Superpowered Love 1: Equilibrium

By Katey Hawthorne

Hansen has been hot for Sam since they first bonded over their secret superpowers—literally hot, since Hansen can produce fire from thin air. But Sam is always covered in girls, so Hansen keeps his feelings deeply buried and settles for being Sam's best friend.

Then Sam's electrical powers go haywire in public, and in the fallout a mutual attraction is forced to the surface—but bisexuality is new to Sam, and Hansen is afraid to admit he's in love. And in the midst of trying to figure out themselves and each other, they have to face—and survive—the unfriendly witness to Sam's explosion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KV Taylor
• Release date: Jul 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733372510

Katey Hawthorne

Katey Hawthorne loves queer romance. Originally from the Appalachian foothills of West Virginia, she currently lives in Ohio with her family, two cats, and two huge puppies. In her spare time, she enjoys travel, comic books, B-movies, loud music, video games, Epiphones, and Bushmills. Her favorite causes include animal rescue and bisexual representation in media. She is an unashamed fangirl and collects nerdy tattoos like she’s trying to prove it.

Book preview

Hansen has been hot for Sam since they first bonded over their secret superpowers—literally hot, since Hansen can produce fire from thin air. But Sam is always covered in girls, so Hansen keeps his feelings deeply buried and settles for being Sam's best friend.

Then Sam's electrical powers go haywire in public, and in the fallout a mutual attraction is forced to the surface—but bisexuality is new to Sam, and Hansen is afraid to admit he's in love. And in the midst of trying to figure out themselves and each other, they have to face—and survive—the unfriendly witness to Sam's explosion.

Equilibrium

Superpowered Love 1

By Katey Hawthorne

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except for the purpose of reviews.

Cover designed by Natasha Snow

This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

Third Edition July 2019

First Edition published August 2011 by Loose ID

Second Edition published august 2018 by Less Than Three

Copyright © 2018 by Katey Hawthorne

Printed in the United States of America

Digital ISBN 978-1-7333725-1-0

For Tara, with more love than I can fit on the page.

Equilibrium

Superpowered Love – Book One

Katey Hawthorne

Chapter One

I first met Sam when I caught him trying to blow up a toaster in the cafeteria. Well, he wasn't trying, but he almost did it anyhow. Not the kind of guy I normally would've spoken to—standing there at seven a.m. in shin guards and knee socks with one of those beat-up Property of Falls State University T-shirts hugging broad shoulders. The kind of guy I would've looked at long and hard when he had his back turned, sure, but not spoken to.

But I saw that unmistakable blue light spark at his fingertips, heard him sputter, Dammit! And then the toaster he'd been wrangling started smoking, sending the smell of burning plastic up to the negligent cafeteria gods.

He flushed hard under that mess of shiny strawberry-blond hair. I would've felt bad for him even if he weren't hot, but it didn't hurt, not gonna lie. It happens, I said, attention back on my cinnamon toast preparation. I melted the coffeepot once when I was having a shitty morning.

I felt him look at me, but he didn't say anything. When I finally looked up to see if he was pissed, he was just staring at me, openmouthed and wide-eyed.

It was a good look for him.

You…? he finally said. Or almost said, I guess.

Yeah, but you electric types get it worse when it comes to appliances. Can be a real motherfucker, huh?

Oh my god. You mean…? He looked around, like he was afraid someone was listening, but the place was nearly empty that early in the morning. Just some nerds like me with eight a.m. classes and no social life to keep them up at night, and a few hard drinkers who hadn't been to bed yet.

Uh, they have no idea what we're talking about, I said. And if they did, well, then odds were they were awakened too.

How do you—I mean…?

I was starting to think the guy was a few bricks shy. Then again, it would've been unfair if he was smart and hot. Hard not to focus on his mouth, the way it was still hanging open like that, all straight white teeth and sensitive-looking lips that probably tasted like strawberries.

I shifted, leaning against the counter, and forced myself to focus. I just watched you fry a toaster. They—I nodded at the lethargic breakfast kids—wouldn't know, but to someone who's awakened, it's pretty obvious.

He fluttered his pale eyelashes. I have no idea what that means. I mean, I think I do, but—

It took that long for me to realize what was going on with him. So he wasn't the stupid one. I was. Great. You don't know any others?

He shook his head. I just thought something was wrong with me.

Holy shit, man. How long?

Like, five years or something.

Ouch. What about your parents?

I'm adopted.

I snapped my mouth shut.

It's cool, man. No big deal. Well, except, you know.

Yeah. I guess so.

He held out one hand. Sam MacLeod.

I shook it. Hansen Marks.

Can we, like, talk or something? I mean, I have to go to practice, or I'm benched for the next game, but after?

By winter finals, I'd fallen ass over teakettle for him. Two years later, we were roommates.

*~*~*

We were both poor as hell after graduation. I started my econ MS, and since he had no idea what he wanted to be when he grew up, he joined a local consulting firm taking advantage of suburban tax incentives. After a few months he could've afforded his own place, but the idea of living alone seemed to horrify him.

I wasn't complaining. Well, not when he wore clothes.

Sammy, put some pants on. I didn't even look up from the book and I still caught the flash of way too much skin as he wandered across the living room and into the open kitchen.

Of course, his reaction was to stick a hand down the front of his shorts and adjust something. Pants are overrated. Are we out of milk? He pulled open the fridge and shoved his head in. By then he was mostly hidden from view by the counter, thankfully.

I leaned an elbow on the dining room table, covered in books and papers and other things that were driving me batshit that day. The hell would I know?

Yeah, yeah. His head reappeared, shaggy hair rumpled from his pillow, eyes bleary with sleep. He had apparently found what he wanted—nasty-ass whole milk, though I'd finally convinced him to spring for the non-BGH kind, at least—and started chugging it out of the carton.

I rolled my eyes and focused on the book again. Game theory. Roughly 1/1000th as interesting as half-naked Sam.

It had become apparent about twenty-four hours after agreeing to this roommate situation that it was a little bit stupid, but I was hoping for inoculation. Eventually his hotness would get old, and I'd get over it. It wasn't like I was in love with him, just in lust; he was a good roommate and a better friend. He only got on my nerves when I needed to concentrate and he needed to be naked.

Happened more than you'd think, though.

He came around the counter, still toting the milk, and sat across the table from me. I looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of his white boxer-briefs—the really short and tight ones, naturally. Goddammit, that was at least half a morning wood in there.

Could you at least wear boxers? I asked, miserable.

He smirked and had at the milk again. Prude.

I let my gaze drop to his broad chest, the trail of pale hair that led down to his belly. I couldn't see farther down than that, but it was enough. The party in my pants had begun.

Bastard.

I took a sip of my coffee to avoid the sight of him, but it was cold. I made a face. I am not a prude. I'm just not as in touch with nature.

You're vegan. That's like being a nudist already.

How do you figure? I stuck my finger into the coffee and turned on the heat. For thermal types, whether we swing to hot or cold, it's just about generating and manipulating electromagnetic fields to affect how fast the molecules in something vibrate—thermal energy being a subset of kinetics. There's this long, involved explanation about photons and EMFs, but scientists don't even get it all, and it changes every three years or so. I just know that if I get caught on IR camera, it'll be obvious I'm doing something Not Quite Human.

But yeah, more vibrations equals more heat, which is what I do. Makes for a mess when it gets out of hand, but I can't use it on anything big enough to, say, end the world. Lucky for the world.

Go with me on this. But then his face went serious. Man, I jacked up my keyboard last night.

Now he had my attention properly; I hardly had to fight to keep my eyes on his. Coffee was warmed up anyhow. What happened?

Well, I went to watch some porn after Nessa fell asleep.

There were so many things wrong with that sentence, I didn't even know where to start. Skip to the jacking part. I flushed. I mean, uh—

He giggled and set the milk down. Lucky I never did get to that, because I was just typing some shit, and it started sparking. Shit, good thing you put the Faraday cage around the tower. His shoulders slumped. Second time it's happened this week. I fucked up the microwave too.

Explained why my tofu scramble breakfast burrito had been a wash. That's what happened?

He looked up at me through his bangs. Yeah. Sorry.

Electric types are wired differently, but we all have that little organ buried in our torsos that can generate EMF well beyond that of a normal human being's. I've been known to make a TV go a little wonky now and then. Just, thermals don't have the power to fry things like that—we tend to melt or freeze, depending.

Want me to call my mom? I asked.

He bit his lip some more.

Of course I stared, fascinated. My whole thing with loving his mouth