A fantastic gift from my LJ friend, Jazzypom! I love my friends! Woot! XD
Author: jazzypom
Disclaimer:Characters and situations are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No profit is being made off this fan-written work
Warnings: none
Universe 1610
Pairing/Characters: Stephen Strange/Carol Danvers
A/N: shades of D/s
A/N: This is a missing piece from that cowrite with pensive1 from It Happens Eventually. I didn't put it in because it didn't suit the tone of the story at all.
"At times," Carol said, as she wrapped her hands around her knees. "I wish I were a character in a Harry Potter novel. Or at least, attended Hogwarts."
"Harry... Potter?"
"I did a freelance assignment a while back," Carol explained. "It meant that I had to read the books, or at least the Wiki. There was a summoning spell called Accio."
"How amateur," Stephen's tone was droll. He could still do imperious at the drop of a hat, despite sleep thickened voice.
"No, seriously. I'd ace wandless magic," Carol stretched her legs out in front of her, shifting so she leaned against the headboard. "Raise my hand, focus on the vanity table over there and go... accio."
"By the myriad Moons of Munnopor, you are... serious."
"I'd be a Ravenclaw," Carol continued, knowing Stephen well enough not to be discomforted by the long, blank look he sent in her direction. "For instance, I'd just look at that vanity table across the room and make the hairbrush accio over here. In my palm."
Stephen's stunned silence echoed in the room. Carol raised her hand to her mouth to feign a yawn, because it would not do to laugh. Not when insult warred with disbelief across his features. It was morning, one of those stolen bits of time that Carol stopped trying to justify- because she just couldn't - and she made herself enjoy the moment for what it was.
"If you must," Stephen said after a long while. "Lift your hand, and point to the object of your desire."
"Ha, ha, ha. What?"
"You have no wand, but you need something to focus your powers. It is as if you are reading for the first time. You use your pointer finger to mark your place on the page."
Carol raised her hand to the height of her shoulders, and waggled her fingers, as if giving a casual wave, and she heard Stephen choke with indignation.
"Magic," Stephen said, his breath hot at her air, and Carol turned, almost bumping their foreheads together. Stephen was up, his hands on hers as he shaped her fingers into a mundra of defence.
"Live long and prosper? You're a Trekkie?"
"Ms Danvers," Stephen cut in, tones haughty, "shall we continue?"
Carol bit her lips, told herself not to laugh. She closed her eyes for a moment, and opened them, giving Stephen the mood he wanted, studious deference.
"Very well," Stephen continued. "You keep your wrist steady, focus on the intent . Say the word, and the brush will come to you."
" Accio?"
"If you must."
Carol locked her wrist into position, looked at the silver backed brush on the vanity table. Shivered at Stephen's breath at her ear, wanting to lean into him, but respecting his discipline. They would have their eyes (and hands) on each other sooner or later.
"Now, take a breath, focus on the brush, and hold your hand out, palm up."
"Back off, you're crowding me."
To Carol's surprise and disappointment, Stephen did as told. Squaring her shoulders, Carol lifted her hand, face up. "Focus," she muttered. "Brush to hand. Accio."
The brush still sat on the dresser. Silver backed, white bristles, with strands of blonde hair snarled in them. "Second time's the charm," Carol quipped.
Stephen said nothing, and Carol ignored the chuckles. Nothing but the brush. Here, right now. See its handle tremble, the brush edging from the edge of the dresser and - oh.
Oh.
With a shwah the brush flew across the room and -
"Very well, you have the brush in hand."
"I did magic," despite Carol's disdain for the craft, she did not fight off the warm glow of accomplishment. "Stephen-"
"A bit rudimentary, I'll admit," Stephen's voice was droll, and Carol's gaze drifted down. Stephen was on his stomach, hands under his chin; his body across her lap, as naked and lazy as a young cat in the sunshine.
"Oh, you," Carol swatted at Stephen's behind with the back of the brush – nothing more than a breezy tap, when something interesting happened.
Stephen gave her look out of the corner of his eye, as if-
Deliberately, Carol raised the brush to shoulder height, and brought it down again, to the meat of his bum. This time, she aimed well, and true. Another slap this time, a little harder. Thwack
Stephen hummed, his groin shifting against her lap, and despite the wad of bedclothes between them, there was no disguising his interest. As for Carol herself, she didn't know what to think, so she did it again, on the other side of his buttocks, and that needy little noise tore out of Stephen once more.
Oh, my.
"How do we do this?" Carol asked, putting the brush to one side, as she rested her palm against Stephen's warm posterior. It had the makings of a pretty blush, below the dimples at his spine, sloping towards a gentle rise – one drew her gaze to the back of his tunic again and again.
"As per custom, the needling is, 'who's been a bad boy, then?' With punitive measures brought to bear."
"I'm not asking you that!" Carol laughed, because the saucy question was funny, the ribald words coolly aloof with Stephen's inbred formality. It also sounded very, very sexy; but she didn't need to tell Stephen that, he had too much self esteem at times.
"If you must know, I have been one. I submit myself to your tender mercies."
"Oh?" Carol brought her hand down against Stephen's bum, a shade heavier this time, a slight edge towards unmarked flesh, and on the edge of a rose. She paused at that, gently smoothing Stephen's buttocks, admiring the firm, pale globes.
"Indeed."
"And if my mercies." - thwack - "aren't so tender?" thwack
"I –" Stephen's eyes drifted closed, and Carol could see the flutter of his lashes against high, sharp cheekbones. Not giving him time to recover, but mindful of her strength, she smacked him again, cupping her hand this time, her fingers aligned together, much more of a blistering slap this time, that echoed in the room.
"I will give – word," Stephen rasped, and Carol felt the fine tremor in his body under her hand.
"The word is?" attention given to the left cheek now, Carol identified and got into a rhythm; the slaps on this side of slow, but more intermittent. Attention to one cheek, then the other. It made sense, slaps not to the point of numbed skin, just still keeping the edge of pain there.
"Demons – of – Den-"
"That's not a word. That's alliteration. I'm afraid I'll have to punish you for that."
"Dormammu."
"Dormammu?" Carol repeated, underscoring it with a slap.
A shattered yes, and it changed somehow. As if Stephen had retreated to a place behind closed eyelids, his features soft, his mouth open. Nothing but the fine tremors through his body, and for the first time in a long time, Carol became aware of everything. As if she'd first tasted tart fruit, after a lifetime of eating nothing but bland fare, and wondered how she was unaware for so long.
All new sensations of awakening, alert to the ripple of muscles in her arm as she brought it down against Stephen's buttocks, the weight and warmth of Stephen's body across her lap; the fact that he gave himself over to her, much more intimate than his mouth on her centre, or him moving inside her. A lot more than being naked, which he was now, his body rangy; long, lean muscles, shifting under skin as he moved. His body marked by her hands – scratches along his back and ribcage from last night, the vivid marks of her hands against his bottom and upper thighs now.
It might have been like learning to fly again, the slightest tilt of her body throwing her off guard. Arms forward having more force than arms outstretched. The trust in herself a fearful and powerful thing, knowing that her body would respond just as is; the trust by her teammates in her, even more so. All nothing but a tiny patch of this feeling, when someone yielded all control to you, to not hurt – only to extract pleasure from the thorniest of situations? Carol only hoped she was strong enough.
Slaps and thwacks forming a pattern, a crescendo. Following her instinct Carol paced her hits to be slower, less intense.
"Stephen, are you –" she licked her lips, not surprised to find them dry. However, she was surprised to feel the wetness between her legs, the thrum of arousal through her body, and she shut her eyes for a moment, before she was able to speak again.
"Yes."
"Mischief managed, then?"
"Harry Potter, again, Ms Danvers?"
Carol stilled her hand against his buttocks, before she started to rub gently. She was tempted to ask if he'd read the series of books, but decided against it, because everyone was entitled to secrets, and she'd leave Stephen to his own.
"You've been – good," she cleared her throat, giving his back long and gentle strokes with the open palm of her hand. Carol kept her voice low, almost to a croon. "Very, very good, Stephen. I'm – pleased."
"Pleased?"
"Very." Carol leaned over, dropped a kiss on his shoulder. She could do that, little touches and strokes until he – came to? It seemed safe, and he would have given the word.
"May I- move?"
Okay, this was highly formal, and um, strange but Carol went along with it. She wouldn't hurt him, and her instincts were honed enough to steer her right, although her arousal was discomforting. As soon as Stephen snapped to, and stepped out, she'd have to take things in … hand.
"Sure," she said, because formal wasn't her style. Stephen inched from her lap, his eyes on hers, but with a dreamy cast to them. His hands were on the sheets around her waist, as he drew them down past her thighs and legs.
Carol could not move. Stephen's hands were on her skin, running along her calves, his mouth following wherever his fingers touched. At the first brush of lips at her knee, Carol felt herself tumbling backward, sheets warmed from the sun against her back and shoulders. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of sun on her face, the ripple of sensation as Stephen licked and nipped at the sensitive inside of her left thigh, then her right. By the time his breath was against her folds, Carol's fingers were gripping the bedclothes.
His hands splayed on either side of her hips, as she felt them being raised, spread. Felt the bridge of his nose along her centre, as he inhaled. The tickled of breath against her pubis as he exhaled. There weren't the remarks that she was now accustomed to I could partake of you all day, Carol, or just a muttered exquisite that simultaneously warmed and aroused. This morning, save for slaps on skin and a few murmured words it had been much quieter this time around, yet even more intense.
Carol's body rocked by tremors at Stephen's first nuzzle the tip of his tongue on her nubbin. So slow, and hot and wet, nothing but his moans of pleasure with his mouth on her, his hands holding fast as Carol's hips bucked and rolled.
"Stephen" she sobbed, dimly wondering how one could be battered by pleasure. She in danger of drowning in the musky scent and heat of it, the air so thick, she could only sip at it.
Stephen.
When Carol came back to herself, her body pleasantly loose and heavy, she wasn't surprised to see Stephen back in himself. All dressed, complete with cloak of scarlet and gold. Exceptionally tidy save for the fact that his hair was mussed, his eyes soft and on her.
She opened her mouth to speak, to make light of what they had, only for Stephen to raise her knuckles to his lips. A brief impression of his lips against her fingers, and Carol knew she should drag her hand away, not make the moment more than it was.
"You change everything you touch, Carol." She closed her eyes against the comment, because it would be wrong for him to see how much pleasure she took from those words.
Then the twist and 'pop' of air as Stephen disappeared. Carol opened her eyes when she was sure Stephen was gone.
Carol drew the sheets around her. Frustrated, she banged her head against the pillow, only to wince at the hard lump underneath. "What the-" Carol fished out the offending article, her annoyance evaporated rapidly when she saw the brush. Idly, she rubbed her thumb along its grooves, knowing that she wasn't going to get out of bed today.
Fin.