Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2014-02-19 08:33 pm
salmon_pink) wrote2014-02-19 08:33 pm
(MCU) Worshipful
Title: Worshipful
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Sif/Natasha
Rating: NC-17
Words: 785
Notes: Dirty talk. For Femslash February,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
avengers_tables, prompt "again", and a prompt at avengerkink.
Summary: Surrender, even a pleasurable surrender, goes against Natasha's nature. Yet she gives in to Sif every time.
Natasha growls, kicks out savagely, only for Sif to catch her ankle with ease. Like the force of it is nothing, never mind that Natasha’s broken bones with that kick, never mind that she’s done worse with that kick. Holding Natasha’s leg suspended in the air, even when Natasha lets the tension in her muscles disappear, short and sudden, so it’s no more than a dead weight.
Anyone else would at least waver, trying to shift position, shift their hold to keep the limb held high. But Sif doesn’t even acknowledge it, Natasha’s ankle held in a grip that isn’t even that tight but is still unbreakable.
And, fuck, Sif uses it as a chance to spread Natasha wider, inside of her thighs burning with it, ache in her hips that will be with her for days. Like Natasha was trying to help her with that kick, not aiming to maim.
Staring down between Natasha’s legs, fucking shameless with it, eyes dark but also amused, and it’s the latter that makes Natasha buck against the hold, try to yank her leg from Sif’s grip, useless as she knows it is.
“Still you struggle,” Sif murmurs, a smirk at the corners of her mouth. She is more powerful naked than most could hope to be in armour and Kevlar, skin a honeyed gold and only the faintest sheen of perspiration visible across her chest, for all they’ve done in the past few hours. “You have only to say the word, and I shall give you what you wish.”
In response, Natasha can only snarl. Every part of her feels on fire, even Sif’s fingers wrapped around her ankle feeling like a brand, like just that touch is enough to make her throb and clench.
“So wet for me,” Sif purrs, lazily pushing up on to her knees. “Flushed the most beautiful colour. Perhaps I should fetch a mirror, show you how swollen and open you are for me.”
Natasha’s back arches, hips pushing up against nothing, whole body moving without her permission. She’s lost track now, of how many times Sif has pushed her over the edge, of how many times Sif has made her scream. Throat burning and muscles twitching randomly, hair sticking to her forehead and neck, nipples stiff and sore from being held pinched between Sif’s fingers.
Sif leans forward on her knees, turns to bite lightly at the inside of Natasha’s thigh as she moves her leg until it rests against Sif’s shoulder.
“I like you best like this,” she whispers, as if she is sharing a great secret. “When your pleasure is so immense, so all consuming that you become nothing more than your desires.” She digs her thumb into the hollow of Natasha’s pelvis, and Natasha’s head twists back and forth against the pillow, Russian curses spilling mindlessly from her lips. “When you are no more than an animal, clever wiles and charms forgotten in the face of your hunger.”
“Touch me,” Natasha groans, voice cracked and husky, patience snapping. It’s too much, her body can’t take any more, and yet she needs it, needs that feeling of coming apart under Sif’s fingers, under her mouth.
The smirk on Sif’s lips spreads into a true smile, the kind she wears in battle, heady and soaring. Hair brushing Natasha’s thighs as she leans in, making Natasha shiver, making her whole body seize and crave.
“Always,” she promises, voice like a siren’s song, breath ghosting over Natasha’s skin in ways that make her eyes roll. Hot, damp tease of it, and then Sif’s mouth is back over her, three fingers twisting into her cunt with ease. Rocking forward to fuck her face against Natasha’s labia, her clit, tongue undulating in ways that have ruined Natasha for anyone else.
The noises Natasha makes, God, she can hear how wrecked and weak she sounds, fingers pulling feebly at Sif’s hair, too tired to push up into the touch the way she wants to. No longer the Black Widow, no longer even Natasha Romanoff. Just a thing made sex, a toy of the Gods, a broken rag doll in Sif’s arms. Spread open and high on orgasm after orgasm, no responsibility, no past, no pain or shame.
This is all she is, and right now it is all she wants to be. Trembling uncontrollably as a body that cannot handle any more pleasure is pushed towards the edge once again, in love with the feeling and in love with Sif, the world outside her bedroom walls melting away until all that’s left is this touch and what it does to Natasha’s soul as much as her body, mending her heart as it breaks her apart.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Sif/Natasha
Rating: NC-17
Words: 785
Notes: Dirty talk. For Femslash February,
avengers_tables, prompt "again", and a prompt at avengerkink.Summary: Surrender, even a pleasurable surrender, goes against Natasha's nature. Yet she gives in to Sif every time.
Natasha growls, kicks out savagely, only for Sif to catch her ankle with ease. Like the force of it is nothing, never mind that Natasha’s broken bones with that kick, never mind that she’s done worse with that kick. Holding Natasha’s leg suspended in the air, even when Natasha lets the tension in her muscles disappear, short and sudden, so it’s no more than a dead weight.
Anyone else would at least waver, trying to shift position, shift their hold to keep the limb held high. But Sif doesn’t even acknowledge it, Natasha’s ankle held in a grip that isn’t even that tight but is still unbreakable.
And, fuck, Sif uses it as a chance to spread Natasha wider, inside of her thighs burning with it, ache in her hips that will be with her for days. Like Natasha was trying to help her with that kick, not aiming to maim.
Staring down between Natasha’s legs, fucking shameless with it, eyes dark but also amused, and it’s the latter that makes Natasha buck against the hold, try to yank her leg from Sif’s grip, useless as she knows it is.
“Still you struggle,” Sif murmurs, a smirk at the corners of her mouth. She is more powerful naked than most could hope to be in armour and Kevlar, skin a honeyed gold and only the faintest sheen of perspiration visible across her chest, for all they’ve done in the past few hours. “You have only to say the word, and I shall give you what you wish.”
In response, Natasha can only snarl. Every part of her feels on fire, even Sif’s fingers wrapped around her ankle feeling like a brand, like just that touch is enough to make her throb and clench.
“So wet for me,” Sif purrs, lazily pushing up on to her knees. “Flushed the most beautiful colour. Perhaps I should fetch a mirror, show you how swollen and open you are for me.”
Natasha’s back arches, hips pushing up against nothing, whole body moving without her permission. She’s lost track now, of how many times Sif has pushed her over the edge, of how many times Sif has made her scream. Throat burning and muscles twitching randomly, hair sticking to her forehead and neck, nipples stiff and sore from being held pinched between Sif’s fingers.
Sif leans forward on her knees, turns to bite lightly at the inside of Natasha’s thigh as she moves her leg until it rests against Sif’s shoulder.
“I like you best like this,” she whispers, as if she is sharing a great secret. “When your pleasure is so immense, so all consuming that you become nothing more than your desires.” She digs her thumb into the hollow of Natasha’s pelvis, and Natasha’s head twists back and forth against the pillow, Russian curses spilling mindlessly from her lips. “When you are no more than an animal, clever wiles and charms forgotten in the face of your hunger.”
“Touch me,” Natasha groans, voice cracked and husky, patience snapping. It’s too much, her body can’t take any more, and yet she needs it, needs that feeling of coming apart under Sif’s fingers, under her mouth.
The smirk on Sif’s lips spreads into a true smile, the kind she wears in battle, heady and soaring. Hair brushing Natasha’s thighs as she leans in, making Natasha shiver, making her whole body seize and crave.
“Always,” she promises, voice like a siren’s song, breath ghosting over Natasha’s skin in ways that make her eyes roll. Hot, damp tease of it, and then Sif’s mouth is back over her, three fingers twisting into her cunt with ease. Rocking forward to fuck her face against Natasha’s labia, her clit, tongue undulating in ways that have ruined Natasha for anyone else.
The noises Natasha makes, God, she can hear how wrecked and weak she sounds, fingers pulling feebly at Sif’s hair, too tired to push up into the touch the way she wants to. No longer the Black Widow, no longer even Natasha Romanoff. Just a thing made sex, a toy of the Gods, a broken rag doll in Sif’s arms. Spread open and high on orgasm after orgasm, no responsibility, no past, no pain or shame.
This is all she is, and right now it is all she wants to be. Trembling uncontrollably as a body that cannot handle any more pleasure is pushed towards the edge once again, in love with the feeling and in love with Sif, the world outside her bedroom walls melting away until all that’s left is this touch and what it does to Natasha’s soul as much as her body, mending her heart as it breaks her apart.