This story was inspired by Michelle's Taking the Edge Off and by the promise of the next chapter of Roar-ra's Guns, Xanax and Champagne.
"My dirtiest fantasy, huh?"
He looks across the pillows at her, "yeah, tell me. What gets you wet?"
"You get me wet."
He makes a dismissive sound. "Yeah, but in fantasy," he moves closer to her, sliding his calloused hand down her body to rest on her thigh, his fingers almost, but not quite, touching her center. "What gets you hot, what do you think about when you are alone?" he says, lowering his voice, enjoying the way she tenses in anticipation of his touch.
"Well, it changes a lot," she equivocates.
"Ok, right now. Tell me what your current fantasy is."
"I don't suppose saying you dropping this counts?" she smiles; he can tell she's relenting.
"No. Come on, Tasha," he cajoles, "I'm not going to laugh or be offended. Well, unless it's about Stark. You don't fantasize about him, do you?" He withdraws his hand, pretending offense.
"About kicking his ass, yes. About fucking him, no."
"Ok. Good. Tell me," his fingers are back, teasing her.
"You probably don't want to hear it."
"That bad?" he says, supporting himself on his elbow to regard her. "Ok, now you gotta tell me."
"I like to think about you...and me...with someone ... else."
"Mmmm," he growls, nuzzling her neck, "I like where this is going."
"It's probably not what you are thinking. It's with... another guy..." she bites her lip and steals a glance at him.
"Someone in particular?" he arches an eyebrow at her.
She blushes a little. She honest-to-god blushes. He's seen her flushed before, seen her affect embarrassment this way when she's undercover, but he's never seen her blush like this.
"It's Steve, isn't it."
"Maybe," she evades.
He falls back on the pillows chuckling and stretches his shoulders before turning back to her.
"Ok," she concedes. "Yes. It's Steve. You. Me. And him. That's what I think about."
He stops and considers for a moment. "It's just a fantasy. Tell me."
"So, the thing about Steve..." she starts.
"Yeah, I know. He's ..."
"You want to hear this or not?"
"Yes. Sorry," he says, chastened.
"Ok. Don't interrupt."
"So, the thing about Steve. Yeah, he's sexy. So are you..."
"No need to placate me."
"Clint!"
He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.
She sighs and stares up at the ceiling, reclaiming her courage.
"Anyway. He's sexy, but it's such a different kind of sexy than you. He seems so innocent. And you, you just have always had these knowing eyes; like they hid some secret carnal promise. That was something I always thought about when you were 'just a fantasy,' you know? The things that those eyes said you knew and that I was sure your body could deliver."
"Thanks, I think."
"I don't know. I think it's the contrast. These two incredibly sexy, incredibly different men, both there for my satisfaction.
"Sometimes I amuse myself imagining circumstances in which this might actually happen. But I'll spare you that. I'll just start at the door to my apartment." Her voice drops to a smoky purr as she confides:
"You unlock the door with your key and usher us inside. I pull him to me and start kissing him. You press behind me and kiss my neck and nip my ear lobe. I feel you getting hard and I run my hand over your length through your pants. You ghost your fingers over my bare shoulders and down my arms. I get goosebumps all over."
"You unzip my top and it hits the floor followed by my bra. The rough cloth of your suit coat on my naked back makes me shiver against you."
He knows she editing her story; focusing on him more than in the actual scene she imagines. He doesn't complain. He's pleased he still gets to star in the story.
"Steve kisses me hungrily but hesitates to touch me. I put one of his hands on my breast and the other gripping my ass. His hand is very close to your erection, but neither of you seems to mind. I press myself to him and the feeling of being crushed between you two, feeling your desire hardening against me almost sends me over the edge right there.
"Your hands find all my secret erogenous spots; you always know just how to touch me. He strokes the more obvious places. Your breath on my neck and his mouth on mine— he's more skilled than I expect—I feel like I'm going to burst into flames.
"I move aside and you begin kissing him. You step in close and he's against the wall. He's Captain fucking America, and he's yielding to you. It's insanely hot.
"After a moment's hesitation, he begins to kiss back. You push his jacket off his shoulders and it falls to the tiles. His head is thrown back and he groans as you work your way down his throat with your lips and teeth and pull at his shirt until the buttons give way."
"What are you doing while this is happening?" he asks, his voice husky as he begins to stroke her thigh.
"No, let me," she says, brushing his hand away, "I don't want to lose my concentration." Her fingers slide between her folds and he watches with fascination as she works herself, his question forgotten as she knits her brow and sighs a small sound of pleasure.
"You both move towards the living room, leaving a trail of divested jackets, ties and buttons. I slip behind him and begin to undo the remaining buttons. You pull me to your chest. While you kiss me, you slide your hands under my skirt and push my panties off my hips, brushing your thumb here," she demonstrates with her own thumb between her lips and along her clit. She moans and continues in her sultry cadence. "I'm so overcome with that one touch, I falter and reach to you for balance as I step out of the black lace.
"Once my panties are off, you lower me to the couch and nudge my knees apart and my skirt to my waist. You draw Steve to you and kiss him again before positioning him before me.
"Steve sinks to floor between my legs. He's unsure at first, glancing at you as if to seek permission. I cup his cheek and focus his attention on me. He lowers his head and considers me and I melt under his scrutiny. When he finally probes me with his tongue and inhales my scent, I have to grip the upholstery to keep myself from coming up off the couch."
"What am I doing?"
"You sit in the chair across the room and light a cigarette..."
"You hated it when I smoked. You complained constantly before I quit."
"Fantasy, Clint. I don't have to taste it on you. Or smell it. And I don't have to worry about you getting lung cancer. Goddammit, stop interrupting me," she says without rancor. She relaxes back on the pillows and closes her eyes.
"You exhale and lean back, eyes on my face. I meet your gaze and I get even more turned on knowing you are watching. I twine one hand in Steve's hair and slide my calf over his shoulder. I run my other hand from my throat, over my breast and down to my leg, arching off the cushions." She mimics the gesture, moaning. "I want you to see how good it feels to have his mouth on my cunt."
"Let me touch you," he pleads. He can see how close she is.
She nods, biting her lip. At his first tentative touch, she tenses and gasps. Her muscles spasm around him as he inserts two fingers. "Oh, god, oh god, oh god..." she intones as his subtle movements drive her over the brink.
"Keep going," he breathes, the words hot against her skin. "I want you to come for me again."
She licks her lips and brushes a stray lock from her face as she marshals the words to continue. "Smoke curls around you. I keep my eyes on you as I come. Steve begins to kiss his way up my body, lavishing attention on my right breast," she draws her palm across her right nipple, "and then on my left." She clutches her left as he draws it into his mouth and captures her right nipple between his fingers. Her breath hisses in as her hips rise off the sheets. For a few minutes, her account stops.
"Then what?" he prompts.
She considers teasing him with a version that he wouldn't find particularly appealing, but she's as excited by his arousal as by the picture she's painting. Her initial intention of regaling him with a graphic story involving a lot more interaction between him and Steve gives way to something gratifying for both of them.
"Ok," her words again breathy on his skin. "He reaches my mouth and settles on the couch beside me. We continue to make out while you take his place. You feel so different there, your perpetual stubble on my inner thigh, how you know how to use your teeth just so. He explored; you approach like a master, like the confident, cocky bastard you are," she says through a smile. "Yeah, oh god, just like that. You play me with you hands and mouth like...oh, god, you make me come again, just... like... that," she gasps.
"The first time you get me off, I'm taut as a bowstring, but as you bring me towards the second climax, I'm just so relaxed. I languidly remove Steve's belt and lower his fly. I free him and begin to..." She reaches for him and wordlessly continues the story.
"Now it's just you and me."
"Where'd Steve go?"
"I don't know," she says in a less sexy accent. "He's just gone, ok? That's why it's a fantasy - I don't have to be considerate or even limited by the laws of anatomy or physics or spatial relations. If you want to get to the good part - Shut. The. Fuck. Up."
She takes a moment to recompose herself and resumes her narrative tone. "You lead me to the bedroom. You smolder down at me. You're so hard." She can tell he's about to interrupt again and she presses her mouth to his, drawing his lower lip between her teeth and gliding her thumb over his glans until a sigh of ecstasy tells her he's going to stop talking.
She grips his shoulders as she straddles his thighs. Her tale sheds some of its florid style as she holds him in thrall with her body instead. "I finish undressing you and push you down on the bed. You tear my skirt away and I take you inside me." She envelopes him, her internal muscles rippling as she adjusts to him. "And I start to..." She insinuates her body on his and rolls her hips.
"And then I do this just the way I know you like." He moans as she shifts position and changes the angle, allowing him to move with her. "And then I..." She draws her nails the length of his chest, eliciting another sound satisfaction.
"I get you so close to coming and then I back off and bring you back to the edge again. Teasing you. Testing you. Seeing how much you can take." Her actions mirror her words. "Feeling your frustration and knowing you are loving every minute of it."
When she can tell he's aching, she asks "What do you do next?"
"I get to talk now?" he pants.
"No, you get to act."
He smirks as he contemplates this. Lifting her, he guides her to sit astride with her back to him. He braces against the mattress and elevates his pelvis, giving her better purchase to ride him. He smacks her ass and she flashes a look of both amusement and permission over her shoulder.
"Like that?" Another thrust, another smack.
She arches her back, giving him an account of her toned muscles. She rocks, bucking with each light slap until his muscles begin to tremble with his impending orgasm. He gives out entirely as it overtakes him and they collapse to the sheets.
Recovering his senses and ability to breath, he asks "And then do I do this?" Suddenly, she is on her back and he holds her in place with his weight, catching both her wrists loosely above her head. "Now what do I do?" He rests his forehead against hers and awaits her directive.
"You make love to me until I forget my own name and can't do anything but repeat yours over and over."
"Be honest, in your fantasy, do you ever fuck him?"
"Maybe," she says wryly. "Do you want me to describe that?"
"Nope. I'm good," he says, "I'm good."
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