Disclaimer: I do not own Megamind or any of the characters in this movie.

Author's Note: I tried to preserve a sense of structure, but this more of a breezy character exploration.

I think Megamind and Roxanne are pretty complex people, and I wanted to dig around in some possible serious concerns. So there is not much humor in this fanfic, perhaps another time.

Also this is my first time trying writing smut, so be kind, it was very hard to write a sex scene and keep them in character.

I hope you enjoy and of course reviews are always craved.

P.S. The "Cowboy" is a real position.


Megamind was happy to have hit earth in an age that recognized the dreams of yore in which chiseled men fall for flawless pin ups, is hogwash.

He didn't have to be on the planet long to see the ideas of frosted pancakes and white fences boxing in our peppy home makers was pixie prattle. It didn't mean he was immune to notions of devotion, unconditional love, or romance. He wouldn't bait an eye if Roxanne wanted to stay home.

He just never believed anything, not even marriage, could create the perfect sunny ending.

Although he was a regular puppy-eyed sweetie through the proposal and she had been blushing sense the reception, the reality stood, they weren't eloping to any castle.

Heroes don't do vacations.

But even so as they tumble out the car he's tempted to dream.

She walks in front waddling with the weight of her own bags. She insisted; bracing herself with square shoulders and a rigid neck that diverges into a pleasantly looser rhythm around her waist. The swirl of her spine slides shamelessly into a blimp of satin. He trails after with a hunched lean, leashed to her ample swing. That magic swagger; botching the rear measurements was truly an act of genius.

Jesus, the roll of her hips is making him delirious. His eyes sting and suddenly he's cuddly enough for a world of strawberry ice cream, white fences, and puffy inbred poodles. They'll have seven children, eat broccoli and drown the lair in pink.

But of course not really. They're going to dump their bags, fight, love, laugh, frown and ultimately stay in the old warehouse.

He would never like the idea of woodland friends, block parties, and endless apple pies, but did his insistent realism deny him any magic? Didn't women still enjoy a good grab?


Roxanne's bags flop through the door as she tumbles after, beat red and gawking.

Did he just push her?

He wasn't a chauvinist, but still couldn't he ask….

hunched over her….

pelvis to rear….

growl to ear….

"Make me happy?"

The suction is unbearable.


Oh my.

He's such a kid.

The first time he was afraid, despite her constant assurances, that he was going to pee himself, and she almost sputters around his cock remembering his trembling thighs.

She used to watch him stamp his hands over his mouth in shame but now the fear is gone and he's a screamer.

"MMM-AH! Lick me! Just lick me!"

Her lips break with a wet pop, before she suckles the base and goes back up with a long tonguing motion.

His hips jerk forward in the chair, and he fists her hair. Roxanne hates that, but of course, he hasn't the presence of mind to care.

They'd immediately ran to the master bedroom to "make him happy," but between kissing, shimmying Roxanne out of her gown, and struggling to unbutton Megamind's ensemble (a costume that took Minion 6 months), there was no time to reach the bed. The groom had fallen in a near by chair and dragged his bride down headfirst.

She lightly kisses him, coyly circling the length now and then before threatening to just suck the head. She teases one too many times before he breathes:

"Do it."

She does.

"Mmmmm!" He's near tears before yelling, "Stop!"

She smiles and gets up, pulling him from the chair and he leans on her in the two steps to bed. Never touching the carpet, their toes swim in all the discarded cloth: a lace veil, milky waves of strapless satin, and because they "must coordinate," an ivory tux with a stainless fur trim for the cape.

They drop, more than tumble, and snuggle above the covers. Then kissing, not on the lips, things have progressed too far for that, and she leans back into the pillows as he washes her chest. The "cherries" are his favorite part. He sucks the right and twists the left nipple to hardness, then changes sides. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, her toes curl and his sharp elbow presses her back down when she tries to end it. Sometimes she wonders who's enjoying it more.

"Ywourz swoo pwretty."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

He isn't listening, and slowly his mouth goes slack. When he hasn't resumed in a couple moments she cranes her head and follows his field of vision. Naturally, Her legs have spread farther apart through the previous ministrations and she can tell from his twitching ears, and fixed gaze, his sensitive nose is smelling something it likes.

He swallows, "I've never…I mean, you always," he moves from her breasts down her stomach, "I think…It's my turn."

"Your turn?" The shock forces her up on her elbows as he quickly darts between her closing thighs. He'd always seemed too shy, to try-

Jesus Christ!

No tentative sips.

He jams his whole tongue in, and within the first slurp she's flopping back on the pillows.

It is his nature to be brash, but as she frowns while he loudly sucks her crease, he vaguely remembers finding a tutorial that advised going slow.

So he pulls back and amends by lightly stroking a finger over her clit.

"Ahhh." She smiles.

Dipping his head back, this time he starts out with a deep languid kiss to the outer lips. Encouraged with more approving purrs, he gently opens her to dab lightly at the small hole and then drag back up to the bud.

The beginning had been so awkward, seconds ago Roxanne had considered politely terminating the favor, but now with the dawning of tenderness she can only hiss :


His cheeks perk as he moves his tongue freely from her inner flesh to her outer lips, before sucking both petals simultaneously. Megamind fast learning lover: another title to add to his delusions of grandeur.


Twisting forward her legs open wider, and he tongues her soundly. His own hips have been rocking into the sheets for sometime. Slippery with pre-cum, he rolls his cock slowly through the cotton, as his swollen tip begins to twitch with urgency. Gritting his teeth he stills now and then; he'd like to avoid cumming on the bedspread-again.

Ripping himself from the covers, he rolls her over onto her stomach, gagging her protest with a swift plunge. He's found its most effective to ploy two digits as deep as possible then twist, and roll them till she reaches "home."


Putting a hand under her stomach he pulls her onto her knees and scissors his fingers repeatedly. She bucks and he spoons himself over her back. Gods, here everything is so smooth, and soon he's jerking against her rear.

"Oh my god, oh my god.."

"You like this Roxie?"

"Yes! Yes! Please-kiss me!"

He can't reach her head, and his fingers slip out as she twists around, hooking her arms around his shoulders to roll them over. Pressed to the pillows he greedily sucks her tongue, while wiggling a hand between them. The spidery digits ram this time with abandon, while his other hand scrambles for the base of his cock.

Gr-a-a-a-d-d-u-u-ally, the seed is pressed down.

Wait. You have to wait.


Everything is in knots.

He can't breathe, and she keeps moving.

Her thighs keep rubbing his lap.

He can feel himself starting to bubble.

Beginning to boil over.

No, no, no, no, think-THINK!

COOL off damnit, COOL OFF!

"FUCK yes!"




For a moment everything stills and his member wilts, not dead, but not peppy either.

He loathes that word.

It made him feel -small.

There was something primal about it; as if partners could reach an insensible state, where pleasure was derived from being incapacitated. Mentally incapacitated, and stacked atop Megamind's head was twice the reason than a human to hate this void. He was nothing without his brain.

He was his brain. Thus any act that branded cognition insignificant, made him insignificant. The best way to cut off Megamind's "balls" was to cut off his brain.

He didn't know how to express this, so he pretended it was a mild quirk, and just insisted:

"No, love, you want me to love you Roxie." Love is a theory that guarantees constant cerebral somersaults.

But now, its too late for corrections, her mind is fried, and she's babbling incoherent desires into the side of his neck, as he feels her climax slide hotly down his hand. Then they lay still for a blissful moment till she can see straight again, lifts her head and whispers:

"Fuck me?"


It was as if she had some sick obsession with using it. Although now her eyes were cloudless and adoring, she had a habit of saying it with a sharp smile….And sometimes…he can swear, SWEAR, that he hears her giggling it in his dreams.

Was it funny?

He knits his brows and pouts again, his wide gaze making it all the more awe worthy.

Primly, his long fingers slip out, before being irritably wiped on the bed.

Or was Roxanne trying to knock him down a peg. Make him feel cheap?

"You mean," he sniffs, "LOVE me." and then begins to press her, wishing to roll over for a good round of missionary.

"No," but she concedes to the position change only to brazenly pull his buttocks and yank his arm till he's suddenly sitting up and straddling her waist.

"I meant fuck."

The determination in her eyes alone makes him purple, but the absurdity of the stance is what steams him. This is an image that has only ever been in the reverse between them, and on porn-no. The woman sits on the man. The man may lay on top of the woman or thrust from behind, but only a girl's dainty hips, sits atop a man's!

"Rox-a-n-n-e, this is a woman's pose." He sputters, but her intent smirk offers no sympathy and he cringes, folding miserably to glare at the wall. They pause.

"It, it..," he mutters, "it looks…like I'm about to go down on you."

"And you are." His eyes pop, and she grabs his hips before he can roll off. She coos, and smoothes his back, "It's okay, look," her hand gives him a quick double pump, eliciting a small moan, before pushing his pelvis back a tad to show her waiting entrance. She pulls his member gently between his open legs to her parting ones under.

"This, I…I never, I don't think this can work!"

"Hush! Its fine," she smiles angling herself up to meet him, " you'll like it, and don't worry its not just for girls. I hear this equivalent is called the Cowboy."

"That's the dumbest-"

They meet and the air is gone.

Knocked out.

And suddenly they're moving, she's moving?

He's moving.

Tight, its tighter than its ever been from this place and in seconds the hesitation is gone. His mouth goes slack and he slams his bottom down. He pumps, and rolls his hips just like she would, and yet not much is changed. They're still loving the "right way," he's still inside being sucked, and milked by that perfect softness.

But only now with her legs firmly closer as opposed to wide around his waist, the magic is so much hotter, wetter, a tight coil he can't envision broader than a baby finger and yet somehow is managing to soak him up one stroke at a time.

Plus there is just something hot about riding his Roxie.

"Perfect! Perfect!"

"Ah-huh, I told-uh-I told you!" She pushes up higher. "I knew you'd love it!"


He slams his pelvis down and forward.


Was this maybe how it was, how she felt, her first time?

"OH. GOD." His eyes roll back.

The world is black.


All capitals and flaming red, the word is stitched several times along his-their bed spread.

A black quilt with tight stitches and faceless citizens killed in every square.

The top right corner has a message: a shy heart embroidered at the edge of the blanket, small enough to hide but bright enough to say "hello" and let Megamind know its there.


Minion must have made this.



Roxanne pinches her nostrils, quickly clogging the laughter trembling through her shoulders. Her other hand is over her mouth, and she chokes herself for a moment till the giggles die out.

Oh man.

She has gone through this many mornings, struggling not to wake Megamind up.

Why is he so cute?

Tough? Her sleeping scamp has not a clue about it.

But neither did she-for awhile, she had no idea till she was sixteen that in fact she was "BAD going on two legs."

What she did had just come naturally. For a year Roxanne and her friends had been going around antsy, crossing and rubbing their wet thighs together, with an acute need to see romantic movies and shirtless men.

Then they walked into the bookstore, and she saw it: Adult Literature, or more simply SEX. The enigma was solved and it took only two strides to reach the section, get a book, and tear it open.

Her friends talked about it for two years.

"Roxanne is soooo tough, she went straight up to the…dirty books…and read one right in the store. In front of everyone!"

She didn't get what the big deal was, and she still didn't get it when she punched a boy out for taking her neighbor's lunch money. No one else was helping. A child, a kid her whole block had known for years, was crying and being brutally tortured for no reason. No adult was close enough to hear.

Wasn't stopping it the right thing to do?


"She's so tough. We should call her Rough Roxanne."

The label even followed her through college, and then one day while she found herself waiting in the Dean's office for addressing a professor on favoritism, she realized why the world found her so "intense."

She was honest. She reacted exactly how she felt, which didn't require being a crude or over dramatic, but people rarely understand someone can be civilized and natural. Transparency, especially in a woman has to be sassy. Spunky.

A sad fact if you dissect it.

People are so scared; so terrified to be themselves, especially if they have some trait that might deviate from standards. Thus being genuine is a badge of bravery. To assert yourself is valiant, and not screaming your head off while in the clutches of an obviously harmless alien, makes you one bad mamma jamma.

So she had to laugh when she saw the quilt, at the absurdity, and the complete misunderstanding of the adjective.

Tough? Megamind was never exposed long enough to even be solid.

So adorable.

Of course he's not completely deluded. He's always had a strong sense of reality, of the discrimination that follows any unique individual, in any country, despite what the constitution might harp about freedom. There were not many rosy visions in his world and being Metrocity's new hero seems to be rubbing out the last misconceptions. In fact the whole Tighten episode had a great impact.

He's getting there.

However she has one big concern-a very bulbous one in fact.

The issue is obvious in his self obsession. The constant compliments he lavishes on himself and wantonly encourages from Minion, are all surrounded around his head-and occasionally his physic. But in the end it all comes back to the physical, and that leads straight to the brain.

Part of it is necessary; guarding himself from the self hate that can too commonly arise in isolated or marginalized ethnicities; constantly shown unattainable images for their physical traits. Roxanne has been on television a long time, and has seen first hand how difficult it is to get diversity beyond a token face.

So if a brown child whose image has inhabited the planet from the start, is still being overlooked, the alienation of a literal alien is truly unimaginable. Self worship is essential.

Thus he praises his most unique trait: his oversized brain- and anything associated with minds. Thought! Oh how her husband loves to think, a fact she truly appreciates and loved in the playful kidnappings. However anything can become excessive.

There are times where she watches Megamind leaning his head back against the cushion of a leather arm chair, drifting away from the work in front of him. His mouth droops, his pencil occasionally slips through his fingers onto a present blue print, and his eyes become heavy-not with sleep, but sweet indifference.

His head tilts and he's about to set sail, not for inspiration, but pure nothingness, a distraction so complete it unwinds every muscle in his body. A contagious lull, that sets her ready to drift, smiling and dreamy eyed along with him, -but then he twitches. Right at the brink, when she literally feels herself evaporating, he fights it, snaps up straight, wild eyed and overly attentive.

She hates that.

There are times everyone needs to let go.

Of course she sees him daydreaming from time to time, but that is always controlled by his elaborate imagination and ends with some type of plan.

This mental insistence stunts his capacities-mainly during sex.

She wants to see him go wild, and not just once, she will make it a habit. Roxanne wants his mind to break and hear what a blue man can babble.

Not just for the passion, but for the trust.

She needs him to know that even when he breaks open, all raw and wet, that it will be okay.

She can never hurt him.

She loves him, and trusts their sense of reason to know that they are in love, and there is no need to constantly evaluate it anymore.

Its time to get tough.

And as her mouth grazes a sharp ear, shaping his dreams, she is determined to teach him not to give a shit, with one chucked, anarchic "fuck" at a time.