Claws
Relationships: Natasha Romanoff x T'Challa Udaku, Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers (mentioned)
Word Count: 586
Rating: Explicit 18+
Warnings: Fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids)
"I'm on the phone," Natasha mouthed, ducking out of T'Challa's arms.
He pushed out his bottom lip as he removed his helmut and looked around her apartment. This was one of the few days off they shared. Who could be so important that she was going to waste the little time they could spend together?
"Challa" she hissed when he moved behind her and pulled her down to his lap on the couch. He ignored her annoyance and hooked her knees on the outside of his, spreading her legs wide.
Her baggy Red Hot Chilli Peppers shirt rose up, pooling around her hips. Nat inhaled sharply, glancing at him over her shoulder.
"Sounds like a perfect date," she said into the phone. "for the wedding."
T'Challa's eyes widened and a devious smile spread over his face. There was only two people that were likely on the other end of the phone who'd be talking about a wedding; Steve or Wanda.
He ran the tips of his claws teasingly up the inside of her thighs and Nat shifted slightly.
"Blue & red is a fairly easy colour scheme to work with."
Yeah it's definetely Wanda.
He hooked a claw into the edge of her red panties and pulled them aside. She ground against him and huffed, phone still to her ear.
T'Challa brought his other hand to her face, tapping the pad of one finger against her lips. "Suck," he breathed in her free ear.
"So the bridal party is me, Pepper, Carol, Bucky, Tony, & Pietro," she said before parting her lips and softly sucking T'Challa's gloved finger.
He pulled it away and kissed her cheek. The dampened finger traveled down between her spread legs and made a lazy circle against her clit, claw carefully held away. Nat shuddered, pressing her ass against the bulge in T'Challa's suit.
"You don't sound too keen on dress-shopping."
She dropped her head back against T'Challa's shoulder, hips gyrating and seeking more friction. "I want to fuck you," he murmured. "Think you can keep up your very important conversation then?"
She whimpered quietly. "Sorry, the cat came in looking for food."
T'Challa grinned and removed his suit, pushing Nat up to her feet. She stood on shaky legs as he pushed his underwear halfway down his legs.
He grabbed Nat's hips and led her to lean over the arm of the couch.
"Bachelorette party is bound to be fun," Nat said into the phone.
She dropped it to the couch as T'Challa pushed her panties aside and thrust into her from behind.
"Fuck," she hissed.
"You shouldn't keep your bestfriend waiting," he teased, reaching around to touch her as he began a slow rock.
Nat fumbled with her phone. "Sorry Maximoff, the phone slipped out of my hands. Yes, I'd be happy to."
"I'm sure you would," T'Challa said, picking up his pace, fingertips digging into her hips.
"Challa? Yeah he's doing well."
T'Challa raised an eyebrow, slowing down to a steady rock again.
Nat laughed then and clenched around him, making him groan. "I can't believe Ronan is nearly two already." She pushed back against him, encouragingly.
T'Challa chuckled and pulled almost completely out before slamming back into her, relishing in the sharp gasp he pulled from Nat.
"That sounds great. I'm looking forward to it...you too, Maximoff." She tossed the phone across the couch. "Apparently Maximoff thinks we make a good match."
"Does she really?" T'Challa panted, beginning to lose his rhythm. "Imagine that."
"What a crazy idea."
