Roxanne Ritchi is a good girl, and good is painted in shades of don't, lines like white picket fences, like the squared off edges of her empty, perfectly made bed: clean and crisp and subtly unwelcoming, because a fence is still a fence even if you paint it white, and fences are meant to keep things in, but they are, even more than that, meant to keep things out and
good girls
don't.
Good girls don't flirt with supervillains; good girls don't get a naughty little thrill out of waking up to find themselves tied to a chair by the bad guy; good girls don't let their mind drift during business meetings and end up imagining that the bad guy is the one tied to the chair, naked and at their mercy and begging.
Good girls don't fuck themselves on blue vibrators while biting their lip to keep from moaning the name of their serial kidnapper. Good girls don't lose control and end up moaning it out loud anyway.
"—Megamind, god yes; Megamind—"
What would he think if he saw you like this, Roxanne's Virtuous Inner Self asks severely, and then is shocked when Roxanne's body responds by moaning even louder and fucking the vibrator even harder at the image: Megamind slipping into her apartment for a kidnapping, hearing her moaning, going up the stairs in curiosity, walking in on her lying on her bed with her knees spread wide and a vibrator the color of his skin between her legs, just in time to hear her moaning his name.
"Megamind—oh god yes—"
"Yes?" he would drawl, leaning in her doorway and smirking at her. "Did you need me, Miss Ritchi?"
And Roxanne wouldn't be able to stop herself from whimpering, wouldn't be able to stop her hips from jerking.
"Yes, Megamind, please," Roxanne moans, lost in the fantasy.
Megamind would move to the bed and lie down beside her and he'd put his hand over hers on the vibrator, guiding her, helping her to fuck herself faster and deeper and better now that he's here and—
—and he'd lean down and put his lips to her ear and whisper—
"Blue is very definitely your color, Roxanne."
(Roxanne comes like that, to the thought of Megamind's hands on hers and of his voice in her ear.)
Good girls probably aren't supposed to do that either.
Megamind knows he shouldn't be doing this. But it's a small sort of evil, going through Roxanne's things as he waits for her to come home so he can kidnap her, and Megamind does try to keep in practice with the small evils.
Besides, it's better than allowing himself to succumb to this stupid shivery crackle of desire—again—and attempting to make himself come.
He already tried, this morning, finger-fucking the ventral slit between his legs until he wanted to scream with frustration because it wasn't working, he couldn't get to the point where he could force himself into an orgasm, couldn't—and then letting his hateful tentacles emerge from the slit before lying face down on his bed and grinding his hips into the mattress, trying to get himself off that way.
That didn't work, either, not even when he gave in to the desperate wish of his heart and allowed himself to think of Roxanne while he was doing it.
But then, it hardly ever works for Megamind—he gets too tangled up in his own head, in self-consciousness and self-hatred and they way this is ridiculous and disgusting and not something that he deserves.
He opens the nightstand that's next to Roxanne's bed: chapstick, lotion, romance novel—ooh, has he—no, he's read that one already, hairbrush, and—
He pulls out the thing he doesn't immediately recognize and looks at it curiously. It's blue, silicone, about six inches long and two inches around, smooth and tapered at one end—some sort of artistic sculpture of some—
—wait a—
dildo
his mind supplies helpfully,
sex toy
and then adds, less helpfully,
Roxanne's
fuck
—yes, his mind says, that's what it's for
That's what it's—Roxanne has—she's—
His mind shows him: Roxanne, lying back on her bed, legs spread, fucking herself with the thing that he's still holding in his hand, god damn it Megamind, this is not something you should have in your hand or your mind or—
He moans as heat pulses between his legs, as his tentacles start to move restlessly beneath his skin
shit shit shit
god he wants
(bet it feels good, inside of her like that, bet it would feel good inside of you, filling you up)
(bet you could make yourself come like that)
Megamind drops the dildo on the bed, but that's—yeah that visual is really not helping, especially since the bed isn't made, the sheets rucked up and rumpled. He presses his palm hard between his legs not this not now this is not the time or the place and then grinds the heel of his hand there
god
oh god
he tears his hand away, twists the dial of the watch on his wrist with shaking fingers.
"Sir?"
"Minion," Megamind says, forcing his voice calm, "how far away is Miss Ritchi?"
"Well she's still stuck in that traffic jam," Minion says, "so I'd say—about thirty minutes?"
"Fine, fine," Megamind says, "I'll just wait—thirty minutes is—fine."
He turns the communicator off, already running the mental calculations. Minion always underestimates the amount of time something will take; thirty minutes means probably forty-five, realistically, but he'll be safe and say thirty, really safe and say twenty-five.
Twenty-five minutes.
It takes him two minutes and thirty-seven seconds to take off all of his clothes, more than enough time for him to think twice—or several dozen times—about this and what a bad idea this is, but he's shaking with need.
(He turns the communicator watch completely off—he wants privacy for this.)
He crawls onto Roxanne's bed, lets himself sink down into it, lying with his head on her pillow and her sheets in disarray around him, and this is wrong, so very wrong, the very worst thing that Megamind has ever done, but he can smell Roxanne on the sheets and he wants, he needs—
He picks up the dildo and slides it into his mouth, wrapping his lips around it, sucking. Roxanne must clean it; all he can taste is silicone, but it's still—god—this is still something that she's—
He moans around the dildo and spreads his legs, lets the toy slide out of his mouth with a wet pop, trails the tip of it down his sensitive throat, down the line of his body towards the slit between his legs.
Megamind wants this so badly, wants Roxanne's toy inside of him, the closest thing he'll ever get to having her.
He teases himself with the tip of the toy, sliding it up and down the lips of his ventral slit, making himself gasp—god, this is already better than anything else he's ever tried; he doesn't even have to touch himself this way.
He stops, holds still, the toy poised at his opening—oh, fuck, he's so wet already, he can feel it, moisture leaking out of him—is he really going to—
—is he really going to do this?
(he is)
He slides the toy inside himself, one long, slow stroke, and the endless litany (horrible, awful, disgusting, ridiculous, wrong) inside Megamind's head falls abruptly silent as his mind goes blissfully blank.
So much better than his fingers, the stretch, the burn, the exquisite fullness of the toy inside him. He moans, the sound loud and obscene in the silence of Roxanne's empty bedroom.
And then it's all the way inside him. Megamind pants desperately, hands wrapped around the base of the toy, gives himself a few moments to get used to the feeling of being filled, to revel in the sensation of the toy buried inside him, his tentacles rubbing along the length of it, winding around it, grasping at it, little delightful zings of pleasure in every movement.
He moans, reckless and wanton, head falling back on Roxanne's pillow, and starts to fuck himself with the toy, thrusting it in and out of himself.
The pleasure of it is—almost more than he can bear, the feeling of the dildo rubbing against his tentacles along with the sensation of his ventral slit being stretched with every thrust—it feels so big inside of him, so good, and so much more quickly than he's expecting, he can feel himself getting close, heat rising in the pit of his stomach, gathering there—
He fucks himself harder with the toy, Roxanne's toy, in Roxanne's bed, Roxanne, Roxanne—
Megamind comes so hard his vision whites out for a moment, and when he comes back to himself, he's lying in a boneless heap on Roxanne's bed, the toy still buried to the hilt inside of him.
(Seven minutes and three seconds)
Megamind whimpers and starts to fuck himself again with the dildo—he needs another orgasm before he can even think about getting up out of this bed—kidnapping is going to have to be postponed for another time, and Megamind is definitely going to have to steal this dildo, he can't leave it for Roxanne to use after this.
He thrusts the toy inside himself and moans, "Roxanne—"
Roxanne unbuttons her shirt as she makes her way down the hall to her bedroom; thank god she was able to take that side street and get out of the traffic jam; she is so done with this work day. She just wants to take a shower, eat dinner
(have some quality time with her vibrator)
and go to sleep. She is—
She opens the door of her bedroom and stops, transfixed by the sight before her.
Megamind is on her bed, completely naked, legs spread, moaning helplessly as he fucks himself with her vibrator.
(the position of the toy, his hands, the angle, it's different than a human man; there's an opening in the front of his body that he's working with her toy, and Roxanne thinks alien anatomy and she thinks that's interesting and she thinks how is this happening—)
But mostly she thinks—I want.
"—Roxanne," Megamind moans, and Roxanne has to clutch the side of the door frame to keep from falling over.
(Roxanne is a good girl, but there is—there is only so much she can take without—)
"Did—you—need me, Megamind?" she asks, saying the words in spite of the way her voice is shaking.
Megamind's eyes snap open, vision focusing on—
—oh god. Roxanne is standing in the doorway, leaning there, shirt half unbuttoned, looking at him, and he's still got her toy inside of himself, and he's—
He freezes.
Roxanne sees Megamind freeze and wonders for a moment if she can be reading this wrong, but there's really only one way to take him naked in her bed, fucking himself on her vibrator and moaning her name, right?
She unbuttons the last two buttons of her shirt and slips it off, letting it slide to the floor. She unzips her skirt and wriggles out of it, then slips off her shoes. He's still watching her, still not moving, so she walks to the bed, unclasps her bra and tosses it aside, steps out of her panties, and then crawls onto the mattress next to him.
Megamind stares at—Roxanne is—is this actually—he's dreaming, hallucinating, she's on the bed, and she's sliding her hand over his chest—holy fuck this is actually happening.
Oh god she must be so angry, why is she—
"Sorry," Megamind manages to choke out.
Roxanne frowns down at him. Sorry? Okay, yes, she probably should be pissed off and sort of freaked out that he's using her vibrator to get himself off, but surely it's pretty obvious that she's, you know, not. Seeing as how she's taken off all of her clothes and is now lying in bed with him, hand on his chest.
"Megamind," she says, "do I look angry to you?"
Megamind blinks at her.
"No?" he says, mind reeling in confusion. "Why—you—you don't look—why aren't you—"
Roxanne blushes, ducking her head, and puts her lips against his ear. Megamind very nearly dies.
"Did it—never occur to you," she whispers, lips brushing his ear, "to—wonder why it's blue?"
Blue.
Blue.
The toy is—it hadn't occurred to him, actually, but the toy is—very nearly the same color as his skin, and Roxanne seems to be implying that this is—intentional? Is that—that's what she's implying? That she—that she wants—
"I want you, too," she says, and kisses his ear.
Megamind gasps and she pushes herself up on one elbow, hand on his chest trailing down his body, to where he's stretched around the dildo. He whimpers and she settles her hand atop his on the toy, not moving, just holding, and—
"You didn't turn it on?" Roxanne asks, looking down at him quizzically.
"—turn it on?" Megamind says, blank and uncomprehending and so fucking aroused that he can barely string the words together.
Roxanne—smirks at him, there isn't another word for it, and says—
"Here, let me show you."
Her fingers—move on the end of the toy, flicking some sort of switch or—and—
The toy vibrates inside of him.
Megamind screams, body arching, trying to fuck himself even more fully onto the humming, pulsing—god, the pleasure of it, even nerve alight and desperate for more, he needs more, he needs—
Roxanne starts to move the toy, thrusting it, twisting it, and Megamind lets go of the toy, lets her take over completely, relinquishing any semblance of control in favor of spreading his legs even wider and clutching at the sheets and crying out her name over and over again, overwhelmed by the vibrations that move through him like lightning, by the feeling of being filled, by the fact that this is Roxanne, here, Roxanne doing this to him.
He comes sobbing her name, the climax less like a burst and more like a wave, crashing in slow motion, more pleasure than he's ever felt before, more pleasure than he ever thought he was capable of feeling flooding his body, making him sob—
"—Roxanne; Roxanne; Roxanne—"
—as he lets himself fall apart in front of her.
Roxanne flicks the vibrator off and eases it out of Megamind. He makes a small noise, trembling there beneath her. She runs her fingers down the slit between his legs that she just fucked with her vibrator—he's flushed there, and wet, and he makes another small noise at the touch of her hand.
"This," she says, "is fascinating."
Megamind stares at Roxanne.
Fascinating. She thinks he's—
"There's more," he blurts out before he can stop himself.
She glances up at him, curiosity in her expression.
"More?" she asks. "More, how?"
And this is—Megamind's brain is screaming at him to stop, but Roxanne said he's fascinating, and Roxanne just caught him fucking himself in her bed on her sex toy and not only took it in stride, but made him come herself, and she's looking at him without a trace of fear, and so Megamind—
—is he really going to do this?
(he is)
It's such a physical relief, letting his tentacles slide out. They're already sensitive from being vibrated into orgasm, and the rush of cool air makes Megamind groan even as his heart races with fear. He looks at Roxanne; the expression on her face is—
"Oh, that is so neat," she says, and touches him, her hands on his tentacles, tangling with them, and Megamind moans and rocks his hips into her hand, twining them with her fingers—yes, oh yes—
"These—are—going to be fun," Roxanne says, "but—um, first—"
Megamind looks at her face; she blushes and untangles her fingers from him.
Roxanne bites her lip, looking at Megamind.
(good girls don't.)
(they don't, Roxanne; they don't; they don't)
(to hell—to hell with don't, to hell with being good; tear down the picket fences; Roxanne's never been that fond of white anyway; she wants black leather and blue skin, she wants—)
She presses the vibrator into Megamind's hand, lies back on her elbows, parts her knees appealingly.
"My turn, first?" she says.
Megamind's whole face lights up.
"Yes, absolutely," he says, leaning forward to kiss her.
(His answer is the same when she asks him, later, to tie her up and make that particular fantasy come true; and it's the same when she asks, later than that, if she can tie him up and make him beg for her—
—and it's the same, when, even later, she tells him that she loves him and asks him if he loves her, too.)
notes: from an anonymous prompt on tumblr. I go by setepenre-set there, too, and you are all welcome to follow me!