Chapter Text
Nice was created to be the perfect hero, but his fans' perfection had not held up to someone's definition. And, as important as his fans were, it was not their opinion he was chasing.
No, Shand clearly had a specific man in mind against whom Nice would always be compared. At his closest to honest, Nice had learned that was his son, who was killed just months prior to Nice getting recruited.
If that was the case, then Nice would have to research the man’s son. Nice was an actor, first. If he played Shang Chao, then maybe Shand would finally see him as perfect.
The first search result on the name, even before the obituary, was a link to a video by the new E-Soul. Nice remembered now: his challenge to his predecessor; an accusation that the once-savior had been responsible for the death of his friend. Had Shand's son been that friend?
Then why was the new E-Soul with MG, and not Treeman? If the new E-Soul was, like Nice, born in the aftermath of Shang Chao's murder, what falling out must have happened between Shang Chao's father and his avenger?
Nice tapped his phone and sighed at the unread messages going up another burst. Wreck must have noticed he was online.
He sent back a quick 👉👉 and thumbed out of the app, finally placing his phone squarely on the table. He was the perfect hero, but all his missions had been handed to him. He'd never been required — or, more importantly, expected — to do much in the way of investigation.
He had an odd sense of premonition pointing him where he needed to be, and that would have to do it. At that thought, he stood from the couch again. If he needed to learn more about Shang Chao, he could always have someone tell him.
And a hero who knew Shang Chao lived in the same tower as him. Nice would be able to find him rather easily, then, even if he had to fly up a flew floors.
"This is a private gym. Leave," E-Soul bit out, not slowing in his push-ups, his large, scarred arms flexing smoothly. Steady up, steady down, in the perfect sort of rhythm Nice could appreciate. He thankfully still had the helmet on, but it felt almost illicit to see so much of the armored hero's body as once, particularly this close on the weight bench next to him. Particularly in his full uniform, cape and all.
Nice remembered to smile. "Am I disturbing you?"
"Yes."
"I had hoped we could get to know each other," Nice continued, crossing one leg over the other and leaning in a bit. "Say, isn't it hot under that helmet?"
Sure seemed to be, anyway, given the way blue-black hair had stuck so messily to the back of E-Soul's neck.
"Don't touch me!"
E-Soul was as fast as his reputation suggested, given how he'd chokeslammed Nice to the floor before Nice had even realized he'd reached out to smooth the sweat-dampened hair.
Nice wiped his grimace to smile pleasantly back.
"...Shang Chao?" E-Soul said, smooth voice gone ragged. He clenched his hand, and Nice wondered how much the unexpected violence had revealed of the truth of him in his reaction. "No, you can't be. Why are you here, Nice?"
The slamming had jostled his hair, and Nice quickly blew it back into place before he smiled again. "Ah, so you do know him. I was hoping to learn more about him."
"You show up during my training, in my gym, in your hero uniform … to ask about—?" E-Soul's voice was growing ragged again, and his hand tightened further around Nice's neck. It was prosthetic, so there wasn't much point in trying to break the grip the usual way. Not without breaking it entirely, and then there'd be no chance of the answers he wanted.
Nice let his hand fall away from the metal wrist without trying to crush it. "Well, yes. I need to know the standard I am being judged against, but asking my boss directly makes him quite upset!"
Twenty minutes he'd spent kneeling for punishment the time he'd dared, and Nice would have done two hours longer if it had only meant Shand looked at him with anything stronger than apathy. But he'd ignored Nice the whole time. It was only on his way out, as he was leaving the office for another meeting, that he had seemingly remembered that Nice was still there.
"Your boss… Shand?" E-Soul's metal fingers flexed. Nice wondered how sensitive they were; if through them, E-Soul could feel as his pulse steadied out.
Nice had always reacted oddly to threats like this. Of course, Nice was the embodiment of perfection. But he always worried for those parts of him which lagged behind, and he welcomed the force of a disciplining hand.
Wreck had never understood it, had been desperate for Nice to talk through his feelings rather than let him sink into them.
Something in Nice's face caused E-Soul to pull back as though uncertain, and Nice moved his hand back into place without thinking about it. E-Soul fell silent.
"Yes, he's my boss," Nice said, helpfully. "So, can you tell me about Shang Chao?"
"Get the fuck out of my gym," E-Soul said, finally, and wrenched his hand away.
By the third time, Nice was more prepared. He'd changed out of his uniform, to start with, though by now he could hardly recognize himself without it.
"Why are you back again?" E-Soul said, dropping the barbell as he stood from his squat without even turning to look at him. Nice was a little impressed that he'd been noticed. When he flew places, he could make himself very stealthy indeed, and he wasn’t even wearing gleaming white this time.
He watched for a moment as E-Soul wiped the sweat off his neck and back, and fit a water bottle under his helmet, and wondered why he suddenly felt the urge to swallow. He shook the feeling off. "Hello again, E-Soul. I realized things got a little confrontational last time, but I would like to speak with you."
"Absolutely not—" E-Soul began, then dropped the water bottle as he turned. Suddenly, once more, he was in front of Nice before he could even process him beginning to move, leaving bare sparks of electricity in his wake. This time, though, E-Soul did not touch him; his hands hovered above him as though afraid to make contact. With the wool blend of his sweater, the static felt like a living thing between then.
"Why are you wearing this?" E-Soul said. "Why do you have this?"
Truthfully, Nice had dressed based on the photo he'd found of Shang Chao. His resemblance to the dead man had won the biggest response from E-Soul previously. Instead of admitting such, he lied. "Just some of the normal, casual clothing I have in my closet. I can hardly wear the cape everywhere! But I have grown to appreciate the comfort of gold."
"This isn't gold; this is his yellow," E-Soul said. Finally, he was grabbing him by his shirt, though still avoiding the sweater overtop like it was poisonous. He wouldn’t even need Trust Value if he wanted to lift Nice like this, would he? "What makes you think I'd tell you anything about him, Nice?"
"You need to tell someone, don't you?" Nice said, reasonably. "Who else has listened?"
E-Soul snorted. He let go of Nice's shirt, pushing him back. His hand was … larger than Nice had realized, spread flat on his chest like that.
"You want me to dig up those memories, in your fool effort to get Shand's approval? Why should I strengthen my competition?" E-Soul moved back, loading the bar with more plates. He laughed, then more cruelly said, "Though you're a bit far from the Top Ten, aren't you, Nice?"
"Not that far," Nice said, used to masking the nasty edge of Fear that such jabs always stirred in him. "I'll make it to the Top Ten before my fifth year. Faster, probably. But they say vanity is a flaw."
"Ah, and one you claim to be above," E-Soul said. There wasn't a hint of laughter in his tone, but Nice could hear the mocking underneath the smooth voice. "I'll tell you this much for free: Shang Chao was more impressive than you in every way, and even he hadn't earned his father's notice."
Not the answer Nice had wanted, after this much effort expelled into looking for something. He fixed his choked anger back into a perfect smile. "He hadn't been a hero, though. And he had certainly earned your notice, which is more than most can say."
E-Soul was silent for a bit as he deadlifted the bar. Nice, having not much else to do, studied the way the scars on his arms looked in motion; divots in the smooth expanse of skin.
"He hadn't, until it was too late," E-Soul said, finally. "Not the attention I knew he would have wanted of me."
"What attention was that?"
E-Soul tilted his head, presumably to look at him behind the helmet. He placed the barbell back on the ground. "There were things he wanted of me. I had thought him pointed in a different direction."
"Oh? What did he want of you?"
E-Soul moved, pressing Nice's thighs open and grabbing his hip. Nice let him, something internal keeping him from movement. Despite the large hand burning into his side like a brand, it felt as though he were encased in ice.
He swallowed, and E-Soul chuckled lowly. "Perhaps not much different than you, as it turns out. I hadn't expected that."
Nice tilted his head. "I rather doubt he wanted quite what I was hoping for."
"No? Perhaps not. I found out later he was in love with me, if that's the detail you've been craving." E-Soul appeared to finish his thought with this, but his flesh hand had joined the prosthetic one in securing his waist.
"Did you fuck him?"
E-Soul slapped him across the chest in a solid chop, static crackling in the aftermath. "Don't be crude."
He sounded like he was smiling as he said it; something about the way syllables fell widely from his mouth.
"It's an honest question," Nice said, smiling back, through the pain. E-Soul had a firm hit. He wondered if his chest would keep the red long enough for him to admire it in the mirror, or if his perfect exterior would wipe the flesh clean. If, perhaps, electrical burns would last long enough for his next appraisal, and knock him yet further from Mr. Shand's esteem.
The thought should not have enticed him as much as it did.
"Do you think me fucking you will get you Shand's approval? I doubt you'll appreciate his answer on that." E-Soul was smoothing over where he'd slapped now, less to soothe it and more to press in the echo of his touch.
Nice bit back the urge to groan. "Oh, he doesn't have to know."
"Sneaking behind Daddy's back, are we?" E-Soul sounded very amused, now, for all that his hand tightened on his hip. Nice wasn't sure what face he was making, in response to being read so easily, but he was sure it was inappropriately honest for his line of work. "Oh. I see."
"You see nothing," Nice said, defensive.
"You're not much like Shang Chao at all, are you, Nice?" E-Soul hummed. "All he wanted was to give, but you're a greedy thing, aren't you?"
Nice retreated behind his smile until firm hands tightened around his waist. He grit his teeth in frustrated embarrassment at the noise he made, then, and itched at the movement of his hair falling in his face, and itched at the buzzing feeling of shame that was building in his chest, and itched for all sorts of things he could not touch, because E-Soul's hands were on his waist and he could not move without breaking them.
And then a metal hand slapped him across the face and pushed his head down, and Nice could focus just on the sensation of that, and ignore all the buzzings in the wake of real lightning.
"Oh, but you just want to take, don't you? Look how easily you fall into that. Following orders, yeah?"
Nice smiled at him, too focused on the nexuses of their touch to think too much about the self-recrimination in E-Soul's voice. "D'you want me to suck you off?"
E-Soul made a horribly sad little noise, rather than the angry sexy one Nice had been hoping for more of.
"I'm not a good man, Nice," E-Soul said, honest only in this space where Nice couldn't understand him, really. "I don't think you are, either. But Shang Chao was."
Nice blinked a bit more into focus at the name he had been hoping to hear. "Y'said he loved you."
"I was better, when he knew me. That part died with him, don't you think?" The grip on his waist would have been crushing, had Nice's body not been enhanced by the trust of his fans.
"You're taking care of me now, aren't you? S'good." But E-Soul hardly seemed to notice his mumbling, caught in the past as much as anything.
"I barely know you, and the things I want to do to you, Nice…they cannot be called good."
Pssh. "What's bad about it?" Nice whined.
E-Soul shoved him to the ground, and Nice moved with it, not bothering to catch himself on his elbows. The air left his lungs in an abrupt exhale, and then E-Soul was on him.
"Why did you have to have his face?"
"Do I truly?" Nice probably meant to ask, but for his limited attention being entirely absorbed by the reveal of a chin, and then a scarred lip, and then the feeling of a mouth pressing into his own.
Of a tongue against his own; of, more distractingly, a large hand grabbing him through his pants.
Of the press of a helmet against his hair, jostling it out of place—he whined, and reached to knock the damn thing off E-Soul's head, but a metal hand left his waist to catch his wrist.
"Helmet stays on," E-Soul said, voice rough.
"It's messing up my hair," Nice said, panicked. "Please, it needs to be perfect. I need to be—"
"Is your issue that it's unintentional?" E-Soul asked. "Because I can mess it up properly."
Properly mess… "How can you properly mess it up? It shouldn't be messed to begin with!" Nice smoothed it back into place.
"I'll show you," said E-Soul, then shifted back up. "Get on your knees."
Nice rolled up to do so, then thought — did E-Soul clean these floors? Would the white of his pants be stained some way unapparent under this lighting? How would he — and then E-Soul's hand was in his hair, yanking him to look up, and …
E-Soul was bulkier than Nice was. Nice had known that as soon even before he'd begun interrupting the man's gym sessions, himself more reliant on his Trust Value for strength than any musculature that might turn aside those fans that appreciated his more, ah, bishi looks. And he'd known E-Soul was tall, too, but from here—
From here, he looked all-encompassing. The narrowest part of him was his waist at eye-level, which stretched up and sloped wider into broad shoulders, and Nice itched to move closer.
He would be good, though, and just watch E-Soul though half-lidded eyes until the man found him worthy to—
The hand smoothed his hair as it left it, and moved to tilt his chin upwards.
"What is it you expect to get from this, Nice?" E-Soul asked. "I know what I am getting."
At this, he pressed his thumb into Nice's bottom lip, and Nice caught it with his tongue. It was a move that hadn't failed him yet, and E-Soul chuckled, pushed his thumb into Nice's mouth and after a slight brush against his canines, kept it there.
"That's enough of an answer, for now. Maybe you need to be a little more out of it before you get honest with me."
Nice looked up at the helmet, and hollowed his cheeks as he sucked. The hand tightened on his chin, then E-Soul removed it and dragged the clinging wetness back across Nice's lip.
"You're a lot sweeter like this," E-Soul said. "But I can't imagine Shang Chao ever…"
"What do you imagine him doing?" Nice flushed at having laid himself out so plainly. But he could not think of another way to get the action moving once more, his normally strategic mind bound to those points where E-Soul held him.
"You would do anything I say he would, wouldn't you? That's an awful lot of power to give me. Are you sure I can be trusted with it?"
Probably not, but Nice needed someone to smooth down the ragged edges of his want. "You know better than anyone else I could ask on how to inherit a legacy."
E-Soul's answering laugh was cold. "Oh, I'm sure. But I knew E-Soul. You're chasing a ghost."
"And you aren't?" Nice raised an eyebrow, summoning the smooth edge of Shang Chao's voice he'd heard in the few videos he'd found.
E-Soul slapped him again, easy as anything. Nice fought the urge to whimper.
"It doesn't even matter to you," E-Soul's voice was thick. "He doesn't matter to you. Why should anything of you matter to me?"
Nice had found ways to make himself matter to men before, and so in answer, pressed his mouth against the imprint of E-Soul's cock in his sweatpants. E-Soul groaned, a low sound, and Nice glanced up at him through his lashes to meet the blue visor line of his helmet.
He pulled his sweatpants down just enough to free himself, and Nice resumed. As E-Soul's hand settled into his hair, Nice found he was too focused on the feel of him to worry. It couldn't look wrong, considering the noises E-Soul made as he stared at him.
"You're looking at me, right? It's me you're thinking of?" he pulled off to ask, uncertain again in the face of the helmet. If E-Soul was thinking of some girl—
"Is this the game we're playing?" E-Soul asked, pushing himself in again. Nice couldn't tell his emotion in response, but it was hot in his chest like caramel, and he wondered how he could even breath and think through it. "A'Chao, you're doing so well, trying to fit all of me in."
Nice hummed, satisfied again. As the embodiment of perfection, he could do better than well.