Title: So, This is Dancing?
Fandom: West Coast Avengers (Marvel Comics)
Pairing: Gwen Poole/Quentin Quire
Length: 1,242 words
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: sexual situations, adult language
Notes: written for @fan_flashworks challenge #121: Dancing & @allbingo’s Valentine’s Fest Prompt: Dancing
Summary: During an undercover mission with dancing, Gwen has no idea what to do with Quentin when he’s being nice instead of snarky and insulting, but apparently he has a few ideas of his own.



Gwen brushed a speck of dust off the collar of Quentin's jacket. "Nice suit. You clean up better than I thought you would."

"Thanks." Quentin straightened his bowtie. It was a dark pink, as was his jacket. They were very color coordinated tonight. "And you Gwen, look simply gorgeous."

She frowned. Quentin sounded sincere, which was beyond disconcerting. "What, no snark? Who are you and what have you done with Quire?"

It was easier when he was snarky and insulting. She had no idea what to do with him when he was like this. Then again, maybe it was just part of his cover. They might have been dancing but this was a mission, not a date.

"Ha, Ha. You really do look nice though. I like this dress."

Quentin rubbed the silky fabric between his fingers and Gwen suppressed a shiver. Even through the cloth, his fingers did things to her.

"Thank you, I guess?" Not that she needed validation from a man or anything. It was nice to hear though. "Kate picked it out," she added. It was too long to run and jump in, but it was pretty, pink, and felt silky against her skin.

They were at a fancy party-event-thing. Quentin was supposed to be scanning the minds of the partygoers to see if they knew anything about Kate's dad, who was apparently a total super-villain type. Gwen was there as Quentin's date, which was a pretty lame cover if you asked her -- but of course, no one had asked her. Apparently, she was living the sidekick life these days.

"How are you a good dancer? I feel like Quentin Quire should not be a good dancer, like at all."

Quentin raised an eyebrow. "I'm good at a lot of things."

Gwen shrugged. "Eh, you're okay."

"Ouch. That hurts." He put his hand to his chest.

Gwen wasn't sure if it actually did hurt him. It was hard to figure out what Quentin was really feeling. He was so flippant -- like nothing really touched him. And so arrogant -- like he was above everyone and everything else and yet -- maybe there was more to him that. She was coming to realize that Quentin Quire was a very multi-layered person. She smiled at him, hoping he'd see that she'd been kidding. The thing was, Quentin was skilled. Seriously skilled, it totally blew her mind the first time they did it. She really hadn't expected him to be good, definitely not *that* good. She'd have thought he was too self-centered to be such an attentive lover.

"Do you want me to show you just how good I can be?"

"Quentin, we're in the middle of a dance floor full of people, as well as in the middle of a mission."

"Mission's over. Papa Bishop isn't here and isn't showing up. Already relayed the info to Kate, she says to wrap it up and head back home."

"So, we're going?" Gwen felt vaguely disappointed.

"We can finish this dance." His hands were on her hips; fingers warm through the fabric of her dress -- his very skilled fingers. She really hoped that he wasn't listening in on her thoughts right now.

Why the hell had she gotten involved with a telepath? She had told him it was to get her more play in the comic they were both probably in, and therefore boost her popularity and securing her longevity but that wasn't the truth, not really. It was just something she'd thought of afterward; to justify her attraction to him. There was just something about Quentin that drove her incredibly crazy. He made her so angry, she just wanted to smush her face into his. It was maddening.

"So, we're dancing?" Gwen asked.

"Did you have something else in mind?"

"Well, you did say something about proving your so-called skills to me." Had she just said that?

He grinned. "Yeah?"

"Why not?" Yeah, she totally said that.

"Will you let me in?" He tapped his finger against her forehead. "Just a little?"

This was a bad idea. "Um...okay?" What the hell, right?

Suddenly the scene changed. They were still on a dance floor, but this one looked different, and the people were gone. She blinked and she could see the real floor where her feet were currently moving back and forth. It was disconcerting. She closed her eyes and the room and people fell away. They were still dancing but the surroundings were different. "Where are we?"

"Technically?" Quentin twirled her around. "We're in my head."

"Your head?" She looked at Quentin. He still looked the same. She looked down, so did she. He hadn't altered their appearances. The dance floor was different, it was purple and it sparkled in a way that didn't look quite real. Probably because it wasn't. The room was small, but it was only the two of them. So, even though there were no windows or doors to be seen, it didn't seem claustrophobic or anything.

"Don't worry, you aren't trapped here or anything. I just wanted to be able to do this." He kissed her. "And this." And ran his hands up her body, barely brushing the sides of her breasts. He nibbled her earlobe, and along her neck. "Is this okay? We can stop if you want." He paused, waiting for her answer.

Gwen opened her eyes for a moment. They were still slow dancing. Quentin's hands were still on her hips. He smiled at her. Waiting. She could say no, she could feel it. He wasn't influencing her -- as far as she could tell.

Thing was, she didn't want to say no. "Yes, I want this." She closed her eyes and slipped back into kissing him. It felt real. His tongue dipped into her mouth. He lifted her dress and slid his hand beneath her underwear. It felt -- so much, and yet, she knew they were just dancing. What the fuck was reality?

He circled her clit and teased her nipples. Gwen's breath became ragged and she knew she was getting close. Quentin slid a finger inside of her; it felt so real.

She kissed her way down his neck. She nibbled and sucked at the skin there and bit down gently. Was this real? She was pretty sure her mouth was really on his skin. Quentin moaned softly. Was it out loud or in her head? His head? Did it even matter?

Breath heavy, lips pressed against his skin. She came. She felt herself convulsing around his fingers; two inside her now, or was it three? Fuck. She collapsed against him and sucked on his neck, hoping to mark him.

Gwen opened her eyes. How were they still dancing? Quentin's hands were on her hips, her dress was in place. Okay, so maybe there were upsides to dating a telepath.

The song ended. "I guess that's our cue?" Gwen asked. Her voice sounded strange to her ears. Echoey and unsure.

"I guess it is." He stilled; an expectant look on his flushed face. "So?"

"So -- what?" Gwen was confused.

"My skills, are they still in question?"

She laughed and took a step back. Her knees felt shaky, so she reached out and took his hand in hers. "They are definitely not."

Quentin grinned. As they walked off the dance floor together Gwen could just feel the smugness radiating off him. "You're still the worst," she mumbled. He really wasn't.

Quentin laughed. "I know."