Chapter 19.

Jemma woke up, stretched, and immediately regretted it. It seemed as though nearly every muscle in her body was aching. Clint had been gentle – until she'd asked him not to be. And then he'd been, well, thorough. She lay still, trying to relax her sore hips and thighs, unable to stop thinking about the night before.

"I do like it when you beg," Clint had almost whispered the words before slipping her towel free, dropping his own and almost dragging her down onto the bed. Not that she'd been unwilling. Quite the contrary. Jemma was almost as eager to take her time exploring his body as he was hers, and finally they had the space, and the time, to do their desires justice.

Jemma had never thought of herself as particularly submissive. Quiet, yes. Docile? Definitely not. And she did like her own way. Certainly she had no intention of letting Clint boss her around – not that he seemed inclined to. But every time he touched her, she turned into a puddle of lust, frantic for him to touch her again, and it seemed all she could think about was what would make him happy.

Fortunately, it seemed that what made Clint happy was giving her spectacular, screaming orgasms. His hot mouth investigated what seemed like every inch of her skin, searching out erogenous zones Jemma had previously not even suspected she possessed. Even with all her understanding of the human body, it still made no sense that her nipples sprang to attention when Clint licked the back of her knee.

"Oh," Jemma gasped when he tested to see if he could elicit the same reaction by licking the other leg in the same spot. "Clint! That – shouldn't work. Neural impulses and synaptic connections…"

"Oh my God, please keep talking dirty," he answered, licking her knee again.

"What..?"

"Science. Talk science."

Jemma glanced down along his body, eyes widening as she saw his cock thickening, coming to attention again. "My brain doesn't work when you're doing that," she whimpered a bit pathetically as his mouth travelled slowly up her inner thigh, and Clint chuckled softly.

"It doesn't have to make sense, sweetheart. Just say some long sciency words."

"Deoxyribonucleic acid," Jemma said vaguely, and felt Clint's breath gust out in a sharp gasp against her leg. "Pharmaceutical studies into the physiological effects of potassium gamma-hydroxybutyrate on mammalian cerebro-cortical oh my God."

Clint laughed a bit breathily against her. "Don't stop."

"I c-can't…" Jemma let out a sobbing cry as his tongue slurped wetly over her clit again. Reaching for him frantically, she ran her fingers into his hair and stroked his head, scratching at his scalp in the way she'd realised he really enjoyed. He let out a low humming sound that seemed to shoot straight along every nerve Jemma possessed. Her hips came helplessly up off the bed, grinding herself harder against his mouth.

"Come on then beautiful," Clint lifted his mouth off her for a minute, though he didn't let up with his fingers, easing two deep inside and crooking them slightly, chafing with his thumb. "If you can't talk science, let me hear you moan. No one can hear us now." He returned to his task, but not before muttering "I fucking love those noises you make…"

Inhibitions completely destroyed by what he was doing to her, Jemma cast caution to the winds and gave herself over to sensation. She moaned for him, she screamed for him, she sobbed his name as he turned her over to her stomach and pressed into her gently from behind, his hand sliding around in front of her to scissor two fingers over her clit.

Far from delaying her orgasm this time, Clint pushed her rapidly on to peak after peak until Jemma could take no more. Only then did he allow his own release, finally pulling her down to the bed with him and holding her close, stroking her hair and her back gently as she trembled, taking a long time to come down from the last agonising high.

The last thing Jemma remembered before falling asleep was Clint's lips brushing over her own, his low husky voice telling her how wonderful she'd been. Wrung out and sated, she'd closed her eyes with a very satisfied smile on her lips.

Clint was gone from the bed this morning, and as Jemma slowly sat up, she saw that Boudicca was missing from the wall too. Clint must have gone down to the range he'd mentioned Tony had built into one of the Tower's sub-basements. Looking around, she spotted her overnight bag on the floor by the bedroom door, and hesitantly went over to get it, thinking that she might have a shower while Clint was gone.

Clean and dressed in fresh clothes, Jemma had a look around Clint's apartment. He was tidy, she thought, but she suspected it was because he didn't actually have many possessions. His wardrobe was sparse, he had a few books stacked on a shelf in the lounge – mainly politics and world history, interestingly enough – but the only other personal items Jemma could see was the display of weaponry on the wall. Which, she thought, was more tools of the trade than decoration; even the display hooks were designed to hold the weapons in such a way that they could be easily grabbed and used.

Clint had been a S.H.I.E.L.D. field agent for years, Jemma thought. This was probably the first permanent base he'd had in a very long time. Senior agents' quarters at the Hub were pretty Spartan; she'd seen May's. Perhaps Clint was still discovering what he liked. She'd made her way to the kitchen and was staring in dismay into the almost completely empty fridge when Clint came in.

"Good morning," he murmured, coming over to claim a kiss. Jemma could hardly breathe for how good he looked, bare-chested with Boudicca slung across his back, his arm guards still on. She couldn't resist touching the muscles in his chest, pumped up with the exercise, and he grinned, obviously pleased. "Let me go shower and we'll get breakfast."

Jemma glanced back into the fridge again with a frown and Clint laughed. "Not here. You said this place is like living in a six-star hotel; that includes a breakfast chef. We'll go down and you can order whatever you want. You can go ahead of me if you want: just tell JARVIS to take you to the sixty-third floor."

She shook her head shyly. "I'll wait for you."

He hesitated, eyes raking over her, and then said "I'd love to take you back to bed, but unfortunately Coulson's here. He wants to see you at nine."

It was quarter past eight now, so they really wouldn't have time, Jemma realised, glancing at her watch. Not that the thought wasn't tempting. She gave Clint a gentle push towards the bathroom. "Go wash. He'll ask me if I've eaten and I'll blame you if I have to say no."

Jemma had pictured a sort of boutique hotel dining room, but instead she found a large, airy room with a big table in the middle, and an open-plan kitchen at the other where a small dark-haired man was currently expertly flipping pancakes. Steve Rogers was sitting at the table finishing off what looked like the remains of a very large breakfast.

"Morning Clint!" called the chef. "The usual?"

"Yes, please. Paul, this is Jemma. My girlfriend."

Jemma twitched slightly with surprise at the description, but then was reminded that Clint had said he wouldn't sneak around. Everyone on the teams knew by now anyway, she thought, giving herself a little shake for being so silly. Paul was smiling brightly at her now.

"Nice to meet you, Jemma. I take care of breakfast and lunch for the Avengers and make sure the fridge and the pantry are stocked with snack foods and preferred drinks, so if you can let me know what your favourites are I'll make sure we have them in. Right now, though, what would you like for breakfast? We have most of the major brands of cereal, fruit, yogurt, several types of bread, including my homebaked wholegrain, or I can whip you up some pancakes, or waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage…"

"Goodness," Jemma said, a bit overwhelmed. "Well – that homebaked bread sounds lovely. Perhaps with a poached egg?"

"I'll get right to it, Jemma. Drinks over there…"

Turning, she saw a sideboard with chilled jugs of fruit juice and a fancy-looking coffee machine. "Oh. Tea?" she looked hopefully at Clint.

"No problem, Nat and Bruce are both tea drinkers," he showed her the drawer full of different types of tea bags.

Paul delivered the pancakes to Steve, and a couple of minutes later an omelette stuffed with diced vegetables and ham to Clint. It smelled wonderful and Jemma sniffed appreciatively. She didn't have time to feel envious, though, because a moment later Paul set a plate before her with thick-cut toast and perfectly poached eggs. She thanked him politely and he gave her a cheerful grin before heading back to his kitchen.

Steve didn't talk much while finishing his breakfast, but when he'd done he slid his plate aside and fixed Jemma with a penetrating blue stare. "Can I ask you a question, Dr Simmons?"

"If you'll call me Jemma," she shot back with a friendly smile.

"Jemma." His smile is fleeting. "Do you know where Grant Ward is now?"

Jemma flinched back as though she'd been struck. Clint put a steadying hand on the small of her back. "That's restricted information, Steve," Clint spoke for her. "Why do you want to know?"

Steve leant back in his chair, looked Clint straight in the eye. "I want to kill him."

Clint considered Steve. Well. Wasn't this an interesting development. Hawkeye knew very well how to put two and two together to make four. "I'm afraid at the moment he is considered too valuable. He's a prisoner being held for interrogation."

Jemma let out a faint snort. "Yeah. Ask May how well that's going."

"What do you mean, Jemma?" Steve cocked his head at her. Jemma glanced at Clint, silently asking if it was okay to talk about this to Steve. He thought about it for a moment and then nodded his head.

"Ward is refusing to talk to anyone but Skye. And she hates having to go down to the vault to interrogate him. Every time she does, he deflects her questions and she ends up coming back shaking or in tears."

Both Clint and Steve looked pissed at that revelation. "Perhaps a different interrogator would be of use," Clint said, his voice like ice. "I'm sure Natasha can get something out of him."

"I'm going in with her," Steve's voice was even colder. "I have a personal bone to pick with Ward."

Jemma smiled at him, also having put two and two together. "I'm sure Skye will be very glad if she doesn't have to deal with him any more."

"We'll talk to Coulson about when and where," Clint glanced at his watch. "Got to go, Steve." He stood and offered Jemma his hand. "We'll catch you later."

"Yes." Steve looked down at his hands. "I'll be in the computer labs. Skye offered to help Tony with the tracking algorithms looking for Bucky."

"Who's Bucky?" Jemma asked Clint as they entered the elevator.

"Sweetheart, that's a really long story."

Now, I'm afraid I have to say that the plot fairy ran away with me a bit here. There's no more smut for a fair few chapters. But on the plus side, there's LOTS of adventure and whump about to happen!