Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Getting naked on the couch wasn’t part of your plan.

Maybe that’s why you have to stumble though the act of taking off your jeans, weak in the knees like you’ve never been with a man before. Or maybe it’s Bob that has you feeling so nervous— Bob, and his eyes, and the way he reaches out to pull you back in his lap the second you’ve got your feet untangled. You let him put you where he wants you, unable to stop the yelp that comes out of your mouth when he latches onto your tit. Hands in his hair, you catch sight of yourself in the big mirror across the room, staring down your own wanton expression in disbelief.

How the fuck did you even get here?

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Like all good plans, yours was very simple. There were only two ultimate goals: to tell Bob how you feel about him, and to get just a little bit physical (providing he was in the mood and consenting with enthusiasm). You’d thought it all through down to your socks, this weekend the perfect time for such an endeavor with everyone else out of the country on a mission. House to yourselves, Bob talking about watching a new movie together, your hair falling just right when you went to fix it earlier— kismet, it was all fucking kismet. And that’s why you felt so confident that everything would go just as you pictured when you and Bob got settled in the couch together…

… Right up until he confessed his feelings first.

“I like you,” he’d said. “I want us to be more than friends.”

Bob then proceeded to talk for a long time, telling you that he’s been thinking about how to do this, thinking about how it feels so right to be with you. You were utterly gobsmacked, every iota of brain tissue devoted to deliberate thought shocked into momentary atrophy by endorphins. Thank God Bob seemed to have a whole speech planned because he filled the silence right up, going on to say that he wants you to be his, and to share a bed, and to know you in ways nobody else does.

“I know you hide parts of yourself,” he told you, “because you think people are going to think you’re weird, or that they’ll turn away from you, but I… I would never do that. I know how that feels. I want us to be ourselves together. For the foreseeable future, if you’re good with that.”

You must have looked as bewildered as you felt because he moved so fast to give you an out.

“But if that’s not something you’re okay with,” Bob finished, fussing with his sleeves, “just tell me and I won’t bring it up ever again. We can just do our usual thing, you know? I promise.”

“Bob,” you’d said, his name slipping out of your mouth like secret.

He’d nodded at you then, his terror palpable in the room, and that was it— your plan went right out the fucking window.

You said something back and then you kissed him, the words lost to the moment. Bob welcomed you with open arms, seemingly in disbelief even as he pulled you across his lap and held your face in his hands. The two of you immediately agreed that it was time to make out, the whole thing devolving from there. Can I touch you here, is my hand okay there, this bra is so pretty but can it come off, please kiss my neck— all this and so much more has spilled from Bob’s lips, coaxing you further and further away from the slow start you’d intended to have with him. Quite frankly, you thought he would need more a warmup before the both of you got into the bedroom; you’d pictured a lot of telling him that it’s okay, that you want him like he wants you, you’re ready if he is, so on and so forth. You always knew Bob contained multitudes (blatantly and subtly), but you have to say his sexual confidence has come as a surprise.

So much of a surprise, in fact, that you feel the need to call a timeout.

“Baby,” you say, pushing on his shoulders, coaxing Bob off your body and back into reality. He’s so hard beneath you, three flimsy layers of fabric separating the two of you from becoming one. And even though this is all about pumping the brakes, you can’t help but grind against him. “Honey, hey, look at me please.”

He does as you ask, holding fast to your hips in a way that almost makes you tell him to forget about it. “What?” he asks, wide-eyed and kiss-bitten. Fuck, he looks good like this. “Did I—? Did I do something wrong?”

“Fuck no,” you say at once, shaking your head. “No, baby, you’re doing everything so right. I just— Are you okay? Is this too fast?”

Bob grins, so cheeky and sure of himself that it makes your chest ache. “Not fast enough, actually.”

The quip gets the two of you laughing, though you’re only getting tenser by the second. The whole situation is becoming entirely too real— you’re thinking about it too much now. You’re naked in Bob’s lap, you let him take off all your clothes and grope you and suck on your tits without a word of protest. Worse yet, you were the one that started it. He may have said how he felt first, but you didn’t hesitate to throw your leg over his lap, didn’t hesitate to strip on command like a whore—

The sound of your name gets you out of your head and back into reality. As soon as you focus in on Bob’s expression, you know you fucked up. Every single thought you’re having is plain on your face, they have to be because he’s looking at you with patience and understanding now instead of lust.

“Baby,” Bob says, soft and cautious. He holds you steady with a strong hand, stroking the length of your back with the other. “Is this too fast for you? Because we can slow down. When I told you how I felt, I didn’t— Like, this isn’t a requirement.”

In a stunning turn of events, your chin quivers when you go to talk. Suddenly, you’re cold; suddenly, you’re conscious of your body (the one Bob’s never ever seen before in any capacity).

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, talking around the lump in your throat. Crying is not what you want to do right now, your dignity’s bruised enough as it is. “I guess I got too excited? You told me how you feel, and— It’s so funny because I was going to do the exact same thing right when you did it, but you beat me there.”

You take a breath and sniff, looking all around for your sweater. Of course you can’t find it and of course you’re wondering if your underwear were as cute as you thought when you picked them out a couple of weeks ago, stricken by the way they cling to your hips now.

“I always go too fast,” you declare, anxiety roiling and bubbling in your chest. Bob’s trying talk, trying to tell you that’s not true, but you barrel right over him. “I did this with the last guy I liked too, and it freaked him out, and now I’m doing it all over again with you. Fuck, where is my fucking shirt?”

You’re crying now, no two ways about, your vision clouded with tears. All the while, images swirl in your head like noxious gas— a late-night text about sex and nothing else, the look in a man’s eyes when he’s using your body to masturbate instead of making love to you, a scary black sky pressing down as you wait for an Uber alone in the freezing cold. Bob’s face isn’t in there until suddenly it is, until suddenly it’s him milking you for all you’re worth and making you feel like shit in the process. God, you shouldn’t have let yourself get excited…

Miraculously, you do find your sweater, and it’s halfway across the room because of course it is. But Bob doesn’t let you get off his lap when you move to get it, fighting for eye contact instead. He says your name once, twice, three times before you finally look at him.

“First of all,” he says, “put your arms up.”

That makes no sense until you see that he’s got ahold of his own sweater, the one you peeled off of him five minutes ago. Defiance runs hot in your veins until it doesn’t, the heat doused by the earnest look on Bob’s face. When all is said and done, you don’t regret the shirt; it’s baggy and warm and safe, and you ball the sleeves up in your hands in some ramshackle attempt to get a grip.

Bob goes on only after you’re dressed, swiping at your cheeks with gentle hands. “Now second, who ever said this is too fast? I like you, you like me, and we’re adults— there is nothing wrong with us making out, or fooling around, or full-out fucking right here, right now. Fast is what we say it is, nobody else.”

Shaking off the shame and embarrassment is a monumental task, though you force yourself to try anyway. Bob is—

“Right,” you say slowly. You push your hair back off your face, take a deep breath. “I just— I do things sometimes, things that feel really good, but then I remember what I’m ‘supposed’ to do and it kills the mood. I know that sounds stupid, but it happens and I don’t always know how to stop myself from freaking out about it.”

Bob doesn’t break your gaze for a second, nodding, rubbing patterns on your thigh with his thumb. “I get you completely, one hundred percent. But baby, you’re not— People like you don’t need to agonize over doing the right thing.”

Any other time, you might push Bob to elaborate, might pick at those words until he says what he means. But you’ve already shot the mood once in the chest and twice in the head, and so you let it go.

You lean in for a hug and Bob’s right there ready to hold you, stroking your back, murmuring to breathe in and out for four, in and out, in and out until your pulse isn’t racing anymore. The two of you share one very sweet, very chaste kiss, and then it’s time to face reality again. Popcorn’s cold on the table, you left a wet patch on the front of Bob’s pants, and all the while your coveted movie plays out neglected in the background— you couldn’t relay the events of the first twenty minutes to someone even with a gun to your head.

“I’ll clean this up,” Bob tells you, making sure you’re steady before he stands up himself. You count yourself lucky that he’s offering to clean because the man is an utter distraction, sweatpants slung low on his hips. Mental health episode or not, your cunt still throbs for him.

“Could we— Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”

And just like that, your shy little Bob is back. He peeks at you through his lashes, fumbling through the act of sealing up a bag of Nerds clusters. Ten minutes ago he was panting like a pornstar, sex-flushed and insatiable. Un-fucking-believable…

Saying yes is an action done automatically, the image of Bob’s room already bending and melding in your mind under the heat a fantasy. He is the embodiment of the sun as soon as the words pass your lips, dazzling you with a grin the likes of which you’ve never seen. If you looked up the work “joy” in the dictionary, Bob’s face would be there right beside it,

“Yeah, baby,” you tell him, awestruck, “I’d love that.”

><><><><

You do end up watching your movie that night, but it’s not until the next morning that you and Bob finish where you left off on the couch. Everything is slower and sweeter than it was last night, less lust and more of that scary word you’re not ready to say yet. Bob is beautiful bathed in the weak light of morning, kissing and staying close just like you thought he might. Somehow it feels like the first and the fiftieth time in tandem, your bodies fitting together so much better than you ever could have imagined. Yet still, a new sexual partner means ironing out the wrinkles, means learning all the little quirks of a new body.

There’s a little bit of negotiation and readjusting in the first few minutes, the two of you working together to get everything the way it should be. If Bob was all confident smiles and grabbing hands last night, he’s more reserved this morning, even vaguely self-conscious. Fumbling with the condom, laughing in his nervous way when you tell him how handsome he is— that’s the Bob you get this morning, though he handles you so gently that the shift doesn’t matter.

“Is the angle okay?” Bob pants, his voice soft in your ear. He’s fucking you into the bed with strokes that knock the breath out of you, scrabbling to hold your hand all the while.

It takes everything you have to make words come out of your mouth in an order that makes sense. “Perfect, baby,” you tell him, “it’s really fucking perfect.”
Bob kisses your temple then, something about the lingering of his lips coloring the act with relief. “You gotta tell me if I’m hurting you. You’re the first— I haven’t been with anybody since I changed.”

The look in his eyes is so earnest that you can’t help but rush to reassure him, doing your best to rub his back. You know just what he means, the power of the serum clear in his strength, his stamina. Sentry is there just waiting to come out and take over, a fact that makes you impossibly wetter than before.

“You won’t hurt me, baby,” you tell him, crying out when Bob grabs you by the thighs. The push on your legs has you feeling his cock up in your throat now, every muscle in your body pulling taut. “Jesus Christ, Bob, fuck. I trust you— I trust you completely, baby, and I promise you aren’t hurting me.”

That statement does something for Bob, flips a switch in his head or trips a wire because it’s no holds barred after that. Deep strokes, filthy kisses, all the moans and praise you could ever want spilled right in your ear… Bob could go all day, you’re convinced he could, but you’re only human. The kissing, the talking, the relentless pressure in your core, all of it’s so good but you want to cum now, you want to feel Bob’s cock twitch and listen to him fall apart for you.

“If I touch— Fuck, shit, you’re tight,” Bob groans, distracted. He starts to kiss you for a second, his tongue hot in your mouth until he seems to remember that he wanted to ask you a question. “Your clit— If I play with you, will you cum for me? Please?”

That whole line of questioning has your head swimming, Bob already moving to readjust your bodies before you can answer. It’s so timely it’s like he’s in your head, the thought of him probing into your thoughts somehow making you hot when it really shouldn’t. Can he even do that? Is that something the serum’s given him? You aren’t sure, but you do know that Bob’s not letting up even as he goes to touch you, the pacing steady as ever. He’s so fucking beautiful, beautiful in a way you’ve never thought a man was before, sex-flushed and so determined to bring you over the edge. All you can do is watch as Bob slips his hand between the both of you, anchoring you to the bed with a firm grip on your hip. It takes him a second to find a rhythm that works, eased into using the right pattern and pressure by your directions. But when he finally begins to touch you the way you like, mere seconds go by before you’re levitating out of your body, somewhere else entirely until it all becomes too much. To your delight, Bob isn’t far behind you, his wrist clenched in your hand as his hips begin to stutter. The both of you don’t break eye contact once, not until Bob leans down to kiss you, to sweep you up in an embrace.

Much to your dismay, you and your lover can’t lie here and hold each other forever. If Bob doesn’t pull out and handle the condom soon, there will be a mess and something to worry about; you tell him as much, gentle about pushing him off of you.

“Give me a minute,” Bob tells you, hands busy with the task of tying off the condom. You watch him walk into the bathroom, admiring the lines of his body and the way you feel beat beyond belief. You’re not sure you’ve ever had sex that good, at least not on the first go around.

But then again, you’ve never fucked a man with super powers before today, so…

Bob comes back to bed with a warm washcloth and gentle instructions to open your legs. You let him clean you up as best as he can, studying every little expression that comes across his face. You think you know where all this is going— somewhere serious and committed and so entirely wonderful— but you also know better than to trust a man with your heart before he shows you it’s a good idea.

The rag tossed securely onto the shower floor, Bob once again comes back to you. He’s still naked, the sun bathing every curve and plane of his body in the kind of light that makes you wish you had a camera. The kiss he gives you is lingering and gentle, and he keeps his hands on your body until you’re steady beside him on the edge of the bed.

“Do you…” He begins, slow and careful. You look up at him, lace your fingers together. Something about the look in his eyes makes your pulse jump, all the emotion there too much to get definitive read on in this moment. Anything could be coming next, anything at all— you brace yourself for every possible outcome.

Bob finally finishes his thought. “We could get breakfast at that bagel place you like,” he says. Relief hits you like a tidal wave. “Or I can try to make us some omelettes here. I like bacon in mine, personally, but I can do yours however you want.”

You lean up to give Bob a kiss, laughing as you do it. You already knew he liked bacon in his omelettes. And green onions, and bell pepper, and cheddar cheese.

“A bagel and an iced brown sugar latte would be the cherry on top of this morning,” you say to Bob, earning yourself a grin. “I just need to see if I’m going to be able to walk there first.”

Bob is unfazed. “I can carry you there if you need me to. The serum— it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Not necessary, baby,” you say, moving to stand. Your legs are weak, but they’ll support you just fine. “But I am going to make you hold my hand, just in case.”

Chapter Text

You’re thinking of all you need to do this evening as you rinse the conditioner out of your hair, task after task flitting through your mind. Cook dinner, clean up the kitchen, get Bucky’s suit ready for tomorrow, help Ava build that new bookshelf she got, make sure Walker knows he’s got an appearance tomorrow… Alexei will no doubt want to hang out for a while, and the hamper’s overflowing. It’s a to-do list a mile long, that fact exactly why you decided to shower now rather than later. You can gather your thoughts before the next burst of activity, and, even better, you won’t have to sleep on wet hair tonight— a win-win by all accounts.

It takes you a second to notice Bob in the doorway, the shape of him blurred by the condensation clinging to the shower walls. His presence doesn’t faze you, neither one of you shy after all these weeks together, and so you call out to him without giving the whole thing much thought.

“Baby,” you say, raising your voice to be heard above the spray, “could you start some clothes for us please? I have to get Bucky and Walker’s lives together for tomorrow and Ava’s expecting my help later. If you wash, I’ll fold.”

Across the room, Bob takes a step closer, then another. You can’t see his expression, can’t make out the look in his eyes, but you know for sure that he’s shucking off his clothes now.

That gets you giggling, loofa in hand. “I hope you’re only getting in here to clean up,” you warn, shaking your body wash until it begins to flow, “I have so much to get done tonight it’s not even funny. But hey, tomorrow, I really want to—“

The shower’s sliding glass door opens without warning, Bob previously censored form now before you in full detail. He’s still not talking— fuck, he isn’t even blinking— your boyfriend’s strange behavior growing more concerning by the second.

“Bob,” you say gently. The man in question steps into the shower and slides the door shut without turning around, his eyes locked on your body. The space inside the stall is by no means small compared to a more modest bathroom, but you can only back away so far before you’re pressed against the tile.

“Bob’s not here,” he says, and that’s when you see it— that’s when you notice the glow.

You’ve always wondered if this would happen, always had a curiosity about them. Sentry and Void, they’re part of Bob— maybe not his favorite parts, but still. Something in you had always wondered if they feel what Bob feels, if they see and think what he sees and thinks. You hate to ask about it, well aware of your boyfriend’s anxiety surrounding either one of them coming to the surface.

“Oh,” you breathe, suddenly aware of how very naked you are. The tiles are cold on your back, but you can’t be sure that’s why you shiver in this moment. Bob— Sentry— hasn’t stopped staring at you for a second, his eyes raking over your body again and again.

It feels like he’s about to consume you.

Finally, Sentry comes to you, crowding you against the wall. You know you could tell him to stop, you could say you want him to leave or ask why Bob went away; somehow, you can’t make the words come out.

“What were you saying, pretty girl?”

The voice is Bob’s, but the tone, the posture, the way he carries himself like a king— all that’s new. Yelena and the others have told you about it before, of course, described what they saw when Valentina tried to turn Bob against them, but to see it for yourself…

“What?” you splutter, all capacity for critical thinking and conscious thought gone. Soap drips down your body, rivulets of sudsy water snaking off your forgotten loofa.

“I asked you what you were going to say,” Sentry intones, the smirk on his face both a taunt and a turn-on in one. “Let me guess— You were going to ask sweet little Bobby to put his tongue in your ass tomorrow night. You want him to eat it from the back, play with your tits until you’re soaking wet, and then fuck you blind. Did I get it right?”

Quite frankly, yes, he did— that’s exactly what you were going to tell Bob you wanted to do when there wasn’t so many other things taking up your time and attention. Now, though, all that feels so far away.

“I wouldn’t have—“ You swallow, will yourself to get it together. “I wasn’t going to be so crass about it.”

Sentry laughs, low and satisfied. He radiates heat at this distance, and confidence, and lust. You know why he’s come, you know why he chose now…

“I want a taste too,” Sentry declares, in your head now more than ever. Bob fessed up about that ability early on— he has to choose to read a person’s thoughts, but it’s more than possible.

Apparently, Sentry’s always making that choice.

“Bob gets to have you all the time,” he continues, and it’s now that he finally reaches out to touch you. For all the power he has, Sentry’s hand is gentle on your cheek. “You let him do as he pleases, let him have you whenever, wherever. If he’s brave enough, that is. Personally, I think he doesn’t fuck you enough. He hasn’t given you even a small glimpse of the serum’s gifts— you’d be floored if you knew just how fast he’s ready to go again after you tap out.”

“Bob is good to me,” you tell Sentry, meeting his eyes no matter how much it unnerves you. “He’s afraid he’s going to lose control, and I don’t want to push his boundaries. The serum— he’s never had sex with anyone but me since Valentina gave it to him.”

“I know all of that already. I’m in his head.” Sentry’s hands settle on your hips, prodding you to move. “Face the wall.”

You follow the command without a word of protest, shocking even yourself. Bob never bosses you around like this, and you’re not sure you’d ever let him. Sure, you let him take the lead when the two of you are intimate, but the tone of this is something else.

You expect groping, hands on your breasts and in between your legs. But that never comes, Sentry instead taking the loofa from your hand. Face-to-face with white tile, you can only hear him go through the motions of applying more body wash, of him taking the shower head off the wall. A spray of warm water is a welcome surprise on your back, your shoulders. Sentry’s arms snake around you and then he’s washing, gliding the soapy loofa all over your body, utterly methodical about the whole act.

“I thought you wanted to stick your dick in me,” you say, praying it comes out like a taunt. This whole situation has you reeling. “What changed?”

“You have me pegged wrong,” he replies, matter of fact like he knows just what’s in your heart. Hell, he certainly knows what’s in your head. “I want to fuck you, yes, but you underestimate how much I also want to enjoy you. Bob gets to do that, and I want all he gets and more.”

Sentry kneels then, taking care to wash your legs, your feet. He doesn’t let you turn around, not even then, pressing you back against the wall when you try to move. The loofa drops the the ground, a forgotten thing as slick hands begin to work the knots out of your shoulders. And even though you’re still a little scared, even though you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, the massage feels so fucking good. Life’s been non-stop, you haven’t had time to relax in days…

“You work hard,” Sentry tells you, the statement spoken like a fact and not a platitude. You find yourself nodding, agreeing— yes, you do work hard. Too hard, sometimes.

“You work hard, and you deserve to feel good when you want to,” Sentry continues. This is when his hands begin to wander, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You cry out for him, cursing the fact that he knows just what you like. “You shouldn’t ever have to wait for someone to do what you want. Least of all Bob— he worships you, don’t you know that?”

Part of you wants to downplay that, to say that’s dramatic and not exactly true. But then you see Bob in your mind, you see his face and how he looks at you and how he jumps up to do whatever you say when you say to do it. Hubris licks up in your stomach then, stoking the fire in your core.

“I know that already,” you say, turning to look over your shoulder. Sentry’s eyes are wild, wicked as you mock him. “I’m in his head too.”

Everything happens fast after that. One second you’re facing the wall and the next Sentry’s pressing your back up against it, he’s hauling you up off the ground like you don’t weigh an ounce. A single thought plays on loop in your head like a mantra— fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me— and Sentry must be listening because he doesn’t hesitate. The stretch is insane with no warm-up, but you’re so wet it doesn’t matter, threading your legs around his waist to press him closer, deeper. The pacing’s different than it is with Bob, full throttle without a single tap on the brakes, though some of him still manages to shine through. The panting, the sex flush that paints Sentry with red watercolor splotches— that’s your Bob right there. Familiarity is a salve on your nerves, though you still don’t feel completely secure. Three feet off the ground and unable to help yourself even if you wanted to, it takes you a moment to trust.

“I won’t drop you,” Sentry says, chasing down eye contact as you scrabble at the wall for purchase. Why you think you could get a handhold on a wet tile wall you’ll never know. “Holding you up is nothing. I could lift a building with one hand.”

“I know, I know,” you huff, struggling to talk. Every push of Sentry’s hips knocks the breath out of you. “I just— Fuck.”

You leg your legs go limp then, kicking your feet to show him what you mean. Sentry only holds fast, not flinching for a second.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he commands commands. “Hold on to me.”

Once again, you do as he says without question, your own submission as stunning to you now as it was fifteen minutes ago. Still, this is yet another familiar thing, an action you know so well from so many nights spent in Bob’s bed.

“When you’re with me,” Sentry tells you, his forehead pressed against your own, “when I come to you, you never have to be scared. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand how I’ll always protect you?”

You nod at that. He was wrong before— you have Sentry pegged just right.

“You’re my protector, Sentry,” you say, pushing his damp hair out of his face. “You’re so strong and capable and brave—  I know you wouldn’t let something bad happen to me.”

Sentry moans at that, agreeing, giving confirmation that you’re pushing all the right buttons. “No,” he says at once, “no, I wouldn’t. Couldn’t fathom it, pretty girl.”

And then Sentry finally kisses you for the first time in all this, slow and deep and dirty. You know then that you have him.

“Bob worships me?” you ask, digging your heels into his ass, goading him into fucking you impossibly harder, impossibly faster. Fuck, you love hooking up with a god.

“Yes,” Sentry affirms. “You have him wrapped around your finger. There’s few things he wouldn’t do if you were the one asking.”

Images flash through your mind then, thoughts and urges you aren’t exactly proud of. Bob isn’t a tool for revenge, isn’t a tool in any way whatsoever, but you’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t fantasized about him making someone sorry for you.

“Bob worships me,” you say, cock drunk and ego tripping in ways you never thought possible, “and you’re a piece of him. Does that mean you worship me too?”

Sentry laughs, a deep, hearty sound coming from the bottom of his chest. All the while his hips snap snap snap.

“I only worship myself,” he tells you, eyes glowing so shiny bright you think they’ll catch fire. “But if someone erected a temple in your name, I’d understand.”

><><><>< 

Later, much later, Bob finds you in the kitchen. You know it’s him by how he holds you, tucking his face into your neck as you stir tonight’s pasta dish on the stove.

“Did we—“ He pauses, swallows. “Did he find you earlier?”

“Mmhm,” you hum, reaching up to pet his cheek. “I was in the shower. He’s something else— so fucking cocky.”

That gets Bob laughing, but you don’t miss the way his arms tighten around your waist. “Yeah. Yeah, I bet he tried to put you through the wringer. Are you… Did he hurt you at all? Because if he did, I can—“

You cut Bob off right there, turning away from the food to look him in the eye. Just as you thought, he looks concerned for you, eyes darting all over the place like he’s going to find a mark on you. One good kiss has him relaxing in your arms, a second then a third driving him to pull you closer.

“I’m all good, baby,” you tell him, “I promise. Sentry was a gentleman. Well, as much of a gentleman as I think he can be. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have let it go as far as I did.”

“Good,” Bob says, nodding, and you think it’s settled after that. The two of you share another kiss and you turn back to the food, ladling pasta water into the sauce with a carful eye. At the island, Bob’s getting the plates ready, counting under his breath, gathering up the right amount of silverware and napkins.

Staring down at the stove, you can’t help but remember something Sentry said earlier— something he said about Bob.

There’s few things he wouldn’t do if you were the one asking.

“Bob,” you say suddenly, turning to look at him again. “Bob, can I ask you something?”

And God, he’s so sweet standing there, salad plates clutched in his hands. It doesn’t take him a second to respond, painfully earnest: “Anything, baby. What’s up?”

Anything anything anything anything anything— that word makes your cunt clench in a way you’re not proud of. It doesn’t help that you’re thinking of him in a fight either, images of him laying into of one of Valentina’s particularly mouthy goons clouding your mind. The man’s always on your nerves, always saying something snide whenever the both of you interact. What you wouldn’t give to watch Bob cut out his fucking tongue—

“I want a new dress for that benefit we have coming up. Will you go shopping with me this weekend?”

Bob’s grin is blinding, blinding enough to make you feel like a monster. “Yeah! That sounds fun. Can we go to that one store from last time? They give out this really good fruity water while I wait to watch you try stuff on.”

“Of course we can,” you say, swimming in your own thoughts. “I like that place too.”

Chapter Text

The chill wakes you.

The time on your alarm clock taunts you when you turn to give it a peek. You have an early day tomorrow— well, today— and you’re not excited by the prospect of getting a shit night’s sleep. You thought for sure you checked the thermostat before you got in bed, winter’s icy bite a worthy adversary this time of year. Bob’s sound asleep beside you, always so unfazed by any and all temperature changes it seems. You don’t envy the fact that he’s been exposed to a super serum, but it’s times like these that you see some minor benefits in his affliction.

You move to get out of bed, thinking of the extra quilt in the storage bench at the end of your bed. That and some fluffy socks, yeah— that’ll be better. Or at least you think it would be, because you realize you aren’t alone as soon as your feet hit the floor.

The darkness in front of your bed is too dark, too solid. It blots out all the light in the room, even the soft rays coming off the moon outside. And when you look up and see those white glowing eyes, you know right way what you’re dealing with.

“What are you doing here?” you ask Void, unflinching even as he cocks his head at you. He’s appeared in your room before, always at night and always in silence. It used to scare you, his presence, but now you couldn’t care less. Bob’s silhouette, Sentry’s posture— why be frightened of something you already know?

“Watching you sleep,” Void replies, eyes flashing. You wonder then about how long he’s been here. A quick check reveals that Bob is still out on the other side of the bed, breath even, muscles relaxed. Still, you feel the need to check on him.

“Is he okay?” you ask, your tone clear— you aren’t in the mood for bullshit. “Is he here or is he in the rooms?”

“I can assure you he’s sleeping,” Void tells you. Somehow, you think you’re hearing his “soothing” voice, not that it’s exactly gentle or anything close to it. “No bad dreams, no good dreams— just sleeping. He won’t wake up right now, so don’t bother.”

Hearing that really does calm you down, confirmation that Bob isn’t having an episode a salve on your nerves. Only then do you feel comfortable giving Void your full attention, sitting up straight on the edge of the bed.

“I have to be up early and you’re making it freezing in here. Can you come back another night to do your pervy shit?”

Void laughs. “How are you with him, hm? There’s no way he keeps up with you.”

That gets you rolling your eyes— you won’t hear anything bad about Bob.

“We’re in love, he’s treats me with respect, and he’s the best lay I’ve ever had— do the math on that.”

Void decides to let you out of bed after then, stepping aside so you can get your quilt. His eyes never leave you the entire time, not even as you make spread out the blanket and make sure Bob’s got enough covers. Back on your side, you’re ready to lie down again, minutes of precious sleep time ticking by.

“Goodbye,” you tell Void, rolling away from him. “Bump the heat up before you go, would you?”

“I’ll do it,” Void affirms. You close your eyes then, pull the covers tight under your chin.

“Good— now go. Like I said, I’m fucking freezing.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about the thermostat,” Void says, “I’m talking about fucking your throat. I’ll do it.”

If you were ready to fall back asleep before, that’s all over now.

You sit straight up in bed without a second thought, twisting around to face Void again. There’s not a shot in hell that you heard him right. “What?”

Void laughs at you then, clearly satisfied with himself. “You asked Bob to throatfuck you earlier, remember? You told him you wanted it rough and sloppy, and he told you he wouldn’t do it.”

What pisses you off the most is that he’s right, Void’s absolutely, undeniably right. You did ask Bob to be rough with you earlier tonight, told him you wanted him to grab you by the hair and put his cock in your throat. You wanted to drool all over yourself and cry off all your eye makeup— you wanted to focus on his cock and his cock alone, not all your racing thoughts. And Bob, well… He said he didn’t like the sound of it. He told you he didn’t think he could be rough with you liked that, didn’t think he could force your head down when you started to choke like you told him he should. You’ve sucked him off before, sure, but you were always the one in control of the pace. The conversation was respectful, and you had great sex right after but… But you still want it, no matter how much you tell yourself you don’t.

“Let me do it,” Void presses. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he’s starting to beg. “I promise I won’t bitch out like he did.”

“Setting a sexual boundary is not ‘bitching out’. I asked to Bob to perform a sex act on me and he wasn’t comfortable— normal people have these conversations every day.”

The scolding remark comes out as hot as you intended, though you can tell Void remains unaffected. You don’t know why you even try with him; Bob’s shaping up to be a great communicator, Sentry’s not bad if you ride him hard enough, but you this one right here…

“All I’m saying is that I want to give you what you want.” Void crowds you then, those eyes bearing down on you without reprieve. “I’ll gag you on my cock as much as you want, and then you can go right back to sleep beside ole’ Bob here. No interruptions, just me, and you, and that pretty mouth of yours.”

Cold fingertips trace your lips then, pressing until you allow them in. Void is cold, always so cold no matter what, but the way he touches your tongue, your teeth, your gums…

“Bob won’t wake up?” you ask, speaking around the fingers in your mouth. The act makes you sound ridiculous; neither one of you laugh.

Void is quick to answer, smearing your own saliva across your chin. “A tornado could bust out the windows right now and he’d sleep right through it.”

You shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t give Void the satisfaction of doing something so degrading, but you can’t fucking help yourself. You’re out of bed after that, Bob forgotten under the covers. Void only stops you when you go to walk to the open space in front of your bed.

His command is simple: “Crawl.”

The two of you stare each other down after that, for how long you don’t know. Of course Void wants you to debase yourself for him. Of course he wants to treat you like a doll, to make you a thing he can play with however he wants to. You should tell him no. You should tell him you’re not going to let him do it, you are not going to let him slut you out like that.

And then you drop to your knees and crawl just like he asked.

By the time you reach other other side of the bed, you’re already wet. You’re mouth’s watering, you can’t quit clenching your thighs together… You and an ex-boyfriend used to do shit like this, it’s not your first time letting a man completely dominate you, but fuck has it been a minute. You always liked it, if you’re being honest; it’s just not your thing with Bob, it’s not his personality, and that’s more than okay. The sex you have with him is fulfilling and intimate and so satisfying regardless…

… Though you can’t sit here and pretend aren’t thrilled that Void’s into this shit.

The black figure in question makes his way over like you have all the time in the world, tall and imposing. You do your best to sit pretty for him, hands folded, back straight.

“You look good like this,” Void muses, hands in your hair. He pushes it back off your face, combs his fingers through the strands… “Now show me your tits so you look even better.”

You pull down the front of your tank top not a second later, readjusting your breast until you’re sure they’ll stay exposed. Void doesn’t ask permission before he reaches out to bat at one nipple and then the other, twisting and pulling until you whimper for him.

“So fucking easy,” he declares, taking advantage of your slack-jawed state. He puts his fingers in your mouth again, meaner about it now than he was before. You gag when he pushes too far back, drool pooling in your mouth. Your cunt clenches because of course it does, it always does when you choke like that.

Void might have you on your knees and you might be wet for him, but you’re still doing this to serve your own sexual interests. When you’ve got your breath back, you stare up into those white beady eyes and ask, “Can I get get on your dick yet or what? Or did you forget that I have to be up early?”

Void laughs. He laughs, and then he shoves his cock down your throat.

It’s an out-of-body experience after the third thrust. As you expected, Void’s relentless. He gives you the facefucking you’ve been craving and then some, gagging you on his dick, telling you to spit and drool all over yourself when you pull off to gasp for breath. Your shirt’s a goner in mere minutes, your tits and stomach absolutely soaked with your own saliva.

“Stick that pretty tongue out, baby, come on,” Void presses, one hand fisted in your hair. The burn in your scalp only serves to make the ache in your cunt worse, everything but your mouth so painfully empty right now. But you can’t worry about that for long because there’s a cock in your mouth again, there’s a cock in your mouth and you need to gag on it. It’s not easy but you do end up doing as your told, licking Void’s balls as your throat clamps down around him. He keens for you, pushing on your skull, depriving you of precious oxygen.

You have an idle thought that this is what it must feel like to do heroin.

Just when you’re staring to tire out, just when you think it might be time to tap out, Void gives you another set of instructions: “Cum with my dick in your mouth. Touch your fucking pussy.”

If your tank top’s down for the count, your shorts and panties are casualties too because you’re wetter than you think you’ve ever been in your whole entire life. It takes nothing to make yourself cum, your fingers swiping against your clit once, twice, three times before you explode. Void makes it good for you, shoving his cock down your throat just as your orgasm peaks. When he finally lets you off, you slump to the floor, every muscle in your core exerted to failure.

Somewhere on another planet, Void’s jerking himself off. You can see it out of the corner of your eye but you’re too busy to pay him any mind, more focused on making sure you’re actually breathing in and out, in and out. He cums on you seemingly without care, splattering your arm, your cheek.

You think it’s over then, sure you’ll look up and only see the ceiling of your bedroom when you muster up the strength to move again. But no, Void’s still there staring down at you, studying you like he’s trying to make sense of the scene. Deep inside, you yearn to say something smart to him, to make a joke, but you’re too tired for all that now.

Maybe you do fall asleep because one minute you’re on the floor and the next you’re in the shower, Void’s inky body a stark contrast to the white tile all around you. It’s like someone cut a piece out of the night sky and dropped it right here in your bathroom, his hands cold (yet strikingly gentle) on your body. Void gets you clean and dry without saying a word, standing by patiently as you go through the motions of putting on moisturizer and brushing your hair. This on its own is enough to shock you, but you’re sure you’re dreaming when he kneels down to help you step into a fresh pair of underwear.

The bed’s nice and warm when you climb back under the covers, the heat of Bob’s body drawing you close to him. True to Void’s word, he’s still fast asleep, face relaxed, snuffled into his pillow. You’re so ready to be like him, every part of your body impossibly heavy now.

Void’s voice is soft when he talks to you, softer than you knew it could be. “Sleep now,” he tells you, this his last command of the night.

You blink up at him, fighting the urge to close your eyes. “Will you come see me again?”

Cool fingertips graze your temple. You wish with everything you have that you could make out his expression. “I visit you every night. This won’t be the last time, I promise.”

And then Void’s gone. You pass out not a second later, dead asleep until morning.

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Next time you go to change the thermostat, you notice it’s set two degrees higher than you left it last night.