?"

- Hell Boy, Hell Boy 

Issue #12 “Never Been Kissed”

Think. Shit. Think. Shit. Think. Breathe. Repeat until you’re back to fucking normal. Whatever the fuck that was.  

I was sitting on my bed, staring off at the random AC/DC poster that covered my door. Just sitting there at the edge of it and trying to will my body into dissolving into a puddle of myself.

Thinking. Sitting. Silently shitting myself.

He kissed me. He kissed me. On my lips. And he had the audacity to moan against them; the nerve to close his eyes; the gall to place his hands on my chest! The disrespect! The impudence! The indignity!

…are things I would like to say, if I wasn’t such a pussy and kissed him back.

Oh God. I kissed him back! Back, back, back! My lips touched his, and there was total bipartisan spit swapping!

 And then I bolted like a bat out of hell. That must’ve been humiliating for him. But, I didn’t know what else to do. His lips were on mine – soft and wet and – shit! This is going to make things very fucking awkward.

My phone vibrated for what must’ve been the twentieth time this past hour. But instead of it being from an unknown number – who was knowingly, Superboy – it was an alarm that I totally forgot that I set for 5:pm, reminding me about coffee with Daunte at his shop.

Shiiiit.

I got up from my bed, cleared my throat, grabbed a coat in the likely event that today decided to get any – you guessed it – shittier. But then I sat back down. My feet felt like they were bolted to the floor, or maybe I had become magnetic over the course of this passed hour – running for so long might do that to you, I don’t know, I’m not a fucking magnet scientist – and the carpet on the floor was replaced with metal.

Why? There was this chance that Daunte was Superboy. His eyes were dark brown and Superboy’s were dark brown on occasion. He was almost as tall. Although, admittedly, Superboy does seem to change height, possibly to throw me off by wearing something in his boots to alter it. So, Daunte was a very big candidate to being the masked boy that I just kissed.

Then again, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was just this cool guy that I could start hanging out with when Donny was busy being friendly to everything that walks.

I didn’t know him a lot; we talked so scantily and so much about superficial things that it was hard to get a full reading on him and if we could be friends.

There was still a chance that Superboy is someone completely different. Maybe Jeremy, though that seemed so far out of left field that it was preposterous. Donny wasn’t even in the conversation. Although.

No. No way. That’s fucking lunacy. That’s the definition of fucking lunacy.

Fucking lunacy (adj): description of the absurdity that your best friend may be this masked guy you like and this guy you kissed.

Holy. Did I just admit that I liked Superboy? Liked-Liked. Oh, no. Oh no,no,no,no.

My bedroom door opened, mid-freakout and mom stormed in, hand on her hips, and doing that Motherly Feet Tapping thing. She was just standing there, hair pinned back into a messy bun, brown eyes eyeing me horribly closely – like she was digging into my soul and fishing it out on a hook.