Chapter 2.

Clint walked slowly up the Bus's rear ramp. May stood at the top of it, talking with the other girl from last night – Skye? Behind them, through the closed lab doors, he could see Fitz and Simmons at the holotable, gesturing at some complicated mechanism floating in between them.

"Good morning, Agent Barton," May greeted him formally. Skye turned to face him, her eyes widening in recognition at the name, and then she scanned him over with a grin coming to her lips.

"Agent May," he responded politely.

"Skye, this is Agent Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye," May introduced.

Skye held out a hand, smiling brightly. "It's an honour to meet one of the Avengers, Agent Barton."

Oh goodness, she could quite see what Jemma was on about. He was absolutely delicious, dressed in a sleeveless black combat suit, bow slung over one shoulder and a black kit bag over the other. His arms were muscles on muscles.

"Thank you, Skye," he had a low, gravelly voice and a firm, warm handshake. Skye felt like fanning herself.

"Skye and I are going to a briefing. Agent Fitz," May slammed her hand on the lab's door opening button. "You're going to be late for your meeting."

"Oh, Gawd," the engineer grabbed a tablet from a desk and ran down the ramp, seeing Barton on his way past and giving him a vague wave. "Hi, Clint!"

"Good to see you again too, Fitz," Clint grinned after him.

"Agent Simmons, this is Agent Barton. He's temporarily assigned to the Bus. Could you show him to quarters while Skye and I go to the briefing? We're scheduled wheels up at twelve hundred hours," she told Clint.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded. May gave him a very faint twitch of one eyelid and headed off down the ramp, Skye trailing behind her. A little nervously, he swallowed, and then turned back to face the young woman who'd been haunting his dreams since the very first time he saw her.

Soft light brown hair and the prettiest hazel eyes set in a delicate face had caught his attention first. And then he'd heard her brilliance spoken of, read some of her papers, used her inventions in the field, and he'd fallen more than a little bit in love with the lovely young scientist, even though they'd never spoken.

"Agent Hawkeye," she gasped in her breathy English accent. "Ah, I mean – Agent Barton. I'm sorry. So silly of me."

"Not at all," he extended his hand, and she really had no option but to put hers in it. "You can call me anything you like, Agent Simmons. But since we're going to be working together, I'd like it if you'll call me Clint."

"I, ah, yes, of course. Clint." She said his name as though she was savouring it, and he suddenly realised it had been a serious mistake to wear his combat uniform, because just listening to her speak was making him hard. Shit, he should have worn a suit. The longer suit jacket might have hidden his arousal, but his tight combat pants were just emphasising it.

Don't look down, he thought frantically, and then had an idea. He deliberately flexed the bicep above the hand that was still holding Jemma's, and her eyes latched onto it. She swallowed convulsively and licked her lips.

"Agent May said that you'd show me to my quarters?" he prompted, wanting to kick himself when he heard his voice come out lower and huskier than normal. Bloody hell. Why did the girl affect him like this?

"Um, yes!" She blinked away from his bicep and looked up at his face, a hectic blush painting her cheekbones. "This way."

She led him up the stairs, and he wouldn't have been male if he didn't appreciate the excellent view. She had a stunning figure, slender and toned. He licked his lips as her butt wiggled prettily in front of him. Oh God, now her fantasy was infecting him, because all he could think about was pinning her to the wall, holding that perfect heart-shaped ass in his hands while he…

He shook himself out of it as Jemma led him through the meeting area and showed him the private cubicles. Compact but comfortable, he'd many times slept in worse.

"Thank you," he deposited his kit bag on the floor, and laid his bow gently down on the bed.

"Is that…" her eyes were fixed on the bow. It was sleek, black and lethal-looking, all curves and vicious angles. She'd heard he was the only unenhanced human who could draw it.

"Boudicca? Yeah."

"You named your bow after an English warrior queen?" She turned to him, eyes laughing.

"There's nothing more dangerous than a beautiful Englishwoman."

Jemma suddenly realised how close he was to her in the confined space, as he practically purred it in her ear. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, and suddenly he was crowding her back against the wall, his hands coming up on either side of her, his eyes fixed on her mouth.

"Your bow's beautiful," she managed to gasp out.

"Not the most beautiful thing in this room by a long shot. Jemma."

She couldn't look away from his eyes, a gorgeous, stormy blue-green colour. His scent surrounded her, warm and musky, fuzzing her head. But her brain still worked. Just about.

"You know my name." She hadn't told him her first name. Because he'd turned her into a stuttering idiot when he told her to call him Clint.

"I've had my eye on you for quite a while, Jemma." He breathed it, his head lowering to hers. She was only five foot four and he was nearly six foot, so it was a fair way down. She had all the time in the world to escape. She didn't move a muscle.

Well, if this was a particularly excellent dream, she was going to enjoy every single second of it, as Hawkeye lowered his mouth to hers. She could feel his warm breath brushing across her lips as he held still for a moment, as though waiting for her to pull away. She parted her lips and let her eyes drift shut.

O-kay, he wasn't going to get a better invitation than that. She'd practically engraved it. Clint lowered his mouth the last tiny distance and kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm, and she tasted of ripe cherries. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, and she let out the tiniest little moan.

He pulled back, wondering if that was a sound of distress, and Jemma threw her arms around his neck impatiently. "Don't you dare!" she snapped and plastered her lips to his again. She felt him smile against her mouth, and then he hit the door closure button and put his hands on her waist.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he groaned, nibbling down her neck. She tipped her head back to give him better access, leaning her body into him, and he slid one hand down to catch her knee, lifting it to his hip and pushing himself against her, grinding gently, showing her how much he wanted her.

Jemma whimpered with desire as his other big hand came up to cup her breast, his finger and thumb plucking lightly at her nipple through the fabric of her shirt and bra until it hardened.

"I like these tailored shirts and ties you wear," his low, husky voice murmured in her ear, and it was probably a good think he was pinning her to the wall because the way he was touching her made her knees go utterly weak. "You think it makes you look professional, don't you, sweetheart? All it makes me think of is how much I want to see you wearing nothing but my shirt, when I finally let you out of my bed."

"You have a filthy mind, Hawkeye," Jemma gasped, and he laughed softly against her throat.

"Yes, sweetheart. I do. And I've been fantasising about you for a long, long time. About having these beautiful legs wrapped around me while I fuck you so hard you can't remember your own name. About shoving my tongue up inside your sweet little pussy and eating you out until you come in my mouth."

He was touching her as he spoke, his big hand gliding along her thigh to hold her ass, his arousal grinding hard against her crotch. "Do you want that, sweetheart? Do you want me?"

"Oh my God, yes," Jemma whimpered. "Please." A small part of her mind was telling her that this was just a biochemical reaction. Pheromones, maybe. Her libido cheerfully told that small part of her brain to fuck off and stop thinking. Because this was pretty much her ultimate fantasy come to life and she needed to stop analysing and just enjoy it.

Author's Note: For those of you who know your British history, Boudicca (Boadicea) was actually an Iceni Celt, not English, more what would be called Welsh today. But it fitted better with the line I wanted Clint to say to have Jemma call her English. So I took a slight liberty. Jemma's brilliant but history isn't her specialty, after all

Please comment and let me know if you like this! I'm shipping Hawkeye and Simmons SO MUCH right now. What would the ship be called? BioHawk? Sounds weird… suggestions welcome!