Chapter 17.

Jemma laughed, snuggling comfortably into Clint's chest as he carried her into a very luxurious bathroom. Wow. Living in Avengers Tower appeared to be a lot like living in a six-star hotel. The bathroom was amazing, a huge spa tub, massive slate-lined shower with at least six showerheads – she gasped as Clint pushed a button on the wall and warm water immediately began spouting over both of them.

"Oh wow, this is amazing! Wait, I don't want to get my hair wet…"

He set her on her feet and adjusted a couple of the showerheads while she twisted her hair into a loose knot on top of her head. And then he pumped a handful of soap from a stainless steel pump set into the wall and started lathering up, stroking his hands down across his washboard abs and soaping his cock, watching her from under half-lowered eyelids, his eyelashes spiky with water.

Jemma swallowed. That was officially the sexiest thing she'd ever seen. "Nngh," was the only sound she managed to get out when he asked her softly if she was all right.

"No? Was that a no, Jemma? You're not all right? Need me to do something for you? Need me to wash you clean?" he moved forward, his eyes hot, and she just stood there and trembled, her senses completely overwhelmed. Perhaps Clint sensed it, because he put his hands on her hips and turned her around, taking her hands and pressing them against the shower wall, and without being able to see him like that, like the fulfilment of every one of her night-time fantasies, her head cleared a little.

Right up until the moment his hands slid slickly around her and up over her breasts, his knee nudging her legs a little further apart, muscled thigh sliding in to chafe at her groin.

Jemma yelped and started to pant, her knees bending as she tried to press harder against his leg. "Yes. Oh dear Lord, Clint!"

"Passionate little thing," he whispered in her ear, one hand sliding down her stomach. "Ready to come for me again, sweetheart? Let me hear you scream."

Unable to support herself, Jemma leaned back against his broad chest, lolling her head back against his shoulder as her hands fell to her sides, bracing on his strong forearms. Clint tilted his head to kiss her, clever fingers stroking as his thigh continued to chafe. Jemma whimpered.

"Please don't make me wait this time, please…"

"You beg so beautifully," that low, husky voice said in her ear, "how can I refuse?" and three strong fingers were suddenly curling up inside her, and then the tip of his middle finger flicked as his thumb ground in a swift circling motion.

Jemma's mouth opened in a long wail as she arched back against him, and Clint smiled, kissing her brow. "That's it, beautiful," he murmured, still stroking, gentler now as he eased her back down. "Good girl. So responsive, it's like you were made for me."

Jemma just moaned incoherently, leaning against him, letting him take her weight. Clint took more soap in his hand and began to wash her properly, enjoying the fact that it was his soap he was stroking into her soft, pale skin, his scent he was marking her with. At last he had them both washed clean and hit the button to stop the water flow, reaching for the fresh towels hanging on the rail.

"Here." He wrapped one of the fluffy white towels around Jemma, tucking it in gently. "You okay, sweetheart?"

"Mm," she nodded, giving him a slightly dazed smile, and then she seemed to think about it. "I'm thirsty."

"All right, I'll get you a glass of water." He swathed the other towel around his waist and headed for his small kitchen, leaving the bathroom to her.

Of course, by the time he'd fetched water and returned, she'd recovered her faculties and was wandering around his apartment, her eyes alight. "Clint, this is so cool!"

He sighed, looking around at his artwork. "It's Stark's idea of funny."

The living-room walls had a number of pieces of art on them. If you could call it art. It was actually a large selection of framed movie and TV posters, all autographed, all of famous screen archers. Orlando Bloom as Legolas and Evangeline Lilly as Tauriel, both from The Hobbit. Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen. A Brave poster with the actress who voiced Merida's autograph. Will Lyman as William Tell. A whole selection of Robin Hoods from Kevin Costner, Cary Elwes, Jonas Armstrong and Russell Crowe to Errol Flynn. "Whoah, that one must be worth a fortune," she paused at the one with Errol Flynn's autograph.

"Probably," Clint sighed. "Like I said. Stark's idea of funny."

"Hey," Jemma noticed something else. "Some of these are personalised!"

Orlando Bloom had scrawled 'To Hawkeye, the best archer of us all' above his signature. Jennifer Lawrence had written 'For Hawkeye, my inspiration'.

"Have you met these people?" Jemma turned in amazement. "I mean, not Errol Flynn, obviously, but…"

Clint ducked his head. "I might have given Orlando and Evangeline a few tips for their latest movies," he muttered, the tips of his ears turning red. "And Jennifer. And Steve Amell." He gestured at the Arrow poster, where Jemma found 'Hawkeye, best teacher EVER' scrawled in bright green ink. He muttered something else under his breath.

"Say what?" Jemma didn't catch it.

"And the guy who's supposed to be playing me in the new TV series based on the Avengers," Clint said really quickly.

"I bet he's totally celebrity fanboying over you," Jemma said teasingly. "Who is it?"

"Some guy called Renner. He looks quite a lot like me, actually."

"Oh, the actor who was in the last Bourne and Mission Impossible? Yeah," Jemma smiled. "He's dreamy. I can totally see him as you."

"If you start drooling over my screen alter ego when the TV series starts showing I'm totally going to have an identity crisis."

For some reason Jemma found that hysterically funny. She dissolved into a fit of giggles, wandering around the room and looking at the various posters, sipping at the glass of ice water he'd handed her. She paused in front of the Kevin Costner one for Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. "I think he was my favourite Robin Hood."

"It was the first Robin Hood movie I saw, after the Disney one when I was a kid," Clint admitted. "I was twelve, I think. Still with the circus. Barney and I sneaked into a drive-in in the back of someone's pickup. I was already an archer; my act got way more popular after that movie."

"Did you have a Robin Hood costume, then?" Jemma asked teasingly, and knew by the way the tips of his ears coloured again that he had. "Did you have a Maid Marian to rescue?"

He shook his head, and then grinned suddenly. "I didn't know any beautiful English maidens back then."

She skittered swiftly away as he moved towards her, darting through the doorway close by, only to find herself in the bedroom. It was dominated by the huge timber-framed bed, but her attention was caught by the remarkable display of weaponry on the wall. Bows, arrows, knives and swords, and every single one looked sharp and functional. "Whoah!" She stopped short, staring.

"My security blanket, I'm afraid," Clint came up behind her. "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you?" when she cast an astonished look at him.

Jemma turned her gaze back to the weaponry. Boudicca was there, hanging right by the bed, of course; she was never far from Clint's hand and had ridden to the Tower in the limo with them. There were several filled quivers of arrows hanging below the magnificent black bow. But there were other bows as well; a futuristic-looking crossbow, a handbow no more than a foot long, an antique-looking wooden longbow, a magnificent English oak recurve that looked rather a lot like Legolas' elven bow from the Lord Of The Rings movies. Perhaps, with what he'd said earlier about blades and the man called Swordsman, she shouldn't have been surprised that there were as many swords as bows, and a whole collection of knives and throwing stars. She shook her head in wonderment. "It's like a medieval armoury."

"Excuse me," Clint said, sounding offended. He walked over to Boudicca and stroked a loving hand down one sleek black limb. "She didn't mean it, darling. You're not medieval," he told the bow.

"I knew it, you like Boudicca better than me," Jemma teased.

Clint turned, arching an eyebrow. "Well, perhaps you could convince me to prefer you?"

"How could I do that?" she asked a bit shyly as he moved closer, one big hand curling gently around her wrist. He slipped the forgotten, empty water glass from her hand and set it down on the bedside table.

"Come to bed," Clint murmured softly, running his fingers through Jemma's hair, freeing the loose knot she'd twisted it up into until the strands fell silkily across her shoulders. She looked up at him from those beautiful tawny brown eyes, smiling shyly, biting a little nervously on her lower lip. "What, you aren't still shy with me, are you? Surely you know by now I'd never hurt you?"

Jemma dropped her eyes, blushing. "I know you wouldn't hurt me," she said almost inaudibly.

Clint felt suddenly a little concerned. Jemma was acting very oddly. Gently he circled her waist with his hands, pulling her close to him, relieved when she came willingly, slipping her hands behind his back and leaning her cheek against his chest. "Tell me, sweetheart, whatever it is, I want to know. Something's bothering you." He nuzzled gently at her hair, drinking in the scent of it.

Without him looking at her from those intense blue-green eyes, it was a little bit easier to say. "I'm really boring."

Clint just about choked. "Uh, what?"

"In bed," Jemma clarified. "I don't have all that much experience and you obviously do because you're totally fantastic at it and I – I'm boring."

"Have I even for one second looked remotely bored?" He sounded totally shocked. Jemma pressed her face into his chest so she didn't have to look at him.

"No, but I'm sure you will soon. My last boyfriend said – he said…"

"Okay, I don't give a shit what that dumbass said, whoever he was. You are not boring. You're a gorgeous, passionate woman and I am going to very much enjoy completing your sexual education." He pretty much purred the last few words, and Jemma couldn't help a little shiver of anticipation, although she could feel her blush spreading.

"I know all the scientific theory," she muttered, "and I've read…"

"Yes, I know all about your night-time reading." Clint couldn't help a slight chuckle.

"Oh, stop it!" She thumped his chest with a tiny fist. "I read the Fifty Shades trilogy too," she said defiantly, tipping her head back to look up at him, realising that had been a tactical error as his pupils blew wide with lust and his lips parted hungrily.

"Did you now." And then it seemed as though he'd just taken a direct hit to the chest, because he suddenly let her go and staggered back. "Wait. That's not – you don't think I want…?"

"I don't know." Jemma was sure that she was red all the way down to her ankles by now. "I'm not all that experienced. Like I said." She studied her toes intently, wiggling them into the thick, luxurious carpet underfoot, unable to look at him. "I don't know what it takes to keep a man like you interested."

"Fuck." He turned away from her for a moment, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the short strands frustratedly before turning back. "Okay. Let's get this straight right now. I'm not kinky. I don't want to hurt you or beat you and I honestly think seeing you cry would kill me. I only suggested the gag last night because you were worried about making a noise. Frankly I'd far rather hear you screaming my name."

Jemma had the awful feeling that she was going to expire from embarrassment. No – wait, this faint feeling was because she was forgetting to breathe. She sucked in a deep breath as Clint's hands landed on her shoulders.

"Jemma. Look at me."

Shy, red-faced, she did, and he shook his head at her. "Jesus, I never even thought to give you any ground rules, did I? Fuck, I'm an idiot. I knew I'd rushed you."

"You didn't rush me," of that she was quite sure. "I – I've wanted everything we've done just as much as you have."

"I'm not sure that's possible," his grin reappeared, and he bent to kiss her lightly, his teeth nipping at her lower lip until she sighed and arched against him, her arms curving around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. "Jemma, I'm fucking crazy about you," he murmured into her neck, his calloused hands stroking gently over her bare shoulders and upper back. "I'm not going to deny that the idea of you submitting yourself to me, trusting me to explore what pleases you best, turns me on like crazy. But I'd never hurt you, I swear it, and I don't need you to try to be something you're not to please me."

She nodded, and he returned to her mouth to kiss her again. "And," he said, pulling back to look in her eyes, "if at any time I do something that you are not one hundred percent on board with, you tell me to stop. Okay? Will you promise me that?"

"A safe word?" Jemma asked shyly.

"If that's what you need. But as far as I'm concerned, just stop will do. Or slow down. Gentler. Deeper. Harder. Faster." He grinned wickedly. "I'm hoping to hear a lot of the last three. Especially if you moan them as beautifully as I know you can."

"I am never going to able to stop blushing around you, am I?" she asked plaintively.

"I hope to cure you of it eventually. But not too soon. You're really pretty when you blush." The familiar heat was back in his eyes, and then his fingers were plucking at her towel. "I'm gonna be good and ask permission now, Jemma. Please may I lay you down on my bed and fuck you until you're screaming my name?"

"Oh yes please."

"I do like it when you beg."

Next chapter, we're back to Steve and Skye again for a little while!