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transemacabreWhy yes, I ship Doctor Doom in a het pairing, thanks to Doctor Doom and the Masters of Evil. And when I saw this prompt over on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marvelkink_v2, I knew only two people on the internet would dare to fill it, and Paul Tobin doesn't keep a livejournal as far as I know. So you get me instead.
Title: Incarnation of Temptation
Rating: T for Teen
Pairing: Doctor Doom/Princess Python
Summary: Post-mini series, Doom requests the pleasure of Python's company at a ball in Latveria.
"You -- you have a portrait of me over your bed?" Python said, cringing a little at the way her voice squeaked out the last word. She stood rooted to the spot, her toes pinched in her too-tall heels, staring up at the massive portrait adorning the wall over a magnificent bed.
Python recognized the image; Doom must've had it painted from a Circus of Crime poster that she posed for a couple of years ago. In the portrait, she reclined upon a couch, her snake coiled around her body, her head tilted a little, her lips very red and curved in a come-hither smile.
To see this image, so blatantly erotic and calculated at luring in easy marks to be parted from their money, adorning Doctor Doom's bedroom wall felt surreal and a little perverse, as though she were a gaudy piece of costume jewelry that had somehow made its way into the prized collection of an art connoisseur. What am I even doing here? Python asked herself, and she clasped her arms around her like armor. She'd been asking herself that since she'd arrived at this soiree at Castle Doom to find herself surrounded by monarchs and dignitaries from all over the world. She had felt so proud to receive Doom's invitation, but she stood out like a sore thumb in her designer knock-off dress and borrowed shoes. Python stood awkwardly next to the ruler of Symkaria, a gorgeous woman with silver hair and the quiet confidence of a professional mercenary, until Doom himself appeared suddenly and requested her company. Python had tagged along after him here, to his private chambers.
"The portrait pleases me," rumbled Doom, and the sound of his voice set her body to shivering. "I had a Renoir hanging there, but I grew weary of it."
At that, Python silently mouthed Oh my god to herself. Taking a deep breath, she tried desperately to find some other topic of conversation. "So, uh, this is your bedroom?" she asked, and immediately regretted it. Saying it that way just highlighted how bizarre it was that Doom had apparently invited her to Latveria just to take her to his bedroom and show her a portrait of herself.
Doom gave her a look that made heat flush in Python's cheeks. "This is my bedchamber, my inner sanctuary," he said. "As such, it should be a place of refuge, of reflection."
Python glanced left and right. Doom's furniture and furnishings were beautiful but so stark -- he didn't leave socks on the floor or toothpaste dried to the sink. She could hardly imagine him being like other men, needing to sleep, needing rest, needing anyone or anything. It made him seem too vulnerable.
"Look, Doom, I'm really flattered that you flew me all the way to Latveria and all," she said. "And the portrait, I'm, um, honored. It's just --" Python fiddled a little with the hem of her dress. "After what happened a few months ago, I'm still a little sore and disappointed."
Doom's eyes narrowed beneath the slits of his masks. "Disappointed?" His tone dropped low and dangerous.
"I thought after what happened in space that I meant something... important to you." Python sighed. "That you had some special need of me. I guess I hoped this time that maybe you really did need me for something." Why am I even bothering, she thought to herself. He doesn't even have a conscience anymore! He couldn't feel sorry for what he did even if he wanted to!
"Princess Python," Doom began, raising a hand to silence her. "I told you once before that you talk too much. But once again, you're almost right."
"Almost... right?" Python wondered aloud, before looking at her portrait again, at the way her neck was tilted back, the sensual curve of her lips. She noticed the vastness of Doom's bed, the thick woolen blankets, the flickering candles burning in the lamps lining the walls. And for once, she noticed how close Doom had gotten to her, the way he seemed to lean into her, loom over her. Her mouth suddenly went dry.
"You -- you --" She almost couldn't say it, for fear that her suspicion was incorrect and that Doom would laugh at her, mock her for impudence. For supposing once again that silly little Princess Python meant anything to Doctor Doom. "You brought me here to make love to me?!"
Doom's hands swept before him as he spoke; Python found herself fascinated by his gestures, more graceful than those of any master of sleight-of-hand. "Join me for the evening. Few would I trust to enter my sanctuary, and fewer would I desire."
Python gaped at him. "But -- there's a ballroom filled with beautiful women out there! You can pick and choose from any of them. You didn't have to fetch me from across the Atlantic just to have someone for a night!"
"I also told you once that you impressed me, Princess Python. I requested that you join me then, and you accepted." Doom flicked his cape over his shoulder and gestured at the massive oaken door behind them. "The door is unlocked."
He's giving me a choice, Python realized. Just like at their first meeting, Doom was giving her the chance to walk away. She could turn on her heel and walk back out to that ballroom and stand on the sidelines while the beautiful people danced. Or she could stay here. With him.
Python's knees trembled. Doom stepped forward, and she rested a hand on his arm to steady herself. "Stupid shoes," she said ruefully. "I need to sit down."
Doom helped her the few feet to the bed, where Python perched on the edge and began unbuckling her shoes. The first slid off, and she laid in beside the bed. When she tried to remove its mate, much to her surprise Doom reached down and slid the shoe from her foot, laying it beside the first.
Python wiggled her toes, letting the blood return to them. "You'll never regret what happens tonight, can you?" she mused aloud.
"You know the answer to that question."
"Yes," said Python sadly. "I do." And then she laid her hand over his.
marvelkink_v2, I knew only two people on the internet would dare to fill it, and Paul Tobin doesn't keep a livejournal as far as I know. So you get me instead.Title: Incarnation of Temptation
Rating: T for Teen
Pairing: Doctor Doom/Princess Python
Summary: Post-mini series, Doom requests the pleasure of Python's company at a ball in Latveria.
"You -- you have a portrait of me over your bed?" Python said, cringing a little at the way her voice squeaked out the last word. She stood rooted to the spot, her toes pinched in her too-tall heels, staring up at the massive portrait adorning the wall over a magnificent bed.
Python recognized the image; Doom must've had it painted from a Circus of Crime poster that she posed for a couple of years ago. In the portrait, she reclined upon a couch, her snake coiled around her body, her head tilted a little, her lips very red and curved in a come-hither smile.
To see this image, so blatantly erotic and calculated at luring in easy marks to be parted from their money, adorning Doctor Doom's bedroom wall felt surreal and a little perverse, as though she were a gaudy piece of costume jewelry that had somehow made its way into the prized collection of an art connoisseur. What am I even doing here? Python asked herself, and she clasped her arms around her like armor. She'd been asking herself that since she'd arrived at this soiree at Castle Doom to find herself surrounded by monarchs and dignitaries from all over the world. She had felt so proud to receive Doom's invitation, but she stood out like a sore thumb in her designer knock-off dress and borrowed shoes. Python stood awkwardly next to the ruler of Symkaria, a gorgeous woman with silver hair and the quiet confidence of a professional mercenary, until Doom himself appeared suddenly and requested her company. Python had tagged along after him here, to his private chambers.
"The portrait pleases me," rumbled Doom, and the sound of his voice set her body to shivering. "I had a Renoir hanging there, but I grew weary of it."
At that, Python silently mouthed Oh my god to herself. Taking a deep breath, she tried desperately to find some other topic of conversation. "So, uh, this is your bedroom?" she asked, and immediately regretted it. Saying it that way just highlighted how bizarre it was that Doom had apparently invited her to Latveria just to take her to his bedroom and show her a portrait of herself.
Doom gave her a look that made heat flush in Python's cheeks. "This is my bedchamber, my inner sanctuary," he said. "As such, it should be a place of refuge, of reflection."
Python glanced left and right. Doom's furniture and furnishings were beautiful but so stark -- he didn't leave socks on the floor or toothpaste dried to the sink. She could hardly imagine him being like other men, needing to sleep, needing rest, needing anyone or anything. It made him seem too vulnerable.
"Look, Doom, I'm really flattered that you flew me all the way to Latveria and all," she said. "And the portrait, I'm, um, honored. It's just --" Python fiddled a little with the hem of her dress. "After what happened a few months ago, I'm still a little sore and disappointed."
Doom's eyes narrowed beneath the slits of his masks. "Disappointed?" His tone dropped low and dangerous.
"I thought after what happened in space that I meant something... important to you." Python sighed. "That you had some special need of me. I guess I hoped this time that maybe you really did need me for something." Why am I even bothering, she thought to herself. He doesn't even have a conscience anymore! He couldn't feel sorry for what he did even if he wanted to!
"Princess Python," Doom began, raising a hand to silence her. "I told you once before that you talk too much. But once again, you're almost right."
"Almost... right?" Python wondered aloud, before looking at her portrait again, at the way her neck was tilted back, the sensual curve of her lips. She noticed the vastness of Doom's bed, the thick woolen blankets, the flickering candles burning in the lamps lining the walls. And for once, she noticed how close Doom had gotten to her, the way he seemed to lean into her, loom over her. Her mouth suddenly went dry.
"You -- you --" She almost couldn't say it, for fear that her suspicion was incorrect and that Doom would laugh at her, mock her for impudence. For supposing once again that silly little Princess Python meant anything to Doctor Doom. "You brought me here to make love to me?!"
Doom's hands swept before him as he spoke; Python found herself fascinated by his gestures, more graceful than those of any master of sleight-of-hand. "Join me for the evening. Few would I trust to enter my sanctuary, and fewer would I desire."
Python gaped at him. "But -- there's a ballroom filled with beautiful women out there! You can pick and choose from any of them. You didn't have to fetch me from across the Atlantic just to have someone for a night!"
"I also told you once that you impressed me, Princess Python. I requested that you join me then, and you accepted." Doom flicked his cape over his shoulder and gestured at the massive oaken door behind them. "The door is unlocked."
He's giving me a choice, Python realized. Just like at their first meeting, Doom was giving her the chance to walk away. She could turn on her heel and walk back out to that ballroom and stand on the sidelines while the beautiful people danced. Or she could stay here. With him.
Python's knees trembled. Doom stepped forward, and she rested a hand on his arm to steady herself. "Stupid shoes," she said ruefully. "I need to sit down."
Doom helped her the few feet to the bed, where Python perched on the edge and began unbuckling her shoes. The first slid off, and she laid in beside the bed. When she tried to remove its mate, much to her surprise Doom reached down and slid the shoe from her foot, laying it beside the first.
Python wiggled her toes, letting the blood return to them. "You'll never regret what happens tonight, can you?" she mused aloud.
"You know the answer to that question."
"Yes," said Python sadly. "I do." And then she laid her hand over his.
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Date: 2010-10-01 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-10 08:38 am (UTC)