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transemacabreHOLY SHIT IT'S FEMSLASH. Spider-Woman/Joystick, takes place after their fight in New Tbolts #13-14. M is for Mature, so no little kiddies.
They meet on the rooftops, in one of those seedy back-alleys that one can always find if one turns the right (wrong) corner in New York City. The air is wet; they're not far from the river. A cat in heat yowls in the distance. Jessica crouches on the roof's edge, her knees digging into gravel. "Joystick," she says, "back for more?"
The Thunderbolt flashes a stunning smile, then flashes her truncheons for added effect. "It's never enough, Spider-babe," she replies. Fast, faster than Jessica remembers, she climbs the side of the building and they're face-to-face, too close, uncomfortably close. Joystick's bruises have faded.
Jessica dismisses her with a wave of her hand. "I'm not interested in playing around tonight," she tells her. "I'm hunting bigger prey than you."
"Kilgrave, right?" Joystick says, and the look on Jessica's face must've given her away, because she goes on. "He's a nasty piece of work. You might need some backup... we could make a good team."
"I can take care of myself," Jessica growls, irritated. But when Joystick is punched, she just bounces right back.
"Yeah," laughs Joystick, "I think that's part of your problem!"
Jessica wants to say something pithy, something witty, but all her clever replies die on her tongue. Joystick is too quick with comebacks, they could be here all night. She doesn't have time for this. "Go away, Joystick," she says, pushing past the other woman. "I've got nothing for you."
Joystick catches her by the arm. "Oh, but I think you do!"
Jessica returns the grip, squeezing Joystick's wrist enough to force her to let go, a silent reminder, I can break you. Pulling back, Joystick glares at her reproachfully, like a child that's been lied to. "You give off mixed signals, Spider-babe," she says, her voice pitched low. "I thought you liked it dirty."
Silly girl, Jessica thinks, likes to play supervillain. Joystick dances between right and wrong, Master of Evil and Thunderbolt, not making up her mind and not caring to. She has no idea what playing both sides means. Every day Jessica wakes to pride and glory and every night she closes her eyes to horror. Hail HYDRA.
"Don't play with me, girl," Jessica warns her. "You'll get hurt. Again."
Joystick's touch is faster, softer. A caress. "I'm not an amateur." Tingling skin. Jessica's breaths come quicker, deeper, matching Joystick's.
Eyes meet in the flickering light of a street lamp. An understanding. A spark of interest. Jessica licks her lips. She backs away. With a grunt of disgust, Joystick flings up her hands. "Nothing but a tease," she grumbles. "A stupid tease."
"I only promise what I can deliver," Jessica says, a little defensively. "I didn't make you any promises."
Joystick's face breaks into another smile. She's really beautiful, too open, too free with herself. Too... much. She wraps her arms around herself, as though chilled by the cool night air. "I don't want your promises."
It's crazy, but it still doesn't make the top ten list of Jessica's craziest actions. The apartment's not even hers. It belongs to an... old friend, who spends a lot of time out of town, and who is happy to loan it out when Jessica needs a place to meet civilians or just escape from the spandex crew. Spartan, expensive, too clean. No photographs, nothing personal.
Joystick walks in like she owns the place and immediately makes herself comfortable on the couch. She sprawls out, resting her head on the couch's arm, stretching out her legs. Jessica stalks past, pretending to ignore her, to the mini-bar to pour herself some wine. She doesn't like the way Joystick is always... spreading her arms and legs everywhere. The wine sloshes around in her glass, dark purple. Jessica sips, but it does nothing to quench her thirst. She's seeping pheromones, little particles of sex.
Wordlessly, she hands one glass to Joystick. Seating herself on the chaise lounge, Jessica crosses her legs and uncrosses them, once, twice. She takes one long drink of her wine, not breaking eye contact with Joystick.
Joystick's gaze is direct, challenging. She brings the rim of her glass to her lips, but at the last moment lowers it again and asks, "Is it true spiders eat their mates?"
Jessica smirks. In three long steps, Joystick crosses the room to her, taking the wine glass from her hand and tossing it aside. Dark purple wine stains the expensive Italian carpet. Joystick stradles Jessica's lap, so close, so close, her lips brush Jessica's cheek. "I wish we'd had time for this last time," Joystick whispers.
Joystick is as confident in bed as she is in battle. The clothes come off, and Joystick grins and says, "One more thing we have in common." A little frown, Jessica doesn't understand until she pulls at Joystick's tight (tight) pants and finds soft dark feathers, a little trail leading south, a promise. No panties, nothing tamed.
"Ah, ah..." she moans. And it's so warm, and so hot, and their legs tangle, their bodies tangle. Every nerve on red-alert, and when Joystick pinches a nipple it hurts, but Jessica arches her back up to meet her, craving the touch, craving her. At the last moment, Joystick pulls her hand away, and Jessica cries out, writhing beneath her, unfulfilled.
Joystick licks her fingers, tongue curling around each finger slowly, so slowly. "Call me Janice."
They meet on the rooftops, in one of those seedy back-alleys that one can always find if one turns the right (wrong) corner in New York City. The air is wet; they're not far from the river. A cat in heat yowls in the distance. Jessica crouches on the roof's edge, her knees digging into gravel. "Joystick," she says, "back for more?"
The Thunderbolt flashes a stunning smile, then flashes her truncheons for added effect. "It's never enough, Spider-babe," she replies. Fast, faster than Jessica remembers, she climbs the side of the building and they're face-to-face, too close, uncomfortably close. Joystick's bruises have faded.
Jessica dismisses her with a wave of her hand. "I'm not interested in playing around tonight," she tells her. "I'm hunting bigger prey than you."
"Kilgrave, right?" Joystick says, and the look on Jessica's face must've given her away, because she goes on. "He's a nasty piece of work. You might need some backup... we could make a good team."
"I can take care of myself," Jessica growls, irritated. But when Joystick is punched, she just bounces right back.
"Yeah," laughs Joystick, "I think that's part of your problem!"
Jessica wants to say something pithy, something witty, but all her clever replies die on her tongue. Joystick is too quick with comebacks, they could be here all night. She doesn't have time for this. "Go away, Joystick," she says, pushing past the other woman. "I've got nothing for you."
Joystick catches her by the arm. "Oh, but I think you do!"
Jessica returns the grip, squeezing Joystick's wrist enough to force her to let go, a silent reminder, I can break you. Pulling back, Joystick glares at her reproachfully, like a child that's been lied to. "You give off mixed signals, Spider-babe," she says, her voice pitched low. "I thought you liked it dirty."
Silly girl, Jessica thinks, likes to play supervillain. Joystick dances between right and wrong, Master of Evil and Thunderbolt, not making up her mind and not caring to. She has no idea what playing both sides means. Every day Jessica wakes to pride and glory and every night she closes her eyes to horror. Hail HYDRA.
"Don't play with me, girl," Jessica warns her. "You'll get hurt. Again."
Joystick's touch is faster, softer. A caress. "I'm not an amateur." Tingling skin. Jessica's breaths come quicker, deeper, matching Joystick's.
Eyes meet in the flickering light of a street lamp. An understanding. A spark of interest. Jessica licks her lips. She backs away. With a grunt of disgust, Joystick flings up her hands. "Nothing but a tease," she grumbles. "A stupid tease."
"I only promise what I can deliver," Jessica says, a little defensively. "I didn't make you any promises."
Joystick's face breaks into another smile. She's really beautiful, too open, too free with herself. Too... much. She wraps her arms around herself, as though chilled by the cool night air. "I don't want your promises."
It's crazy, but it still doesn't make the top ten list of Jessica's craziest actions. The apartment's not even hers. It belongs to an... old friend, who spends a lot of time out of town, and who is happy to loan it out when Jessica needs a place to meet civilians or just escape from the spandex crew. Spartan, expensive, too clean. No photographs, nothing personal.
Joystick walks in like she owns the place and immediately makes herself comfortable on the couch. She sprawls out, resting her head on the couch's arm, stretching out her legs. Jessica stalks past, pretending to ignore her, to the mini-bar to pour herself some wine. She doesn't like the way Joystick is always... spreading her arms and legs everywhere. The wine sloshes around in her glass, dark purple. Jessica sips, but it does nothing to quench her thirst. She's seeping pheromones, little particles of sex.
Wordlessly, she hands one glass to Joystick. Seating herself on the chaise lounge, Jessica crosses her legs and uncrosses them, once, twice. She takes one long drink of her wine, not breaking eye contact with Joystick.
Joystick's gaze is direct, challenging. She brings the rim of her glass to her lips, but at the last moment lowers it again and asks, "Is it true spiders eat their mates?"
Jessica smirks. In three long steps, Joystick crosses the room to her, taking the wine glass from her hand and tossing it aside. Dark purple wine stains the expensive Italian carpet. Joystick stradles Jessica's lap, so close, so close, her lips brush Jessica's cheek. "I wish we'd had time for this last time," Joystick whispers.
Joystick is as confident in bed as she is in battle. The clothes come off, and Joystick grins and says, "One more thing we have in common." A little frown, Jessica doesn't understand until she pulls at Joystick's tight (tight) pants and finds soft dark feathers, a little trail leading south, a promise. No panties, nothing tamed.
"Ah, ah..." she moans. And it's so warm, and so hot, and their legs tangle, their bodies tangle. Every nerve on red-alert, and when Joystick pinches a nipple it hurts, but Jessica arches her back up to meet her, craving the touch, craving her. At the last moment, Joystick pulls her hand away, and Jessica cries out, writhing beneath her, unfulfilled.
Joystick licks her fingers, tongue curling around each finger slowly, so slowly. "Call me Janice."
