mobofair
patreon
Stormbreak update
🕑 Added 2019-07-24 18:00:02 +0000 UTC
Prologue
"You will have your war, Asgardian. If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice, where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something sweet as pain."
Loki awoke crying out, the guise of Odin abandoning him, even the paleness of Asgard slipping away, leaving a wretched blue whelp of a Frost Giant behind. In Odin’s bedchamber, in the royal palace, in Asgard.
He tried to summon up his magic—even now, he had his wits, and they warned him direly of what would happen if the guards came in to discover the God of Mischief where they thought to find their king—but nothing gave itself over to him and he slipped under his panic like it was a sea, lashed into a motion by a cruel storm.
Thanos. Thanos and his Black Order, who had strength to match Thor and magic to match his own and more besides—much, much more. An army. Infinity Stones. And madness. That was the most dangerous thing of all. For all Loki’s arsenal, he was sane. Horribly sane, to see what was coming and know there was no stopping it. Thor could take comfort in nobility, but what balm was there for Loki, clever enough to know a hopeless fight and wise enough to see no glory in it?
Loki threw himself from the bed, soaked in enough sweat that he could’ve been a bedwetting child—weak, always so weak—and, panting, was finally able to wrest up enough magic to call up his... natural… form. The form of Thor’s brother. It comforted him like a warm blanket on a cold night.
He had failed Thanos… Thanos and his torments, Thanos and his heat, Thanos and his need for loyalty and success that made the All-Father look lenient.
Thanos who was willing to burn him half to death just so Loki would be forewarned of what would await him if he failed.
Loki paced the royal suite, alone but not unaccompanied. No, everywhere he went there were signs of Odin’s presence, yes, and Frigga as well. He was surrounded by them. Their memory pressed in on all sides. He had inherited the throne—why shouldn’t he? Loki Odinson—but when had Odin told him it would be so lonely? Perhaps that was why he had so favored Thor, Thor who had the strength to stand alone, and yet that isolation brought him friends, family, a team. All his wits and Loki couldn’t figure out the irrational.
He passed a chessboard, its game yet in progress. He did not know who Odin had been playing when it was left unattended. Loki had never moved to put it away, at first for fear someone would want to continue the game, and then because it felt too much like he was playing the old man (old fool, Thor had called him, just like Loki). Now he noted that black had white in check.
Loki clenched his hand into a fist and the gameboard removed itself from his sight, its pieces scattering across the room. He certainly wasn’t playing white, but he was in check all the same. Surrounded by white pawns on all sides, while they too were unknowingly surrounded by black—neither side willing to take him in except by his subterfuge. False loyalty to Thanos, who now knew better. False face to Asgard, who would learn better in time. Thor could not be put off eternally, placated with the false affection he craved as much as… well, as much as Loki had. Before…
A knight rolled against Loki’s bare foot. White. Loki stooped and picked it up. Imagine if he’d stepped on it. An annoyance, but a piquant one. Much like Laufey or Malekith, in the grand scheme of things.
Or Thor.
Played correctly, though, a knight could change the game.
Loki stood, tossing the gamepiece up into the air and catching it once more. Chess wasn’t his game. The pretense of battle, the pristinely sanitized artifice of combat—it was all very much Thor’s thing. He preferred cards, naturally enough. Playing men was more challenging than playing intellects. If you figured out an opponent carefully enough, you could make them play for you—in chess as well. Make the enemy move the way you wanted him to move, and his attack became an opening left for your counterattack.
That was what he needed. To turn his enemies against each other. To twist attack into defense, foe into friend—catastrophe into victory.
His breathing was under control. The hot sweat that had bedeviled him now was a cool breeze on drying skin. Loki took a deep breath and summoned up Odin’s flesh. It came to him as the old man never had and once more, he was Asgard’s ruler. Only now he had something better than weak, thin-blooded Asgard to defend himself from Thanos and his Infinity Gauntlet.
He had a plan.
“Send a missive to the Grandmaster,” he said into the communicator, giving the attendant no time to respond after the channel had been opened. “Tell him I agree to his contest. My Aether against his own prize. Winner takes all.”
Chapter 1
“The gods must be crazy.”
Darcy smiled fondly, yet still mockingly, at Jane. “How long have you been holding that one in?”
Ever since the mess with Malekith, not to mention Thor parking himself on Earth for the foreseeable, the big guy had been rounding up loose Asgardian artifacts left behind on Earth, trusting them to the Avengers to safeguard so no more mortals stumbled upon this curio or that and got themselves an apocalypse started up.
Unfortunately, Thor was not only young by Asgardian standards, but his memory wasn’t the best. Darcy couldn’t slight him. She couldn’t remember where her car keys were half the time. How could he be expected to remember where Megingjörð or the Berserker Staff were after a couple thousand years? So SHIELD—or not!SHIELD, Darcy wasn’t quite clear on who all they were working with, except there was a chick with vibrator powers and she was exactly as hot as that sounded—went around the world, digging up the approximate locations of Viking treasure hoards, and having them analyzed to see if anything was magical or if they could safely hand it over to the museum goblins. Thor had more museum goblins than he had groupies.
All of which meant someone trustworthy had to be the caretaker of those artifacts. Someone smart. Someone experienced enough with Asgardian technomagic to tell what was kosher and what wasn’t. A direct line to Thor was a nice bonus.
Jane got the job.
Darcy, as usual, got dragged along.
All of which, Darcy felt, didn’t quite explain how her career path had taken her to a SHIELD/Not!SHIELD lab in London, sorting through dirt-encrusted whatsits like she hadn’t turned down Archaeology as an elective. But them were the facts.
The lab was the usual SHIELD mix. Militaristic grays and chrome holding smarter-than-you Apple store aesthetics, blues and whites, like the keycard and lab coat Darcy wore. Jane sat at her desk, fiddling with a touchscreen-keyboard computer whose lines glowed white for no reason Darcy could discern.
One station away, being subjected to its umpteenth scan was a lump of crudely sculpted metal, rusted and tattered… it looked kind of like the Buddha at a Chinese restaurant to Darcy, except for the huge beard. “This is pretty obviously a fertility idol.”
“Obviously,” Darcy echoed.
Jane glanced at her—fondly, yet still irritated. “Look at the inscription on the base. ‘Enchantress’ in Old Norse. But the figure is clearly masculine. Freyr, I’d say. God of Fertility.”
“Makes sense for a fertility idol,” Darcy said, earning her another look from Jane.
“The Norse—and kinda by extension the Asgardians—have strict gender roles. You remember the Odinsleep? Thor had to take over—Frigga couldn’t do it.”
“My uncle’s pretty conservative and he’s only sixty. I suppose after a few thousand years, you really want those kids off your lawn,” Darcy commented.
“Exactly,” Jane agreed. “No, not exactly, that’s radically simplifying… anyway, the Norse wouldn’t misgender something like this, particularly when it’s so well-made… treasured…” Jane touched a few buttons on her console and brought up the holographic overlay of the find. Darcy had to grab her coffee before it disappeared into the illusion.
Nerds. They loved holograms.
“The idol was found here,” Jane said, indicating a dais in the center of the find. To Darcy it was all cave heaped with Viking junk drawer stuff, dark and dank… a little creepy, to be honest. Even having its image going all Real-D 3D around her made Darcy feel like someone had walked over her grave. “A position of honor. It could have powers, but then why would they be so careless with its construction?”
“Maybe they thought it had cooties,” Darcy suggested. “I’ve got an idea. We’ve been at this for nine hours. Why don’t we let the thousand-year-old doohickey sit for one more night, go out, get krunk? You’ll think better with a hangover.”
Jane stared at the idol, tapping her fingers briskly on her desk. “Between you and Thor, I’m getting more peer pressure to drink than I ever got in high school. I swear, if Thor had a brother who wasn’t so…”
“Adopted?” Darcy put in.
“Yeah. If Thor had just a normal brother, I’d set you up.” Grunting, Jane dispelled the hologram and concentrated on the idol again. “There’s something about this thing. I can feel it in my gut.”
“Men have gut feelings. Women have feminine intuition. It’s more around the womb.” Darcy put her hands on Jane’s shoulders and started massaging her. “Janey-boo, it’s a fertility idol. What’s it gonna do? Make a bunch of people super-fertile? Who cares? We’ll get SHIELD to hand out Plan B and condoms.”
Jane was impervious to Darcy’s massage skills. “It’s almost like… it’s almost like Freyr was meant to cancel out this ‘Enchantress’. Like a crucifix would hold down a vampire.”
“Let me guess,” Darcy teased, “you think we should ask Thor about it?”
Sometime about when Ultron was picking up cities and Kobeing them back down, Thor had gotten a bug up his ass about the Infinity Stones. And just like that, the honeymoon was over. Jane no longer started her morning with a breakfast of studmuffin.
Right now, Thor was off scouring the cosmos for information on them. Since he was Jane’s main source of stress relief, that meant Jane was nearly unbearable without him. And though she tried not to get in the way of his Avenging, it just—didn’t take much for her to want Thor to stop by for some exposition and oral.
“If he could at least take a look at it, that’d be nice,” Jane said. She never raised her voice, but she was still pretty close to a growl just then. “We’ve had artifacts piling up, so it would be nice if he’d just take one minute to come back and look. This was his idea in the first place!”
Darcy petted her hair. “I know it was, sweet beans. But hey, if Thor doesn’t look at your artifacts, you can always show them off on the dance floor…”
Jane jerked her head away from Darcy’s comforting hand in a huff. “I’m not in the mood.”
Darcy didn’t know why it was so important to her to spend time with Jane. She’d used to think of Jane as a stick-in-the-mud, a major pain in the ass if anything—the woman who kept dragging her along either into boring-ass boondocks in the middle of nowhere, or into throwdowns between gods and dark elves and shit. Somehow she’d spent so long looking at Jane’s cute little face that she’d gotten addicted to it—loving to see the rare, jubilant smiles that came off of her lighting up whole cities, and conversely hating to see the stoic misery on her face when Thor was gone.
It wasn’t like Darcy wanted Jane to have gotten together with Richard, who had never traveled outside the EU and so didn’t worry Jane with the thought of having dropped into a black hole. But someone who could stay close to Jane, support her, make her happy, while still being as stupid-ass fine as Thor…
“It’s made of Scabrite,” Jane continued, pouring all her frustration into the artifact like she was going to light it on fire with her eye-beams, stop worrying about it that way. “That’s a theoretical element. It’s not supposed to be on Earth.”
“Coulda made it out of a meteorite,” Darcy sighed, dragged back on topic by Dr. Foster.
“Or it could be Asgardian, or at least modeled after Asgardian…” Jane trailed off. “Maybe there’s writing on one of the other on-site recoveries…”
Maybe it was that she was jealous of Jane. That with Thor only having eyes for Jane, Darcy wanted to be her or be like her or some fucking thing. Thor was hot enough to justify a Single White Female sequel. So why did Darcy recall looking at Jane all the way back in Arizona—stealing glances, watching her face like a scrying pool, trying to catch some infinitesimal glimpse into Jane’s thought… maybe find a mirror, reflecting her own face back, telling Darcy that Jane was thinking about her as much as she thought of Jane.
Before she could cue up the hologram again, Darcy picked up the idol. “Maybe we could just ask him. Hey. Freya! What’s your deal, homeboy? Can we get a little more fertility up in this biyatch?”
“Darcy!” Jane cried shrilly, noticing what she was doing. “Don’t touch the artifacts!”
“It’s a rock.” Darcy set it back down. “See? Nothing. It’s not like no one touched it getting it here…”
“Everyone followed biohazard protocols!” Jane insisted. “Remember what happened the last time? With the Aether?”
“That was one time,” Darcy insisted. “Not every garage sale reject is going to destroy the universe, Jane-o, come on.”
“I should report this,” Jane muttered, fidgeting her hands, stuck between worry and pissed off. “You broke quarantine.”
“Quarantine? Jane, it is a five thousand year old rock. Although… wait…”
Jane shot up, spine rigid as a railroad tie. “What is it?”
“I feel kinda warm,” Darcy said, unbuttoning the top button on her blouse.
“Are you alright? Do you need a doctor?”
“I think I need… I need…” Darcy reached for Jane, pulling her to her feet and grinding their bodies together. “To dance!”
Jane pushed her away. “Way not funny.”
“How can you have been Thor’s booty call for this long and still need to get laid?” Darcy asked.
Jane turned away from her, like she couldn’t even bear to look at Darcy. Probably wanted to spare her death by eyebeam. “I am not his booty call, I am his girlfriend!”
“Hit a sore spot?” Darcy was still joking, but she grew sympathetic. Yeah, I probably did. Good one, Darc. She grabbed Jane from behind and held her close, rocking their hips together. “Come on. Come on, Jane. Let’s go paint the town red.”
Jane froze, her lips parted, some no doubt cutting remark dying on her tongue. Then Darcy saw her gulp. Her eyes went out of focus, hooded by her eyelids now, while her tongue briefly emerged to lick her lips. A shudder went through Jane’s body; Darcy could feel it shaking against her own. For a moment, it felt like her vibrator was trying to get through the crotch of her pants.
“Maybe it has been a while,” Jane muttered, her voice dark, husky—sexy. She turned her head, and when she did, her lips brushed against Darcy’s, sending an electric tingle deep into Darcy’s body that she could swear Jane felt as well.
Jane’s eyes were dilated as they met Darcy’s, and as they stared at each other, Jane’s eyebrows quirked in a sensual question Darcy had never seen in her before.
Darcy was still holding Jane, but now that Jane was turned around, they were in some kind of embrace. Jane ran her hands hoveringly over Darcy’s womanly figure, not actually touching her until she reached Darcy’s broad hips. Darcy sucked in air as Jane’s fingertips trickled down the curves of her hips, down to her thighs. Even through her jeans, Jane’s touch felt hot as fireplace embers.
“I’m so wet,” Jane breathed, and the shock of hearing her prim best friend, her boss, say such a thing, took Darcy aback way more than having a beautiful, clearly turned on woman in her arms could compensate for.
“What?” she asked smartly.
Jane’s eyes focused sharply. She took a step back, mouth gaping open—realizing her nipples were poking through her shirt even as she crossed her arms to hide them. “I said… maybe you’re right. We should go clubbing. That would be… great.”
“Yeah,” Darcy nodded, no more sure what to make of what had happened than Jane was. “It is a good idea.”
“You have very good ideas,” Jane said, as if desperate for anything to say.
“I know. Brilliant,” Darcy said, equally desperate.
“When they’re not stupid.”
“Yes.” Darcy took a deep breath. The slight shift in her body dragged her wet folds against her panties, her khakis, so sensitive she might’ve just had a train run on her.
What the fuck was wrong with her? She’d always thought Jane was cute, if about as fun as a game of Monopoly, but now she was almost literally creaming her panties over her. And Jane seemed to be thinking the same thing about her. Which did nothing to turn Darcy off.
Long day. That was it. Just a long, caffeine-fueled day which, naturally, had them turning into oxygen-deprived monkeys at the end of it. It was just like cramming in college. By the end of it, you were all Me Tarzan, You Jane. It just happened. Some clubbing, some sleep, and things would be back to normal.
“If we’re going to go dancing, we should probably go home and get changed,” Darcy said.
Jane seemed so gobsmacked as to be unable to speak—the kind of no-blinking haze Darcy had only seen a tongue kiss from Thor produce. Shit, they must’ve really overdone it.
“Yes,” Jane agreed. “We should change our panties… I didn’t say that.”
“Let’s go,” Darcy said quickly—they made for the door as if to get away from a memory that would have to stay here instead of coming with them.
One thing was clear: Darcy definitely needed to get drunk.
***
Between her best friend dating Thor and going to a party college, there was no way Darcy wasn’t going to cultivate some pretty fucked up drinking habits. By the time she and Jane got back from the pub—and count on the Irish to go shot for shot with them—she was floating on Cloud 9, Jane right beside her, finally simpatico with her. If butchering the lyrics to the drinking song she was still trying to get down. Quantum physics might’ve been clear as day to Jane, but Gaelic was beyond her.
And Darcy didn’t mind, not when Jane was holding onto her, taking advantage of Darcy’s superior height to almost be dragged along as Darcy tried to get them home safe. That was another thing Darcy’d picked up from the big guy. She’d gone all Drunken Master inside. She’d plaster anyone who tried to take advantage of Jane. If the world stopped spinning.
“There we are!” Darcy cheered, spotting the glass storefront that they lived under. Their reflections grew in it as Darcy pulled Jane along. And there was the staircase that led down to the door in the side of the building’s foundation that would let them into the basement where they slept.
It was hard to look away from Jane’s reflection. Usually, Jane was as buttoned up as, well, a quantum physicist, but Darcy had begged and pleaded and wheedled until Jane had given into her puppy dog eyes and agreed to a night on the town with her. She’d thought that if she’d played her cards right, she could get the total package of Jane Time—maybe Foster didn’t have anything to wear and Darcy could drag her along on a proper shopping expedition too.
But it turned out Jane had some sick outfits… maybe to look the part of Thor’s fair maiden… and when she wanted to, she put them on and looked so damn good. A gossamer dress over a semi-translucent slip, ending up giving a vague impression of her body underneath, like she was naked under deep water. Sure, she had cute underwear on, but with its tan coloring, the bra and panties blended together with her lithe figure—so much less evident than her small, firm breasts and pert little ass. Then there was the pageboy haircut that made her pixie-sweet face look younger and more innocent than Jane could possibly be. With the light makeup she wore, she was as adorable as a Japanese schoolgirl.
Darcy ended up looking at her so hardcore that she walked them right into their glass reflections. They both let out a simultaneous sound of pain, while mutually disgusted with their own stupid clumsiness.
“Jinx!” Darcy cried as soon as she’d recovered. “You owe me a Coke!”
Jane kept rubbing her head. “Buy your own Coke. That was your fault. It doesn’t count…. We have to go down the stairs,” she said, staring down the vertiginous descent to the basement door.
Darcy couldn’t even look—she’d vomit. “Uh-uh,” she said. “I’m just staying up here. That is… too low. Way too low.”
“You can’t stay up here,” Jane pouted, “you’re drunk! You’ll get raped and murdered and stuff… you’re too pretty.”
“No one’s going to stuff me!” Darcy insisted. “Not when you’re around. You’re… cute.”
“You’re sexy.”
“Guys are over sexy. Guys like cute. I like cute… everybody likes cute.”
Lightning flared overhead, brightening the storm clouds that darkened the perpetually overcast British skies. The roar followed close on its heels, earsplitting, physical, pounding down on the world like a hammer blow. A moment later, raindrops the size of knives were slashing into the cobblestone pavement, almost sounding like glass breaking. Jane pulled Darcy to safety under an awning overlooking the staircase, and they huddled together for safety as the rain poured down. Not violent or scary—neither of them could fear the weather after getting to know Thor—but with a roughness, a brute strength that seemed overbearing. Visibility was almost nil, a curtain of water cutting off Jane and Darcy in their own private world.
“My boyfriend’s back,” Jane giggled, then launched into song. “My boyfriend’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble…”
She had a good singing voice when she wasn’t trying to wrap her tongue around Highlander talk. Lightning cracked as she slurred the lyrics, bathing Jane’s face in acrid blue light, but even that electric harshness couldn’t denigrate her face. Her features were all sloping lines, gentle softness, curving youth—Darcy thought of some guy with a feather pen practicing calligraphy. That was Jane’s face, all smooth and supple, elegant in its fineness, with those piercing eyes finishing and exceeding the picture. All the delicacy in her features went out the window when her eyes got a hold of you. Then you saw how she was intense enough to be dating a war god.
Trouble. Being in trouble. Like the dame walking into a gumshoe’s office in a noir movie. Like a teenager who’d gotten knocked up running with the wrong crowd. Like being in love with your best friend, who’s straight and dating someone else and still looks so beautiful that it should be a crime. People shouldn’t be allowed to be that beautiful. Gods and Jackie Kennedy and Audrey Hepburn, they can be, but not Jane.
Thunder rumbled, loud as the blood pounding in Darcy’s ears. Lightning burned again and she was kissing Jane, lips striking hers, Jane’s lips striking back, lightning shooting between two clouds instead of passing from the sky to the ground. There was a coolness to Jane’s lips, her hands cupping Darcy’s face, like rainwater, but it boiled into heat in Darcy’s stomach, her cunt.
She felt a pitter of regret—rain dripping through a leaky roof—was she hurting Jane? Ruining their friendship? Taking advantage of her? But with the rain pouring down in a stampede on the streets, nothing could keep from being washed away. She kept getting warmer the longer the kiss went on and she went, moth-like, into the flame.
***
Darcy wore a Vivienne Westward dress, a blue frock that hung off her shoulders and hung curtly down her thigh, keeping a peripheral hold on her cleavage but mostly leaving it exposed. The make and model of Darcy’s dress was the kind of sharp-tacked knowledge, sharp-tacked thinking that came easily to Jane. Give her a blackboard filled with equations and she could work her way through it like a lawnmower through a newspaper. Kiss her, though…
Jane’d had a lot of time to learn the value of spontaneity, dating Thor (who this isn’t, it wasn’t Thor she was kissing, it was Darcy, girl Darcy, Darcy-her-best-friend-who-she-wasn’t-dating). She’d gotten more impulsive, gotten in touch with her emotions, even become more physical. But she still didn’t know how to react when Darcy kissed her (Darcy Lewis, Darcy was kissing her) and she didn’t know how Darcy felt about her and she didn’t know how she felt about Darcy… but it felt good and she went along with it. As Darcy kissed her, she kissed back. And it felt better to make up for how wrong it was getting.
“You look so good,” Darcy groaned, drunk girl friendliness lit with an undercurrent of lust. She crushed her lips against Jane’s. “Good enough to eat.”
She reached down to Jane’s groin, bunching her hand in Jane’s skirt and driving it against the sopping heat of her sex.
Jane knew she shouldn’t be standing out in the rain, dressed the way she was, being fondled the way Darcy was fondled her. But she couldn’t deny Darcy her pleasure, not when she was enjoying it so much. The neighbors would just have to risk getting at an eyeful if they stepped outside at the wrong moment.
Urges were erupting in Jane, strong and undeniable. Her confusion paled in importance next to the sheer fact of her lust. Something in her, something desperately intent, brought Darcy to a stop. The sable-haired woman simply stood there, body pressed to Jane’s, breathing her in, and Jane regarded her—feeling a sharp pang of dominance. Darcy was waiting for her to do or say anything. She wanted to please Jane.
Jane looked down at the expanse of flesh in Darcy’s low-cut, tightly packed cleavage. Up close, Darcy’s full breasts were almost burgeoning out of her dress, calling to Jane in their size and heft. Jane was painfully aware now of how guys felt about those things. She lowered her face to Darcy’s bosom and licked between the heaving breasts.
For what felt like years she had been mixed up in lusting after and envying and being annoyed by Darcy’s tits, even if she was almost as confident in her own desirability as Darcy was. Now she kissed and nipped all over Darcy’s chest, onto her shoulders, into the hollow of her throat, even kissing her apple cheeks before going back down to suck at the warm flesh of Darcy’s cleavage. Darcy ran her hands through Jane’s brown hair, crooning as if no one had ever touched her there before.
“So fucking big,” Jane sighed in defeat between Darcy’s breasts, nearly prompting an echo to return to her ears. Darcy grinned a little, relishing the minor win. Smart as her bestie was, Darcy had her beat at B-cups.
A pulse of lust went through Darcy’s cunt as Jane kept biting and sucking at her tits, reminding her of how turned on she was. Her sex felt like an engine revving. “I wanna… eat your pussy… ahh!” Darcy babbled, only her moans putting a stop to the avalanche of words Jane dislodged. “I’ll be such a good pussy licker… nhh… I’ll try really hard… I’ll… I’ll learn… ggn… everything there is to know… ooh… about pussies… I’ll fuck you… God, Jane… I’ll fuck!”
She lost herself so deeply in her own verbiage that she barely even realized that Jane was slipping to her knees, kissing her way down Darcy’s body through the scant material of her dress. Then she knelt before Darcy, pushing her dress up to her belly button. Darcy squealed, but she didn’t fight it. Jane shoved her face into Darcy’s crotch and her friend gave a happy cry as she felt Jane’s tongue slide over her aroused little clit, the two meeting experimentally. Darcy shuddered and nearly screamed.
“Ohhhh, yes, Jane!” she cried. “Eat me!”
Her hands and all of her weight resting on Jane’s head, she totally surrendered herself to the feeling of being licked and sucked by another woman. Jane was wonderful, a natural, the best cunnilingus she’d ever had. Darcy whooped with laughter, sheer joy, but also chuckling at the thought of how she’d worried if Jane was any good at giving head. Darcy must’ve just missed her being queen stud of the college lesbian set.
Jane’s tongue snaked with scalding heat into Darcy’s wet cunt and Darcy cried out, as if screaming could relieve some of the pressure she felt with Jane’s tongue expertly writhing inside of her. It wouldn’t take long for her to come, but Darcy didn’t know if she would survive that long.
“Yes, yes!” she keened. “Eat my cunt, Jane! Oh—fuck—Jane—yes!”
She came, her hips pumping, everything in her pistoning and whirlpooling around the action of Jane’s tongue. She lost her footing. Stumbling back in a daze, she lurched out into the rain, tripped, went down on her well-padded ass. Darcy gave an oof of pain, then laughed—the rain feeling warm as a steamy shower, but maybe it was just her overheated body.
Jane knelt across from her, face wet from Darcy’s juices, and she laughed too, even as her eyes traipsed over the sight of Darcy’s gleaming wet flesh, most especially the dress that was still high on her thick thighs, showing off the twisted panties Jane had pulled aside to get at her sex.
Jane was so dizzy she could’ve just gotten off a Tilt-A-Whirl—and with the liquor having its say, she felt like she was still on one—but a sticky heat of arousal lingered in her body. Her laughter started dying away. She leaned forward, falling onto one hand, then the other, then crawling out to Darcy, licking her lips before the rain could wash away what she’d tasted.
“Jane? Darcy?” Thor’s voice, deep and burly and as rich as scotch, with that dulcet British accent that made no sense to Darcy—wasn’t he from Space Norway?
The rain stopped, like Thor had opened up a giant umbrella over only that block. The clouds were still filling the sky, the rain was still coming down in the background, but they were in the eye of the storm. And like that, Darcy knew it was over. Whatever’d happened between her and Jane, whatever had connected them—snap. A clean break. Like when a bone fractured but you couldn’t see it through the skin.
“What are you doing out of the rain?” he asked, coming to them dressed in a hoodie and jeans like the world’s biggest soccer hooligan. “You’re getting all wet.”
Jane came up to her feet, wiping her mouth, coming down from the cracked high of a night on the town to speak with the exaggerated poise of someone drunk enough to pretend not to be drunk. “No… nobody’s wet… we just can’t get down the stairs… Thor…”
She couldn’t manage his name either. Darcy laughed. In the rain, it was hard to tell if she was crying.
***
That night, Thor kept Jane moaning and sighing until it was nearly dawn. There was no way for Darcy to sleep through that. She was kept awake not only by the sound of her boss getting her pussy rearranged one room over—fucking duplex--but by the needful urges that ran continuously through her own sex. She came half a dozen times with her hand as she listened to Jane Foster getting her big PhD brains fucked out.
It wasn’t that Jane and Thor had never had a sex life before. But usually, they were at least subtle about it. Darcy would hear bedsprings creaking, hushed breathing, a muttered “God, Thor—“ that never failed to make the big guy laugh. Now, it was like Darcy was in the room with them, tuned to their frequency, hearing every thrust, every clench, every fucking sound louder than if it were her own body getting massacred.
Darcy pulled her hands away from herself, tangling them in the sheets instead. She refused to keep listening, she refused to keep fucking herself like some pathetic third wheel. If she wanted to, she could’ve stolen Jane from Thor or Thor from Jane or both of them from each other… somehow! No way, no way she was the Jacob to their Bedward.
Darcy grabbed her pillow and crushed it around her ears to block out the noise. Sleep. That was what she wanted. No dick, no pussy, no sex, just a good night’s sleep.
Then she felt a tongue drawing along the lips of her pussy like a lightning bolt would tear through the night sky. For an instant, Darcy wondered if the tongue belonged to a man or a woman, but she quickly decided that it didn’t matter. As long as it kept licking her the way it had…
It did. Darcy still didn’t keep to her decision. Anyone who could tongue her that good she had to see… she had to be treated to the sight of how they were pleasing her. She ripped away her bedsheet and saw Jane lying between her legs, wearing a pink wig and nothing else. It was a good look on her. So was Darcy’s pussy on her mouth.
“Don’t think about it,” Jane purred. Darcy had never needed much convincing not to think about anything; she happily nodded even as Jane continued on. “Don’t think about the way me and Thor look at each other or the way we look in the other room or what we’re doing or how we look while we’re doing it.”
“I won’t,” Darcy promised, untruthfully. She hadn’t followed everything Jane had said, not being able to do her best thinking in the middle of getting head, but now that Jane mentioned it, as hot as what she and Thor were doing had sounded… Darcy could only imagine how it actually looked.
“Don’t think about how I must fucking love it to let him do it over and over again, long after that big cock’s made my cunt sore… about the way I’d wrap my short little legs around his wicked six-pack… don’t think about how it must feel inside me, don’t think about it at all…”
“Think about my cock,” Thor said.
“Oh Jesus,” Darcy said, trying to sit up while her lower body was spasming from having Jane’s tongue in her cunt. Wrong god. Thor stood in the doorway, naked, an eleven on a scale of one to ten. Tall, broad-shouldered, narrow at the waist with tapered hips and a cock porno films would strive for.
“All ten inches of it,” Thor continued.
Way too much. Just too damn much. If that was how big he was, Darcy wasn’t sure how Jane survived sex with him, let alone kept up.
“It’s beautiful,” Jane said against Darcy’s sex. She licked it again, and Darcy knew Jane was lubricating her up for that. All of that. “Isn’t it?”
“You have a big mouth, Darcy,” Thor said, with the cheerful amiability of a man who wasn’t naked, well-hung, and watching his girlfriend go down on a woman with a double-D bra size. When you were a god, Darcy supposed, some things you could afford to be easy-going about. “Everyone knows it. So why don’t you use that big mouth on something that’ll fit it?”
“I’d really like that,” Jane giggled from between Darcy’s thighs. Darcy didn’t look down, but she could tell Jane hadn’t looked up from her pussy either. “Would you get him nice and wet for me, Darc? I’ve gotten you nice and wet for him…”
Comments
Shendude
Oh my.
