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it's no better to be safe than sorry

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Steve supposes he should be grateful that he’s getting work. With the way the comics industry is these days he ought to feel overjoyed that an actual publisher hired him for original work.

He just hadn’t expected to be drawing porn.

The initial email had seemed suspicious, like it would install a devastating virus the moment he opened it. He only accepted the job after his agent contacted him with the same deal.

Thank goodness his mother is gone and he’d moved out of his childhood neighborhood a long time ago. Ben Jacobson’s mom had found a Playboy under his bed and send a warning out to all the local moms. Steve had been sat down and given the most awkward conversation of his life, making him believe that just one look at pictures of any naked bits would turn him into an adulterous sex addict, shaming God, his family, and the very idea of physical connection between lovers.

Although he’d gotten over that guilt, there is a small part of Steve that thinks the whole “fire and brimstone on anybody who exploits sex for financial gain” might be true. For a man who’s drawn every sex act known to PornHub, his most recent erotic experiences have been limited to his hand, a sneakily-purchased dildo, and a metric ton of lube. There’s even moments when a commission hits a particular kink of his and he has to do his research while nursing a boner.

He has also been incorporating his own life, his real world, into the drawings. He knows good artists draw from what they know, but he’s found his favorite pizza place in his comics more times than he can count. One time, he didn’t realize he’d made the “oblivious pedestrian” from an alley fuck scenario look like Mrs. Neubauer until it was almost too late.

In his latest failure to separate fiction from reality, he’d used the hot guy from the subway as the love interest in his new book.

A few days ago, he had gone to do some figure studies in the park a few subway stops away from his apartment. All was going well until he’d stood up to disembark and his bag flopped open, spilling everything. A Good Samaritan quickly scooped them up. Unfortunately, this stranger also turned out to be a Hot Samaritan, with sexy beard scruff and muscles bigger than Steve’s.

Steve had run off the subway and spent three days sketching a comic where Mr. Samaritan fucked the faceless protagonist into oblivion.

So now, he has a job he can’t discuss in polite company, a constantly active sex drive, and a comic with a character so lovingly rendered that he appears to be beckoning Steve towards him.

Hold on a minute.

The drawing is beckoning him forward.

Steve must be more tired than he’d thought because it seriously looks like his inanimate drawing is waving his finger at him in a “come hither” motion. He’s probably viewing it from a weird angle, creating an optical illusion. The finger is only moving because of the intersection of the horizontal and vertical cross hatches, creating depth where there is none.

Yes. That explains it.

The drawing winks at Steve and he shoots up, knocking over his chair.

Now that was too big to ignore. The guy had moved into the wink, his whole body unmistakably shifting in the process. Steve backs away from the table, righting his chair to act as a barrier between them. He can see the guy looking around the panel, figuring out his bearings. When he’s done, he turns back to Steve and sticks his entire arm out of the comic book.

Steve stares at it. It’s the size of a real life arm, but it’s lacking all color. The outline seems like it’s being drawn and erased in real time, never staying still. It’s supposed to be two-dimensional, but there’s a minute amount of shading that renders it fully 3D.

Steve finds himself walking towards it without really thinking. He lifts up his hand. The arm feels real. Steve squeezes the wrist. The drawing mirrors his grasp, connecting them. It tugs, and suddenly he’s falling into his own comic.

He stumbles, but the man catches him. Looking down at himself, he sees that he’s entirely black and white, like in an old movie. The sketchiness that pervaded his creation is also there, though it’s not as pronounced as it looked from the outside.

Not only is his coloring off, but so are his proportions. His body looks like an exaggeration of himself. He looks down at his crotch. Nothing feels different down there. Maybe his butt seems a little rounder than usual, but that could just be the tightness of his pants.

He gives a quick glance at his neighbor’s junk. It’s nicely outlined by his pants, creating a noticeable bulge. Steve shivers, licking his lips. He looks up at the other guy, only to see that he’s laughing. Steve frowns at him and the guy points at a spot above Steve’s head.

Steve looks up and prays that he can die in this alternate universe, because right there, in bold lettering straight over his head, is a box that reads: I wonder if he’s got a big dick.

The guy grins at Steve and his mouth moves. No sound comes out, but a speech bubble pops up above him.

“Why don’t you find out?” it says.

A bunch of parallel little lines blanket the top half of Steve’s face. They stay there for a second, then splinter off like icicles falling from an overhang. He closes his eyes and imagines what would happen if he took that dare. It’s very graphic.

He feels a tap on his shoulder and looks at the guy, who gestures towards his right. Steve nearly faints. His fantasies are arching across the sky, like a giant drive-in movie. They’re outlined by a little squiggle, indicating that they’re still in his head, but everything is there, all in great detail. Heck, even their character outlines lines are bold, as though Steve was confident enough in his creation to do the final ink work.

He’s got to admit, though, that it’s pretty interesting watching himself get dicked down by a truly impressive cock. The movement makes his ass and balloon-sized pecs bounce all over the place.

He hopes these body modifications won’t follow him into the real world, as that torso won’t be easy to explain.

He turns back to the guy, who’s still smirking. Even without looking up, Steve knows his thoughts are being broadcast for all to see. When he does look, he’s also got smoke lines swaying half a foot above his head. He sighs, and a puff briefly joins the cluster.

Steve tries looking around, but this page is only a draft. It’s got nothing but a few guide lines and some jotted dimensions in the corners. Mr. Hot Samaritan is still the most interesting thing here.

A tiny little Steve Rogers runs past, waving the white flag of defeat.

The guy smiles and reaches above his head to grab the sky. He pulls, and the whole world shifts around them. They’ end up in a nondescript bedroom.

Also, both of them are completely naked.

“What-?” Steve’s bubble reads. There’s a lot of question marks bobbing around his head.

“Just thought we’d speed things up,” the guy says.

He pushes Steve onto the bed. As Steve falls, he feels that shifting sensation once again and looks up. There are two big boxes above him, and a long one to the side. Steve wonders what they’re for, but then the guy swallows Steve’s entire cock in one go and he stops paying attention.

Steve groans. The guy is really going to town, plowing through Steve’s defenses, making him almost cry with the sensation. He squeezes his eyes, trying to shut it off. When that doesn’t work, he opens them and looks for a distraction.

He discovers that the extra boxes have been filled in. One of them is a close up of Steve’s face. He looks almost inhuman, drooling with pleasure. The box next to it is centered on the guy, who’s concentrating on taking Steve apart. Steve’s head rolls to the side and looks at the tall box.

It’s the blowjob from the other guy’s point of view. Steve’s dick is bobbing in and out of frame, but the real focus is on his body. Each ab muscle is perfectly square, which feels dishonest considering his cheat day was only two days ago. All of his scars, wrinkles, and moles are gone, leaving his skin with a weird shimmer. He’s also completely hairless, which he probably should have realized sooner.

His chest is the other centerpiece. If he thought it had looked big from his perspective, that’s nothing compared to an upward shot. His pecs fill the entire top half of the box, and his nipples sometimes go completely out of frame. They’re more tit-like than any set of boobs he’s ever drawn, and their jiggle is intense enough to form miniature arches over his curves.

The air above him is getting clogged with exclamations of pleasure, punctuated all over with little hearts. Steve knows he’s going to come soon. He tries to warn the guy, but pushing doesn’t do anything and he’s not sure if the guy can read his speech bubbles while blowing him. So, he collapses on the bed and lets his orgasm progress.

Soon enough, he arches far more steeply than a spine ought to and the shifting feeling passes through him again. The guy quickly pulls off and strokes Steve through his finish. He’s cumming, spraying semen as far up as his nose.

Steve is practically swimming in jizz. He’s glad that temperature doesn’t seem to have an affect here, since he’d never get clean if the puddle cooled. The page shift happens again, but nothing is above Steve. He looks down.

The scene is cut diagonally, but he doesn’t feel any vertigo. Instead, the bottom half is just a giant image of his face. He looks completely zoned out, drool erasing the outline of his facial features. It’s the face of a simpleton, dumb and addicted to pleasure. He tries to change it, but he’s stuck like that for the foreseeable future.

The guy leans over Steve, giant penis carving a valley in the cum. Steve’s brain must still be orgasm-rattled, because the guy looks even better than before. All of Steve’s sight lines are going straight to his eyes, abs, or cock.

A page flip, and now it’s just their heads, only a couple inches apart.

“I think it’s time for a little change of scenery,” the guy says. “Don’t you agree, baby?”

Steve is still blushing too hard to say anything, but a little Steve helps him out by appearing above them. The guy looks up at it and grins. Steve follows his gaze and sees that the mini Steve is completely naked, his pencil dick pointing up at a nice 45-degree angle. He’s looking at the guy with giant heart eyes. Kissy faces and pleas for a nice fucking come off him in stink waves.

The guy looks back down at the real Steve and smiles. There’s something deliciously evil in the simplistic way his face is rendered. Steve’s cock rises to half-mast in an instant, apparently not caring that the rest of him is still limp spaghetti.

The guy reaches up and pulls multiple pages over them. It feels like going downhill on an old wooden roller coaster. Steve closes his eyes, excitement and fear twisting his belly. He opens them again when they’re stable.

He’s standing and fully dressed. The clothes feel weird after being naked. They’re plastered to his body, feeling too constricting and wrong. He’s also standing in a crowded subway car, but the people around him don’t have any discernable features. Surprisingly, Steve isn’t creeped out by this. It’s like he’s looking at everybody without his contacts, unable to focus on the fine details.

Steve realizes he’s holding onto a swinging handle right in front of the door, even though it’s a weird location for them. Horizontal lines rush past the outside of the car, nothing to look at.

Hands grab his waist. He looks to the side, which shows a close-up of his companion and a text box that says, “Been wanting to do this ever since I saw your pretty face on my way home.”

Steve shivers. Another panel zooms in on his crotch, highlighting his bulge. The guy grabs it, caging it with his hand.

“You were just sitting there, so cute and fuckable,” he says. “Observing the crowd. Too bad there wasn’t an old lady for you to give up your seat to. I would’ve liked a longer look at this ass.”

He slips his hand under Steve’s pants and grabs said ass. Steve shuts his eyes, wishing his pants could just disappear.

“Lucky for me, you’re a bit of a klutz,” the guy says. Steve wonders how he can still understand him without reading the dialogue bubbles. He peers over and sees another version of himself already looking at the words.

Also, his clothes have turned invisible.

They’re still technically on him, as evidenced by the dots outlining their shape, but every bit of Steve is clearly visible. There’s even a nice set of close-ups, giving him detailed views of his face, chest, dick, and ass.

He’s pretty sure his ass cheeks were never that far apart, not from previously looking at them in a mirror. But, now they’re two distinct globes, so spread apart that Steve can clearly see his entire asshole. It’s really dark and puffy, wrinkles providing a clear path to the center.

The guy must notice him looking, because he uses that moment to rub Steve’s hole. It welcomes him like an old friend.

“You don’t know how happy I was when you spilled your stuff all over the train floor,” he says, finger going in. “And you dropped such personal items, too.”

Steve knows he should be paying attention to this, but he’s a little distracted by the X-Ray view of his own rectum. He really could’ve gone the rest of his life without knowing the exact sponginess of his internal anatomy, but here we are. At least it’s a simplified version, not like the detailed models they’d used in his college drawing classes.

Still, he’ll probably never forget the thrill of watching his prostate getting rubbed by two thick fingers while simultaneously feeling the pleasure spread throughout his body.

“I wish we were back on the real train, in front of all those onlookers,” the guy says, pulling his dick out. Steve tries to unbutton his own fly, but the guy swats him away and does it himself. “I bet you would’ve loved it, you filthy little Boy Scout.”

Steve wants it to be in that crowd, getting used in front of everybody. These cartoon passengers aren’t even paying attention to them, not caring that they’re in the middle of a porno. Steve wants that humiliation, wants the disgusted looks.

His fantasy covers the opposite page. It’s filled with sneers, giggling, and cell phones filming his every moan. He wants this, the moment the guy sticks his cock up Steve’s ass, to be emblazoned everywhere.

“I had hoped that your subconscious would’ve led you to make a vague sketch of me,” the guy says, his words punctuated with forceful sound effects and hearts from Steve. “I didn’t think you’d go straight home and sketch my entire face in perfect detail, though. You really wanted me, didn’t you?”

Steve just lets his face speak for itself. His stupid look is back, chin slobbery with drool. His pupils are even shaped like little hearts, completely transforming him into a mindless slut.

“Yes, that’s what you are my darling,” the guy says after reading Steve’s thoughts. “But you’re my slut, mine to do with whatever I please.”

Steve cums pretty quickly. It’s even better than the last one, rocketing out of him. The guy fucks him through it. He finishes only after Steve has gone through all the aftershocks.

Steve has to lean against the train wall, but he still manages to watch the close-up panel of the guy’s face and the cum shooting into Steve.

Steve turns and looks at the guy. It’s the first time in a while that he’s faced him in the same panel. He looks just as dazed as Steve, which makes Steve feel a bit more triumphant. The guy glares when he sees the thought bubble, but it’s half-hearted at best.

They both recover after some time. Steve straightens up and the guy moves towards him. Steve thinks they’re going to fuck again. His dick is certainly interested, but the guy just cradles his cheek and kisses him. It’s really quite sweet. Little naked Steve is floating above them, shooting arrows like a cherub.

“I’d like to do this again sometime,” the guy says.

Steve nods, even before realizing that he had heard that statement.

The guy smiles.

“See you soon, sweet cheeks,” he says.

Steve wants to lean in for another kiss. But, before he can do that, the guy reaches behind him, opens the subway door, and pushes Steve through it. He falls out of the train, expecting to hit something hard, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, he’s propelled into his chair. It skids across the floor and almost tips over. Papers fly all around Steve while he tries to get his bearings.

The first thing he notices is the color. After being in black and white for so long, even the muted evening colors of his apartment seem bright. Then, the sound kicks in. He hears his refrigerator, the tenants above him, and the cars outside. His papers are scattered everywhere, so he has to get up and clean them up before they get messier.

As he’s picking them up, he notices something. They’re no longer just sketches or completely blank. Instead, there’s a fully fleshed-out comic. It covers everything from their little adventure. Steve looks just as cartoonish as he remembers, but the guy is a thing of dreams. He’s so handsome that Steve expects him to pop off the page and start fucking him again.

Steve organizes the pages in the correct order, getting turned on by the memories. He won’t publish it, but a little future inspiration couldn’t hurt. Every detail is still there and Steve actually feels his asshole clench at the images of him being fucked.

He’s just gotten to the end of the subway scene when he notices a page that shouldn’t be there. He picks it up and examines it. It’s a full-page drawing of the man, but done in a more realistic style. Steve almost expects him to move, to beckon Steve back in. Disappointingly, it remains stagnant. However, Steve notices a little note at the bottom with a signature and phone number.

 “Bucky Barnes,” he reads. The name settles in his mind next to the memories of their encounter. He separates the portrait from the rest of the pages and brings it into his bedroom.