Once Upon A Time In Ancient Japan
Title: Once Upon A Time In Ancient Japan
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Adam/Monica
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,138
Spoilers: Vague S2
Warnings: AU, Sword-fights, implications of past physical abuse (not by Adam), flirty banter, hot sex
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for toestastegood’s Five Acts Meme.
Summary: In 15th century Japan, Adam has never been happier to have Monica fighting at his side.
"Behind you!"
Adam ducked and lashed out with his left arm, sword following behind him, drawing a scream out of the man who sought to run him through. He couldn't have seen him with the restricted vision out of his helmet; thank God Monica was looking out for him. Gut wounds hurt like a bitch, no matter how temporary they were.
"Thanks, and-!" Adam turned and slashed down his other opponent. He had been about to voice a warning to his partner about the foe on the ground, or the one leaping on her from behind while she was distracted from the two in front of her, but he needn't have bothered. She leapt over the man on the ground, bent back so the man leaping forward went right over her and slammed into her left-hand opponent, and then skewered her remaining man with both of her blades. The longer katana penetrated clear through his armor, while the wakizashi opened up the man's guts.
Grinning, Adam ran towards the fray, and in a matter of seconds, had helped her down the other three brigands. Breathing hard, feeling the restriction from his armor, Adam tossed his helmet aside and helped Monica with hers, wanting to see her face flushed and brilliant with battle. Two months with her, and she nearly surpassed him in combat in every way, picking up moves from every fool who thought to challenge them. He couldn't be killed, she couldn't be touched. Together, neither of them could be defeated.
Her eyes flashed at him as she twirled her swords, slinging the blood away and leaving them clean. She sheathed them in a single swift motion before flinging her arms around Adam, crushing together the plates of their armor as she crushed her lips to his.
“You’re brilliant, love,” he said, when she finally let him up for air.
“I know. Good thing you know too,” she teased.
“Come on, I think Kensai needs to collect our reward,” Adam said, stealing another quick kiss.
“Go be mysterious,” Monica urged, stepping back and grabbing her helmet. “I’ll be waiting in case they decide to try to double-cross us.”
“That only happened once.”
“And it doesn’t ever have to happen again. I don’t like having to put your guts back inside you,” she said sternly.
Adam laughed, and shouldered his katana.
---
They returned to their camp a bare hour later, their payment of food, supplies, and money weighing heavily in Adam’s pack. Monica raised an eyebrow as his return, and tapped her foot at the bedrolls arranged on the grass, warmed by the sun and shielded from the outside world by the trees of the grove.
Adam dropped the pack without a second thought to go to her. She was still trussed up in her armor, and his hands sought out the buckles, ties, and straps automatically as she pulled him into a kiss. The plates began to drop from her lithe form with gratifying rapidity, as swiftly as his own armor was disappearing.
“Fast learner,” he murmured, wriggling slightly to work himself out of the last of his protective shell.
“Always.” Monica turned in his hands as he stripped her to the skin, his fingers gently following the faint lines striping her back. Her mother had been taken as a slave from Africa, and had died when Monica was a young girl, leaving her as the sole servant for an impatient and cruel master. When his adventures had brought him to Japan years later, there’d been no tears shed when he’d thought to take down the mysterious Kensei. Fierce and proud, unbowed from her master’s heavy hand and freed by his sudden death, she’d defended herself from what she’d thought was certain doom with a frying pan.
It had been love at first cracked skull.
Adam dipped them down to the sun-warmed blankets, mouth never leaving Monica’s skin. He soothed away the impressions from the heavy armor, the raw and chaffed spots from the straps, and kissed at the few faint scars she’d acquired honestly, fighting off brigands and thieves at Adam’s side. An arced slice by her hip, a puncture on her shoulder, a jagged line on her thigh, an old cut dangerously close to her heart. She gasped slightly, tugging on his hair as he traced every mark with tongue and lips, urging him to explore the unmarked places on her skin. He was more than happy to oblige, cupping and cradling her, squeezing her curves and smiling at the hard muscle under her soft skin.
Groaning slightly, Monica tangled one of her hands with his and flipped him over, nipping at his throat and running her nails slightly over his pale skin. No scar marked him, nothing left from a hundred deaths or more, and she pouted slightly, digging her fingers into his flesh.
“Here,” Adam said, and pressed her hand to the middle of his chest, so she could feel his heart pounding under her hand. His thumb caressed a healing cut on the back of her hand, and Monica made a whimpering noise in the back of her throat. She no longer shook her head at him for doing that, for loving every line of her body, whether it was the curve of her breast, the line of her cheek, or the whip marks on her back. Every scar was wisdom, that was what the locals said.
“Unwise,” she teased him, rocking backward to feel him, full and hard, pressing against her flesh.
“Dreadfully unwise,” he agreed, his hands surging up to scrape at her back.
She hissed and tossed her head back in challenge, lifting herself in a single motion and plunging herself deep, taking him in as swiftly as a sword. Adam cursed into the sun at the pleasure of her around him, his dark goddess, moving against him like a foe she needed to conquer. Monica grabbed his hands, twining their fingers, pulling and pushing herself onto him, her body tensing as she felt him rising to meet her. They joined their strength, their flesh moving like they fought, wanting nothing but victory for each other.
When Monica’s stride faltered from fatigue, Adam was there to pick up the pace, twisting to give her a brief respite. When he had a nagging itch, she hitched her leg up and writhed her fingers between them to scratch it, delving deep to give him satisfaction. Sweat drenched them as they conquered each other in the warm sunshine, their triumph bursting on them in a storm of pleasure, Monica’s surprised shout a victory cry for Adam.
She held him tightly in the aftermath, feeling his hands lightly tickle down the planes and lines of her body, tracing the scars like they were the words on a contract only he could understand.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Adam/Monica
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,138
Spoilers: Vague S2
Warnings: AU, Sword-fights, implications of past physical abuse (not by Adam), flirty banter, hot sex
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for toestastegood’s Five Acts Meme.
Summary: In 15th century Japan, Adam has never been happier to have Monica fighting at his side.
"Behind you!"
Adam ducked and lashed out with his left arm, sword following behind him, drawing a scream out of the man who sought to run him through. He couldn't have seen him with the restricted vision out of his helmet; thank God Monica was looking out for him. Gut wounds hurt like a bitch, no matter how temporary they were.
"Thanks, and-!" Adam turned and slashed down his other opponent. He had been about to voice a warning to his partner about the foe on the ground, or the one leaping on her from behind while she was distracted from the two in front of her, but he needn't have bothered. She leapt over the man on the ground, bent back so the man leaping forward went right over her and slammed into her left-hand opponent, and then skewered her remaining man with both of her blades. The longer katana penetrated clear through his armor, while the wakizashi opened up the man's guts.
Grinning, Adam ran towards the fray, and in a matter of seconds, had helped her down the other three brigands. Breathing hard, feeling the restriction from his armor, Adam tossed his helmet aside and helped Monica with hers, wanting to see her face flushed and brilliant with battle. Two months with her, and she nearly surpassed him in combat in every way, picking up moves from every fool who thought to challenge them. He couldn't be killed, she couldn't be touched. Together, neither of them could be defeated.
Her eyes flashed at him as she twirled her swords, slinging the blood away and leaving them clean. She sheathed them in a single swift motion before flinging her arms around Adam, crushing together the plates of their armor as she crushed her lips to his.
“You’re brilliant, love,” he said, when she finally let him up for air.
“I know. Good thing you know too,” she teased.
“Come on, I think Kensai needs to collect our reward,” Adam said, stealing another quick kiss.
“Go be mysterious,” Monica urged, stepping back and grabbing her helmet. “I’ll be waiting in case they decide to try to double-cross us.”
“That only happened once.”
“And it doesn’t ever have to happen again. I don’t like having to put your guts back inside you,” she said sternly.
Adam laughed, and shouldered his katana.
---
They returned to their camp a bare hour later, their payment of food, supplies, and money weighing heavily in Adam’s pack. Monica raised an eyebrow as his return, and tapped her foot at the bedrolls arranged on the grass, warmed by the sun and shielded from the outside world by the trees of the grove.
Adam dropped the pack without a second thought to go to her. She was still trussed up in her armor, and his hands sought out the buckles, ties, and straps automatically as she pulled him into a kiss. The plates began to drop from her lithe form with gratifying rapidity, as swiftly as his own armor was disappearing.
“Fast learner,” he murmured, wriggling slightly to work himself out of the last of his protective shell.
“Always.” Monica turned in his hands as he stripped her to the skin, his fingers gently following the faint lines striping her back. Her mother had been taken as a slave from Africa, and had died when Monica was a young girl, leaving her as the sole servant for an impatient and cruel master. When his adventures had brought him to Japan years later, there’d been no tears shed when he’d thought to take down the mysterious Kensei. Fierce and proud, unbowed from her master’s heavy hand and freed by his sudden death, she’d defended herself from what she’d thought was certain doom with a frying pan.
It had been love at first cracked skull.
Adam dipped them down to the sun-warmed blankets, mouth never leaving Monica’s skin. He soothed away the impressions from the heavy armor, the raw and chaffed spots from the straps, and kissed at the few faint scars she’d acquired honestly, fighting off brigands and thieves at Adam’s side. An arced slice by her hip, a puncture on her shoulder, a jagged line on her thigh, an old cut dangerously close to her heart. She gasped slightly, tugging on his hair as he traced every mark with tongue and lips, urging him to explore the unmarked places on her skin. He was more than happy to oblige, cupping and cradling her, squeezing her curves and smiling at the hard muscle under her soft skin.
Groaning slightly, Monica tangled one of her hands with his and flipped him over, nipping at his throat and running her nails slightly over his pale skin. No scar marked him, nothing left from a hundred deaths or more, and she pouted slightly, digging her fingers into his flesh.
“Here,” Adam said, and pressed her hand to the middle of his chest, so she could feel his heart pounding under her hand. His thumb caressed a healing cut on the back of her hand, and Monica made a whimpering noise in the back of her throat. She no longer shook her head at him for doing that, for loving every line of her body, whether it was the curve of her breast, the line of her cheek, or the whip marks on her back. Every scar was wisdom, that was what the locals said.
“Unwise,” she teased him, rocking backward to feel him, full and hard, pressing against her flesh.
“Dreadfully unwise,” he agreed, his hands surging up to scrape at her back.
She hissed and tossed her head back in challenge, lifting herself in a single motion and plunging herself deep, taking him in as swiftly as a sword. Adam cursed into the sun at the pleasure of her around him, his dark goddess, moving against him like a foe she needed to conquer. Monica grabbed his hands, twining their fingers, pulling and pushing herself onto him, her body tensing as she felt him rising to meet her. They joined their strength, their flesh moving like they fought, wanting nothing but victory for each other.
When Monica’s stride faltered from fatigue, Adam was there to pick up the pace, twisting to give her a brief respite. When he had a nagging itch, she hitched her leg up and writhed her fingers between them to scratch it, delving deep to give him satisfaction. Sweat drenched them as they conquered each other in the warm sunshine, their triumph bursting on them in a storm of pleasure, Monica’s surprised shout a victory cry for Adam.
She held him tightly in the aftermath, feeling his hands lightly tickle down the planes and lines of her body, tracing the scars like they were the words on a contract only he could understand.