To my estimation, there is no feeling more sublime than making love in the cold. The sounds, the sensations, the flavors. I cherish them. The slight heat of his breath against my neck, the smell of his hair, the touch of goosebumps beneath my fingertips. He is perfect. He is warm.

I feel his teeth upon my jaw, his hand at my waist; exploring. I let out a sigh, then a gasp. His hands are adventurous. He toys with me. I narrow my eyes. Who was it that made him believe he was to be in charge?

I make no effort to push his hands away. The attention is not unwelcome. My retaliation will be sought by other means. My fingertips make an exploration of their own, tracing the fine lines of muscle covering the contours of his frame. He’s larger than me; taller, broader. I wish I knew his name. 

Unfortunately, it never occurred to me to ask. Only a few simple words were said in the hour or so it took us to get back here from the bar. Neither of us felt like wasting time. 

My hands conclude their explorations, and my arms find themselves draping across his shoulders. I pull myself closer in upon him, and a part of me feels his heat beneath my form. I sit above him, poised, ready; seductive. A soft growl leaves his lips, and I make every effort to capture them with mine as his hands work the last of my garments free.

Our tongues play together for a moment in the quiet, and soon enough, I am unbound. I begin to lower myself upon him, and on the moment, I realize my mistake. 

“Ah… shit.”

“What’s up?”

“... Got any lube?”

A laugh. 

“Uh, sure. One sec.”

----------------------------------------

My companion lets out a soft groan as I try, and inevitably fail, to extricate myself from his embrace without waking him.

“Dude,” he murmurs, his lips brushing lightly over the base of my neck. “It’s midnight. Can’t you just sleep here tonight?”

His arms shift slowly along my form as he speaks, hands trailing lightly over skin. I can feel the muscles of his chest against my back. It’s… surprisingly comforting, being this exposed.

Why’d he have to be so warm?

“I can’t stay,” I tell him. “I’ve got work tonight.”

A groan.

“Aw, damn. Don’t remind me. I’m working tonight, too.”

I laugh, just a touch regretful.

“Guess it’s time for real life again, huh.”

He chuckles back. I wonder for a moment if I’m imagining the melancholy there. Probably just projecting.

“Real life sucks,” he grumbles, his hands nevertheless easing off enough to let me up. “Need a change of clothes? I think I have some old ones small enough to fit you.”

“It’s fine.” 

I take a deep breath; allow myself one more moment to savour the warmth of him draped around me. Then I pull myself upright.

‘Fuck. Was it always this cold in here?’ 

I shiver, my arms wrapping instinctively around myself as I scan the room for my clothes. The cold is unavoidable. The turtle entered a winter zone almost a week and a half ago, and it’s not as if the apartment has central heating. At least the chill helps to wake me up.

I spot a shadow against the floor that I belatedly recall to be my jeans, and stumble over to them.

Behind me, the boy sighs.

“Do I get to know your name, at least?”

I pause, my jeans only halfway up one leg. I was afraid of this.

‘Don’t let him get attached,’ I remind myself. ‘It’s not fair to either of you.’

I was never great at self-control.

“Liam,” I admit, hating myself a little. “I’m Liam. You?”

There’s a rustling noise as he pulls himself out of bed, followed by a slight gasp as his skin makes contact with the cold. Then, I feel his fingers at my waist. I shiver.

“David,” he murmurs, planting a kiss against my shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Liam.”

I feel his breath against my cheek, and without really thinking, find myself leaning back against his frame. His fingers trail lightly over my stomach, something unmentionable brushing against my waist. I spend a few futile moments trying not to get a boner.

“Dude, come on,” I grumble, making some half assed attempt at irritation as his hands send electricity dancing across my chest. “I told you. I’ve got to go to work.”

A sad laugh. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’d rather we didn’t meet like this again?”

“It’s not that,” I protest, my voice coming out as more of a whine than I’d intended. “I just…” I trail off.

“Just what?”

‘I just don’t wanna get your hopes up when I could be dead tomorrow.’

I do not say those words. There’s such a thing as too much honesty.

“Look,” I say eventually. “Tonight was kind of an experiment for me. The boy you slept with; that’s not who I am. I don’t normally go looking for random hookups.”

“Yeah,” David chuckles, his fingers ruffling my hair. “I figured as much. Not exactly hard to tell you hadn’t been that far before.” 

That comment… derails my train of thought a tad.

“Oh,” I mumble. “Sorry… Hope I didn’t suck too bad.”

“What?” He laughs. “No, you were fine,” his lips press briefly against my cheek. “But it was pretty obvious that some of it surprised you. Pretty standard stuff, too.”

I try to shoot him a scowl, but my timing is off by a tad, and I have the misfortune to attempt it just as his fingers find something sensitive between my legs. I suspect it comes off as more aggressively flummoxed than anything else. 

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“So,” he murmurs, his hand stroking something slowly up and down. “What was the experiment? What was a cute guy like you doing looking for a one time fuck, and what’s there to stop us doing it again?”

It is with a genuinely herculean degree of effort that I keep my attention focused on the conversation as he makes his move. Pushing his hand away is perhaps the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

“I’m starting a new job tonight,” I mutter. “And I don’t know how it’s gonna go. So I wanted to start it off with something big, you know? Start this big new page in my story.” I turn to face him. 

‘Damn. Why’d he have to be so hot?’

“But if tonight goes wrong, you’ll probably just be a mistake I’ll be wanting to forget.” I give him an apologetic smile. 

David considers that for a time, then brings a hand to the overlong mane of his hair, and gives me a nod. 

“Okay. I can understand that well enough, I guess.” Then, he smiles. “So… Does that mean I can call you if tonight goes well?”

I snort.

“Wow. Are you really that horny?”

“What can I say?” He laughs. “I have a thing for redheads.”

I roll my eyes at that, not entirely sure why it makes me smile… That’s a lie. It’s because I’m horny. Very. Deeply. Horny.

“I tell you what,” I allow. “Why don’t you give me your number, and if I feel like remembering you in the morning, maybe I’ll give you a call.”

David chuckles.

“Guess I better hope I’m worth remembering.”

“Damn straight.” I lean in, standing on my tiptoes to give the guy a kiss. “Do you mind if I use your shower? I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Sure thing.” He grins. “Mind if I jump in with you?”

“... There’s no way that won’t turn into sex.”

His smile grows a fraction wider.

“I know, right?” His hand once more reaches between my legs. “Come on. You know you wanna try it.”

I open my mouth to refute him, but then he does something with his palm, and I let out a quiet groan.

“... You make a really solid point.”

----------------------------------------

“Okay,” I mutter to myself as I climb a roof access ladder, nearly half an hour later. “Shower sex is way more awkward than it looks. Good to know.”

I reach the top, and check my watch. Almost time for the mission. Barely made it. I pull my hoodie off, and stash it underneath an air vent running from one of the industrial sized heating units dotted across the rooftop. I shiver. It’s even colder out here than it was in the apartment. No time to let that bother me now. I strip off my jeans. Then my shoes. Then my socks. I have a moment of embarrassment when I realize that my briefs are back at David’s place. Each item joins my hoodie in the space below the air duct. I don’t bother to fold them. 

Eventually, the watch is the only item left on me. I push the button on the side.

It isn’t that nudity is essential to engage the transformation; but it helps. Allowing my soul to filter through the mechanism is complex enough on its own, let alone with clothes in the way. When it comes down to it, I’m too nervous about tonight to manage that right now.

I close my eyes, and try to ignore the memory of the Sailor Moon theme playing in my head as the wave-suit begins to emerge; the feeling of the cold against my skin slowly fading away to nothing. I open my eyes, expectant. What I find is deeply disappointing.

The suit is deep gray, but for a line of cobalt blue running down the sides, the material clinging to my form like a second skin. For a moment, I am appalled. This wave-suit doesn’t hide a thing. My stomach, my stature, even my navel on display. 

I curse. Loudly.

The only bright spot I can find is that the costume at least has the decency to cover up my crotch. It is not much of a silver lining.

It comes as something of a surprise when I hear the phone ring. I didn’t bring my phone out with me tonight. I spend half a second searching pointlessly around the rooftop, before noticing a vibration at my hip. I look down.

“... Huh.”

I take out the phone, and look at the screen. It just says ‘Pilot’, in big, bold letters, over a green colored image of a wiggling house-phone. I accept the call, and put it to my ear.

“Good evening, Agent Twelve,” says The Pilot in its entirely artificial voice. “Are you ready to receive your mission?”

“Why’s it skintight?” I ask furiously, almost before the thing has finished speaking. “Are you taking the piss? Are you expecting me to fight monsters in a fucking bodystocking?”

For a few moments, there is silence.

“Your suit’s design was intended for aerodynamic efficiency,” it responds. “Given that you lack the natural strength present in most other agents, the decision was made to focus on your spee-”

“Bullshit,” I interrupt. “There is no aerodynamic reason to give this suit a belly button. The last Agent Twelve didn’t look like this. I shouldn’t have to look like this.”

It is the strangest thing, hearing a mechanical voice attempt to sigh.

“The previous Agent Twelve was a brawler. Your design is meant for stealth.”

“There is nothing stealthy about a suit with neon highlights.”

Another pause.

“I admit it may require further calibration.”

“You don’t say.”

The Pilot makes another robotic attempt at a sigh.

“Can we at least assume you’re able to proceed for the time being?”

“Fine,” I growl. “Just give me a minute to put some real clothes back on.”

“Not advised. Other coverings will hamper your mobility.”

I hang up the phone. I don’t care what it says. If I’m risking my life tonight, I’m at least not doing it in fetish gear. I put my clothes back on.

A part of me knows I should be happy. Anyone else in my position would be glad to get a wave-suit, no matter how revealing. The things are practically magic, after all, taking whatever scraps of power a person naturally has, and making something more.

Two minutes ago, I was just a boy who could move through shadows. As of now, I have no idea what I can do.

Why the fuck did it have to be a skinsuit, though.

I finish doing up my jeans, and pull my hoodie on over my head. It’s odd how little difference the wave-suit makes to sensations. I was expecting there to be a disconnect; some feeling of fabric against my skin, or at least to be less able to feel the things I touched. As it is, though, I can barely tell the thing is there.

The phone rings.

I answer. I make it halfway through the first word, before The Pilot cuts me off.

“Put the phone against your eyes.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

With an annoyed shrug, I move the phone so that the screen sits against my nose.

“Like thi-” I let out a high shriek as the phone melts in my hand, leaps between my fingers, and lands in a semi-liquid puddle on my face. By pure instinct, I begin trying to wipe the thing away, clawing madly at my own skin. By the time I figure out what’s happening, the transition is already done.

“... You could have just told me it’d turn into a mask.”

“I never tell people that,” The Pilot replies, the voice now coming from right inside my ear. “The screams tend to be amusing.”

“... You are so fucking weird.”

I spend a moment examining my face by touch. The mask is a good deal easier to notice against my skin than the rest of the suit, it seems. For one thing, it’s hard to miss the fabric stretching over my face when I open my mouth. Then there’s the goggles.

I look down into the moonlit city streets below, and immediately, the glass begins to shift, little spots of green picking up each individual person down below, the world almost growing brighter before my eyes.

I decide I like the goggles.

“So what’s my new power?” I ask, still half distracted by the view.

“Weapon manifestation.”

“... Sorry, what?”

The voice in my ear lets out an automated chuckle.

“Hold out your hand. Think of a knife.”

I hold out my hand. I think of a knife.

Space bends.

I notice a small table knife sitting in my hand; entirely black but for the occasional shimmer glinting across its blade.

“... Huh.”

A sigh.

“Think of a better knife.”

I search my memory.

Space bends.

I notice a large bowie knife sitting in my hand.

“Well, okay then, I guess,” I mutter. “What’s the mission? Is there a monster den I’m supposed to take out? Maybe stop a robbery in prog-”

“You’ve been assigned an assassination,” The Pilot replies. “Raylund Hovis. A man from the skylands. You need to make him disappear.” As it speaks, the goggles once more shift, the image of a trim, middle aged man in a white suit appearing against the glass.

“... Oh.”

The Pilot chuckles. “Didn’t think you’d have to kill a person?”

I sigh.

“Just wasn’t expecting it to come along this early. What’s the reason?”

“He represents the first foray of a fairly sizeable criminal organization into my territory. I want to inform them that they aren’t welcome here.”

“... Ok.”

I take a deep breath. I knew from the start this wouldn’t be a picnic.

“It shouldn’t be all that complicated of a task,” The Pilot resumes. “Your new powers should be enough when combined with the faculties of the suit. His security is not extensive.” 

I nod. The Pilot seems to hesitate.

“There is one man you should be wary of, however. They hired a local for additional protection. Said local has a stolen wave-suit.”

I feel my mouth go dry.

“You-” I try, only for the words to catch in the back of my throat. I try again. “You’re expecting me to fight an agent on my first mission?”

There is a long pause, before:

“Yes.”

I swallow. I can feel my heart going a bit too rapidly inside my chest.

“... Is there anything you can do to improve my odds?”

“I can show you his face.”

“... Sure,” I mutter. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

Again, the goggles shift.

A part of my mind starts yelling. Another part goes still.

“Oh, shit,” I murmur. “It’s David.”