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On Their Days Off

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Bucky / The Winter Soldier / James Buchanan Barnes


It's getting harder to peel the uniform off, these days. He doesn't sleep. There's not much of a point to that anymore. Steve jokes with him: "You're not like Batman or some nonsense. You need to take care of yourself." He chooses not to point out the hypocrisy; Steve only slept when he was in the ice. And can you call that sleeping, really?

Natasha calls most nights. They manage to keep their relationship secret. Nobody needs to know, and, they'd guess, nobody really wants to know. She encourages him to listen to music again, and sends him Italian poetry from the 13th Century. Music, sometimes, can put him to sleep: he quite likes modern ambient music, like Daniel Lopatin. Just enough chaos to feel like a boring fight.

Steve and Nat are the only people he bothers to socialize with. When he sees Steve (he can't help but want to call him Cap from sheer impulse), he sees a man who slid right back into the role he had before he was frozen. James Buchanan Barnes never got to learn how to be a complete person. The time in Wakanda helped; the people taught him a new definition of 'nurture' that he tries to show Nat, when he can.

For now, he lays down in his quasi-legal sublet. It's cheap. It's away from the Tower. The water, upon analysis, is 99% drinkable. The futon, on its wooden frame, is just strong enough to hold him up. The people in the building either pretend not to notice that he has a metal arm, that he's an unmissable public figure, or they're scared of him.

He hopes they're not. They seem nice enough.

A remote finds its way into his hand, and he turns on the soundsystem to a just-reasonable volume, Oneohtrix Point Never playing softly, and he thinks of Russia as sleep washes over him in little blinks.


Captain America / Steve Rogers



"He says he doesn't sleep anymore," Cap mutters, pulling against a set of Vibranium-blend resistance bands. This might be the best thing Tony ever put together, he thinks.

"You don't believe him?"

"I believe him," he says. "I just don't want to. I want good things to happen to him. Especially after --"

"I'm sure he tries."

The bands snap. Damn it. "Does he, though? You'd know better than I would."

"That sounded snide."

Steve runs his hands through his hair. He is starting to feel old. His body won't let him. His mind won't let him. Something, though, is nagging at him. "It wasn't meant to be snide. You know that."

"Do I, though?"

"Don't be like that."

The voice on the other end laughs. Almost a giggle. "It's so fun, though."

"End call," he says, and the signal drops. He looks at the snapped bands, presses a couple of buttons to have a new set brought to him. Avengers Tower may be a bit too shiny for him, but at least the amenities are nice. Even a man who was frozen in ice for the majority of the Super Bowls deserves amenities.

Maybe I'll bake something, he thinks, looking at the clock, which has just turned to 3am.


Black Widow / Natasha Romanov


He hung up on me. That's new, she thinks to herself, as she slides off her clothes and walks to the shower. The days get easier and easier for Natasha. The silly acts of the men around her are simply that: silly acts, curiosities, things that aren't worth her time to think too long about. She looks at herself in the mirror, strikes a model pose (arms over head, head leaned back, hips shifted out) and finds herself pleased. This is good.

Natasha is new to feeling good about things. New to paranoia dripping away. New to not feeling a general Cold War fever; something is happening somewhere and its effects, certainly, will radiate outward, thus making me miserable and putting me back in some fight I don't want to be a part of. She rolls her eyes at herself. You're so morbid, Natasha.

Turning the faucets, her claw-footed bathtub will certainly take time to fill. She shadowboxes. Envisions the obvious. Nazis. Spetznaz gone by. AIM contractors and subcontractors (what must their pay scale look like?). Tony's smuggest face. The idea of Bucky when he's sad. Steve when he's obdurate. Various people and things from space, things she simply did not sign on for, but was happy to fight --

The bathtub overflows. She curses in the Mother Tongue. Certainly, there are enough towels.


Quicksilver / Pietro Maximoff and Scarlet Witch / Wanda Maximoff


"What's wrong, beauty? You seem... predisposed." Wanda shifts in Pietro's lap and eats a grape from his hand.

"It's --" she finishes chewing, growling at herself a bit, eyes glow red for half a second, "it's just that -- I hate that no one can know, Pietro."

Pietro sighs and fishes another grape out. "It's the same as when we had to hide our gifts."

Wanda snatches the grape from him and feeds it to him. "Yes, but our gifts are not frowned upon by the majority of society, brother."

He touches the curve of her collarbone, watches her pupils dilate. "It depends on your definition of gifts."

"You are such a pain. You beautiful man," she says, now admiringly, playing with his hair.

"Would you want anyone to know," he says, slowly, almost purring, as he continues around her shoulder, "that something this perfect exists? Right here on Earth, right under their noses?"

"It is quite the divine secret," she says, as he puts a grape into each of their mouths faster than anyone needs to do anything. Wanda laughs and chews through it. "I suppose we deserve a secret, after having so many other parts of our lives laid bare."

Pietro chews his own grape, and grins.


Bruce Banner / The Hulk and Maria Hill, Agent of SHIELD


Banner thinks. That's the rule, of course. Banner thinks. The other guy smashes. Banner thinks. The other guy gets all the attention.

His therapist tells him he has an inferiority complex. He tells his therapist he also has several doctorates, and his therapist laughs. "You're not Tony Stark," the therapist says. "He measures himself in achievements. Probably in his victories over fear."

The only words he hears are fear and you're not Tony Stark.

Maria knocks on his door. "You may enter the cell," he says, channeling his best HAL-9000.

"Was that a 'Fitter Happier' voice?"

"Okay, computer, stop overthinking." They embrace. "You listened to those?"

Maria cranes her neck away to see his eyes better. Are they naturally green? "I listen to everything you give me." She sees the quick descent. This kills her. "Bruce, that doesn't mean you're evil for not reading the books I give you, or whatever you're feeling badly about. It just doesn't. Please relax." If it were anyone except her saying it, that might have tempted him to lose himself for a minute. Instead, he sighs, and leans into Maria.

He forgot what it felt like to be held.

"Have you ever been shot?"

"That is a strange question. But, yes."

"Was there someone from SHIELD there to bring you up, take care of it?"

Maria runs her fingers across his head, now buzzed down to about 1/4 of an inch of hair. "No. I was a teenager, actually. Drug deal gone wrong."

"Were you buying?"

"No. Crossfire sort of thing."

She could feel him rumble, for just a second. "I'm so sorry that happened."

Maria holds him tight. "It was a long time ago. There were people around. Somebody tackled the guy with the gun, but by then, I was watching on the news, in the emergency room."

"Where did you catch the bullet?" She nudges Bruce off of her and lifts her shirt just a bit to show a bit of a cave-in where one might have an appendectomy scar.

"Managed not to hit anything useful."

"How have I missed that before now?"

"I'll choose to take it either as a compliment or the confirmation that you're the actual manifestation of the absent-minded professor stereotype." A Cheshire-cat smile on her face. The same on his as he crosses his legs and sits opposite of her, eye-to-eye.

"I'm a doctor, Agent Hill."

She snorts. "How many times have you had to say that against that specific line?"

He rolls his eyes, breaking their staring contest. "Oh, it's always a measuring contest."

At certain points, Maria can't tell when she has or hasn't offended him. So she defaults away. "What's on your mind, Bruce? We can talk."

Getting just away enough from the light, and just close enough to the wall of the cell (as he's fond of calling it), he watches his reflection swim. He can't tell if this is warping in the poly-plastic, or if this is how he sees himself, some sort of dysmorphic thing. He takes a mental note. "The first time I was shot was before the bomb. Before all of this, too, of course. We just shrug it off."

Maria wraps her arms around him. She does not warp in the reflection. "Well, we didn't then. I didn't, at least."

She can feel how distant he is. What's worse, is she can feel how comfortable he is being distant. "I was surprised it didn't happen to me sooner." Her stomach drops a little bit. She would think, by now, that she is numb to this sort of thing from him, but he always manages to pull something out of his big green hat. He taps her hand gently to signal that he'd like her to let go, and she squeezes him tight one last time before he walks off. He puts on his glasses, sits on his bed, and stares at the ceiling. "I have another weird one for you."


"It's a question and a statement, I suppose."


He looks at her, pointedly. She can see the green of his eyes, more intense than ever before. "It's not him that you're attracted to? It's me, right?"


Hawkeye / Clint Barton


Why wouldn't one buy an apartment complex for the good of his chunk of Brooklyn if one had the money and the compunction? This is how Clint rationalizes this to himself as he uses another Stark magnet to pull a bullet out of himself. "Ow, ow, owwww."

The neighbors (the tenants) aren't too loud. He can't tell if they're on the roof or in their respective apartments. His hearing is worse since the big conflict; he's not quite back to deaf, but he'll be seeing the Night Nurse after most patrols. Once he's done cleaning out his wound (safety first; a good boy scout), he puts the bullet in a fishbowl that houses numerous Sierra Nevada bottle-caps, pieces of knives, pins, and bullets.

He'd normally go out and socialize, but his mind has been firmly in the gutter. His bed has been too populated and too unpopulated at the same time. His fling with Maria was nice, but he had designs on a bit of a list.

Nodding to himself, throwing darts at the ceiling. Wanda. Dart penetrates ceiling. Natasha. Dart penetrates ceiling. Hope. Dart penetrates ceiling...


Scott Lang / Ant-Man and Sam Wilson / Falcon and Hope Van Dyne / Wasp


Scott sat in the chair across the room, watching the sweat pour off of Hope. It was one of his favorite sights.

As she climbed across the bed, she made her way to him. Right over Sam, quietly. Hope slid off the bed with her typical Jiu-Jitsu aplomb. "Was it everything you dreamed of?"

"I, uh... I didn't know I dreamed of it."

"You asked for it!"

"I didn't know how much I was asking for it!"

"There's a joke in there," she says, and abandons the thought.

"Can... can we untie me?"

He hears a throat clear across the room. "Round three?"

Hope presses her nose against his and giggles. "I guess not."



Chapter Text

Natasha could understand that not everyone needs a claw-footed bathtub. The rest of Bucky's living situation was deeply alarming to her.

"You can't live like this."

"I'm doing a perfectly fine job of living like this."

"We're going shopping."

"Are you kidding me? We're supposed to keep this a secret, and we're just going to go shopping?"

She sighs and sits on the bed, which makes an ungodly noise that would've startled her were she not a spy, and had she not forgotten her morning coffee (reflexes just aren't all the way there right now). "Okay. We're going to order some things for one-day delivery. And we're going to fix this place up."


She gives him a cold glare. "We, Mr. Barnes. We are going to decorate your home."

"I don't even know how long I'll be here. Ultron could blow it up tomorrow."

"You're not even trying."

"I don't want to--"

She pulls him up by the hand. "No, the Ultron reference. Nobody wants to hear about that and nobody buys it. Give me your phone."

"Why my phone?"

"Because you're buying all of this."

"Ultron, if you can hear me--"

"Stop that."


Time disappears into a haze of curtains, comforters, knick-knacks, wall art, and surprised laughs. "I like this baboon," Bucky says, pointing to a truly gaudy baboon art; green, gold, and orange.

"It is yours," Natasha says, and taps the word BUY. "It is yours, with same-day delivery."

"At least the baboon will get here first."

Natasha laughs and fake-tackles him to the bed. "You know, you're quite lucky we're a secret to the world. If they knew what a goof you are, no one would take ze vinter soldier seriously."

"I hope my secret's safe with you."

She straddles him. "As long as you behave." As she leans toward him, the doorbell rings.

"Hey! D'you order something, kid?"

Bucky and Natasha both look at the clock as if to ask did they bring the store to the house?


"I don't understand. You had to have lived in hovels and pop-ups. Why is it so important to decorate this place?"

Natasha flashes back to living in places far worse. Places she did not intend on living, for very long periods of time, mixed with some truly unpleasant memories of places she did choose, for better or for worse. "Of course I have. That doesn't mean you should."

"You live in the Tower. You don't even have any pictures of family or friends."

She sits next to him on the bed, puts her hair flatteringly into her eyes, and pulls out her phone. "I can change that very easily." Nat catches him exactly as unaware as she'd hoped and gets an excellent selfie.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"You will not believe the lengths I can reach to shut a man up."

"No torture jokes allowed here?"

"Only if they involve torturing you," she says, about as wry as you can get. "You should go take a shower. I'll put some things up and you can unwind for a moment."


She puts her hands on his shoulder. "Even soldiers get tense, darling. I can see it. Your posture is suffering. You look like you haven't showered in days. I know you don't sleep. So, go shower. For me, hm?"

Bucky shakes his head, but grins. "Trying to take care of me. It's like having Steve here."

"You wish."

He simply laughs and shuffles off to the shower.


Running the water into the shallow bathtub, through the slightly-rusted shower-head, Bucky thinks that maybe this place might be a little too ratty to bring anyone to. He then runs his fingers through his hair, catalogs the amount of grease, and chooses not to judge the building very much.

He notices, right away, that Natasha was right about his posture. He squares up, leans forward, and lets the water batter his hair and his neck first, almost in a polite bow. The water pressure is strong and steady, and it would prove a nice massage if not for the mass of muscle it was trying to soften. For all that he's experienced, the events of the last few months, to him, even feel surreal. Maybe the most surreal of it all being that he found romance, but nonetheless, surviving, everything trapped in that -- even the greatest skeptic couldn't turn their head at that.

He bats at himself with some Irish Spring. The smell takes him back to living with Steve --




"Why am I getting hard--"

The door creaks open, and her pale, slinky figure makes its way in. The soap falls out of his hand. He was half-erect when his thoughts started straying inconveniently, but now, full attention. Nat runs her fingertips over the slick skin of his cock and he shudders. A fingernail makes slight contact with the ridge of his cockhead, and he moans. "A little pain, then?"

He can't hear her over the shower running, the water hitting his ears. She digs her nails into his scalp, lightly, and pulls him in for a kiss. His stubble rakes her face and the pain is a little more than exciting. She shifts so that her nipples meet his body and the running water. He puts his hands on her hips and pulls her forward. Tongues make their way, all too welcome, into the ceremonies, and Nat feels him get harder against her, his cock between both of their bodies. She rubs against him, moving her body like a stripper (or a seductive spy stereotype, if you want to take it that way), just to hear him moan, watch him get bothered. She squeezes his balls the slightest bit, eliciting a nearly-pained moan, and then wraps her hand around his cock, up from the base, to watch a bead of pre-cum make itself apparent.

Natasha loves making a man whose job is to not show emotion do exactly what his job dictates he cannot do.

She holds his cock steady with that hand, and reaches down with the other as quickly as she can to swipe up the pre-cum before the water can (another nearly-pained moan), and brings it, slowly, onto her tongue. He tastes like vodka. Natasha pulls Bucky in for a violent kiss, sucking on his tongue. I hope you can taste this, she thinks to herself, and is affirmed (oh how wonderful) by his cock positively throbbing against her.

She pulls away from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting them, until it's swatted away by the water. "You soldiers and your secrets," she says, right into his ear, and he all but melts. Natasha is surprising herself.

Finally, she does what she intended to do: she drops to her knees and takes his cock into her mouth. The water batters her head, and she can't hear a damn thing except her saliva covering his cock, the air moving out of her nose when she takes it deep, and the noise, from her swallowing his shaft, that could almost pass as a chomp. She holds him in her throat for as long as she can. She tries to look up but the water covers her eyes, and that proves to be a bit too much. When she moves off of his cock, she can hear a near-ecstatic moan from him. She strokes him and takes one of his balls in her mouth; they are enormous, she can't help but note, and she can't help but nibble -- just hold it between her teeth -- and oh, again, with that beautiful sound.

Natasha grows tired of inhaling water along with the great treat before her, so she turns off the faucets. "The bed. Now."

Bucky lifts her, both of them still soaking, to the bed now covered in new blankets. They're soft, and she's even softer under him. He takes a nipple in his mouth, admiring the color like he always does, the beautiful blend of tongue-pink and her natural skin, and she moans under him, raising her knee against his balls. Pain never used to turn him on, but there's something about the way she does it that just drives him mad. And that little taste of cum...

But now isn't the time to remember such youthful diversions. He works his way down her body slowly, running his hair over her, eliciting clear squirms. Nat grabs the pillow under her and, by the time he's reached her cunt and starts licking away, she can't keep the noise down. This boy studied. He keeps a slow, steady movement on her hood, occasionally making his way down to her clit, sucking on her inner and outer labia (luxuriating at the inner, sucking all that wetness in), biting the outer (each bite accompanied by an "mm!" and an arch of the back), returning back to the steady work, up and down, kisses here and there, on her clit, which was only becoming more responsive.

"Put a finger in me," she says.

"Let me fuck you."

"Please, keep licking and finger me."

He shrugs a bit, but Natasha all but bursts off the bed when he works a finger deep into her. Maybe he shouldn't be, but Bucky is always amazed at how tight she is. He keeps his motion steady and forward, feeling her body bounce against his, and finally, she cums, the walls of her cunt squeezing his finger, to which he adds another; she sits up, rides his fingers, puts her hands through his hair and fucks his mouth, and she cums again. He stops for a moment and she feels a finger against her ass, and she moans, keeping it quiet, insinuating "I am too damn overstimulated for this."

And suddenly, he's moving lower, and his tongue is in her ass.

"Hey! Mmmmm..."

Bucky spreads her with his thumbs and works his tongue as deep as he can into her. Her entire body, all of it, smells incredible. His cock is so hard and so alive from the blowjob that he feels he could rub against the bed and cum. But --

"I need to fuck you, Nat."

He kisses her hard, making sure she gets a taste of his tongue, and his cock pushes perfectly into her.

They moan -- all but yell -- into each other's mouths. She wraps her legs around him and grabs his ass, urging his hips forward and harder. The taste of Nat's own ass, though she'd be loath to admit it, intoxicated her. Her long fingers manage to spread Bucky, who moans (and throbs) as she explores. She just manages to make contact with the taut skin hiding beneath and he takes a sharp breath in. She kisses him up his neck. "You like that?"

He nods.

"Want more?"

He nods again.

"Slow down. Don't stop, just slow down... move up a little."

They nudge around uncomfortably for a second until his cock is deep inside her, and she manages to have a fingertip circling his anus. His thrusts damn near force her away every time, but she's diligent.

She gets just as deep as she wants and pays him back, sliding her finger into his mouth.

"You like that?" she asks, and his eyes do all the talking, rolling back into his head as his thrusts become a little frantic. He sucks on her finger and she cums. Nat can tell he's close.

Bucky spreads her legs and holds them down, thrusting as hard as he can. "How do you want me to cum?"

She stammers. Stars are popping behind her eyes.

"In your mouth?" Nodding.

"On your tits?" Nodding.

"In your cunt?" Which tightens, as she nods, frantically. "Are you on birth control?" She shakes her head 'no' but is not signaling him to stop in any way. He chuckles. His thrusts slow, but just to make themselves longer, to move deeper. His stubbled cheek brushes her ear, and he whispers: "Do you want me to breed you?"

Nat's cunt tightens and she moans. "Oh, god..."

"You want me to knock you up, Nat?"

Her breathing becomes rapid and shallow. Her eyes are wide.

And he pulls out.

He is still glistening and hard when he pulls out and lays next to her. Natasha grabs him and almost thrashes him to taste his tongue, wrapping her hand around his cock. Bucky's hips begin to jerk. His orgasm isn't far off. She stops kissing him and looks him in the eyes, stroking him with her left hand. He's soaked just from what's left of her.

"You're going to cum for me."


"And I'm going to make you taste it."

An incredible throb, and another one of those reluctant, boyish moans. "You got one of my secrets, now I'll show my cards." Pre-cum starts to flow and she runs her finger through it and puts it right in his mouth. "Make me feel your fucking tongue." Another moan. "And I want--"

The gamble. His tongue all over it. "Oh, you love the taste of your cum, don't you, boy?" Another nod. More yet to clean.

But. The real gamble. Up against his ear. "I bet you wish it was Steve's."

He gives her a stare like a lightning bolt, and with her hands completely off of his body, he fires three ribbons of cum all over his stomach and chest. One, two, three. Dizzying rapid. Thick. White.

They're silent, for a moment. Nat looks at him with a grin like she won the lottery. "Clean yourself."

She expects maybe a finger, but he takes the entire side of his hand to catch his cum and all but pour it into his mouth.

"Good. Good boy," she says, and makes a come hither motion with her finger against his chin. "More. And look at me."

Bucky cleans more of his cum, moaning with it.

"Now, tell me you wish it was Steve's."

Chapter Text

"Bet you didn't know you had that in you," Natasha said, staring right into his eyes, a little deeper inside. Bucky pictured her with a cigarette between her lips, some stereotype of the time -- the time before the time now. 

"I... suppose I didn't."

She laughed again. "You men and your repressions. It couldn't be more obvious."

"Really. I didn't. I never thought of him --"

"Not conscious of the thoughts, no."

"I didn't, Nat."


She stood to meet the sun through the window of his apartment. One little saving grace, she thought. "He spent five years looking for you. He wanted everyone back, but he was looking for you."

"And not Carter?"

Natasha's laughter was getting to be a bit much for him. "Trust me. I know pining when I see it."

"So you and Bruce...?"

"Over with. He's sleeping with Hill. If that doesn't end, I have no interest."

"And you and Steve?"

This sent her pensive. "Well, you and I have definitely complicated that. In a few ways."

"Such as?"

"Your newfound crush --"

"Don't call it that, please --"

"Your newfound long-standing one-that-got-away, got frozen, got turned old and then back again..."

"I guess I liked the first one more."


Natasha ran a fingernail in a circle over his shoulder. "How long did you know?"

"Not until just now."

"I'm sorry it revealed itself through impromptu fetish play. Truly."

"No. It is whatever it is."

"You know," Natasha says, breathing in hard, resting her arms on his shoulder (the cold metal one), propping herself up, "I'd bet he feels the same."

"Natasha, he was born in a time where they'd have hung him for that."

"And they defrosted him in a time where we have parades."

"I don't buy it."


She smiles wryly at him. "Well, I'll find out. But it comes with a condition."

"Do I even want to ask?"

Natasha laughs, nuzzling his neck just a little. "No, because I'm going to tell you..." She nips at him just a bit, then moves to his ear. "I want you both."

"No one's stopping you."

Natasha runs her hand down his chest, just about to his lap. "Oh, no. I mean I want you both."


Bucky's stomach butterflied a bit, but the rest of him felt a fiery red for just a moment. Then, all that red traveled to meet Natasha's hand. The night seemed it would start itself again.

Chapter Text

They'd become used to the Image Inducers, and even had them modified to where their alternates resembled each other. This made the walks through Central Park, or wherever they'd find themselves, all the easier. A stolen kiss here or there. A roll around somewhere quiet and abandoned. A lifted skirt. A selfie in a changing room (oh, how Pietro seemed to love his own cock). While they hated all the hiding, they loved the little joys. This was another day like that. The sun just overhead, kissing on a bench, laying together as people biked, jogged, and hustled, however they did it, right past them.

"I did not realize how much I needed this," Wanda said, leaning into Pietro, breathing in relief.

"I know, beauty. I feel just the same." She could see the looseness in his normally taut, uncomfortably tense muscles. He could see that she wasn't nursing a headache -- from her migraines or a hangover. The spring air made everything feel alright, in its own way. "Do you want to visit Macy's after this? I know you've wanted some clothes."

"I can just order them."

"I like seeing you --"

She leaned into Pietro in a way that made onlookers turn away. "You want to just show me how your cock looks in a speedo, don't you?"

"I was thinking something smaller. Red lace?"

Wanda's face, image-inducer or not, went a full blush. "Pietro!" He simply smiled at her.

And then a shadow passed and formed, and her brother no longer smiled. "Yes. Pietro. Wanda."

A familiar smell that took them back to their bunkbeds. A voice that took them back to a different time and ideology.

"Father," Wanda said. It was hard to be dismissive, but she managed.

"No greeting for your father, Pietro?" He kept silent. He hadn't realized he dropped his image inducer, and was starting to get a little attention from passers-by. Pietro's poker face was never the best, so he abandoned it outright, maintained his silence. But Erik knew his daughter. Knew her weaknesses. All of them. "How have you been, Wanda? Since your brother's death, since --"

"I have been fine."

"And the vacuum cleaner you intended to wed?"

Now Wanda's image inducer dropped. "Do not speak of Vision that way, father. We know your cruelty spares nothing, but please."

Erik looked out at nothing. "Is that true, Pietro? About my cruelty?"

He was boiling. Vibrating. When he would shake, it would blend with his powers. Grass upended itself. Wanda felt like she was being shocked a little bit. "Why won't you leave?" Wanda asks.

Erik looks at them, an assessment. Like a butcher observing work with knife in-hand, or a commanding officer sizing up a recruit.
"I'm almost proud that my supposed cruelty could breed such --"

Pietro stands. Fast enough that grass and earth break and tend skyward. He takes their father by his underarms and runs, looking for anywhere, an alley, somewhere quiet, somewhere remote.

He finds an arid alleyway somewhere in Chelsea (New York; there's only so much patience) and sets his father on his feet. He can feel his belt buckle moving, something in his body... tilting? The iron trick. "You can go ahead and kill me. But I want you to know that if you do, I will break every single bone in your body and spear you on the Empire State Building."

"You presume too much, child."

"And I am not a child."

Erik scoffs. "I was simply going to say that I'm proud you finally mustered the courage to take what you lusted after for so long. That my cruelty could breed such a bold progeny."

"Are you finished?"

Pietro's belt buckle stopped moving; his body loosened. "For now. You may see me again."

"Hopefully in the next life."

"I think far sooner, Pietro," Erik says, walking away, managing to run his hand along Pietro's neck without getting his wrist broken. "Apples and trees, yes?"


He looks over his shoulder and smiles, and, before Pietro can even collect his thought, is gone.

Pietro runs screaming back to Central Park. Radio waves bend and contort; singers lose their pitch; windows shatter.



"I'd like to go home."

"Pietro, you look like you want to kill something."

He gets his breathing under control, and realizes it's the shaking that won't stop. "I'm sorry to frighten you, beauty."

"We can go."

"I didn't hurt him."

Wanda caresses his cheek. "I know you wouldn't. Not without reason."

"I was angry."

Sometimes, someone needs it, no matter how inappropriate. Wanda pulls Pietro close and kisses him, on the mouth, as if in the safety of their bedroom. It's almost an excuse to brush his hair out of his eyes and to look into them. "Temper runs in the family. Blood will tell us more than we like." He growls in response, but she knows this is not at her. "I know. I want it no more than you do."

Pietro looks out among the people. He does this often. Wanda will catch him outside their home just watching people go by, like a prisoner recently out of jail, acclimating himself to new faces. "It's the secrecy of this all. Sister, it is not just that they don't understand us. They don't understand our lives. From the beginning to now."

"It's not their right, Pietro."

Another growl. "For everything we have done for them, we deserve mercy."

Wanda finds herself lost for a response. "Let's go home. Home is merciful," and now she puts her hand on his cheek, tilting his face toward hers gently. "And I will show you all the mercy you could ever need."

This pulls a smile from him. He lifts her into his arms, and he runs. She holds on tight, and giggles. It might be his very favorite thing in life.


"Pietro, that -- that is cooking wine --"

Wanda is already giggling drunk. Pietro shrugs and throws the bottle in recycling. "It had to be used."

"It could have been used for chicken!"

"Instead, I used it for its high alcohol content and my very fast metabolism."

In a blink, Pietro materializes with a large bag full of gin and wine. Wanda laughs hysterically. "Now you've reduced yourself to shoplifting! Are we petty thieves again?"

"Are we ever not?"

Wanda snorts. "You're always trying to make me laugh. It's almost," between a hiccup now, which almost makes Pietro laugh, "it's almost funnier when you try."
He rematerializes with mixers, craft beer, and a bottle of Everclear so large, the sight of it turns her stomach. "Okay, that's a bit too much."

"We said we'd drink and be merry! Let us drink and be merry. We deserve it." He opens the Everclear and drinks the bottle. "By god, we do."

Wanda looks at this with equal parts amazement, disdain, and amusement. Father always brought the worst out of him, but his coping was always to laugh it off. Neither of them were alcoholics. They believed in a drink after a hard day, and occasionally, some excess. Pietro's metabolism, a gift and a curse, sometimes dictated that an entire liquor store be robbed. Then he discovered the Everclear and that just about would do it, most times. In this case, he opened a few beers to wash it down.
It was good to let loose. To let music play in the background and dance. To believe everything would be alright. To banish thoughts and welcome in only new ones for the good days. To drink and be merry.

"Give me some of that cooking wine," Wanda says. Pietro throws a bottle underhand, clumsily, but Wanda catches it. "Magic."

"You've always been."

She pops the cork with -- indeed -- a little bit of magic. "You don't need to sweet talk me."

"But it's so fun."

Sitting on their counter, she tilts the bottle back. A little bit of wine runs down her chin. It's near empty by the time she's finished. She looks at Pietro with that look. One he's grown used to.

"I love when you have fun, brother."

Walking to her slowly, uninhibited, trying to do his best film-star impersonation (not like he needs any help looking cool), he takes off his shirt. "You have some wine on your chin."

"Come help me with that."


Pietro runs his fingers through her hair and down her neck. She shivers. His tongue meets the very bottom of her chin, and she giggles, but he moves slowly, slowly up her chin, to her bottom lip, and holds the wine in his mouth. He shows his tongue, covered. Wanda meets it with her own, breathlessly. Still balanced on the counter, she wraps her legs around Pietro, moaning and making sure every drop of the wine coats her tongue instead of his.
Normally, Pietro's the one vibrating. Now, it's her. Fingernails in his shoulders. "Wanted you. So much. All day."

"I know. I wa--"

She laughs in a low rumble. "You know. You're so full of yourself, Pietro." He tries to kiss her and she turns away, dodges. "You're ever so confident."

"Of course I am."

"Wanting to show off to me in women's underwear? Yes?" Now slowly, and with a rock of her hips, that movement he was so used to, she slides her tank-top up. "As though you wouldn't love that --" She grabs his hand and locks eyes. "You want it, Pietro. Do not try to fool me." He looks away, almost in shame, but she can tell his arousal is overwhelming any shame. "You love finding new ways to show yourself to me," she says, running her fingers over his wrist, the palm of his hand. "To show off." The vibrating. She can see sweat beads forming at his neck, on his chest.

"But it is very much for you."

He makes a noise, blending a growl and a moan, and looks at her with fire in his eyes. "You bring it out of me, sister."

She laughs. "Take me to bed and show me. Don't run. We walk."

Stumbling (just a little, only a little) off the counter, they take each other's arm. They trade small kisses. Wanda covertly unhooks her bra with her free hand, casts it aside. "You're going to show me everything that makes you blush, brother. And then we will show each other everything until there is nothing left to do but scream.

Chapter Text

"Touch yourself for me, brother."

Pietro found the thin hairs on his neck (the only body hair he really had) standing on end when Wanda gave him his orders. He reached down slowly as Wanda grabbed a torch lighter and lit candles by the bedside. She saw his hesitation and smiled. "Go on, Pietro."

He wasn't, admittedly, used to the feeling of lace. He'd meant to call Wanda's bluff, that she wouldn't go for that, but of course she'd go for that. He had to tuck his cock to fit in the underwear (at least in a way that he approved of cosmetically), making himself feel a bit emasculated (which turned him on more than he'd ever care to admit...). His balls, which he knew to be smaller than those of most men, fit perfectly. Wasn't it supposed to be Ant-Man feeling so small?

The uncanny feeling of his sister eyes swept over him. "Pietro. Now." It seemed to echo through his mind, and he couldn't hesitate anymore. Clutching his cock through the lace, he felt it grow, quickly, in his hand. Wanda watched with wide eyes. "I'm embarrassed. My mouth is watering." She balanced her head in her hand, and her arm on her knee, viewing him with admiration. Almost as much as he seemed to view himself with, as he took his cock by the base, lifted, watched the foreskin fall over it, and then pulled back down, revealing the head, already leaking. "And you're wet like a girl, brother."

His face reddened and his cock surged. "Don't --"

Wanda only laughed. "Keep going." Lifting her top, she flipped her hair around as her tits bounced out. Her navel piercing looked pure orange from the bedside candlelight, and she looked still aglow from the alcohol and arousal. She slid her pants off, only clad now in a pair of underwear that matched his; Wanda couldn't tell if he rolled his eyes from pleasure or annoyance. Probably both. 

"I want to touch you, sister."

"I don't care. Do as I say."

Pietro winced, but he followed instructions well. He kept at his cock slowly and deliberately, every stroke up and down meant to replicate Wanda's hands. He wished his were as soft as hers, just to match the feeling. Loosening his grip just a bit, it seemed to feel almost that good. Pre-cum was now pooling around his head and foreskin, leaving beads here and there, making him realize his strokes were getting a bit more aggressive. 

"You're so lost in your own mind, Pietro. So obsessed with your cock. You love it."

Yes, you're not wrong, but so what? he thought, even kind of surprising himself. He vocalized this thought with a high-pitched whine, and that only made Wanda laugh more. 

"Have you tasted yourself?"

Well, that was unexpected. He nodded. A microdot of pre-cum hit him the minute the thought crossed his mind.

Wanda finally came closer, laying next to him on the bed, shoulder against naked shoulder. She nuzzled against him, trailed her nose up his neck. "Do we taste the same?"

Pietro annoyed himself with the noise that followed. If this were anyone other than Wanda, he would have had a meltdown by now. "I -- I don't remember. It --"

"Has it been a while?"


Wanda laughed for just a second, a dark laugh deep in her throat. She traced Pietro's sides with her fingernails and watched him all but convulse. They were sensitive in the same spots, but no one knew Pietro's body -- despite his self-obsession -- better than Wanda. She placed a kiss under his nipple and sucked at the skin, then bit, just a little, enough for Pietro to feel another bit of pre-cum ricochet off of himself in counter. "You are driving me insane--"

Moving up, she bit his nipple midway into his word, stopping the trail of thought. She looked up with a fire in her eyes that made Pietro keenly aware that his cock was, perhaps, harder than it had ever been. "Oh, I've only begun." Just above his nipple, she bit hard, and Pietro's head pushed against the pillow, arching his neck in an absolutely delicious way. Wanda moved up and bit his neck, hard, on the underside. Pietro made a noise that sounded so animal that Wanda became, as her brother did, aware that this was maybe the most aroused she'd ever felt. She could hear how wet she was. And these were not low-quality panties.

So, off they went. Wanda kept the hair on her public mound unshaved, but her cunt bare. Pietro had never seen a woman so perfectly picture-quality smooth and pink. He had heard people -- Wanda in specific -- talk about full-body arousal, and when she unveiled herself completely, he finally understood. And, suffice to say, felt it. 

The low rumble of a laugh that she managed earlier repeated itself as a moan this time, in Wanda's throat. She pressed her naked body against his side, assessing that he clearly was not allowed to stop masturbating, and he felt her nipples, the curves of her hipbones, and those beautiful curls of hair hiding that soft, unbearably beautiful center. He couldn't see it from where he sat, but he could picture it perfectly. Pietro wanted nothing more in this moment than his tongue deep inside of it. 

The candles seemed to burn brighter. Maybe that was Wanda's doing. Pietro heard another moan, and then felt her thigh against his, a little move she would do to press her legs together, move them around, and feel her own wetness, and her thighs meeting her clit. She had to be peak aroused and peak wet, and usually, just around Pietro, to achieve this. Where she couldn't have been more in control before, Wanda now looked like a virgin trying to learn about orgasm all over again. She nibbled his shoulder and pushed against him more.

"I need you," he said. She wrapped her arms around him, almost a capture, and pressed harder into his hip, this time, her bare cunt pressing into him. Sometimes, it took quite a lot for her to get off. It appeared this would either be one of those times, or she was storing an enormous orgasm.

Wanda fumbled for a handful of Pietro's hair and pulled him in for a violent kiss, and the room lit up as she all but screamed into his mouth. Her legs did not tremble, but they convulsed. Pietro had to stop masturbating to stop his own orgasm. Still locked on his mouth, Wanda noticed he'd stopped, and reached down to keep him in motion.

"Sister, please --"

Locked back in their kiss, tongues meeting, Wanda still shook her head "no." She stroked him with the same precision he used on himself. It would have been maddening if there weren't the promise of an orgasm.

"I'm going to --"

"No," she said, and the room seemed to darken, and he felt his level of arousal paralyze. Wanda was stroking him, and he felt it, but it was something indescribable -- he felt out of time and space. "No, we are not done playing yet." 

The room came back, an intense red with the candles. Wanda turned his head to face her, kissing his cheeks tenderly, his forehead, resting it against her breast, listening to him moan as she stroked him. She never felt more like a goddess, a witch, a queen, she never felt more herself than when she could truly feel Pietro. As deeply unguarded as he was with his body their entire lives, it was only after The Incident that he became more free with his emotions, feelings. They fucked, for years, they learned the ins and outs of each other (without pun intended), but never explored their kinks. They loved that it was wrong. They loved that people knew (or that people assumed -- they never could tell). They loved imagining each other as the other, fucking and being fucked, by each other, or together, with couples, with friends, with lovers truly embarrassing (Wanda never got tired of humiliating Pietro, and Pietro seemed never to get tired of it) and truly enthralling. They pushed every limit.

"I'm going to get on top of you, brother. And you're going to cum inside of me."

Pietro's ears rang. She turned his body, now stiff as a board but on absolute fire with arousal, toward her. They were face-to-face now. She narrowed their space, pressing her breasts against his chest, her thighs with his, matching as best she could. She rested her forehead on his chin. Then, squeezing it just a bit tighter, ran his cock -- the head covered by his foreskin -- against her pubic curls. He didn't moan so much as shout.

"I know, Pietro."

She moved his cock down to part her labia -- just as only his cock seemed able -- to feel the absolute soak. Then, pulled the foreskin back. He was now all but hyperventilating, and if anyone could hyperventilate, it was Pietro.

"You want?" Wanda looked up, expecting him to be as languid as she was, but he was anything but.

"I need."

Wanda rolled him over and mounted him. Holding his cock steady, she lowered herself -- but stopped. Just enough to feel his precum on herself, and for him to feel what he'd be sliding into. "You need what, brother?"

"Ineedyousister, Ineedyouineedyouineed--"

Now, she rolled her hips so that just the head of his cock could enter -- and barely so -- her cunt. "No one can understand you when you talk that fast, Pietro. You need what?"

In between words, he banged his head into the pillow. "I," thump, "need," thump, even more aggressive, "you," faster, "sister."

"Come here. Come up to me."

He sat up, straining. She kissed his cheek. Rolled her hips again. "I told you that when we were done, there would be nothing left between us but to scream."

"Yes." Pietro didn't know what it was like to be breathless, but words were catching in his throat.

"I have dreamed of your seed deep in me," unable to finish the thought without moaning and trembling at the knees, "ah, I've dreamt of it for years. Years." Pietro simply nodded with his mouth a bit open. Hard to find himself speechless; moreso this frequently. 

"Not just your seed, but your --"

This time, Wanda trembled enough, couldn't finish her thought enough, that she either couldn't stop herself from taking Pietro's cock, or her body simply decided for her. They jolted alert, both of them, with what probably sounded animal, but felt choral.

Pietro let himself fill her completely, kept his eyes on hers. "My -- my what?" Her guard was entirely down, but Pietro still ceded control. Her brushed her hair aside, kissed her cheek. Wanda moved her hips again to get him as deep as possible. She enjoyed the feeling of him against her cervix. She'd try to explain this to friends or the other Avengers and they'd just look at her like she was insane, and that was without telling them it was Pietro's cock she wanted.

"Your seed. You understa --"

The man did not understand. "Wanda, I don't --"

"Brother," she now shoved him down, pressing her hands against his chest to steady herself, and started riding him, slowly. "I dream of carrying your child."

"Oh, God. Wanda. I don't think I can -- I have to cum --"

"No," she said, and again, the room seemed to darken and the world seemed to tilt off-course. "Not yet. Tell me. Have you had that dream?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "But I do now. Feel me." Pietro took hold of her hips and started to thrust into her. He was already as deep as he could go, so this was hips and thighs, and the head of his cock and the dream of her womb, all pressing together. Wanda moaned louder than he'd ever heard. They found their typical rhythm, though there was nothing typical about either of them. They frequently fucked this way, pressed as deep as possible and just waiting to be bruised below, kissing, cursing. He started to thrust as straight and as powerfully as he could, and when he did this, he felt her approaching orgasm. "Can I fill you, sister?"

The candles lit, lifted into the air, and sat down when Wanda stopped screaming. Pietro watched her convulse all over, like she did -- her belly, thighs, her hands clinging to her tits, then through her hair, neck arching back, before settling on his chest. He kept a slow, even motion. She moaned. She liked it. She had these comedowns, from intense to almost sedated. She was drawing shapes on his ribcage with her fingernail. "Mmm. Pietro, this is incredible."

He nodded and kissed her. Wanda started to trail her hand up a bit, to his chest, and she felt him swell inside of her. "You want me to choke you?" He rolled his head back and nodded again. He was peaceful. Fucking her and enjoying his life. She reached down to her cunt, then brought two fingers to her mouth. He felt her tighten as she sucked on her fingers, and released them with an audible 'pop!'

Wanda licked her lips and lowered her hand to his chest, then, well-trained as he was, he looked at it and nodded as if to plead, before she wrapped her hand around his neck. He managed a "thank you" before she completely tightened. She smiled at him, met his face, watched the slight change in color and the starry-eyed delight he'd get. When he opened up to breathe, he stuck his tongue out; she let a mixture of saliva and her cum flow from her mouth onto it, then met him in a furious kiss, accompanied immediately by riding him furiously.

"I know we have no shame," she said, "But that was, I suppose, my greatest shame. You know everything now. You know all of me."

He pulled her back into that kiss. "I love you, sister."

"And now, you will let me know all of you."

Her eyes were not as loving as he expected. Certainly loving, but fiery. Cunning. Maybe a little evil. "What," now sitting up and tracing, again, shapes, indiscernible, on his body, "Pietro Maximoff -- what, brother, is your greatest shame?" And of course, he thinks, now she starts bouncing on me... "What makes you cum when no one can know?"

"Wanda, you don't --"

She stopped moving. "I won't allow you to finish if you don't tell me, brother. No secrets."

"Then I need you to hurt me while I say it --"

No beat missed: Wanda's hand met his throat. His eyes rolled back in pleasure.

"I've dreamed -- mmmm --" 

and releases 

"-- dreamt of you, and me --" 

and grabs

"-- and ffff --"

and releases

"-- again, again, please Wanda --"

and grabs absolutely moaning

"-- you, and me... and father --"

and releases and digs her fingernails into her chest and rides and rides

"Oh, Pietro, you filth," running her fingers across his lips, now letting him thrust and slam against her, slamming against him herself, everything abandoned. "You beautiful man."

"You don't hate me?"

In that instant, he feels her orgasm begin. "AAAH! You... absolute peasant..."

Hearing that left Pietro with no restraint. He couldn't help but scream with her. The feeling was like nothing he'd ever felt, and the man had died before.

"May I cum inside of you, sister?"

As she tended to, Wanda came back down to earth, looking at him with utter love. "There is nothing I want more in this world, brother."

Relieved, he started to thrust, feeling every bit of arousal come back, all to the surface, every ounce. Pietro moved like he was masturbating. Wanda whispered in his ear a world that translates as, in their native language, i love you and i love all of you.

"Fill me with your seed, Pietro."

He nods, and moans.

"Will you taste it from me?"

Now, nodding frantically, holding tight and thrusting wild, as he does when he's that close --

"Think of your shame."

"Wh -- what? Wanda?"

He stopped moving. But she didn't. Wanda's hips moved, slowly, then aggressively, to a tempo all her own. 

"Think of your filth. Think of you and me and --" 

now moaning

"-- you and me and --"

now deep in orgasm

"-- you complete bastard! --"

now prepared for another

"-- oh, god, the taste of our father's seed."

now screaming.

Chapter Text

Pietro and Wanda haven't spent this much time in bed, in silence, in years. It has also been a very long time since there was so much to discuss, especially after their always-intense but relatively simple encounters in bed. (As simple as sexual encounters between twins can get.)

"You're quiet, Wanda," Pietro says, surprising himself. Normally he leaves that to her.

She turns to her side, putting her back to him. "I don't quite know what to say."

"You've said much, sister."

Wanda manages a sardonic laugh. "That much is true, yes. In our own way, we both did."

Pietro wraps an arm around her. "I hope it was not too much. I would never lie to you. I never want to lie to you."

"Pietro..." Wanda turns, holds him to her chest, and kisses his forehead. "I know this of you. It's one of the many things I love about you." He looks up at her like a bit of a lost child, and she smiles. "We've just found ourselves in a complicated situation."

"It was simple fantasy."

Wanda inhales sharply and pets Pietro's hair. "Foolish, beautiful man. Did you not just promise that you'd never lie to me?"