Wild Card
by imp

Wild Card

imp

Summary

Charlie's Angel AU. Beyoncé is sent by Mr. Carter's liason, Kanye West, to recruit a third Angel: Lady Gaga.

Notes

None

Chapter One

"Here's the deal," Kanye said. "You gotta get this girl off the streets and into our office. She's dangerous – and we like dangerous, long as we can control it."

"Why're you sending me?"

"Because you're the best," Kanye said. "No offense," he added to Rihanna.

"None taken."

Beyoncé sighed. "So I have to bring this girl in without killing her or letting her know exactly what it is this organization does."

"Those are Mr. Carter's orders." Kanye lifted a knife. "So this is actually a stun-gun. And this..." He held up a pair of sunglasses with silver fringe covering the lenses. "These are a holograph generator. If you need Gaga to think there's more than one of you, these are what you should use. And don't worry! I'm sure she'll be scared by just you. Because you're great!"

Beyoncé laughed and leaned back. This was going to be an interesting job, at least.

||

Gaga was surprisingly hard to track down. She was a multi-tasking kind of world-traveling criminal, robbing banks in France one day and cheating Australian businessmen the next. But she had a distinctive style, insane costumes and a perverse sense of humor, and eventually Beyoncé caught her playing with a crime ring in Russia.

Literally playing with. She was standing on the table with a whip, of all things, and all eleven mob bosses looked completely terrified.

"Do I want to know what you've told them?" Beyoncé said, punching out the guard who'd drawn his gun and tried to put it against her temple.

"If you plan to take control of a mob anytime soon, I'm sure it would be useful," Gaga said.

"What are you going to do now that you've got control of them?"

"That depends on why you're here. Oh, honey," she said, and the whip cracked, snaking around the wrist of a man who'd drawn a knife and making him scream.
 "I have a proposition for you," Beyoncé said. "One that's more interesting than playing with the Russian mob for laughs."

" I really doubt that," Gaga said, but she hopped off the table. Her leg muscles flexed as she walked; Beyoncé was impressed in spite of herself. She was ripped. "Meet me on the rooftop of the little diner two blocks away in one hour, and we'll...talk."

Beyoncé doubted talking was what Gaga actually had in mind, but she nodded, hopping onto the table, catching the chandelier, and kicking a ceiling panel open so she could take the elevated route to an exit. There was no way she was just going to follow Gaga out of the front door. "See you then," she said, and made her way over the ceiling beams.

She checked in with Kanye as she was roof-hopping. Having a grapple hook always came in handy, but really, having an earpiece that wouldn't fly off as she swung through the air at forty miles an hour was even more useful. She was glad every day that Mr. Carter had gotten ahold of it.

She landed on the roof with fifteen minutes to spare. She planned on using the fifteen minutes to go over what she was going to say – but then Gaga attacked her from behind, planting a fist at the base of her spine.

Of course.

"The body suit is a nice touch," Gaga said as Beyoncé spun around. She was wearing a leotard again, cubes of some stiff material making her look like a walking modern sculpture.
 Deeply impractical – except it was showcasing just how skilled she was, to be able to work around it. Of course.
 "I'm told it makes me look more lethal," Beyoncé said, and kicked at Gaga's head. She missed, but managed to clip her shoulder. She leapt in the air, flipping away from Gaga before she could land a hit. "And hot, of course."

"Of course." Gaga's tongue rolled each syllable like an old Hollywood movie star. "Tell me about your proposition."

Beyonce´ sauntered closer. "I work for a man who has...a vested interest in women like us."

"Oh?" Gaga threw a punch.

Beyoncé blocked it. "Mr. Carter. He has two of us, myself and Rihanna. We're two of the best in the world." She bent backwards, narrowly avoiding Gaga's kick. "He wants you on the team."

"I confess myself confused," Gaga said, sidestepping Beyoncé's next attack. "Why do you think I'd want to work for Mr. Carter? I'm perfectly happy on my own."

"Money. Tons of it." Beyoncé dove, aiming for Gaga's feet. It was the right move: she hadn't been expecting it, and fell hard.

Beyoncé moved as quickly as she could, pinning Gaga's wrists. Her face looked different up close, the makeup not working as well to obscure her features.

She wasn't pretty, Beyoncé thought, staring down at her. But she was...interesting.

"Is money all you have to offer me?" Gaga said, her lips curving.

She knew she was distracting Beyoncé. Beyoncé forced herself to clear her head. "Of course not. There's also the option of..."

"Yes?" Gaga said. She was full-on smirking now.

Beyoncé tightened her grip. "Power. Mr. Carter has connections at every level, all over the world. You won't need to make your reputation with every person who crosses you. Knowing you're an Angel will make them piss their pants."

"You call yourselves angels?" Gaga laughed and threw Beyoncé off. Beyoncé landed hard, pain shooting through her right arm. "I don't play well with others."

Fuck the pain. Beyoncé leapt to her feet and dove for Gaga again. This time she wrenched Gaga's arms above her head, placing a knee on her solar plexus. "Neither of us do. That's what makes pus the best in the world."
 "There's only two of you?"

"We want three." Beyoncé met Gaga's eyes. "It's a pretty short list. You're on top."

"Not right now, I'm not," Gaga said, and -

She moved too quickly for Beyonc&eacute to follow. One second she had Gaga pinned, and the next Gaga was straddling her, holding one of Beyoncé's wrists to her lips and keeping the other in a deadlock between her thighs.

"Now," Gaga said. "Why don't you tell me -"

Beyoncé was only human. She bucked up, threw Gaga off, pinned her, and kissed her hard.

For a split second she thought she'd miscalculated and was about to get her lower lip bitten off, but then Gaga responded, kissing her hard and bending her leg up so that the heel of her books dug into Beyoncé's back. Beyoncé wasn't about to give up her advantage – she squeezed Gaga's wrists hard enough to bruise and nipped her lip, grinding down against Gaga's thigh.

"Your gun's digging into my kidneys," Gaga said. "Take it off."

"You think I'm going to let you go?"

Gaga laughed, arching up against her. "I'm not going anywhere."

A chill when through Beyoncé. She was pretty sure this wasn't what Kanye had meant when he talked about bringing Gaga in, but...

"Tell me first. Tell me I've got you. You're going to be Mr. Carter's."

"That was never really in question," Gaga said. "You think I haven't heard of your little group?"

She was unbearably smug. Beyoncé was going to make her come so hard she couldn't see straight. "Right," she said, and sat back on her heels, stripping the body suit off.

Gaga's outfit, unbearably complicated as it was, had a zig-zagging zipper hidden by the fabric cubes that Gaga pulled, stripping without even standing up. She lay on the rooftop, apparently comfortable on just the concrete, watching Beyoncé unstrap the various weapons with lazy desire all over her face.

"Spread your legs," Beyoncé said, kneeling in front of her.

"I was under the impression I'd be following Mr. Carter's orders, not yours."

They might have been more or less matched for combat skill, but Beyoncé was stronger. She pulled Gaga's thighs apart easily, biting the inside of her right thigh before running a finger over the bite mark and up to her cunt.

She was wet already. Beyoncé smiled, running a finger over her clit.

Gaga's gasp was thin and breathy. "Going to make a smug speech about how you knew I was into you now?"

"No," Beyoncé said, and leaned down, licking long and slow. "I don't need a speech." She slipped a finger inside – and then two, pushing just a little bit too hard, making Gaga's hips arch as her boot hit the concrete with an audible clack.

"Get me off," Gaga said throatily, "and we'll see."

So Beyoncé did. She flicked her tongue over Gaga's clit, sucking lightly and smiling when Gaga's hips jerked. Two fingers became three, and fuck, she was wet – Beyoncé spread her own legs in spite of herself, hips moving against nothing. She was so fucking responsive, way more than Beyoncé herself was, one hand coming down to grip Beyoncé's hair and the other going into her mouth to stifle her whimpers as she moved more and more frantically.

She liked getting fucked, so Beyoncé obliged her, fucking her hard with her fingers while she licked around them and dragged her tongue over her clit. She tasted tangy, almost unpleasantly so – too much coffee, Beyoncé thought. But the edge just made it hotter, the triumph when her tongue adjusted to the taste even better. She curled her three fingers again and again, searching, waiting -

When she found Gaga's G-spot – and wow, that phrasing was something she was going to avoid thinking in the future, because it made her laugh against Gaga's cunt – Gaga actually screamed, tugging Beyoncé's hair hard enough to make her wince. So she did it again, shoving her fingers in hard, sucking mercilessly on Gaga's clit.

It was easy to tell when she was close, and impossibly hot when she came. Her legs hit the concrete and her head cracked against it, the noise quickly giving way to desperate moans and curses. Her stomach and arms were taut, and veins stood out on her neck. Beyoncé couldn't help but stare: she was inhumanly, impossibly gorgeous.

"Christ," she said finally, relaxing. "Well. You're persuasive, aren't you?"

"Not persuasive enough, apparently," Beyoncé said, reaching down to touch herself.

She didn't really think about what she was doing – couldn't think, when she was like this. She didn't even realize she was moaning until Gaga laughed and reached over, brushing sharp nails over Beyoncé's nipples and digging her fingers into Beyoncé's arm.

"Should've just said something," Gaga said, and pulled her close enough to kiss, open-mouthed and filthy.

Beyoncé never ceded control during sex, but she couldn't help herself this time. Gaga's hands were hard, almost cruel, on her arms. When she pushed Beyoncé down, the cement scraping against Beyonc&eacute's back felt like lit matches flicking over her skin. Her body was slick with sweat and grainy with dirt, and when Gaga drove two fingers into her cunt, she felt completely filthy.

It was insanely, impossibly hot.

"Does Mr. Carter know you do this?" Gaga said quietly. She licked Beyoncé, taking her time until Beyoncé whimpered. "Give yourself so easily?"

Beyoncé was used to thinking quickly, understanding the possibilities underlying each action in the field. Now she readied herself for the risk and said, "I'm not sure why you think this is easy, or common."

It was a hell of a sentence for someone being fingerfucked by a woman like Gaga – and the thought had clearly crossed Gaga's mind, too. She raised an eyebrow and smiled predatorily, twisting her fingers again.

"If you so say so," she said, and bent down.

Her actions mirrored Beyoncé's of just a few minutes ago, but they held a unique edge of roughness, a willingness to hurt Beyoncé that Beyoncé hadn't even thought about when she was eating out Gaga. It shouldn't have made the whole thing better, but it did. Shivers wracked her body, sensation exploding into her limbs with every curl of Gaga's finer, every time she sucked Beyoncé's clit.

She could, at this angle, break Gaga's neck if she chose to. The thought made her moan.

"Good," Gaga whispered, sucking her clit hard and fucking her fingers, hitting -

God, hitting just that spot, and Beyoncé felt her mouth open, tensed all her muscles to keep from making a sound as her control spiraled wider and wider, tempting her to move, to hurt, to -

Her fist in her mouth was the only thing that held the screams in, and she was too far gone, coming over and over again until her body was too shaken and sweaty for her to be able to even move – and she was too exhausted to care.

"We'll work well together," Gaga said smugly.

Something about her voice – a shift in posture, a twitch of muscle – signaled Beyoncé. When Gaga pointed the gun at her temple, Beyoncé had her own gun cocked against Gaga's head.

Gaga sighed. "You're too good."

"Or you're not good enough," Beyonceé said steadily.

"Mmm. Perhaps." Gaga smiled. "I want a million up front."
 "What makes you think I'm in the position to offer you that kind of cash?"

"If Mr. Carter really wants me, he'll know how to get me – and it's not by offering me sex, lovely though that was."
 "Nothing I do is lovely," Beyoncé said. But quarreling about semantics wouldn't get the job done – and Mr. Carter, though he'd given her tacit permission to get into all sorts of trouble, liked it when the job was done. "I'm not going to wine and dine you, Gaga. Mr. Carter wants you. He'll either have you, or you'll be neutralized."

"Sex brings your claws out. Interesting." Gaga dug a heel into Beyoncé's thigh. Pain shot through her, but the gun against Gaga's temple didn't waver.

"We should put the guns away," Gaga said. "Talk it out like civilized ladies."
 "I can offer you a million," Beyoncé said calmly. "But unless I get assurance that you won't run, you don't get the money."

Gaga moved too quickly for Beyoncé to respond. One minute her temple was pressed against the barrel of Beyoncé's pistol, and the next Gaga had handcuffed them together.

Her smile was entirely unguarded when she said, "There you go. Now give me my money and book a flight to the States."

Beyoncé couldn't stop herself from responding with a smile of her own. Mr. Carter had chosen well. This was going to be a hell of a partnership.