Dr. Wanda Langkowski (
soulthatwanders) wrote2013-01-07 03:56 pm
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[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.
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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"Do you think any good could come from a repeat offense?"
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"Probably not," he echoes, stepping in. "But didn't we just get done talking about how we're both lacking in good these days?"
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"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.
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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.
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"I'm sorry, was that - are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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