theeyeofra (theeyeofra) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-02-19 22:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | bast, t'challa (black panther) |
Who: Bast & T'Challa
What: Sparring turns into definitely not sparring
Where: T'Challa's house
When: The end of January
Rating: High for ~adult situations~
Status: Complete when posted
Bast had never been to T’Challa’s place before, but it hadn’t been difficult to find. She’d come in her leopard print leotard, but she had a long coat on over it. She’d driven over in the car that her dreams had gifted her. True, it was very much stolen, but she wasn’t all that concerned. It wasn’t like she’d stolen it here and she’d had a very good reason for stealing it in the dreams. It was die or steal a car and protect herself and the Kane children. What choice was there? There was none. She couldn’t very well let them die.
But she was delighted to get the chance to see T’Challa’s place. She was also happy to get to see him again. They had busy schedules, so she understood that they couldn’t spar as often as she’d have liked and it also meant that it was a little more difficult to see each other. But there were text messages and phone calls. Valarnet allowed for some interaction and conversation. She was always happy for those small things.
She made her way to the door and knocked.
T’Challa had spent the better part of the late morning doing superfluous things like making sure the yard was impeccably clean, dusting, vacuuming and rearranging the position of the vase of fresh flowers on his kitchen table when he'd already done so at least twice.
He had to remind himself she wasn't his Bast from the dreams, which when he really thought about it made it a bit less intimidating. But still, this was an iteration of the cat goddess and he wanted everything to be perfect. Plus, she was a friend. And he almost never had people over. And...
He heard a knock at the door. Abandoning the vase he made his way to the front of the house, his newer Black Panther costume on, helmet held underneath one arm. He paused a breath, collected himself, and opened the door.
“Goddess,” he said formally and smiled.
Bast felt herself smiling almost instinctively. “T’Challa,” she replied, letting herself look him over. So this was the new costume. It hugged just as well as the last one. It was different, yes, but she had trouble coming up with any complaints. In an attempt to keep herself from making things weird, she forced her gaze upwards and gave him another smile. “I see what you mean about the cape. It seems almost incomplete.” Yes. That was precisely the reason she’d spent more than probably necessary looking him over. Totally that.
Given T’Challa’s house didn’t give off the vibe of being one that belonged to a magician, Bast didn’t figure it would be a problem to step inside.
Nothing unusual happened.
She looked around, taking in the look of the place and mostly ignoring the fact that she hadn’t been technically invited in. She was pretty sure being Bast meant she could get away with most things. “This is a nice place. I don’t know what you were so worried about.”
T’Challa had a feeling of deja vu as Bast looked him over. It was the same sort of appreciative look she'd given him when they'd shown each other their costumes from the dreams for the first time - only his costume had been the thinner, sleeker suit from his original set of dreams. This one was thicker, with tribal details that covered up most of his musculature, which meant it didn't show as much but still gave off the impression he was not someone to be trifled with.
“It does.” He smiled and stepped aside as she made her way in. He tried to wish away the burning in his cheeks at Bast’s comment about his fears. “I was not worried. Simply...Wishing to make sure it was presentable.” He replied in polite defense.
“I have the heavy duty mat in place in the backyard.” He gestured towards the glass sliding doors off of the kitchen. “I thought it better than simply practising on the grass.” It went without saying that getting grass stains on their costumes like children was something that should never happen.
A smile formed as he spoke. “Of course. Certainly not worried, then.” She looked over her shoulder at him for a brief moment. “Well, it is presentable.” She took her jacket off, draping it over an arm before turning her attention back to the house, attention drawn by various things. The flowers were a nice touch.
Looking toward the sliding glass doors, Bast made her way toward them. “A mat does sound better than practicing on the grass,” she agreed. It also made sure that things weren’t so bumpy. She hadn’t really considered the grass stains portion of things because she had fought in all sorts of settings before in the dreams. Even grass. But she also couldn’t remember getting any grass stains. Opening the door, she stepped outside carefully setting her coat down. “I can’t wait till I have all my goddess tricks.” It would save her from having to buy too many clothes because she could make people see her wearing anything she wanted. She’d seen herself do it in the dreams. She was sure it would come back to her soon.
T’Challa felt a wave of relief course through him at her compliment and he bowed at the waist mutely in respect. He watched her to see her further reaction to his home but when she took the coat off he couldn't help but let his gaze drift. For some absurd reason he hadn't expected her to come in her costume. The skin tight leopard print catsuit hugged every curve just as he'd remembered and as she headed towards the door, T'Challa’s eyes locked momentarily on the swing of her hips and her rear end.
Blinking hard he shook himself from the momentary trance and followed her out. Yes she was gorgeous. Yes she was his goddess, sort of. Yes she was also just a regular person here who had been affected by the dreams like he had. Yes, he was suddenly realizing just how attracted he was to her and how long it had been since he'd had any female company of any sort here. Ororo had been the last and he wasn't thinking about her now. That goddess had been forgotten in the wake of this one.
Focus, T’Challa. he scolded himself. You're both sparring, nothing more.
If she was going to spar someone in their costume, Bast couldn’t fathom why she shouldn’t wear her own. She found herself wearing it more and more often these days, but never when other people were around. Well, no one but T’Challa had seen her in it. T’Challa and Muffin. Muffin didn’t count as she was a cat, even if she did voice her opinions easily enough.
Once T’Challa was outside, Bast made her way toward the mat, taking time to stretch. She probably could have done without it, but to prevent any possible injury, she thought it was best to at least stretch a little bit. At least then she was ready for whatever came with it. “Are you going to stretch first or do you just want to get started?”
“It’s probably wise to stretch first,” he replied, and also proceeded to do so, though in reality he knew he didn’t need to. The powers he’d obtained from the Heart Shaped Herb, his Bast, and all the training that had transferred over from the dreams kept him in such good shape he was at the ready for anything. But he wasn’t about to act superior to Bast and embarrass her. So he stretched, and stretched some more, particularly his legs as that seemed to be his best weapon for offense. When he was ready, he picked up the mask, then considered it.
“Do you think this necessary?” He said, holding it up. Unless she was going to roundhouse him to the face he doubted it, and besides, she didn’t have a mask.
Bast considered the mask for a moment before shaking her head. “Probably not. I promise I won’t hurt your pretty face too much.” Which was true. She rather liked his face and it seemed unfair. Truthfully, she was in the less protective of two costumes, but she’d never really let that stop her...and she’d fought Serqet. Scorpions were not her favorite. But headshots seemed a little unfair in most fights and she wasn’t trying to have an unfair sparring match. Just one that was fun and allowed her to practice her skills. Some things came more naturally than others.
“I think we can probably start.”
T’Challa gave her a smirk at the verbal jest. He set aside the mask and got into position when she was ready, starting with the typical stance: legs evenly apart, a slight crouch, hands raised in a posture ready to strike though he kept the claws inside the gloves.
He made the first move, a flurry of insanely fast hand movements that struck like cobras, searching for openings to strike at the torso and send his opponent back.
Bast did her best to avoid hits, but a few things got through her defenses. She put everything into the fight, though, and she wasn’t prepared to back down or go easy on him...even if they were friends. She added her own hits in, making an attempt to knock his feet out from under him - something she’d done before (but who knew if she’d succeed again). If she succeeded, her intention was to try to pin him down. At least for a little while before he probably won out. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.
T’Challa was a fast learner. In Wakanda, you had to be, especially if you were the Prince. In particular if you wanted to be the Black Panther. He was used to studying his opponent’s style of fighting, compensating, adapting, and improvising. He leapt above Bast’s kick, somersaulting sideways and landing in a cat-like crouch, pausing and smirking.
“You did not think I would seriously fall for that, did you?” he taunted. This was also common practice, needling his sparring partner - at least, in the dreams he did, when he and his sister Shuri used to do this very activity.
His eyes narrowed, the smirk fading from his lips as he contemplated his next moves. He attacked again, distracting her with jabs with his hands, while he got his footing where he wanted it. It was odd not fighting with the energy daggers, or having to worry about compensating for the flow of his cloak. He had to make split second mental checks to not overcompensate for the physics involved.
With a flick of his foot, he hooked it around her ankle and pulled - attempting to unbalance her.
“It was worth a try,” she replied, with a hint of laughter. She’d just have to learn new tricks. That wasn’t unlikely. “I’ll get you soon enough.” Even if she didn’t, she’d do her best and that was the point, wasn’t it. To learn how your sparring partner operated and work on outwitting them.
She tried to keep her attention on everything, but there was a lot going on and before she knew it, there was a foot against her ankle and she stumbled. Luckily, cat-like reflexes kept her from falling on her back. She looked up at him, eyes narrowing slightly as she pounced. She hoped the surprise would throw him off, if nothing else.
T’Challa was fast, but he wasn't perfect. He had been sure he'd had her with the footwork but Bast’s pounce caught him by surprise and he went tumbling backwards, rolling with her once until he was flat on his back and she pinning him down. “How -?” He said, startled, brow furrowed.
Bast grinned down at him, feeling a little triumphant. “Cat goddess,” she replied. Plus, she knew a thing or two about pouncing. But perhaps that was all due to being Bast. She hadn't moved yet, but she hadn't decided to over analyze it yet. “You really did almost have me. I wasn't sure the whole cats always land on their feet thing would count for cat goddesses.”
A smile spread across T'Challa's face. “Well clearly it didn't count for this Panther.” He really was surprised she'd gotten the drop on him like that. Normally his pride would have taken a hit but he was sparring with a goddess after all.
A pause ensued between them. T’Challa raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to let me up?”
“It’s okay. I’ll show you how. Maybe.” She wasn’t sure if she could or if it was something that worked the same with others. It wasn’t until T’Challa spoke that Bast realized that it was likely unusual for her to still have him pinned on the ground. For the first time that she was aware of, she felt her face heat up. “Oops.” She rolled off, pulling her hair to one side once she was sitting and stood. “Sorry,” she said after a moment before offering her hand to help him up. “I forgot about that step.”
T’Challa noticed the blush in her cheeks but said nothing. He didn't want to read into it too much and figured it was just regular embarrassment. In the dreams he was used to women fawning over him to try to be the next Queen of Wakanda, but here he was less noticed by the opposite sex. It probably didn't help he wasn't terribly social.
“No apology necessary,” he started to say as he reached for her hand. “Though I might have to offer one of my own.” And as he grasped her hand he simultaneously pulled himself up and in one swift movement let go and grasped her right leg, using his weight and position to pivot and toss her to the ground. Pinning her down he grinned at the victory.
“Apologies, goddess.”
Bast’s eyes widened and this time she wasn’t able to turn herself to land the way she had before. It was certainly a surprising and unexpected move. She made a small, grunt of pain as she hit the ground. Looking up, she felt something altogether not related to their sparring. There was a little flutter of something that she thought seemed out of place in the current moment. After a moment, she offered a small smile.
“That was a good move.” She would have to be on the lookout for that one in the future. “So…” She tested for any chance of escape without asking. She didn’t notice one, so she said, “Planning on staying here for a while?”
When they landed and Bast had looked up at him, T'Challa's dark eyes locked onto hers and he suddenly felt as if time had slowed for a few heartbeats. Then she smiled and he reflected it, the expression a grin at the compliment. “Why thank you.”
She really was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen (after Ororo, but that went without saying if anyone knew him well) and T’Challa was suddenly coming to grips with the fact he was attracted to her. He could get lost in her large, dark eyes easily. The equally as dark waves of her hair as she lay beneath him framed her exotic face perfectly.
It occurred to him Bast was speaking. “Hmm?” He genuinely hadn't been paying attention so it took his brain a few seconds to catch up. “Oh,” And he felt his face flush hot. “I um…” He fell mute again, and deep inside he wondered if he should risk it. What was this Bast’s wrath like if he miscalculated and kissed her and she didn't approve?
T’Challa lifted a gloved hand and tenderly pushed the fingertips into her hair and just barely held her face. He wished he could feel what her hair and skin felt like through the thick Vibranium fabric. His soulful eyes searched her face for approval. If not, he would back off.
It took her a moment to realize exactly what was happening, but that was more because of a certainty that he was just being T’Challa. Except for the part where his fingers slid into her hair. That was not the usual, flustered thing that he usually did. Her breath caught for a moment as she looked up at him.
Oh.
She forced herself to behave normally for a moment. This was okay. She reached up to cup his face in an effort to show that he wasn't the only one. Maybe the Egyptians didn't mix with mortals in the same way as the Greeks, Romans, or others, but this also wasn't her dreams. T’Challa was a good man, if a bit serious. Fingers sliding back a little, she pulled him in for a kiss.
He was relieved when she reached up and held his face, knowing now he wasn’t misreading anything. T’Challa let Bast pull him down into a kiss, his lips touching hers tenderly. His heart suddenly swelled with emotions, all firing off at once - desire, disbelief, curiosity. He was kissing a goddess! His patron goddess! It was enough to make his head swim. They paused but a breath before he leaned down to kiss her again, this time with more confidence.
Bast felt happy. There were a lot of warring emotions, but the one that stuck out the most was happy. There was a warmth in her chest that spread to her whole body. Her dreams contained none of this and she wasn’t sure if her life outside of the dreams had. While the first kiss was sweet, the second was...different. She couldn’t explain it. She let her hands wander, fingertips tracing over the fabric of his costume. The texture added a little something to the kiss, but she couldn’t help but want to know what it would feel like in normal clothes. It was currently not stopping her from kissing T’Challa, however. It was also not stopping her from letting her hands come to rest for a moment on his ass. If they were kissing anyway, what was to stop her?
There was no denying that Bast was an excellent kisser and T’Challa was enjoying every moment of it. The experience of giving in to what he now realized had been a simmering attraction between the two of them for months was overwhelmingly turning into ardent desire. It'd been a long time since he'd been with anyone intimately and his whole body was starting to remind him just how good it felt.
Speaking of feeling, was that Bast’s hands on his rear? T’Challa broke for air and looked into her eyes. His brow playfully furrowed a little. “Goddess…” he said, his voice a sultry growl. “Are you...grabbing my ass? Because I can hardly feel it through this suit.” And he couldn't help but chuckle softly. He was grateful the suit was just thick enough to not give away to Bast just how turned on he was. In any other body suit that would have shown up in a more obvious way.
Bast attempted an innocent look, but it was ruined by a complete inability to keep herself from smirking. “Well…” She laughed a little. “I couldn’t help myself. I’ve seen it in skin tight clothes and really, can you blame me?” It was a little unfortunate that he couldn’t feel it. Her costume did not really keep her from feeling things. It was far too thin for that, but it was what she wore pretty much all the time in her dreams. Who wanted to mess with something that seemed to work so well for her?
“I would say we should do this in more comfortable clothing, but I don’t have a change of clothes, which makes that a little more difficult.” She really did like the concept of being able to feel more of his skin...or at least to be able to feel more through his clothes. The most important part, however, was continuing to kiss him.
T’Challa felt the smile on his face grow to a wide, bright grin at the compliment to his posterior. It amused him that it impressed her so.
“I'm glad you approve.” And he chuckled again. He nuzzled, teasing for another kiss, murmuring, “I'm sure I have something that fits you.” And he kissed her again, a bit more hungrily. The suit he relied on for combat and was so very useful in that arena was proving to be a hindrance here. T’Challa was aching to be out of the thing so he could feel more of Bast against him than just her soft lips. “I could use help out of this damned suit anyway.” He said between kisses, smirking. “It's like being in a Teflon glove.”
What was there to disapprove of? Nothing she'd noted. But then she had really only been aware of anything by looking and sparring. She smiled against his lips, waiting for him to finish what he’d said before speaking. Of course, she didn’t mind all the kissing that happened between then.
“So you’re saying I should help you undress?” She gave him a mischievous look, doing her best to keep from grinning. “I think I’m selfless enough to agree.” But selfless had very little to do with it. Still, she leaned up for a kiss before pushing him off. “Don’t worry. I have every intention of getting right back to kissing, but first, I must selflessly assist you out of your costume.”
T’Challa let out a small laugh as she pushed him off; he rolled off of her easily and watched her stand, leaning back on his hands to admire the view a moment. The sunlight made her costume shimmer softly, like a leopard’s skin.
He then stood, drawing close to her again and saying “If you need the favor returned I am yours.” And the smolder in his expression was unmistakable. He stole a kiss, gently placing his hands on her sides at her hips. “The zipper is hidden. On the back.” He whispered against her lips.
Aware that she was being watched, Bast kept her movements as graceful as she could (which really wasn’t that difficult being that she was naturally fairly graceful). “Oh? Well, I suppose a goddess could always use help from her Champion. It’s mostly just pulling it over the shoulders.”
Her skin tingled where he touched her and she found herself just a touch impatient to get inside. She had a feeling that he wouldn’t be particularly keen on her starting to remove his costume outside, so she resisted the urge. “Zipper on the back,” she murmured back, fingers itching to find said zipper and unzip the costume. She put her hands on his chest, pushing him back toward the house. When they reached the door, she pushed it open and shut it behind them. Now they were inside, which meant that she didn’t have to worry herself about being outside.
Her fingers carefully searched for the zipper on the back that he’d mentioned. She stole a kiss as she tried to unzip him. There were a couple fumbling attempts before she managed it and she smiled once she had. “Well, that’s a start…”
Between his dreams and the few real world experiences T’Challa had with women, he had always found himself the one in control. The women in his dreams had wanted nothing more than to know the prowess of a Prince of Wakanda, and as a young man he had no problem obliging them. But being pushed into his own house by Bast was definitely new, and somehow it felt right that he should submit to her in some way. He was her Champion after all.
While her hands searched for the zipper he took the opportunity to steal more kisses, slowly backing them into the living room. When he felt her fingers make purchase on the zipper and start to pull it down his back he stopped walking and let out a low growl of relief as the material parted, letting his body breathe against the cooler air. He shrugged his shoulders, letting the suit fall to his waist where it caught at his hips. In a thin, skintight black top he stood, the fabric smooth and defining every line of his musculature. Free of the barrier between his hands and the woman before him, he reached up to hold Bast’s face again, this time feeling her soft hair and skin. With that input he pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers and deepening the kiss. He could feel better the smooth fabric of her outfit against him, the soft curves of her breasts against his chest, and he wanted her even more in that moment.
Bast was not afraid to take or yield control in a situation. She had never understood why anyone complained about women liking to take control. If you knew what you wanted, why shouldn’t you go for it? If a woman took control of a situation, you could probably be pretty certain that she liked you. Or that’s how Bast saw it.
Once the costume was partly off, she couldn’t help but look. It would have been a pity to let such a nice view go to waste. But even better than the view was the feeling of his hands, the ability to actually feel his skin on hers. Her attention shifted from his chest to his eyes the moment his hands touched her, closing shortly afterwards when he kissed her. She liked the way she felt in that moment, the desire coursing through her. T’Challa was a good kisser...and her hands were terrible at staying still. They wandered over his back in an effort to learn as much as she could through the shirt. Finer things, such as marks or scars were impossible to tell through fabric, but it was fairly easy to feel the muscles working as he moved even a small amount.
From there, her hands moved down his sides, sliding along his hips and slipping under the costume that was still there to grab his ass again. Oh, yes. It was much better without the costume in the way. She would have apologized, but she didn’t feel sorry in the slightest.
T’Challa’s hands were meandering as well, running along the smooth fabric, tracing along her back, feeling every toned muscle there, slowly moving down to the curve of her hips. At the feel of Bast’s elegant hands firmly gripping his buttocks he let out an involuntary, deep sound - somewhere between a throaty moan and a growl. He liked her hands there, he decided. He liked it a helluva lot.
He mirrored her touch, one large hand sliding down her backside and cupping part of her ass while the other rested at the small of her back. By all the gods, he thought, she had a fine, firm ass. He squeezed, then buried his face into her neck, whispering thickly, “Goddess…” before planting kisses there, moving up to nibble on her ear. He needed the rest of this damned suit off of him now. His ache was starting to drive him mad.
That, she decided, was very much the sort of noise she wanted to hear again. Of course, at this point, she wanted to see what reactions she could elicit. She wanted to know what he liked outside of her hands on his ass. This was an entirely different side to T’Challa and really, Bast had to say that she liked this just as much as the oddly composed version of him that she’d known from before.
The way he said goddess sounded more like a way to express his desire for her rather than the reverent way he said it normally. Bast was lost in that moment, in that understanding. She made a soft noise of pleasure as she allowed him easier access to her neck. Perhaps the other gods were not so ridiculous after all.
Her hands moved to push the costume down over his hips before moving to pull at her own costume, feeling particularly interested in not being in it at the moment. She unclasped the gold belt at her hips. Underneath was simple undergarments. She hadn’t had a reason to wear anything particularly racy because she hadn’t figured on there being anything more than sparring. Beige sports bras were not the sort of things one wore to seduce the opposite sex...or anyone that she was aware of. She’d gotten it and the matching underwear at a dance store after quite a lot of research about the appropriate things to wear under a unitard.
T’Challa was absolutely heady with desire. His focus, such as it was, was on one thing only: pleasuring Bast. And by the soft sound coming from her it seemed he was moving in the right direction. His lips trailed along her neck to her collar bone, tasting her skin, before he went for her delicious lips again. One hand was lost in Bast’s soft hair while the other was helping her slip off the skin tight unitard. He felt her hands impatiently push down on his suit that tried to stubbornly cling to his muscular legs. Mercifully they dropped to his ankles and he felt some relief at a layer gone.
Pulling back to catch his breath and a glimpse, he smiled at the sight. Sure it wasn't Victoria's Secret but he hadn't been expecting this turn of events, and to be honest Bast could have been wearing the world’s worst underwear and he still would have been as aroused as he was now; she was just that beautiful.
He himself stood clad in a pair of matching skintight pants, black as the top. In one deft movement he pulled off the long sleeved shirt and tossed it aside. Whatever scars he'd had from his life in this world had vanished when his abilities from the dreams transferred over. T’Challa was left with smooth, dark skin on an expertly toned body that literally looked the kind off of the pages of a comic book.
What hadn't been apparent because of the suit was very apparent now; his crotch was no longer rendered a neutral shape by the heavy Vibranium fabric - the thin pants left very little to the imagination.
He took a step closer and snatched another kiss from Bast’s lips. “Do you wish to finish undressing me?” And here was a sultry smirk, both teasing and literal. Both hands moved down and tenderly cupped her breasts still restrained by the sports bra; he ran his thumbs over the front of them before sliding his hands to her hips, then leaning down to kiss her cleavage. He looked at her imploringly, Champion to goddess. Lover to lover.
Bast found herself staring for a moment. She’d wondered what he looked like under the clothes, but really, she hadn’t known what she was going to see. She was just as busy studying his body as he was hers. None of the details went without notice, especially not the fact that he seemed quite aroused. Her fingers and hands explored his skin, finding not one flaw. She stepped the rest of the way out of her unitard, making sure that her legs were free.
Did she want to undress him? Yes. Yes, she very much did. His hands on her breasts only made her want to do it even more. Her hands moved to his hips and for a moment her mind questioned whether or not she was actually doing this. They’d only just kissed for the first time today and already she was here. But she shushed those thoughts in the interest of slipping her hands under the waistband of his pants and pushing down on the fabric. “If it affords me an even better view of your ass, I’m all for it.” As if it wasn’t obvious that she was already helping him out of the pants anyway.
He chuckled deeply, a broad smile on his face. He nuzzled as he felt her pull down his black spandex, freeing him. Now completely bare before her, he stepped out of the materials and kicked them aside. Relief thrilled over him as his body was free from all encumberments, the cool air refreshing. Hungrily he kissed Bast again, holding her face before both hands trailed carefully down her chest. Fingers teased and tested at the bottom edge of the fabric of the sports bra, pushing underneath to feel the soft curve of her breasts against his fingertips. Gingerly he pulled the one piece bra forward and up, pulling it over Bast’s arms and head. Wordlessly he looked her in the eyes, his own burning with passion, as he dropped the fabric and let his fingers equally as tender in their movements, peel down the last layer of fabric between them - pushing her panties down until they dropped of their own accord.
He had to stare. No, admire. Better, worship. T’Challa found himself holding his breath, mesmerized by her natural beauty - the sensual curve of her hips and breasts, those long and elegant arms and legs, her flawless tan skin, that exotic face staring back at him. He had half a mind to kneel before her and bow his head. He suddenly didn’t feel worthy of this moment.
“Goddess...Bast…” he uttered in awe. “You are a vision beyond all visions. Beauty without equal.”
Oh, yes.
Bast only got a quick glimpse before T’Challa kissed her again. Whatever concerns she’d felt about whether they were rushing into things were silenced in that moment. Maybe they were rushing, but there was time to slow things down if they needed to. T’Challa’s hands on her skin, gently taking what was left of her clothes off, would have been distracting enough if nothing else already had been.
She carefully stepped out of her underwear, even more aware of his eyes in that moment. There was the briefest flicker of insecurity, but the look on his face and the way he spoke easily dismissed any uncertainty she’d felt. Her face lit up at the compliments and she stepped a little closer. She thought for a moment about kissing him, but stopped just short before walking around him so she could get the full picture. Her fingers trailed over the skin of his back, following the line of his hips until she was in front of him again. Catching his gaze, she smirked. “You’re pretty attractive yourself. Very attractive, truthfully.”
She kept their eyes locked as she pressed her body up against his, arms loosely wrapping around his neck as she lifted up just slightly on her toes. All of her movements were lazy and purposeful. “So…” She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Where did you want to continue this?” At this point...anywhere was acceptable.
T’Challa smiled, part nerves, part amusement, as Bast carefully walked around him, her fingers tracing a delicious trail around his body. He felt like a prize stallion suddenly, being inspected for all the right qualities. But Bast was a deity, and he knew she had every right to do as she wished and how she wished and he was not going to stop her. Besides, he didn’t want to. When she stopped in front of him once again and gave him that smirk of hers, he returned it in kind.
Then she was pressing herself to him, and he sucked in a breath as the full contact of skin to skin (among other things) was felt. He revelled for a moment in the sensation of her breasts against his bare chest, her arms draped lazily around his neck, the contact of his sex against hers. He tried to stifle a sound of pleasure to keep some composure, but there was that same deep lustful growl heard deep in his throat until it escaped his lips. Returning her kiss T’challa considered a moment, glancing about as he wrapped his arms around her waist. The couch? The floor? The wall? His study table? So many options.
But for their first time, he thought, perhaps a bed would be best. “I think the bedroom would serve best.” And he smiled down at her, kissing her once more; then with his hands firmly gripping her waist he picked her up so she might wrap her legs around his own midsection. His hands held her ass a long moment, supporting her weight effortlessly, before one arm slid underneath her to support her while the other held her to him at her back. He was exceptionally strong thanks to the dreams, so picking up and carrying Bast through the house was the same as if he were carrying an armful of light pillows.
They almost made it out of the living room before he had to pin her to the wall, just for a moment, he told himself. He pressed his lips to hers in desperate passion, deepening the kiss, one hand against the wall, the other in her hair. His lips laid kisses against her skin in a hungry trail down her neck, where he paused a breath to nibble before heading further down to her breasts. Here he buried his face in the soft flesh of her cleavage, finally allowing a needy moan to escape him as he kissed and tasted, lips and tongue flicking over her nipples, nuzzling, suckling. He was already disappearing into her arms in bliss.
Bast felt a thrill at the sound. That had been her doing, that noise was hers. At least that was how she saw it. It belonged to her. It was nice to see the composure become a little less. She wanted to destroy his composure entirely. Just for a little while anyway. Just so she could see more of this side of him.
All of the options that he’d thought of had been considered by Bast as well. She wasn’t entirely worried about where it happened, just that it did. Her desire may not have been nearly as evident as T’Challa’s, but that didn’t stop it from existing. She wanted him. It was as simple as that. “Whatever you think best,” she said, the last word almost entirely swallowed up in the kiss.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders a little more securely as she used her thighs to hold herself up while her legs wrapped around his waist. The fact that he’d been able to easily lift her up was incredibly attractive. She couldn’t keep the thought of fucking against the wall out of her head in that moment...even if he’d said that they should go to the bedroom. So when she felt her back pressed against the wall, she inhaled sharply, legs tightening around his waist. A slew of images went through her mind as they kissed and she was breathing heavily by the time he broke the kiss to kiss along her neck. Her fingernails dug in lightly and her head tilted back to make it easier for him to access the skin there.
T’Challa, from what she could tell, definitely knew what he was doing and her mind felt fuzzy, but in the good way. She didn’t bother to stifle the gasps and moans. “Keep this up,” she started, “And I’m going to suggest we forget the bed in lieu of the wall.” Her laugh was breathy, but a laugh nonetheless. “Because I’m about two seconds from telling you to take me against the wall.”
The sounds coming from Bast made his heart race and his arousal intensify; he was about to fuck a goddess, his goddess no less, and the very idea was mind blowing. He had forgotten how intoxicating sex could be, and he wanted to drown in the sounds and sensations. Her body writhing against his, the feel of her nails digging into his back, the way her lips parted with every gasp and moan of pleasure.
T’Challa growled lustfully against her skin at her suggestion of staying where they were. He leaned up and devoured her lips before rumbling huskily in her ear, “Tell me to, goddess, and I happily will.” His length was throbbing to the point of driving him crazy, and the idea of having her against the wall was suddenly very appealing.
She wanted to argue that he really shouldn’t give her that sort of power, but then she was a goddess and she couldn’t help but feel that that sort of power was exactly what she was supposed to have. What happened now was hers to choose. It was a heady sort of power.
“Fuck it,” she muttered before nodding. Beds...well, she could see his bedroom later. “Yes. Here’s good. Definitely good.” It was entirely acceptable to her.
He flashed her a smile before kissing her again. “I couldn't agree more.” He reached down and carefully guided his length into her, his eyes involuntarily closing shut and a loud moan of pleasure escaping him. He buried his face into Bast’s breasts as he sank in, sheer pleasure spreading through every inch of him. His lips dragged across her body, landing at her neck again, teeth grazing her skin as he slowly ground his hips into hers.
It was more than enough for her head to fall back against the wall, fingernails digging into his shoulder again. Her mind felt fuzzy as she tried to focus on everything at once. The feeling of him inside her mixed with the sensations of his mouth and teeth on her skin. After a moment, she tilted her hips just slightly to make the experience just a little better.
T’Challa’s mind was blurring with passion as well as he succumbed to desire. Pinning Bast to the wall his movements became fluid and rhythmic, picking up tempo over time as both their voices and breaths became ragged and hurried. He risked the possibility of her ire later as he sank his teeth into her skin between her neck and shoulder, as if anchoring himself as they both rushed headlong into a delicious climax. His mouth parted from her then, gasping and then crying out her name as his body shuddered with unspeakable pleasure. He slowed, then stilled, his chest heaving against hers, his head resting against the wall next to hers.
Bast’s breath was coming fast and her body felt warm, limbs lazy. Still, she kept her grip on him. “That,” she said after a moment. “Was very good. Excellent even.” There was a soft, breathy laugh and one hand came up to run over the back of his hair and down his neck. “I...would not be opposed to a repeat. Perhaps not right now, but…” She trailed off. “And I’m going to have a bruise later.” She smiled, slow and lazy. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”
T’Challa pulled his head back enough to look at Bast as she spoke, his smile matching hers. Looking into her eyes he chuckled breathlessly and said “I think it's fair to say it was a divine experience for me.” He leaned his forehead against hers, revelling in their afterglow, and enjoying the delicate touch of her fingers along the back of his head and neck. “And here I was going to apologize for my fervor.” A mischievous twinkle was in his eyes.
“Well, it’s hard to keep my clear and enviable divinity out of everything I do. Especially sex.” She laughed to herself, eyes focused on T’Challa’s. “Oh no. There’s no reason to apologize for that. I’ll live through a little bit of bruising.” She grinned. “I’d say that I might do the same for you, but considering the lack of scarring, I can’t say that it’s possible.” She let her arms loosely link around his neck again. “I think we may need to find somewhere to lay down, though. I’m sure I could hold this position all day, but it might be a little tiring. Now may be a good time to go to your room.”
T’Challa smiled, a bit amused at the idea of Bast playing rough with him. “There's a first time for everything. You could say afterwards it was not for lack of trying.” He was teasing. “I can't actually bruise easily, or hardly at all.” He then said honestly. “Unless you're a supervillain tossing me around. Then maybe.” He laughed.
“Laying down sounds wonderful.” He held her in his arms, her legs still wrapped around him as he carried Bast through the house, his feet barely making a sound as he walked. “We could call it a catnap.” It was a terrible joke but an ironic one: from a hero with a cat moniker to a cat goddess.
She laughed at that. “I might be a supervillain for all you know. Maybe the cat goddess thing is a front and I’m actually very evil.” Which was a lie. She’d been fighting Apophis for so long in her dreams that she didn’t know how she could ever be even remotely evil. But then everything in life held the possibility of such things. “So you should probably watch out.”
She let out a small groan, head coming to rest on his shoulder. “I hate you a little. That was a terrible joke. Almost as terrible as that time Carter called me Aunt Kitty.”
T’Challa chuckled and said with a playful kiss to her neck. “Duly noted. I shall watch my back.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “My apologies goddess. Though now I think I’d like to know the story behind such a nickname.” And with that they entered his bedroom, and T’Challa closed to door behind them with a foot.
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