This message Let It Be, a Dancer/Premiere crossover story was posted by Written by Dancer, edited by HH; this story contains adult sexual material, so consider this your official Bad Thing warning. minors need not apply. on Wednesday, June 12, 2002 at 04:48.

Okay, it's content warning time. The following story isn't in the usual style that Dancer writes for the Parodyverse board, and it contains some sexual content. I think it's a pretty good story, but don't read it if that stuff disturbs you.

The story fits into the ongoing Premiere series between #21 and 22. Previous chapters can be found at The Premiere Archive.

HH

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Let It Be

“And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines for me
Shines on till tomorrow; let it be”
Lennon/McCartney

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“Come in,” Victor Brooke, the science hero that Technopolis knew as Premiere, called out. His hypersenses could hear a leaf fall fifty miles away. Dancer’s pounding heart outside his door was easy to detect.

Sarah Shepherdson let herself into the candlelit Victorian room, suddenly very aware that this was a bedchamber. Premiere was stood in his bathrobe on the stone balcony overlooking the dark courtyard of Herringcarp Asylum. Behind him the sky was pitch black, but distant flickers warned of the imminent return of the perpetual storm that clung to the Hooded Hood’s sanctum.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she apologised. “I just thought… well, I was pretty sure you’d be having trouble sleeping.”

Victor nodded. “When I close my eyes I see things. People I failed. Dead friends. Old enemies.” He forced himself from his gloom as he remembered his manners. “It was kind of you to think of me.”

I haven’t thought of anything else, she didn’t say. “Well, you have had a pretty bad time recently. We can’t let our strange visitor suffer without some attempt to comfort him.”

“A bad time.” A mission he should never have had to do. A decision that forced him to slay a woman he had loved. A flash of anger that had made him a murderer. A suicide attempt that had brought him to a new universe. An invasion led by his oldest, most evil enemy. Three days of torture while his comrades and friends were slaughtered before his eyes. An escape that nearly killed him. A return to his homeworld to find it in flames. A decision to take over his planet. “Yes, I suppose I have had a rough few days.”

“Exactly. So I figured you might need someone to talk to. Some company. And since this whole asylum gives me the screaming willies I thought I’d volunteer to be the one you could talk to. I mean, if I have to spend the night in a haunted loonie bin, I might as well be near the most powerful guy on the planet, right?” She looked pleadingly at the morose hero. “Please say something now so I can stop babbling.”

“I can think of nobody I would rather speak with just now than yourself, Dancer.”

“Sarah,” she answered. “My real name is Sarah. It’s a sort of secret identity thing. But I want you to know. I’m Sarah.”

“I am honoured by your confidence, Sarah.”

Sarah glided over to join him on the balcony. An old gnarled oak grew up from the tiny courtyard. Lightning-struck it was a mere skeleton now, its dead branches reaching up to the coal black sky. “I… talked to Windblossom. I know about Xanadelle.”

Pain flashed in the eyes of the invulnerable man. “I had no choice. Once our two sides were locked in combat, both of us had to do our best to see our nation prevail. That’s all.”

Sarah caught Victor’s hand. “Of course that’s not all. You loved her. You had fought her so many times in your Technopolis – Sov Bloc games, but you came to admire her, and then…”

“Then more than admire her,” Premiere admitted. “Yes. It wasn’t what you could call a relationship with a future. She was a seductive, dangerous Sov Bloc agent, always trying to entrap me with her schemes, and I was the square-jawed science hero always putting the good of my country first. It was a great role play. Fun, even. And then one day, we both somehow decided to stop pretending.”

“Sounds sensible to me. Windblossom said Xanadelle wasn’t really a killer, not a villain, just a loyal agent of her nation.”

Victor nodded. “But I killed her.”

He tried to pull his hand back but Sarah clung to it. He had the strength to crush diamonds but he didn’t force himself free. “You got a lousy deal. You tried to do the right thing. It’s just that sometimes, well, there isn’t a right thing.”

The first rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. The pre-storm pressure mounted.

“I heard about Lament too,” Dancer admitted.

This time the look wasn’t of anguish but of old, deep sorrow. “Another of the people waiting for me when I close my eyes.”

Windblossom knew all about Lament, Premiere’s first love, who the Red Watchman had destroyed. Sarah had heard how Victor Brooke had cared for the mind-wiped woman, nursed her comatose body for fourteen years before it had finally given up and died. “You did everything you could for her, Victor. The regrets and the pain are all part of the price we pay for caring.” She held that hand with both of hers and said, “She wouldn’t want it to destroy you. Neither would Xanadelle.”

Premiere looked away. “I can’t afford time to let go. I have to stop the Watchman and his squad of bastards. I have a world to rescue. Two worlds.”

“Me too,” Dancer agreed. “The difference is, I have to do it one person at a time.”

Suddenly those brilliant blue-grey eyes were looking right at her – really at her. They could analyse every component part of her body, from the chemical composition of her lipstick to the dust in her pores, but now Premiere was seeing more than that. “I know about your abilities,” he said. “You have some massive powers to bend probability. You could do almost anything if you chose to, reshape the world.”

“Yes,” Sarah admitted. “That’s why I don’t. I could make myself rich, famous, successful, loved. I could win the lottery every week and give it to the poor. I could arrange for good people to be elected to government instead of self-serving fat cats. I could make evil world leaders have fatal accidents. Like you said, I could do almost anything…”

“But you won’t.”

Sarah smiled wistfully. “Of course not. Nightmare scenario. You know why I won’t. You can do damn near anything too. You could fry an enemy from miles away in space. You could destroy a city block before anyone can even breathe in to shout for help. You could kill a man so fast that nobody would see even a blur. You can do anything you want to anyone and nobody could really stop you. But instead you do the right thing.”

“You said before sometimes there isn’t a right thing.”

Sarah frowned. “I hate it when men pay attention to what I’m saying. You know what I mean. At least, I hope you do. Then you can explain it to me.”

Premiere looked down at her. “Do I have to?” he asked plaintively.

Sarah shook her head. “I know you have to be strong,” she whispered. “All those people need you, bad guys need their butts kicking and all that… but right now it is okay to mourn for Xanadelle. And Lament, if you need to. And all those friends of yours that got murdered.”

This time the look was one of despair. “I couldn’t…”

“I also talked to Ziles,” Dancer admitted. “You were a prisoner… chained, tortured yourself, your powers neutralised. There was no way you could save those other science heroes that the Watchman’s goons were hurting.”

“But earlier, if I hadn’t murdered the Science Council…”

“Well, I admit that was a bad idea, much as they needed their plug pulling,” Sarah conceded, “but don’t you think Zalas making a deal with the Red Watchman and the Watchman being smart enough to stack the deck and getting free had rather more to do with the tragedies?” She brought the hand she was gripping up to her lips and brushed them over Premiere’s knuckles. “Let it go.”

“They were my friends.”

And you couldn’t save them. For a moment Dancer had an insight into the life of a man who was defined by his ability to save the day. “Victor, it is a tragedy, a horror, and it’s damned unfair, but even you can’t do everything. You’re just as much a victim as they were. You saved a lot of them despite that.” Now someone just has to save you.

“But… some I didn’t.”

“I know.”

“They hurt them… abused them right there…”

“I know.”

“And… and I couldn’t s-stop them.”

“I know.”

Another rumble of thunder disturbed the silence, then with a sob Victor Brooke dropped to his knees and started to sob. Sarah knelt down beside him and cradled his head to her breast.

It took a long time. There was so much pain in the man, so many old hurts and new wounds he had never had the time to tend. So much grief to heave out in great, gasping gulps as his warm tears dampened Dancer’s robe. Sarah wept with him. It was a terrible burden for anyone to bear, especially so gentle and good a man as this one. The least she could do was shared its weight for a little while.

But at last it was over. The tears dried and his breathing became normal and he pulled himself back and looked abashed.

“Do not go all macho on me now,” Sarah pleaded. “Letting yourself go like that with me was the best honour you could do me, so don’t trivialise it by pretending it didn’t matter or that you’re sorry you did it.”

“Thanks, then,” Victor said, half-smiling ruefully at Dancer’s gentle scolding. “You know, I asked some people about you, too.”

Sarah’s stomach did a flip-flop. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. They said you had a weakness for strays and outcasts.”

“Did they now? And who is this ‘they’, may I ask?”

“And you do, Sarah. Don’t be ashamed of caring about people. The world needs more… caring.”

He was looking at her again. “We all need caring sometimes,” Dancer admitted. She was abruptly aware of her companion’s maleness, of his lean firm body very near to hers. And some part of her knew that she was responding to his sudden interest in her femaleness. “I know I do.”

“Do you?” he asked, his face naked and open.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “Sometimes we have to care for each other.”

“Even when the world is ending?”

“Especially when the world is ending, Victor.”

There might have been a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning when he kissed her.

Suddenly Sarah clung to him, flinging her arms about Victor and offering herself wholly to the exchange. The tension between them shattered in an explosion of desire. Dancer had wondered what it would be like to coil her tongue round Victor Brooke’s, teasing him, promising. She was not disappointed.

With a strange thrill she recognised that she was no longer in control now. Deep instincts older than either of them, older than mankind took them forward. Premiere’s hands were on her body, mapping the contours and softnesses. Hands that could crush diamonds touched her oh so softly.
His roving fingers found her nipples under their silk sheath and circled them to hardness.

The storm broke around them, the leading edge of the rain spraying across the balcony and drenching the lovers.

Premiere’s skin was smooth and cool, his chest and back fuzzed with wiry hair. Dancer wondered if it was invulnerable too, steel hard despite its softness. Muscles that could move mountains rippled under her fingers as she explored his back and thighs. Somehow her gown had become raised and he was there, cupping her buttocks, sliding his fingers between, below. Her own hands raced to his groin. A ripple of anticipation shook her as she found the hot hardness that awaited her.

She was in his arms, tangled around him as he explored her, her moist groin pressed against his thighs. The two of them were flying up, away from the grim stone balcony, away from the dead tree in its rainwashed courtyard, far from the asylum; into the very tempest, buffeted by the winds and showered by the squall.

Dancer’s midnight hair whipped in the tempest, snaking out like a thing alive. Premiere covered her cheek and neck and shoulders with kisses that burned as if he had used his thermal touch. She could taste his need in every kiss, compounded of sorrow and lust and a desperate need to affirm that he was still alive after everything he had endured. And some deep womanly need to give that to him, to offer of herself to make him right, brought Sarah to the peak of sensuality.
Her soaked silk robe was plastered to her body, concealing nothing. “Get rid of it,” she urged Victor. “Rip it off.”
Victor shredded the silk and doffed his own robe, the two tattered rags spiralling off together in the storm, tangled together like broken lovers.

Then they were naked in the skies, embracing together as the thunder crashed about them. Victor’s need was urgent now and his kissed seared across Sarah in bright scorching trails. She raked her nails across his broad back, unafraid of harming him, and buried her teeth into his chest and neck.

The world was far below, and now there was only the two of them and the storm. Sarah surrendered herself to Victor’s arms and slid her legs up to close about his hips. He cupped her arse with one hand, fingers flexing into her soft taught cheek. His other hand kneaded her breasts, circling round their sensitive tips, dragging a moan from her throat.
She reached down to find his manhood. His balls were tight and hot, his penis harder than steel yet warm and alive. Sarah raked her nails along its length, drawing back the foreskin and smoothing the balls of her thumbs round its girth.
“I want you,” he told her, his eyes blazing at her willing nakedness.
She took hold of the length of him and guided it where she needed it to be. She had never been more ready and she could see the desire written across his face. He slid up inside her in one irresistible stroke, wringing a gasp and a scream from her as he filled her full. When they joined she felt a thrill of abandonment as she gave herself to the strongest man in the world and prayed he would be gentle.
“More,” she demanded, and Victor began to slowly pump into the woman wrapped around his hips as they tumbled into the heart of the storm.

This too, was part of the healing. This too was moving on, letting go. They both knew it, Victor acknowledging the kindness of his lover’s gift, Sarah confessing her animal need. As the tempest howled out its rage they screamed out their passion, tossed by the winds and entwined in growing passion.

He knew, he could tell, the rhythms of her body. His advanced senses could tell him how hard, how deep to go, where her most sensitive secrets lay. He could move her again and again, one helpless rapture tumbling after the last. Wanting to give as well as receive pleasure Dancer twisted the probabilities around them, holding him on the edge of bliss until time seemed illusion and there was only themselves, lost in sex, lost in each other.

The rain sleeted down on them, pelting bodies already awash with erotic sensations, making every touch a new caress. Sarah screamed her desire, clutching at Victor to force him deeper, harder, faster. The first orgasm racked her like a lightning bolt as her muscles clamped down on that indestructible intruder and her body shuddered to a screeching high.

Inspired by her responses Victor became yet bolder, his fingers mauling and tweaking and probing, his mouth locking onto her nipples to suck them to livid red blossoms. A second ecstasy overwhelmed Sarah, then a third.

The change in rhythm and Victor’s heavier breathing warned her that he too was coming close. She reached to him and tongued his nipples, her hands running over his arse, mauling him into her. “Yes!” she told him. “Do it. I want it.”

As he came to climax Premiere moved to pull out of her but Dancer gripped him tighter. If there was one thing probability powers were good for it was contraception, which was a neccessary thing if his sperm had the same extraordinary vigour as the rest of him. Sarah felt in her soul that they needed this last intimacy, this final exchange, so that at last Premiere would be whole once again. “Now!” she screamed.

The fierce burst of warmth shot inside her, sending her into her longest orgasm yet, wringing another cry from her as she flailed against him. The most powerful man in the world spilled his seed into her, fucked her hard and deep and good; made her his.
With a crash which rattled the rooftiles of Herringcarp Asylum the storm burst apart, exhausted in its passion, leaving a clear starry sky and a waning moon.
Premiere cradled the limp woman in his arms and drifted down to the balcony. Half conscious she let him carry her inside and lay her on the four-poster bed. “Sarah? Are you…?”
“Oh, I am,” she promised, squirming on the sheets and wondering if she could ever close her legs again. “That wasn’t half bad… for a first attempt.” Well, if one is to sleep with a metahuman one might as well take advantage of all the benefits of super-stamina, right?
Tomorrow would bring danger and more horror, but for now there was only Victor and Sarah and a long, dark night that was theirs. Premiere pushed her down onto the bed and smiled at last.







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