caiusbackup (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
caiusbackup) wrote2009-10-06 07:49 pm
caiusbackup) wrote2009-10-06 07:49 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: After Steve, Sam/Sharon (Captain America), Adult
Title: After Steve
Fandom: Captain America (Marvel)
Characters/Pairings: Sam Wilson (Falcon)/Sharon Carter (Agent 13)
Wordcount: 1152
Rating: Adult.
Summary: Immediately after Captain America #25, Sharon Carter and Sam Wilson have ill-advised sex.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
harmonyangel for beta and discussions over chat.
Sharon is not like any other woman Sam has been with. Most of his lovers have been rough and passionate; some have been white; some have been agents.
But Sharon's strength and hard angles are not like any woman he's known, and he can only hold on as she pushes him down toward his bed, mouth roughly pressed to his mouth, then his neck, biting and kissing and sucking and doing anything at all except talking.
He knows he shouldn't be doing this. Steve hasn't been dead for twenty-four hours and he's already lying in bed under his best friend's girlfriend, hand moving up through her hair--blond and smooth and straight, so much like his hair--and then down again, intending to embrace, but somehow helping Sharon out of her jumpsuit instead.
"Sharon--" he says, and he doesn't know what he wants to say. I'm here for you, it's okay, we shouldn't do this, please, I'll help you forget-- so he just says "Sharon!" and pulls the jumpsuit off her shoulders as she pulls the zipper down her chest, and looks up as she sits up to pull the whole thing off, boots and all.
(Somewhere back in his mind, his mother, dead fifteen years, is still scolding him about the boots on the bed. But they're off now, Sharon's anyway.)
Sharon sits there for a second, in her practical, S.H.I.E.L.D-issue sports bra and underpants, and doesn't say his name back, doesn't say anything, just reaches down and tugs at the zipper of Falcon's costume. The command is clear: off.
Sam sits up, Sharon pulls down, Sam lets her strip him and now that they're both down to their underclothes, boots out of the way, Sam makes a last check on his link to Redwing to making sure he's okay and not listening, and he's sure he's forgetting something important but it's hard to tell with the big Steve-sized hole in his life--and then Sharon's on top of him again.
On top of him, and he can put his arms around her, and she's beautiful and he wants her but he also wishes he could just hold her and comfort her like a sister, like he should hold his best friend's lover. But that's not what Sharon wants even if it's what she needs and Sam just can't even try to deny her this, not tonight. She's already kissing and sucking at his neck and collar bone, hands reaching down his legs to release his cock (and he doesn't know how long he's been hard) pulling off both pairs of underpants and pressing him between her legs. And it's all so fast, he hasn't even touched her, she's still wearing her bra, he's never gotten from zero to penetration this fast--but he's never been with a woman like Sharon before, either, and when she gives him a brief look, not even a question so much as a confirmation, he nods and she slides down over him.
He can tell when he's in that Sharon's not as wet as she should be. In other circumstances he'd be pulling out apologetically for more foreplay or lubricant or conversation or something, but Sharon doesn't seem to care and there's not even a pause between her taking him in and her starting to thrust. She latches her mouth to Sam's shoulders, her legs gripping his, her pelvis pressing against his at every thrust. It's as close as they can get, but she still feels so far away and Sam wraps his arms around her, holding on.
And it's clearly not quite enough (will never be enough), so Sam reaches one hand between them to cup Sharon's breast. Through the bra, it feels as firm and unyielding as the rest of Sharon's body; when he runs his hand over both breasts, she shifts a little, moving over to give him more room but not otherwise signifying that she noticed. He tries reaching under, and only gets one finger in about an inch under the hem. He is glad to know that she is so well protected when she goes out to fight, and he extricates his hand, starting to reach downward instead.
Sharon catches his hand and says, "Opens under my left arm." Which is the most she's spoken since they started this and Sam's heart fills with joy, his hand clasping hers--which is small and rough and pale around his and they hadn't even held hands before doing this, not outside of combat--even before he processes her words. Right. Instructions for the bra, presumably. He finds the catch and the bra--via S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue magic--comes off.
Under the bra the breasts are--gloriously, touchingly--breasts. The rest of Sharon's body has been trimmed to the minimum, all muscles and bones and skill, like most of the mere humans in the business (like a female version of him); her breasts are small islands of vulnerability, and Sam is somehow more thrilled to have his hands on them than he is to have his penis in her vagina. Unlike the rest of Sharon's body, they give under his hands. He wants to spend an hour just kissing them and caressing them, gently and protectively, but this clearly isn't the time, and she twitches with annoyance at his gentle touches so he squeezes and pinches, watching for her reactions, hoping to give her what she wants.
It seems like he is, or maybe Sharon is just getting close anyway; pretty soon her breathing gets heavier and her muscles less controlled in a way that suggested orgasm, she clenches around him and suddenly, momentarily stops. Orgasm, Sam thinks, and usually he would ask or he would know his lover well enough to know or know that she would tell him but all he feels he can do right now is hold her as she lays on top of her, press against her as she starts thrusting again, and allow himself to come.
For a few seconds in the heat of orgasm he loses track of Sharon, loses track of Steve and it is wonderful and terrible at the same time, and afterward, when Sharon pulls off and away from him, he just clings, holding her in his arms and legs and not wanting to let go and for the moment she will let him.
It's the pulling out that reminds him: he forgot to wear a condom. And contrary to every bit of advice he's ever given on that subject it just doesn't seem that important. Not tonight. Tomorrow he can ask, he can get Sharon pills if she needs them and it's not as if either of them are going to live long enough to die of AIDS...
For tonight she's in his arms and it looks like she might even sleep and he'll be there for her when she wakes. As long as she needs him, as long as he can.
For Steve.
Fandom: Captain America (Marvel)
Characters/Pairings: Sam Wilson (Falcon)/Sharon Carter (Agent 13)
Wordcount: 1152
Rating: Adult.
Summary: Immediately after Captain America #25, Sharon Carter and Sam Wilson have ill-advised sex.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to
harmonyangel for beta and discussions over chat.Sharon is not like any other woman Sam has been with. Most of his lovers have been rough and passionate; some have been white; some have been agents.
But Sharon's strength and hard angles are not like any woman he's known, and he can only hold on as she pushes him down toward his bed, mouth roughly pressed to his mouth, then his neck, biting and kissing and sucking and doing anything at all except talking.
He knows he shouldn't be doing this. Steve hasn't been dead for twenty-four hours and he's already lying in bed under his best friend's girlfriend, hand moving up through her hair--blond and smooth and straight, so much like his hair--and then down again, intending to embrace, but somehow helping Sharon out of her jumpsuit instead.
"Sharon--" he says, and he doesn't know what he wants to say. I'm here for you, it's okay, we shouldn't do this, please, I'll help you forget-- so he just says "Sharon!" and pulls the jumpsuit off her shoulders as she pulls the zipper down her chest, and looks up as she sits up to pull the whole thing off, boots and all.
(Somewhere back in his mind, his mother, dead fifteen years, is still scolding him about the boots on the bed. But they're off now, Sharon's anyway.)
Sharon sits there for a second, in her practical, S.H.I.E.L.D-issue sports bra and underpants, and doesn't say his name back, doesn't say anything, just reaches down and tugs at the zipper of Falcon's costume. The command is clear: off.
Sam sits up, Sharon pulls down, Sam lets her strip him and now that they're both down to their underclothes, boots out of the way, Sam makes a last check on his link to Redwing to making sure he's okay and not listening, and he's sure he's forgetting something important but it's hard to tell with the big Steve-sized hole in his life--and then Sharon's on top of him again.
On top of him, and he can put his arms around her, and she's beautiful and he wants her but he also wishes he could just hold her and comfort her like a sister, like he should hold his best friend's lover. But that's not what Sharon wants even if it's what she needs and Sam just can't even try to deny her this, not tonight. She's already kissing and sucking at his neck and collar bone, hands reaching down his legs to release his cock (and he doesn't know how long he's been hard) pulling off both pairs of underpants and pressing him between her legs. And it's all so fast, he hasn't even touched her, she's still wearing her bra, he's never gotten from zero to penetration this fast--but he's never been with a woman like Sharon before, either, and when she gives him a brief look, not even a question so much as a confirmation, he nods and she slides down over him.
He can tell when he's in that Sharon's not as wet as she should be. In other circumstances he'd be pulling out apologetically for more foreplay or lubricant or conversation or something, but Sharon doesn't seem to care and there's not even a pause between her taking him in and her starting to thrust. She latches her mouth to Sam's shoulders, her legs gripping his, her pelvis pressing against his at every thrust. It's as close as they can get, but she still feels so far away and Sam wraps his arms around her, holding on.
And it's clearly not quite enough (will never be enough), so Sam reaches one hand between them to cup Sharon's breast. Through the bra, it feels as firm and unyielding as the rest of Sharon's body; when he runs his hand over both breasts, she shifts a little, moving over to give him more room but not otherwise signifying that she noticed. He tries reaching under, and only gets one finger in about an inch under the hem. He is glad to know that she is so well protected when she goes out to fight, and he extricates his hand, starting to reach downward instead.
Sharon catches his hand and says, "Opens under my left arm." Which is the most she's spoken since they started this and Sam's heart fills with joy, his hand clasping hers--which is small and rough and pale around his and they hadn't even held hands before doing this, not outside of combat--even before he processes her words. Right. Instructions for the bra, presumably. He finds the catch and the bra--via S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue magic--comes off.
Under the bra the breasts are--gloriously, touchingly--breasts. The rest of Sharon's body has been trimmed to the minimum, all muscles and bones and skill, like most of the mere humans in the business (like a female version of him); her breasts are small islands of vulnerability, and Sam is somehow more thrilled to have his hands on them than he is to have his penis in her vagina. Unlike the rest of Sharon's body, they give under his hands. He wants to spend an hour just kissing them and caressing them, gently and protectively, but this clearly isn't the time, and she twitches with annoyance at his gentle touches so he squeezes and pinches, watching for her reactions, hoping to give her what she wants.
It seems like he is, or maybe Sharon is just getting close anyway; pretty soon her breathing gets heavier and her muscles less controlled in a way that suggested orgasm, she clenches around him and suddenly, momentarily stops. Orgasm, Sam thinks, and usually he would ask or he would know his lover well enough to know or know that she would tell him but all he feels he can do right now is hold her as she lays on top of her, press against her as she starts thrusting again, and allow himself to come.
For a few seconds in the heat of orgasm he loses track of Sharon, loses track of Steve and it is wonderful and terrible at the same time, and afterward, when Sharon pulls off and away from him, he just clings, holding her in his arms and legs and not wanting to let go and for the moment she will let him.
It's the pulling out that reminds him: he forgot to wear a condom. And contrary to every bit of advice he's ever given on that subject it just doesn't seem that important. Not tonight. Tomorrow he can ask, he can get Sharon pills if she needs them and it's not as if either of them are going to live long enough to die of AIDS...
For tonight she's in his arms and it looks like she might even sleep and he'll be there for her when she wakes. As long as she needs him, as long as he can.
For Steve.