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The Man Who Saved Me (Updated 30 Jan - Chapters 1 to THE END)


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I’m glad you like it. This story is definitely going to have a lot of that. I wanted to make it different from the other superhero stories I’ve read, not just here but elsewhere. They’re usually simplistic fantasies with a clear good and evil, and a conflict which can always be defeated if you punch it hard enough. This isn’t going to be like that. It will still have all the muscles and sexual fantasies and feats of strength and protectiveness, but it’s going to be very realistic and sometimes grim. 

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This is a great story.  I love the detail spent on the characters and the story line.  Feels very complete.  Definitely one I'll continue to enjoy reading!  Thank you for it!

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Just a short one today. 

Chapter 5

“Yes. Okay, thanks. I’ll get the paperwork in first thing tomorrow.” I put down the phone, pinching the bridge of my nose. Who’d have thought being caught up in a terrorist attack that takes down Britain’s largest skyscraper would lead to so much admin? At least it’s not all bad. My job is gone, but I have qualifications and experience. Companies and politicians are plundering the attack for all the good publicity they can get, so multiple famous restaurants have reached out to me with offers. I have an interview scheduled with Channel 4, and the Guardian wants me to write up an opinion piece on the dangers posed by extremism in our society, from the perspective of a victim. My insurance claims are progressing, slowly but surely, so I have a nice payout to look forward to. And following an inquiry into problems within the Shard’s security system, I’ve been forwarded an impressive settlement to stay out of any legal proceedings.

The paperwork is worth it. This terrorist attack may turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. I suppose I should feel guilty about that.

I take a sip of tea, watching the TV screen flicker on the kitchen wall. It’s a shitty old thing I got on ebay for a tenner, but it works. I’ve been glued to the news lately for obvious reasons. Facts and revelations are still coming out about the attack. It’s turned into a real scandal. The political, economic, and cultural effects are unfolding, not just across London or Britain, but worldwide.

Dean thinks I need to stop paying attention to it. He came in last night at 3am while the identities of the suspected attackers were being revealed. I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. I had expected to see hateful monsters, cold and emotionless psychopaths, but they were just normal men. Boys, really. And try as I might, I couldn’t bring myself to hate them. Terrorists aren’t born, they’re made. Moulded by cruel masters who exploit their beliefs and target their vulnerabilities, fashioning young minds to do cruel things.

Dean didn’t seem to agree. The moment he saw those faces and heard that the authorities had failed to track them down, his face twisted in disgust. He unplugged the TV and threatened to atomise it if I didn’t come to bed.

I put down my mug and shuffle the papers into a neat-ish pile as the door clicks and Dean steps inside, ducking to fit his long body through the frame. “I’m back.” He calls, waving a bag of groceries. It’s a relief to see him so cheery again. “I got those chocolates you like.”

“Thanks.” He waltzes up behind me, examining the paperwork over the top of my head. I resist the urge to kiss him. Whatever’s going on between the two of us, I don’t want to rush it. I'm the furthest thing from an expert in love, and I'm prone to ruining things before they really start. “You’ve been gone a while.”

“It’s a Sunday afternoon. Everywhere is closed.”

“Oh.” I furrow my brow. “So how’d you get the food?”

“I flew to Australia.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. The bag in his hand displays a logo I don’t recognise. Westfarmers. With one hand, he starts sifting through my documents.

“You know this is all confidential?”

“You got something to hide?” He grins. The butterflies reawaken in my stomach. Does he have any idea what that look does to me? "I can see everything, remember." He nods to my crotch. 

I stare down at his big hands marvelling at their size and strength. Thick veins crisscross under the skin, and the fingers bulge with muscles. My  gaze falls on a dark brown smear on his ring finger. It almost looks like red wine. “What's that?” I ask. "Have you been drinking? I didn't know you could get drunk."

Dean immediately pulls away, scratching the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s nervous. The flirtatious air is gone. “Maybe something spilled on me while I was at the supermarket?” With a shrug, that carefree smile is back. “I’ll go wash it off. I need a shower anyway. Want to join me?" He wiggles his eyebrows seductively. 

I bite back a laugh. "As if both of us would fit."

There’s an overconfident swagger to his step as he makes his way to the bathroom. Not that I mind. His back ripples underneath his shirt with each movement, and I fill my mouth with tea to keep from groaning.

“I’m Eliza Hansen and this is BBC News.” I yawn. Maybe I am obsessed. My hand is poised over the remote when those familiar faces appear on the screen. “Three men found dead this morning in Birmingham by West Mercia police have been identified as the suspected perpetrators of the Shard bombings." I put the cup of tea down on the table, giving the news my full attention. "Following an anonymous source, authorities found the bodies in an abandoned warehouse, where the suspects are believed to have been hiding. Forensic experts have been unable to determine a clear cause of death but can confirm that the three men were tortured. Damage to the bodies indicates that many bones were shattered by a blunt force weapon, extremities were crushed, and body parts were cut away with what appear to have been heat-based weapons. The following report contains images which some viewers may find disturbing."

My breath catches in my throat. No. Surely not. This can't be real.

Only one person could have killed those men in such a specific way. The man stood in my bathroom, washing away wine off his hands. Wine, or perhaps blood. The same man who has been out of the house for a while now, and could easily have been present at the scene of the crime. The only man who could have found three criminals hiding half way across the country in an abandoned warehouse. Who could have murdered them and left without a trace. It makes too much sense to deny, yet I can’t believe it. Not my Dean. My gentle giant. I remember the way he stared at the TV last night. Was he planning it even then? Was he thinking about all the ways he would hurt those criminals, imagining their screams as he broke and burned them?

“They hurt you.” His voice is deep and firm. I was too caught up in the news to notice him come back. His hair is still wet, and droops over his eyes. “They would have hurt other people too.”

My hands are shaking. “You don’t know that.” I hate how weak I sound.

“I heard them talking about it, Jake. I know what they were preparing to do.”

“You could have taken them to the police.”

“They’d just lock them up in a cushy cell for a decade, then let them out again. Free food, and all the crazy terrorist friends they could ask for. No.” He takes my hand, and I flinch. If he notices, he shows no sign. “I had to end it.”

I nod. I must admit, it makes me angry to see criminals get off lightly. Sometimes prison isn’t enough. “But the way you did it…”

“They deserved all of that and more.”

“They were just boys who’d been brainwashed. Manipulated. No one deserves to suffer like that.” I say, pointing to the screen.

Dean backs away, and a flash of anger crosses his face. When he opens his mouth to speak again, the words come out deep and booming. “They. Hurt. You. The scars on your back will never fade. Every time you shake in fear because someone lit a firework outside or slammed a car door, and I hold you and tell you everything’s okay - that might never go away. You were in so much pain after I rescued you and I was completely helpless to do anything about it. And you got off lightly. So many people died that day, all needlessly. What I did will deter other lunatics from trying the same thing.”

“Dean…” I shake my head, which only seems to rile him up more.

“Look, Jake.” He pulls me up against him, putting a finger under my chin so that I have no choice but to stare up into his eyes. “I will never let anyone do that to you again. If I have to burn the whole world to the ground to keep you safe, I will. Without hesitation.”

He says it so sincerely. I don’t think he realises how terrifying that is. The conviction in his voice is unmistakable, so I know I’ll need to choose my next words carefully if I want to make any impact at all. “I understand why you did it.” I hesitate. “But you can’t become a vigilante. You can’t brutally murder men who threaten the people close to you. For whatever reason, you think I’m different, and that means you can break the rules. You can’t. You mustn’t.”

His grip tightens. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

I push away as far as I can, set my jaw, and give him a hard glare. “You’ll lose me the moment you kill another person in my name. That’s a promise, Dean. Never Again.”

The kitchen falls silent. I focus on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. In the background a reporter drones on in a Brummie accent. Then Dean lets out a deep breath. “Okay.”

"You promise?"

"I promise."

I hug him, trying to express all of the love that I’m too shy to acknowledge out loud. I want to be happy with Dean. Even if he didn’t have an incredibly body, astonishing powers, and a wonderful personality, he’s a good man. A kind man. He cares about me. But there’s clearly a darker side hidden under there, provoked by anger, by revenge, by the desire to protect. If that side takes over, if it wins over what makes him human…

Dean thinks he’s defending me from the world.

In reality, I may be the only thing defending the world from him.

I run my fingers through his hair as I try to find a distraction. "So... did you mention chocolate?" I plaster on a smile, but I'm still reeling inside. 

 

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Sorry about the delay. I wanted to make this a daily thing but I guess life gets in the way. This chapter is pretty lighthearted, and we finally get to see the beginnings of a real romance form. I had a lot of fun with this one. 

Chapter 6

“I’m going to the gym. Want to come?” I slip my bag over one shoulder on my way to the door. It’s a little heavy, forcing me to adopt an awkward hunch, but I manage.

“Uh… sure. But you’ll have to show me the ropes.” Dean says, before throwing on a pair of shorts and a shirt that hugs his bulging muscles.

“What?”

“Well it’s kind of new to me, so-“

"The gym?"

"Yeah..."

“You’ve never been to the gym?” I cut him off, looking him up and down.

“Never.” Dean shrugs. “My body just turned out this way.”

Of course it did. Why should I have expected anything else? “Dean... Do you have any idea how hard guys work to get a body anywhere near as good as yours? I’m talking hours lifting weights every single day. A perfectly tailored diet with no fat or sugar or alcohol. A never ending stream of steroids, supplements, powders, and shakes. You have the kind of physique that could win any competition stage you stepped on, and you’re telling me that your body just… turned out that way?” I can’t keep the exasperation from my voice.

He gets that shy look. The one that turns my knees to mush. “Pretty much…”

“Is there anything you’re can’t do? Throw me a bone here.”

“Uh…” Dean scratches his neck. “I’ve always wanted to get some tattoos. They're hot. Used to buy those little stick-on ones as a kid. When I tried to get one for real, the needle just shattered on my skin.” It's a hilarious image. I wonder what kind of tattoo he had in mind.

“You know I’m going to get loads of tattoos now, all over my body, just to spite you, right?”

“Fine.” Far from throwing a tantrum, Dean sidles up to me, putting his hands on my hips, and leans down so that his mouth is just an inch from mine. His eyes lock onto me as he whispers. “But when you do, I might not be able to stop myself from licking every single one of them. No matter where they are.”

Then he stands to his full height and moves to the door.

I stare dumbstruck for a moment. The feeling of his breath on my skin sent shivers down my back and they still haven’t settled. I feel like I’ve been zapped with a live wire. My mind is clouded over with images of Dean pinning me down with those incredibly strong arms, running his tongue over my body, groaning. Wet and warm and dominating, making me scream as ecstasy overwhelms my-

“Coming?” Dean snaps me out of my thoughts. I rearrange myself in my shorts – though judging by his victorious smirk, I’m not hiding anything. Damned super powers. I knew the x-ray vision would be trouble. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I follow him silently out of the door. Almost immediately, the weight on my back disappear as he effortlessly slips it off my shoulders and onto his own. He must have noticed me struggling. Okay, so maybe those skills of perception aren’t entirely bad.

I don't know what comes over me. For a moment, I feel bold and stupid. With Dean three steps ahead of me, his face is the same height as mine. I tap him on the shoulder, and when he turns, I lean forward and kiss him. Just a peck on the mouth. At first he rears back in shock, but then returns the kiss, deepening it. Turning it into so much more than just a kiss. Before I know it, he’s plucked me from the ground like I weigh less than feather, his hard arms enclosed around my back. I lean into him, tasting him, consuming him like I’m starving, as I run my hands through his silky hair, grabbing and pulling. He bites my lip and growls, sending shockwaves to my groin, but I know better than to try and bite him back. I feel hot and don’t know whether it’s me or the corridor or the heat rolling off Dean’s body in waves. Our kiss is so long and so deep that I my lungs burn for air. I slip my tongue into Dean’s mouth, tentatively at first, and then with more confidence. He grunts, pushing back and exploring my mouth with his own. Even his tongue is overpowering. Dominant.

When I start to feel lightheaded, I pull away, a crooked smile etched on my face. “Wow…”

Dean rests his forehead against mine. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

"You had plenty of chances." I point out.

"I wanted to let you set the pace." He nibbles on my earlobe, causing another moan to bubble up in my throat.

"Okay then. Full speed ahead." This man makes me feel almost childishly happy. “This gym session is going to be hell.”

-

Truth be told, I’ve never been comfortable around weights. This isn’t my natural habitat. I pay my subscription and I know the basics, yet I’ve always felt like an intruder here. This is a place where big, intimidating men talk to other big, intimidating men about how they got so big and intimidating, and the normal humans scurry around, totally unnoticed, trying not to get crushed underfoot. There’s a circle here. The gym rats and jocks and athletes and bodybuilders and power lifters – they’re on the inside.

And I’m on the outside.

So it comes as a surprise when I step through the door that every single head turns my way. I know they’re not looking at me, of course. They’re looking at the giant next to me. But he’s not looking at them he’s looking at me, and that’s all I care about. I motion to the gym, to the chorus of grunting and clinking metal. “These are your people.” I say, like I’m a zookeeper releasing a bear into the wild. “Go, be free.”

Dean’s laugh carries throughout the room. “I guess it would be nice to be around people who aren’t scared of me.” He admits. Sure, there isn’t any fear here. But there’s a strange combination of jealousy, admiration and awe. I’m not sure if that’s better.

“Just don’t go getting attached to any of them. There’s a jar back home that I can’t open, so I can’t have you running off to live happily ever after with a bodybuilder.”

“No chance of that.” I feel a warm hand on my lower back. “You know I have a thing for cute pastry chefs, right?”

It must look odd, a 6’8” hunk, buff as fuck and shredded to the bone, taking pointers on how to lift weights from a guy like me. It’s surprisingly easy to ignore all the curious glances. For the first time ever, I feel completely at ease. It’s like he and I are in our own little world. A few members come and try to talk to him, completely ignoring my presence, but he immediately dismisses them and returns his focus to me.

For the most part, he’s content to let me do my normal workout. I talk him through each new exercise as I reach it. Dean is a quick learner. Maybe it’s due to some inborn need to show off, or it might be Dean’s energetic motivation, but I make a PR on almost every lift. It probably also helps that my spotter can look through my flesh at my straining muscles, and knows exactly when I’m about to drop. Like clockwork, he relieves me of the weight at the last possible moment, placing it back on the rack like it’s nothing.

As Dean tries out the bench press, shoving 200kg in the air with ease, I get an idea. “Want to really freak these guys out?”

“Go on…”

I load up a bar, slipping one 25kg plate on each side. Then another. And another. A smile creeps across Dean’s face and he starts helping me out. Before long there are ten plates on each side. That’s all we could fit. “520kg, if we include the bar. Anyone who lifts that would have a world record on their hands.” By now the glances from other gym goers and staff have turned to pointed stares.

Dean gets out a second barbell and begins packing on weights until it matches the first. “1040kg.” He grins. “About 2300lbs, I think. Ready for this?” Without waiting for an answer, he moves to stand between the two barbells, then takes a look around the gym. Every eye is focused on him. One guy has his phone out and pointed our way. I notice a faint red flicker in Dean’s eyes for just an instant – probably to fry the camera.

With a wink at me, he squats down, wrapping a hand around the middle of each bar. Then he stands. Easily. No belt or straps or pre-workout, just a demonstration of raw strength. The bars visibly bend at each end with a metallic groan, incapable of supporting so much weight.

“Holy shit.”

“How the fuck…”

“Dude's a monster.”

"How is that possible? Are they fake weights?"

"Nah, man, I used those earlier."

"That's insane."

Dean and I share a look as across the gym, hardened bodybuilders express their astonishment. Most of them just watch with their mouths open wide, unable to comprehend what they’re seeing. Then Dean starts doing reps. A lot of reps. Around the twenty five mark, he audibly yawns, and keeps repping.

“How many is that now?”

“Forty two.”

“That should be enough, right?” He asks, putting on an air of boredom.

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty warmed up now.”

Even though he puts the weight down gently, it’s enough to make the floor shake. “That was so cool. You just lifted more than double the world record... forty two times. What a badass.” As we strip the weights, laughing about the looks on those guys’ faces, it becomes clear that the bars have been permanently bent. “Shit. Hope I don’t get my subscription revoked over this…”

Shrugging, Dean grabs the bars and straightens them out again. The indentations his fingers left in the metal, however, are harder to fix.

“You know a few other people started filming…” I mention, biting my lip.

“Don’t worry, I got them all.” His eyes flash red to demonstrate his point. There’s something unspeakably hot about the way he does that. It makes him look like a terminator. “So what do you usually do after a workout?”

“Shower, I guess?” I never developed much of a routine.

“How about we go for a swim? The sea around Turks and Caicos is beautiful. I know this reef-“

“No!” The word comes out with far more force than I had expected. “Sorry, Dean. No way. I hate deep water.”

He moves closer to me, putting his back to the other gym members. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The sea is terrifying. It’s so dark and you never know what’s lingering underneath the surface waiting to grab you and there are currents that can drag you down and trap you on the seabed and sharks and piranhas that can smell you for miles and…” I take a deep breath. I can feel my face flushing. “I just hate it. I’ve always been scared of the ocean.”

“What if you’re with me? You know I won’t let anything happen, Jake. It’s okay.”

How do I explain this to someone who isn’t scared of anything? “I know I’d be safe with you, sure. But phobias like mine aren’t… rational. They don’t always make sense. Hell, I freak out if I can’t touch the bottom of a swimming pool.”

Just the thought is making my hands shake. Dean takes my fingers, gives them a squeeze. “Okay. No swimming. That’s fine.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “I’ve been scoping this place out. They have walk-in showers. I can think of a few ways we could make that fun.”

Now I have chills for an entirely different reason. “You can?”

“Oh yeah.”

 

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