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browngirlTitle: Lose a Winning Match
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Raven/Hank (Mystique/Beast)
Summary Prompt: "Raven taking Hank's virginity while sitting on his lap in the chair. "
Content Advisory: Het, explicit sex, implicit loss of virginity, some angst.
Acknowledgements: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
xmen_firstkink.
Disclaimer: This fanwork has been created for pleasure only and not for profit.
Title from my favorite Shakespeare soliloquy.
Raven spends a much longer time leaning over the microscope than she needs to peer through it. Her cells look... like cells, really. She's not the geneticist Charles is, the scientist Hank is, and she knows basically just enough to understand what she's seeing; what she knows much better, what she feels warm through her dress and skin, is how hard Hank is with her sitting on his lap, his quivering stillness as he barely dares to breathe.
A heady rush surges through her, lighting her up inside as she shifts a little and feels him twitch under her. Raven smiles to herself, sits up straight, swings her legs off Hank's lap and unhooks her belt as she gets up, casually pulling her dress off over her head as she strides towards the door; the others are all out, they might as well sieze the moment. The gasp behind her is incredibly gratifying, and she props a chair under the doorknob and drops her outfit on it as she pivots, concentrating on seductive grace.
Hank's eyes are huge behind his glasses, his eyebrows arched up towards his hairline, his face pale and hot at the same time, red flaring on his cheeks. He's adorable, Raven thinks, tilting her head just enough to make the mass of her simulated hair tumble across her shoulder. "I'm glad you like how my cells look," she says, reaching back for her bra hooks. It's a bit of an awkward stretch but she manages to maintain her easy grin, the small triumph heating her further. "I thought I'd show you a few more, if that's not too forward."
Hank's lips part and press and part, and Raven watches his throat bob and has to swallow hard herself. He's just so... Hank, and she waits, arms twinging, trying her best to look carefree, for his answer. "No," he gasps, "I mean yes, I mean, it's not forward, I, um."
"Well, it is, a little," Raven amends as she unhooks her bra, and at this point she could switch to Sanskrit if she liked, judging by the goggle-eyed astonishment on Hank's face as his gaze falls to her breasts. She swings her hips consciously as she strides back towards him, kicking off her boots to land behind her. "But that's not always such a bad thing, right?"
"Uh," Hank attempts, and gets completely stuck as Raven swings her leg over his long thighs, straddling him in his chair. She giggles encouragement as she presses her breasts to his shirt-covered chest and drapes her arms around his neck, and his gigantic eyes turn up to her as she leans in smiling and carefully kisses him. He's so much cuter than he realizes, she thinks, feeling the warm rush of his breath and the trembling press of his lips, and he's alive and she's alive and they're here, together. There's so much worse than being a little forward.
"You can touch me," Raven murmurs as she carefully lifts Hank's glasses off his face, setting them on the table. Without them his eyes are even bigger, if that's possible, deep and shining just before he gulps hard and squeezes them shut, lashes fanned out on his ruddy cheeks.
"Yes, please," Hank murmurs reverently, pressing his big warm hands to her back, and Raven kisses him again, a little more firmly this time, letting her lips part, flickering her tongue over his.
Hank growls, honest to goodness, a thrilled echo vibrating down her spine, but then his back stiffens and he jerks his mouth away, and she was sure she'd read him right, hadn't she? "Hank?"
"I -- sorry, sorry," he gasps, looking down, away from her, and now she recalls her own excited moan and can smile again as she gets it, her chest loosening.
"Hank," Raven repeats, touching his cheek, turning his face towards hers, and the hectic blush has spilled across his nose and crept up his ears. God, he looks mouthwatering, and as she kisses him again she deliberately hums like she's eating chocolate, a deep throaty noise of enjoyment.
Hank shudders all the way through his broad chest and clutching fingertips, squeezing the breath out of her in a huff of giggles. That's more like it, and even better when his lips part over hers and his tongue strokes hers, as inexperienced and as eager as his hands caressing her back. He gives her that growl again as he curves those big hands around her hips, fingers skidding over her panties, and she shimmies, pressing into his hold, riding the ridge of him through damp silk and thick corduroy and just too many clothes. But then she tries to buck against him and her toes skid the floor; she can't get enough of her feet down to grip. She could lengthen her legs, but as their mouths slide apart Hank moans, "Raven, Raven, you're so perfect," his hands mapping the swell of her ass, and she doesn't want to change a thing.
So she tips forward, straightening her legs, pushing up fast enough that her panties catch on Hank's fingers. He starts to pull them away but she murmurs against his jaw, "No, go on, go on," and as carefully as he pushed the needle into her arm, as if he could ever hurt her, he peels her panties down.
Raven stands up over him. smiling as she leans back against the table to plant a hand for support, and Hank looks at her with sheer awe, his hair mussed and his mouth pink from kissing. She giggles, her cheeks prickling with a blush, her pulse rushing with power, and carefully pulls up a leg until she can slide her knee, then her ankle, out of her panties, Hank's gaze flickering all over her as she wiggles her foot free. It's a nearer thing than she lets on, but she keeps her balance, and her reward is Hank's worshipful little gasp as he surges forward, pressing his face between her breasts, her panties sliding unnoticed down her other leg.
"Oh, Hank," Raven breathes, curling her fingers into his hair as he nuzzles her breastbone, "let me make you a little more comfortable?" It's a selfish request, really, they could neck for hours if she wanted, but what she wants is to fuck him, to feel his wonder come to ecstasy inside her.
Well, it's not like he won't like that. Hank nods as he pulls his face from her skin and drops his arms, visibly trying and failing to look up past her breasts as she leans down. Raven smiles against his forehead and kisses him between his eyes as she unbuttons his shirt and slides her fingertips through fuzzy chest hair, resting her lips over his big brain as she unzips his fly using touch alone. He smells rich and musky, as impressively sized as she'd guessed from his magnificent feet, and as she peels his pants down his thighs she considers dropping to her knees and trying his fit to her mouth, but... no, she wants his arms around her, she wants the sweet flame-edged stretch inside her. She kisses his forehead once more as his face tilts upwards, rocks back on her heel, and as she turns she pushes the microscope back a little, hopefully out of danger of getting knocked over.
"Hank," Raven murmurs, carefully straddling his knees, "Make love to me?" He whimpers a darling wordless affirmative, and she reaches back, curling her hand around him -- damn, her fingers barely meet -- as she settles onto him, feeling him nudge her, hissing as she pushes until he's pressing inside her. "Touch me, please," Raven puffs, groaning around the edges -- oh, he's big, but she resists the temptation to reshape herself to ease this, she wants the twinging stretch, she wants to feel every last bit of this, and soon... as Hank's hands curve around her breast and belly, as he groans into her hair and pulls her back hard against his chest, Raven gasps between current and countercurrent, between the twinges and the sparks, the pain and the pleasure.
"Oh God, oh God," Hank stutters into Raven's hair, "Oh Raven, oh God." She gasps a laugh and reaches up with one hand to pet his cheek, gripping the table's edge as she breathes and centers herself enough to settle her feet on the smooth floor. She feels hot and full and so powerful she could almost fly as she pushes up and Hank whimpers, as she drops onto him and they both cry out. Hank's arm tightens across her hips, hand curling over her thigh, and his brain may be stunned but his hips know what to do, on her next bounce he thrusts up to meet her and she throws her head back and screams.
"Hank, oh Hank," Raven hears herself gasping as she clutches the table and pushes into his thrusts, tingles streaming down her skin in a hotter version of the feeling when she transforms, the chair creaking beneath them. It's all rising as Hank babbles against her nape and fucks her gloriously, the pleasure torturously mounting to unbearable perfection, and if she could just let go of herself, change into her true form... "Hank, I have to, I'm going to--"
"Yes, you're, yes," she hears, Hank's breath hot and lips hotter brushing the base of her skull. "Yes, so beautiful, so soft, yes, please, yes..." is a pang through her heart as she suddenly feels herself jiggling with each bounce, the false skin she's wearing cushiony and yielding under Hank's eager hands. Her real skin isn't soft, it's dense and textured, layered with the cells that mediate her power. Her real hair isn't the golden cloud Hank's moaning into, but sleek, wiry and red. Raven whimpers as the fire sinks beneath the chill expanding inside her, just as Hank squeezes her tighter than ever, his fingers digging into her tender facade as he groans and shudders. She shakes with him as he roars against her neck, his teeth denting her skin, and a ripple of blue run down her from head to toe but she can tell he doesn't notice.
As Hank pulses in pleasure inside her, Raven hangs her head, her lips twisting into a rueful little smile. She pushes away from the table and leans on his fuzzy chest as he flops back against the chair, curving her hands over his curled around her; she feels him tremble along every inch of skin pressed to skin, a little sorry and a little glad she can't watch his face.
Eventually Hank eases his grip on her, stuttering, "Oh, my God." Raven turns a little as he starts to soften inside her, and his eyes over her shoulder are glassy and smile-crinkled. At least he enjoyed himself, and she answers his delight with a mostly-honest smile of her own. "Raven, oh, my God."
"Liked that?" Raven asks as impishly as she can manage, dragging mischief over her shakiness.
Hank nods as he ducks his head, and kisses her shoulder tenderly, gratefully. "This was -- amazing. This was the most incredible experience of my life! This was--" His gaze sharpens then, his mouth curving into a dismayed 'oh' against her skin, and she wonders what might have shown on her face until he gasps, "Raven, did I, did I hurt you?"
Raven smiles wider, her heart aching as she looks into Hank's earnest eyes. "No," she lies, and twists around a little more to kiss him again.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Raven/Hank (Mystique/Beast)
Content Advisory: Het, explicit sex, implicit loss of virginity, some angst.
Acknowledgements: Written for
xmen_firstkink.Disclaimer: This fanwork has been created for pleasure only and not for profit.
Title from my favorite Shakespeare soliloquy.
Raven spends a much longer time leaning over the microscope than she needs to peer through it. Her cells look... like cells, really. She's not the geneticist Charles is, the scientist Hank is, and she knows basically just enough to understand what she's seeing; what she knows much better, what she feels warm through her dress and skin, is how hard Hank is with her sitting on his lap, his quivering stillness as he barely dares to breathe.
A heady rush surges through her, lighting her up inside as she shifts a little and feels him twitch under her. Raven smiles to herself, sits up straight, swings her legs off Hank's lap and unhooks her belt as she gets up, casually pulling her dress off over her head as she strides towards the door; the others are all out, they might as well sieze the moment. The gasp behind her is incredibly gratifying, and she props a chair under the doorknob and drops her outfit on it as she pivots, concentrating on seductive grace.
Hank's eyes are huge behind his glasses, his eyebrows arched up towards his hairline, his face pale and hot at the same time, red flaring on his cheeks. He's adorable, Raven thinks, tilting her head just enough to make the mass of her simulated hair tumble across her shoulder. "I'm glad you like how my cells look," she says, reaching back for her bra hooks. It's a bit of an awkward stretch but she manages to maintain her easy grin, the small triumph heating her further. "I thought I'd show you a few more, if that's not too forward."
Hank's lips part and press and part, and Raven watches his throat bob and has to swallow hard herself. He's just so... Hank, and she waits, arms twinging, trying her best to look carefree, for his answer. "No," he gasps, "I mean yes, I mean, it's not forward, I, um."
"Well, it is, a little," Raven amends as she unhooks her bra, and at this point she could switch to Sanskrit if she liked, judging by the goggle-eyed astonishment on Hank's face as his gaze falls to her breasts. She swings her hips consciously as she strides back towards him, kicking off her boots to land behind her. "But that's not always such a bad thing, right?"
"Uh," Hank attempts, and gets completely stuck as Raven swings her leg over his long thighs, straddling him in his chair. She giggles encouragement as she presses her breasts to his shirt-covered chest and drapes her arms around his neck, and his gigantic eyes turn up to her as she leans in smiling and carefully kisses him. He's so much cuter than he realizes, she thinks, feeling the warm rush of his breath and the trembling press of his lips, and he's alive and she's alive and they're here, together. There's so much worse than being a little forward.
"You can touch me," Raven murmurs as she carefully lifts Hank's glasses off his face, setting them on the table. Without them his eyes are even bigger, if that's possible, deep and shining just before he gulps hard and squeezes them shut, lashes fanned out on his ruddy cheeks.
"Yes, please," Hank murmurs reverently, pressing his big warm hands to her back, and Raven kisses him again, a little more firmly this time, letting her lips part, flickering her tongue over his.
Hank growls, honest to goodness, a thrilled echo vibrating down her spine, but then his back stiffens and he jerks his mouth away, and she was sure she'd read him right, hadn't she? "Hank?"
"I -- sorry, sorry," he gasps, looking down, away from her, and now she recalls her own excited moan and can smile again as she gets it, her chest loosening.
"Hank," Raven repeats, touching his cheek, turning his face towards hers, and the hectic blush has spilled across his nose and crept up his ears. God, he looks mouthwatering, and as she kisses him again she deliberately hums like she's eating chocolate, a deep throaty noise of enjoyment.
Hank shudders all the way through his broad chest and clutching fingertips, squeezing the breath out of her in a huff of giggles. That's more like it, and even better when his lips part over hers and his tongue strokes hers, as inexperienced and as eager as his hands caressing her back. He gives her that growl again as he curves those big hands around her hips, fingers skidding over her panties, and she shimmies, pressing into his hold, riding the ridge of him through damp silk and thick corduroy and just too many clothes. But then she tries to buck against him and her toes skid the floor; she can't get enough of her feet down to grip. She could lengthen her legs, but as their mouths slide apart Hank moans, "Raven, Raven, you're so perfect," his hands mapping the swell of her ass, and she doesn't want to change a thing.
So she tips forward, straightening her legs, pushing up fast enough that her panties catch on Hank's fingers. He starts to pull them away but she murmurs against his jaw, "No, go on, go on," and as carefully as he pushed the needle into her arm, as if he could ever hurt her, he peels her panties down.
Raven stands up over him. smiling as she leans back against the table to plant a hand for support, and Hank looks at her with sheer awe, his hair mussed and his mouth pink from kissing. She giggles, her cheeks prickling with a blush, her pulse rushing with power, and carefully pulls up a leg until she can slide her knee, then her ankle, out of her panties, Hank's gaze flickering all over her as she wiggles her foot free. It's a nearer thing than she lets on, but she keeps her balance, and her reward is Hank's worshipful little gasp as he surges forward, pressing his face between her breasts, her panties sliding unnoticed down her other leg.
"Oh, Hank," Raven breathes, curling her fingers into his hair as he nuzzles her breastbone, "let me make you a little more comfortable?" It's a selfish request, really, they could neck for hours if she wanted, but what she wants is to fuck him, to feel his wonder come to ecstasy inside her.
Well, it's not like he won't like that. Hank nods as he pulls his face from her skin and drops his arms, visibly trying and failing to look up past her breasts as she leans down. Raven smiles against his forehead and kisses him between his eyes as she unbuttons his shirt and slides her fingertips through fuzzy chest hair, resting her lips over his big brain as she unzips his fly using touch alone. He smells rich and musky, as impressively sized as she'd guessed from his magnificent feet, and as she peels his pants down his thighs she considers dropping to her knees and trying his fit to her mouth, but... no, she wants his arms around her, she wants the sweet flame-edged stretch inside her. She kisses his forehead once more as his face tilts upwards, rocks back on her heel, and as she turns she pushes the microscope back a little, hopefully out of danger of getting knocked over.
"Hank," Raven murmurs, carefully straddling his knees, "Make love to me?" He whimpers a darling wordless affirmative, and she reaches back, curling her hand around him -- damn, her fingers barely meet -- as she settles onto him, feeling him nudge her, hissing as she pushes until he's pressing inside her. "Touch me, please," Raven puffs, groaning around the edges -- oh, he's big, but she resists the temptation to reshape herself to ease this, she wants the twinging stretch, she wants to feel every last bit of this, and soon... as Hank's hands curve around her breast and belly, as he groans into her hair and pulls her back hard against his chest, Raven gasps between current and countercurrent, between the twinges and the sparks, the pain and the pleasure.
"Oh God, oh God," Hank stutters into Raven's hair, "Oh Raven, oh God." She gasps a laugh and reaches up with one hand to pet his cheek, gripping the table's edge as she breathes and centers herself enough to settle her feet on the smooth floor. She feels hot and full and so powerful she could almost fly as she pushes up and Hank whimpers, as she drops onto him and they both cry out. Hank's arm tightens across her hips, hand curling over her thigh, and his brain may be stunned but his hips know what to do, on her next bounce he thrusts up to meet her and she throws her head back and screams.
"Hank, oh Hank," Raven hears herself gasping as she clutches the table and pushes into his thrusts, tingles streaming down her skin in a hotter version of the feeling when she transforms, the chair creaking beneath them. It's all rising as Hank babbles against her nape and fucks her gloriously, the pleasure torturously mounting to unbearable perfection, and if she could just let go of herself, change into her true form... "Hank, I have to, I'm going to--"
"Yes, you're, yes," she hears, Hank's breath hot and lips hotter brushing the base of her skull. "Yes, so beautiful, so soft, yes, please, yes..." is a pang through her heart as she suddenly feels herself jiggling with each bounce, the false skin she's wearing cushiony and yielding under Hank's eager hands. Her real skin isn't soft, it's dense and textured, layered with the cells that mediate her power. Her real hair isn't the golden cloud Hank's moaning into, but sleek, wiry and red. Raven whimpers as the fire sinks beneath the chill expanding inside her, just as Hank squeezes her tighter than ever, his fingers digging into her tender facade as he groans and shudders. She shakes with him as he roars against her neck, his teeth denting her skin, and a ripple of blue run down her from head to toe but she can tell he doesn't notice.
As Hank pulses in pleasure inside her, Raven hangs her head, her lips twisting into a rueful little smile. She pushes away from the table and leans on his fuzzy chest as he flops back against the chair, curving her hands over his curled around her; she feels him tremble along every inch of skin pressed to skin, a little sorry and a little glad she can't watch his face.
Eventually Hank eases his grip on her, stuttering, "Oh, my God." Raven turns a little as he starts to soften inside her, and his eyes over her shoulder are glassy and smile-crinkled. At least he enjoyed himself, and she answers his delight with a mostly-honest smile of her own. "Raven, oh, my God."
"Liked that?" Raven asks as impishly as she can manage, dragging mischief over her shakiness.
Hank nods as he ducks his head, and kisses her shoulder tenderly, gratefully. "This was -- amazing. This was the most incredible experience of my life! This was--" His gaze sharpens then, his mouth curving into a dismayed 'oh' against her skin, and she wonders what might have shown on her face until he gasps, "Raven, did I, did I hurt you?"
Raven smiles wider, her heart aching as she looks into Hank's earnest eyes. "No," she lies, and twists around a little more to kiss him again.
