fic: Superboy's Got His Problems, (And Girl's Got Her Hang-Ups)
Title: Superboy's Got His Problems, (And Girl's Got Her Hang-Ups)
Rating: PG-13, for language, sadly.
Pairing: Monica/Nathan
Summary: Prompt from The Heroes Kink Meme Rides Again!: cat and mouse turns sexy as Nathan tries to bring down St Joan.
A/N: Kink meme fic that didn't get to the pron! Song title from Superboy And Supergirl by Tullycraft, because I wasn't feeling creative today.
She's not even careful about being caught, really. It's been Nathan experience - personal experience - that people hide their abilities. They don't want to be different, to be rejected, to be caught. They keep themselves to themselves, and certainly, certainly, don't buy a costume and take on an alter ego. People just don't do that outside of the pages of comic books.
This girl, though. Damn, this girl must be fucking fearless. Soldiers on her ass - Danko on her ass - and she's still saving kittens from trees.
Nathan admires her. And she is irritating the shit out of him.
-
So here's the thing: Monica has some higher calling kind of thing. Don't ask her to explain it, because she can't. It's not a God, but then, in a way, maybe it is. It's just that she has this power, and she can help, so she reckons she should help.
Micah is so proud of her.
For a while, it was helping with the small stuff. Muggings and burglaries and that sort of thing, but everything's changed now. It's time to make a big impact.
-
“She's one ninety pound girl. Why is this so difficult for you?”
Danko grimaces. “As you well know, she's a mimic. She adapts.”
“Then you need to adapt too.” Nathan leans back in his chair. He loves pissing this guy off. “And faster, otherwise I'll just find someone else, okay? Okay.”
“Of course,” Danko says, with all the vehemence of fuck you.
-
This is one fancy place.
Monica slips easily into the shadows near Nathan's apartment block. She doesn't exactly have a plan; Micah's said that this guy isn't all bad, and yeah, the kid's way too trusting for his own good, but maybe he's right. She knows that Peter is some kind of a saint, or something, maybe something rubbed off.
A car pulls up - a fancy car, of course - and someone gets out. She raises her night vision goggles (there are upsides to living with a boy genius technopath), and that definitely looks like him. She steps out of her hiding place and walks over carefully.
“Hey.”
He spins round.
“I think you've been looking for me,” she says, sweeping her hood away from her face.
“Monica Dawson?”
“That's the one.”
He slides his hands into his back pockets. “I'm guessing you're not here to turn yourself in.”
“You're right.” Damn. That's a really nice waistcoat he's wearing. “I wanted to talk to you.”
He narrows his eyes. “Okay...”
Right. She hadn't actually thought this out any further than ambushing him and probably being descended on by a million agents. She crosses her arms over her chest; appealing to this better nature he apparently has would seem to be the way to go. “These are your people, Senator Petrelli, our people. How can you do this to us?”
“I'm not some evil dictator. This is as much to keep you... us... safe as anything else. Some of us are dangerous.”
“That's not a good enough reason.” She pulls something from her messenger bag; an old issue of Ninth Wonders. She holds it up. “This is you, isn't it?”
Nathan squints against the dim light the street lamps cast. “If I come closer, are you going to kill me?”
“Not if you behave.”
He takes five steps forward, and she can't help but that he has... a very long stride.
“This is you,” she says, “and in this issue you save a woman from a burning building. Slip her your campaign badge, but still.”
“It's just a comic book,” he replies. His gaze lingers on the cover, though, and she doesn't think she's imagining the unsure expression on his face, even if his face is cast in shadow.
“Don't even.”
“Fine, can I see it? If I have starring role in this comic, I should at least get a read of it.” He leans forward, apparently to take the comic from her, but she sees it; she sees his wrist turn and his foot slide forward--
She has him on the ground in a second, the air from his lungs exhaled in one pained 'oof'. She presses a leather-booted foot into his windpipe.
“You said you weren't going to try anything.”
“I... I didn't actually say that,” he whispers through gritted teeth. His hands come up, and he tries to get his fingers around her ankle; she turns her foot and digs her heel in just so.
“Believe me when I say that I know what I'm doing.” Oh, that's a good one; she silently congratulates herself on sounding so tough.
He turns slightly purple. She eases off slightly. “Micah said you were a good guy. Niki.... liked you. But I guess I was wrong in coming here.” She steps back and offers him her hand, assuming he has some sense and won't try anything a second time.
He doesn't, but that might be because she pulls him close, wraps a hand around his shoulder, and says, “Did you know there's a pressure point right... here-” She kneads her fingertips into his skin. “-that will knock you clean out?”
It's not... entirely true. It's more like-- Star Trek, really, but his pupils dilate, through fear or... Well, or something else.
Monica's not naïve; she may be going through a (forced)dry spell of late, but she hardly lacks experience. She steps in closer still, slipping one foot between his, and presses up onto her toes. She's small - petite - and she knows that most guys are a sucker for that, and Nathan? Is definitely a sucker for a pretty face and great body.
And she definitely has a great body.
“Senator Petrelli,” she murmurs, pulling back enough to feel his warm breath against her cheek.
“Miss Dawson?” he replies, and his voice has that lovely gruff quality to it that makes her toes tingle. She ghosts her hand over his ass, hooks a thumb in his back pocket.
“Thanks for your help.” She strikes him across the back of his head, just below the occipital ridge. He drops like a stone, leaving her with heap of Petrelli at her feet, and his cell phone in her hand. What she said about pressure points wasn't complete bullshit, just the Vulcan death grip thing.
“We should do this again,” she says to his unconscious form.
Oh yeah, that sounded cool. She'll have to use that line again.
Rating: PG-13, for language, sadly.
Pairing: Monica/Nathan
Summary: Prompt from The Heroes Kink Meme Rides Again!: cat and mouse turns sexy as Nathan tries to bring down St Joan.
A/N: Kink meme fic that didn't get to the pron! Song title from Superboy And Supergirl by Tullycraft, because I wasn't feeling creative today.
She's not even careful about being caught, really. It's been Nathan experience - personal experience - that people hide their abilities. They don't want to be different, to be rejected, to be caught. They keep themselves to themselves, and certainly, certainly, don't buy a costume and take on an alter ego. People just don't do that outside of the pages of comic books.
This girl, though. Damn, this girl must be fucking fearless. Soldiers on her ass - Danko on her ass - and she's still saving kittens from trees.
Nathan admires her. And she is irritating the shit out of him.
-
So here's the thing: Monica has some higher calling kind of thing. Don't ask her to explain it, because she can't. It's not a God, but then, in a way, maybe it is. It's just that she has this power, and she can help, so she reckons she should help.
Micah is so proud of her.
For a while, it was helping with the small stuff. Muggings and burglaries and that sort of thing, but everything's changed now. It's time to make a big impact.
-
“She's one ninety pound girl. Why is this so difficult for you?”
Danko grimaces. “As you well know, she's a mimic. She adapts.”
“Then you need to adapt too.” Nathan leans back in his chair. He loves pissing this guy off. “And faster, otherwise I'll just find someone else, okay? Okay.”
“Of course,” Danko says, with all the vehemence of fuck you.
-
This is one fancy place.
Monica slips easily into the shadows near Nathan's apartment block. She doesn't exactly have a plan; Micah's said that this guy isn't all bad, and yeah, the kid's way too trusting for his own good, but maybe he's right. She knows that Peter is some kind of a saint, or something, maybe something rubbed off.
A car pulls up - a fancy car, of course - and someone gets out. She raises her night vision goggles (there are upsides to living with a boy genius technopath), and that definitely looks like him. She steps out of her hiding place and walks over carefully.
“Hey.”
He spins round.
“I think you've been looking for me,” she says, sweeping her hood away from her face.
“Monica Dawson?”
“That's the one.”
He slides his hands into his back pockets. “I'm guessing you're not here to turn yourself in.”
“You're right.” Damn. That's a really nice waistcoat he's wearing. “I wanted to talk to you.”
He narrows his eyes. “Okay...”
Right. She hadn't actually thought this out any further than ambushing him and probably being descended on by a million agents. She crosses her arms over her chest; appealing to this better nature he apparently has would seem to be the way to go. “These are your people, Senator Petrelli, our people. How can you do this to us?”
“I'm not some evil dictator. This is as much to keep you... us... safe as anything else. Some of us are dangerous.”
“That's not a good enough reason.” She pulls something from her messenger bag; an old issue of Ninth Wonders. She holds it up. “This is you, isn't it?”
Nathan squints against the dim light the street lamps cast. “If I come closer, are you going to kill me?”
“Not if you behave.”
He takes five steps forward, and she can't help but that he has... a very long stride.
“This is you,” she says, “and in this issue you save a woman from a burning building. Slip her your campaign badge, but still.”
“It's just a comic book,” he replies. His gaze lingers on the cover, though, and she doesn't think she's imagining the unsure expression on his face, even if his face is cast in shadow.
“Don't even.”
“Fine, can I see it? If I have starring role in this comic, I should at least get a read of it.” He leans forward, apparently to take the comic from her, but she sees it; she sees his wrist turn and his foot slide forward--
She has him on the ground in a second, the air from his lungs exhaled in one pained 'oof'. She presses a leather-booted foot into his windpipe.
“You said you weren't going to try anything.”
“I... I didn't actually say that,” he whispers through gritted teeth. His hands come up, and he tries to get his fingers around her ankle; she turns her foot and digs her heel in just so.
“Believe me when I say that I know what I'm doing.” Oh, that's a good one; she silently congratulates herself on sounding so tough.
He turns slightly purple. She eases off slightly. “Micah said you were a good guy. Niki.... liked you. But I guess I was wrong in coming here.” She steps back and offers him her hand, assuming he has some sense and won't try anything a second time.
He doesn't, but that might be because she pulls him close, wraps a hand around his shoulder, and says, “Did you know there's a pressure point right... here-” She kneads her fingertips into his skin. “-that will knock you clean out?”
It's not... entirely true. It's more like-- Star Trek, really, but his pupils dilate, through fear or... Well, or something else.
Monica's not naïve; she may be going through a (forced)dry spell of late, but she hardly lacks experience. She steps in closer still, slipping one foot between his, and presses up onto her toes. She's small - petite - and she knows that most guys are a sucker for that, and Nathan? Is definitely a sucker for a pretty face and great body.
And she definitely has a great body.
“Senator Petrelli,” she murmurs, pulling back enough to feel his warm breath against her cheek.
“Miss Dawson?” he replies, and his voice has that lovely gruff quality to it that makes her toes tingle. She ghosts her hand over his ass, hooks a thumb in his back pocket.
“Thanks for your help.” She strikes him across the back of his head, just below the occipital ridge. He drops like a stone, leaving her with heap of Petrelli at her feet, and his cell phone in her hand. What she said about pressure points wasn't complete bullshit, just the Vulcan death grip thing.
“We should do this again,” she says to his unconscious form.
Oh yeah, that sounded cool. She'll have to use that line again.