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"Again. Hands up. Get those thumbs in the right place."
Lemon's holding his punch mitts in front of you, legs braced as he prepares for your next round of depressingly weak punches. You shake out your fingers, wincing from the ache of the bruises forming on your knuckles—grateful that you at least remembered to wrap your hands this time—posture up, deep breath...
After two hours of stuffy, sweaty practice on a foam mat in the garage below The Twin's apartment, it's all but totally confirmed that you're more a bring-a-gun-to-the-knife-fight kind of gal. A couple days ago you'd confided in Lemon that you've always wanted to be that girl who could pull a Black Widow and sweep a guy's legs out from under him, and naturally your good pal Lemon decided it was his life's mission to get your strong enough to achieve your dreams.
"Oi, pay attention, babe. You ain't movin' me with those weak-arse jabs and you know it." Lemon tuts, "Fuckin' give it some real effort or I'm callin' Tangerine down here."
"No Tangerine." You practically deflate, wheezing as you throw yourself a little harder into the next hit. "Only you."
It's not that you don't like Tangerine, but there's a very, very thin line between the friendly competition and absolute bloodthirsty murderous rage that you and him share. Lemon knows this—respects this—therefore fully understands why he's the only one who gets to wear the punch mitts.
You jab, no chicken wings, no broken thumbs... You sweep, throwing a leg out, but as it has the last infuriating fifty times, your shin collides with Lemon's too-steady leg and the giant of a man doesn't so much as fucking flinch. It's exhausting. You stumble, attempting to catch yourself before you topple right over, failing and ending up on your ass anyway. "You—fuck—you're too goddamn tall, Lem."
"I've been tellin' you this, love, haven't I?" The velcro bands on the punch mitts tears as Lemon tugs them off and tosses them down to the mat, leaving you to catch your breath while he fetches your water. "That's why I'm saying we should get Tange down here. I know he's strong, yeah, but he ain't as heavy as me." He soothes one of his large hands over your overheated head and passes you your bottle, sucking his teeth as you take a few gulps.
"I know, Lem." You gasp between mouthfuls, closing the bottle and then resting the cool exterior against your temple. "But I can't ask Tange."
"Can't ask me what?"
Your stomach lurches. God, speak of the devil and he shall appear, right? Have you learned nothing?
"To spar." Lemon oh-so-helpfully supplies. "She wants to learn to sweep. You know, that sick Black Widow move?"
Tangerine's thick eyebrows do that ridiculous thing where they crease in the middle, it's the same look he gives the woman next door when her dog comes and shits on their front lawn. "Sorry, don't know if I heard that right so correct me if I'm wrong, but you're tryin' to pull the fuckin' Black Widow move on him?" He points a finger toward his hulking hunk of a brother.
You don't even bother to answer him, instead thousand-yard-staring at the closed garage door.
"You realise you're the size of fuckin' pea, yeah?"
There's a very loud, very distinct crack as you turn your head to throw the nastiest glare you can possibly muster in his direction. "A pea?!" He's emphasising his insult with a thumb and forefinger pinched together and you hurl your bottle at him so fast he doesn't have the time to react before it hits him in the softest part of his stomach. "Arsehole."
Tangerine doubles over, groans, then exhales hard through clenched teeth—and yeah, maybe this is exactly what you were avoiding when you purposely asked Lemon for help instead of his unhinged brother. The pair of you have never been particularly good at suppressing your extremely intense, mostly violent feelings for one another—that much is obvious by the dangerous glint in his too-blue eyes as he stares at you from under thick eyelashes.
"Really gonna regret that one, love." Tangerine snarls, straightening up and rolling his shoulders back, muscles quite defined under his tight grey t-shirt.
You push yourself up to your feet, feeling steadier and far more confident with the lither, shorter man in front of you rather than Lemon—who takes a very smart few steps back to the edge of the mat and covers his mouth to keep from laughing.
"Alright, pretty boy," You smirk, swiping your forearm across your sweaty forehead before posturing up. "Don't make it too easy for me."
**
Fighting with Tangerine is like running rushing water over solid rock. Intense, unrelenting, but eventually it wears down. He's fast, lighting fast, all beserk energy that frightens you just as badly as it excites you—a fist to your ribs, an elbow at his neck, legs tangling, tripping, bruising. There's a challenge behind each blow, chaotic and teasing, adrenaline and hunger burning in your mirrored expressions.
You've been going at it so long Lemon's now no longer watching and has disappeared back inside the house, and you don't blame him. No one's simply going to give up in this battle, it's draw blood or nothing, which is going perfectly well in your opinion until the unthinkable happens.
You dodge a punch but miss the knee coming at you at the same time. It catches you in the side and you're immediately thrown off balance, teetering to one side as you try to catch your footing, and then suddenly...
Tangerine takes a fistful of your hair.
"Ah—ah! What the fuck!" You hiss as you're dragged back into his orbit. You turn your head as much as you can and throw wildly at his arm, slamming your fists against it. The pain disorients you, you're not used to being pulled around by your head, and it makes you panic. "That's fucking foul play and you fucking know it!"
Tangerine smiles a wicked, suave smile that curls the sides of his moustache and tightens his grip, obviously ready to put you over his knee or whatever the fuck else. "Shouldn't have thrown that fuckin' bottle at me then, should ya?"
So you do the only thing you can think to do and grab his dick.
You're not ashamed of it. Not ashamed of how quickly you resort to just as dirty tactic, not ashamed of how you get your fingers around what's clearly his whole shaft and twist your wrist... maybe slightly ashamed of thinking about how big it is in your hand... but it does the trick—Tangerine releases your hair in the next nanosecond and you release his genitals. You take a hold of the offending arm by the shoulder and hoist your body up the length of his, throwing a leg around his neck and squeezing. You're just about sitting up on his shoulder then, your thigh crushing his windpipe and your own hands in his curls, grabbing and tugging just as he had to you.
"How do you fuckin' like it?" You spit, pulling just as hard as he had and throwing in a smack with your free hand just for good measure. "Dickhead. Doesn't feel nice, does it?"
Ooh, how the man beneath you vibrates with rage.
You're starting to think that perhaps this wasn't your smartest move and how could you possibly begin to apologise without ending up dead midway through—but then Tangerine does something spectacularly stupid.
He drops to the floor. And it fucking hurts.
"Holy shit—" You gasp. You think you might be winded. Your body untangles from Tangerine's and you sprawl out on the mat, breathing shallowly as you try to force your lungs to remember how to take in air.
The man beside you barely gives you enough time to recover before he's climbing over you, flipping your body around until you're on your belly and then perching himself on top of you, one knee crushing down on the back of your thigh and forearm across your shoulder blades. You can't move. You're completely unable to get at him, can't reach back, can't kick out—he's too solid, too big on top of you.
"Jeee—Jesus—!" You deflate, flailing about with your free arms and one free leg. "Get off!"
In the midst of your thrashing, Tangerine presses his knee harder into your thigh. "Say you yield, you fucking donut." There's nothing but smugness in that tone.
So you wriggle, trying to rock your body this way and that under him—when all at once he slips. Tangerine fucking slips and his hips collide with your ass, the press of his full weight falling against you right between your legs has a lick of electricity skyrocketing up the length of your spine. Your body jolts in response and you feel something you've previously felt in the palm of your hand press into the split of your body through your clothes and you make this sound, this sound that makes you want to curl up in a ball in one corner and cease to exist.
"The fuck?" Tangerine sounds breathless, and you take advantage of the awkward moment to push with all your might and fling him off you while you scoot out from underneath.
He actually has the audacity to look dazed when you turn back to look at him, and you make the very silly choice to throw a leg over him and sit yourself up on his stomach, smacking him on the chest with a weak fist. "The fuck me? The fuck you!" You shout, whacking him again. "You pulled my hair, arsehat, not cool!"
You go to give him another smack for good luck and he grabs your wrists in his hands and pins your fists to the mat on either side of his torso. You have to scoot back to steady yourself and not go face-first into his chest, but the second your hips move you feel something you've already been acquainted with come up to the apex of your thighs and say another hello.
"Fuck." Tangerine groans, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "Fuck."
"Are you..." You can't even ignore it now or pretend it doesn't exist. His dick is pushing, fucking straining, against your pussy, thick and long and impossibly hard. "Are you seriously turned on by this?"
Call it human response, maybe instinct, but you roll down, rocking your body against his just a little—feeling the way he lifts his feet and plants them up on the mat behind you, his thighs resting just barely at the curve of your ass.
Tangerine flushes a real red, not just from the sticky heat of the humid garage, but from embarassment or arousal or something of that nature. "Shut the fuck up, please—" He pushes up beneath you, bucking his clothed erection into your equally as clothed pussy.
"Shit, don't do that." You whine, spreading your thighs further apart as you hover over him and fully seating yourself down to grind down just that much harder. "We're supposed to be fighting."
"Yeah, and what the fuck are you doing then?" Tangerine pushes upward unexpectedly, rolling the two of you over until you're on your back beneath him, his hips settling comfortably between your thighs as he rests on his elbows above you. His curls fall into his face as he stares down at you, lips parted while your legs curve up around his hips, the friction between the two of you building as he rolls down into you, testing—teasing. "Tell me you yield."
"No." You struggle to keep your voice steady, practically melting into the mat below as Tangerine pins you into place with the weight of his lower body. His sweat is dripping down the tip of his chin to your jaw, his necklace resting snug at the very base of your neck, you're panting but it's not from exhaustion. You lift your hands and tug at his gold chain, head tipping back as he lets himself come down closer. Almost—almost—
"Say you fuckin' yield." Tangerine's nose hits yours, moustache barely grazing your top lip. He smiles, open-mouthed, one corner twitching.
"I don't." You can hear the sound of your voice, hear the whine in it, feel the desperate, silent plea for more physical contact than the two of you already have. You curl your legs up around Tangerine's ass and use them as leverage to push your hips up, rocking in tandem with him.
Tangerine opens his mouth wider and his tongue flicks out, drawing carefully along the shape of your top lip. You gasp, lifting your hands to clutch fistfuls of his sweaty shirt and attempt to pull your body up to his, but the second you do he pulls away. You're barely starting to complain when in one very swift movement, Tangerine is scooting down your body and sticking his forearms under your knees, folding you up and over yourself on the mat, your feet dangling in the air as you're basically morphed into the letter 'C'.
"Yield." He says again, rougher, meaner. You shiver and gasp for the air that can't exactly fill your oragami-ed lungs.
You shake your head, panting hard, hands grasping at the flimsy mats below.
Tangerine tuts his tongue, smile growing even wider as he passes both your legs into one hand and uses his now free one to tug your pants down—or up, you suppose—your legs, panties and all. You yelp, your overheated skin exposed to the sweltering air inside the garage, unable to do anything other than watch as Tangerine grasps the material caught between your knees and uses it to fold you even further in half, spreading you wide and exposing your glistening, aching pussy to him.
"Fuck." He spits, blue eyes blown black. "Fuck."
You flush hot, red all the way from your chest to your hairline. You can't stop the way you pulse under his attention, the arousal and adrenaline too much to handle. "T-Tange—" You stutter, eyelids fluttering as you feel the softest puff of air over your very, very wet pussy.
"Yield." Is all he says, and then he's covering your spread cunt with his fingers and groaning, watching with too-intense focus as his digits slide through your slick with ease. He splits his fingers apart, playing, rubbing, feeling your core, touching as if he's trying to memorise the shape of your clit with his fingertips—then, all at once, he drags his fingers back together and to your hole and starts tapping. Starts. Fucking. Tapping.
Holy shit. Holy shit.
You can't do anything. Your stubbornness stops any words from coming out and your fingers curl fruitlessly at the mat below. You watch with hazy eyes, body spasming every time the flat of Tangerine's fingers slap against your entrance. God, you fucking clench every time—making these breathy, high-pitched sounds with each pat. "P-plea—plea—"
"Either you fucking yield or you get used to it, yeah, ain't no other options, love." Tangerine's taps get harder, faster—you can hear how wet you are, you can see the creamy juices from your pussy string between your obviously gushing hole and his fingers.
God, you're so turned on. You tremble, toes curling even as your legs are beginning to lose all feeling from being in the air so long. Tangerine's grip doesn't waver, keeping you pinned perfectly in place, and his patting doesn't stop—
"You gotta stop—" You shake, "Stop, stop or I'll come—"
"Is that a threat?" Tangerine's smile is devilish and, of course, continues doing what he's doing. "Go on then. Say you yield when you do, darlin'."
"Like hell." You exhale hard, writhing on the floor as everything starts to crescendo.
"Say you yield and I'll put my cock in this pretty little pussy."
Motherfucker.
Your eyebrows pin together, thighs trembling in their elevated position. "I—fuck—I yield. I yield. I yield."
You cum and it's glorious. Tangerine smacks your pussy all the way through it and when it's all over and he finally lets your legs back down you're numb, eyes closed, warm and gooey inside and absolutely saturated with sweat. You vaguely feel him strip your bottoms fully off of your body and then he's between your thighs—you lift your hands blindly and he nuzzles his cheek into one of your palms.
"See, wasn't so fuckin' hard was it?" Tangerine's voice drops low, almost sweet, as he presses into your space. You rub your thumbs in gentle circles at his cheekbones and slowly open your eyes, surprised to see how close his face actually is to yours.
"Oh, yeah, not hard at all dickheahhh—" Tangerine presses inside you as you speak, dragging out your insult and turning it into a long, pitched up moan.
"Fuck me, you feel good." He breathes, stretching his arms out up above your head and leaning all the way in, finally, fucking finally covering your mouth with his own.
God, he kisses you well. Thorough, slow, sloppy, dipping his tongue into your mouth and tasting every last inch. You tangle your fingers into his loose curls and wrap your legs around him, rolling your body down in time with his deep thrusts—letting him fuck down into you as he pleases. It all feels so good, his thickness stretching you open, filling you up all the way—you flutter around him, still high on adrenaline from fighting and your earlier orgasm.
Tangerine groans against your mouth, pulling away enough to look down at your face, veins tense at his temples and jaw set in a hard line. "Fuckin' knew you'd take my cock well, darlin'." He punctuates his point by pressing the length of his dick the entire way inside you and holding there. "You feel that—" He gasps as you clench around him, practically squirming on his shaft. "Ooh, shit, yeah you do. Yes, yes, I feel your lovely little pussy squeezing me."
Your mouth drops open and you hug your legs around his hips, lifting your lower body and rolling up in circles on him, feeding his dick even deeper inside. It jolts sparks down your spine and curls heat in your belly, fingers clutching tighter in his hair and vision blurring.
"Fuckin' gorgeous, yes, yes, fuck me like that. Use that pussy and make me come, won't you, love?" Tangerine drops his head and you feel the tickle of his moustache at your neck before his tongue and teeth. You arch under him and slide your hands down for fistfuls of his shirt, drunk on the pleasure building as you wiggle your body beneath him.
You can barely call it thrusting, it's just a feral rutting of sorts, wet and sticky and absolutely maddening—you're moaning, loud, delirious, you certainly don't care if anyone can hear which they most certainly can—it's suburbia for Christ's sake and Lemon's just inside the house. You fuck yourself back onto Tangerine's cock as he jerks his hips back up against you and his teeth dig tighter into your neck with each clench of your pussy around him, you feel it coming, your second orgasm, but you want him to go first—
"Come, Tangerine, come, please—" Your voice is breathy, barely there, "Come in my fucking pussy, please, I'll make it good—I'll make it feel so good for you, give me your cum."
"Oh fuck." Tangerine all but melts on top of you, his body trembling as he lifts his head from your neck and stares back down into your face. He's flushed, eyes glazed and eyebrows pinched together. His words start strong but then his breath hitches, the phrases garbling together, "Fuckin' take it, take it from me, love, take that cum—oh, fuck-fuck-fuck—!"
Your body moves on autopilot when he floods your pussy full, wringing him completely dry as you continue to roll down on him until everything finally peaks and the coil in your tummy snaps and you cum so hard your vision whites out for a moment. Your arms and legs go lax and you slump on the mat below, twitching and shaking as Tangerine all but crushes you with his weight. "Holy fuck." You wheeze, voice ragged.
"Got that right." Tangerine's head is on your chest, moving up and down with each breath you take. You throw your hand over to press your fingers through his hair, eyes opening to tilt your head and look down at him.
He's watching you, still totally flushed red and looking more wrecked than you've ever seen him and you've seen him covered head to toe in someone else's blood—but there's this sweetness in his eyes and it's got you blushing for a whole other reason.
"What?" You ask.
"Nothing." Tangerine replies, and he scoots his body up and leans in to kiss you once, then he rolls off you and groans as he pushes himself up to his feet.
You watch him, a strange twang in your heart, and you get this wicked idea.
As he tucks himself back into his clothes and smoothes his hair back into place you silently wiggle around, forcing your aching, exhausted body to move just once more—and when you're in the right spot, you throw out a leg and it's perfect. You hit him exactly where you're wanting to, that thick bone at the very top of your shin connecting with the back of his knee and he goes tumbling down with a shocked yelp—crashing back to the mat where you then crawl over and sit yourself on top of him, much like you had before, but this time your pants are lying in a heap next to you and his cum is trickling slowly out of your pussy...
"The fu—"
You silence his surprise with a kiss, gripping the front of his shirt and biting your way into his mouth. Tangerine's fingers curl into your hair, tugging you closer, receiving your kiss with nothing but enthusiasm, making these soft sounds as you lick your way around the back of his teeth. When you pull away he's dazed again, looking up at you with that same vague sweetness in his eyes and you know there's something much more to explore here, but for now...
You grab his wrists and pin them on either side of his head, smiling down at him.
"Yield."