(Marvel) Freeing
February 21st, 2014 19:14![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Freeing
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: America/Kate
Rating: NC-17
Words: 839
Notes: Dirty talk. For Femslash February, and AmeriKate Week.
Summary: Whether America's holding her up or holding her down, Kate loves every second of it.
“Is that the best you got, princess?”
America’s staring down at her with this tiny smirk at the edge of her mouth, eyebrow cocked up in amusement. It’s the same damn expression she was wearing when Teddy showed her the video of puppies falling asleep sitting up, which makes Kate just need to struggle harder because she’s no puppy, thank you very much.
Except, okay, maybe America’s eyes are a little darker than they were for the puppies. A lot darker, and they sort of flare when Kate undulates up against her, eyebrow arching higher for the movement of Kate’s body.
And then she’s sitting back on her haunches, like this is nothing, like holding Kate down isn’t even a strain.
Which it isn’t, of course, but America doesn’t need to make it so damn obvious, doesn’t need to rub it in Kate’s face.
And speaking of rubbing, since Kate is failing spectacularly to get America’s hands where she wants them, she sets her sights elsewhere. Kate’s damn good at finding her target, gets her legs wrapped around America’s thigh before she has a chance to register what Kate’s up to.
Solid, thick muscle, and Kate groans and laughs and starts rubbing herself against all that skin.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” America growls, and her hands move, finally move from where they’ve pinned Kate’s shoulders to the mattress. Move to her chest, squeeze at her breasts firm enough to make Kate choke out this low, fucked-up noise and push up into the touch.
God, she loves this.
“Gonna ride me like that?” America’s hands move lower, grip Kate’s waist, and Kate whines because they’re keeping her from moving the way she wants to, the way she needs to. “Get yourself off like that?”
Kate tosses her hair against the bedspread, flexes against America’s hold. “Maybe I will,” she grins, knows she probably looks wild right now, manic and hungry and oh-so far from composed.
Which is just how America likes her.
“Should make you,” America murmurs, voice like fire licking the inside of Kate’s skin. “Watch you fall apart for me. Would you scream?”
“Fffuck,” is pretty much all Kate can manage at that. Hands fisting in the sheets over her head as she tries to push her hips up, every part of her body feeling like some kind of sex-bruise, tender and like the slightest touch, anywhere, everywhere, will make her ache in the best kind of ways.
“Yeah, you’d scream,” America smirks, like she’s won. Thumbs digging in either side of Kate’s waist, ticklish-pinch, making her bark out a wrecked giggle that just makes her insides feel as sensitive as her skin.
“Oh, you think so, Chavez?” she challenges. Just because she’s lying back and taking this doesn’t mean she’s going to just lie back and take this, and it’s possible the sex is making her a little loopy but that’s so not a thing Kate cares about. What she cares about is the smile America gives her, sardonic and fucking filthy, like Kate’s being ridiculous but she’s too turned on to care.
And God, yes, Kate can be ridiculous with America, she can give up on being sensible and grown-up and whatever else she has to be when she’s part of the team, twenty-first birthday looming nearer every damn day.
She can just be the naked, writhing girl in America’s bed, she can giggle when America drags her across the mattress, when she lifts Kate’s legs until they’re draped over her shoulders, either side of her face. Only the back of her head and shoulder blades on the mattress, America holding her up like she weighs no more than a feather.
The freedom of it, the joy, of this, of sex, of America as she bites at the inside of Kate’s thigh, makes a feral noise that vibrates through her teeth.
Kate could get lost in this, could let herself drown and never resurface.
She wants to reach up, pull America’s hair just for the way it always makes her rougher, but she can’t make her fingers unclench from the sheets. And then America’s mouth is between her legs, and Kate’s gasping, thighs like a vice around America’s ears.
She still can’t move the way she wants, not balanced like this, and she knows she’s sweaty and pink for trying. But that’s how America likes her, and Kate likes to be how America likes her just fine.
She’s still laughing, breathless and giddy, because it makes everything feel so much better, inside and out. Legs kicking out in the air like she’s lost all control of her muscles which, yeah, she has, and America’s slurring words against her that don’t make sense, a language she doesn’t know, but they sound like lust and happiness and rough love.
And Kate’s content, so beyond content, to surrender to it all, in ways she never surrenders in other parts of her life, America’s lips and tongue driving her crazy, her lips parted and screaming all she wants.
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: America/Kate
Rating: NC-17
Words: 839
Notes: Dirty talk. For Femslash February, and AmeriKate Week.
Summary: Whether America's holding her up or holding her down, Kate loves every second of it.
“Is that the best you got, princess?”
America’s staring down at her with this tiny smirk at the edge of her mouth, eyebrow cocked up in amusement. It’s the same damn expression she was wearing when Teddy showed her the video of puppies falling asleep sitting up, which makes Kate just need to struggle harder because she’s no puppy, thank you very much.
Except, okay, maybe America’s eyes are a little darker than they were for the puppies. A lot darker, and they sort of flare when Kate undulates up against her, eyebrow arching higher for the movement of Kate’s body.
And then she’s sitting back on her haunches, like this is nothing, like holding Kate down isn’t even a strain.
Which it isn’t, of course, but America doesn’t need to make it so damn obvious, doesn’t need to rub it in Kate’s face.
And speaking of rubbing, since Kate is failing spectacularly to get America’s hands where she wants them, she sets her sights elsewhere. Kate’s damn good at finding her target, gets her legs wrapped around America’s thigh before she has a chance to register what Kate’s up to.
Solid, thick muscle, and Kate groans and laughs and starts rubbing herself against all that skin.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” America growls, and her hands move, finally move from where they’ve pinned Kate’s shoulders to the mattress. Move to her chest, squeeze at her breasts firm enough to make Kate choke out this low, fucked-up noise and push up into the touch.
God, she loves this.
“Gonna ride me like that?” America’s hands move lower, grip Kate’s waist, and Kate whines because they’re keeping her from moving the way she wants to, the way she needs to. “Get yourself off like that?”
Kate tosses her hair against the bedspread, flexes against America’s hold. “Maybe I will,” she grins, knows she probably looks wild right now, manic and hungry and oh-so far from composed.
Which is just how America likes her.
“Should make you,” America murmurs, voice like fire licking the inside of Kate’s skin. “Watch you fall apart for me. Would you scream?”
“Fffuck,” is pretty much all Kate can manage at that. Hands fisting in the sheets over her head as she tries to push her hips up, every part of her body feeling like some kind of sex-bruise, tender and like the slightest touch, anywhere, everywhere, will make her ache in the best kind of ways.
“Yeah, you’d scream,” America smirks, like she’s won. Thumbs digging in either side of Kate’s waist, ticklish-pinch, making her bark out a wrecked giggle that just makes her insides feel as sensitive as her skin.
“Oh, you think so, Chavez?” she challenges. Just because she’s lying back and taking this doesn’t mean she’s going to just lie back and take this, and it’s possible the sex is making her a little loopy but that’s so not a thing Kate cares about. What she cares about is the smile America gives her, sardonic and fucking filthy, like Kate’s being ridiculous but she’s too turned on to care.
And God, yes, Kate can be ridiculous with America, she can give up on being sensible and grown-up and whatever else she has to be when she’s part of the team, twenty-first birthday looming nearer every damn day.
She can just be the naked, writhing girl in America’s bed, she can giggle when America drags her across the mattress, when she lifts Kate’s legs until they’re draped over her shoulders, either side of her face. Only the back of her head and shoulder blades on the mattress, America holding her up like she weighs no more than a feather.
The freedom of it, the joy, of this, of sex, of America as she bites at the inside of Kate’s thigh, makes a feral noise that vibrates through her teeth.
Kate could get lost in this, could let herself drown and never resurface.
She wants to reach up, pull America’s hair just for the way it always makes her rougher, but she can’t make her fingers unclench from the sheets. And then America’s mouth is between her legs, and Kate’s gasping, thighs like a vice around America’s ears.
She still can’t move the way she wants, not balanced like this, and she knows she’s sweaty and pink for trying. But that’s how America likes her, and Kate likes to be how America likes her just fine.
She’s still laughing, breathless and giddy, because it makes everything feel so much better, inside and out. Legs kicking out in the air like she’s lost all control of her muscles which, yeah, she has, and America’s slurring words against her that don’t make sense, a language she doesn’t know, but they sound like lust and happiness and rough love.
And Kate’s content, so beyond content, to surrender to it all, in ways she never surrenders in other parts of her life, America’s lips and tongue driving her crazy, her lips parted and screaming all she wants.
