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Title: Frostbound
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Jessica/Jeri
Rating: NC-17
Words: 953
Timeline: Pre-Jessica Jones Season One
Notes: Character spoilers for Jessica Jones. Contains discussion of sexual coercion (not enforced) as dirty talk. Roughplay. For [community profile] ladiesbingo, prompt "manipulation", Femslash February, and a prompt at [community profile] daredevilkink.
Summary: Jeri flirts with ice instead of heat. And that suits Jessica just fine, because she knows she won’t get burned.



Jessica’s hands grab Jeri’s hips, easily hefting her up onto her desk. Pushing into the space between Jeri’s thighs and, fuck, it’s worth it to see the way Jeri’s eyes flash, irritated on the surface, yet with obvious interest underneath.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeri asks, voice level and cool because she knows exactly what Jessica’s doing. But she’s a shark through and through, and she never makes it easy. Not when she can dig in with her heels, not when she can be stubborn purely for the sake of putting Jessica on the defensive, making her spell shit out. That’s Jeri’s idea of playfulness - the game of one-upmanship, the appreciation for how Jessica never backs down.

Jeri flirts with ice instead of heat. And that suits Jessica just fine, because she knows she won’t get burned.

Jessica drags Jeri in closer, ass right at the table edge. “Just making sure this wasn’t a wasted trip,” she smirks, because they both recognise when Jeri’s yanking her chain, pulling her in circles. All those promises of payment when Jessica delivers the evidence, except suddenly it’s not the right evidence when it’s time to fork over the cash. They’ve been through this before, the flimsy reasons to call Jessica back in, the excuses to push at the other’s buttons.

It’s a song-and-dance routine, because Jeri knows Jessica can get dirt other private investigators can’t, and Jessica knows Jeri’s one of the few steady clients she hasn’t managed to scare off yet. They need each other; not just for business, but for this, lips barely an inch apart, electricity sparking between them.

“You’ll get your payment when I get my photos,” Jeri reminds her, keeping the charade going, pushing until Jessica is the first to crack, because getting under people’s skin is a point of pride to her.

Fuck it. Jessica gets a hand around the back of Jeri’s neck and pulls her in for a hard kiss, because games are Jeri’s thing, and impatience is Jessica’s.

Jeri’s kisses, her touches, they’re always firm and precise. The sweep of her tongue across the roof of Jessica’s mouth, the slide of her fingers up Jessica’s arm, the squeeze of her legs around Jessica’s waist; it’s all calculated, all designed to make Jessica sloppy in her hunger for more. She shoves the fabric of Jeri’s pencil skirt higher up her thighs, rocks her hips into the spread of Jeri’s legs, savouring the bite Jeri gives her lower lip, a quick buzzing sting of sensation.

“Get on your knees for me,” Jeri whispers, a curve to her lips that’s too hard and sly to be a smile, “and maybe we can renegotiate your fee.” Which is horseshit, because Jeri would never offer Jessica more money than she already has, the tight bitch. It’s another game, another fucked up form of flirting, the evil lawyer equivalent of dirty talk, and it makes Jessica snort out a laugh - Jeri’s expression still isn’t a smile, but it gets more amused at the sound.

And that means it’s Jessica’s turn to up the ante. She gets her hands on Jeri’s hips again, tips her back across the desk. Paperwork goes flying to the floor, and the look Jeri gives her is a promise that Jessica will pay for that.

They hold the glare for a long moment, Jeri pissed off and Jessica smug about it, and then Jessica’s shoving off her jacket, watching the way Jeri lifts her hips to drag her panties down her legs.

Jessica reaches out, tears the flimsy lace fabric in two; Jeri’s glare gets meaner.

Jessica grips the edge of the desk, leans down between Jeri’s thighs. Pausing just to see how wet Jeri is, and then there’s a hand in her hair, shoving her face down where Jeri wants it. Jessica mouths at Jeri’s pussy, sex thick against her tongue, one of Jeri’s legs slung over her shoulder as she starts to rock her hips.

This is all they have between them, and it’s all they need. Sex and work, simplicity, because they’re both shitty people, but neither of them is judging the other for it. Jeri’s married, and Jessica knows she’s also fucking her secretary, and being here makes Jessica one more asshole in a world already full of them, but that’s just who she is. The sex is like booze; it doesn’t numb her, doesn’t chase bad memories away, but Jessica cares less when she’s got Jeri’s hand pulling at her hair hard and nasty.

“Fuck me,” Jeri orders in that voice that means the games are over. “Two fingers, Jessica, now.”

And Jessica does it without thinking, gives Jeri exactly what she wants. Pushing into that slick heat with her fingers, mouth working Jeri’s clit. She should hate following orders after everything that happened with Kilgrave, and usually she does, but Jeri’s snapped commands are impossible to ignore, and Jessica never said this thing they have was healthy. All that matters is the way she’s sweating beneath her clothes, jeans dragging against her crotch with every shift of her hips, making her wetter and more impatient than ever.

Jeri’s breath catches in a quiet gasp, hips bucking up against Jessica’s face. For such an ice queen, she’s always been responsive as hell to Jessica’s mouth. And after this, it’ll be Jeri’s turn to push Jessica’s limits, to fuck Jessica across her desk or on the floor or against the window, staring out at the lights of the city.

Yeah, it’s not healthy, it’s pretty much the opposite of that. But it works, no strings attached, and sometimes the rush of Jeri coming under her mouth is just what Jessica needs.
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