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( general ) ➟ open memes / psls
█ SILVER EYES / REACHING FOR PARADISE / I'VE SEEN IT A MILLION TIMES █
( shipping preferences )
█ SILVER EYES / REACHING FOR PARADISE / I'VE SEEN IT A MILLION TIMES █
( shipping preferences )
█ SILVER EYES / REACHING FOR PARADISE / I'VE SEEN IT A MILLION TIMES █
( shipping preferences )
no subject
being here makes no sense to him for a lot of reasons, but pietro never stops to ask them, not in the same ways that vision seems to, often noticing the robot's gradually increasing discomfort with their little world and his skepticism about what exists beyond it.
no, pietro doesn't care to ask, because he has the one thing he needs here — he has wanda.
only he doesn't, not in the same way that he used to, in which he'd embrace her at every possible moment that he could, bathing her hair, her temple, her cheeks with a series of kisses to remind her that he is with her, that she is never alone, or when they'd nestle in the smallest of beds at night, limbs tangled together to keep themselves warm as he held her close to his chest, their shared heartbeats easily felt like a soothing drumming. now, all of those privileges have been given to another, to her husband, a title that has had pietro on edge from the moment he'd learned she and the robot had somehow become lovers in the time he hadn't been there.
just seeing the smallest of shared kisses between them had grown aggravating, trying hard not to so visibly roll his eyes as they said their goodbyes in the morning when vision went off to work. but it wasn't until he'd slipped up to their bedroom one night, hoping to rouse wanda awake so they could share a late night snack together as they so often did in their youth when they had difficulty sleeping, that he'd begun to truly feel the intensity of his anger. because he hadn't anticipated nudging the door open by a crack and seeing the beautiful curve of his sister's naked back as she rode her husband hard and fast into the mattress.
it didn't matter that he'd left as quick as he could, feeling the tightening and infuriating ache in his chest; he'd never stopped picturing that sight, of her rocking body bouncing on what he refuses to even picture for a robot's cock, paired with the pants of her breathless moans, sounds that he'd imagined in dreams for years, never wanting the reality of it to come from catching his sister with someone else. it's childish to be mad, considering it would make sense for a married pair to sleep together, but somehow, pietro can't stop thinking of it as some kind of betrayal, as if all the years that they had been so connected, needing no one but one another, had suddenly been sacrificed for someone with mechanical insides.
he can't even remember the woman's name, but he knows exactly why he picks her, why he uses his best lines to charm her with a dashing smile, why he coaxes her back to the house and down into his basement bedroom — because she looks like wanda. and when he gets her bent forward on her knees, her face out of sight, giving him nothing but the stretch of her back and her reddish-brown curls shaking with her movements, pietro can live in the shameful fantasy of fucking his sister, the sharp thrusts of his hips showcasing the frustration that lives inside of him for wanting something so unreachable, so impermissible. except he'd seen her naked back, heard her pleasured moans, and this woman lacks both of those, all of it breaking the illusion that he grunts even deeper, pushes even harder until the mattress squeaks and shakes rhythmically with his movements, flesh slapping with a desperate strength that he almost considers shifting into quick speed just to chase it —
and then he hears the shout of his name, the voice impossible not to identify as soon as it echoes out, his hips stuttering to a pause as he turns to see the horror of wanda's eyes looking his way. he barely even notices when the woman cries out in her shock, stumbling forward and abandoning his still-hard and damp cock so that she can climb off of the bed and gather up her clothes.
instead of surprise or embarrassment or shame, pietro merely clenches his jaw, sitting back on his heels and looking at wanda with a nearly blank stare, something fiery in his gaze, as he realizes this was exactly what he wanted. this was exactly what he had wanted her to see. ]
no subject
and yet her magic is there, white-hot and burning as it threatens to unleash itself from the tips of her fingers, and it takes every ounce of wanda's remaining self-restraint to stop it from sparking out of her like wildfire. )
get out. get OUT! ( if pietro isn't going to say anything to her, then wanda is most certainly going to take the opportunity to avoid looking at him; instead, she directs her fury to the woman he'd brought into their home, and her voice quivers and cracks as she flings a small hand outward towards the basement stairs. ) get out of my house. you need to leave, and i don't ever want you to come back here. you're not - ( the townspeople are - she has some measure of sway over them, doesn't she? sometimes it feels like she does, but then sometimes it feels as if there's absolutely nothing she can do to control westview in all of its constantly-changing chaos. the only thing that's remained the same so far is...pietro. ) - you aren't welcome. i do not care what my brother told you. he isn't - ( wanda breaks off, because she stumbles mid-sentence over her words; the accent she doesn't even need to think about when it's just her and vision has some stumbling back, delicately slavic and impossible to deny. )
just leave. please. ( she doesn't need to tell the woman again, and wanda squeezes her eyes shut as she listens to her gather her clothing and rush frantically upstairs. her hair - had it been red? darker and not quite as warm-toned as her own honeyed-auburn locks, but red and curly nevertheless, and...
and it's just her and her brother now, and wanda has no choice but to open her eyes and look at him. his strong, sculpted jaw is clenched tight with the firm, resolute stubbornness he's harbored since childhood, and he isn't at all ashamed or embarrassed of his state of undress, and wanda feels a sudden rush of rosy heat color not just the apples of her cheeks, but further down as she realizes that his cock is still hanging out of his trousers. it's big, and it's thick, and it's glistening with another woman's cum, and all she can think of is the way he'd been fucking her - roughly, viciously, and in a way that vision would never dare attempt between the two of them, even when wanda is needy and desperate and close to begging for more, for harder, because sometimes tender, gentle lovemaking is the exact opposite of the distraction she's so hopelessly looking for. )
put your clothes back on, pietro. ( she says shakily, with a haphazard gesture of one tiny, trembling hand towards him, but there's something in the piercing depths of his bright-blue eyes that tells her he's in no mood for playing pretend right now; it's just the two of them, the way it always used to be and the way it still is in her darkest of dreams, and wanda's never been good at lying to him. ) this is what you are doing while vision is at work, and i am out running errands? ( she steps forward, and her words might be sharp but her voice is wobbly, and she can't explain the amount of hurt that's rushing through her veins. hurt, and a foreboding sort of heat; she can feel it spreading across the curves of her full, round breasts and tightening the peaks of her sensitive nipples. she isn't wearing a bra, and the thin cotton t-shirt she'd worn tucked into a leather miniskirt and tights had seemed perfectly acceptable to go grocery shopping in at the time, but now...)
if you are going to live here, then you are going to be respectful. of this house, the twins, and me and - ( she can't say vision's name again. once had already seemed like a scathing attack, and she can't think of why that might have been. instead, she surges forward, and she undoes the little sweatshirt she'd had tied around her tiny waist - agatha had insisted it was fashionable - and she shoves it at pietro, saying breathlessly - ) cover yourself up, pietro. now. how many times have you done this? ( she swallows painfully; she's not fully sure why she's asking him this question, or if she truly wants to know the answer. ) how many women have you brought down here, big brother?
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because now all he can think about is the way that wanda fuels her anger, how each word comes with a toxic bite as if she might very well kill him herself in that moment. what blossoms in his mind is the why of it, why she'd care so much about how he brings someone in his bed, especially when she knows he's had his wide quantity of lovers in the past. so why now does she act as if she is learning of his casual sexual behaviors for the first time?
when the woman is gone and wanda snaps at him to bring his clothes back on, he sighs, not exactly moving in a rush when he chooses instead to first run his palm over his face, like he's taking a moment to brace himself first for the one-on-one lecture he's about to receive. but he lets her go on, lets her scold with her questioning as he finally drags his body off of the bed, standing on his bare feet with his hard cock still trapped over the elastic hem of his sweatpants.
before he even gets a chance to adjust, she's already impatiently shoving her sweatshirt at him, which he swiftly catches in the air just as it nearly gets thrown in his face, shooting a stern expression before he finally snags the hem of his pants and stretches it to tuck his cock back behind it, its thick, hard shape still clearly visible even behind the cotton fabric.
when she starts to toss out of her questions, that's when he really gets a good look at her, at the flush of her cheeks, likely the result of her flustered anger, but he momentarily gets caught off guard at the subtle twin points in her shirt, the sight of straining nipples pressing at the fabric from beneath making him swallow before he focuses his gaze at her face. ]
Does it matter? Huh, Wanda? Does it actually matter? [ his voice is calmer than hers, all things considered, but the annoyed frustration is still evident in his voice, hands propping up on his hips as he looks at her with stern seriousness. ] What does it matter if I sleep with one or two or a dozen women here?
[ he steps in closer to her, leaning forward, a snarl practically on his lips when he adds, ] You want to talk respectful? At least I wait until everyone is out of the house to do all my loud fucking instead of the middle of the night with the twins in the next room. Or are you the only one allowed in this house to give everyone a filthy show?
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there had been no boys for wanda, no teenaged romances or bouts of puppy love, because at the end of the day, none of them came even remotely close to comparing to pietro.
he's furious with her, and she knows that he's more than entitled to feel the way that he does. she brought him back from the dead, and for what? to force him into an existence, into a life, that was entirely different from the only one he had ever known, the one that they had shared for as long as either one of them could remember? so terrified of the way she felt for him, and shamed by her sordid desires that all boiled down to wanting to fuck her own brother, wanda had chosen to shut him out instead - to focus all of her denial, all of her control, onto maintaining a marriage with a man that pietro had never even gotten to know before he died.
he catches the sweatshirt she throws at him with characteristic swiftness, and the way that his body stretches - the lean, muscular line of it as his shirt rides up above the toned plane of his abdomen - calls to wanda in the same way that the imprint of his cock straining through his pants does, still-hard impossible to ignore even once he's covered himself up with a modicum of propriety. it's his complete lack of shame that unnerves her, but she remembers a time when there hadn't been any need for modesty between them two of them at all. when he'd be taking a shower and she'd join him, because after a long, hard day of working for HYDRA, there'd been nothing better than a secret moment of intimacy with her twin. )
pietro, that isn't - vision and i are married! ( wanda's voice cracks as he steps forward, and she knows she should be backing up to compensate but she doesn't; instead she shoves at him with her trembling hands, small and dainty but not without the still-lingering warmth that's a direct result of her magic flowing to the surface. it's the first time she's touched him in weeks, and even the brief contact of pushing him away from her deepens the heat that's pooling in her stomach, and she can feel something pulse between her soft, creamy thighs. her meadow-green eyes widen, though, because she hadn't realized that he could hear what happened in her marriage bed at all, and her breath catches as her cheeks flush for an entirely different reason. ) it isn't putting on a show. and if the twins are sleeping, and it's nighttime, then that means that you should be here, downstairs and far away from -
( she's breathing shakily, and the little puffs of air escaping her parted pink lips cause the quivering swells of her breasts to rise and fall almost frantically, and helplessly, her gaze diverts yet again to the front of pietro's sweatpants, to the bulge of his thick cock - his perfect cock, and she doesn't have to wonder why the redhead from the post office had been enjoying herself as much as she had. frustrated, and overwhelmed, she shoves at pietro's broad shoulders again - pushing him towards his bed and getting right up in his face, because she doesn't care that she's a good half a foot shorter than him, or that he could sidestep her in the blink of an eye. a part of her wants to burst into tears, and the other part...) i don't want you bringing anyone back here ever again. if you are going to - sleep around - ( is that the term for it? it's very american, and she isn't thinking straight, and this time when she goes to slap her trembling hands against pietro's chest again...her fingers stay where they are instead of pulling away, and she breathes out in a shuddering, tremulous rush. ) - then you will not do it here. i don't - i don't want to see it, pietro. i never have.
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there's very little that he could really say as she nudges him back. with her magic, she's plenty powerful, but in comparing physical strength, he has the advantage; still, he takes those minor steps with each push, despite how he can bear it plenty to keep himself steady in place, letting her let out her steam, even if his insides boil with the frustration that she's the one yelling at him, as if she isn't guilty of her own faults, as if she isn't giving him just as much pain, if not more, in everything she does.
when her hands linger at his chest, feeling the heat of them pressing up against his chest, trembling as it evokes a different message than her biting words. he stares at her then, his stern eyes still partially angry and now partially confused at her fury, because when he brings his hands up over hers, he can feel her shake, seeing it in the uncertainty of her own eyes. ]
Is that what you don't want to see? [ he almost laughs with bitterness, a humorless smile brief on his lips like he can't believe what he's saying. still, he doesn't take his hands from caressing hers, curving his fingers instead to hold them tighter. ] Is it that you don't want to see me sleeping with other women or is it that you don't want to see me?
[ he says it sharply, and yet there's pain in it too, lip curling briefly inward like he wants to hold the anger and conceal the ache of it. but it's there in his own eyes as he looks at her, never steering his gaze away, in the way he's always been able to look right through her. they'd both been able to, for all the years that they belonged to one another, but now — now it's all different. ]
You don't look at me anymore, sestra. [ she might want this american life, but he slips the word in sokovian, trying to reach across to her of what they were, of what they had been, together. ] Ever since we have been in this house, with this — this life, with your husband, with your children, it is like I don't even exist to you anymore. Even this — [ he peers around at the room, scattered with a few of his own things, but filled mostly with them and the heavy air around them. ] This is the first time we are even alone since I have been here. Where you don't just leave me with your children or run off to get groceries or whatever excuse you can come up with so you don't need to look at me. As if you are ... are embarrassed or ashamed of me.
[ and he makes sure to catch her eyes, makes sure she can see what she does to him, that he hurts, that he's furious, that the retaliation of what he does is all so he can have her attention, so she can remember he exists. with one of his hands, he cups her cheek, skin so heated that he doesn't know if the flush comes from her or himself, thumb lingers close to her lips. ] I don't fit into this life of yours, Wanda. You cannot put me in a basement, far away from you and your husband, where I cannot look at you or touch you anymore, and then get mad because you refuse to share me with anyone else. If you want me to leave this house, I will leave, but I am not staying if I will continue to be nothing to you. Because I will not sit here like a good boy for you, sitting on my hands, while you fuck your husband every night, pretending that it doesn't tear me apart every time you do.
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and he's right. she hasn't been fair to him at all. she flinches, and her eyes squeeze shut when he accuses her of what she already knows to be true: that she's been avoiding him for weeks now, and that it hasn't done either one of them any good. she's just been lucky enough to have vision and the twins, but pietro has been...all alone. )
moy brat. ( my brother, and it escapes wanda now like a broken, reverent prayer, and she lets out a pained, choked little sound as her sunlit green eyes fill with tears. she feels very small, suddenly, and almost defenseless, but pietro is the one who is vulnerable between the two of them. pietro is the one that she's forced into a life he never asked for, one that's so drastically different from the one they'd once shared. and yet he touches her still, and wanda trembles as she feels the roughened pad of his thumb brush across the pouty curve of her bottom lip. her hands, still covered so easily with only one of his, tighten in the fabric of his sweatshirt, and she's finally able to look up at him again. ) i am afraid to look at you, pietro! ( it bursts out of her like a blizzarding wind gusting its way through the mountains, and the sudden surge of her emotions causes the sparse furniture in his bedroom to rattle and quake. she chokes on a sob, and now that she's started, she can't stop. )
i am afraid to look at you - to see you, to touch you, because i know that there is no way for me to hide the way that i feel when i do. i put you in the basement, because if you are anywhere else, there is nothing that i can do to stop vision from noticing. to stop the twins from seeing. i control you so that i can control myself. ( it's finally the truth. even with the avengers, before pietro's untimely death, they'd weathered more than their fair share of uncertain, confused glances, when her brother's hands would linger just a little too long at the small of her back, or when wanda would instinctively go to sit in his lap whenever they were gathered for a meeting. the way that they'd always insisted on sharing a single bedroom and a single bed, even when it hadn't been at all appropriate to do so. they've only ever been good at hiding their feelings from each other, not everyone else. ) i sleep with my husband so that i do not sleep with you.
[ there it is - the darkest, most sordid secret that she has, and yet it's also the one that she keeps closest to her heart. wanda's eyes are squeezed fretfully shut again, and there are tears spilling down the rosy apples of her cheeks, and she's clutching onto pietro's shirt so hard it's a wonder that he doesn't complain. the heat of his body rolls off of him in tantalizingly intoxicating waves, and she feels dizzy with it. dizzy, and still angry, because he'd just been in bed with another woman, and she knows that all she would have to do is slide her hand down the front of his sweatpants to feel the terrible truth of it all. ) you have never been nothing to me. i died when you did, pietro, or i at least wished that i had. and when i brought you back...when i came here, and there you were, all i could think of was losing you all over again. so i hold you at arm's length, because i am terrified of what will happen if i do not. ( there's nothing american about her accent at all anymore; it's all soft, shaky sokovian, and she's standing up on the tips of her toes, and pressing her brow fervently to pietro's, the tip of her button nose rubbing almost fretfully against his as she continues tearfully - ) do you really believe that i do not think of you when he is inside of me? that i do not - close my eyes and pretend that it is moy brat laying me down on his bed and claiming me for himself? that i did not - that i did not want to kill the woman you had underneath you with my bare hands, pietro, just because you chose her?
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but then she offers her confession in turn, words that make him pause in a confounded stare. because he'd really believed she'd been turning his back on him, that she'd found completion in her new family, in vision, in her children, that there'd been no room left for him in her life.
i sleep with my husband so that i do not sleep with you, she says, and he thinks of her again, auburn curls falling against her naked back as she rocks her hips down hard, echoing a series of moans. she'd moan, but she never moaned a name, never moaned her husband's name, and suddenly, pietro can feel his breath shake in connecting that she very well could have been imagining herself riding him in that moment, bouncing on his cock and letting him see the fluster of her cheeks, her breasts, her thighs, as she came completely apart.
he can't imagine it for long, not when his fingers get damp with her tear stains, her face nudging in closer that his sight of her suddenly becomes a mere blur, features in a beautiful haze before him as she tells him everything he'd only dreamed of hearing. ]
I never chose her. [ if anything, she has to know that. fingers sliding up, he wipes at her cheeks, giving a small shake of his head. ] She was the closest I could find to pretending, with her figure, with her curls, but — none of it was right. She did not have your curves, your laugh, your moans. Touching her, fucking her — it never changed how much I wanted you. [ there, a returned confession, the truth laid bare in ways that couldn't be undone, no matter how messy it might all become. but he doesn't want it to, not when he now knows they live in mutual fantasies.
his lips hover close to hers, almost close enough to touch; he shudders in the feel of her breath, shaky but hot, as if it could be enough to light on him on fire then, his lips falling dry that he has to swipe his tongue across just to set them, the slide of his tongue just barely grazing her mouth in passing. ]
Kiss me. [ his voice is low, not necessarily demanding, but daring, confident even as he keeps his mouth close to hers so that she wouldn't have to go far for it. he might know the truth but this is the final piece he needs, the one component to cross the final line. ] Kiss me, Wanda. Not as your brother, but as your desire. [ his hands fall down to her hips, grasping as he reels her in even closer, her chest firm to his to feel the soft mounds of her breasts pressed to his body, his fingers curls tight at her waist. ] Don't fight it. Don't hide me away. Kiss me and show me that you want me and no one else.
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but she isn't thinking about vision right now. she's thinking about pietro, truly and wholly for the first time since they've arrived in westview, because up until just this moment, she'd done everything she could to vanquish her twin brother from her mind, but he's speaking to her now, and his voice is low and urgent as he mirrors her divulgence with one of his own. ) pietro... ( hearing him profess to her that he hadn't chosen the girl from the post office for any other reason aside from the fact that she bore a vague resemblance to wanda fills her with an overwhelming sense of relief that she doesn't deserve; between the two of them, she's the only one that's been fucking another man day in and day out while pietro languishes downstairs in the basement she tried to tuck him away in, and yet the knowledge that he'd only wanted her the entire time set wanda alight with a shattering, tremendous sort of desperation. she looks up at him, and while the apples of her cheeks might still be stained with tears, her big green eyes are damp but clear, and she sees nothing but pietro. pietro, whose inherently masculine beauty has always reminded her of a rebel angel, pietro, with his continually tousled hair as if he was caught in a storm that nobody else could see. pietro, with his cheekbones that arch like wings and his shadowed blue eyes that seem to grow darker by the second -
he reaches for her hips, and in the same moment, he bends his head to hers, and wanda feels the warm, wet slide of his tongue just barely ghost across the parted seam of her lips as he moistens his own mouth, and there's no helping or hindering her body's natural reaction to the way that he touches her now. she gasps, and her trembling fingers tighten instinctively where they're curled up in the worn cotton of his sweatshirt; to pull him closer or push him away, she doesn't know anymore, but her perked, sensitive nipples are rubbing themselves raw into the broad, muscular expanse of his chest, and between her lush, milkmaid thighs, she's soaked through the crotch of her sheer black tights with the slick, sweet honey that drips from her aching cunt. ) we can't - pietro, moy brat, we shouldn't - ( her voice cracks again but she's out of excuses, and as his hands, rough from a life of battle, war, and survival grip tighter at her rounded hips, she's reminded again of the way he'd specifically mentioned her curves, and she realizes then that he'd noticed the difference in her body that three years had made; the way she'd grown from a malnourished waif of a thing into a woman, with a tiny waist that tapered softly into full, creamy breasts and perhaps she'd be self-conscious about it if not for the way that his cock is still straining through his sweatpants, rock-hard and almost certainly throbbing a vicious pulse between his legs.
she doesn't want to say no to him anymore. she doesn't think that she can. )
i do not want you to have to look for me in other women. i - i do not want to come home and find you... ( she can't finish, and instead she breathes out in a tremulous rush, and tilts her head to look up at him; her glossy auburn curls fall free from the scrunchie she'd haphazardly tied them up with earlier in the day and cascade down along the delicate length of her back in shimmering waves of red-gold. shakily, she slides her hands to pietro's face, and she cradles and caresses his stubble-lined cheeks between her tiny palms, and with a small, almost distraught sound, wanda is finally kissing her twin the way that he'd dared her to. she slants her mouth across his hotly, desperately, and she understands very suddenly why all the poets say that love was like burning, because the feeling of his body all along hers was scorching her blood and the heat of it was all through her and in her, and all she wanted was more. ) pietro - pietro. ( his name is a plaintive, fervent mew that spills into his mouth along with wanda's increasingly-feverish kisses, and before long she's shoving at his chest again - this time, to push him back onto his bed, and she can't stop herself from crawling on top of him the moment he's supine. ) you're mine. my brother, mine to love - mine to kiss, and touch, and nobody else's - ( she licks fretfully into the warmth of his mouth, tasting sin and secrecy, and it isn't long before she's sliding her hands down to the hem of his sweatshirt, and frantically working it up and off the length of his body. )
we should stop - we shouldn't be - ( she pants softly, and with a little whine, she kisses from his mouth all along the sculpted line of his jaw, and then further down, onto his neck and his adam's apple, and she knows she's leaving marks and hickeys and bruises in her wake but she can't help it, because suckling and nibbling at her brother's skin is the only thing capable of soothing the roaring need that's been pent-up inside of her for months on end now. years, even. her leather miniskirt rides up along her thighs as she parts them where she's straddled his hips, and the soaked-through crotch of her tights rubs inadvertently along the tented bulge of pietro's captive cock, and wanda flushes with startled pleasure as she gasps - ) pietro, bože môj.
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we can't, we shouldn't, but he can feel the way she almost seems to crumble in his arms, tension loosening more and more in her hips before she seems to fully sink into his body, giving him the desperate clash of lips he'd desiring for far longer than he can ever remember. briefly, there's a hint of salt from the fall of her aching tears, but he licks it away with a flick of his tongue before all he taste is heat and sweetness and her needy lips, all consuming him in an instant that he feels his own body fuel with fire, his cock throbbing with a new kind of intensity that relates nothing to the woman that was previously in his bed before all of this got started.
as she nudges him back onto the bed, keeping himself from falling back fully with a press of his palm to the mattress, he watches as she scrambles on top of his lap, managing a breathless smile before she steals more kisses, muttering her own possessiveness that seems to swirl the workings of his arousal even hotter. ] Nobody else's, Wanda — [ he manages to say before he breathes deeply once more at her descent to his neck, painting his skin with a string of succulent, urgent kisses that he'd ever ever dreamed of, the sounds of her needy moans when she seeks him out desperately keeping him in a hazed fantasy, not able to process how any of this could be real, that he could be holding her in the way he always sought to.
and as soon as his shirt is lost, he refuses to draw back his hands from her again, sloping the round of her hips, gripping at her sides, sliding over the inward curve of her back as she leans into him for a series of kisses. it's the warmth of her that assures him this is no dream, especially as her legs part wider and he can feel that downward press against his cock, coaxing him to hiss a groan. ] That's yours — [ he palms up her skirt fully to her waist, feeling out the sheer fabric of her tights that don't disguise the curve of her hips, the round of her ass where his hands snatch a gripping hold, securing her as he grinds his own up, wanting her to feel that thick shape within his sweats, impossible to hide when she's as tightly pressed to him like this. ]
This cock is yours, sestra. [ when she gasps, he steals that chance to kiss over her jaw in turn, painting kisses with playful flicks of his tongue, tasting every inch of skin that he can claim for himself. ] It is hard only for you. Only because it wants you and this body — your skin and your mouth, your jaw, your neck, your every curve — [ he descends lower himself with his words, slipping up a hand to the front of her shirt where he palms over the thin, cotton to feel out a sweet, soft mound, so much fuller than he'd seen them to be in years past. no doubt the pregnancy holds its credit to it too, motherhood drawing those breasts more plump, stretching the flesh rounder so that now as he gropes through her shirt, there is so much to touch. but his attention is in rolling his thumb against the tight bud that strains through, her nipple so tightly erect that he groans from tracking that sensitive need in such a subtle hint. ]
It wants your breasts, your tight nipples — [ he gives an upward tug of her shirt, not even bothering to take it off fully with his impatience and finding himself all too relieved that she sacrificed any need for a bra today of all day, feeling his mouth dry with need in the sight of a pink, aching bud, his mouth dipping down to wrap around it urgently, tongue swirling around that tight point. ] Down to your sweet, wet cunt — I want all of you, sestra. [ his lips suck harder then, trying to steal the taste of her sweet sweat, of her natural flesh against his slippery tongue, rolling a shine of saliva against her nipple as he stimulates that sensitive point of her breast. ]
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and she can't think of vision, either, her husband who she loves, because even when he's buried balls-deep inside of her night after night, and he's touching her with such gentle tenderness she feels like she's going to completely unravel, none of it was even half as good as just one frenzied kiss from her older brother. )
ah - ! ( his sweatshirt is gone, and wanda's nimble hands are running reverently over every exposed inch of pietro's strong, toned upper body, only to break their kiss with a breathy little gasp when she feels his large, warm hands reach insistently for the hem of her tiny skirt. he yanks it up around her waist, promising her all the while that he belongs to her - that all of him belongs to her, including the furious thickness of his cock as it pulls the front of his joggers taut - and she can't stop herself from reacting instinctively. her slender fingers tighten around the broad musculature of pietro's bare shoulders, and she doesn't even realize that she's scratching him, because his hands are sliding around to the full, peachy curve of her supple ass, and he brings them both flush together so that there's no longer any hiding the feverish, frantic grinding of their hips. she feels the complete outline of his cock then, and it's perfect; wanda's trembling thighs are parted even further as she rocks her body forward, and another sound of startled, overwhelmed pleasure spills past her kiss-bruised lips as she rubs the barely-covered seam of her drenched, soaked cunt all along the length of her brother's straining erection. )
yes - yes, pietro. ( she's whimpering now, high-pitched and earnest, and her curvy hips are moving forward in short, frantic little circles against his; she's humping him, soaking the front of his sweatpants with the sweet, sticky juices dripping so plentifully from her needy little pussy, and as pietro trails his hot, hungry mouth all along the delicate line of wanda's jaw and down to the vulnerable hollow of her throat, she breathes out a shaky sound as her delirium-glossed green eyes flutter open and she looks down between them to watch where his hands go next. there was a time where she was young and still growing, where she would have been more than a little embarrassed to have her twin brother see her in any state of undress, but as pietro slides one hand upward to cup wanda's voluptuous breast through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, her resulting gasp turns into a moan halfway through, high-pitched and keening and far too loud, because she can't be quiet with him, she just can't - ) yours. yours, moy brat. more, pietro, please - !
( she doesn't have to beg for very long at all, and by the time he's tugging her shirt upwards but not off all the way, both of wanda's flushed, sensitive little tits are bouncing free from their confines, and each of them are peaked with rosy, perked nipples that have tightened and budded to full attention beneath her brother's touch. she pants softly, her hips still rocking forward clumsily and of their own accord, and she arches her back instantly as pietro lowers his head to envelop the swell of one lush breast into the warm, wet heat of his mouth. ) pietro! ( she cries out his name as her head tosses back in sheer, divine bliss; she can feel his tongue swirling roughly around one of her unbearably tender nipples, and her hand is in his hair, then, tugging and pulling at the silvery strands as she gasps out so breathlessly - ) i want to give you everything. everything that i gave to him that first time, when i wished so badly that it was you; everything that i have dreamed about for years -
( she's cheating on her husband and she feels terrible because of it but why does it feel like she had been unfaithful to pietro first? vision could arrive home any minute now and she'd have no words or apologies to give to him, no explanations that would justify the sordid sight of her halfway to orgasm in her twin brother's lap, but she can't think about that right now - for the first time since creating their home in westview, wanda is giving up her precious sense of control, and it feels so guiltily, awfully good. ) i can't wait. i can't - pietro, i need you. i need... ( both of her milk and honey breasts are glistening with his saliva now, and quivering in his face, and wanda mewls, letting out a small sound of frustration as she squirms in his lap; she reaches between the press of their bodies, up her bunched-up skirt, and with a satisfied breath, she manages to tug down her tights - ripping them in the process, but they're already ruined, and she's only capable of getting them to her knees, and her panties stay where they are - so sopping wet that the white silk is almost translucent as it clings to the pink, puffy lips of her dripping cunt. ) i am so wet for you; for you, pietro.
( she fumbles with his sweatpants next, and she simply doesn't feel as if there's time for either one of them to possibly undress. instead, wanda rushes the elastic waistband down as far as she's able to, and with a tremulous little moan, she wraps one dainty hand around his cock, and strokes her fingers up and down from top to bottom. she wants him weeping pre-cum, enough to wash away every last drop of the woman from before, and so she tightens her hand fretfully around the thick, pulsating length, and urges pietro's head upwards from her velveteen-soft cleavage so that she can claim his mouth yet again. ) i want you inside of me. moy brat, big brother, please - ( she pleads shakily into his mouth, and begins to kiss all down his neck again, over the love-bites and hickeys she's already left, as she parts her quaking thighs even further, cursing in frustration because somehow her tights are still in the way, but she's able to shove the soiled crotch of her panties to the side nevertheless, and she guides the blunt head of pietro's cock to the sloppy-wet and quivering heat of her tight, tight entrance. ) tell me that this is okay, pietro. ( she's a mess, flushed with rosy warmth all over as she slides her arms back around his neck, and she rocks her hips forward - just enough so that the shaft of his dick can slide slickly between the swollen, slippery folds of her cunt, and she cries out again, her eyes squeezing shut as she just barely resists the urge to seat herself fully on her brother's cock then and there. she needs to hear him say it first. )