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Heat	By : Aspergirl Category: +G through L > League of Super Evil Views: 1939 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own League of Super Evil, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Heat
- 2-Changing the Game
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- 2
“Okay, Agatha. You have $300. You can keep it and walk away, or you can risk it all to play for this brand new, cutting line, top of the edge… telescope-spatula-hot dog maker!”
“Ooooh.” The blue-haired lady pondered while the slick host smiled broadly and the audience cheered. “I gotta have that whoozy-whotsit!” she shrieked.
“Ha ha, alright! Then let’s play!”
Entirely engrossed in the game show, Voltar barely noticed at first that the couch was being shoved across the room with him on it. There were too many possibilities. He delighted in watching the little old lady get blown away during her attempt at the next game. He was in awe as a heavyset red-haired woman was selected from the studio audience to be a contestant, and her erratic excitement as she vaulted down to the stage. All the while, the host moved and smiled. Voltar envisioned himself in place of the host, with the same mop of white hair and crisp suit with a bow tie, denying wild-eyed minions trinkets and knick-knacks, and keeping them for himself! “A telescope-spatula-hot dog maker. I can think of at least two uses for that!” Voltar schemed, rubbing his hands together in fiendish glee.
From the kitchen, Red Menace’s face appeared, topped with a chef’s hat. “Hey Voltar! Who wants some spinach quiche?”
“Blecccch! I told you that I won’t eat anything that tastes green. Make yourself useful and figure out how to get us on this show. If we win… no, when we win, we can take over the show and keep all those cool gadgets.”
“And then can I watch the Shop Without Leaving Home Channel?”
With the commercial break ending, Voltar wanted to get back to the show. “Yeah, fine. When this is over.” But when he looked back to where the TV should have been, directly in front of the couch, Voltar saw only the wall. And it was all a blur.
“Wha-a-at ha-a-appened to-o-o the-e-e Te-e-e-Ve-e-e?” Voltar demanded as the couch quaked beneath him.
Draped over one arm of the couch was Doomageddon, who had dug his claws into the plush upholstery and was giving it some tough love.
“Bad! Bad!” Voltar threw the remote at the hellhound. “Give it a rest, Doomageddon! I’m trying to watch Cash or Dash.” Doomageddon glared as he dodged the remote and went up in a blaze of blue fire into his alternate dimension. Red Menace returned with a slice of quiche for himself. With one hand, he moved the couch back to its proper place and plopped down next to Voltar. “Yuck!” spat Voltar.
Red Menace pouted. “Awww, you don’t have to eat any quiche if you don’t want. This is for me. Next time I’ll try to make something you like better.”
“Not that. It’s Doomageddon. How long does he have to be in heat, anyway? He’s violated everything in the house that doesn’t move!” Voltar waved a hand for Red Menace to observe the carnage. Plants were toppled over, bare spots were gnawed into furniture, and the whole place reeked of hellhound.
Red took a bite of quiche. “Maybe we need to take Doomie to the Doting Demons Evil Pet Hospital for a little snip-snip. That’s what that guy always says,” suggested Red, pointing at the host.
“He’ll destroy us if he catches on. But I’m starting to think it would be worth it,” said Voltar. “Anyway, he’s out of our hair for now. Let’s get ourselves on that game show!”
Elsewhere, locked away deep in his lair, Doktor Frogg was tinkering with machinery and cackling to himself. “As soon as it’s finished calibrating, my Screecherbox will be ready to go!” He rubbed his claws together. The cool metal clinked. “When activated, it will emit high frequency narrow band noise that will cause excruciating pain… unless of course you have a pair of my newly designed, all noise canceling headphones!” Lined up on the counter were four pairs of headphones. Frogg put on his set, and sure enough, he could not hear a thing. Nothing at all. Not even the opening of an interdimensional portal.
Doomageddon knew that he would be able to enjoy uninterrupted pleasure away from Voltar. Besides, with Frogg always constructing things, there was never a shortage of items to claim for his own purposes. His stomach rumbled. Doomageddon had spent so much time making sure one need was met, that he hadn’t bothered to track down a meal for a couple of hours, which was quite a stretch for the ultimate omnivore. That was where Doktor Frogg came in. The combination of meat and metal made the hellhound’s mouth water.
To Doomageddon’s surprise, Frogg did not scream and run away. Frogg carried on with his work, unaware. Stalking in the piles of parts, Doomageddon prepared to pounce. Frogg’s claws were tantalizingly close. When Frogg leaned over to check readings on the side of the machine, Doomageddon made a flying leap, crashing right into Frogg, knocking him to the ground, and sending the headphones clattering across the floor. Now came Frogg’s terrified screams. “No, no! Down, Doomageddon. Please!” Frogg struggled, wanting to run, but the opportunity was lost. Frogg braced himself to be swallowed, but was instead patted down with heavy paws. In typical hellhound fashion, Doomageddon wanted to play with his food before consuming it.
Frogg could only wait for Doomageddon’s next move. The paws’ motion changed from pressing to swiping, claws ripping into Frogg’s lab coat, leaving it in shreds. With his clothing mostly torn away, Frogg felt the hellhound’s claws breaking his skin, drawing blood. “Nnnnn…ah! Are you hu-hungry? Let me go and I’ll get y-you something…” Frogg fought to keep his voice steady, even though the scraping of the claws paralyzed him with raw pain. It was obvious to him that Doomageddon could not be swayed by a bowl of pre-dismembered creatures. The need was not just for food, but for the hunt and the capture. The nature of the need was made explicit when Frogg felt the hellhound’s arousal between his bare legs.
Placing a paw on each of Frogg’s shoulder blades, Doomageddon growled with anticipation. “No!” Frogg pleaded, still thrashing for freedom, yet bracing himself for the pain that he knew would come. The hellhound pressed his weight onto his front paws, forcing himself inside the Doktor’s body. Blood rushed to Frogg’s ears. It was a sensation like that of wearing his headphones; he could hear nothing except the rapid pumping of his own heart. Because of his shocking appearance, Frogg had always hidden himself away, never expecting anyone, man or woman, to want him. With good reason, he had not considered the possibility of a beast. Doomageddon was rough, with no compassion for Frogg’s cries of pain. Frogg’s shoulders heaved. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. Doomageddon’s nails sank deeper into Frogg’s flesh, while the relentless thrusting brutalized him from the inside.
If I could just get to Red Menace and Voltar, Frogg thought desperately. He reached out with a claw. In a flash, Doomageddon reached out and batted the claw, hurtling it into his mouth. Frogg was left with his stump exposed, and even though no one but Doomageddon was there to see, he curled it up to his chest to hide it. Ever since his hands were butchered in the mechanical workings of a childhood creation, Frogg had used his bionic claws. The claws gave had served him well, especially with the upgrades he had given them over the years. Without them, he felt defenseless. At least he still had one. This would not last long. The first claw had been a tasty treat; Doomageddon struck for the second. He pulled Frogg’s arm backwards and licked his lips and bit down on the claw. In a fit of force to pull the claw loose, he twisted Frogg’s arm in all directions. At last, the claw came away, and Doomageddon gulped it down. Without his claws, Frogg was forced to use his forearms to support himself, giving Doomageddon the perfect angle to push his full length deeper. The hellhound howled, then bit down into Frogg’s hunched shoulders. Perhaps Frogg wasn’t a hellbitch, but turning him into a plaything was just as satisfying.
Frogg’s brain raced, but the pain made it nearly impossible to think clearly. He lowered his head. How much would he love to turn his head and blast the creature with his laser goggles? He reached for the button with his arm, but was unable to locate the button, let alone press it. Resting his head on his arms, Frogg bit his lip and began to sob. While he had wanted to defy his looks and make the most of his flesh, he could not have imagined that he would lose his innocence because of Doomageddon’s instincts.
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