Slash, non-con/dub-con
“Well, well, well, if this isn't my old buddy...”
Billy's remark took Moist away from his phone and coffee. He looked at his roommate, puzzled by an odd tenderness in Billy's words, a cadence clearly missing from his voice in the last five years since that... well, that day when Death Ray misfired. Any warmth felt somewhat out of character for red-coated Dr. Horrible, the most feared super villain of the E.L.E. in recent history. But one look at his friend turned these warm notes on their heads (did notes even have heads, thought Moist for a second), as Billy was sitting on a couch with his laptop, lazily dressed in a t-shirt and faded sweatpants, yet even without his formal villain getup managed to look more sinister than ever. He was smirking at some news website, his eyes like cold glistening shards of ice, hands clutching the laptop, so what sounded at first like genuine joy now struck Moist as borderline psychotic.
Those borders were probably crossed long ago, though, thought Moist.
“What is it?” said Moist.
“Captain Motherfucking Hammer, my friend,” replied Billy, still not taking his eyes off the screen. “The city issued an official press release stating Captain is coming back to his duties as our savior. What a perfect timing, don't you think?”
“So he's, what, out of therapy?”
“Well, well, well, if this isn't my old buddy...”
Billy's remark took Moist away from his phone and coffee. He looked at his roommate, puzzled by an odd tenderness in Billy's words, a cadence clearly missing from his voice in the last five years since that... well, that day when Death Ray misfired. Any warmth felt somewhat out of character for red-coated Dr. Horrible, the most feared super villain of the E.L.E. in recent history. But one look at his friend turned these warm notes on their heads (did notes even have heads, thought Moist for a second), as Billy was sitting on a couch with his laptop, lazily dressed in a t-shirt and faded sweatpants, yet even without his formal villain getup managed to look more sinister than ever. He was smirking at some news website, his eyes like cold glistening shards of ice, hands clutching the laptop, so what sounded at first like genuine joy now struck Moist as borderline psychotic.
Those borders were probably crossed long ago, though, thought Moist.
“What is it?” said Moist.
“Captain Motherfucking Hammer, my friend,” replied Billy, still not taking his eyes off the screen. “The city issued an official press release stating Captain is coming back to his duties as our savior. What a perfect timing, don't you think?”
“So he's, what, out of therapy?”
