(Daredevil) That Sizzle
Title: That Sizzle
Fandom: Daredevil (TVverse)
Pairing: Karen/Marci
Rating: NC-17
Words: 950
Timeline: Pre-Season Two
Notes: Spoilers for Season Two. For Ladies Bingo, prompt "heat".
Summary: It's too hot to think, but this thing between them has never required thought anyway.
Karen’s hair is sticking to her neck, her lightweight dress feeling like a winter coat in the heat. It doesn’t matter that the sun’s gone down or that the window’s as open as it will go - the air is thick and humid and there’s not even the slightest hint of a breeze, the heat wave showing no signs of breaking.
“How’s Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest.
Marci’s looking around Karen’s apartment with her usual distaste, like she’s exasperated it hasn’t miraculously become less of a shithole since the last time she was here. “H C and B is fine.”
Karen frowns as Marci nudges the base of the feeble electric fan with her shoe. “Nelson and Murdock is good. And Foggy. Foggy’s good.”
Marci sighs, fixing Karen with one of her condescendingly patient smiles. “We both know I didn’t come here to talk about Foggy.” And Karen snorts out a short laugh because, no, she didn’t and, yes, they both know that oh too well.
She’s grown addicted to the sound Marci makes when she’s shoved against the wall. The warmth hanging over her skin makes Karen more impatient, rougher when she kisses Marci, sucking on her lower lip. A button pops and falls to the floor when she fumbles at Marci’s shirt, but Marci just grins at her like she’s impressed and pushes Karen toward the bed.
They fuck in a tangle of limbs, Marci’s fingers in Karen’s hair, Karen’s fingers between Marci’s legs. The sheets cling to their skin, everything slick with perspiration and the way Marci drips across her knuckles when Karen rubs across her clit. Marci’s always loud when she comes, like she enjoys making sure Karen’s neighbours know exactly what’s happening through the thin walls, and then she crawls between Karen’s knees and leaves bitemarks on her inner thighs.
Karen’s exhausted when they’re done, the oppressive heat making everything tiring, making her feel sluggish and stiff. Her skin is buzzing, her face pressed to Marci’s neck, the scent of expensive body lotion tickling her nose.
“I need a shower,” Marci sighs, and there’s a sneer in her voice but her fingers are slow and gentle as they stroke through Karen’s hair.
Karen needs one too, but it’s too hot to move. “Knock yourself out.”
Marci sits up, tugging at Karen’s wrist, her hair turned darker with sweat along at the base of her neck. “Come on, come wash my hair with your cheap shampoo.”
“My shampoo isn’t that cheap,” Karen says, rolling her eyes, but she lets herself be led to the bathroom.
She’s not really sure how this whole thing started.
There were celebratory drinks after Wilson Fisk’s sentencing, and Marci had joined them, claiming she wanted to bask in their gratitude for her help. Karen had watched her tease Foggy and trade playful barbs with Matt, and Marci’s leg had been pushed snug against her own under the table the whole night.
She’d found a napkin in her handbag the next morning with Marci’s phone number neatly written across it.
But Karen suspects it started even before that. Maybe at Landman and Zack, meeting this shark of a woman and not being able to look away. Or seeing Marci’s face when Foggy made that comment about her selling her soul, seeing how it cut deeper than Marci would ever admit - maybe that’s where it started, this low simmering burn in Karen’s gut that draws her in, makes her keep coming back for more.
They bicker over the water temperature, Marci refusing to shower in anything lower than too warm, even though they both know how quickly Karen’s tiny bathroom steams up. Karen waits until Marci’s lathering up her hair before turning the dial down, and Marci glares at her but settles for kissing her hard instead of turning it back up.
Marci goes to her knees and eats Karen out slow, until what little heat that remains in the water starts to give out, but it’s not the cooling shower spray that makes Karen shiver, it’s Marci’s mouth.
Marci braces her hands against the sink when they’re done, both of them dripping water across the floor. Karen fucks her from behind, Marci’s cunt tight and scorching hot around her fingers, watching Marci’s expression in the mirror. She half-expects Marci to watch her own reflection but she doesn’t - she keeps her eyes locked with Karen’s the whole time, until they fall closed and she cries out, the bathroom’s echo making her sound louder than ever.
They lie in bed together after, heads leaning towards each other. Karen watches the last droplets of water roll over Marci’s skin, and it’s too hot to sleep but she drifts off all the same.
Marci’s hand squeezes her shoulder the next morning, dragging her out of sleep. “I gotta go to work,” Marci reminds her, smirking. “Some of us actually work for money, not pies.”
Karen grumbles, “Fuck off.” The window’s still open and it’s early as hell, but she can already feel the air warming up again.
Marci just shakes her head, still grinning as Karen glares at her sleepily. “Same time next week?” she taunts, but she’s already out the door before Karen can reply.
She’s left a fresh pot of coffee, though, and Karen drinks it by the window, her head leaning against the frame, the room still smelling like Marci’s perfume. She doesn’t know what this thing with Marci is, and she’s okay with that. Because all she needs to know for sure is that the heat wave pressing down on Hell’s Kitchen is nothing compared to the heat that Marci can make her feel.
Fandom: Daredevil (TVverse)
Pairing: Karen/Marci
Rating: NC-17
Words: 950
Timeline: Pre-Season Two
Notes: Spoilers for Season Two. For Ladies Bingo, prompt "heat".
Summary: It's too hot to think, but this thing between them has never required thought anyway.
Karen’s hair is sticking to her neck, her lightweight dress feeling like a winter coat in the heat. It doesn’t matter that the sun’s gone down or that the window’s as open as it will go - the air is thick and humid and there’s not even the slightest hint of a breeze, the heat wave showing no signs of breaking.
“How’s Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest.
Marci’s looking around Karen’s apartment with her usual distaste, like she’s exasperated it hasn’t miraculously become less of a shithole since the last time she was here. “H C and B is fine.”
Karen frowns as Marci nudges the base of the feeble electric fan with her shoe. “Nelson and Murdock is good. And Foggy. Foggy’s good.”
Marci sighs, fixing Karen with one of her condescendingly patient smiles. “We both know I didn’t come here to talk about Foggy.” And Karen snorts out a short laugh because, no, she didn’t and, yes, they both know that oh too well.
She’s grown addicted to the sound Marci makes when she’s shoved against the wall. The warmth hanging over her skin makes Karen more impatient, rougher when she kisses Marci, sucking on her lower lip. A button pops and falls to the floor when she fumbles at Marci’s shirt, but Marci just grins at her like she’s impressed and pushes Karen toward the bed.
They fuck in a tangle of limbs, Marci’s fingers in Karen’s hair, Karen’s fingers between Marci’s legs. The sheets cling to their skin, everything slick with perspiration and the way Marci drips across her knuckles when Karen rubs across her clit. Marci’s always loud when she comes, like she enjoys making sure Karen’s neighbours know exactly what’s happening through the thin walls, and then she crawls between Karen’s knees and leaves bitemarks on her inner thighs.
Karen’s exhausted when they’re done, the oppressive heat making everything tiring, making her feel sluggish and stiff. Her skin is buzzing, her face pressed to Marci’s neck, the scent of expensive body lotion tickling her nose.
“I need a shower,” Marci sighs, and there’s a sneer in her voice but her fingers are slow and gentle as they stroke through Karen’s hair.
Karen needs one too, but it’s too hot to move. “Knock yourself out.”
Marci sits up, tugging at Karen’s wrist, her hair turned darker with sweat along at the base of her neck. “Come on, come wash my hair with your cheap shampoo.”
“My shampoo isn’t that cheap,” Karen says, rolling her eyes, but she lets herself be led to the bathroom.
She’s not really sure how this whole thing started.
There were celebratory drinks after Wilson Fisk’s sentencing, and Marci had joined them, claiming she wanted to bask in their gratitude for her help. Karen had watched her tease Foggy and trade playful barbs with Matt, and Marci’s leg had been pushed snug against her own under the table the whole night.
She’d found a napkin in her handbag the next morning with Marci’s phone number neatly written across it.
But Karen suspects it started even before that. Maybe at Landman and Zack, meeting this shark of a woman and not being able to look away. Or seeing Marci’s face when Foggy made that comment about her selling her soul, seeing how it cut deeper than Marci would ever admit - maybe that’s where it started, this low simmering burn in Karen’s gut that draws her in, makes her keep coming back for more.
They bicker over the water temperature, Marci refusing to shower in anything lower than too warm, even though they both know how quickly Karen’s tiny bathroom steams up. Karen waits until Marci’s lathering up her hair before turning the dial down, and Marci glares at her but settles for kissing her hard instead of turning it back up.
Marci goes to her knees and eats Karen out slow, until what little heat that remains in the water starts to give out, but it’s not the cooling shower spray that makes Karen shiver, it’s Marci’s mouth.
Marci braces her hands against the sink when they’re done, both of them dripping water across the floor. Karen fucks her from behind, Marci’s cunt tight and scorching hot around her fingers, watching Marci’s expression in the mirror. She half-expects Marci to watch her own reflection but she doesn’t - she keeps her eyes locked with Karen’s the whole time, until they fall closed and she cries out, the bathroom’s echo making her sound louder than ever.
They lie in bed together after, heads leaning towards each other. Karen watches the last droplets of water roll over Marci’s skin, and it’s too hot to sleep but she drifts off all the same.
Marci’s hand squeezes her shoulder the next morning, dragging her out of sleep. “I gotta go to work,” Marci reminds her, smirking. “Some of us actually work for money, not pies.”
Karen grumbles, “Fuck off.” The window’s still open and it’s early as hell, but she can already feel the air warming up again.
Marci just shakes her head, still grinning as Karen glares at her sleepily. “Same time next week?” she taunts, but she’s already out the door before Karen can reply.
She’s left a fresh pot of coffee, though, and Karen drinks it by the window, her head leaning against the frame, the room still smelling like Marci’s perfume. She doesn’t know what this thing with Marci is, and she’s okay with that. Because all she needs to know for sure is that the heat wave pressing down on Hell’s Kitchen is nothing compared to the heat that Marci can make her feel.