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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

He nearly laughs - something akin to a breathless chuckle slips out, his lips shifting into an upturned shape across her breast when he lifts his head just enough to allow his mouth to ascend along the curve of her jaw, kissing her in the spot under her earlobe.

"Yeah?" he mutters, punctuating the question-that-isn't-really-a-question with a sharper thrust, waiting for whatever sound she makes to answer. If anything, he's invigorated by the request, taking her in a harder rhythm before she has a chance to reply, his hand holding her hips fast and firm at that upturned angle.

The shiver that crept down the back of her neck at the brush of his lips was cut harshly off when he snapped back into her, tearing a cry that was half gasp and half moan from her throat. There was no room left in her for anything then, no thought, no doubt, and she was barely able to process how perfect it all was before he'd be driving into her again and she'd have to start over. She'd say it again if she could, but words were beyond her then, and all she could do was wrap her legs around his waist, try to pull him closer, deeper, with every thrust.

Maybe, he thinks, shortly before all coherent thought leaves him once again - maybe it might be possible for him to just wrap himself in her, to hold her so close to him that it's impossible to tell where he ends and she starts.

She hoists her legs up around his waist and leaves his hands free to move over her, and he leans forward to cover her even as his hips piston forward, driving so deep and hard that for a second he's worried he's hurting her before she cries out again. He turns his face in against her neck, panting roughly, kissing her pulse point between breaths as they collide, drift apart and come back together again.

Wanda threw her head back at the feel of his mouth, baring her neck to him and reveling in her own vulnerability as her soft cries gained in intensity, coinciding with nearly every snap of his hips. They didn't even register as sounds that she herself was making, completely unfamiliar to her ears, and she only had enough presence of mind to be thankful for her lack of neighbours.

Whether or not they were in her bed or his, neither of them have to worry about any potential passersby - at least aside from the unexpected possibility of someone just deciding to drop by - but it's safe to say that's the furthest thing from Bruce's mind at the moment. His days' worth of stubble scrapes roughly against her neck when he nuzzles into her skin, leaving marks that might take their time to fade afterward. He's starting to lose his handle on any semblance of control, giving over to feeling.

It's not graceful anymore - it's hot, needy, sweaty-sticky, and somehow more amazing than he ever could have imagined. He groans, almost a keening sound, as heat builds low inside him, and he can barely stammer out the words. "I - I'm - close - "

She should do something, she knew, at least get him to pull out before he finished, but Wanda was there as well, right on the edge, far too close to possibly bring herself to stop any of it. Besides, just the way he sounded then was about the hottest thing she'd ever experienced and she needed every last bit that she could wring out of him before it was over. All she could manage was a frantic half-nod of encouragement, her legs tightening almost painfully around him as her fingernails dug suddenly into his back.

He stutters over an epithet and can't muster up any more than that to warn her. It's a combination of factors. The squeeze of her legs around him, gripping like a vice. The dig of her fingernails, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make him grit his teeth and grunt roughly.

There's no thinking about what's happened to bring them to this point or what will happen afterward. It's just this second - now, now, now - and Wanda - and he groans her name helplessly as he comes in a few more thrusts, riding through it despite the trembling of his body, his synapses firing at sharpshooter speed.

She could feel it -- God, she could feel him come from inside, and for an instant, it was too much again, absurd and intense and too intimate to deny, but then her own climax was on her and it was just one more thing assaulting her senses in all the most perfect ways, one of many. Even her name (meaningless, chosen on a whim, nothing) sounded brilliant when he said it, helpless and lost to everything but that moment which belonged only to them. She proved capable only of a surprised shout, quickly trailing off into whimpers in the aftermath as she wrapped her arms around him again, her embrace at once needy and oddly protective as she fought to keep breathing through it.

Afterwards, he can't do anything else but breathe, focus on breathing and lingering close to her, laying with her. The sensations he'd felt when she'd come on him, around him - he's not sure even the best poet could put it into words. She's even more beautiful in the aftermath, and he lifts his head weakly, brushing a few pieces of hair back from her face before he kisses her, soft and desperate and surprising even himself with how full of feeling it is. He doesn't even feel the inclination to move, although he does shift his weight so that he isn't crushing her directly, letting his kisses gently trail to her neck.

Edited 2013-01-15 23:47 (UTC)

Wanda sighed, almost thrown by how easy it was to get lost in him, even something as simple as a kiss, but she was still too sated and content for deeper thoughts just yet. For now, she just closed her eyes, mouth curling up into a smile at the feel of his lips on her skin once more, one hand resting gently at the back of his neck while she stretched her other limbs out, sore from the unexpected exertion.

"Oh, Bruce," she murmured, still a little on the breathless side. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Hopefully nothing sudden and right away," he mumbles, speaking the words half-muffled against her skin as they both shift in turn, her to stretch and him to slowly ease to a more comfortable lounging position.

"Or anything that requires moving."

"Duly noted," Wanda said with just the barest hint of humour in her voice. She wasn't particularly keen on the idea of moving just then, either, but her mind was starting to clear out some of the fog that good sex tended to bring with it and with that clarity came consequences. It hadn't been just sex, not for her, she was in whole new frontiers now, ones she was pretty sure she hadn't ever wanted to be in. It was just too much.

He stretches again, idly, reaching down for a corner of one of the blankets on the bed to pull it up. He feels the odd need to cover her afterward, rolling over to her side as he keeps one arm gently resting across her.

"That was - " Rather than finish a sentence, he exhales in a long sigh, tipping his chin down to kiss her bare shoulder.

"Yeah," Wanda replied softly, because even if it wasn't a proper statement, she still agreed with the sentiment. "Yeah, it was."

What it also was was kind of freaking her out a bit now, actually, and that bit of casual intimacy, something she'd normally be so welcoming of, only served to drive that point home. It wasn't only about being in bed with a man, the memories of what they'd done hanging in the air, lingering in the sweat cooling on their skin. That was a big part of it, but hardly all. It was that it was him. Bruce Banner: lifelong inspiration, occasional irradiated rage monster, current rocker of her world? Who the hell was she anymore? It was way too strange, and as she felt the familiar hand of panic close around her heart and start to squeeze, she forced herself to sit up.

"I, uh, actually, I have class in a bit. I- I should go."

"Oh." He isn't sure why she's moving to get up at first, and then the reason behind it soon follows and his eyes widen with understanding. Suddenly he's feeling a little less relaxed, but still reluctant to move too quickly, and he slowly pushes himself up to sit, leaning back on one hand.

"I didn't make you late, did I?" It's the one current worry that enters his brain as he smooths his other hand along the curve of her back, wanting to preserve the memory of how soft her skin feels - like it'll disappear the second she does.

[for Bruce]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)