mcu: "Therapy" (ch 3; explicit)
Sep. 17th, 2014 10:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fannishlissTherapy, ch 3, In which Natasha goes to visit the one Hydran more powerful than herself. She consents to sexual Touch, level three.
=========
“Jarvis, please tell my Therapist I’d like to see him,” Natasha said once she’d left Steve in his suite.
“I will alert you when he is ready,” Jarvis responded.
“Thank you,” Natasha said.
Steve, regardless of what he might think, was an easy client. His inner light was strong. He’d been hurt — his life had gone astray — he’d made a few bad decisions and suffered from the actions of evil men. But he wasn’t torn inside like so many of the Soldiers Natasha had met. Steve’s problem, essentially, was that he believed in certain absolutes and tried, to the very best of his abilities, to uphold them. His capacity to believe in absolute good was shocking to Natasha. Most of her life had been a spider’s web of lies. She’d made herself up as she went along, until meeting Fury and Coulson after her defection, and they’d led her into becoming part of something she somehow believed in.
It was crazy, really, for any former Soldier or Agent to trust anyone involved with either organization. On the surface, sure, Hydra stood for chaos and lies, and clearly fell to the evil side of the equation — but Shield didn’t purely balance Hydra out, despite true believers like Steve. In fact, a great deal of Steve’s anger was rooted in the many disappointments Shield had dealt him.
Yet, here they were, a nest of misfits, runaways, and rejects, sheltering in the very highest echelons of Shield, catering to the schemes and plans of its two co-directors.
God, she needed Therapy. But, first, a hot shower.
Stark had benefited greatly from Therapy himself, so when Coulson needed a high-security center for his fledgling program, Stark had delivered. Natasha’s suite was everything a billionaire’s most tasteful manager could ask — Pepper had drawn the outlines, and Natasha had gratefully filled them in.
Natasha had dried off, moisturized, dressed, and was sipping a delicious juice cocktail when Jarvis chimed.
“He’s ready to see you now.”
“Thanks, Jarvis,” Natasha said.
His floor wasn’t up with the other Therapists. He was down in the high teens, where escape from aerial attack on the building had a greater likelihood of success. Natasha assumed that he felt any other form of attack stood little chance of breaching the buildings’ formidable defenses, himself not the least of them.
The elevator down took about a minute, and then the doors opened, and she stepped into his rooms.
They were warm, and dark, and soft. The lights were very low. It wasn’t the most inviting atmosphere for anyone suffering from battle fatigue — too many places where someone might be hiding. Still, having a bolt hole wasn’t the worst thing in the world, and really, that’s what he’d made — the world’s most exclusive bolt hole.
“Hello — “ Natasha called as she stepped off the elevator. He always appreciated verbal identification. There weren’t many Hydrans as good with his ears as he was, despite the idea that Therapists were meant to Listen. He had probably unravelled half her week from just that one word.
“hello~” he said, the mask filtering out his undertones, telling her less than Jarvis might. “you want a level three sexual encounter~ i need a few moments~”
“Thank you,” Natasha said, kicking off her shoes and pulling her dress off over her head.
The Therapist waved her onto the table. She put her hands over her head and he placed a knotted anchor cord in her hands. She elected not to use the ankle loops she sometimes liked.
“close your eyes, pauchok~” He called her little spider. If only she could hear his unfiltered voice, to piece it into her past where she could feel it echo.
“not today, little one~” he said. “your new client is a handful~”
“He’s not so bad,” Natasha said.
The Therapist peered down at her, swaddled in black from head to toe. His mask and visor hid his true face from her, distorted his voice, veiled his gaze — and yet he was the most powerful Hydran she’d ever encountered.
His right hand hovered nearly three inches above her sternum, but she could already feel the penetrating intensity of his Touch. He could stop her heart if he wanted, convince her to dive out a window, plant a cancer that would kill in a year’s time. She trusted that he would do none of these. Instead, just like Steve, Natasha felt a mysterious fire catch grow in her core, warmth that clearly came from the gifted hands of the Therapist.
She relaxed into that warmth, hooked her own Hydran array into what he was feeding her, and let herself fall.
His hand, as it shaped the air above her, felt like a dream. She felt each careless like an angels’s kiss, incorporeal and perfect. The Touch grew warmer as his hand came closer, until, without her realizing, he had lain his bare hand on her belly.
The muscles of her abdomen jumped as she registered the Touch, and he stroked across her tummy, calming her.
“please state your consent to level three sexual Touch~” he said calmly.
“I consent,” she breathed.
His hand began to move, and everywhere it moved, it left a trail of shivering warmth. His Touch awakened her body, made her feel perfect, left her craving more of him.
He had lightly caressed her arms and hands, legs and feet, shoulders and neck, her face, her belly, her breasts. Everywhere he Touched wanted more. Her breasts tingled with desire, her nipples standing tall and nearly pulsing with the urge to press against his hand. Her belly quivered as his light Touch almost tickled. He spent a little time with her nipples, teasing them, unleashing his Hydran fire in the merest trickle, making her moan and beg.
“Please,” she said. “Please Touch me!”
“sure thing, doll~” he said, and her analytical mind tried to seize on the accent he’d revealed when he lay his bare right hand on her sex.
Her mind was emptied by the jolt of pleasure that ran directly into her nervous system from his gentle hand. She came, arching hard against nothing — and he hadn’t even started.
“Please, please,” she begged through gritted teeth.
“breathe~” he reminded her.
She tried to breathe, she did, but the ecstasy arcing through her barely permitted her body to relax even long enough to draw in a shuddering gasp.
She felt his left arm moving. He hardly ever used that arm in Touch. She tried to focus— tried to See — but the waves of pleasure choked her concentration. There was a hint of light — something shining — and then he lay his left hand on her forehead and slipped two fingers of his right hand between the slick and swollen folds of her sex.
She seized as though she were being electrocuted, her body convulsing as his fingers slipped again and again across her clit, as his other hand Touched her deepest memories, sifting through the implants for a glimpse of what remained.
“please” she begged, beyond words, and he gave her bliss, and something so much more precious.
She came to as he caressed her skin with a damp cloth, wiping away the sweat from her heavy limbs, his hands secure inside heavy leather gloves.
Natasha put on her dress and denied to herself that she was weeping.
“I owe you,” she said. “I owe you so much. If you’re ever ready to take off that mask, please let me know. I want to Look into your eyes and let you know how much you’ve done for me.”
He didn’t speak, just Touched her lightly on the wrist in a wordless affirmation. Even through the glove, his Touch burned.
Natasha went back to her suite, and sat pondering in the darkness until well after midnight.
She had her mother’s eyes.
=========
“Jarvis, please tell my Therapist I’d like to see him,” Natasha said once she’d left Steve in his suite.
“I will alert you when he is ready,” Jarvis responded.
“Thank you,” Natasha said.
Steve, regardless of what he might think, was an easy client. His inner light was strong. He’d been hurt — his life had gone astray — he’d made a few bad decisions and suffered from the actions of evil men. But he wasn’t torn inside like so many of the Soldiers Natasha had met. Steve’s problem, essentially, was that he believed in certain absolutes and tried, to the very best of his abilities, to uphold them. His capacity to believe in absolute good was shocking to Natasha. Most of her life had been a spider’s web of lies. She’d made herself up as she went along, until meeting Fury and Coulson after her defection, and they’d led her into becoming part of something she somehow believed in.
It was crazy, really, for any former Soldier or Agent to trust anyone involved with either organization. On the surface, sure, Hydra stood for chaos and lies, and clearly fell to the evil side of the equation — but Shield didn’t purely balance Hydra out, despite true believers like Steve. In fact, a great deal of Steve’s anger was rooted in the many disappointments Shield had dealt him.
Yet, here they were, a nest of misfits, runaways, and rejects, sheltering in the very highest echelons of Shield, catering to the schemes and plans of its two co-directors.
God, she needed Therapy. But, first, a hot shower.
Stark had benefited greatly from Therapy himself, so when Coulson needed a high-security center for his fledgling program, Stark had delivered. Natasha’s suite was everything a billionaire’s most tasteful manager could ask — Pepper had drawn the outlines, and Natasha had gratefully filled them in.
Natasha had dried off, moisturized, dressed, and was sipping a delicious juice cocktail when Jarvis chimed.
“He’s ready to see you now.”
“Thanks, Jarvis,” Natasha said.
His floor wasn’t up with the other Therapists. He was down in the high teens, where escape from aerial attack on the building had a greater likelihood of success. Natasha assumed that he felt any other form of attack stood little chance of breaching the buildings’ formidable defenses, himself not the least of them.
The elevator down took about a minute, and then the doors opened, and she stepped into his rooms.
They were warm, and dark, and soft. The lights were very low. It wasn’t the most inviting atmosphere for anyone suffering from battle fatigue — too many places where someone might be hiding. Still, having a bolt hole wasn’t the worst thing in the world, and really, that’s what he’d made — the world’s most exclusive bolt hole.
“Hello — “ Natasha called as she stepped off the elevator. He always appreciated verbal identification. There weren’t many Hydrans as good with his ears as he was, despite the idea that Therapists were meant to Listen. He had probably unravelled half her week from just that one word.
“hello~” he said, the mask filtering out his undertones, telling her less than Jarvis might. “you want a level three sexual encounter~ i need a few moments~”
“Thank you,” Natasha said, kicking off her shoes and pulling her dress off over her head.
The Therapist waved her onto the table. She put her hands over her head and he placed a knotted anchor cord in her hands. She elected not to use the ankle loops she sometimes liked.
“close your eyes, pauchok~” He called her little spider. If only she could hear his unfiltered voice, to piece it into her past where she could feel it echo.
“not today, little one~” he said. “your new client is a handful~”
“He’s not so bad,” Natasha said.
The Therapist peered down at her, swaddled in black from head to toe. His mask and visor hid his true face from her, distorted his voice, veiled his gaze — and yet he was the most powerful Hydran she’d ever encountered.
His right hand hovered nearly three inches above her sternum, but she could already feel the penetrating intensity of his Touch. He could stop her heart if he wanted, convince her to dive out a window, plant a cancer that would kill in a year’s time. She trusted that he would do none of these. Instead, just like Steve, Natasha felt a mysterious fire catch grow in her core, warmth that clearly came from the gifted hands of the Therapist.
She relaxed into that warmth, hooked her own Hydran array into what he was feeding her, and let herself fall.
His hand, as it shaped the air above her, felt like a dream. She felt each careless like an angels’s kiss, incorporeal and perfect. The Touch grew warmer as his hand came closer, until, without her realizing, he had lain his bare hand on her belly.
The muscles of her abdomen jumped as she registered the Touch, and he stroked across her tummy, calming her.
“please state your consent to level three sexual Touch~” he said calmly.
“I consent,” she breathed.
His hand began to move, and everywhere it moved, it left a trail of shivering warmth. His Touch awakened her body, made her feel perfect, left her craving more of him.
He had lightly caressed her arms and hands, legs and feet, shoulders and neck, her face, her belly, her breasts. Everywhere he Touched wanted more. Her breasts tingled with desire, her nipples standing tall and nearly pulsing with the urge to press against his hand. Her belly quivered as his light Touch almost tickled. He spent a little time with her nipples, teasing them, unleashing his Hydran fire in the merest trickle, making her moan and beg.
“Please,” she said. “Please Touch me!”
“sure thing, doll~” he said, and her analytical mind tried to seize on the accent he’d revealed when he lay his bare right hand on her sex.
Her mind was emptied by the jolt of pleasure that ran directly into her nervous system from his gentle hand. She came, arching hard against nothing — and he hadn’t even started.
“Please, please,” she begged through gritted teeth.
“breathe~” he reminded her.
She tried to breathe, she did, but the ecstasy arcing through her barely permitted her body to relax even long enough to draw in a shuddering gasp.
She felt his left arm moving. He hardly ever used that arm in Touch. She tried to focus— tried to See — but the waves of pleasure choked her concentration. There was a hint of light — something shining — and then he lay his left hand on her forehead and slipped two fingers of his right hand between the slick and swollen folds of her sex.
She seized as though she were being electrocuted, her body convulsing as his fingers slipped again and again across her clit, as his other hand Touched her deepest memories, sifting through the implants for a glimpse of what remained.
“please” she begged, beyond words, and he gave her bliss, and something so much more precious.
She came to as he caressed her skin with a damp cloth, wiping away the sweat from her heavy limbs, his hands secure inside heavy leather gloves.
Natasha put on her dress and denied to herself that she was weeping.
“I owe you,” she said. “I owe you so much. If you’re ever ready to take off that mask, please let me know. I want to Look into your eyes and let you know how much you’ve done for me.”
He didn’t speak, just Touched her lightly on the wrist in a wordless affirmation. Even through the glove, his Touch burned.
Natasha went back to her suite, and sat pondering in the darkness until well after midnight.
She had her mother’s eyes.
