He had laughed so hard to see her open fire on the cops, an apropos soundtrack to the mayhem she unleashed with her chemically enhanced strength, flipping out over their heads and landing a spine-snapping kick to one gut, a jaw-crunching uppercut to a chin. When the gunshots had rung into silence and the wail of the sirens had ceased there had been no sound in the dark vault but His laughter, echoing off the walls and whirling around her, cocooning her within the warmth of its beautiful cacophony.

Her knees were jelly as she shook with the glee of knowing she was long gone now, her belly a molten pit of excitement. She'd just aided him in a robbery, committed assault with a deadly weapon on officers of the law, beaten those same officers. No, no going back now. She was gone, gone, gone. As far as one could go.

Well, maybe not all the way – but that would come soon. She knew that, and knowing it made her weak.

Nothing would ever be the same again. She could not undo this with a plaintive apology or a flutter of blue eyes, or the swish of her hips. She was numb with realisation. Too late to regret. It was done and could not be undone.

And she'd done it all for love.

Her eyes welled with tears. The purest of all motivations. A love so grand and so great it filled her head to toe, made her swell with its warmth and power. Her face ached from smiling as she gazed out through the smoke and the dust, gunpowder acrid on the air.

Yes. Yes. She'd done the right thing. She'd shown him. She would keep on showing Him. He'd understand. He'd see the sacrifices she made and understand. This was true beauty. This was real truth. This was pure love.

She sank to her knees amongst the rubble, unable to hold herself up anymore.

He'd come up behind her, laying His hand upon her head, stroking her crown gently and softly crooning to her through His giggles. Delirious, her head swaying, she turned around to Him, wrapping her arms around His waist, feeling the wonderful lean solidness of Him beneath the soft fine-spun wool of His suit, her face pressed against His stomach, her hands wrapping around to either hip. She'd drawn in a deep breath and smelt Him, a medley of scents and all of them delicious. The fabric of His suit, the notes in His cologne, the pomade He used in His hair and the boot polish wafting up from his high-shined shoes. Then other, more natural scents: a faint tinge of sweat and the musk of His skin. She rubbed her cheek against Him and awareness ran through her of how close she was to where she'd been dreaming of being for so long.

Before she could stop herself her hands flew to His fly and she began to fumble with the fastenings but before she could so much as undo a single button the butt of His machine gun was indenting her cheek, at the corner of her lip.

She froze, horrified. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl! She knew that intimate contact had to be on His terms. The doctor in her still understood that – that He'd been so long neglected and alone that He distrusted intimacy, that He had to be in control. To violate Him like that – Now, how could He trust her again? How long might it be before He allowed her close once more – before they finally – finally – joined as one physically?

She choked down a sob and the butt of the gun moved sidewards, probing between her lips, pushing them apart so that hot metal scraped her tongue.

Uncertain she dared a glance upwards, blinking through greasepaint and mascara to where He towered above her.

He was grinning, His skin and teeth gleaming in the half-light, eyes fixed on her keenly. It was not a glowering sort of look, the menacing, vicious grin that she knew signalled trouble for whomever it was fixed upon. No, it was a hungry grin, tinged at the edges with expectant desire.

The gun probed further into her mouth and her eyes bulged at the feel of it; the barrel was slender and still hot from being recently fired; it could kill her in barely a second. He pushed it all the way to the back of her throat, where it brushed her tonsils, then withdrew it almost completely.

She caught on.

Keeping her eyes on Him she slid her mouth forward on the barrel again, tightening her lips around it firmly, then drew back. His grin widened into one of smug satisfaction and His eyelids drooped lazily. He held the weapon loosely, shifting it so it rested in the centre of His groin, pointing downward straight at the back of her head and cocked His head to watch her.

Closing her eyes and breathing in deep through her nostrils she committed herself to fellating the weapon as devotedly and expertly as she would the real thing. She increased the pressure of her mouth and drew back again with a loud sucking sound, and allowed herself a little muffled giggle, peeking up at His face. He chuckled too and she opened her mouth wide and ran her tongue down the full length of the barrel, stopping to swirl it around the open end before plunging it back into her mouth as far as it would go.

She had become aware of a prickling sensation throughout her body beneath her costume, something bright and tingling that was awakening every inch of her skin. As her tongue traversed the smooth metal, swirling and teasing, and He watched her from above, pleased and grinning, she felt her nipples harden, a warmth gather in the pit of her groin. She shifted a little to sit up further on her knees and became aware that she was wet. She shifted again so that one slippered foot was propped against her crotch, providing a delicious sort of pressure, and continued about her task.

She lifted both hands to the gun and began to caress it as she sucked, sliding them all over, down and around, her gloved fingers occasionally coming into contact with His. Whenever that happened, a current like an electric shock ran through her, prompting her to jump a little, the butt of the gun hitting the back of throat sharply as she did so.

His hands could slip. He could kill her any second, like this. Like this, it would only take one shot.

This intoxicating awareness of how very much she was within His power at that moment made her clit tingle and she moaned. He laughed softly at the obscenity of the sound and she forced the barrel all the way into her throat so that she gagged and choked and rolled her eyes upwards at him, the tingling in her groin an alarm she couldn't ignore. She wanted to touch herself so badly, but she didn't dare.

Instead she slid her hands back up the gun and over His, letting her fingertips brush against the fabric of His trousers, as covertly as she could manage. Yes. Yes. He was hard. He was enjoying this. She was doing a good job.

She deep-throated the gun again, once more choking and His eyes flickered and he murmured:

"That's it baby, choke on Daddy's gun."

The sound of His voice, as soft and cruel as a blade drawn gently over her nipples, made her shiver. She could feel her fluids dampening the seat of her costume, could feel how swollen and ready she was, the prickling-tingle in her clit growing more and more insistent, more and more delirious.

Then He placed His hand gently on the back of her head and began to pump it hard on the gun. He grabbed her cowl's tassels and used them to manoeuvre her head, making her motions fast and hard. She tightened her lips on the barrel again and let herself be moved at His pace, offering no resistance, simply rolling her eyes up to Him, letting the sight of His perfect face fill her vision as the gun butted and bruised the tender insides of her mouth and throat.

She was overwhelmed with feeling; the excitement of the night, of her erasing the line between herself and anarchy, of the thrill of working by His side and helping Him fulfil one of His goals, of being allowed to show Him what she could do for Him, of the incredible trust and faith she placed in Him, that she was demonstrating to Him now, fellating the same gun that had killed people not even ten minutes earlier, that could kill her with just a squeeze of His finger, blow her brains out all over the wall behind her. Of how aroused that made her feel, how pure and perfectly in thrall, how unutterably delicious it was to feel such intense passion, a level of lust and desire she'd never experienced before, a degree of satisfaction in what she was doing that she didn't know she could ever feel. She could feel hot tears rolling down her cheeks, her hips thrusting of their own accord, her mouth working hard and His hand commanding and controlled on the back of her head. How was it even possible to feel something as intense and mighty as this? She was humbled by it.

God, she loved Him. She loved Him so much she didn't even care if He did blast her away right then. She'd been here, beside Him. She'd shown Him. Shown Him how willing she was. She'd do anything for Him. Anything, anything, anything at all. He only had to ask. No matter what it was, she'd do it. If it would make Him happy, it was her mission in life to make it happen. He was so perfect and so wonderful and so brilliant and so magnificent and He'd chosen her, her to be His, and she was His, and always would be. He owned her now, completely. Body and soul and heart. Everything she had to give, was His…

She squeezed her eyes shut and heard muffled moans erupt through her blocked throat when she orgasmed, her hands leaping up to grip the gun barrel tight, thrusting her hips upwards. It seemed to go on for an eternity, roll after roll of pleasure crashing through her body, making her head loll back on her neck, her knees quiver and her skin tingle.

Her mouth drooped open and she panted slow and heavy, the gun hovering at the edge of her mouth while she bathed in the afterglow of her pleasure, waiting for the final weakness to subside.

She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth and wiped at the saliva that had collected there, the vault around her swimming. It had been one of the most intense orgasms she'd ever had – and there hadn't been a hand laid upon her! She reeled with this realisation, delirious on it and then turned slightly sheepish eyes upon her beloved.

His eyes fair twinkled with merriment and satisfaction.

"So what do you do for an encore?" He enquired softly and she giggled, slightly abashed.

He shifted the gun away from her face and then extended a hand to her courteously.

She placed her own within it, and His long fingers enclosed around her little paw and He helped her to her feet.

"Are you capable of walking?" His voice was dark with amusement, gently mocking and she blushed.

"Uh-huh." She wasn't sure what else to say. Her thoughts were still drifting deliriously around her head, bumping into each other.

"Good." And He jerked her up and against Him, making her gasp. Her head came level with His sternum, and she tipped it backwards to gaze up into His face, at His long nose and brilliant purple eyes, the stark whiteness of His flesh.

Perfection she thought giddily and felt a stupid grin blear her face.

"It's best we were away, my sweet, leastways this little party gets crashed."

He was still hard; she could feel it. She didn't think it was fair, as they ran from the building to the waiting car outside, that she should have satisfaction and He none. He deserved it more than she did, after all.

But when she mentioned that as they sped away with a screech of tyres and the scent of burning rubber, He'd shot her nothing more than a rakish grin, one so charming and so probing that she'd felt herself blush again, burning right down to her very core.

"Oh, I got satisfaction, pet." He purred. "Don't you worry about that."