Flufftober 2023

*****

Wanda and Vision Maximoff
1120 Chaney Avenue, Apt 4B
Brooklyn, NY 11213

Has a nice ring to it.

Wanda flops down on the sofa, which was delivered two hours ago, along with rugs, coffee table, TV cabinet, bed, and bar stools. It all cost a fortune, but what was the use of magic if she couldn’t conjure up an overflowing bank account? (Vision had protested, big surprise, but it wasn’t like they were stealing or doing anything immoral, just creating money where it didn’t exist before.) To mollify him, she’d let him choose the furniture when they went to the store last week. That had only lasted until he realized that shades of red were not fashionable these days, so they ended up decorating in blues, whites, and grays that matched his skin. All of it very posh and modern and kind of the opposite of what she would’ve expected from him, but then maybe she was basing that on the Vision of all those years ago, with red skin and antique-ish tastes. This new Vision – her new Vision – was different, and modern, and sleek, and now her husband. Mmm.

Right now he’s over at the Avengers’ warehouse, working on plans for an upcoming mission with Sam and Bucky. Wanda took the day off to get their new apartment set up but only needed a half-hour thanks to the aforementioned magic. She’s tired, but not too tired to make plans for when he gets home. Gotta christen the new place, after all. And yes, she definitely has ideas for that.

So, she opens up her texting app and sends Vis a message.

I have another mission for you, babe.

He immediately replies with a question mark emoji. (Another delightful thing about New Vision is his lack of concern for typing out texts in full sentences.)

When you get home, your goal is to make me come in each room of our new apartment.

Before pressing send, she sweetens the deal by lifting up her shirt and taking a selfie of her on the new sofa, the luxurious gray upholstery framing her breasts.

Her husband’s response? “🫡”

God, she loves him.

*****

Kitchen

Upon entering their new apartment building, Vision considers his options. The first is to phase directly up to the fourth floor. Though he is currently wearing his human guise for ease of commute (much less hassle than stopping every block for autographs and/or selfies), there is no such need for incognito mode at their new residence. The doorman – or, in this case, a doorwoman who previously introduced herself as Tonya and has been quite personable thus far – is well aware of who-slash-what he is. Indeed, she likely expects him to phase so that she can tell her friends and family that superheroes live in the building, not that he would be offended in the slightest. Conversely, a brief mental scan of the building layout indicates that there are five stories of apartments directly overhead, and those residents would not appreciate him ascending through their homes. Plus, unit 4B is in another part of the building, and the navigational logistics preclude a simple phasing upward.

So, Vision takes the lift.

He walks down the corridor and pauses in front of their unit, almost expecting to see a nameplate announcing it as the home of “The Maximoffs”. Not that he would be averse to that. He is inordinately proud of their marriage and first truly shared (and private) home. Besides, it would not be in keeping with the lease restrictions. He knocks to alert Wanda of his presence, though she is aware of his impending arrival, then phases through the door. And he calls out, “Honey, I’m home,” because he cannot resist.

Wanda is sitting at one of the new barstools, so his first view of her is only from the waist up. Her hair is pulled back in a plait, and she’s wearing a cardigan. When she asks, “Hey, sweetheart! How was your day?” her tone and demeanor are so pleasant and domestic that he wonders if he imagined this afternoon’s text message and selfie. Perhaps she is fatigued from the unpacking, and instead of, er, adult activities, she wants to have dinner with him and watch television.

Then she stands and walks over to face him. Underneath the prim cardigan is one of his button-down white shirts, the bottom hem grazing her thighs. Bare legs. And on her feet are impossibly-high red stiletto heels, which she once jokingly called “fuck-me pumps”.

Ah, yes. The term is quite apt.

Vision wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close. Not their first kiss in this apartment (nor will tonight be their first fucks), but even after all these years, each kiss feels like the first. Her tongue tastes like tarragon from the sandwich container on the counter, along with dry white wine. Her hair smells of the spray she puts on before drying it. All quite mundane, really, but after the life they’ve led, he relishes mundanity. Nothing about her is ordinary, though. She is his wife. The love of his life. And she kisses him with a passion that feels both urgent and forever.

When they part, she raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

“I assume you’re referring to your text message earlier.” She hums, and he continues, “I received it while I was discussing mission prep with Bucky. Quite a distraction.”

“I’m sorry.” Wanda does not appear the least bit apologetic.

“Did I say that I minded?”

“Oh.”

“So.”

Though the proof of her intent is quite evident, he wants to hear her say it. And, with a smirk, she says, “Kitchen counter.”

She has not sent a psionic message to his brain; nonetheless, he can picture her bent over, taking him. Mmm. So, he places his hand just above her breast and murmurs, “Assume the position.”

Ah, there’s the mental connection, filling his mind with a pulse of red that is the familiar symbol of her lust. With a swing of her hips, she returns to the bar side of the counter and pushes the stool aside, then drapes her chest across it. Even with her five-inch heels, her ass is still a bit lower than where he needs it to be. One of the benefits of phasing is the ability to temporarily adjust the length of his legs. Perfect. Slowly, his fingers slide around her hip to her mons then slip through her folds, where she is literally soaked. “Did you touch yourself while you waited for me to come home?” he rasps, his voice thready from the desire she elicits in him.

“No,” she chokes out.

All their years together mean there is no need for foreplay; plus, her text challenge to him leaves ample opportunity to tease and touch later. Right now, he needs her too much, and his cock is hard and more than ready. He takes it in hand and tilts her hips up with the other, then slides home.

They gasp in unison.

Her arms reach out to clutch the other side of the counter for purchase, barely holding on as Vision pushes in as far as he can in this position. Not deep enough, but it doesn’t matter because she’s so tight around him, and her first moan lights a fire inside him. “Like that, do you?”

“Yes.”

He loves that he can chase away multiple syllables from his clever wife. Her hips jerk and shimmy as his own piston faster, harder, ready to come but waiting for her. Each thrust is like the tumblers of a lock, falling away one by one until all that exists is the two of them, joining over and over and over. Then, when his finger reaches for her clit and presses hard, she keens, on the edge of a shriek, and comes. He lets himself fall over the edge and into her.

He finally withdraws, tucking himself back into his pants and phasing to his full height. Wanda sags against the white marble counter and catches her breath. And then she slowly stands on wobbly, sated legs, and turns to face him. “Welcome home, babe.”

*****

Living Room

“I like what you did with the place.”

“Thanks. I figured this was the best place for the sofa, since it gives us a good view out the windows.”

“And a direct view of the television, naturally.”

“Of course.”

Speaking of views… Wanda’s proud of herself for choosing the horizontal TV stand with mirrors on the cabinet doors. Makes the room look bigger. More importantly, it means she gets to watch Vision go down on her. She slouches back on the sofa, and the upholstery feels divine against her bare shoulders and ass. Vision’s still got his work clothes on, which makes all this feel even more decadent. In the mirror, she watches him crouch down, the suit fabric straining over his perfect ass. Instead of diving right in, though, he pushes her shirt and sweater apart, and she sits back up long enough to pull them all the way off. Much better.

No surprise that he goes straight to her breasts. Her beloved has a fixation that she’s more than happy to indulge. He teases the left nipple with his tongue and the right with his fingers, eyes on her the whole time. When he starts to suck, she’s torn between pushing him down where she really needs him, or letting him stay there forever. Hell, he’s more than capable of making her come just from playing with her tits. So she lets him for a little while, each suck and nip of his teeth damn near making her see stars. Since he knows her so well, he stays at her breasts long enough to edge her before sliding down to her belly. And then… fuck, yeah.

“Should we do this here?”

“Huh?” Wanda’s pretty sure she’s already lost the ability to process language.

He licks a line across the crease of her hip. “I’d hate to ruin the upholstery of this very expensive sofa.”

“I’ll just – ahhh – poof the stains away.” She’s about to tell him that it’s not the only thing that’ll get ruined if he doesn’t just go down on her already, but her darling husband gets the message. Mind-link? Nope, just years of training him so very, very well.

Tongue first, poking through her folds and curling as if he’s sipping her like a cup of tea. He does that thing with his temperature to make it icy cold, which jerks her hips up into his face. Then he switches to hot, so hot, chasing away the ice, right on the verge of pain. Just the way she likes it. Wanda reaches down and cups his head, and in the mirror she sees her hands framing white and silver and, god, so beautiful.

His tongue flattens and flicks and traces letters on her clit; she remembers the first time he did that all those years ago. Said he learned it from some online sex advice column, and she’d laughed until he wrote a love poem on her cunt that made her come harder than ever before. Vis could write a goddamn physics textbook down there, and she’d love it almost as much as she loves him.

Edging is apparently the name of the game, though. He brings her close, so fucking close, and then pulls back. “What the hell?” she tries to say, but again, lost the ability to process language.

Vision looks up at her with a wet chin and puppy-dog eyes. “You look a bit peaked, darling. I’d hate to overwhelm you on our first night in our new apartment.”

“I thought I –” she pants, “gave you a, fuck, an order.”

“Yes, but let me double-check the parameters of your challenge.” He pretends to reach for his phone. She kicks his back and grabs his head, shoving him back to her cunt. She can hear him laughing as he dives back in. God, she loves him. She kind of hates him for that stunt, but she still loves him.

And then everything becomes a blur of his tongue and lick kiss suck the letter C and X and oh god, his fingers sliding inside and …

Mission fucking accomplished.

As she comes down, his mouth stays between her legs, lapping up her slick. No stains to clean up. Well done.

Once her brain regains a semblance of coherence, she mutters. “Want me to return the favor?”

“Plenty of time for that later.” Her husband smiles up at her. Cat got the canary. Or tongue got the pussy. Same thing. And he says in that plummy voice of his, “Two rooms down. Where shall I make you come next?”

*****

Bathroom

Vision Maximoff has no need for a bathroom, as hygiene is not a concern for him. To be frank, he has no need for a domicile at all; he could easily remain in his office after work and pass the hours in stasis mode. By logical extension, he also has no need for a wife, considering that he has yet to achieve legal personhood (though the lawyers are working on it), and therefore cannot reap the lawful benefits of a civil union.

These are all facts.

However, he enjoys mornings spent next to Wanda at the bathroom sink, brushing their teeth and watching her get ready for the day, then repeating the process at night. Though personal effects should be a triviality for a synthezoid such as himself, he likes having an apartment in which to arrange them, and the notion of creating a home with Wanda fills him with something akin to delight. Although he might not be officially a person in the eyes of the law, he builds relationships with others, first and foremost the woman he has chosen to be his wife. And oh, he loves her madly.

Unfortunately, this apartment does not have his-and-hers sinks. Fortunately, the counter is just long enough for her to sit atop it while they make love. (His wife would roll her eyes at the term, but it is the truth.)

Shower sex is not an option, given her distaste for “all that water everywhere”. Neither is sitting on the closed toilet lid because, well, it is a toilet. They could just as easily do this on the kitchen counter, yet Wanda did challenge him to make her come in every room of their new apartment. Vision is quite happy to rise to her challenge.

And rise he does.

Not on his own, though. He could easily execute code to make his penis erect, but Wanda does enjoy doing it for him. Having already shed his remaining clothes, he stands in front of her and exhales, somewhere between a sigh and gasp, as her more than capable hands coax him hard. As before, they get right to it, given that the past hour has been foreplay – albeit their own unconventional brand of it. When he slides inside her, she moans. “Love the way you fill me, babe.”

“And you take me so well.”

Indeed, she does.

After their cunnilingus on the sofa, she’d told him she got off on watching him in the cabinet mirrors. Now it is his turn to watch their reflection as they fuck.

Wanda sits up straight, back semi-bowed, now-unbraided dark auburn hair cascading over her shoulders. Her erector spinae flexes with each of his thrusts. As always, she is stunning. And with truly impressive stamina, given their strenuous activity over the past forty-six minutes. She is both superhuman and beautifully human. Her legs wrap around his hips, heels tapping the backs of his knees. Her breasts press against his chest, and his own body is so sensitive that he can feel the hard points of her nipples as if they and everything else about her are trying to reach inside him. Wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly will not be the last, challenge or not. After all, they are paired for life.

Her temperature and heart rate rise, signaling her approach to completion. Her arms pull him closer, face buried in the crook of his neck. Bites along his collarbone, his cervical tendon. Fingernails sharp enough to draw blood that he does not possess, but he can feel her mark on him all the same. When her inner muscles clench around him, harder, tighter, Vision moans.

Pressed so tightly against one another, they have little room to reach down to where they’re joined and heighten the sensations. He doesn’t mind, though, as simply the feel of her around him is more than enough to bring him to the edge of delirium; the cadence of her gasps and moans indicate that his wife feels the same. Still, he reaches down to her ass to tilt her hips up for the perfect angle to hit that spot inside that drives her mad. Her answer is a shudder and “Oh god, Vis, yes. Despite their position, she somehow manages to slide her hand down and around to cup his balls. A squeeze, just on the edge of pain, is all it takes for him to come. He sees stars, a flash of blue light, and, fuck, he sees her.

Wanda holds him close, both body and soul, inside and out, drawing out the sensations. And once he returns to himself just enough to reach down and press his thumb to her clit, she follows.

When she can breathe again, she kisses the curve of his chin and laughs, a low, breathy rumble that would make him hard again if he weren’t so sated. “Three down. One to go.”

*****

Bedroom

Wanda Maximoff is either thirty-one or thirty-six years old, depending on whether the blip counts. She’s in decent if not perfect health. Though she hasn’t wholly overcome the demons of her past, she has made her peace with them and is slowly working her way toward redemption. She has an incredible husband who might not technically be human, but is a gentleman in all the ways that truly matter. She has a gorgeous apartment and an unlimited savings account in case she and Vis want to buy a place of their own someday. And yeah, they’ve started talking about maybe trying again for kids, though that has its own set of … issues.

Overall, life isn’t great, but it’s pretty damn good.

She might be healthy and married and kinda-sorta happy… but whether she’s thirty-one or thirty-six, right now she feels old.

Okay, maybe not old, but definitely exhausted. Gone are the days when she and Vis could fuck for literally hours without stopping. This evening she challenged him to make her come in all four rooms of their apartment (and a fifth if the hall closet counted, though the logistics of that are probably beyond even their superpowers, since the hanging bar doesn’t look very sturdy.) Three down, and she should be up for the grand finale… but her body is sore and tired in ways that are very nice but not exactly conducive to another go.

Maybe she’s projecting her thoughts, because Vision scoops her up from the bathroom counter and carries her into the bedroom. The same newlywed carry that he’d done in the hotel where they’d spent their wedding night, and the way she’d carried him – with a generous helping of her powers – over the threshold of this apartment after they signed the lease. (She loves every millimeter of his body, but he is huge. And heavy.) He gently sets her on the bed they’d bought, and her naked body sinks into the ridiculously fluffy duvet the same shade of blue as the gem in his forehead.

He sits on the edge of the mattress. “Something tells me you might need a bit of rest before we conclude the challenge.”

“I can do it. Just give me a minute.”

Her husband gazes down at her with his patented yeah, right expression. “If it helps, your instructions did not include a timeline.”

She gives him a sloppy smile. “I’m hungry. Feed me.”

“Did you go to the grocery today? I believe the pantry and refrigerator are empty.”

(“I’d say ‘I don’t eat food’,” slides into her mind from what feels like another life, but now the memory brings warmth instead of pain.)

“Um, I could use these,” she holds up the hands that had been wrapped around his cock not too long ago, but now they feel boneless.

“Nonsense, darling. Let this be an opportunity for us to explore our new neighborhood’s food delivery options.” He phases into a sweater and dark gray sweatpants, and though it’s not as gorgeous as his naked body, he looks delect— what’s the word? Who cares? Good choice of husbands.

She mutters that her phone is on the coffee table, but he pulls his own out of his pocket. She’d ask how the hell he managed that when he only just now phased clothes on, except she’s too tired and he’s as magical as she is. Just in different ways.

As he begins to scroll through the search results, she reaches for his free hand and laces their fingers together. “Sorry, babe. Morning sex?”

Sure, it’s a cliche, but his smile really does light up the room. “I look forward to it. In the meantime, let’s watch television,” because of course she insisted on a second TV for the bedroom, “and would you like tacos for dinner? Ah! The Korean restaurant down the block has received rave reviews for its bibimbap.”

“Sounds good.” Wanda squeezes his hand. “Love you, Mr. Maximoff.”

“And I love you, Mrs. Maximoff.”

*****