Archive | May 18, 2015

Revel, a beginning of a Fanfic (TPB) (MCU)

“Friend Pepper, shall we revel?” Thor waggled his eyebrows playfully.

“Why, Thor, I think that would be a lovely idea.” Pepper poured two glasses of her favorite Norwegian Silvaner and returned the smile. “Why don’t we revel around this glass of wine, mmm?”

“Bah, wine. Pour me some ale!” Thor’s smile only grew as he sipped the wine. “This is a fine revel indeed, Friend Pepper.”

The first time he’d asked her that, Friend Pepper, shall we revel, the Avengers had just finished a successful raid on a Hydra facility. Tony and Bruce had disappeared into the lab, the way they did, and Pepper had been left minding the party, the way she did.

Three or four or seventeen drinks in – it was unlike her to lose count, but she’d been more than a little irritated with Tony and drinking let her pretend she was’t – she’d found herself wondering what a god’s lips taste like. Several more drinks later, she’d found out.

The second time he’d asked her that, she’d been sure to stay sober enough to remember every detail of what making love a god was like.

And now, when he asked it, she knew that he meant one thing. And she never said no to him, although on occasion, she would say “maybe in a little bit, Thor. I need to wait until the crowd thins out before I start drinking.”

Today, she raised her eyebrows at him. “Do have a drink, Thor. Bruce? A drink? It’s a very nice wine.”

“Maybe a glass,” Burce allowed. He was watching her shyly; he often watched her cautiously when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Pepper was more than a little practiced at working with erratic geniuses, however: she always noticed.

“The more the merrier,” Thor boomed. He met Pepper’s eyes and his grin widened even further. “If two people make for an entertaining revel, than three shall make it a wonderful party, no?”

“I’m not exactly the life of the party,” Bruce demurred.

“Nonsense! I have seen none more lively than you, when you seek to be.”

“That’s not me, that’s the Big Guy.”

“Well, perhaps at another time, friend Big Guy can revel with us. But tonight, Friend Banner, would you partake in the fruit of the vine and –” Thor faltered, and picked up again, “–and then the fruit of other vines, with the Lady Pepper and I?”

He really was. Thor was really propositioning Bruce Banner. With Pepper, or at least assuming Pepper’s consent.

No, not assuming. He’d met her eyes again, and for a moment he looked very serious. He raised his eyebrows. Definitely a question.

Pepper considered the answer for all of a heartbeat and a half. “Come on, Bruce, we’d love your company. Since all the others have gone off –” She pitched her voice just right to sound playful rather than petulant. “–and left me alone with you two wonderful men. We might as well have a good time.”

And, with any luck, a good time would once again morph into a very good time. She smiled charmingly at Bruce and waited for him to take the bait.

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Giving in, a story (beginning) of Tir na Cali as per @Cluudle’s request

Involves slavery and discussion of corporal punishment

The woman who owned Zachary – thanks to the stupid, fucked-up legal system of this stupid, fucked-up country – spent every Saturday with her family. She left early in the morning, returned around six in the evening, and retreated immediately to her room, speaking to no-one until the next morning.

Zachary loved it. It gave him an entire day where he didn’t have to dance attendance on her whims. He usually helped out with the housekeeping and cooking a bit, spent the early afternoon helping with the groundskeeping, and then spent the evening lounging in the garden, pretending he wasn’t a slave.

Today, she was late. Zach had enjoyed dinner with the rest of the help, although they were all watching the clock, enjoyed a long stroll around the property (since he wasn’t allowed to leave said property without an escort), and gone back to his room (such as it was) to grab a sweatshirt, and she still wasn’t home. Phil, her cook-slash-housekeeper, who for some reason liked the bitch, was pacing. Zach found himself watching the clock. Maybe she’d finally had it out with her family. Maybe she’d died in a crash on the way home. What happened to slaves if their owner died?

The garage door didn’t open until nine. By that point, Zach had camped out in the kitchen with Phil, trying not to stare at the clock. She’d been late before, but never this late. What if she didn’t come back? He hated her. He really did. But he knew her. And Phil, for whatever reason, would be upset. And Phil was a pretty cool guy, for a Californian slave.

When the door between the garage and the house slammed open, Phil bounced to his feet as if he was on strings. Wine bottle, glass, a selection of sweet crackers, tray: his eyes were glazed but he was going through the motions. His hands were trembling. He was scared.

Zach had done his best to ignore the way the staff, such as it was, jumped to every time the lady slammed home like this. But today, he couldn’t ignore it. And he couldn’t ignore the sick feeling like worry somewhere down in his own gut.

“I’ll take it up.” He held out his hands for the tray. “Look, if she’s going to holler at someone, it might as well be me. She’s got a lot of practice, and I’ve got a lot of practice taking it.”

It had, in truth, been almost two weeks since the last time she’d yelled at him, and nearly three since she punished him. He was losing his edge. Letting her take out her anger on him again might help that.

“You’re sure?” Paul was a skinny thing, looking a lot younger than the age he claimed. Zach had a hard time not feeling all protective of him and the other slaves.

“C’mon, give me the tray before she gets impatient.” He held out his hands. “I can take it.”

He could tell Paul didn’t want to give in; just as much as he could tell Paul was going to, and a few minutes later, Zach was knocking on Her Ladyship’s door.

“Lady Kaelin?” Surprising how it rolled off his tongue after all these weeks. “I have your dinner.” Such as it was.

A pause. Another pause. “Bring it in.”

He swung the door open carefully. She wasn’t beyond throwing shoes when she’d had a bad day.

The room was dark. He said, “I’m turning on the light,” remembered at the last minute to add, “Lady Kaelin,” and turned on the light.

She was in her bed, the blanket wrapped around her. Her face was red, her eyes were puffy. From the looks of things, she was still crying.

“Shit.” You weren’t supposed to swear in front of her Ladyship. “Shit, shit.” Zach kicked the tray table into position with his foot and dropped the food on it as quickly as he could without spilling anything. “Shit.”

“You said that already.” There was none of the usual poison in her voice, just something tired and bitter-sounding. “That’s good, thank you. That will be all.”

So easy to leave. So easy to just walk away. Saturday was his day off, and, besides, he was supposed to do what she told him to.

Zach flopped down into a sitting position between the bed and the tray table. He grabbed a cracker off the tray and offered it to her like it was finest caviar. “Want to talk about it?”

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