An Atlantean Tiki Bar

Mona Loa was a piece of retro-madness. The limo pulled up beneath a peaked roof of bamboo. She stepped out onto a red carpet that led to a bridge over a moat, through a mist-filled tunnel, and into a world of tropical fantasy. In the center of the dining room, an artificial volcano rumbled and spewed red fluid. Tables were divided up by tall fish tanks in which small sharks and octopi swam. A primal drumming thrummed to accompany the mid-century exotica pumped in through the speakers. All the waiters were topless and wore grass skirts that showed off their physiques...and didn't hide the pale blue skin and pointed ears.

"Sue!" Janet van Dyne, the Wasp, was in a slinky violet dress that hugged her slim hips. "Come on! We've got a scorpion bowl!"

Jennifer Walters, the incredible She-Hulk, was having her biceps felt by a pair of Atlantean women wearing nothing more than three golden sea shells. Jessica Drew, the Spider-Woman, in some kind of web-themed red-and-black sarong, watched hungrily as a muscular Atlantean man set what looked like a huge clam shell on the center of the table, a bowl of fire in the middle of the pink liquid. Beside her, Carol Danvers, Captain Marvel, was in a dress like a white and black sunburst, smiled when she saw Sue. At one end of the table, Ororo Munroe, AKA Storm of the X-Men, sat in tight black pants and an open black top that left her shoulders bare, her white hair in a tall mohawk. The only one still in their normal costume was the Valkyrie, Brunhilde, who looked out of place in her Norse garb, the sword dragonfang at her hip, her blonde hair tied in twin tails.

"Ladies!" Janet announced. "Let's get this party started!"

Straws went into the bowl. Sue sucked hard, tasted exotic citrus, potent rums, sweet and hot and heady. By degrees, she felt her worries leave her behind. The heroines laughed and joked, ate dainty seafood dishes and sipped exotic potions. The Atlanteans did strange dance routines, and there was a constant barrage of conversation, jokes, and then, inevitably, the lights dimmed and the heroines invaded the dance floor.

Wild and unleashed, Sue Storm moved as if all of her years as a heroine didn't weigh on her. Invisible forcefields let her hold impossible poses, turned parts of her costume scandalously invisible to flash the ladies a bit of hip, of nip, of the healing tattoo just about her ass—and the heroines of Earth whooped, howled, and sought to match her.

Then a tray of new cocktails arrived. The waiter said something about compliments, but Sue didn't catch who sent the white, frothy drinks. All she knew is that the ladies clinked glasses in a common toast, and Sue Storm didn't just take a sip—she drained it dry.

Which is when a familiar figure stepped onto the dance floor.

Sue Storm's eyelids fluttered as she met Namor's eyes. He wore a tuxedo, but it was tailored to show his broad shoulders and slim waist, and not to hide the little wings on his ankles.

"May I have this dance?" he said, and for a moment as his hand closed on hers, and his hand touched her hip, the smell of him hit her. Sue blushed, and her pussy immediately drenched, an unprecedented flood dribbling down her thigh.

Sue licked her lips. Eyes locked on his.

"Well," she said with a smile. "Why not?"

Around the bar, hidden cameras caught every moment.