soulthatwanders | [for Bruce]

[for Bruce]

It's only weird if you make it weird. Don't make it weird.

With that thought firmly in mind, Wanda took a deep breath and knocked on Bruce's door, jacket slung carefully over one arm. She'd put the task of returning it off for as long as she could because she'd secretly been hoping that it might disappear with the rest of Manhattan and she'd be off the hook, but it was apparently native. No such luck there.

Not that she wanted to avoid him forever, of course, but she really had no idea how it might go, and as far as she was concerned, New Year's had proved that her judgment was apparently weirdly impaired where he was concerned. Still, as long as she didn't make a big deal out of anything that had gone down (which was pretty much nothing, anyway), she was fairly sure it would be fine. Why wouldn't it?

"Anyone home?"

Not weird.

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"Case in point," Bruce responds, with an idle gesture between the both of them.

"Do you think any good could come from a repeat offense?"

Wanda bit her lip, her heart continuing to hitch annoyingly in her chest. "Probably not," she said slowly. Of course, when that had ever stopped from doing something stupid?

It took a fair amount of self-control to not let his gaze drop to her mouth when she hooked her lip with her teeth, a place he had done a fair amount of thinking about in recent days.

"Probably not," he echoes, stepping in. "But didn't we just get done talking about how we're both lacking in good these days?"

"I... might not be done talking yet," Wanda said lamely, her body practically humming with nervous energy. And then he was close, too close, and all those thoughts that had been spinning in her head about how strange and wrong the whole thing was got really inconvenient, really fast.

"Oh, fuck it," she finally murmured, suddenly surging forward to kiss him, rough and just a little desperate. Unlike the guy in the next room, she wasn't made of stone.

The anticipation is that it'll be a mirror of last time, potentially - soft and slow and seeking, but the way she approaches it immediately ratchets up the level to ten and beyond, breathing something out loud seconds before she kisses him, her lips strong against his own.

The Hulk might be dormant now but there's still those instincts there, the ones that call for him to claim, to possess, to mark, and he has to will himself to take her into a warm embrace instead of a rougher one even as a groan rises deep in the back of his throat and he pulls her tight to him, fingers tangling in her hair.

She made a small noise, almost a whimper as she fully gave in to the impulse, pressing herself against him, hands clutching at his back, mouth opening under his. She couldn't do this slowly, couldn't take the time to process her feelings lest she get spooked and back down again. At that moment, all she wanted was him, and thinking too much would only get in the way of that. She could run later.

That sound, from her lips to his ears, is intoxicating; the taste of her lips similarly draws him in. His other arm winds low across her back, palm pressed flat between her shoulderblades, and he gently flexes his grip in her hair, enough for her to feel it without pulling. It's the exact opposite of their conversation earlier, stiff and distancing. He sways with her now, kissing her long enough that it feels hard to breathe.

Wanda had really never expected anything like this to ever happen, but she had thought about it a lot over the years. When she did, there was always something a little off, a little wrong about it, but she felt absolutely nothing like that now. It was different, yes, but also good, his hands on her back and in her hair, surrounding her, overwhelming her. That mouth, dominating her, and maybe she should have been able to guess that he had this in him, but she had no idea. Finally, she had to draw back for a few gasping breaths, and she honestly could not remember the last time a kiss had left her heart pounding so hard against her chest.

His first instinct upon her drawing back is that it must be too hard, too forceful and that's the reason she's pulling away. Yet he doesn't want to completely relinquish his hold on her, even as he slowly relaxes his grip in her hair and eases his arms to a looser embrace around her.

"I'm sorry, was that - are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"What?" Wanda blurted, a breathless exhalation, before shaking her head. "No, no, God, no," and then she was kissing him again before he could reply, leaning harder into the embrace, because talking meant panicking and panicking meant stopping and stopping was the absolute last thing she wanted to do just then.

"Oh - " Bruce gets out, but only just barely, because then he finds his mouth very thoroughly occupied again, his arms encircling her a little more when she steps forward, close enough for him to feel the soft curve of her shape against his own. His hand smooths down her back, tracing her spine slowly, and the only reason he breaks away this time is to kiss her jawline and the side of her neck, nuzzling over the softness of her skin.

Wanda gasped again, tipping her head back and to the side because hello, apparently she was a lot more sensitive to that sort of thing than she remembered being. One hand still clutching absently in the back of his shirt, the other crept up to the nape of his neck, drawn in by the warmth of his skin and the distraction it offered as she struggled to keep her breathing steady.

She's intoxicating. How could he have missed this for so long? She's in his arms now and he doesn't even know how he never realized what was right within his reach. That gasp of hers is the exact reaction he's hoping for, and he nips against her pulse point as it flutters to the touch with every heartbeat. She's breathless, and he's not faring much better as his fingertips press into her body and he loses himself in her scent, her responsiveness.

She wanted to press forward against him and back into his touch all at once, so Wanda settled for just arching her back at the dig of his fingers while her own carded up through his hair in a slow, stilted motion. A moan slipped from her lips at the continued ministrations of his mouth, a high, needy sound that she only barely recognized as her own voice.

He wants to say something, wants to tell her so that she knows she's incredible, amazing. But he's drowning in her and he's worried any words are just going to snap them out of this haze they continue to fuel by giving in to each other's touch. He can barely curb a shudder from the sensation of her fingers in his hair, and his mouth finds hers again, hungry and wanting, his hands anchoring low on her hips as he pulls them into his.

She moaned again, lower this time and muffled against his mouth, his tongue. How the hell was this the same man who had seemed terrified to touch her, even innocently, only days ago?

Wanda wouldn't have been able to speak even if she tried; there wasn't a single word left in her head. There was nothing in her but sensations and needs, like the one for further contact that sent her hand down to tug at the edge of his shirt, to roam against the skin at his lower back.

His heartbeat is a constant rush in his own head, only broken up by the sounds she makes, the ones that make him want to lean in to hear them as close as he can so he's the first one there the second they tumble from her lips. She's in his head by the way his body is starting to respond to her - stirring in ways he'd long been convinced he wasn't able to experience without serious risk.

There's nothing to bring him back to a reality - no heart monitor on his wrist, and the only dizzying sensation he has isn't at all like the feeling he gets before he slips into blackness, before the Hulk takes over. It's just the headiness of her warmth, her scent, her hand trailing against his skin, and he's fumbling behind her for purchase before guiding her up against a shelf, pressing her there needfully yet gently.

There was a small sound of surprise caught in her throat as her back hit the shelf, but she didn't disengage for an instant, pushing his shirt up a little higher and using the added stability behind her to pull him against her a little more forcefully, rolling her hips. She was wanton and desperate and if she could see how it looked, she likely wouldn't even recognize herself, but he'd gotten in under her skin somewhere along the line and she couldn't very well deny it anymore. Not now, anyway.

He can feel her coaxing his shirt up in the back, but a part of him isn't willing to pull away in order to pick up where she's left off. What he does is ease back to look at her, face still hovering close to her own while his hand cups her cheek tenderly and he traces the ripe red swell of her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

It's soft and heated under his touch and he presses his lips there, soft brushes of his mouth that build into slight nips without any sharpness to them. He's touching her but not clutching at her, his hands roaming, exploring over her curves without being too invasive.

It almost wasn't enough, there being a moment where she could feel his eyes on her without that amazing distraction of his mouth and she needed more, but then there he was again. It was softer, but just as overwhelming in its way, his hands somehow seeming to be everywhere at once, pulling her attention in twenty different directions. Her own movements remained needy, the fingertips of both hands now sliding across skin, digging in, keeping him as close as possible.

It's almost too overwhelming, the caresses of her hands, the touch of her mouth. He wants to touch everywhere he can all at once, but there's only so many boundaries he wants to test without her giving the permission - even though, deep down, there's that part of him that wants to press harder, wants to completely consume her. He ducks down to kiss her neck, her clavicle, partly out of a need to hear more of those sounds from her lips as his fingers skim the hem of her blouse, dared by his own desire.

Wanda threw her head back, baring her throat to him, and for the second time, there might have well have been a third person in the room with them for all that she recognized the sounds she was making. Seeking out any additional point of contact she could, she slipped a leg out and hooked it around his, and while the movement was an odd one to her, foreign feeling, it did the trick nicely.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything and splutters on her name, lips only moving as far to form the W before the sound dies in his throat when she hooks him in with her leg. This can't be him. But maybe it is. Maybe this is what happens when he finally comes to terms with the other side of himself, learning to accept the other guy in his blood.

As nice as this is, though, she doesn't deserve to be pinned to the wall like this, and he slides his hands under her thighs, coaxing her up and away from the shelves.

With a soft gasp of surprise, Wanda let herself go along with the motion, slipping her arms up and over his shoulders for stability. It was all too much for her, too fast, but in the best possible way, and still she only ended up wanting more.

He swivels, moving to take her someplace else, any place else - and stops, too drawn in by the scent and the shape of her to do anything more than just hold her in this moment. "You're killing me," he whispers, syllables forming against her neck while he cards fingers through her hair. Even in a murmur, the words are full of longing, satisfaction and an ache that's begging to be sated with each passing second.

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