Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sit.” Angela’s voice is cold as ice, but her expression is unreadable.

“It’s late and I just got home. I planned to, darling,” Amelie teases, testing the mood while she saunters to the chair. She reaches up to release the clip from her hair, letting the indigo tumble over her shoulders and chest. Some nights Angela whispers against her skin that it reminds her of midnight waves against the shore, but her slow heartbeat is more calming than that sound could ever hope to be.

It seems Angela is in no mood for such softness this evening, gripping the pressure point in Amelie’s shoulder and forcing her down into the chair. Her voice is a dangerous growl as she releases her grip, “You’re late.”

Amelie bites back a smart comment about the doctor’s impatience, but swallowing it doesn’t stop the smirk from curling her lips. It doesn’t appear to her that Angela has even been home that long—her labcoat still smells like the med bay and the faded gloss of her lips hints at recently acquired coffee, of which none is brewing in the apartment as far as she can tell. When she reaches to pull Angela close, the doctor smacks her hand and narrows her eyes.

“Did I say you could touch?”

Angela paces around the chair, like a predator circling their prey. She drapes her arms over Amelie’s shoulders and drags her nails up the exposed skin of her abdomen, raking angry welts over her skin. She eases the touch as her hands move, nail tracing the line of her jaw and pushing into the soft flesh to force her gaze upwards.

“You won’t move until I give you permission. Understood?” She moves her fingers further up, placing two against Amelie’s lips upside down, an unspoken command to be silent. She trails them over her cheek slowly as she circles back to her front.

With a simple snap, music begins to play from the nearby entertainment center. The machine resembles a record player from years past because Angela enjoys the aesthetic, but looking close would show that it did not function like one at all. It starts to play from a particular playlist as she toys with the buttons of her labcoat.

Amelie watches with a nervous interest, bracing herself with her nails digging into the fabric of the chair. Restraint was not something she excelled in when it came to the doctor. She licks dry lips and chews a corner of her lip as Angela starts to dance in front of her, watching as each button comes undone at an agonizingly slow pace. Already she wants to lash out and rip the offending garment from her, but she knows it will be worth it to do as she was told.

Angela steps forward, calves on each side of Amelie’s knees as she stands above her, holding the labcoat closed near her sternum. She leans forward so that her cleavage shows in the dip of the fabric and braces one hand on the back of the chair. Though Amelie is cold, her breath feels like fire on her exposed skin, and she has to force herself to be patient.

“Remove my coat.” She captures Amelie’s hand midway as she rushes to comply, “Nothing more.”

Icy blue eyes dare Amelie to disobey in this moment, though Angela knows that she won’t. It’s part of how she loves to tease. Amelie knows by now when disobeying is the preferred option, and this is not one of those times. She’s been gone for a mission too long, and Angela has been wanting to do this for her, and damned if she’ll be stopped before she even gets started.

Amelie’s hands ease under the coat, brushing over Angela’s shoulders and pulling the coat away from them. As it falls away, Amelie nearly bites her tongue to suppress the animalistic sound in her throat. Angela is in lingerie beneath it—thigh high stockings, garter belts, and black lace so sheer that Amelie can see the curls of hair through her panties and the reflections of light on the metal piercings through her nipples. Her fingers flex and twitch. The amount of control she has to exercise to lower her hands again feels impossible.

Angela smiles and pushes herself back up, “I’m proud of you for obeying me, Spinneli. Danke .”

The way Angela uses her pet name and purrs her praise sends a shiver through Amelie, breathing fire into her core that is bound to escalate to an inferno. Her knuckles are white with the force of her grip on the chair, and it feels like she’s trying to fight a physical force to stay still. She can feel her slow heart rate pick up just a little and feels the warmth of it radiate through her.

Angela reaches up to pull her hair down as well, tossing the tie to the side as she gyrates her hips in time with the music. She drags her fingers through the tousled locks and then moves her nails over her throat and down her chest. Through lidded eyes, she watches Amelie’s breath hitch when her fingers play over the cool metal of her piercings. Her hands keep moving over her skin, down over her hips and thighs as she dips, curving her back to as she slides back up, bringing her hands to rest on exposed hip bones.

She dips again, but this time finishes the movement by straddling Amelie’s hips. She rocks her hips, throwing her hair back as she used leverage from her grip on the chair to grind into her. Her fingers dance over the lines of muscle in her own stomach before she reaches for Amelie’s cool abdomen. The touch is teasing, far too light, and she can see the way Amelie is panting with effort. She moves her fingers from Amelie’s abdomen to her forearms, muscles pulled taut with her forced control, and she massages them with a gentle touch.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You,” Amelie has the growl that accompanies her attempts to restrain herself, golden eyes flashing. It’s a dangerous and predatory look, and one that she knows Angela absolutely loves. “I want to touch you.”

“Is that all?” Angela smiles again, but with an aching heat building and burning, igniting further with that look, she’s not sure it’s as confident anymore.

“I want you. All of you.” Amelie’s voice is husky and full of lust, but there’s another sound to it that only Angela knows. That voice has all of the years of affection and desire, a certain soft edge to an otherwise aggressive sound. She proves the quality when she continues, “I need you.”

Those simple words are enough to completely unravel Angela, and she nearly cries each time for the simple fact that they’re a reminder that her Amelie will be okay. They will be okay.

The tears threaten to burn her cheeks, but Amelie’s hands are there, cool and grounding, pulling her into kiss that’s messy like the both of them. She laughs against Amelie’s lips, unable to help herself as the joy replaces bravado, and all pretense of her no touching rule is removed.

Amelie takes full advantage of it, biting at Angela’s lower lip as her hands roam over her ribs and down her thighs. She pull away to allow them both a breath, “ Tu m'as manqué, ma petite oiseau.”

Chapter Text

It’s easy for Angela to fall under the spell of soft-spoken French and Amelie knows it, but she catches herself this time. She pushes Amelie back with her fingers splayed over her chest.

“I’m not done.”

Angela grabs Amelie’s hands and kisses her knuckles before placing them back to their resting place on the arms of the chair. Her smile remains, but it shifts from soft to sinister as the track changes to something darker. It’s a thick and visceral beat, with bass that hums like energy over her skin.

She takes a deep breath as she leans back, bracing herself by gripping Amelie’s shoulders. Her hips roll with the crests of the bass, heart racing as she follows each peak with increasingly short breaths. She moves her hands to grip the back of Amelie’s neck, scratching her nails over and up her shoulders until they tangle into her hair. Arching her back, she pulls as she bends so far that the apartment briefly swims upside-down in her vision.

Amelie groans and scratches at the fabric enough for Angela to hear over her music. Her body feels molten, the added heat from Angela not helping as she rubs herself against her cool skin. She shifts her thighs closer to try and relieve the pressure building there, already aching for those steady fingers to move lower.

Angela snakes her hand down pale skin, the black of the lace a stark contrast to the almost ethereal. She drags nails over Amelie’s thighs, the tight material bunching beneath the force, and pries her legs away from one another. She fills the space with her knee, shifting her weight again so that she presses against Amelie’s heat. The sound she rips from her with the aggressive motion makes an equally pleased moan creep past her lips.

She watches as golden eyes trail over her figure, watching like a hawk as her fingers reach for the hooks holding her bra in place, devouring her as she tosses it to the side. She moves her hands up over her stomach and between her breasts, sighing as she imagines Amelie making the movements instead. Teasing the cold metal in her chest makes her whine impossible to restrain.

The sound snaps something in both of them simultaneously, Amelie already reaching up as Angela’s hands come down to seek her hands, a shared growl between them as cold fingers play across skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

Amelie is eager, circling her thumbs over dusky peaks with a satisfied hum. She feels Angela’s nails bite into her neck a bit harder as her thumb pushes against the metal beneath the skin. The look she gives Angela is an unspoken question of permission to move freely.

“Du fehlst mir.”

Angela uses the German that grammatically matches the French Amelie used as her own way of giving her that permission, and it’s little things like those choices that makes Amelie’s heart skip in it’s own erratic way. Through the curtain of desire—the blown out pupils, flared nostrils, sweat drenched skin—it’s still easy to see how much the doctor truly cares for her. Still, Amelie wants nothing more than to ravish her, drown all of Angela’s senses with her , the same way it feels that the doctor consumes her own thoughts every waking moment.

Amelie leans forward to kiss along Angela’s sternum as she rolls her nipples between thumb and forefinger, delighting in the soft mewling sounds it causes. The way Angela jerks beneath her hands is addictive, losing her rhythm as her breath hitches and her grip becomes desperate. Angela’s nails dig into the back of her neck, pulling her forward, losing their demanding pressure in a gasp when Amelie’s mouth replaces her fingers.

Angela closes her eyes and savors the way those cool lips feel like they scorch a path over her chest. Her body is wound so tight with need that her legs are trembling, and she wraps her arms around Amelie’s neck like she is a lifeline preventing her from drifting away at any moment. She gasps when that clever tongue meets metal and flesh, swirling circles and pulling it gently between her teeth. Her hands move through Amelie’s hair as she mutters incoherent German praise, and she tilts her head down so that stray hairs tickle her nose and she can smell the night air and faint gunpowder clinging to it.

Amelie moves her hands around Angela’s sides and presses her fingers into the muscles in her back, paying extra attention to those cushioning her cybernetic spine and surrounding where her wings would be if they were attached. She guides Angela’s chin down to capture the relieved groan with her lips, smiling into the kiss as she moves her hands down to lift her while she’s distracted.

Angela bites Amelie’s lip as a false protest, but immediately soothes it by tracing her tongue over it. There’s a brief moment while Amelie stands that their lips stay together in a deep kiss, but she lowers her head once her legs wrap securely around her waist. She tries to distract their progress forward by pressing kisses to the pulse point below Amelie’s ear, dragging her teeth along the skin when it doesn’t slow them down.

Amelie kicks open the bedroom door and practically falls into the bed, a playful chuckle shaking her shoulders as she lifts and pins Angela’s wrists above her head. It’s her turn to be the one straddling, and she holds delicate wrists with one hand while she moves her other hand along her beautiful and statuesque skin, “Behave yourself.”

“And if I don’t?” Angela looks up at her, already pressing her legs together to try and relieve the warmth building between them, but trying to continue her part as the one in control. She knew that she would submit to Amelie’s power at this point, but teasing always made her that much more eager.

Amelie also knows this little game, but plays the part just as well as Angela does. She moves her free hand down slowly, watching as the anticipation alone coils Angela like a spring. Goosebumps chase her fingers down until she drags a finger over the outside of the lace that remains between her legs. She can feel how wet and warm Angela is, but forces her hand lower to trace over the garters and stockings, dragging a soft whine of protest from her lover when she breaks the contact.

“Are you going to behave?” Amelie drags a finger back to the lace, teasing back and forth against the skin of her hips just below the waistband. When she receives a silent nod, she moves down to place soft kisses against the hip bones as she pulls the panties off and tosses them onto the bedroom floor.

Angela feels and sees Amelie’s lips graze her inner thighs, nose nudging the now loose garters away from the skin she wanted to reach. Her breathing is still like fire against her skin, yet the only relief Angela seems to find is in when those cool lips follow each breath. She can’t help but arch her back, trying to drag herself closer, to close the distance and achieve the contact she desperately wants.

“Tell me what you want.”

Angela’s eyes had started to flutter closed, but the command forces them open again. The way it mirror Angela’s own from before is not lost on her, and she can’t help but smirk. For you to douse this raging heat with your lips and tongue. “You. I want—”

Amelie hums in amusement, and interrupts the rest of Angela’s words with a firm tongue pressing against her slit. She watches Angela throw her head back, gripping the bedsheets as she shifts her legs further apart. The words she might have said turn to moans, whispered German praise again, and scattered instances of Amelie’s name.

Angela’s back arches even further as Amelie drags her tongue over her clit. She takes the opportunity to take it between her lips, sucking gently, and Angela feels her toes curl. Her heartbeat is thundering in her chest, and the sweat glistens over taut abdominals. Like a bow being pulled back, she knows that at any moment that string will snap.

"Bitte." Angela claws at the sheets, body shaking. "Bitte, Ame. Ich will dich."

When Amelie presses her tongue inside and drags her nails over the top of her thighs, she can practically hear the twang of the snap as her body folds. Her back drops to the cool sheets as her chest heaves, Amelie’s name echoing in her repeated whispers like a prayer.

Amelie gives her a few moments to ride the aftershock, but not too many. Angela’s body takes three fingers easy, and Amelie scoots to position herself in a way that she can use the leverage to her advantage. She straddles her thigh and curls her fingers inside, beckoning the spot she knows Angela loves.

The friction of her own movements against Angela’s thigh is enough to send her tumbling over the edge, but she grabs Angela’s throat and growls, “Come for me like a good girl.”

Angela has barely enough sense to grab Amelie’s hand and cover her mouth with it, the cry of her second orgasm blocked by the way her teeth sink into Amelie’s skin. 

Amelie waits until her hand is released and Angela’s breathing has evened out somewhat before moving, wiping her fingers on the sheets before cupping Angela’s cheek in her hand and placing soft kisses on her cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, and finally lips. Angela’s breathless giggles are enough to get Amelie’s heart skipping again, and she snuggles as close as their bodies will allow.

“ Je suis très heureux d'être à la maison, ” Amelie whispers into Angela’s hair, tucking strands behind her ear as she places more soft kisses against her forehead. “ Bonne nuit, mon ange. ”

“Morning. You. I.” Angela mumbles against her chest, falling asleep in the familiar and safe embrace. “Return the favor.”