(MCU) Indelibility
November 23rd, 2015 17:29![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Indelibility
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Claire/Jessica
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1459
Timeline: Post-Jessica Jones
Notes: Spoilers for Jessica Jones. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
avengers_tables, prompt "hurt", and a prompt at ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daredevilkink.
Summary: Maybe the universe is laughing at her. Or maybe Claire just has a type.
“Do I even want to know how you found me?” Claire sighs. There’s blood on her couch. Sure, it was a shitty couch, but she’s not exactly thrilled about the stains, all the same.
Jessica shrugs. She looks less pale now than when she first crawled through Claire’s window. There’s still a cold sweat across her forehead, though, and her shoulders are a rigid line of tension. “I know where you work, the licence plate on your car, your name,” she deadpans. “Don’t need to be a PI to track you down with that kind of info.”
Claire feels her lips twitch. “Fair point.” She’s trying to keep Jessica talking, keep her distracted from the pain as Claire stitches up a nasty gash on her thigh.
“And you got to see me with my pants down again, so I don’t know why you’re complaining,” Jessica intones, and laughing eases Claire’s jangled nerves.
The couch is still a loss, though.
*
Jessica kisses her fiercely, one hand in Claire’s hair, the other up the back of her scrubs, breath hot against her lips.
Claire’s knees dig into the ruined couch cushions, feeling like there’s electricity skittering over her skin everywhere Jessica touches her.
She stops when Jessica hisses for the feel of Claire’s fingers brushing a little too close to a bruise.
“Spoilsport,” Jessica teases when Claire pulls back, her lips swollen from the kiss.
*
Claire watches Jessica sleep. She doesn’t need to, she made Jessica swear up and down that she hadn’t hit her head. But even though Claire’s exhausted, she knows her mind won’t shut off, will still be racing loud and fast if she tries to lie down.
She shouldn’t be doing this. Not another twisted wreck of a person trying to fight the whole world, not again. Claire tells herself that she’s made this mistake already, and that she’s learned from it. She won’t fall that hard again.
But Jessica frowns in her sleep, holding on to a half-empty bottle of booze like it’s a damn teddy bear; Claire can’t look away, and maybe it’s already too late.
*
Surly and antisocial seems to be Jessica’s default state, but it’s even worse in the morning. She grunts non-answers to all Claire’s questions, nursing a cup of coffee with a generous pour of whiskey in it. But she does let Claire examine her, wincing when she has to move too much.
“I’m gonna call someone for a ride,” she mutters, when Claire packs away the gauze.
“Nope, that’s not happening,” Claire tells her bluntly, with a smile that makes Jessica scowl. “You’re hurt, and I can’t tell without the x-rays you won’t let me get, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got at least one fractured rib. You’re not moving for at least twenty-four hours.”
She’s expecting Jessica to protest more, but it never comes. Jessica just leans back against the couch and fixes Claire with an unblinking glare that Claire ignores with ease.
Claire puts away her supplies, heads to the bathroom to clean up. Jessica watches her with a shrewd expression the entire time.
*
She hears Jessica make a phone call from the kitchen, and she half-anticipates that it’ll be Jessica calling for that ride, Claire’s advice be damned. But instead she hears Jessica reassuring someone she’s okay, that she’s safe.
There’s a break in the conversation, and then Jessica saying, “I’m with a friend.”
Except there’s this slight pause before she says the word ‘friend’, something awkward and secretive. Like the word means something else, something more, and Claire feels a flutter in her stomach that has nothing to do with how little sleep she got last night.
*
“I’ll buy you new cushion covers,” Jessica shrugs.
Claire shakes her head. “Blood soaked all the way through the cushions. I need a whole new couch.”
Jessica smirks at her. “If I see one abandoned on the street, I’ll call you.”
Jessica’s healing faster than Claire’s used to, although Jessica insists it’s the norm for her. She still needs bed rest, but her breathing isn’t laboured, the bruises on her chest aren’t so pronounced. She could probably call for that ride now - it’s getting dark, nobody would see her leave. But Jessica hasn’t brought it up since that morning, and Claire’s relieved, in a way she probably shouldn’t be.
“You’re all heart,” Claire snorts. “Now eat your grilled cheese.”
*
Claire naps while Jessica scrolls impatiently through her Netflix queue. She’s only asleep for a couple of hours, but she’s fully expecting Jessica to be gone when she wakes up.
She isn’t. Jessica’s right where Claire left her, sleeping soundly with the TV on mute.
She’s frowning again, a line between her eyebrows. This time Claire forces herself to move around, to keep busy, to do anything but watch Jessica until she wakes.
*
“I want a shower,” Jessica grouses. She’s been wearing Claire’s clothes since she arrived, her own stained and ruined, but Claire figures she wants to get cleaned up properly before she calls whoever it is she’s gonna be asking to pick her up.
“You know where the bathroom is,” Claire replies easily.
It’s getting late, and she’s expected at the hospital for an early shift the next morning. She wants Jessica to stay longer, for purely professional reasons that have nothing to do with how good that kiss was. But Claire accepts it’s a miracle she got Jessica to stay still as long as she did; she’ll have to trust that whoever Jessica plans to call will nag her into bed and make her stay there until she’s recovered.
“I’m hurt,” Jessica says, her voice carefully expressionless. “Maybe I need help.” Her eyes track across Claire’s face. “Or not. Your call.”
Claire feels a rush of heat, a rush of want. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to slip and fall.”
*
Her hands press against the tiles, Jessica’s skin slippery-smooth against her back. Jessica’s arm is wrapped around her from behind, fingers between Claire’s legs, fucking her deep. Claire groans, spreads wider for it, pulse throbbing in her throat, around Jessica’s fingers.
She wants to rock her hips back, wants to arch into the touch, but she doesn’t. Not because she’s being careful of Jessica’s injuries, although she wishes she could say that’s the reason.
It’s because Jessica’s so strong, her body this immovable force behind Claire, warm against her even as the water rushing over them starts to cool.
Claire’s thinking about Jessica holding her still, holding her down, when she comes, feeling dizzy with it, voice bouncing off the shower walls.
*
She eats Jessica out slowly. Claire doesn’t have the strength to keep Jessica still, but she gets her own kind of revenge, pulling away whenever Jessica tries to twist up with her hips.
“Remember your injuries,” she chastises, glint in her eye, when Jessica arcs off the bed.
“You’re an evil bitch,” Jessica shoots back, spreading her legs wider, so wet under Claire’s mouth. The taste of it makes Claire’s mouth water, burying her face between Jessica’s thighs, losing herself in the rhythm of it, of her tongue and the rasp of Jessica’s breath.
Jessica’s holding on to the headboard like her life depends on it, and something cracks loudly when she comes.
“Now you owe me a new couch and a new bed,” Claire points out, and Jessica runs a shaky hand through her hair and smirks up at her until Claire leans down to kiss the expression off her face.
*
“Bed rest, remember,” Claire says for what feels like the hundredth time.
“I heard you, nurse,” Jessica grumbles. She’s still moving a little stiffly, but she’s well enough to walk through the halls without Claire’s help.
They pause in the lobby of Claire’s building. She can hear a car idling outside, but Jessica doesn’t open the door straight away.
“How about next time you climb through my window, you don’t destroy any of my furniture?”
Jessica’s gaze sweeps towards the closed door. “No promises.” And she must be doing better, must be healing fine, because she’s able to lean in quick enough that Claire doesn’t register it until she’s already being kissed. It’s sweeter than before, not as dirty but just as good.
Jessica pulls back slow, and the curve of her mouth would be too small, too sharp to be a smile on anyone else. But Jessica isn’t anyone else.
“Just remember, you’re the one who said ‘next time’,” Jessica murmurs, and then she’s walking out the door.
Claire’s lips feel warm, her chest warmer, and she already knows it’s too late, she’s in too deep.
Some mistakes are doomed to be repeated, and this one tastes like sex and whiskey.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Claire/Jessica
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1459
Timeline: Post-Jessica Jones
Notes: Spoilers for Jessica Jones. For
avengers_tables, prompt "hurt", and a prompt at daredevilkink.Summary: Maybe the universe is laughing at her. Or maybe Claire just has a type.
“Do I even want to know how you found me?” Claire sighs. There’s blood on her couch. Sure, it was a shitty couch, but she’s not exactly thrilled about the stains, all the same.
Jessica shrugs. She looks less pale now than when she first crawled through Claire’s window. There’s still a cold sweat across her forehead, though, and her shoulders are a rigid line of tension. “I know where you work, the licence plate on your car, your name,” she deadpans. “Don’t need to be a PI to track you down with that kind of info.”
Claire feels her lips twitch. “Fair point.” She’s trying to keep Jessica talking, keep her distracted from the pain as Claire stitches up a nasty gash on her thigh.
“And you got to see me with my pants down again, so I don’t know why you’re complaining,” Jessica intones, and laughing eases Claire’s jangled nerves.
The couch is still a loss, though.
*
Jessica kisses her fiercely, one hand in Claire’s hair, the other up the back of her scrubs, breath hot against her lips.
Claire’s knees dig into the ruined couch cushions, feeling like there’s electricity skittering over her skin everywhere Jessica touches her.
She stops when Jessica hisses for the feel of Claire’s fingers brushing a little too close to a bruise.
“Spoilsport,” Jessica teases when Claire pulls back, her lips swollen from the kiss.
*
Claire watches Jessica sleep. She doesn’t need to, she made Jessica swear up and down that she hadn’t hit her head. But even though Claire’s exhausted, she knows her mind won’t shut off, will still be racing loud and fast if she tries to lie down.
She shouldn’t be doing this. Not another twisted wreck of a person trying to fight the whole world, not again. Claire tells herself that she’s made this mistake already, and that she’s learned from it. She won’t fall that hard again.
But Jessica frowns in her sleep, holding on to a half-empty bottle of booze like it’s a damn teddy bear; Claire can’t look away, and maybe it’s already too late.
*
Surly and antisocial seems to be Jessica’s default state, but it’s even worse in the morning. She grunts non-answers to all Claire’s questions, nursing a cup of coffee with a generous pour of whiskey in it. But she does let Claire examine her, wincing when she has to move too much.
“I’m gonna call someone for a ride,” she mutters, when Claire packs away the gauze.
“Nope, that’s not happening,” Claire tells her bluntly, with a smile that makes Jessica scowl. “You’re hurt, and I can’t tell without the x-rays you won’t let me get, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got at least one fractured rib. You’re not moving for at least twenty-four hours.”
She’s expecting Jessica to protest more, but it never comes. Jessica just leans back against the couch and fixes Claire with an unblinking glare that Claire ignores with ease.
Claire puts away her supplies, heads to the bathroom to clean up. Jessica watches her with a shrewd expression the entire time.
*
She hears Jessica make a phone call from the kitchen, and she half-anticipates that it’ll be Jessica calling for that ride, Claire’s advice be damned. But instead she hears Jessica reassuring someone she’s okay, that she’s safe.
There’s a break in the conversation, and then Jessica saying, “I’m with a friend.”
Except there’s this slight pause before she says the word ‘friend’, something awkward and secretive. Like the word means something else, something more, and Claire feels a flutter in her stomach that has nothing to do with how little sleep she got last night.
*
“I’ll buy you new cushion covers,” Jessica shrugs.
Claire shakes her head. “Blood soaked all the way through the cushions. I need a whole new couch.”
Jessica smirks at her. “If I see one abandoned on the street, I’ll call you.”
Jessica’s healing faster than Claire’s used to, although Jessica insists it’s the norm for her. She still needs bed rest, but her breathing isn’t laboured, the bruises on her chest aren’t so pronounced. She could probably call for that ride now - it’s getting dark, nobody would see her leave. But Jessica hasn’t brought it up since that morning, and Claire’s relieved, in a way she probably shouldn’t be.
“You’re all heart,” Claire snorts. “Now eat your grilled cheese.”
*
Claire naps while Jessica scrolls impatiently through her Netflix queue. She’s only asleep for a couple of hours, but she’s fully expecting Jessica to be gone when she wakes up.
She isn’t. Jessica’s right where Claire left her, sleeping soundly with the TV on mute.
She’s frowning again, a line between her eyebrows. This time Claire forces herself to move around, to keep busy, to do anything but watch Jessica until she wakes.
*
“I want a shower,” Jessica grouses. She’s been wearing Claire’s clothes since she arrived, her own stained and ruined, but Claire figures she wants to get cleaned up properly before she calls whoever it is she’s gonna be asking to pick her up.
“You know where the bathroom is,” Claire replies easily.
It’s getting late, and she’s expected at the hospital for an early shift the next morning. She wants Jessica to stay longer, for purely professional reasons that have nothing to do with how good that kiss was. But Claire accepts it’s a miracle she got Jessica to stay still as long as she did; she’ll have to trust that whoever Jessica plans to call will nag her into bed and make her stay there until she’s recovered.
“I’m hurt,” Jessica says, her voice carefully expressionless. “Maybe I need help.” Her eyes track across Claire’s face. “Or not. Your call.”
Claire feels a rush of heat, a rush of want. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to slip and fall.”
*
Her hands press against the tiles, Jessica’s skin slippery-smooth against her back. Jessica’s arm is wrapped around her from behind, fingers between Claire’s legs, fucking her deep. Claire groans, spreads wider for it, pulse throbbing in her throat, around Jessica’s fingers.
She wants to rock her hips back, wants to arch into the touch, but she doesn’t. Not because she’s being careful of Jessica’s injuries, although she wishes she could say that’s the reason.
It’s because Jessica’s so strong, her body this immovable force behind Claire, warm against her even as the water rushing over them starts to cool.
Claire’s thinking about Jessica holding her still, holding her down, when she comes, feeling dizzy with it, voice bouncing off the shower walls.
*
She eats Jessica out slowly. Claire doesn’t have the strength to keep Jessica still, but she gets her own kind of revenge, pulling away whenever Jessica tries to twist up with her hips.
“Remember your injuries,” she chastises, glint in her eye, when Jessica arcs off the bed.
“You’re an evil bitch,” Jessica shoots back, spreading her legs wider, so wet under Claire’s mouth. The taste of it makes Claire’s mouth water, burying her face between Jessica’s thighs, losing herself in the rhythm of it, of her tongue and the rasp of Jessica’s breath.
Jessica’s holding on to the headboard like her life depends on it, and something cracks loudly when she comes.
“Now you owe me a new couch and a new bed,” Claire points out, and Jessica runs a shaky hand through her hair and smirks up at her until Claire leans down to kiss the expression off her face.
*
“Bed rest, remember,” Claire says for what feels like the hundredth time.
“I heard you, nurse,” Jessica grumbles. She’s still moving a little stiffly, but she’s well enough to walk through the halls without Claire’s help.
They pause in the lobby of Claire’s building. She can hear a car idling outside, but Jessica doesn’t open the door straight away.
“How about next time you climb through my window, you don’t destroy any of my furniture?”
Jessica’s gaze sweeps towards the closed door. “No promises.” And she must be doing better, must be healing fine, because she’s able to lean in quick enough that Claire doesn’t register it until she’s already being kissed. It’s sweeter than before, not as dirty but just as good.
Jessica pulls back slow, and the curve of her mouth would be too small, too sharp to be a smile on anyone else. But Jessica isn’t anyone else.
“Just remember, you’re the one who said ‘next time’,” Jessica murmurs, and then she’s walking out the door.
Claire’s lips feel warm, her chest warmer, and she already knows it’s too late, she’s in too deep.
Some mistakes are doomed to be repeated, and this one tastes like sex and whiskey.
