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locketofyourhair1400+ | Femmevengers Clint/Hogun | NC-17
Unbeta'ed; for kink bingo: furs, silk, satin
Hogun is the shortest Asgardian, inches shorter than Thor for sure, but when she looms close to Clint, Clint realizes that Clint is actually inches shorter than Hogun herself. Hogun may even be taller than Stephanie, and she wants to ask suddenly how tall Hogun actually is, like Hogun will give a human measurement. She goes to ask, except that she’s got Hogun’s tongue pushing into her mouth.
Hogun’s skin feels flushed from drinking, but Clint can’t be sure that’s not her own warmth. She’s seen Hogun drink more in three hours than Clint can drink in a month. Considering how much Clint can drink, this is precisely a lot. But she’s warm and Clint clings to her.
She doesn’t squeal when Hogun’s hands move from her ass to her lower thighs, when Hogun shows herself to be a true Asgardian and lifts Clint off her feet. Clint wraps her legs around Hogun’s waist and this all feels too much like a porno, some old seventies thing where everything is soft edged and there’s some terrible music playing. She keeps kissing Hogun, grinding against the front of her armor.
Hogun laughs, and she’s nowhere near as drunk as Clint because she’s walking. She’s walking and they’re moving, and Clint is pretty sure that this is where Tony set up the warriors three. It’s three close rooms that have to share a bathroom, and Clint thinks they are going to look just like hers, all pretty furnishings that Tony’s mother picked out and updated bed linens and maybe a piece of art that is way too expensive.
She’s mostly right. The lights turn on automatically when Hogun brings them into her bedroom, and there is expensive art and nice, expensive furniture, but Hogun’s weapons are everywhere, laid out on every surface and there is a pile of rich, dark fur on her bed instead of the tasteful bedspread.
Hogun dumps her in that fur, and Clint remembers the animals she grew up with at the circus. Normally she hates fur because she remembers some sad animal eyes, but this fur is much, much softer than the fur she remembers. It’s clean and soft and a rich, deep red like blood.
Hogun is taking off her clothes, undoing ties and fasteners, and Clint forgets her question. Asgard clothing is too complicated. Clint wants to see Hogun naked now, but she’s like a damned Victorian trying to get everything undone. She doesn’t offer to help. Her fingers are clumsy enough pulling her tank and sports bra up and kicking off her sweats, underwear, and shoes. She should apologize for getting this fur all sweaty.
Except that under all that armor, Hogun is sweaty. She’s sweating and her skin is tanned from practicing in the sun. She’s all wiry, defined muscles and high, tight breasts. She rips Clint’s pants down from around her ankles and she pulls at her socks so they are both completely naked and then they’re on the fur.
Hogun doesn’t kiss her again. She leans down, running her tongue between Clint’s breasts, with her knees framing Clint’s hips. The bed doesn’t even creak when she moves, when she stretches her neck out to take Clint’s nipple between her lips and suck lightly. Her tongue is slow and teasing, and Clint is already so warm from drinking and it feels so good.
She’s never been a quiet lover, and she doesn’t think Hogun gives half a shit. Clint tries, though, to be nice to Volstagg and Fandral because of course Hogun’s room is smack dab in between them. But then Hogun scrapes her teeth against Clint’s nipple, and she’s done. She’s crying out and gripping the fur with two hands.
The fur is already damp under her skin, and it’s sticking to her. It should be gross or weird, but it’s equal parts decadent and barbaric, very Xena. She wonders if this is what Thor and Jane do, if they fuck in mounds of furs. She’s never fucked an Asgardian before; maybe this is just their speed.
Hogun lifts her head, and her mouth looks wet and her dark eyes are almost dangerous. “You went quiet again,” she murmurs, and she bites lightly on the side of Clint’s breast, just enough that Clint rears up and groans again. She feels so close already, and Hogun’s hands are just on her waist.
“I was thinking,” Clint murmurs, and she hums softly when Hogun’s mouth covers her nipple. She goes right to teeth this time, and Clint usually likes to work up to biting. Tonight though, when they’re surrounded by weapons that look like they should be either in a museum or in a SciFi convention, biting seems about the right speed.
Hogun looks up again with her eyebrows raised, and she’s marking her way down Clint’s skin. Her bites are hard, almost skirting that edge of a little too much. Her hands move lower, and her fingers are rough from centuries of battles.
“Thinking about Xena,” Clint says, because she doesn’t know how to say that she feels like she’s some warrior’s prize for the night, a wench carried off when the mead went dry and the singing was over. She’s a lot more into it than she would admit to in the sober light of day. “You know, the fur and the weapons.”
“I do not understand,” Hogun murmurs, and her hands are so close now, cupping Clint’s hips, thumbs pressing into her thighs. She pushes Clint into the pelts more, harder, so she’s just surrounded by all the fur and the world has narrowed to Hogun and the dark red.
Clint shakes her head, because she doesn’t know how else to explain it. “What is this?” she asks instead, drawing a handful of the pelt up.
“It is from a faerie beast that we three slew. I made the killing blow.” Hogun bites just below Clint’s navel, and Clint forgets about Xena and lays back.
Hogun’s fingers push into her then, and it’s rough. She might scream this time, and Hogun barely hesitates before Clint is touching her dark hair and trying to communicate go, go, go when she’s speechless and trying to adjust. Consequences are for tomorrow, and for right now, Hogun is holding one of Clint’s legs up like it’s nothing as her tongue makes broad passes over Clint’s cunt.
She is merciless, her fingers moving almost too fast. Hogun isn’t human, not matter how humanoid her body looks in the light. Clint is feeling that now, one leg dangling and Hogun’s mouth on her clit. It’s all too fast. She registers the feeling of Hogun sucking her clit, and then Hogun’s tongue is pushing into Clint’s body with her fingers. It bleeds together, Clint thrashing against Hogun’s mouth.
When the first orgams comes like a wave, Hogun moves just enough so Clint’s leg can fall over her shoulder. Her other arm keeps Clint’s hips pinned to the bed, and she doesn’t stop. Clint’s hips keep twitching, and she’s pulling at the fur so hard that it feels like she might actually rip it. Hogun keeps going, and the speed now is too much. Clint is too sensitive, and it feels like she’s just caught in one continuous orgasm until the feel of Hogun’s tongue and rough fingers hurts too much, shocking her brain sober enough to try and bat at Hogun’s head.
“Stop, stop,” she says, and her face is wet from sweat, maybe from tears. Her body is gleaming, and this is the first time she can truly say that she cannot feel her legs, like her entire lower body has lost all feeling but the throb coming from her cunt.
Hogun moves away, and her mouth is still wet, from tasting Clint. She moves to take the two fingers into her mouth, and Clint flaps her hand because no. She wants to taste herself on Hogun.
Hogun understands, moving her hand to Clint’s mouth, and Clint opens her lip for it. Normally, she would make a show of this, but she can’t muster it yet. She just licks her taste away and then lets her head tumble against the fur.
“I am sorry,” Hogun says after a moment. She is touching one of the bite marks carefully. “I have never tumbled a mortal.”
“No complaints,” Clint says, and she offers a muted version of her own smirk. “When my brain stops leaking, I will return the favor.”
Hogun frowns and reaches to Clint’s neck, stroking along one ear and then the other. “I did not know that happened to mortals.”
Clint laughs and can’t stop laughing as she pulls Hogun onto the bed beside her. “You really need to watch more television,” she declares.