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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A quiet, strangled gasp died in her throat as her head fell back to the bed, rising into a moan. For a moment, it felt like too much, like he would have to back off because there was no way she could possibly survive this, but the thought of him stopping was absolutely unthinkable and what had previously been a gentle, urgent touch as she ran her hand through his hair was suddenly something significantly less light.

Like an animal, his head almost perks up at the sound, nearly straining to experience more of it in any way he knows how - but this is new, still so new, and so he treads lightly, not sure of what will make her gasp versus cry out in delight, make her fingers strain for a grasp on his head the way they are now, curling deep enough for him to feel her nails lightly scratching against his scalp. He responds to her move with one of his own, emboldened by her responses, and prays he'll somehow stumble upon the right pattern that will leave her unable to form a single word.

Wanda's eyes fell closed, her breath coming in short, panting gasps as her muscles tensed, hitching her leg up a little higher over his shoulder. He was doing some amazing things to her, and while she was very well acquainted with her body, this wasn't exactly something that a girl could get on her lonesome. These were entirely new sensations, and she could only drink them in, let them wash over her and hang on as best she could with only the occasional God or yes slipping out in between breaths.

He drinks up her responses and listens carefully, paying attention to the cues that are more subtle and physical at times and then listening for the way her breath hitches at others. She's soft and warm and sweet, everything that he considers himself the antithesis of - everything he'd been denying himself for such a long time. It's partly for selfish reasons that he revels in it now, wanting to push her almost to the breaking point before easing her down gently.

There was nothing else anymore, only his mouth, his lips, his tongue, any lingering concerns that Wanda may have had about doing this having been washed cleanly away by the spread of pleasure he was giving her. He was playing her body like an instrument, her toes curling when he hit upon a particularly good note, and what had begun as a slow build low in her abdomen quickly threatened to overtake her. "Nnn, just... just..." she tried to get out, her words failing her spectacular.

Just like that.

Maybe he doesn't have to worry about being good enough, just good enough for her. That thought alone is enough to calm any anxieties he might be harboring about his lack of experience in the area. He almost can't put a description to what he experiences, resting a palm against her abdomen to feel her tense and shudder. It's a combination of being excited by her, very excited, and soothed by her very presence. Her words die in her throat and he murmurs her name, low and against her skin, before his fingers pick up the slack and he teases them into her, slow and rhythmic.

She cried out only once, a short, sharp sound, raw and desperate as he coaxed her so gently over that edge, as much shock as ecstasy. Her fingers tightened in his hair while her other hand balled the sheets tightly at her side and she almost curled in on herself, both shoulders and hips rising slightly off the mattress for an instant as she came. God, how had she survived for so long without this? And how the hell was she supposed to survive without it again?

Words are failing him in the silence that follows as she slowly relaxes. He can feel the harsher layer of tension leaving her body within the aftershocks, and he eases back, propping himself over her again. One elbow keeps him from completely crushing her while he brushes her hair back from her face, gazing down at her.

"You know," he starts, voice slightly gravelly, "when I said 'repeat offense', I wasn't exactly picturing - well, this."

Wanda's smile at that was small but unguarded, with no small amount of lingering desire behind it. "I was," she admitted quietly, curling her fingers in the fabric of his shirt collar. She'd known exactly how much she wanted him, wanted from him, when she'd kissed him, even if it had terrified her. Still did, in fact, only now she felt too good, too boneless and satisfied to care, more alive than she'd ever felt since... well, since she died.

His responding grin is genuine, almost comically self-deprecating after everything that's just transpired as he ducks his head slightly. "Maybe it's a good thing that one of us was," he softly answers, fingertips combing through long white strands. "Should I feel concerned that maybe it was you holding the reins all along?"

Wanda gave a quiet huff, almost self-conscious in a way that had nothing to do with her state of undress as she shook her head minutely. "Believe me, no control here."

"No?" Bruce's grin widens visibly, shifting from sheepish to something close to boyish in resemblance, and he's still smiling as he moves to let his face hover over hers, mouth drifting nearer. "None at all?"

If there was, she wouldn't be there at all, would have had the sense to shut things down from the start and not let them get all tangled up in her head. But that clearly hadn't happened and so there he was with his disgustingly attractive self and all Wanda could do was shake her head again.

"Not even a little," she whispered, tugging him down into a kiss.

The chuckle that slips past him, muffled by the kiss, is real - real and easy and unexpected and it almost takes him aback entirely with how freely it happens, evidence of the powerful effect she has on him already.

Maybe he can get used to this lack of thinking, he decides, and willingly lets her maneuver him where she chooses.

His laugh made her chest tighten slightly; not even a lust thing, but one of simple affection, which was just as worrisome, in its way. Smiling into the kiss nonetheless, she ended it by pushing him up so she could get his shirt off. Step one in whatever continuing mess she was going to get herself into was getting him undressed so she wouldn't feel quite so... debauched.

His hair, already teased into a new state of mussed from the consistent raking of fingers, sticks up in a few new angles when he finally chooses to forego buttons in lieu of tugging his shirt up over his head. He's not exactly Captain America underneath, but he likes to consider that the botched attempt at recreating Erskine's formula amounted to some subtle muscle definition. He's not even thinking about how he looks once he feels the slide of her chest against his. Good would be putting it mildly.

Wanda gave a contended moan, putting her arms around him possessively and lightly arching her back to press up against him. He looked damn fine as far as she was concerned, inasmuch as she could admit it. He felt just as good, though. Besides, what did it matter that he was a man, solid and strong and different in so many little ways that, while kind of great, were proving difficult to get used to? It was just intimate human contact, simple and universal and something she'd missed far more than she ever realized. Slowly slipping a leg between his, she brought her thigh up to exert a bit of subtle pressure, light but deliberate.

His eyes almost snap open because that leg, smooth and gently pressing between the both of his, is like a spur in his side, just enough of a reminder for him to really snap back to the moment and realize who he has underneath him, naked and willing and wanting him. That reminder descends quickly, fast enough for her to feel the hard evidence for herself as he practically feels himself stand at attention, like a lustful teenager. He groans, burying his face against her neck, and his fingers are trembling as he reaches for the lead button on his trousers.

It was about as perfect a reaction as Wanda could have hoped for even if it was another of those moments that drove home just how real this had quickly become. She could feel him, hard against her leg, and it terrified her a little, lodged her heart in her throat even as she continued to apply that bit of encouraging contact, increased the pressure, whispered his name as she held him close. She'd do anything for more of those reactions.

It feels like he's never been more aware of himself in relation to another person, so very attuned and yet almost overwhelmed by what his senses are experiencing, completely on overload. He starts to worry that he might not be able to last long if this is already beginning to bowl him over, but his name whispered gently brings him circling back to her, and it only takes a brief moment of awkward fumbling for him to shove the last remaining barrier of clothes off and away from between them.

He's almost trembling as he returns to her, as if the mere skin contact would be enough to burn him up from the inside.

Wanda stifled a gasp at the feel of him, nervous and wholly unprepared, but filled with anticipation nonetheless. She'd gone tense again, muscles coiled tight beneath him, and she tried to will herself to relax, to lose herself in his warmth, his touch. She was too aware, though, her attention drawn deliciously to every bit of him she could feel but still being pulled inexorably ahead to what would come next, what her body was practically begging for. If she got spooked now, she would never forgive herself.

"Bruce, please," she whispered roughly against his jaw, shutting her eyes against the enormity of all they were doing. There was nothing complex about how much she wanted him, no reason to panic. "Please."

She's as tense as he is, nervous, quivering like a newly plucked string, and the seriousness of the situation lays him low. Maybe she should be nervous. Maybe they both should. There's no telling what's going to happen once they jump from the precipice, and right now they're only dangling, hesitating. He's hesitating, mostly, the rounds of his fingertips digging possessively into her hip as he tries to steady himself.

The plea she breathes over his skin is the breaking point. It's been a long time but he knows what comes next, knows the slide of skin and the way that mutual arousal makes it almost too easy for him to sink into her, slow and deep, a groan stuttering out of his mouth and his fingers tightly gripping her hair when his hips press flush against hers.

Her breath left her in a rush and Wanda found herself wondering if it would ever return as she clutched at him. She'd been right before, she couldn't do this, it was too much, too overwhelming. It didn't matter how much she told herself that it was just sex, the basic mechanisms remained the same. It didn't matter how much her body responded to how amazing it felt, pushing wantonly up against his hips as they came to rest against hers. The sensation of having him inside her, filling her, was just too much to overcome, too foreign, how could she ever be expected to be alright with it?

The high, breathless entreaty for more that slipped past her lips didn't seem to agree with her assessment, though.

There might be nagging thoughts later, pinging around in the back of his subconscious, as he perhaps considers the fact that in another world, another life, such a thing would be impossible between them. The danger of allowing his heart rate to spike too high would always be lurking at home. Here, it feels as though he's dancing along the line, toeing the boundary between a healthy heartbeat and something to be concerned about. Here, he slides a hand along her hip and tugs forward and up to change the angle, rewarded with a deeper sensation for his efforts.

He struggles to even form the syllables of her name. His brain can't process anything beyond the way she feels, hot and slick and meeting him halfway, and he buries his face against her, nibbling blindly across her breast.

He penetrated her even further and Wanda finally found her breath again in shuddering draws. It wasn't a conscious success, none of her reactions were the result of anything she wanted to do at the moment, but one of survival, as she likely wasn't too far from passing out. Even still, she knew that wasn't to blame for the way she suddenly felt lightheaded, off-balance even while on her back. That was all him. That was just what he did to her, apparently, robbed her of all control. Hell, she didn't even know what she wanted out of this until she'd already asked, panting.

"Harder."

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