Rating: Very hard R (NC-17, I think)...you've been warned
Disclaimer: These lovely ladies do not belong to me
A/N: Basically PWP for the femslash kink meme. The prompt was- bookworm!Myka/Helena/superhero!Myka: artifact splits Myka into two separate people.
In Me All That Fire Is Repeated
"What exactly does the artifact do?" Helena asked distractedly, eyes firmly fixed on the scene in front of her.
"Clara Norton Fowler's ring splits people into the different personalities that live inside their heads, essentially," Artie's gruff voice said through the speaker of the Farnsworth. "From previous accounts, we know that it also has this sort of psychic magnetic pull to get people to actually put the ring on."
The writer nodded as if that piece of information explained something of importance. "What if the person who puts on the ring has only one personality?" Helena latched onto Artie's description of the effect of the artifact. Her attention split as she watched a leanly muscled Myka pick up a guy and throw him across the alley like a rag doll before moving at incredible speeds to prevent a punch from hitting another bookish looking Myka in the face.
"Then, I suppose, it would pull apart the strongest attributes of that person's personality," his bushy eyebrows scrunched in suspicion. "What's happened?" He asked in his no nonsense tone of voice.
Helena hummed noncommittally, eyes firmly fixed on the two approaching Mykas. "I think we may have found the artifact," she finally said vaguely, "I'll call you when we know more." She slammed the lid shut on the Farnsworth as the twin Mykas reached her.
Helena was not sure what to expect at the sudden turn of events. One second they were snag, bag, and tagging the artifact and the next they were being assaulted by whoever those men were. The writer was unsure when Myka had inadvertently put the ring on. She looked at each Myka before her and noted that each wore what seemed to be the same ring.
Looking back up, the writer realized she had two sets of green eyes studying her. She raised an eyebrow at their perusal, a smile pulling at the edge of her lips. Helena was not expecting the sudden shift of the strong Myka into her personal space; and she was definitely not expected the sudden kiss the woman planted on her. The writer responded automatically, arms circling strong shoulders as she readily returned the kiss. Even more unexpected was the fact that as soon as the kiss was over, she was somehow shifted to the bookish Myka's arms. A second later, Helena was kissing the bookish Myka. It was the same lips and the same tongue but a completely different kiss. While the previous kiss lit her body, this kiss melted her heart.
Stepping back from the very strange moment, not sure exactly how to feel about it, Helena began walking back to the hotel a few block away. "Come along," she turned to make sure the women were following her, "we need to get back to the hotel." The walk was made in silence, but the writer noted the nonexistent distance between herself and the Mykas. They were touchy, and while she did not mind, it was not healthy for her sanity.
She breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the hotel lobby. Turning to the women, Helena motioned toward the ring each wore, "May I have those rings?"
"No," came the immediate reply.
That stopped Helena short for a moment, "Why ever not?"
"It is mine," again the immediate and creepily simultaneous response.
The writer sighed. Taking the rings by force was not an option. Whatever the artifact did, it had make one version of Myka freakishly strong. "Alright," she motioned to the elevators, "you head on upstairs. I'll be up in a moment. I have a call to make." Helena watched the woman as the elevator closed behind them before pulling the Farnsworth out and ringing Artie.
"What are other side effects of the artifact?" She asked without preamble. "Is there any effects to a person's libido, inhibition, or such?"
That got her a raised eyebrow, but Artie seemingly thought better about exactly what had brought up that particular line of questioning. "Not that I'm aware of," he shook his head, "it simply magnifies particular qualities that it separates. However, the magnification gets stronger the longer the person wears the rings."
"What should I do if the person doesn't want to take off the ring?" She asked in hopes that the man would have a viable solution.
"Can't use force," he asked. Helena shook her head at the screen. "Then, distract the person long enough to take the rings off."
"I was afraid you'd say that," she sighed, "We'll be back tomorrow sometime."
"Tomorrow? I thought you had found them," Artie sounded surprised.
"There has been some difficulty in retrieval, but it should be sorted by tomorrow," she answered in a roundabout way. If things got out of hand, she would inform Artie of the happenings tomorrow.
"Fine," Artie closed the call.
"Goodbye to you too," she closed the lid and made her way slowly to the elevator.
Walking into the room, Helena wondered at the trail of clothes scattered across the floor. "What are they up to?" She whispered to herself. Turning at the half wall that separated the entrance of the room from the sleeping area, the writer stopped short. Intense heat suddenly and immediately flooded her system. The two Mykas were splayed naked on the bed extinguishing the apparently overwhelming arousal that gripped them on the walk from the alley, completely ignoring her entrance and subsequent presence.
Helena watched in rapt fascination as the shy, bookish Myka steadily thrust three fingers in and out of the strong, confident Myka. Heat suffused her body. Her center throbbed with building pressure. Her nipples were uncomfortably tight and the material of her bra seemed to scratch against the hard points. Breathing through her mouth, the writer unbuttoned the top buttons of her shirt trying to cool off.
Helena roughly pushed a hand through her hair trying to keep her eyes off the scene in front of her. Swallowing thickly, her brown orbs refused to track away from scene in front of her. Her clothes felt tight and constricting around her, she was on fire watching the two versions of Myka writhing against each other. The sounds punctuating the air were driving her crazy. The writer was physically aching. She planted both hands on the counter (that separated the sections of the room) in front of her, grasping the edge with a death grip as she watched three fingers become four and heard a keening cry for more. Licking her lips, trying not to hyperventilate, Helena's blood ran molten at the sight of the decidedly bookish Myka's fist disappearing into the apparently superhuman Myka. Her mind was trying to keep it from short circuiting at the sight.
Helena unconsciously leaned forward in an attempt to get closer to the women. Her eyes firmly fixed on the stretched lips accommodating the fist into the velvety walls they covered. Dilated eyes tracked the copious wetness as it seeped out of Myka in her heightened state of arousal. She breathed heavily, no longer even pretending she was not highly interested in the scene. She saw the ripple of muscle on the forearm of the Myka that was on top as if in slow motion before the bookish Myka began thrusting. An unexpected lance of heat tore through her at the sight, her knuckles turned white at the force of her grip, and she gasped at the sudden wave of pleasure that washed through her. Her center quivered and tightened, and she came quickly, forcefully ruining her panties and probably her pants. The sound of her release seemed to spur on the women on the bed.
Her breath coming in harsh pants, Helena stood dumbfounded. She could not believe simply watching Myka pleasure her counterpart set her off so much. She had not even been touched. She swallowed thickly, hands itching to touch and body burning to be touched. Licking her lips, Helena's mind whirled with the moral ambiguity of doing what she desired; Myka was under the affects of an artifact after all. Indecision plagued her but she still watched the thrusting and meeting of hips. She knew the slight tremble of the strong Myka's abdominal muscles meant she was close, probably moments from orgasm.
The Myka on top leaned over and took a nipple in her mouth while the hand not currently thrusting inside the Myka beneath her took and pinched the other nipple. The Myka on the bottom arched off the bed and screamed her release into the room. Gently pulling out of the panting woman, Myka brought her hand up to her face and began licking her fingers clean. Helena groaned and closed her eyes; she was already on fire again.
When the writer opened her eyes the lean muscled Myka stood before her looking and her hungrily. Helena took a deep breath, which was a mistake because she inhaled the scent that was uniquely Myka. She trembled and stepped back, only to find herself encircled in Myka's arms. "Join us," the strong Myka whispered in her ear, before kissing her slow, deep, thoroughly managing to ignite whatever part of Helena that was not already on fire.
She pulled back breathlessly, opening her mouth to protest only to be stopped by a voice coming from the bed. "You want us," the bookish Myka stated with no doubt in her voice, "and we want you. There is no conflict of interest. It would be illogical to deny yourself, when every party is so willing to participate in this. Join us," the dulcet song of the sirens pulled Helena.
The writer's voice deserted her, so she nodded. Oh god what am I getting myself into, she thought as she found herself naked in a matter of seconds, the strong Myka deciding most of her clothes needed to be literally ripped from her body. Hands automatically circled Myka's shoulders as the woman bodily picked her up and walked her to the bed. The strong Myka gently deposited the writer on the bed, and then Helena's world tilted into one of feeling, all higher functioning thought processes abandoned in favor of focusing on the pleasure the two Mykas were eliciting in her.
Not one inch of skin was left untouched. Helena writhed under four hands that seemed to touch her everywhere at once, but not where she needed them most. She moaned as the feeling of a hot tongue lapping at each aching point on her breast, her hands grabbing fistfuls of hair and keeping each curly crowned head attached to her. A hand slid across her stomach but stopped short at her waist and simply dragged blunt nails across the sensitized skin beneath it. Helena groaned in frustration, she ached with need. A pair of lips moved up to kiss her and she readily accepted the caress. Opening her mouth, she allowed entry of an expert tongue that explored every inch of her mouth.
When air became a necessity, the lovely lips and tongue blazed a trail up and down her neck, while the other wicked mouth continued laving her breasts with attention. Helena could barely make out lines of poetry whispered in a deep, desire roughed voice at the end of every kiss and lick to her neck. In her haze of arousal, it took Helena considerably longer than normal to place the words. The writer smiled, her heart melting a little. Myka (she assumed the bookish one) was not whispering dirty little nothings in her ear; she was instead quoting Shakespeare, Blake, Wordsworth, Lord Byron and probably some contemporary that Helena would not know.
Feeling the world tilt in an unexpected move by the more-than-human Myka, Helena braced her hands on the headboard she had been propped up against. Vibrating with need, the writer turned to see what exactly the Mykas were doing now. The sight that greeted her stole her breath and almost tipped her over the edge. The strong Myka had her face between the bookish Myka's legs, doing a wonderful job at bringing her to a great orgasm in the trembling thighs was anything to go by. Lost in the enjoyment of the scene of Myka going down on herself, Helena almost fell over at the feel of a hot, wet tongue swipe the complete length of her slit. Looking down at green eyes staring up at her, the writer groaned at a second swipe of that tongue through her.
Her mind supplying the full picture of the three of them on the bed, Helena moaned. Feeling hands slide up, encircle her hips and pull her down into a waiting mouth, the writer gave herself over to Myka (both of them). With one hand firmly gripping the headboard, her other hand tangled in brown curls, Helena rode the mouth under her. Myka's tongue piercing her, touching her deep and expertly, the writer threw her head back and involuntarily arched as her orgasm approached. She felt the mouth under her attach to her clit and she came undone.
Trembling and unable to hold herself up, the writer moved off the bookish Myka's face and crumpled in a heap next to her. Still recovering, the writer did not protest or fight against the rearrangement of bodies and limbs the Mykas seemed to be intent on doing. Coming slowly to herself at the gently kissing being laid on her body, Helena shifted.
"Oh, Myka," Helena moaned, her center rubbing against a firm thigh. The press of a body in front and behind her was driving her to distraction; she could feel the firm press of breasts and hardened nipples on her shoulder blades while simultaneously feeling another set of hard nipples sliding and pressing into her own overly sensitive and very aroused nipples.
A sheen of sweat covered all three women, allowing them to slide against each other deliciously without the hindrance of friction. And the scent of sex already saturating the air made Helena lightheaded. She felt like she was in a constant state of orgasm, every neuron in her body seemed to be activated and firing. The writer was in a state of sensory overload. She was sandwiched between the two strongest characteristics of Myka's personality: her intelligence and her strength. The heat they were giving off making her melt; fire licked her bloodstream. She had a thigh shoved between her legs, and the ever increasing wetness covering her own thigh let her know her thigh was between one of the Myka's legs too. The writer could also feel the hot wetness of arousal being spread on the juncture where her spine ended and the swell of her buttocks began; the Myka behind her was grinding herself into her tailbone. Helena had no idea how the three were fitted together so closely, so tightly. And, she didn't know which Myka was in front of her and which Myka was behind her. She attempted to open her eyes and answer the self-imposed question, but even with her eyes open she could not see.
All she saw was an explosion of light. Her pupils were completely dilated. Helena slammed her eyes shut and just clung to each Myka. One hand she put on the swell of hip behind her, pulling the Myka behind her flush against her as the woman ground into her and shuddered in release, her teeth sinking into the writer's shoulder. Careening toward orgasm herself, Helena put her other arm around the slim waist of the Myka in front of her pressing them together from breast to crotch as they sped up the maddening tempo of their hips. She immediately opened her mouth to the press of lips and tongue as she pressed down harder into the firm thigh beneath her while pushing up harder into the crotch straddling her own thigh. The writer felt the sudden stop and stiffening of the Myka pressed to her front and moaned at the wash of wetness that painted her thigh as the woman came.
"Don't stop," Helena unconsciously muttered in an almost pained voice as she kept grinding herself on the thigh between her legs. She was so close, she could feel herself tightening and tingling, she just needed one more little push. Half gone but so completely sensitive to the slightest touch, the writer felt a palm slide across her abdomen and snake between her legs. Fingers glided through her abundant wetness with purpose, two slipping into her without warning or teasing. She bucked against the hand. The fingers pumped in and out of her hard and fast, the palm of the hand slapping into her clit on each thrust. Helena felt the bodies around her surge with her, lips and hands touching everywhere. A mouth latched onto one breast and a hand palmed the other, while another mouth whispered sweet nothings between nips and licks on her neck. The fingers inside her twisted and touched a rough patch of flesh, and suddenly, Helena exploded. She arched violently as white hot waves of pleasure tore through her starting at her center and radiating out to the tips of her fingers and toes. A long, keening moan escaped her throat as the wave continued to crest at the slowed but constant pumping of the fingers within her. Falling in an utterly exhausted and sated heap as she came down from the extreme high, Helena promptly passed out into a deep sleep.
The writer awoke to soft sunlight filtering in through the curtains that had not been closed all the way the night before. Feeling the press of a warm body on either side of her, Helena realized she was still sandwiched between the two Myka's. Each Myka had a possessive hold on her. One had her arm around her ribs gently cupping one of the writer's breasts. The other had her hand splayed over Helena's hip. The writer tamped on the almost instant desire that coursed through her at the position she found herself in.
She quickly scanned each Myka for the ring they each had donned the day before. As luck would have it, each hand holding the writer was the one each woman wore the ring on. Well they're certainly distracted now, the writer thought- a flush of heat washing through her as the memories of the previous night flitted through her mind. Shaking her head, she pushed the thoughts aside as she gently divested each Myka of Fowler's ring.
She pressed the rings back into one unbroken whole. Touching the artifact with her bare hands was dangerous; she could already feel the pull to put on the ring herself. Staring at the ring in her hand, she quickly got up and walked over to the counter where she had left the neutralizing bag last night. I would not be so cruel as to release on the world the two strongest aspects of my personality, Helena thought darkly. Pulling the bag to her, she turned at the feeling of eyes on her. She turned to a twin set of green eyes regarding her.
The writer quickly dropped the ring in the bag, covering her eyes at the small explosion of color as the artifact was neutralized. She looked up and sighed in relief at the presence of only one Myka.
"That wasn't a dream was it?" Myka looked at Helena with narrowed eyes before making a subtle sweep of the room.
"No," the writer shook her head, "how do you feel?"
"Like two separate memories are trying to mesh together in my brain," Myka tried to put it into words locking eyes with the writer, "It's kind of intense."
They stared at each other a moment. "Last night was intense. I didn't know you," Myka hummed as she tried to find the right way to say what she wanted, "wanted another person to join us." Green eyes tracked away from brown, trying to hide the absolute distaste of that idea from Helena who, as she recalled, had more than enjoyed the previous night.
Helena slid under the covers enjoying Myka's quick intake of breath as their bodies touched, "I don't." She kissed the young woman's shoulder, "I desire no one but you, Myka. There is no scenario in which last night would have happened with any other but you." Her fingertips ghosted over Myka's skin until her hand stopped to possessively hold the young woman by the hip, "I do not share."
Myka turned and pinned Helena beneath her. Brunette curls fell around them creating a curtain around their faces, the two women stared at each other pretending the heat everywhere their skin touched, the shortness of breath, and the heightened heart beats they could feel were not distracting to the point of incoherence.
Licking her lips in a sudden show of anticipation, a sliver of deep green framing dilated pupils, breathing shallowly through slightly parted lips, arms and shoulders tense from holding most of her body weight off the woman beneath her, Myka looked like a lioness about to pounce on its prey. Descending slowly to press fully against Helena Myka enunciated very clearly into the disappearing space between them, "I don't share, either."