The basement of Hargrove Mansion had always been my sanctuary—a labyrinth of reinforced steel, humming circuits, and secrets that not even Batman could unravel without a Herculean effort. But that afternoon, with the sun filtering weakly through the high windows above, the focus wasn't on the holographic screens flashing with genetic data or the drones buzzing through automated tests. No. It was in the private training room, an annex I had personally designed: a central ring of soft but firm tatami mats, surrounded by weight racks ranging from light dumbbells to bars that could bend an average man in half. Around it, testing stations—speed treadmills with sensors that measured fractions of a second, punching bags with impact meters that registered force in newtons, and even a climbing wall with magnetic hooks to simulate urban falls. All this to make me unbreakable, to forge a body that could withstand the chaos of the DC universe without flinching.
Artemis and I had been there for almost an hour, sweating under the cold LED lights that simulated the merciless glow of Gotham at night. No gloves, no protective gear—just the two of us on the mat, exchanging punches, kicks, and grappling in a rhythm that mixed Muay Thai with judo, sprinkled with touches of my taekwondo. It had been about four days since we'd left Slade Wilson as a charred shell in the shed, and since then, training at the mansion had become routine. Before, it was just clandestine patrols on the rooftops or quick sessions at Mount Justice. Now, with the equipment here, it was more intense, more personal. And, honestly, more fraught.
She had improved tremendously. In the beginning, when the League teamed us up, Artemis was good—precise with the bow, agile as a shadow, but in close combat, I saw her hesitate at certain angles, as if the weight of her past with Sportsmaster still held her back. Now? She was a force. Her kicks came with a speed that almost caught me by surprise, and the takedowns… ah, the takedowns were lethal. I saw the progress in her eyes, in the way she smiled after a successful counterattack. "You're flying, Crock," I said once, and she laughed, but there was something more there. Something that had lingered between us since that kiss in the basement, right after the chaos with Deathstroke.
That kiss. We hadn't touched on the subject. Not a word. It was as if we had silently agreed to ignore it, but the air became electric every time our eyes met. An unspoken expectation, a thread of tension pulling us towards each other without us knowing how to handle it. I felt it now, as I dodged a hook from her and countered with a low kick that she blocked with her knee. The impact echoed on the mat, and I smiled beneath my panting breath.
Artemis was wearing an outfit that… well, didn't exactly help her stay focused. Short shorts, those tight black ones that barely covered her thighs, highlighting the long, muscular legs she'd sculpted over years of training. The top was even shorter, a dark green crop top that revealed her defined abs, with sweat streaks tracing paths across her tanned skin. It wasn't the first time—for the past four days, since Slade turned into a barbecue, she'd been showing up like this. More revealing with each session. I noticed the details: the way the fabric clung to the sweat, the sheen on her shoulders, the way her blonde hair, tied in a loose ponytail, swayed with every movement. Was it provocation? Or just coincidence? My rational brain said coincidence, but the rest of me… well, the rest of me noticed.
I, on the other hand, was shirtless—just black compression shorts and lightweight sneakers. My physique wasn't that of a Superboy, but it was imposing for someone my height. Short, as Artemis sometimes joked, but with broad shoulders, a defined chest, and abs that looked sculpted from marble. In the last few months, since I started merging martial arts training with my elemental powers, everything had intensified. Denser muscles, veins bulging in my arms, a structure that screamed "don't underestimate me." Sweat dripped down my torso, highlighting every line I had forged over years of dedication. And, yes, I saw her eyes drifting there from time to time.
We exchanged blows at a steady pace: I advanced with a combination of quick jabs, she dodged and countered with a clinch that pulled me close. Contact was inevitable—skin against skin, sweat mingling, breaths synchronizing. At first, it was pure training: correcting stances, improving defenses. But there, in that moment, something changed. The touches lasted a second longer. A fall wasn't just a fall—it was an entanglement of bodies, my chest pressing against hers for an instant that seemed eternal. I felt her heat, the accelerated pulse of her heart beneath her thin skin. And in Artemis's eyes? It wasn't just the focus of the fight. It was something warmer, more primal. A veiled provocation, an invitation disguised as sparring.
I smiled sideways, going along with it. "You're getting good at this," I muttered between punches, dodging an uppercut that grazed my chin.
She laughed, breathless, her eyes shining. "Good? I'm great. You're the one holding back."
It wasn't. But the fight turned into something else. More sensual, less combative. Each grapple was an excuse to feel her body against mine—her firm curves, the sweat trickling down her neck, the subtle scent of lavender mixed with the saltiness of the effort. I took her down with a soft takedown, rolling to the side so as not to hurt her, but we ended up entangled: me on top, knees trapping her legs, hands on her wrists. Our faces inches apart. Breaths ragged. The soft mat beneath us, but the air heavy as lead.
We looked at each other. The world stopped. Her eyes—grey-green, like storms over the sea—fixed on mine. Neither of us moved to break free. Instead, I leaned in a millimeter, and she came to meet me. Our lips touched—not a quick kiss like the previous one, but something long, deep, hungry. I released her wrists to run my hand through the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. Her tongue met mine in a slow, exploratory dance that sent sparks through my body. She tasted salty-sweet, mixed with the sweat from her workout, and I lost myself in it. My hands wandered: one sliding down the side of her body, feeling the curve of her waist, the taut muscle of her exposed stomach. The other tangling in her blonde hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss.
She moaned softly against my mouth, and it was like gasoline on a fire. Her hands moved up my bare chest, nails lightly scratching my skin, tracing the lines of my abs. "Why did you take so long?" she murmured between kisses, her voice hoarse, almost a whisper.
I laughed against her lips, nibbling lightly on her lower lip. "I had a lot on my mind."
"And now?" She tugged at my hair, forcing me to look into her eyes—pure excitement there, without hesitation.
"I can't think of anything else."
We kissed again, more intensely. The kiss turned urgent: tongues intertwined, breaths mingled, bodies pressed together. My hands moved down to her top, slowly pulling it up, revealing more skin. She arched her back, making it easier, and the fabric flew to the side of the tatami mat. Her breasts—firm, perfect—exposed to the cool basement air. I trailed kisses down her neck, her collarbone, feeling her accelerated pulse against my jugular. She moaned louder, her hands on my back, scratching hard enough to leave red marks that would disappear in hours thanks to my powers.
Her shorts were next. I pulled them down her thighs, kissing every inch revealed. Artemis was beautiful—long legs, defined muscles, soft skin where it mattered. She was a little taller than me, which made everything more dynamic: I had to stretch to reach, but that only increased the intensity. "Are you sure about this?" I asked, my voice low, looking into her eyes. Project Artemis—that silly plan I'd hatched with the AIs to "win her over"—had been at 100% for days, but I needed to hear it.
She smiled, excitement shining in her eyes, without a shadow of a doubt. "Absolutely."
That was enough. I kissed her again, moving down her body. My hands explored: squeezing her thighs, tracing the curve of her hips. She writhed beneath me, moaning when my mouth found her center. I used my tongue slowly at first, circling, tasting. Her taste—sweet, salty, intoxicating. She gripped my hair, pulling me closer, her hips rising to meet my rhythm. "Erick... ah, yes..." Her moans echoed in the empty basement, mingling with the distant hum of the machines. I quickened my pace, adding fingers—one, then two—feeling her tighten around me. She climaxed quickly, her body trembling, a muffled cry escaping as the waves swept over her.
Before she could catch her breath, Artemis turned me around—surprising strength, even for her. "My turn." Her smile was predatory, proud, as if she'd conquered something. She moved down my chest, kissing the lines of my muscles, her nails tracing paths that sent shivers down my spine. My shorts were gone in seconds. She looked at me, her eyes hungry, and took me in her mouth. Slowly at first—tongue circling the tip, soft lips enveloping. I groaned, hands in her hair, guiding lightly. "Artemis... fuck..." She sped up, her hand helping with the rhythm, her eyes fixed on mine the whole time. The pleasure was overwhelming—hot, wet, perfect. I held on as long as I could, but she was relentless, pushing me to the limit until I exploded in her mouth, my body convulsing.
We didn't stop. I turned her around on the mat, positioning her on all fours. "Come on," I murmured in her ear, my voice hoarse. She gripped the ropes of the ring—those red and black ropes I'd installed to simulate real fights—and arched her back, inviting me. I entered slowly, feeling the tight heat around me. "God..." I groaned, hands on her hips, pulling her to me. I started slowly, but the rhythm increased—force and speed, each thrust echoing on the mat with a wet slap. She moaned loudly, pushing back, synchronizing. "Harder, Erick... like that..." Sweat dripped down both of us, mingling, the air smelling of sex and exertion. I sped up, one hand sliding down to stimulate her from below, feeling her tighten. We came together—an explosive climax, bodies trembling, cries mingling in the air.
We collapsed onto the mat in the center, sweaty and breathless. Artemis rested her head on my arm, her body pressed against mine, her legs intertwined. We looked at each other—eyes locked, a smile shared. I kissed her slowly, lazily, savoring the moment. "You're amazing," I murmured against her lips.
She chuckled softly, tracing circles on my chest. "You're not bad either, Forge."
Read the chapters in advance: patreon.com/cw/pararaio