She tastes like venom and he's not surprised at the way she kisses, rough and greedy and domineering because he came to her, this time.
"Traitor," he hisses against her teeth. She responds in kind, digging her claws into his sides.
"Soldier," she whispers back, all too calmly, "just like you, Grant Ward."
"Nothing like me," he says back. It is unclear if the words leave his lips or stay twisting in his head. He mirrors the movements of his muddled thoughts. Sluggish sucking along her neck. A tight grasp.
"You hate me," she murmurs. She tilts her head back. He thinks to bite her neck. He thinks that if he rips her flesh, she will bleed. What color, he does not know. She shifts. Pulls off her gloves. Her palms meet the skin of his back. Her hands are an anchor. He feels the water fill his lungs.
"I hate you," he repeats. "I hate you, I hate you." Her hands push back. His back hits the wall. The drywall shudders. He pulls off his shirt. She does not get the privilege of undressing him. She does not deserve that right.
"Ever unchanging Grant Ward," she says. Her hand. His heart. He feels no fear.
"The ever changing Skye," he replies. She smirks. He did not mean to sound clever. She places her lips on his collarbone. She moves her mouth in a steady stream. Down. He makes the mistake of putting his hands in her hair.
"Don't," she demands. He lifts his hands. He puts them behind his head. She falls to her knees. Her uniform will get dirty. His hands don't move. She looks up.
"Do we have enough time for you to return the favor?" she asks. He shakes his head. She frowns. It is pointed and cutting. He thinks that she may hesitate, though it is no longer in her nature to do so. She pulls down his pants.
"Stop." She does not pause. His hands do not move. She pulls down his underwear. "Skye. Stop."
"Now?" she asks. She speaks of no surprise. He plays start and stop often. Here. In Texas. In Beijing. He does not know why she hasn't killed him yet. She lacks his restraint.
"Yes." She rises to her feet. The green of her costume is muddled on her knees. Dirty. Darkened.
"Do you want to fuck?" she asks. He does. He does. He hates the way she says fuck. He lets her unzip her costume. He lets her undo her belt. She kicks off her boots. Pulls off the bodysuit. Her legs circle his waist.
"What if we get caught?" he asks. He thrusts inside her, hard. He grabs her ass. He wants to make it hurt.
"They'll kill us both," she replies. Then. She grins.