Entry tags:
Fic: I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor (Marvel 616, Noh-Varr/Kate)
Title: I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor
Fandom: Marvel 616
Pairing(s): Noh-Varr/Kate
Word Count: 1408
Rating: R
Summary: Kate, Noh-Varr, and the night before the morning after.
Notes: Set during the current run of Young Avengers. Written for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sheeana for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rarepairfest.
It's not that Noh-Varr's a great dancer. What he is is an enthusiastic dancer, like he's alone with the lights turned off, like he's not in the middle of the too-bright club with Kate staring at him like he's the new Stark S-X Chromium prototype compound bow.
He's also really, really hot, which is kind of a factor in the whole staring thing.
At first she tells herself it's strategy, studying the way he moves. As far as she knows, he's still a threat, and the fact that she's off-duty doesn't mean the world isn't going to need saving sometime in the next couple of hours. In fact, given her luck, that's pretty much a guarantee. But then Billy glances at her, eyebrow raised, and she finds she doesn't need the lie. She's allowed to move on. And she's definitely allowed to look.
"I'm going to dance," she says instead. "Coming?"
"Later," Billy says, leaning back against Teddy's outstretched arm. And then, grinning wickedly, "Have fun."
She doesn't bother to deny the implication. "I will."
The song changes as she steps onto the dance floor, tempo speeding up, and Kate loses herself in it, feeling the bass pulse beneath her skin, heart pumping in time to the beat. She moves like she shoots, between breaths, without thinking. It feels like the club is heating up around her, settling pinpoint pricks of sweat on her skin, slicking her hair to the back of her neck, and she closes her eyes, tries to forget everything that isn't worth remembering.
She even forgets about Noh-Varr, until she catches the chock of blond hair in the mirror behind her. She can feel his presence, and almost imperceptible pressure cutting the limited flow of air to her back, and her mind flashes through half a dozen different ways she could incapacitate him before he gets any closer.
She smiles to herself instead, keeps dancing until she feels his hand on her hip, the press of his body lightly against hers. He feels as good as he looks, grinding up on her, and she closes her eyes, lets the sensation wash over her.
"You dance well," he says, and she's almost annoyed that he broke the silence. "Will you dance with me?"
It's a little late to be asking, but Kate doesn't mind. She turns slowly, her hands brushing across his chest, staying close to him.
"It depends what you mean by dance," she says, quirking an eyebrow. "Didn't you try to kill us the last time I saw you?"
"I was not myself," he says. Which Kate knows, it's not like she routinely dances with guys who actually want her dead. Or not on purpose, anyway. Noh-Varr settles a hand back on her hip, drags his thumb over the exposed skin above her jeans, and she shivers. "I am sorry."
"I'll try not to hold it against you," she says, thinking about what else she'd like to hold against him. "Maybe you can make it up to me."
His brow furrows for a second, like he's trying to decipher the idiom, and then he grins. There's something very promising about that grin. "I will try," he says, leaning closer, and his breath on her neck sends goosebumps down Kate's spine.
In that case, he can start right now. Kate grins back at him, planting her hands firmly on his chest (which, by the way, wow), and pushes him gently backwards, towards the edge of the dance floor. The spotlights in the centre of the room cast shadows everywhere else, and it's darkest where they are, until Kate's pretty sure she can only see by the light hitting Noh-Varr's hair, spreading out like a halo. She takes it as a challenge.
They're not quite alone, even here, but it's close enough. Meeting Noh-Varr's eyes, Kate lowers her hands, running them down over his chest, his stomach, to the waistband of his jeans. He glances down, and she laughs, removing her hands, pressing closer until she can feel him with her body instead. He's hard all over, all jutting angles and firm muscles, but his lips are soft when she kisses him, stretching up so every line of her body intersects with his.
He kisses the same way he dances - artless, enthusiastic, without hesitation. His hands go to her hips, his fingers digging in to bare flesh, pulling her closer, and she loops her arms around the back of his neck, holding her in place. Somewhere, a door opens; a blast of air hits the thin layer of sweat on her skin, and she shudders against him.
Kate likes the result that gets her. She does it again, deliberately.
This is about the point where she should stop, she thinks faintly. Where they're crossing the bounds of what would be appropriate if the lights suddenly came on and everyone could see.
But the lights aren't on, not in their corner. And no-one can see. And, most important of all, she doesn't want to stop.
She deepens the kiss, arching into him, like she's trying to crawl into his skin. Or his clothes, at least. Noh-Varr reacts predictably but satisfyingly, his grip tightening, his muscles hardening. (All of them, and wow. Xenobiology suddenly seems like a much more interesting subject than Kate gave it credit for.) He growls - or at least she thinks it's growling, but there are a lot of alien languages she doesn't know - against her, pulling her shirt up to just beneath her chest, and she responds in kind, freeing her hands to reach for his belt. This time, she doesn't stop, and Noh-Varr's kissing along her jaw when she makes contact with bare skin and he bites down, hard.
That's going to leave a mark, but if there's one thing she's good at (well, actually, there are a lot of things she's good at, but anyway), it's dealing with bruises. It does make her cry out, though, and she stills against him, waiting for the inevitable swivel of heads in their direction, for the spotlight to come crashing down on them. Instead, it's swallowed by the noise of the club, and she moves again, tentatively; she could get away with a lot in here, and she intends to.
Noh-Varr, to his credit, doesn't react passively. Not that she expected him to. One of his hands slips under her shirt, under her bra, teasing the sensitive skin of her nipple while the other grips her ass, pulling her tight against him. His mouth moves down her bruised jawline, nipping at the base of her neck, finding the one place that makes Kate shudder and grind against him, thoughts of propriety completely gone. She feels a hard, cool weight as Noh-Varr backs her up against the wall, and uses it as leverage to grind closer to him, to get the friction and pressure right where she needs it. He pinches her nipple, not gently, his movements becoming jerkier, more erratic, and she moves with him, faster, until she hits something just right and she tenses, nerves exploding, gripping Noh-Varr tightly enough to leave a mark of her own before going limp in his arms.
"Kate," he says, and she realises she wasn't even certain before now that he knew her name. Well, at least that'll save an awkward conversation. "Would you like to come back to my spaceship?"
As far as pickup lines go, that one's pretty decent. And mostly unnecessary, given that she's already all but screwed him on the dance floor. Still, an actual spaceship with - presumably - an actual bed doesn't sound like a bad idea.
Plus, you know. Spaceship.
"Beam me up, Space-Boy," she says. His forehead wrinkles again, and then smoothes as he gets the reference, and she smiles, kissing him again, long and languid. And then faster, and a little less languid, and she can feel the ache she just satisfied reforming in the pit of her stomach.
"Yes," she says, with a little more urgency than before. "Spaceship. Good idea."
"Shall we inform your friends?" he asks, and she glances over, at where Billy and Teddy are dancing together, Miss America dousing herself in a bottle of water, Loki no doubt up to some kind of mischief.
"We'll call them," she says, pulling him back to her, feeling his arms around her again, firm and promising. "Later."
Much, much later, if she has anything to say about it.
Fandom: Marvel 616
Pairing(s): Noh-Varr/Kate
Word Count: 1408
Rating: R
Summary: Kate, Noh-Varr, and the night before the morning after.
Notes: Set during the current run of Young Avengers. Written for
sheeana for rarepairfest.It's not that Noh-Varr's a great dancer. What he is is an enthusiastic dancer, like he's alone with the lights turned off, like he's not in the middle of the too-bright club with Kate staring at him like he's the new Stark S-X Chromium prototype compound bow.
He's also really, really hot, which is kind of a factor in the whole staring thing.
At first she tells herself it's strategy, studying the way he moves. As far as she knows, he's still a threat, and the fact that she's off-duty doesn't mean the world isn't going to need saving sometime in the next couple of hours. In fact, given her luck, that's pretty much a guarantee. But then Billy glances at her, eyebrow raised, and she finds she doesn't need the lie. She's allowed to move on. And she's definitely allowed to look.
"I'm going to dance," she says instead. "Coming?"
"Later," Billy says, leaning back against Teddy's outstretched arm. And then, grinning wickedly, "Have fun."
She doesn't bother to deny the implication. "I will."
The song changes as she steps onto the dance floor, tempo speeding up, and Kate loses herself in it, feeling the bass pulse beneath her skin, heart pumping in time to the beat. She moves like she shoots, between breaths, without thinking. It feels like the club is heating up around her, settling pinpoint pricks of sweat on her skin, slicking her hair to the back of her neck, and she closes her eyes, tries to forget everything that isn't worth remembering.
She even forgets about Noh-Varr, until she catches the chock of blond hair in the mirror behind her. She can feel his presence, and almost imperceptible pressure cutting the limited flow of air to her back, and her mind flashes through half a dozen different ways she could incapacitate him before he gets any closer.
She smiles to herself instead, keeps dancing until she feels his hand on her hip, the press of his body lightly against hers. He feels as good as he looks, grinding up on her, and she closes her eyes, lets the sensation wash over her.
"You dance well," he says, and she's almost annoyed that he broke the silence. "Will you dance with me?"
It's a little late to be asking, but Kate doesn't mind. She turns slowly, her hands brushing across his chest, staying close to him.
"It depends what you mean by dance," she says, quirking an eyebrow. "Didn't you try to kill us the last time I saw you?"
"I was not myself," he says. Which Kate knows, it's not like she routinely dances with guys who actually want her dead. Or not on purpose, anyway. Noh-Varr settles a hand back on her hip, drags his thumb over the exposed skin above her jeans, and she shivers. "I am sorry."
"I'll try not to hold it against you," she says, thinking about what else she'd like to hold against him. "Maybe you can make it up to me."
His brow furrows for a second, like he's trying to decipher the idiom, and then he grins. There's something very promising about that grin. "I will try," he says, leaning closer, and his breath on her neck sends goosebumps down Kate's spine.
In that case, he can start right now. Kate grins back at him, planting her hands firmly on his chest (which, by the way, wow), and pushes him gently backwards, towards the edge of the dance floor. The spotlights in the centre of the room cast shadows everywhere else, and it's darkest where they are, until Kate's pretty sure she can only see by the light hitting Noh-Varr's hair, spreading out like a halo. She takes it as a challenge.
They're not quite alone, even here, but it's close enough. Meeting Noh-Varr's eyes, Kate lowers her hands, running them down over his chest, his stomach, to the waistband of his jeans. He glances down, and she laughs, removing her hands, pressing closer until she can feel him with her body instead. He's hard all over, all jutting angles and firm muscles, but his lips are soft when she kisses him, stretching up so every line of her body intersects with his.
He kisses the same way he dances - artless, enthusiastic, without hesitation. His hands go to her hips, his fingers digging in to bare flesh, pulling her closer, and she loops her arms around the back of his neck, holding her in place. Somewhere, a door opens; a blast of air hits the thin layer of sweat on her skin, and she shudders against him.
Kate likes the result that gets her. She does it again, deliberately.
This is about the point where she should stop, she thinks faintly. Where they're crossing the bounds of what would be appropriate if the lights suddenly came on and everyone could see.
But the lights aren't on, not in their corner. And no-one can see. And, most important of all, she doesn't want to stop.
She deepens the kiss, arching into him, like she's trying to crawl into his skin. Or his clothes, at least. Noh-Varr reacts predictably but satisfyingly, his grip tightening, his muscles hardening. (All of them, and wow. Xenobiology suddenly seems like a much more interesting subject than Kate gave it credit for.) He growls - or at least she thinks it's growling, but there are a lot of alien languages she doesn't know - against her, pulling her shirt up to just beneath her chest, and she responds in kind, freeing her hands to reach for his belt. This time, she doesn't stop, and Noh-Varr's kissing along her jaw when she makes contact with bare skin and he bites down, hard.
That's going to leave a mark, but if there's one thing she's good at (well, actually, there are a lot of things she's good at, but anyway), it's dealing with bruises. It does make her cry out, though, and she stills against him, waiting for the inevitable swivel of heads in their direction, for the spotlight to come crashing down on them. Instead, it's swallowed by the noise of the club, and she moves again, tentatively; she could get away with a lot in here, and she intends to.
Noh-Varr, to his credit, doesn't react passively. Not that she expected him to. One of his hands slips under her shirt, under her bra, teasing the sensitive skin of her nipple while the other grips her ass, pulling her tight against him. His mouth moves down her bruised jawline, nipping at the base of her neck, finding the one place that makes Kate shudder and grind against him, thoughts of propriety completely gone. She feels a hard, cool weight as Noh-Varr backs her up against the wall, and uses it as leverage to grind closer to him, to get the friction and pressure right where she needs it. He pinches her nipple, not gently, his movements becoming jerkier, more erratic, and she moves with him, faster, until she hits something just right and she tenses, nerves exploding, gripping Noh-Varr tightly enough to leave a mark of her own before going limp in his arms.
"Kate," he says, and she realises she wasn't even certain before now that he knew her name. Well, at least that'll save an awkward conversation. "Would you like to come back to my spaceship?"
As far as pickup lines go, that one's pretty decent. And mostly unnecessary, given that she's already all but screwed him on the dance floor. Still, an actual spaceship with - presumably - an actual bed doesn't sound like a bad idea.
Plus, you know. Spaceship.
"Beam me up, Space-Boy," she says. His forehead wrinkles again, and then smoothes as he gets the reference, and she smiles, kissing him again, long and languid. And then faster, and a little less languid, and she can feel the ache she just satisfied reforming in the pit of her stomach.
"Yes," she says, with a little more urgency than before. "Spaceship. Good idea."
"Shall we inform your friends?" he asks, and she glances over, at where Billy and Teddy are dancing together, Miss America dousing herself in a bottle of water, Loki no doubt up to some kind of mischief.
"We'll call them," she says, pulling him back to her, feeling his arms around her again, firm and promising. "Later."
Much, much later, if she has anything to say about it.