Wednesday, March 11, 2015

A Bruce Banner Lemon -- Halcyon

Character: Bruce Banner

Fandom: The Avengers

OC: [Name]

Inspiration: He’s got all those muscles when he’s the Hulk, so I figured…massage?  hehe

Bruce Banner was a man of average height, average build, and a great many other average things.  He wasn’t particularly muscular and preferred his own inner contemplations to a faster, more socialite life.  In other words he was a bit of a nerd, but that was alright.  (All the best superheroes were.)  When his other personality came out, though, he was nothing like the average man in any way, and got in more trouble than not.  Which was why he was sitting rather morosely on the couch in his quarters at HQ, shifting every other minute and looking highly uncomfortable.  For such a cool, level headed man (on his off days), it was certainly a strange sight.
“What on earth is making you wiggle around like that?” you asked after a while of watching the movement.  Your voice was bored and that didn’t surprise him.  You were always bored when you had no assignments.  He turned to give you a resigned sigh and explained, “My back is killing me.  I think I pulled a muscle last night…”
He was referring no doubt to the mission him and Stark had gone on.  They’d only gotten back in the early hours of dawn and he’d slept practically the entire day, too exhausted to bring himself to so much as shower.  That had been around the time you’d decided to come waltzing in and change all that.  (I.e. start ordering him around.)
You raised your eyebrows and gave him a look over that made him even more uncomfortable, simply because of the way your eyes flashed.  Nerd or not, Bruce wasn’t entirely blind to the workings of the female mind.  Not that he thought of you as a female.  You were more like a ravenous animal who didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no’. 
He sighed and watched you carefully, searching your movements for any sign of your usual hunger.  Finding none, Bruce frowned and leaned back, then immediately grimaced when his sore back screamed out in protest.  He’d have to ask Stark just what his alternate ego had done to make him like this.  The man would no doubt love to give him every last detail, and would somehow find ways to poke fun at him around each explanation.
You’d been getting some lunch ready, having been waiting for him to finish his shower.  The little kitchenette that his quarters supplied was good for making sandwiches, if nothing else, and you already had a rather impressive plate of them in front of you.  Bruce tended to eat like a madman after missions, but it seemed as though he wasn’t all that hungry today.  You watched him for several more minutes, noting the way he shifted and muttered to himself, trying to loosen the muscles of his shoulder with one hand and failing – and you decided there was nothing for it.  You’d simply have to put him out of his misery.
With a sigh, you abandoned the sandwiches and approached him, folding your legs beneath you as you sat next to him of the couch.  The smooth black leather was cool beneath you.  Everything about the situation was, from the atmosphere itself to the way Bruce glanced over at you questionably, obviously wondering what you were doing.  The answer revealed itself when you huddled up to his back, brushed his hands away, and began to work at the kinks of his shoulders.  And only a few strokes had him leaning back, sighing in relief, murmuring, “That’s so much better…”
You smiled and continued to press your fingers into his back, ducking over his muscles and trying to push the stress from them with only your touch.  He was absolutely melting against you and it was a rather delicious sight, but then all your efforts went to hell when you pressed against a particularly sore spot below his shoulder blade.
“Christ!” he yelped, then blushed because his voice sounded embarrassingly high pitched.  You immediately stopped with a frown and peered at his face in concern.  Discomfort had captured his features and he was grimacing, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain.  The sight only made you frown harder.
“That’s where you pulled the muscle?” you asked, though you hardly needed a confirmation.  It was quite obvious, and you smoothed over his shoulder blade in what you hoped was a calming motion, trying to draw the pain away.
“Mmhm,” he answered after a moment, and glowered.  “It’s no use…I’ll just put one of those patches on – “  He started to get up, but you dragged him back before he could, and he fell back against your chest with wide eyes.  You glared down at him and he swallowed thickly.  He couldn’t bring himself to be upset with you, especially not when his head just happened to be resting quite comfortably between your breasts. 
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you muttered, and to his surprise your hands drifted down to the front of his dress shirt and you began to unbutton it.  As your fingers flew down the shirt, you told him, “I won’t be one-upped by a bit of fabric.  Besides, you’ll feel much better if you sit still and let me massage you.”  You gave him a particularly perilous look that clearly told him to do as you said or suffer the consequences.  So stubborn.
Head still resting against you, Bruce watched as you opened his shirt, fingers generously touching him.  He’d been with you several times in the past but it seemed he could never get used to your touches.  They were light and breezy, but almost dark with growing, ravenous need.  As if you had to have every single part of him, wouldn’t be satisfied until you had learned everything there was to know about the average man he was.  Yet he did not feel average when you were with him.  Not at all.
You were scintillating, brash, bold, and when his body was connected with yours it was like some of those attributes sunk into his skin and imprinted into him.  And he was scintillating too, and brash and bold, and it was really a very heady feeling, but beautiful too.
Your fingers dragged lightly over his chest, up from his naval to brush over his nipples and shift gently into the light pattering of hair on his upper chest.  He swallowed and sighed, especially when those clever fingers turned once more to his shoulders and neck, and then he began to melt all over again.  It wasn’t fair how good you were at this.  It also wasn’t fair that he was only now realizing this lovely talent of yours.
“Sit up,” you whispered against his hair, squeezing his shoulders lightly.  With a groan he did, shifting his body into a sitting position but still leaning against you.  You breasts pushed up against his back and it felt glorious, especially because he could quite clearly feel the tautness of your nipples through your thin shirt. 
You pressed your knuckles over him, taking care to avoid the strained muscle of his shoulder blade for now.  First you dealt with the other areas of his back, following the trail of his spine and loosening each muscle that sat against it.  You dug gently into his sides and thumbed close to his lower back, enjoying the humming sigh he gave when you did.  And only after he was perfectly tempered and melting against you did you venture to that muscle.
He grimaced immediately when he felt your fingers touch his shoulder blade, but he didn’t complain.  Unlike before, when you had unknowingly pressed hard against the strained muscle, this time you were gentle and very light.  Your fingers hardly caused pain at all as you gently worked the edges of it, and soon enough he was melting thoroughly against you once more, and the intense soreness had blistered away into a dull fire.  It was a good fire, and it felt good to have the muscles worked on.  Once the initial discomfort had passed, that fire had spread along every other muscle, burying beneath his skin and causing a myriad of other problems.  And he was sure you noticed, because your position gave you a clear view of the rest of his body.
Was he surprised that your fingers turned him on?  Not particularly.  He knew he was in for it the very moment you started massaging him.  Did he think he would become as aroused as he was now?  Nope.  But he was hardly surprised by this, either, because you had a certain way of making common things exciting, and he often fell into this very same trap.
“Bruce…” you murmured, leaning down to press a kiss over the warm skin of his shoulder blade.  It rather felt as if a hot fire had built itself up within his veins, making every part of him melt at the heat.  Your lips only made that fire burn brighter, more concentrated against his skin, as if he was standing beside a roaring hearth.  He shuddered just a little, just enough for you to notice, and clenched his hands into fists on his lap.  You noticed that, too.
Your hands slowly slide around his sides, reaching to touch his hands, to grasp them between your fingers.  His eyes fluttered closed as the oddly intimate moment took root within him, and then he felt you shift his hands to the side, fingers running smoothly over his jeans to cup the bulge between his legs.  He could barely feel your touch through the thick fabric, but the sight was enough to make his arousal spike to dangerous levels.  And when you squeezed just so, his head fell back and he let out a soft moan.  And that little sound rather broke your control, and your patience, and instead you turned your fingers hastily to his zipper to feel him better, because you absolutely needed to.
He let you, of course he did.  He wouldn’t dare deny his own desire to continue on this fiery, dangerous path, and he wouldn’t deny you yours either.  Shifting his legs open just a little, he watched through half lidded eyes as your fingers delved into his jeans and wrapped around his thick member.  Your breathing grew heavier as you brought it into the air, but Bruce stopped keeping track once you started stroking him.  That was where he drew the line between his desire to lavish you with attention and his need to just let you pleasure him to your heart’s content.
“Does that feel good?” you wondered almost idly, but he could hear the heady passion that turned your voice to threaded, ripped silk.  He swallowed and decided to allow you your fun, and so he answered with a chuckling, “What do you think?”  You smirked.
“I think it must feel very good,” you murmured, squeezing his tip gently and watching him crumble.  The sight of him was immensely pleasurable for you, especially considering the fact that he’d become this aroused simply by the feel of you massaging him.  If that didn’t boost your confidence, nothing would. 
You kissed his neck, sinking your teeth lightly into him and listening to him sigh at the feeling.  Your tongue immediately ran over the bite, lips sucking the skin and drawing redness into it.  When the mark was sufficiently red, you gave it a pleased lick before moving on, your lips a flutter of movement as you kissed a path below his jaw and over the side of his face.  Bruce turned, caught your eye, and lifted a hand to cup your head.  The next moment he was putting an end to those little kisses and pressing a stronger, headier kiss against your mouth.  You moaned and retaliated with another squeeze to his cock, which made him grasp you harder, nails digging into your scalp.  The push-pull battle was lovely but you needed more substance, more ground in which to act out your passion.  He seemed to be in agreement.
“Lie down,” you told him, your voice bathed in a desire that had him moaning from the sound alone.  You released his member and he shifted his body down along the length of the couch, pressed to black leather and you.  And you followed, but first you straddled his legs and pulled his jeans away, removing the hindrance of clothes and admiring the sight of his very naked form below you.  He was obviously uncomfortable about being so bare when you were wearing so much, and you smirked.
You reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it up off your body, dropping it to the floor.  Bruce watched from below as you did the same for your bra, then began scrambling impatiently for your jeans.  There was only one thing you wanted now, and that was to feel his skin against yours, to sink against him with an intimacy that only a seasoned lover could accomplish.
Bruce chuckled and swatted your hands away, tugging at the hem and pulling them down.  And you let him, moving to hover above his body as he struggled with peeling the layer of fabric away.  When you were bare before him, you finally went to him, shuffling against his body until you were comfortable and listening to his harried, appreciative breaths as you did.  His lips immediately found yours, his fingers tangling into your hair, and he crushed you against him with a power that left you spinning like a lonely star in a universe all alone.
But you weren’t all alone, something he made quite clear as his warm body clutched you possessively.  His fingers raced along your skin, squeezing your rear, dipping against the cleft of it and tracing it down to your center.  Your legs immediately shifted apart without thought.  You were eager for more of him, and the moment you felt his fingers sink into your core, you moaned feverishly and buried your head into his shoulder.
Bruce chuckled, obviously aroused by that moan, and began to gently thrust his fingers into you.  “Does that feel good?” he said teasingly, using your words from before as he watched desire spin over your features.  You panted and clutched at him, shifting your hips just a little as you impatiently tried to get him to go faster.
“Mmm, yes!” you whined.  He wouldn’t go faster.  He was stubborn and apparently enjoyed seeing you suffer.  With a frown, you whimpered, “Please, Bruce.  I want more of you.”  Because you could feel the heat of his hard cock pressing against your abdomen, and it was rather making you crazy.  You wanted that inside you, thrusting into you as his fingers were doing now.
He swallowed thickly.  Your words caused a staggering wave of desire to crush over him, hitting him hard in the chest and stealing what little breath he had left.  This panicked passion was exactly what made him crazy for you.  No one else could make him so helpless, so out of control in the most sensual of ways.  And when he was with you, he didn’t even feel afraid of losing that control.  It just felt natural, like breathing or walking or feeling.  It felt human.
“Bruce?” you whispered when he didn’t do or say anything in response to your plea.  You raised yourself onto your elbows to see him properly, and you felt your eyes soften at the sight he made.  Laying beneath you, looking almost vulnerable, your temperate lover clutched you to him as if you were the only thing separating him from the beast he feared so much.  And yet you knew there was no danger now.  He had never shown any signs of changing form during your sexual encounters.  And why would he?  It wasn’t as if he was ever angry when you were filled with him.  Anger was probably the last thing on his mind.
He said nothing, just looked at you for a long moment that seemed to descend into an eternity.  Then he gave you a little smile and shifted his knees between yours, opening your legs around his and heaving your hips up with two strong hands.  You moaned at the feel of your skin sliding against his, but he cut the sound off when his mouth crashed rather headily against yours, at the same moment his cock was guided into your core with sudden but delicious force.
“Ohmmph!” you cried against his mouth, but kept kissing him because it felt so good, so intimate in a way you’d never felt before.  It felt as if you could suddenly feel parts of him you’d never felt, little shifts of his heart that had before remained silent and shadowed.  But suddenly Bruce was new.  He was different, beautiful, and his passion for you was changed somehow, in a way you couldn’t quite describe.  Only you could feel the change resound through your bones and rattle you down, his thrusts forceful and powerful as they lifted you’re your hips into the air.  And still his lips raced over yours, as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste, of the way your mouths fit together seamlessly, of the whimpered little moans that spun from your throat and were sent muffled against his.
“Bruce,” you moaned, and he inhaled that sound too, as if the very shift of syllables made him crazy with lingering passion.  They did.  And he used that passion to fuel his movements as he crushed his love against you, filled you up until you were brimming with it, and let it overflow against your mind and your heart and every other part of you he could not touch, but felt.
His hips were a surge of energy, dragging his member in and out of you with long deep strokes.  You swore you could feel him reaching places he never had before, bruising you with every tempered, delicious thrust.  And it was amazing, and your body felt like it was a wildfire scourging with such uncontrollable heat that you were blind in the face of it. 
Your orgasm was hurtling through you, building itself from the ashes, spinning up from the depths of your desire and making itself physical and startlingly powerful.  Your lips stopped moving with his.  Kissing him required thinking and that was too hard now.  All you could do was stare down at him and hope to convey the message of your impending end, which you could not stop or hold back when his thrusts were so quick and endless.
Bruce saw the warning in your eyes but didn’t stop.  He wanted you to come, wanted to see your orgasm play out on your face, wanted to watch your body curl and feel the impact of his love for you.  And so he just kept thrusting, hilting himself into you again and again and not stopping or slowing down.  He needed to come as well, he was bursting from the desire to, but he needed to have you come first.  Watching the effects he had on you was a pleasure he wouldn’t pass by.
“Come for me,” he told you, his voice strained from the effort of holding his own orgasm at bay.  You all but melted at the sound of his voice, at the way he stared up at you with that encompassing desire, as if he wanted to possess every single part of you.  You couldn’t possibly hold back now, not when he wanted you to come, and not when you wanted to come so badly.  And so you clutched his shoulders, leaned back, and relinquished yourself to the throws of passion.
With a loud moan you came, and Bruce watched reverently as your body unfurled for him.  Your shoulders were thrown back, your chest forward, hips jerking down to meet his thrusts in a sloppy, needy way.  But it was your face that caught his attention most of all, and it was the way your eyes creased into slivers of passion and love and other beautiful emotions that made his own end come crashing down upon him.
“Mmmph!” he cried, but hardly heard himself.  His world tilted, joining yours.  Your muscles clenched down on his length and his pace increased, taking full advantage of the way your body screamed for him.  He burst moments later, heaving breathlessly and bringing you down into his arms.  Your bodies were slick with sweat and the scent of sex lingered between you.  It felt surreal and lovely, scintillating in a way that could only be felt when one lingered in the haze of a physical union.
Behind you, the late afternoon sun shrouded you in warmth, and you closed your eyes and curled against Bruce, both enjoying the moment of peace in your not so peaceful lives.



  1. Oh, this is so lovely! I hate seeing such great writings with no love in the comments to show the writer how good it is! Keep writing!

  2. The best one I have read yet... and I have read plenty! Thank you for your beautiful work.

  3. This is amazing!! I just found your website now, and I'm slowly reading through my favourite characters