In the Watchtower, Power Girl practically vibrated with need. Here she'd almost gotten to see the famous Poison Ivy at work, maybe at the center of a circle-jerk with the whole Batclan or pleasuring herself with some vines, but fucking Batwoman had knocked her out and taken her inside. Once more, Karen was bored as hell; even worse now because for a moment there, she'd thought she would get to have a sexy battle like
some people
got into all the time, but
no.
Biggest set of cans in the business (Phantom Lady was all padding) and all people wanted to do with her body was put their monkey-brain in it.
Karen was about to direct the Watchtower's spy satellites over LA and see if any outdoor porn was being filmed when she remembered. A month ago, she'd gotten an e-mail from the Colors of Bennetton people asking if she would participate in a beach photoshoot that amounted to a free vacation. She'd been tempted—Donna Troy was the photographer, so she wasn't worried about any Terry Richardson shit—but knowing of some of Bennetton's shock jock antics, decided against it. What Would Superman Do, as she often asked. But now, quite a few of the more exotic Leaguers had asked and gotten time-off to attend the week of shooting.
Vacation. Hotel minibar. Sandy beaches on a private island. Bikinis. There had to be something to catch her interest there. And who know, maybe it really was an evil plot to take out, oh, Jade and Fire. She spun the view screen to the Jamaicas, where one small island could only be accessed by people who happened to fly...
***
"I'm sorry, I'm gonna pop on over to Star City to check in on Tora," Fire said before taking off, her flame as green as his skin. Gar sighed. He really
had
just wanted her to look at the screenplay for his new movie. He had a girlfriend, after all. Technically. He'd always said it didn't count if you were in another dimension, but did Los Angeles count as one of those?
From Inagua-2, an island recently brought to the surface during the Imperix Crisis, it certainly seemed that way. Sunk long ago by volcanic activity, the white island that was all beach, the size of a baseball diamond or two, with a sizable pubic patch of palm trees and ferns ringing the small lagoon that holed it. Miraculously, it retained a cottage built by Spanish explorers—a multilevel villa of sorts with cobblestone walls and a palm frond roof, with even a fence of stacked rocks. Cleaned of decades' worth of seaweed, it'd become the hallmark of Donna's photography.
Gar perched on top of it in a comfortable pelican form. Seeing the heroes sunning themselves on the beach, he didn't quite feel like being his schlubby green self at the moment.
It wasn't that he was out of shape. He didn't have man boobs, no matter what Go Fug Yourself said! It was just that he had body hair—
he turned into animals
—and his belly was more Pillsbury Doughboy than Budweiser... down on the beach,
Jade
had more of a six-pack than him. Vibe, Metamorpho, they weren't even models, much less actors, and they looked better than him.
Face it, Gar ol' buddy, not all child stars age well. You're lucky you're green, at least. Otherwise you wouldn't even have made it onto this calendar.
"My, what an especially handsome penguin," Kory said, touching down on the ridge of the roof.
Gar wondered if she could notice a bird gasping. She fit the campaign's ideals to a tee—her exotic gold skin, her completely green eyes. And though she'd arrived on Earth a stone-cold warrior, further chiseled by her captivity with the Gordanians, time and age had mellowed her, rounded her out, replacing her wasp-waist with a voluptuous body of lushness and softness, matching her plump ass and teardrop breasts. But she was still as strong and tall as ever. Gar felt short besides most of the superheroes who'd agreed to do this shoot for charity, but at six foot four, Kory made all of them just as tiny. And he never minded standing next to her one bit.
"Pelican," Gar squawked, shifting back into his humanoid form. He wore board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, with a straw hat rounding out the modest look. He didn't even try to wear the kind of swimsuits that most of the others got away with.
Kory was mercifully wearing a sarong to go with a cut-off tanktop that Gar just knew would turn translucent as soon as it touched a drop of water. For now, though, she actually looked like the same species as his hairy ass. "Donna's looking for you. She wants to know when you'll be ready to shoot."
Gar shook his head. "Kor, look at these guys. Metamorpho is made of
chemicals
and he looks like he could bench more than me. You sure you want to go through with it?"
"They're just photographs, Gar. Messing around and letting Donna take pictures of us. Why wouldn't I want to do that with such a good friend as you?"
"I just don't want to embarrass you, ya know? Look at you. You're a goddess, Star. I don't want you to take some pictures with me, like it's nothing, and then have some Perez Hilton wannabe run a story on it: 'look at the dog dating the monkey.' Happened when I dated Tia Carrera."
Kory stood, her long legs almost pure muscle, only softening at her thick thighs. "Garfield Logan, I would
never
be embarrassed to be associated with you. You're funny and cute and brave." She slid down the pitched roof to hover beside him, putting a strong hand on his bicep and tightening it appreciably. "And I seem to recall a time when you brought me more pleasure than 'Perez Hilton' ever could."
Gar was suddenly thankful he was green. Hard to tell when he was blushing. Way back in the day—back when he actually had a Hollywood career—Kory had been broken up with Dick and he'd been broken up
over
Terra. She was an alien after all; she'd only seen it as cheering him up. And though she wasn't his first, she was the first who didn't insist on him staying in human form...
The memories swirled in Gar's head, as large and imposing as the mammaries that, with one intake of breath, looked about to burst through her shirt. God, he could give a guided tour of her nipples... "Are you ready, Gar?" a clear voice called from below.
"Oh yeah..." Gar fought down the answering surge in his groin. Things were different now. Even if Kory was still... Kory, he
had
a girlfriend. Mary-Beth Borsellino. And she was great, she was, she really was. A make-up artist back in the Hills, she'd written an unproduced screenplay that (if Fire hadn't played coy) was actually getting some traffic. Of course, she wasn't as attract... as
intriguing
as Kory, but then, who was? And she was open-minded. Very open-minded. It was like Gar's mom had always said: dog people should date dog people.
Before he could embarrass himself further, he hopped down to the sandy lawn, where Donna was waiting in the doorway. One look from those piercing eye and he felt like she could see right into his fantasy life.
Gar was a pervert, no two ways about it—a dirty old man in training, he called himself—but even with his tastes running to big boobs and rap video asses, he was nowhere near foolish enough not to recognize Donna's beauty. The crazy thing about her was how close she was to Kory while being pretty much completely different. Kory was fierce, animalistic, her sexuality exuberant and in-your-face. Donna was just the opposite: slender, classically beautiful, with an elegant face that spoke of wisdom while Kory's was full of childlike innocent and full emotion.
And, Gar noted, Donna's breasts were small, but only in comparison to Kory's monstrous 36Es. Her lacy summer dress was a little translucent, letting him see the black one-piece underneath, and some of the C-cups it hid. Gar chided himself again. Imagine, a guy like him and Wonder Woman's kid sister...
Laughing fondly at his antics, even if they were as mild as pulling a face, Donna beckoned him into the cottage. The interior did not match its rustic exterior; Donna had not merely renovated the place, but turned it into a state-of-the-art studio. Tiny wireless lights were lined up on the ceiling beams, just waiting for Donna to fly up and direct them as she wished, while snakes of cabled wires darted between the floorboards. They fed power to huge digital cameras, which would film the proceedings as raw footage for additional projects. But Gar didn't worry about that. He focused on the bed those lights were spotlighting—his stage.
"If you could just change into this," Donna said, picking up a box.
"I don't know, usually I just do animals..." Gar took the box and looked inside. There was not much to look at. A set of Armani bikini briefs, so scant that if they were yellow instead of black, Dick could've worn them. "Uh, Donna? Love of my life? Apple of my eye? Where's my pants? T-shirt? Maybe a nice cape..."
"Kory picked it out," Donna said, a little defensively. "It's not like she'll be wearing much more."
"Well, she has more to show." Gar opened his shirt. "Look at me, Donna. I look like the cast of Fargo."
"I think you're handsome," she assured him, rustling his greenish hair. "You're Beast Boy, after all. Why should you have manscaping or body-sculpting or any of that other metrosexual nonsense? You're the call of the wild! The king of the jungle!"
"Yeah, I also worry that might be a little racist? I used to be white, after all."
"I won't tell if you won't." Donna craned her neck to yell to the back of the cottage. "Kory, Gar's being a little bitch about his wardrobe. Tell him you won't let him see you in your outfit until he's in his!"
"What she said." From the backdoor to the covered porch, Kory's arm appeared. It held the T-shirt. Gar knew she hadn't been wearing anything under it. A moment later, the shirt fluttered to the ground. "You want to see me in this outfit, Gar. You really want to see me in it."
Gar gulped. Too chivalrous, that was his problem. He'd do anything for the dames. With a look to Donna, she turned her back, and Gar was free to quickly change into the briefs. Hairy legs and soft stomach, all came out to play. Gar even took his hat off.
When Donna turned around, she gave him some applause that was only half mocking. As a shapeshifter, Gar might not know how to give himself a skin color found in nature, but he knew how to put the banana in the hammock. He had his priorities in order.
"Okay, Star, he's dressed," Donna called. "All of him..."
Kory came out tugging at her bottoms to make sure they fit snugly. Not that there was much of them to fit. A violent white, the panties hugged the very lowest part of her stomach, just above her russet pubic hair, and drum-taut on her generous hips. Behind, a narrow band of cloth barely concealed the division between her petal-soft buttocks. The two-piece's top did little more to cover her; it was a band a mere few inches wide which met in a knot between her breasts, tied cruelly tight to prevent it from slipping. And so the band barely cleared the edges of her nipples, leaving the rest of her breasts, the bursting fullness of them, exposed.
