Entry tags:
Ships in the Night
Who: Sharon Carter, Kobra Kid
When: Evening, Day 61
Where: Around town
What: Both Sharon and Kobra are searching for prey. This could be a mutually beneficial relationship.
Bruce has done his best. Steve- No, don't think about Steve.
She isn't feasting enough. That's the problem.
No, feasting isn't the right word. It can't be the right word. What she'd done to Natasha had nothing to do with feasting, it was worse than that. So much worse. She can't remember how, she can't think how. She can't think.
She feels pain in her fingers, the sort of pain deep in her flesh that says she's been hurting for a while and hasn't noticed. Her fingers. When had they started bleeding? Where had the glass come from?
She looks up, her neck feeling weak, and it occurs to her that she hates when her neck feels weak, but the stars are quite nice. How did her bedroom window get so far away? Isn't her door locked?
The door. Fucking hell. The door is locked. So's the window. But there are evidently ways through the window.
Shaking, Sharon forces herself back against the wall. She can't be out here. There's no telling what she'll do if she's out here. No telling who she'll hurt? Whom? What the fuck, brain? Don't we have bigger problems right now?
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, repeating the exercise until her breath is steady again. First, she has to get the glass out of her palms. Then, she'll focus on getting back inside without hurting someone.
Of course, they do tend to like being hurt. Natasha had, at least.
She groans and hangs her head. No. Fuck, Sharon. Stop thinking like that! And stop thinking fuck and fuck-related things, damn it!
When: Evening, Day 61
Where: Around town
What: Both Sharon and Kobra are searching for prey. This could be a mutually beneficial relationship.
Bruce has done his best. Steve- No, don't think about Steve.
She isn't feasting enough. That's the problem.
No, feasting isn't the right word. It can't be the right word. What she'd done to Natasha had nothing to do with feasting, it was worse than that. So much worse. She can't remember how, she can't think how. She can't think.
She feels pain in her fingers, the sort of pain deep in her flesh that says she's been hurting for a while and hasn't noticed. Her fingers. When had they started bleeding? Where had the glass come from?
She looks up, her neck feeling weak, and it occurs to her that she hates when her neck feels weak, but the stars are quite nice. How did her bedroom window get so far away? Isn't her door locked?
The door. Fucking hell. The door is locked. So's the window. But there are evidently ways through the window.
Shaking, Sharon forces herself back against the wall. She can't be out here. There's no telling what she'll do if she's out here. No telling who she'll hurt? Whom? What the fuck, brain? Don't we have bigger problems right now?
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, repeating the exercise until her breath is steady again. First, she has to get the glass out of her palms. Then, she'll focus on getting back inside without hurting someone.
Of course, they do tend to like being hurt. Natasha had, at least.
She groans and hangs her head. No. Fuck, Sharon. Stop thinking like that! And stop thinking fuck and fuck-related things, damn it!
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One hand goes back to his belt, opening it and his fly shakily. His other hand slides up her back, urging her closer as he's overcome with need. Is she as into this as he is? Because he is pretty much aching to be inside her right now.
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And then, then, it occurs to her what's so wrong about this situation. Normally, she'd be touching that power by now, but instead, it's just beyond her reach. She frowns, her lips against his neck.
"What are you?"
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"Vampire." He grins and shows his teeth. "My bite feels good. Really good."
He wonders what it would feel like mid-orgasm. Oh, he is going to rock some worlds.
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"Do you want to bite me, Kobra?" Something in her tone makes it clear she isn't asking. She rolls to the side and crooks a finger to beckon him closer. She watches him as she cranes her neck. Her eyes wander down his body, barely taking in the scars and tattoos. She just wants to see his cock. No, she doesn't want to see it. She wants to feel it. She parts her legs. "Kobra. I want you to fuck me. To bite me. Whatever you want. But do it now."
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He follows after her quickly, settling between her legs. His lips drag over her throat as he reaches down to tease her clit, moving his finger slower than he knows any woman in her right mind would find satisfying.
After a moment, he shifts and removes his hand so that he can guide himself inside of her, at first just teasing her with the head before he pushes in slowly.
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Her back arches as he finally pushes in, but it's too slow, far too slow, and she whimpers before wrapping her legs around him and pulling him closer.