Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2015-06-10 10:56 pm
salmon_pink) wrote2015-06-10 10:56 pm
(MCU) Pirouette
Title: Pirouette
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Natasha/Wanda
Rating: R
Words: 322
Timeline: Post-Avengers: Age Of Ultron
Notes: Spoilers for Avengers: Age Of Ultron. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fan_flashworks, prompt "dancing".
Summary: Wanda is a whole new dance.
“The way you move,” Natasha murmurs, lips pressed to Wanda’s neck. She doesn’t finish the thought, too distracted by the taste of skin, by the hitch of Wanda’s breath.
But she keeps looking, she keeps seeing, day after day. Watches the swing of Wanda’s hips as she moves through the corridors of the compound, the roll of her shoulders during a break in training. Gets lost in the twirl of Wanda’s fingers when they flex and glow red. The tap of her foot against her chair when she’s restless, hands playing with her hair, the tilt of her head.
Moving, always moving, and it’s like dancing, effortless and sensual.
And when she has Wanda like this, laying across her bed, sheets caught around the lazy sprawl of her legs, they dance together. Natasha’s hands making their own rhythm as they move between Wanda’s thighs, and Wanda arches off the bed for her, as beautiful as any statue in that brief moment of perfect stillness as she comes undone for Natasha’s touch.
Sometimes, late at night when her breathing’s too quick and the walls are closing in, Natasha hears the sound of ballet slippers, the pound of piano keys. Feels herself moving, even though she’s curled beneath the covers and too lost in her memories to do anything but shiver. Memories, or maybe dreams, maybe nightmares, because none of it’s real or ever was.
It wasn’t dancing, it was pain, and she won’t ever escape the Red Room, Natasha knows that.
But Wanda is a different dance, one that moves to the beat of her heart. And those not-quite-memories don’t bother Natasha on the nights she has Wanda in her bed, when the only red she sees is the gleam of Wanda’s eyes in the dark.
They move together, and Natasha can forget the regimented ballet of her youth, of blood and fear and torment.
Because with Wanda, the dance is about freedom.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Natasha/Wanda
Rating: R
Words: 322
Timeline: Post-Avengers: Age Of Ultron
Notes: Spoilers for Avengers: Age Of Ultron. For
fan_flashworks, prompt "dancing".Summary: Wanda is a whole new dance.
“The way you move,” Natasha murmurs, lips pressed to Wanda’s neck. She doesn’t finish the thought, too distracted by the taste of skin, by the hitch of Wanda’s breath.
But she keeps looking, she keeps seeing, day after day. Watches the swing of Wanda’s hips as she moves through the corridors of the compound, the roll of her shoulders during a break in training. Gets lost in the twirl of Wanda’s fingers when they flex and glow red. The tap of her foot against her chair when she’s restless, hands playing with her hair, the tilt of her head.
Moving, always moving, and it’s like dancing, effortless and sensual.
And when she has Wanda like this, laying across her bed, sheets caught around the lazy sprawl of her legs, they dance together. Natasha’s hands making their own rhythm as they move between Wanda’s thighs, and Wanda arches off the bed for her, as beautiful as any statue in that brief moment of perfect stillness as she comes undone for Natasha’s touch.
Sometimes, late at night when her breathing’s too quick and the walls are closing in, Natasha hears the sound of ballet slippers, the pound of piano keys. Feels herself moving, even though she’s curled beneath the covers and too lost in her memories to do anything but shiver. Memories, or maybe dreams, maybe nightmares, because none of it’s real or ever was.
It wasn’t dancing, it was pain, and she won’t ever escape the Red Room, Natasha knows that.
But Wanda is a different dance, one that moves to the beat of her heart. And those not-quite-memories don’t bother Natasha on the nights she has Wanda in her bed, when the only red she sees is the gleam of Wanda’s eyes in the dark.
They move together, and Natasha can forget the regimented ballet of her youth, of blood and fear and torment.
Because with Wanda, the dance is about freedom.