Fic: Savage
I haven't actually fic-style written out something this adult in a very long time. Uuuuh, yeah. This is NC-17 and really NSFW. You've been WARNED f-list! Please just skip this over if it doesn't interest you.
Title: Savage
Author: glassfishgirl
Fandom: Marvel Comics AU
Character(s)or Pairing: Genderswapped!Tony Stark/Bruce Banner
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Set in a universe where Tony is Toni and always has been, inspired by a prompt for 'anyone/bruce' on the most recent Cape and Cowl kink meme.
Warnings: Female dominant/male submissive, bondage, some rough domination and one instance of choking are part and parcel here so don't say I didn't tell you what you were getting into.
Summary: "You get to play master and servant with a nymphomaniac multi-billionaire for a month straight and call it ‘anger management’? Where the f**k were you when the court made me to go to that 'deep-breathing-count-to-ten' shit for my road rage?"
“You said you wanted me to help you, Dr. Banner. Don’t bitch about how I do it.”
Her voice is just a little graveled, worn rough from swallowing scotch and barking instructions at everyone within twenty feet of her all day. It’s what she does... and it’s what she’s doing to him (for free she might add, and with such nice perks).
It doesn’t hurt that she’s aged beautifully, although even if she were as hard on the eyes as her high stress, vodka soaked lifestyle would suggest he still would have asked her to do this and no one else.
Youth isn’t what he needs.
He came to Toni Stark because she’s Toni Stark.
The woman is 5’3” out of her high heels and weighs 125 soaking wet, but when she meets his eyes that whip-fast mind cuts him down to his component parts and puts him back together with surgical precision in ten seconds flat. She walks into every situation, on field and off, as if that seven million dollar suit of hers is grafted to her very bones, rendering her utterly fucking invincible from the word go. The fact that it’s all ego and spin doesn’t matter. She won’t take shit from anyone, and she’s physically incapable of being afraid of him.
She’s also got a four poster bed and a house in the Adirondacks she has no qualms about rebuilding from the ground up if her companion loses his cool.
The bedroom up here in the log-walled palace of Toni's winter vacation home is lavish to the point of Bruce's discomfort. Everything is arranged just so in a single room the size of his entire house; a heavy wooden bed tucked into the corner, a massive stone fireplace on one wall blazing in juxtaposition to the snow howling at the french doors that open onto the equally massive balcony. Persian rugs and real furs that could very well be illegal in some countries are spread across the fine hardwood floors like stepping stones and the curtains are made out of the sort of fabrics most celebrities commission red carpet dresses from.
Her sheets are cotton; Egyptian and with an obscenely high thread count, but cotton just the same. ("I'd expected satin or something." "Are you kidding me?" She snorted into her vodka and orange. "That shit sticks to sweaty skin worse than spandex.")
Toni - naked but for a bracelet, her skin too warm - wriggles over his hips and picks up her glass of scotch from the bedside table. She tips the bottom to the sky, ice cubes clinking against her teeth as she sucks every diluted drop of alcohol from between them. Bruce watches the delicate structure of her throat ripple with each swallow and he thinks not for the first time of the satisfaction he would feel wrapping thick green fingers around her slender little neck one by one and just squeezing.
She glances down, glass still at her lips and gives him a look of utter derision through the faceted crystal.
“Green eyed monster again Brucie.” She says, and her tone is as sultry as it is scolding. She brushes his bangs away from his hot face, leaning down to meet his nearly-glowing eyes with an expression approaching boredom. “What’s wrong? Tough night?”
She flips the glass and drops the ice right on his chest the moment he opens his mouth.
Her voice is, if possible, even colder.
“Did I tell you to talk?”
He hisses and moans but keeps his jaw shut tight, arching under her and straining with everything in him to keep his arms spread flat and his breathing even. His desperation not to hurt her is wearing ever thinner against Hulk’s utter rage. The cold nearly burns against the heat of his body, melt water dragging the stinging traces of alcohol into his open wounds.
The nail marks in his back are nasty, but the ones on his chest are even worse. She gives a sharp little rock of her hips again that reminds him exactly why he’s so scratched up in the first place and raggedly he starts to beg even though she just told him to shut up not twenty seconds ago.
“Please...”
Toni drops her glass, moving forward like lighting. The tumbler rolls off the side of the bed and lands in the plush carpet with a dull thud. Before it even hits the floor she’s threaded her fingers into his bangs and slammed his head back to the mattress with one surprisingly muscular little arm.
“Your listening skills need work, Brucie.”
The impact ripples down his spine, cramping his back for not the first time and making his ears just ring. His already terrible headache blossoms into something excruciating.
Three hours ago her constant tease had been frustrating, but easy enough to handle. Now his head and his dick are throbbing in tandem and god almighty he just wants to come or to kill her - one or the other - and which it is matters less and less. Hulk is hammering against Bruce’s self control harder and harder every second, and if she doesn’t give in and pull him back from this edge the rope on his wrists will provide her with maybe three extra seconds to run before the Hulk pins her one handed and just takes her.
She shifts on her knees for just a little more leverage and still with his head pinned back starts to move, tight body gripping his cock with each stroke and her breathing taking that heavy tone as she grinds herself against him. He watches her through lowered lashes, feeling control slide further and further from his grasp, slipping away like sand held too tight.
He doesn’t meet her eyes; he knows that would be the end of him and furious though he is he’s still struggling to obey her (to please her, to not tear her limb from limb...). But he drinks in the sight of her slender neck hungrily, trailing his gaze over her open gasping mouth and bitten-red lips, the sheen of sweat on her chest, belly and thighs. He fixates on her small round breasts and the blue-glow of the arc reactor, her whole body swaying with practiced grace as she rides him.
She had laughed in his ear a she was tying him down before about how much fun this little ‘project’ of theirs was going to be. (”You get to play master and servant with a nymphomaniac multi-billionaire for a month straight and call it ‘anger management’? Where the fuck were you when the court made me to go to that 'deep-breathing-count-to-ten' shit for my road rage?”) But right now all that’s running through his mind - beneath the screaming anger that’s making his head pound - is how bad he’s going to feel if she’s dead in ten minutes and what a horrible waste it will be to the world and to medical science when the Hulk bites off her head.
His heels dig in the sheets and he whines like a dog, desperate in every sense.
“Toni... d-don’t let me hurt you...”
“Shut up.” She takes her hand off his head, bowing forward until they’re breathing the same breath. Her palms plant on his shoulders, fingernails digging in hard.
“Please... l-let me...”
“Shut UP!” - a sharp dismissive growl as she’s grinding her clit against his pelvic bone - and he can’t stop himself from bucking up into the tight heat of her as the first hard peak of orgasm wracks her. She’s quiet at first (like she was the last six times) but then her head falls back, her carefully manicured nails cut into his pecs, and she makes that desperate little ‘fuck me’ moan that goes straight to his cock every time...
It’s too much; it’s beyond too much.
He feels the surge of strength and fury ripping past his every line of defense, Toni makes a strangled noise of surprise from on top of him and it’s strangled because his hand is around her throat and closing up her airway like a vice. She half-dangles in front of him, pretty blue eyes huge and startled as his skin darkens, his grip shifting as his hand distorts itself monstrously.
But her arms are slack at her sides, compliant, and her hips are still jerking against him in the involuntary shiver of continued orgasm. He hauls her higher as his arm lengthens and still no fear, in fact there’s a flutter of surprised pleasure across her face for just a second as her eyes dim and roll....
And then like he’s slamming into a brick wall everything stops cold.
His body, moments ago taut with rage and lust, goes slack, like a marionette with its strings all cut. He drops like a stone back to the mattress, head askew and staring with frozen -open eyes at the ornate wallpaper and the natural wood baseboard beside the bathroom door, that high-pitched whine in his ears and monstrous screams ringing in his head.
Toni sprawls between his legs. He can feel the damp slide of her calves against his thighs and the way the whole of her trembles as she leans back on her hands gasping - almost sobbing - for air. Through slight touches where they brush each other he feels her weight shift, hears her bare feet hit the rug, then slap against the hardwood flooring further our as she clambers off the far side of the bed. There is a smattering of noises he can hardly make out over the whine of the paralytic scrambler and then she rounds the bed and stops in front of him with a huff.
He can't so much as move his eyes to blink, and framed in his static field of vision her naked hips tilt haughtily, her tattoos - the neat small cursive letters at the hollows of her pelvis - seem to shift under the lamplight. Tucked in her dainty fist is her bracelet, and a little red light peeks out from under clenched-white knuckles. Seemingly with great effort, she forces her fingers to relax around it...
Then she trades the bracelet off between her hands and fingers coated by red metal armor catch the device and flick it off.
He stays frozen, body struggling to even draw breath, as the bracelet chain hits the floor and that smooth cold hand cups around his chin, turning his head up again. His still eyes follow helplessly, tracing the lines of her body up to her chest. To the cable wire fitted into the arc reactor feeding from Toni's chest to her shoulder, powering the framework layered over her right arm that Bruce had no idea could operate separate from it's suit in the first place. The gauntlet clinks and whirs just faintly and iron plated fingers waste no time in finding the softest bits of his throat to squeeze.
“Oh sweetheart.” Toni purrs, and tightens her grip. “Brucie, if you wanted to play air games, all you had to do was ask....”
Title: Savage
Author: glassfishgirl
Fandom: Marvel Comics AU
Character(s)or Pairing: Genderswapped!Tony Stark/Bruce Banner
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Set in a universe where Tony is Toni and always has been, inspired by a prompt for 'anyone/bruce' on the most recent Cape and Cowl kink meme.
Warnings: Female dominant/male submissive, bondage, some rough domination and one instance of choking are part and parcel here so don't say I didn't tell you what you were getting into.
Summary: "You get to play master and servant with a nymphomaniac multi-billionaire for a month straight and call it ‘anger management’? Where the f**k were you when the court made me to go to that 'deep-breathing-count-to-ten' shit for my road rage?"
“You said you wanted me to help you, Dr. Banner. Don’t bitch about how I do it.”
Her voice is just a little graveled, worn rough from swallowing scotch and barking instructions at everyone within twenty feet of her all day. It’s what she does... and it’s what she’s doing to him (for free she might add, and with such nice perks).
It doesn’t hurt that she’s aged beautifully, although even if she were as hard on the eyes as her high stress, vodka soaked lifestyle would suggest he still would have asked her to do this and no one else.
Youth isn’t what he needs.
He came to Toni Stark because she’s Toni Stark.
The woman is 5’3” out of her high heels and weighs 125 soaking wet, but when she meets his eyes that whip-fast mind cuts him down to his component parts and puts him back together with surgical precision in ten seconds flat. She walks into every situation, on field and off, as if that seven million dollar suit of hers is grafted to her very bones, rendering her utterly fucking invincible from the word go. The fact that it’s all ego and spin doesn’t matter. She won’t take shit from anyone, and she’s physically incapable of being afraid of him.
She’s also got a four poster bed and a house in the Adirondacks she has no qualms about rebuilding from the ground up if her companion loses his cool.
The bedroom up here in the log-walled palace of Toni's winter vacation home is lavish to the point of Bruce's discomfort. Everything is arranged just so in a single room the size of his entire house; a heavy wooden bed tucked into the corner, a massive stone fireplace on one wall blazing in juxtaposition to the snow howling at the french doors that open onto the equally massive balcony. Persian rugs and real furs that could very well be illegal in some countries are spread across the fine hardwood floors like stepping stones and the curtains are made out of the sort of fabrics most celebrities commission red carpet dresses from.
Her sheets are cotton; Egyptian and with an obscenely high thread count, but cotton just the same. ("I'd expected satin or something." "Are you kidding me?" She snorted into her vodka and orange. "That shit sticks to sweaty skin worse than spandex.")
Toni - naked but for a bracelet, her skin too warm - wriggles over his hips and picks up her glass of scotch from the bedside table. She tips the bottom to the sky, ice cubes clinking against her teeth as she sucks every diluted drop of alcohol from between them. Bruce watches the delicate structure of her throat ripple with each swallow and he thinks not for the first time of the satisfaction he would feel wrapping thick green fingers around her slender little neck one by one and just squeezing.
She glances down, glass still at her lips and gives him a look of utter derision through the faceted crystal.
“Green eyed monster again Brucie.” She says, and her tone is as sultry as it is scolding. She brushes his bangs away from his hot face, leaning down to meet his nearly-glowing eyes with an expression approaching boredom. “What’s wrong? Tough night?”
She flips the glass and drops the ice right on his chest the moment he opens his mouth.
Her voice is, if possible, even colder.
“Did I tell you to talk?”
He hisses and moans but keeps his jaw shut tight, arching under her and straining with everything in him to keep his arms spread flat and his breathing even. His desperation not to hurt her is wearing ever thinner against Hulk’s utter rage. The cold nearly burns against the heat of his body, melt water dragging the stinging traces of alcohol into his open wounds.
The nail marks in his back are nasty, but the ones on his chest are even worse. She gives a sharp little rock of her hips again that reminds him exactly why he’s so scratched up in the first place and raggedly he starts to beg even though she just told him to shut up not twenty seconds ago.
“Please...”
Toni drops her glass, moving forward like lighting. The tumbler rolls off the side of the bed and lands in the plush carpet with a dull thud. Before it even hits the floor she’s threaded her fingers into his bangs and slammed his head back to the mattress with one surprisingly muscular little arm.
“Your listening skills need work, Brucie.”
The impact ripples down his spine, cramping his back for not the first time and making his ears just ring. His already terrible headache blossoms into something excruciating.
Three hours ago her constant tease had been frustrating, but easy enough to handle. Now his head and his dick are throbbing in tandem and god almighty he just wants to come or to kill her - one or the other - and which it is matters less and less. Hulk is hammering against Bruce’s self control harder and harder every second, and if she doesn’t give in and pull him back from this edge the rope on his wrists will provide her with maybe three extra seconds to run before the Hulk pins her one handed and just takes her.
She shifts on her knees for just a little more leverage and still with his head pinned back starts to move, tight body gripping his cock with each stroke and her breathing taking that heavy tone as she grinds herself against him. He watches her through lowered lashes, feeling control slide further and further from his grasp, slipping away like sand held too tight.
He doesn’t meet her eyes; he knows that would be the end of him and furious though he is he’s still struggling to obey her (to please her, to not tear her limb from limb...). But he drinks in the sight of her slender neck hungrily, trailing his gaze over her open gasping mouth and bitten-red lips, the sheen of sweat on her chest, belly and thighs. He fixates on her small round breasts and the blue-glow of the arc reactor, her whole body swaying with practiced grace as she rides him.
She had laughed in his ear a she was tying him down before about how much fun this little ‘project’ of theirs was going to be. (”You get to play master and servant with a nymphomaniac multi-billionaire for a month straight and call it ‘anger management’? Where the fuck were you when the court made me to go to that 'deep-breathing-count-to-ten' shit for my road rage?”) But right now all that’s running through his mind - beneath the screaming anger that’s making his head pound - is how bad he’s going to feel if she’s dead in ten minutes and what a horrible waste it will be to the world and to medical science when the Hulk bites off her head.
His heels dig in the sheets and he whines like a dog, desperate in every sense.
“Toni... d-don’t let me hurt you...”
“Shut up.” She takes her hand off his head, bowing forward until they’re breathing the same breath. Her palms plant on his shoulders, fingernails digging in hard.
“Please... l-let me...”
“Shut UP!” - a sharp dismissive growl as she’s grinding her clit against his pelvic bone - and he can’t stop himself from bucking up into the tight heat of her as the first hard peak of orgasm wracks her. She’s quiet at first (like she was the last six times) but then her head falls back, her carefully manicured nails cut into his pecs, and she makes that desperate little ‘fuck me’ moan that goes straight to his cock every time...
It’s too much; it’s beyond too much.
He feels the surge of strength and fury ripping past his every line of defense, Toni makes a strangled noise of surprise from on top of him and it’s strangled because his hand is around her throat and closing up her airway like a vice. She half-dangles in front of him, pretty blue eyes huge and startled as his skin darkens, his grip shifting as his hand distorts itself monstrously.
But her arms are slack at her sides, compliant, and her hips are still jerking against him in the involuntary shiver of continued orgasm. He hauls her higher as his arm lengthens and still no fear, in fact there’s a flutter of surprised pleasure across her face for just a second as her eyes dim and roll....
And then like he’s slamming into a brick wall everything stops cold.
His body, moments ago taut with rage and lust, goes slack, like a marionette with its strings all cut. He drops like a stone back to the mattress, head askew and staring with frozen -open eyes at the ornate wallpaper and the natural wood baseboard beside the bathroom door, that high-pitched whine in his ears and monstrous screams ringing in his head.
Toni sprawls between his legs. He can feel the damp slide of her calves against his thighs and the way the whole of her trembles as she leans back on her hands gasping - almost sobbing - for air. Through slight touches where they brush each other he feels her weight shift, hears her bare feet hit the rug, then slap against the hardwood flooring further our as she clambers off the far side of the bed. There is a smattering of noises he can hardly make out over the whine of the paralytic scrambler and then she rounds the bed and stops in front of him with a huff.
He can't so much as move his eyes to blink, and framed in his static field of vision her naked hips tilt haughtily, her tattoos - the neat small cursive letters at the hollows of her pelvis - seem to shift under the lamplight. Tucked in her dainty fist is her bracelet, and a little red light peeks out from under clenched-white knuckles. Seemingly with great effort, she forces her fingers to relax around it...
Then she trades the bracelet off between her hands and fingers coated by red metal armor catch the device and flick it off.
He stays frozen, body struggling to even draw breath, as the bracelet chain hits the floor and that smooth cold hand cups around his chin, turning his head up again. His still eyes follow helplessly, tracing the lines of her body up to her chest. To the cable wire fitted into the arc reactor feeding from Toni's chest to her shoulder, powering the framework layered over her right arm that Bruce had no idea could operate separate from it's suit in the first place. The gauntlet clinks and whirs just faintly and iron plated fingers waste no time in finding the softest bits of his throat to squeeze.
“Oh sweetheart.” Toni purrs, and tightens her grip. “Brucie, if you wanted to play air games, all you had to do was ask....”