Tempest in a Teacup Chapter three: At the Oasis Evan Andrews 2024
This is a fan fiction.
All characters depicted in it belong to and are trademarked and copyrighted by DC Comics and/or its subsidiaries. I am not related to the company and make no claim of ownership over the characters. I've given up trying to figure out where my stories fit into the DC continuity anymore.
The story depicts males in sexual situations, mostly with other males. If that offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such is illegal where you are please stop reading now. Thank you.
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Another day, another battle. Except this time it wasn't the Fearsome Five the Teen Titans were fighting; it was some group called HIVE.
At first Garth though HIVE's purple-robed minions were all monks of some sort. Then they dropped the robes, revealing face-masked martial artists that swirled into a wire-fu ballet of combat monsters.
Of course,' Garth thought, It's never THAT easy.'
As in the battle against the Fearsomes, Garth again found himself at a disadvantage. He managed to hold his own--for a little while. Finally worn down, though, he feinted to his left—and instantly regretted it. One of the HIVE fighters struck him, and he fell to his knees. Stunned, Garth knew that one more solid blow would leave him utterly at these villains' mercy.
"Tempest!" a female voice (with Dick's Gotham accent, which meant Starfire) cried out.
`Come on, already. Blast him!' Garth thought, shutting his eyes, but the seconds stretched out and no blast came.
Garth braced himself for the roundhouse kick that would TKO him, but instead he felt the sting of windborne sand on his arms and face.
"X'hal!" Starfire cried out in frustration. "Where did this come from?! I can't see anything through all this sand! Nightwing!"
"Same boat, Starfire. (Gah! Sand in the mouth!) Just do what you can!"
`What?!' Garth wondered. Even if nobody finished knocking him out, the Atlantean knew he'd go under soon anyway, but maybe the sand would hide him (although if it dried him out that might be more dangerous than falling into HIVE's clutches).
"Who's doing this?!" both HIVE fighters and Titans demanded as the sand squall rose in intensity.
"Hold on, Titans!" Dick yelled.
`I can't,' Garth thought, and his recently concussed brains conspired with the current conditions to drop him to the floor.
And as sand raged over him and someone took him up into their arms, Garth embraced the darkness.
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Garth woke, not in the Titans Tower as he expected, nor in any hospital, rather he lay in a palatial bedroom, on a large round bed.
The bedroom, also round, was a set from some Arabian Nights movie. Diffuse light filled the place. A high ceiling, the white stone geometrically inlayed with blue and gold tiles surmounted the room, and between a ring of similarly tiled columns wispy curtains fluttered in a warm breeze.
Cautiously turning his head, Garth took note of the minimalist décor. Elaborate brass lanterns hung from the ceiling, large pillows surrounded a low table to the right of the bed, and several chests stood on either side of the main door. Intricately woven carpets hid the floor. Yes, the fittings were as Arabian Nights as the architecture. Oh, and Garth's Tempest costume was nowhere to be found. He wore nothing more than tight blue trunks as he did back in his Aqualad days.
"Yeah, it just needed that touch to be super creepy," Garth grumbled.
The young hero climbed out of the acres of bed and, throwing open the chests, found even more pairs of trunks of the same cut, but in various colors.
Somebody has a curiously specific fetish,' Garth thought. Happily I always looked good in next to nothing. Now, where the fuck am I?'
The middle of some desert, Gath decided once he looked beyond the curtains. Yeah, he'd not be walking across that, and since he couldn't fly he was stuck here. Time to explore.
The bedroom proved to be located at the apex of a small—well, you had to call it a palace, even though it was on modest if not intimate dimensions. Four more rooms sat around a pool at the center of the palace. Water rippled invitingly, and several fountains fed it, accompanied by the music only falling water could sing. The pool was further surrounded by a cultivated paradise of lemon and orange trees, with palms to add height and some fragrant flowering shrubs to perfume the air. Two chaises sat side by side at the pool's edge, and opposite the bedroom door a channel ran through an arched tunnel out of the building. Following the water, Garth found that outside the palace walls a lap pool had been built into a terrace.
`I won't dry up at least,' Garth thought.
More palms shaded the lap pool, and the desert near the palace had been planted as a semi-civilized garden. It was all too Sheikh of Araby.
Garth, floating in the lap pool and letting the confusion and pain leech out of his brain, watched until sun set. Vivid oranges and reds eventually gave way, and the sky turned into the grey-black of early evening unpolluted by the sodium orange of urban lighting. The Atlantean stood up, in awe at the sight of more stars than he'd seen in quite a while. Water dripped off of him, and his trunks clung to his physique. Garth knew that his junk was obscenely outlined, and he thought about rubbing one out, but hunger won over that. One of the rooms had been a dining room, as he recalled.
Going back inside, Garth found lanterns burning in wall sconces, putting out a gentle light. When he'd looked earlier, the hero had found the two rooms on the left side of the courtyard to be a closet/dressing room, and more importantly an opulent bath with a large sunken tub (whoever lived here liked water, thank Oceanus). When Garth had tested it with a finger, he found the water pleasantly warm, a counterpoint to the pool. it would be a good place to relax taunt muscles. On the right side of the courtyard, Garth had found a sitting room, with library and game boards. And finally the dining room.
This room was set with low tables (again surrounded by cushions—which seemed to be the default for the palace). But at that time the tables had been devoid of food or drink. Now the same tables were set with a variety of succulent dishes. Shrugging, Garth fell to on a dish of chicken cooked with lemons on a bed of rice and almonds, a spicy fish stew with olives on couscous, a pillowy flat bread, and a pyramid of fruit. Finding no utensils (although several napkins lay on the table), Garth took the hint, and half sitting/half reclining he ate with his fingers, licking messy digits clean before drying them on the napkin. Licking his fingers started giving the Atlantean's cock ideas.
`Down, boy,' Garth thought. But, hell, this whole place looked like the perfect place for a seriously private bachelor party.
As the Moon rose, the lights dimmed further, and Garth took the hint and headed back to the bedroom. He crawled into the middle of the mattress and lay on his back. Legs spread involuntarily, and as Garth drifted off his cock got hard and started to leak precum.
That night, Garth once more felt himself felt up again—but by two hands. This time, dream or not, Garth not only submitted to his phantom lover's touch, he gave himself over to the hunky man with no face who played his body to orgasm—several times.
`Fuck,' Garth sighed as Phantom lover finally let him fall asleep.