Fic: Relentless Tenderness (Pepper/Natasha, PG-13)
Title: Relentless Tenderness
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Pepper/Natasha
Summary: "The rules are different on mornings like these." Pepper and Natasha spend some time together.
Content Notes: Spanking, light bondage, non-sexual kink (full policy in profile)
Word Count: 1622
Author's Notes: The title comes from the Pablo Neruda poem ‘In the wave-strike over unquiet stones’.
When Pepper comes home from yoga, she finds Natasha curled up on her couch, sipping coffee and reading a book. Like all of her early-morning visits, it's entirely unplanned, but even schedule-crazy Pepper can't help but grin: Natasha and Tony have a competition of sorts going on, where Tony tries to foil Natasha by installing newer and more sophisticated locks on Pepper's doors and windows, and Natasha strikes back by breaking them each time. Pepper's expecting to find her door booby-trapped with high-tech lasers and maybe a few robots any time now.
"Hi," says Natasha, uncurling just enough to let Pepper slide in next to her and peer at the book she's reading. Poetry, written in Spanish. Pepper had always expected Natasha to read classic Russian novelists, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, but Natasha avoids those, sticking instead to contemporary lit. Pepper hasn't asked why, yet.
"Good morning," Pepper murmurs in reply, dropping a kiss on her cheek, and Natasha gives her a sideways glance and a catlike smile, leaning in ever so subtly to her embrace.
They have a ritual on mornings like these. Sometimes they go weeks without one, choosing instead to go on dates and have nice sex with a few props, the way your average superhero-and-CEO couple does. Then one morning, Natasha will show up in her house, or Pepper will give Natasha a call and ask her to drop by. Natasha will bring whatever implement she feels she needs that day, and once Pepper's cleared it for use, they'll begin. As Natasha had said that first time, with the same feline smile she wears now, "You have your ways of relaxing, and I have mine."
"So what's on the menu today?" Pepper asks, after they've spent a few minutes together, relaxing into each other, matching the pace of their breathing. Natasha closes her book, and leans over the arm of the couch to rustle through the satchel she carries during her days off; part of her civilian wear, as she calls it.
"Two things," Natasha says, and sets a pair of handcuffs in Pepper's hands. Pepper blinks down at them. They're a little bulkier than the type she normally sees, tougher, but Pepper knows Natasha could still break out of them without breaking a sweat.
"Okay," she says. "You said two things?"
"You brought the other." When Pepper looks at her inquisitively, Natasha takes a deep breath and says, "I want you to use your hands."
"I can do that," Pepper says with a slight smile. She smoothes her thumbs across the gleaming curves of the cuffs. "Where's the key?"
"In the bag. The only copy," Natasha says briefly. There's something guarded in her eyes, something careful and closed-off that Pepper initially can't figure out, but she's spent enough time with Tony to learn how to read people. Carefully, she says, "Then I guess it's a good thing you're giving it to me, huh?"
"Guess so." Natasha gives her one of those rare, sweet smiles that Pepper knows is a crack in her armor, revealing a vulnerable place in her heart. Pepper treasures every glimpse she gets. And now, she's going to earn that smile.
Pepper stands up abruptly, leaving Natasha lurching slightly into the space once filled by her body. Once, she would have insisted on showering and changing first, but she's learned that she doesn't need Louboutins and designer skirts to be the one in control.
"Go to the bedroom," she says, injecting her voice with steel, her boardroom meeting voice. She hands Natasha the handcuffs. "Take off your clothes - don't forget to fold them - and put these on. Then wait until I come for you."
Natasha ducks her head in acquiescence, and slips off the couch and past Pepper, swift and graceful. Sometimes Pepper can't decide if she moves more like a ballerina or the martial artist she is.
Listening for any disturbance in her bedroom, Pepper pads to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of fresh, pulpy orange juice. She drinks it down as she rinses her face with cold water, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and running her fingers through it; the barely-noticeable tension in her scalp eases, and Pepper sighs happily. Glancing towards the door of her room, she decides about five minutes have passed. That's more than enough time to make Natasha wait. She fetches the key from Natasha's bag on her way to her bedroom; it hangs like a pendant on a slim gold chain.
As she steps into the room and gets her first look at Natasha, Pepper decides not to use it too soon.
Kneeling in the center of the bed, her wrists firmly secured by the cuffs looped around the slats of the headboard, Natasha waits, her head down like a penitent. Her hair spills in bloody spirals on Pepper's ivory sheets, and she shifts when Pepper cards her curls with her fingers, letting the silken strands slip from her hands. Whether in combat, in leisure, or in lovemaking, Natasha is a work of art, and here she's no exception.
Her skin is smooth, but not unblemished; she has a handful of scars scattered across her torso, a faded black tattoo the size of a quarter on her left side, and a constellation of freckles between her shoulder-blades. Pepper trails her fingers along Natasha's spine as she takes in the view, and Natasha very nearly shivers.
"So you want my hands, hmm?" Pepper murmurs. Natasha glances over her shoulder but doesn't speak; she never does until she's done. "Well then, here you go."
Pepper raises her hand and slaps the swell of Natasha's ass, a warm-up blow. Natasha only sighs, and doesn't move except to arch her back like a pleased cat. That's an invitation if Pepper's ever seen one, so she slaps her again, her blows getting progressively harder as Natasha's ass gets redder. Her thighs are trembling and she's leaning her weight heavily on the handcuffs, the steel edges cutting into her wrists. Pepper likes this. She likes this a lot.
Taking a step back, Pepper raises her hand above her head. She inhales, exhales, then hits Natasha as hard as she can, knowing she can take it. Natasha yelps loudly and jerks in her chains, and Pepper does it again, this time on the other side. Now Natasha has a pair of matching handprints decorating her pale skin, and her breath is coming hard and ragged. Pepper runs her nails over the livid marks, and Natasha's muscles clench and release in response.
"Very nice," Pepper says approvingly. "Do you like it?"
Natasha nods, setting the chain that links her handcuffs jingling. She's resting her head against the headboard now, settling in for the long haul. Pepper suspects her arm might give out before Natasha's endurance does, but she's damn well going to try her best.
"I'm not done," she promises. "Not even close."
Pepper slaps her again, and again, curling her hand into a claw and striking with her nails, coaxing another cry from Natasha's lips. Again, and again, and Pepper lets herself forget about precision, and artfulness, and anything but the feeling of Natasha's heated skin under her palms, the soft, desperate noises Natasha is making, the way her hips twitch away from Pepper as she lands blow after blow, not because she has to or because she needs to, but because she wants to. In moments like these, Pepper loves Natasha fiercely, violently, and high on elation and affection, she wants to give Natasha the world; more than that, she believes she could.
Her arm is getting sore, so she stops for a moment, admiring her work. Bending down, she blows a stream of warm air on Natasha's abused skin, and Natasha moans, dropping her head and leaning toward Pepper as far as she can. She's panting, a sheen of sweat on her back and neck, and Pepper strokes her hip soothingly. Tomorrow, Natasha's going to be wearing bruises in the shape of Pepper's hands. There's something alluringly depraved about that image; it gives Pepper a thrill, and she decides they'll have to do this again sometime. But for now, she's done.
Scratching her nails lightly over Natasha's flushed skin, Pepper picks up the key from its resting place on top of her jewelry box, and unlocks her cuffs. Natasha slumps against Pepper with a sigh, and Pepper manhandle her to the middle of the bed so she can cuddle up beside her.
Natasha's face is streaked with tears, and Pepper has to damp down her initial spike of alarm at the sight. "Tears mean it's going well," Natasha had told her, that first time. "Tears mean I'm letting go."
Pepper knows that now, even if she still has a moment of panic whenever she sees Natasha cry, but the dazed, happy expression on Natasha's face and the way she sinks bonelessly into Pepper's lap would be a clue, too. She presses a kiss to Pepper's collarbone and sighs.
"Thanks," she whispers, and Pepper pulls her closer, nuzzling her hair. This is what she loves about these mornings: the euphoria, and the stillness after; Natasha lolling languidly across Pepper's bed, and Pepper stretched out at her side, their fingers entwined; the way Natasha fits so perfectly against the curve of Pepper's body. Yes, she loves it.
The key on its chain would hang gracefully underneath her clothes, resting right between her breasts, she thinks. Maybe she'll wear it, a reminder of mornings like this, the light of the rising sun as it catches the auburn glow of Natasha's hair echoed in the gleam of the chain. A reminder of Natasha, always Natasha. And gold has always suited Pepper, after all.
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comments.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Pepper/Natasha
Summary: "The rules are different on mornings like these." Pepper and Natasha spend some time together.
Content Notes: Spanking, light bondage, non-sexual kink (full policy in profile)
Word Count: 1622
Author's Notes: The title comes from the Pablo Neruda poem ‘In the wave-strike over unquiet stones’.
When Pepper comes home from yoga, she finds Natasha curled up on her couch, sipping coffee and reading a book. Like all of her early-morning visits, it's entirely unplanned, but even schedule-crazy Pepper can't help but grin: Natasha and Tony have a competition of sorts going on, where Tony tries to foil Natasha by installing newer and more sophisticated locks on Pepper's doors and windows, and Natasha strikes back by breaking them each time. Pepper's expecting to find her door booby-trapped with high-tech lasers and maybe a few robots any time now.
"Hi," says Natasha, uncurling just enough to let Pepper slide in next to her and peer at the book she's reading. Poetry, written in Spanish. Pepper had always expected Natasha to read classic Russian novelists, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, but Natasha avoids those, sticking instead to contemporary lit. Pepper hasn't asked why, yet.
"Good morning," Pepper murmurs in reply, dropping a kiss on her cheek, and Natasha gives her a sideways glance and a catlike smile, leaning in ever so subtly to her embrace.
They have a ritual on mornings like these. Sometimes they go weeks without one, choosing instead to go on dates and have nice sex with a few props, the way your average superhero-and-CEO couple does. Then one morning, Natasha will show up in her house, or Pepper will give Natasha a call and ask her to drop by. Natasha will bring whatever implement she feels she needs that day, and once Pepper's cleared it for use, they'll begin. As Natasha had said that first time, with the same feline smile she wears now, "You have your ways of relaxing, and I have mine."
"So what's on the menu today?" Pepper asks, after they've spent a few minutes together, relaxing into each other, matching the pace of their breathing. Natasha closes her book, and leans over the arm of the couch to rustle through the satchel she carries during her days off; part of her civilian wear, as she calls it.
"Two things," Natasha says, and sets a pair of handcuffs in Pepper's hands. Pepper blinks down at them. They're a little bulkier than the type she normally sees, tougher, but Pepper knows Natasha could still break out of them without breaking a sweat.
"Okay," she says. "You said two things?"
"You brought the other." When Pepper looks at her inquisitively, Natasha takes a deep breath and says, "I want you to use your hands."
"I can do that," Pepper says with a slight smile. She smoothes her thumbs across the gleaming curves of the cuffs. "Where's the key?"
"In the bag. The only copy," Natasha says briefly. There's something guarded in her eyes, something careful and closed-off that Pepper initially can't figure out, but she's spent enough time with Tony to learn how to read people. Carefully, she says, "Then I guess it's a good thing you're giving it to me, huh?"
"Guess so." Natasha gives her one of those rare, sweet smiles that Pepper knows is a crack in her armor, revealing a vulnerable place in her heart. Pepper treasures every glimpse she gets. And now, she's going to earn that smile.
Pepper stands up abruptly, leaving Natasha lurching slightly into the space once filled by her body. Once, she would have insisted on showering and changing first, but she's learned that she doesn't need Louboutins and designer skirts to be the one in control.
"Go to the bedroom," she says, injecting her voice with steel, her boardroom meeting voice. She hands Natasha the handcuffs. "Take off your clothes - don't forget to fold them - and put these on. Then wait until I come for you."
Natasha ducks her head in acquiescence, and slips off the couch and past Pepper, swift and graceful. Sometimes Pepper can't decide if she moves more like a ballerina or the martial artist she is.
Listening for any disturbance in her bedroom, Pepper pads to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of fresh, pulpy orange juice. She drinks it down as she rinses her face with cold water, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and running her fingers through it; the barely-noticeable tension in her scalp eases, and Pepper sighs happily. Glancing towards the door of her room, she decides about five minutes have passed. That's more than enough time to make Natasha wait. She fetches the key from Natasha's bag on her way to her bedroom; it hangs like a pendant on a slim gold chain.
As she steps into the room and gets her first look at Natasha, Pepper decides not to use it too soon.
Kneeling in the center of the bed, her wrists firmly secured by the cuffs looped around the slats of the headboard, Natasha waits, her head down like a penitent. Her hair spills in bloody spirals on Pepper's ivory sheets, and she shifts when Pepper cards her curls with her fingers, letting the silken strands slip from her hands. Whether in combat, in leisure, or in lovemaking, Natasha is a work of art, and here she's no exception.
Her skin is smooth, but not unblemished; she has a handful of scars scattered across her torso, a faded black tattoo the size of a quarter on her left side, and a constellation of freckles between her shoulder-blades. Pepper trails her fingers along Natasha's spine as she takes in the view, and Natasha very nearly shivers.
"So you want my hands, hmm?" Pepper murmurs. Natasha glances over her shoulder but doesn't speak; she never does until she's done. "Well then, here you go."
Pepper raises her hand and slaps the swell of Natasha's ass, a warm-up blow. Natasha only sighs, and doesn't move except to arch her back like a pleased cat. That's an invitation if Pepper's ever seen one, so she slaps her again, her blows getting progressively harder as Natasha's ass gets redder. Her thighs are trembling and she's leaning her weight heavily on the handcuffs, the steel edges cutting into her wrists. Pepper likes this. She likes this a lot.
Taking a step back, Pepper raises her hand above her head. She inhales, exhales, then hits Natasha as hard as she can, knowing she can take it. Natasha yelps loudly and jerks in her chains, and Pepper does it again, this time on the other side. Now Natasha has a pair of matching handprints decorating her pale skin, and her breath is coming hard and ragged. Pepper runs her nails over the livid marks, and Natasha's muscles clench and release in response.
"Very nice," Pepper says approvingly. "Do you like it?"
Natasha nods, setting the chain that links her handcuffs jingling. She's resting her head against the headboard now, settling in for the long haul. Pepper suspects her arm might give out before Natasha's endurance does, but she's damn well going to try her best.
"I'm not done," she promises. "Not even close."
Pepper slaps her again, and again, curling her hand into a claw and striking with her nails, coaxing another cry from Natasha's lips. Again, and again, and Pepper lets herself forget about precision, and artfulness, and anything but the feeling of Natasha's heated skin under her palms, the soft, desperate noises Natasha is making, the way her hips twitch away from Pepper as she lands blow after blow, not because she has to or because she needs to, but because she wants to. In moments like these, Pepper loves Natasha fiercely, violently, and high on elation and affection, she wants to give Natasha the world; more than that, she believes she could.
Her arm is getting sore, so she stops for a moment, admiring her work. Bending down, she blows a stream of warm air on Natasha's abused skin, and Natasha moans, dropping her head and leaning toward Pepper as far as she can. She's panting, a sheen of sweat on her back and neck, and Pepper strokes her hip soothingly. Tomorrow, Natasha's going to be wearing bruises in the shape of Pepper's hands. There's something alluringly depraved about that image; it gives Pepper a thrill, and she decides they'll have to do this again sometime. But for now, she's done.
Scratching her nails lightly over Natasha's flushed skin, Pepper picks up the key from its resting place on top of her jewelry box, and unlocks her cuffs. Natasha slumps against Pepper with a sigh, and Pepper manhandle her to the middle of the bed so she can cuddle up beside her.
Natasha's face is streaked with tears, and Pepper has to damp down her initial spike of alarm at the sight. "Tears mean it's going well," Natasha had told her, that first time. "Tears mean I'm letting go."
Pepper knows that now, even if she still has a moment of panic whenever she sees Natasha cry, but the dazed, happy expression on Natasha's face and the way she sinks bonelessly into Pepper's lap would be a clue, too. She presses a kiss to Pepper's collarbone and sighs.
"Thanks," she whispers, and Pepper pulls her closer, nuzzling her hair. This is what she loves about these mornings: the euphoria, and the stillness after; Natasha lolling languidly across Pepper's bed, and Pepper stretched out at her side, their fingers entwined; the way Natasha fits so perfectly against the curve of Pepper's body. Yes, she loves it.
The key on its chain would hang gracefully underneath her clothes, resting right between her breasts, she thinks. Maybe she'll wear it, a reminder of mornings like this, the light of the rising sun as it catches the auburn glow of Natasha's hair echoed in the gleam of the chain. A reminder of Natasha, always Natasha. And gold has always suited Pepper, after all.
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