Kick-Ass: What Doesn't Kill Us

Roguey: Hey guys...not sure if anyone remembers my old Kick-Ass fiction, which I bored of three chapters in. I’ve decided to make another go of it – so enjoy. X


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“You’re...so...perfect...” each word was emphasised with a kiss, tracing a damp trail down that perfect, flat stomach. He couldn’t contain the slightly flinches as his split lip twinged painfully, rebelling at his efforts. However, as his tongue lathed one smooth hip, he was gratified by a muffled whimper from the recipient of his attentions. He glanced up, one eye too swollen to glimpse more than the slight of contortion of soft lips, as his hands moved over slender thighs. He managed a pained smile, jaw already aching. But he was prepared to put up with the pain, as his kisses travelled lower...to show exactly how sorry he was about their latest fight. Another muffled whimper and he glanced up from the sparse curls he’d been nuzzling and over that saliva-glistening stomach, through the slight valley of those perfect breasts he loved so much, to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend’s face.

"Katie...what....why are you crying?”

Dave Lizewski’s expression fell at the sight of the glimmer of tears on his girlfriend’s cheeks. Tears didn’t work for him. Katie on her back, writhing and crying out his name worked for him and..well, now, it seemed that tears were the cure to his hormonal imbalance and his hardness was already wilting within the confines of his boxers. Katie choked back a sob, shuffling back on the sheets of her bed to push herself upright, hair tumbling around her shoulders as she choked back a sob. The brunette teenager, curls a whirlwind mess from the previous, now dissipated passion sat back on his ankles, puzzlement and something very close to panic on his features.

“Dave...I love you...but I can’t do this,” she managed, after a few deep breaths, eyes focussed to the side. She drew her knees to her chest, pressing her legs tightly together. “Look at yourself – you...you’re a mess! I love you, but I can’t be with him. Kick-Ass is going to get you killed.”

“What...?” Dave echoed dumbly, more gobsmacked by her declaration of love than anything, but Katie’s words kept tumbling from her lips in a torrent, as tears cut tracks down her still flushed cheeks.

“I had to watch you get tortured! They were going to kill you...they just kept hitting you and there was blood and everyone was watching and there was nothing I could do. Nothing you could do. Dave – you’re not a superhero. You were a kid in a wetsuit! That’s all you were and whatever that stupid little girl says, you can’t be anything more, Dave.”

“Katie, I...” he started, but there was a pressure building in his torso than seemed to steal the words from him, a pain in his chest. “Hit Girl is gonna train me – I’m gonna get better. She’s a real hero, I’ve seen what she can do. Hell, even you saw what she can do! You watched the video!”

"I did watch the video..."

Katie looked up. Dave’s bottom lip was split. One cheek was swollen and purple with bruising, the other bearing an ugly gash. One eyes was purpled, so that she could only see a sliver of green iris. His eyebrow was also split. There were mottled bruises across his torso and arms, where the scars of his surgeries could clearly be seen. But she could see the determined set of his jaw that hinted of the man this awkward teenager would grow to be, tempered by the desperate adoration shining from his undamaged eye. Her tone was final.

“I watched everything that happened and I can't do that again. Dave...just get out.”

He did just that.

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Three Months Later

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Hips jerked upwards, smooth strokes became desperate hurried jerks...like an electric shock through his spine, Dave came...hot spurts of liquid across his bare stomach and hand. Cheeks flushed, panting, with a single bead of perspiration tracking from his temple to his jawline. For someone who could barely feel a kick to the solarplexus or a knife slicing across his back, even the feeling of roughly palming his hand across his crotch could set him off. But, hell, maybe it wasn't some kind of Dare Devilish redistribution of sensitivity - there was most definitely something fucked up in Dave's head.
It wasn't even well-drawn, a pencilled doodle on blue-lined paper...of him.
Well, of his sometimes alter-ego, Kick Ass, leaning back on an alley wall. The fact that the figure's suit was pushed around its ankles might have caught Dave's attention, but probably not roused to him to this state. It was more the fact that Red Mist was on his knees in that alley with him that sent that familiar rush of heat from his stomach to his cock. Hormones - c'mon, they had to balance out some day! Mouth dry, Dave swallowed, blindly groping for the tissue box, eyes still locked on the picture. One particular point had been traced over a few times, as if aiming for perfection.

The swollen head of Kick Ass' cock, his hand wrapped around its thick base, mid-jerk. He could even see a bead of precum from its carefully drawn tip. Red Mist had his hands on Kick Ass' thighs, leaning forward, lips parted...tantalising close, a hint of tongue, a certain gleam to those smudged lips. Shit - he was getting hard again.

One wad of tissues consigned to the bin. Vaguely wondering whether Chris D'amico ever googled 'Red Mist', blue eyes once more dragged to the screen, then to his clock. Plenty of time to rub one out before school.


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Dave was sitting in the school office, mouth slightly ajar as he stared boredly past the receptionist to the overcast sky outside. He’d been pulled out of class, just before lunch, and whatever crap he was in had dragged into the lunchbreak. Maybe his dad needed to talk to him? When Dave left for school, the man wasn’t home, which was strange. He’d gone out to watch the game at his favourite bar the night before...and it was kind of unlikely that the man had picked up some keen milf out there and even less so that she’d spirited away for the whole night. It would be a tragedy in the making if his dad was getting more than he was – though hardly impossible.
Dave had a problem at school. A heart-breaking, sexy problem called Katie Deauxma.


Katie had immediately distanced herself from Dave and his loyal cohort, with the break-up. It seemed she was going to keep his status as YouTube favourite, Kick Ass, a secret...but, well, it seemed a previous rumour was coming round to bite him on the ass. Somehow, it had gotten around that Katie had decided to dump her former charity case for the reason she’d first adopted him.


The whole school thought he’d gotten himself beaten up by his clientele - again. Yes, the rumour that he was a gay prostitute in the seedier parts of town was now flourishing among the general populace. Dave was mortified. Todd and Marty thought it was hilarious – right now, the two were probably in the cafeteria, Marty sucking face with Erika and Todd flicking through the Hit Girl comic that had just been released. Katie would be with her own little clique, returning to the masses of highschool cliché. Even sitting in the office, he didn’t really feel like he was missing much.

“Dave? Why don’t you come in and have a seat.”

Dave surged to his feet, eager to get whatever drilling it was over and done with. Immediately, he had the sense that something was wrong. It was in the soft look of his principal’s eyes and the softer tone she’d used...it was the guidance counsellor hovering at her shoulder. His eyes moved between the two, waiting for one of them to break the building tension. It was the guidance counsellor who spoke.

“Dave, the police department just made contact with us. Your father...your father was involved in a fight at a bar last night...”

Dave sat heavily, nausea swelling like a tide, head bowed between his legs. He could hear the counsellor speaking, but he barely registered what she was saying. She was speaking about a stabbing, being rushed to hospital...dying in the early hours of the morning. Eyes closed tight, as if in denial. The hand lightly resting on his shoulder was more sickening, than comforting.

“Dave...I’m so sorry, but the department want to know whether they can come to your home to talk to you later today.”

The walls seemed to be closing in on him and a scream rising inside his head – no! No! NO! What had been a feeling of illness became a very real threat of being sick on the floor of the principal’s office. He quickly shook his head, words choked.

“I want to talk to an Officer Markus. No-one else.”


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Six Months Later...so right about now.

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Alright, this suit was infinitely more practical than the bright aqua wetsuit he’d purchased off eBay for $39.95, so long ago that it seemed a lifetime. While he refused to let Mindy splurge her accumulated funds on buying him something with a V8 engine and customised paintjob, or even less humble accommodation for him and his father, he often conceded on the superhero stuff; for instance, the suit. Slowly, he began peeling off his jumper and doing an awkward hopping dance to remove his jeans.. It was almost too cool. He suspected Red Mist would have appreciated this new costume.

Oh, right. Red Mist was still Chris D’Amico. But, hell, the guy had good taste and had access to the funds. Now Dave could equip Kick Ass like he should have been from the start.

He was Kick Ass, still...but he actually looked like he could kick ass. The material fit more snugly than his previous costume, clinging to his arms and legs like a second skin. A more subdued shade of aquatic green, the lines that had once been geometric and a bright yellow were now a dulled gold, less likely to catch the light and give him away. And he removed a little extra something from his backpack, that Dave liked to call kevlar. The body armour was something he could appreciate – sure, he didn’t quite feel the pain of a blow like he used to, but that didn’t stop the damage from being inflicted. He pulled on the flexible chest plate, with its non-reflective plates, pulling and tightening straps at his sides. Thigh and arms pads of the same material. Dave flexed his fingers as he pulled on his gloves, pulling on the combat boots that hugged his calves securely.

And never did he feel more like Batman, when he strapped on that utility belt.

Kick Ass retained the batons, but a ‘contact’ of Hit Girl (how did an eleven-year-old girl know that kinda guy?) had incorporated electroshock components to the weapons. For the sake of keeping up with the competition, he’d acquired a couple of guns. And for the sake of sheer awesomeness, he had two 9mm Heckler & Koch pistols.

Yeah. The Lara Croft guns. He wasn’t even embarassed about it. Nor was he even slightly embarrassed that these two weapons were only outfitted for non-lethal charges. Dave didn’t want any more deaths on his conscience. Not that he could ever regret saving Mindy and avenging her father.

His hands were trembling slightly with anticipation, as he pulled the cowl over his face, securing it to the rest of his costume – it left his eyes revealed and he looked more superhero than scuba-diver, with his jawline and mouth exposed. Still, compared to his old costume, it made Dave feel a little more vulnerable. More exposed. But tonight was the night that Kick Ass returned to the streets...he’d even Myspaced it.

Dave’s discarded civilian attire was shoved in a backpack and, as he dropped it from the rooftop and listened to it thump dully into the garbage bin far below, he grinned.

We can rebuild you. We have the technology. We can make you faster...better...stronger.

Tonight was going to be a good night.


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You read it? It’d be rad if you could review it...advise me, flame me, turn me on? x.