Feedback: fivrelde_82@hotmail.com

DISCLAIMER: **performs the "we're not worthy"-ritual in front of the altar of the goddess Sandra** Tybalt, Harley, Mikhael, Cyanide, Collin, Fox and their alter egos are all hers (lucky b…). She kills my writer's block. Yes she does. *mwah*

Notes: for those who are really anal about storylines: okay, so the world might have been blown up and Double-Oh Sexy might know that Harley is on Mikhael's side etc etc, but who cares? It is villain/hero-stuff in here! Rawr!

(Onlynotverydetailedcausethewriterisscaredofadultstuff. Nuff said. Oh, and no comments on my grammar, I'm Norwegian, how good is your Norwegian grammar? So there J)

***

Ultimate Evil

"Good morning, lovely. Any messages for me?" Mikhael sat down in his high-backed, black leather recliner, patting his lap. Harley sat down in it, squinting at a notepad.

"Um… the President called, wondering if he would need to take any of your plans into the budget, and in that case how much are you going to demand."

"M-hm. Which president?"

Harley's eyes flickered uncertainly. "There is more than one?"

"Harley, we have been through this. How many countries are there in the world?"

"Um… lots?"

"Close enough. And how many of them have a president?"

"Many?"

"Right. And since I threaten to blow up the world on a regular basis, many presidents will call me. You have to write down what country they belong to."

"Sorry," Harley pouted, doodling on the notepad.

"I can't stay mad at that a… face. Anything else?"

"A woman named Sandy wondered if you wanted to give money to people who have been run over by cars or something. She talked very fast."

"Tell her I'll think about it the next time I run over someone."

"'… run over someone'," Harley muttered, scribbling on the pad. "And someone wants to talk to you in person. He only left his initials – HMK."

"Nothing else? Then he'll just have to call back. Was that all?"

"M-hm."

"Seems I have the morning free, then," Mikhael stated, subtly grabbing Harley's ass, eliciting an excited giggle from the blond.

"That's why I cleared the desk, babe."

With a snarl, Mikhael heaved his assistant onto the desk, roughly groping the squirming body. Nimble fingers tugged at his shirt as he muffled the giggle efficiently.

A gentle coughing made him look up. A small figure stood in the doorway, hands on back, viewing the scene with an expressionless face.

"I am, naturally, so sorry to interrupt your demonstration of undignified behaviour."

"Get out, then," Mikhael growled. "Make an appointment like everyone else."

"Funny you should say that. No, actually it is not amusing at all, but nevertheless: I spent fifteen minutes of my precious time trying to explain to your secretary that me wanting an appointment had nothing to do with my dental needs. The very same secretary, I should think, who is at the moment trying to help you undress. I suppose his brain capacity does allow him to, with a bit of work, figure out how a zipper works."

"Believe me, he does," Mikhael said, disengaging himself from Harley and stepping around the desk. "Now, who are you and what do you want? If it isn't interesting, I'll let you know." His hand rested on an assortment of buttons on the corner of the desk. Harley had rolled over on his stomach, watching the two men with an annoyed pout and a hand under his chin.

"I prepared for that. Please sit."

Grumbling, Mikhael sat down, immediately having his lap occupied by Harley. The unnamed intruder clapped his hands twice, a projector screen rolled down from the ceiling, and the lights dimmed.

"Shibby, we're gonna watch a movie! Any hot guys in it? Meep! Not that I care, of course," Harley added quickly, rubbing his ass where strong fingers had pinched it warningly.

The first picture slid up. "This," the cold voice of the intruder stated, "is the world."

"Really? It is so small! Where is our house, then?"

"The world," the voice continued unaffected, "which evil villains are continuously trying to blow up various parts or all of."

"That's us, babe!"

The picture changed.

"This," he continued, "is the reason all such plans fail."

"Whoa, they're – meep! Sorry."

"Mentulate, have you ever considered getting a cat? They are better posers and they don't talk."

"They don't want to have sex on the desktop, now get to the point."

"Like I said: this picture shows the reason why villains always fail. Agent Double-oh Sexy and Foxman. One of them is your regular adversary, I understand."

"Damn right."

"Now, I have a plan that will give us two things. One: the two *heroes* on a silver plate…"

"Mmm, add some whipped cream and I'm all - meep! That hurts, you know!"

"… and two: something much better than petty cash in exchange for not pressing buttons."

The screen disappeared into the roof and the lights came on. The blond intruder walked back to the front of the desk, facing Mikhael. Blue eyes gave him a challenging look through the goggles.

"Mikhael Mentulate. I am His Mind Kills, and I am offering you a co-operation that will bring the world into our hands. Unharmed, unexploded, and completely under our control."

"Why a co-operation?"

"Because it takes slightly more time and effort to take over the world than to blow it up. Luckily, I have managed to clear my schedule for the next three days, even leaving enough time for a celebratory drink. As for effort, we will split the tasks between us. One will provide the necessary evil technology, the other – namely yours truly – will do the brainwork."

"Why do you get to do the brainstuff?" Harley queried, shifting deliberately in Mikhael's lap to keep his man from shutting him up.

"Because, Blondie, unlike that of your boss, my brain is situated in the correct end of my body, giving it a far better overview, and keeping it under my control, not my libido's."

"You're blond too," Harley pouted, sticking with the only part of the sentence he understood.

"It is amazing what a blue streak can do, isn't it? Mentulate, what is your answer?"

"Tell me more."

***

Who is this figure, guarding the streets in the night? Who is this shadow, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, posing heroically against the starry sky? Who is this warden of the weak, whose sharp ears listen for the night's many crimes?

It is Foxman! The dark protector, guarding the innocents from evil, looking really good in spandex, and prowling the night for…

"They say it is stupid with external internal monologues, but striking a new pose every three seconds without saying a word is ridiculous."

Foxman spun around, cape billowing around him.

"Double-oh Sexy! What are you doing here, this is my territory."

"Peed in the corners, have you?" the secret agent said caustically, twirling a glass with a clear liquid between his fingers. Foxman stepped down from his pose on the roof edge and glared at the other man.

"You know, punk hair and suits were really never meant to be."

"This from someone with their underwear on the outside?"

"Enough banter. I'm meeting my informant here, so do like an agent and get lost, okay?"

"For your information, I'm going to meet my informant here as well. Looks like we're stuck with each other until we know what we want, then."

"Fine. Share your drink, then."

"Its rain water. Ran out of martini an hour ago, but holding an empty glass looks less stylish."

"Yours is late too?"

"M-hm."

They shared a moment's silent agreement over lazy informants. A moving shadow caught both their attention, and Double-oh drew his gun.

"Come out where I can see you."

A shadow parted from the other shadows, and stepped into the pale moonlight.

"Foxman, Double-oh," a voice acknowledged from under a wide-brimmed hat. The flaps of a long, black coat covered the person's face.

"What? You're here for both of us?"

"Two birds with one stone."

"Hey, I'm not sharing my information with a pansy circusclown!"

"Oh, and posing with a martini glass makes you seem so much more mature?"

"Gentlemen, please… Time is of the essence. Your arch-enemies His Mind Kills and Mikhael Mentulate have paired up and are plotting to take over the world."

"What? When?" the two protagonists chorused.

"Since Tuesday, actually. If you two had spent more time paying attention to the world and less posing and playboying, I wouldn't have had to be here. The two villains already control the whole American continent and most of Africa. Australia is taken but they don't seem to have noticed yet. There appears to be some trouble in Europe, though. You have to stop them before they gain full control."

The small, dark figure handed them an envelope, and disappeared back into the shadows.

***

"You were beautiful, lovely," Mikhael purred, taking Harley's coat off and proceeding to removing more pieces of clothing.

"Mentulate, please, I am trying to keep a schedule here…"

"What's the hurry?" Mikhael grumbled, letting a disappointed Harley go.

"We have to be ready for the wannabe-heroes. Now, Great Britain fell under our rule a few hours ago. The queen having breast implants broke their last faith in their government. Good job on that, Mentulate, your long-distance-enlarger hit perfectly. Keep the prototype, we might put it into mass production later. Sweden seems to be coming along as well, a bit of Scandinavian stubbornness is all that keeps them back. Their neighbour seems to have the same, only squared."

HMK pointed a slim finger to the world map on the wall, circling the el-guitar-shape of Norway.

"Royalism is getting in our way there as well. Huh, I long for the good old days when we only had to topple weak dictators off their thrones."

"Tuesday, you mean?"

"Exactly. But the future is here, and we have a monarchy to crush. I need you to invent something which will change the king's profile on their coins into mine. That, combined with the lucky coincidence that my initials spell out "His Majesty the King" even in Norwegian, should do the trick."

"Why yours? I look better in profile."

"You can have their dollar bills, deal?"

"Deal."

"Good. As anyone with an IQ above that of Harley knows, Norway's coinage is crowns, not dollars. Now get to work."

***

Outside the strangely neatly ragged mountain island that was the base of Mikhael Mentulate, a vee in the sea moved at speed towards the beach.

"For the last time, Foxman, get your hands off me! If anyone breaks through my heterosexuality it won't be a spandex-clad rooster like you!"

"Is it my fault your submarine is so small," Foxman sulked, leaning back against the wall.

"It is meant for one. I didn't ask you to come."

"You didn't have a choice, did you?" the masked hero smirked. "I had the envelope with the map."

"Yeah, and an earthworm's sense of direction," Double-oh Sexy snarled. "Okay, this is as close as I can get us, we'll swim out now." He took the tube from the equipment on his back and set the mouthpiece in place.

"Hey, what do you mean? I don't have any equipment."

Double-oh removed the mouthpiece again, and smiled sardonically at the other. "Oh dear, a one-man sub with equipment for one. What are the chances of that?"

Then he replaced the mouthpiece and opened the airlock.

Foxman landed on the beach, dripping wet and with the remains of Mentulate's robot birds in his hands. He dropped them in the sand as Double-oh waded out of the pinkish water, folding together a small Swiss Army Knife.

"Damn cyborg-sharks blunted the blade," he muttered, peeling off the diving equipment to reveal a dry, unwrinkled suit underneath. Ignoring each other, they surveyed the landscape. The three neat, slightly bent mountain peaks covered most of the island except the small beach. Double-oh walked over to the base.

"Bound to be a hidden entrance somewhere," he said, searching through the shrubbery.

"You take that way, suit-guy. Foxman goes up and away."

"If only," Double-oh muttered as Foxman took off.

***

"You're always bossing him around! This isn't your lair, you know!"

"Even if it is a relief not having to listen to your insane giggling, Blondie: go away or I'll hurt you."

"Miiik!"

"Don't pester my assistant, HMK."

"Then tell him to play dead or something, I need to think. *And* I need that coinage-transformer, so why aren't you in the working hall? Oh wait, I forgot, because your sex-crazed pet remembered that it hadn't been laid for five seconds!"

"Three days," Harley pouted.

"The crew is assembling it as I instructed," Mikhael replied calmly, putting his feet on the desk. Harley immediately crawled up to snuggle against his chest. "I'm not needed at the moment, and I needed a break. Besides, the two heroes should be here any minute now, right?"

His Mind Kills checked his watch. "Yes. According to my plan, they split up by the foot of the mountain and entered through secret entrances F and L. Including the elimination of three squadrons of guards each, two badly concealed traps and the occasional posing-slash-monologue, they should be here about – now."

"A-ha!"

A figure appeared in each of the two doorways leading out from the room, both posing heroically.

"Whaddaya say, Foxman, we share them between us?"

"You're on, Double-oh. I'll take the cute blond. The one with the goggles."

"Oh, great, I get the *hetero* one," Mikhael grumbled, sitting up. "You first, HMK."

His Mind Kills took a strangely shaped rock from his desk, and tossed it in the general direction of Foxman. The hero immediately shrunk back, gasping.

"Impotentium! My only weak point! You bastard!"

Two stupid-looking guards quickly stepped in behind him, holding him in place by the glowing lump as his powers withered.

"Foxman! You okay?"

"Of course he isn't, he is our prisoner," His Mind Kills said calmly.

"Well, I've got no such weak points," the agent said firmly, drawing a weapon. "I've made sure they are all safe and protected, including my large amounts of Love Interests. Time to give up, Mentulate. This fires a number of different projectiles, and it doesn't come with a handbook, so it can do anything from send you both to the land of pink clouds, to painting the walls with your innards."

"Harley!" Mikhael snapped, and the blond immediately stood in front of his boss. Then he advanced towards the agent.

"Stop right there, kid," Double-oh warned. "You don't want to find out what this can do."

"What the hell is he doing," His Mind Kills hissed.

"It never fails. No one ever tries to kill Harley. He is too damn cute."

"Double-oh Sexy is hetero!"

"Doesn't make Harley any less cute. Just watch."

"What can he do, he has the brain capacity of a jellyfish – whoa!"

"Told you."

"He really does know how to handle zippers. And belts."

Double-oh Sexy scrambled to grip his pants, dropping his weapon in the process. Harley quickly picked it up and tossed it to Mikhael, then swung the agent's belt in a precise arc, catching him over the temple. By the time he could see clearly, guards were restraining him while Harley re-fastened the belt, giving the agent a dazzling smile.

"Never underestimate the power of cute," Mikhael grinned, and then busied himself with rewarding the beaming blond assistant.

"Lock them up," His Mind Kills ordered the guards. "In a safe cell. No guards, no death traps, nothing. I'll deal with you when Norway is mine."

The struggling agent and the whimpering superhero were led away. Harley's giggles echoed in the otherwise silent room.

"Mentulate, get your pet out of here, we have more important things to do! Or I swear I'll gut him open to find whatever causes that giggling, and destroy it!"

***

"In a few hours the villains will own the world, and we're locked up in a goddamn *safe* cell! When did evil stop taking stupid risks, that's what I want to know."

"Oh, stop your whining! When'll the impotentium wear off?"

"Not soon enough. The most vital areas are back to life, but my superstrength is still recovering."

"Most vital… don't tell me you've got a fucking hardon!"

"What can I say, you're sexy when you're frustrated," Foxman grinned. His position on the only bench in the cell concealed what the spandex probably couldn't.

"If you move an inch I'll really hurt you," Double-oh snapped.

"Promise? Oh, come on. If this is our last adventure, why not go out with flair, huh? A prison orgy. Oh, shit, I'll never get it down if I keep thinking like that…"

"Firstly: no! Secondly: an orgy involves more than two people. And thirdly: NO!"

"The second part is about to be solved, I think," Foxman said, nodding towards the corridor, from which they were separated by floor-to-roof and wall-to-wall bars. Footsteps were coming closer, and soon Harley stepped into their view, folding his arms around the bars and smiling at them.

"What do you want, kid?" Double-oh snapped.

"Gloat," Harley stated. "They are making boring plans and didn't want me there. So I thought I'd come down and look at the new prisoners."

"Double-oh," Foxman hissed. "One of the enemy is within our reach. I think I have a plan."

"Reading you mind, Foxman," Double-oh grinned, jumping forward and catching Harley's arms, pulling him roughly against the bars. The blond squealed in fear, and twisted in the agent's grip.

"*My* plan was *seducing* him," Foxman said, standing up. Double-oh Sexy pointedly avoided looking below his eyes.

"I like that plan better too," Harley whimpered.

"Good thing someone here thinks with the right head, then," the agent stated. "Now open the door and I'll let go."

"I'm blond and cute, do you think I get to handle important keys?"

"Oh, you have him at your mercy now," Foxman said sarcastically. "Tell him you won't let go until he has fetched the keys."

Double-oh glared at him, but didn't find a good reply. Foxman took Harley's arms, pushing the agent aside. Then he placed Harley's arms around himself, and quickly reached out, grabbed the slim hips and pulled him against the bars.

"You can't feel much appreciated," he purred, staring seductively into Harley's eyes. Behind him, the agent made gagging noises. "You save the day, and get kicked out. That's really unfair."

"Yeah," Harley agreed, hands playing with the elastic material on Foxman's back. "And Mik's partner never let him spend any time with me anymore."

"Bet you miss… spending time with him, hm?"

"M-hm."

"So whaddaya say I spend some time with you instead? I don't have much else to do, I'm just waiting for your boss to kill me.

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. Come on in."

"But I don't have the keys."

"I'm sure you could get them… if you really wanted to." Foxman's hands kneaded Harley's hips slowly, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together between the bars.

"I wonder if I could commit suicide by beating my head against the wall," Double-oh Sexy mused.

"The machine is assembled," Mikhael announced as His Mind Kills came in, turning off the intercom. "It is warming up now."

"Good," his partner nodded, sipping his latte. "The heroes are locked away and all threatening aspects are under control. I'm feeling strangely pleasurably disposed. Might be because I haven't heard a certain annoying noise in a while. Where is your boytoy anyway? I hope you keep him away from any sensitive technology."

"You just missed him, he came up to borrow the master key." Mikhael looked up. "Why are you coughing your coffee all over my desk?"

"You let… hrrk… an unsatisfied sex-addict… have the key to a cell… in which the planet's two sexiest men are imprisoned?"

"Oh, Harley wouldn't do anything stupid."

"He doesn't do anything *but* stupid, Mentulate!"

"He knows that I don't like him to flirt around."

"You've ignored him for three days, do you think he cares what you like? Call for the guards!"

"I gave them the rest of the day off."

His Mind Kills leaned heavily on the desk, staring disbelievingly at Mikhael as he got up.

"Listen, HMK, you get down to the working hall and take care of the coin-transformer. If Harley has let the prisoners out, then Foxman'll still be in the cell with him, I know my assistant that well. Double-oh, however, is probably on his way right now. I can handle him alone."

The blond straightened up, regaining his self-control. "How well have you succeeded with that before?"

"I have a weapon he won't expect. Get down there and finish the plan, I hear the muttering of external monologue from the hall."

Giving Mikhael a suspicious glare, His Mind Kills strode out of the room. Seconds later, Double-oh Sexy came through the other door, striking a pose.

"No prison can hold me for long, Mentulate."

"So it seems," Mikhael admitted, face straight. The agent advanced a few steps, looking around.

"Where are your guards? And your partner?"

"Not here, obviously. Just you and me, Double-oh. That is: you, stripped of all your secret weapons by my guards. And me-"

Mikhael struck in the middle of his own sentence, lounged, grabbed the agent by his shirt, spun around and pinned him to the desk.

"Hey, villains aren't supposed to do one-on-one fighting!"

"I just changed the rules, Double-oh… Sexy," Mikhael grinned, leaning over the pinned-down agent, grabbing his wrists and pulling them over his head. Cold metal touched his hands, and before he could twist loose, he was chained to the desk.

"And to think I chided Harley for attaching those there."

"You won't get away with this," the agent exclaimed. "Foxman is right behind me. As a matter of fact – he is doing your assistant as we speak."

"I guessed that much. But right now, I have more important things to take care of." With that, he bent down and kissed the chained agent.

Double-oh's reaction was immediate, but firm hands held his head still when he tried to twist away, and his kicking legs hit nothing but air. The kiss dragged out for seconds, as the agent's futile fight subsided. The hand that didn't hold his head still, began to open the black jacket, then the white shirt underneath, causing another, though weaker, struggle to break out. As Mikhael's free hand ran over the agent's torso, response came as a muffled groan from what was probably protest. Two fingers found the pierced nipple, and tugged hard, drawing something closer to a moan from Double-oh's occupied mouth, and a low chuckle from his captor. The hand skimmed downwards, fingers caressing the tense body, sliding over a squirming hip and coming to rest on the inside of the agent's thigh.

Finally, Mikhael pulled away, allowing his wild-eyed prisoner to regain his breath.

"No use, Mentulate," Double-oh sneered when he could talk again. "Your evil sexiness won't break down my heterosexuality."

"Obviously not," Mikhael grinned, looking down the suit-clad body.

"Uh… Natural reaction. You know, fear, adrenaline, blood rushing downwards…"

"Of course. Now, given a bit of time, I'd have you where I want you eventually. But time, I'm afraid, is limited by how long it takes to satisfy my cute, blond assistant. And although that isn't done too quickly, I might have to use some extra help."

He opened a drawer and took out a ready injection. "This," he explained to the suddenly fearful agent, "is called an 'aphrodisiac'."

"Oh, c'mon, don't leave." Harley looked up at Foxman, who was pulling on his tricot.

"Harley," he panted, "you're cute and everything, and I have gained a huge respect for Mentulate's stamina, but I need to save some strength to save the world with."

"Stupid world," Harley muttered. Then he pounced.

Foxman found himself on his back on the floor, with Harley straddling him and what he had put on of the suit removed.

"Just once more?" Harley pleaded, sexy grin not leaving "no" as an option.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

Double-oh Sexy forced his eyes open, even if he'd prefer to doze on. Besides, it wasn't too comfortable dozing while sprawled naked on a hard desk. Propping himself up on his elbows, he watched his arch-enemy button his shirt.

"I can't believe a drug won me over like that," he grunted.

"Double-oh, if you planned to use that line as an excuse, you should have let me give you the shot first."

The agent looked down at the still-full injection lying on the floor.

"Damn," he stated.

His Mind Kills stepped onto a small platform, and it lifted him to the control panel. He gave it a quick overview, and then looked at the thing it controlled.

Not a muscle flinched in the pale face. He reached out and pressed the intercom mounted on the panel.

- Mentulate, get the fuck down here and explain yourself.

Minutes later, the platform brought two more to the control panel. Mikhael surveyed the creation situated on ground level, while His Mind Kills looked Double-oh up and down. His suit was gone, replaced with tight-fitting, black leather pants and a black, half-open silk shirt. Strands of his usually spiked hair hang loosely around his face, while the rest was pulled back in a ponytail.

"What?" the agent said to the scrutinizing eyes.

"Nothing. Nothing. What do you make out of it, Mentulate?"

"I don't get it," Mikhael muttered. "Someone must have switched my instructions to the assembly team. But I sent Harley there with them, he'd have noticed if anyone swapped them."

"Don't trust a sexually frustrated blond. I learned that the hard way."

The trio turned towards the fourth to arrive on the platform. Foxman grinned somewhat weakly at them, breath going in heavy gasps and heroic posture ruined by his shaking knees. He gave Double-oh a curious look, getting a daring glare in return.

"So what is this, then? You're planning to do the moon next?"

"Yes, *partner*," His Mind Kills said coldly, "I am still waiting for your explanation to why the machine that would change Norway's coinage and crush their government, looks like a very small space ship."

"Because I made it that way, suckers."

They all turned towards said space ship, where a large screen on the side of the construction flickered to life.

"Harley, what the hell are you doing in there? Get out before you ruin anything."

"Ruin it?" Harley snapped. "I made it, you dork. I swapped your instructions with mine, and now this baby is taking me and all the cash I have withdrawn from the countries under "your" rule to somewhere safe."

"Blondie, you couldn't assemble a two-piece puzzle without adult supervision, now get out."

"No way! I'm through with giggling and being bossed around by a guy who loves his hair more than me. All I ever asked for was a mountain that looked like me…"

"And Monaco," Mikhael added.

"Okay, I wanted Monaco too. But no, an island the shape of his fucking *hair*! I've had it. I'm starting my own business."

The screen flicked out and the ship's engines roared to life as the roof opened. The four on the platform ducked behind the panel as the ship took off and soared through the opening and away.

Mikhael picked himself up first, brushing himself off. "Whatever, I was planning to get rid of him anyway."

Double-oh Sexy sprang up. "So, does it pay good to be a villain's assistant?"

They got on the platform together. "It depends," Mikhael said as the platform descended. "Do you giggle?"

"Hey, I have my dignity!"

"I'll give you Spain."

Foxman and His Mind Kills shuddered simultaneously as an attempted giggle rose from below.

"But what about our plans?" the blond villain yelled after them. "What about world domination?"

"Maybe some other time, HMK," Mik called back, entering the elevator with his new assistant.

His Mind Kills leaned heavily on the panel. "Fuck. I need to blow up something."

Foxman grinned, snaking his arms around the enemy from behind. "I can help with that."

"I said blow *up*, fucktard!"

"Whatever you villains call it, I'm all there," the superhero murmured, licking an earlobe.

And a few minutes later, several buttons were accidentally pressed or simply short-circuited from heat and moisture, and a number of things blew up. But not Norway. So that was okay.