Chapter 31.
"Clint, you and Jemma need to get back in place," Coulson ordered. "Skye appears to be stable and no one else has injuries. The longer you're out of position the greater the risk of exposure to Jemma."
Clint didn't disagree. "Yes, sir. Acknowledged." He hesitated. "Agent May informed you of the events of the last couple of days?"
Phil sighed. He was obviously sitting at his desk at the Playground. "Yes. What a fucking nightmare. May assures me Skye will be okay, though."
"Physically, yeah." Clint shrugged. "Mentally? We both know that even the people who don't get brutalised are affected by run-ins with this stuff. She's already been knocked around with all the bullshit with Ward."
"You don't have to tell me!"
Clint looked at Phil, realising that Coulson was at the end of his rope. He looked exhausted both physically and mentally. "You're calling the team back?"
"I need them here. And Steve and Natasha need to get back out and be the faces of the 'good guys'. Captain America's the one asset we have that we can use publicly."
"Just remember that he doesn't like being the performing monkey," Clint warned. And then he hesitated, torn between loyalties. "The situation with Skye affected him a good deal," he eventually settled for offering Coulson a Clue. "Be careful how they interact for a while."
"I don't think they will be," Coulson shrugged, "but I'll keep your observation in mind. Hawkeye." He nodded at Clint to let him know the message was received.
Clint made his way down to the lab to find Jemma. She was checking on Skye's blood results, talking them over with May and Natasha. He listened intently, fascinated as always when she talked science. Jemma caught his eye and blushed, but he only lifted an eyebrow at her. He could control himself. When he needed to.
Once Jemma had finished explaining that Skye's blood test results were clear and she should suffer no residual effects, Clint dropped the bomb.
"Jemma, we're ordered back to London, immediately. Coulson's orders."
"But…" Jemma protested. May overruled her immediately.
"No, Jemma. You've just told us Skye doesn't need you. We're heading straight back to the Playground once you two leave, and we've medics there who can take care of her. Steve and Natasha need to take Barnes to the Tower as soon as possible, as well."
Left facing united command, Jemma could do nothing but say her hasty goodbyes. Skye was asleep again so she left a note for her with Fitz and she and Clint took their leave.
"It's only a mile to the railway station," Clint told Jemma as he carefully fitted her face veil, "an easy walk. Then a forty-minute train ride, a transfer on the Underground, and we'll be home before midnight."
Jemma smiled, tucked her hand into his arm and they began to walk, just a young couple out enjoying the air. It had been rather nice, settling into her place in London. Not that she'd spent much time in 'her' apartment. Clint's, directly above, had a hidden trapdoor down into her wardrobe. And his place was twice the size – a penthouse – with a king-size bed they'd already had fun trying out.
Walking along beside Clint, Jemma mused on what it would be like if they really could be just normal people. It still seemed incredible to her that Coulson, Clint and May all believed she had the capacity to go undercover in a HYDRA lab. She was a bad liar. Although, as she'd told Trip not too long ago, she was getting better at it.
It happened exactly as Clint had said: they reached the train station, bought tickets and were seated on the train heading into Kings Cross not ten minutes later. Clint was carrying a small holdall in which he had the disassembled pieces of his precious Boudicca. They looked just like a couple returning home after a visit with friends.
Clint could even do an excellent facsimile of a Welsh accent, which amused Jemma no end. He couldn't manage an English one at all. So his cover was as a reclusive Welsh writer named Gareth Lloyd. Ostensibly Gareth Lloyd didn't even know Jemma Simmons.
In reality, when they got back to the apartment building, Clint told Jemma to go get a drink in a nearby café while he checked both out for signs of intrusion. From the café, Jemma could see the windows of Clint's apartment. When his bedroom light switched on, she gathered her takeout cup and headed off.
Clint was waiting in her apartment, leaning against the kitchen counter, his face veil removed. Jemma peeled her own off with a sigh of relief. It made her feel vaguely itchy.
"There's my beautiful girl." Clint's eyes warmed as she came towards him, and he gathered her in his arms and bent his head for a kiss. She melted against him as warm hands traced lightly up her spine.
"Take me to bed, stud," she tried to mimic his accent, and only made him laugh.
"You can't do American any more than I can English, sweetheart."
"It's that Midwestern twangy thing I can't get," Jemma lamented. "I do a great Southern Belle."
"No, you don't, trust me. And you don't need to. Your accent is sexy just as it is," he purred, drawing her towards her bedroom. She was a little surprised when he pushed her gently down on her own bed.
"We aren't going upstairs?"
"No need," Clint grinned, standing back to pull off his jacket and shirt. "Plenty of room here for what I have in mind."
Jemma wanted to ask what that was, but as always she was struck speechless at the sight of his bared torso. He leant over her, illuminated only by the moonlight pouring in through the window opposite the bed, all hard planes of muscle.
"Although you're wearing too many clothes," Clint murmured, gratified that he was able to put that awed look on Jemma's face. She barely seemed aware of what he was saying, lifting her hands to trace them wonderingly across his pectoral muscles, and he let out a quiet laugh and reached to unbutton her blouse.
Soon enough he had her naked, exactly as he wanted her, and knelt down beside her on the bed after shucking the rest of his clothes.
"So," Jemma swallowed to try and get some moisture back into her dry mouth, staring at his cock, thick and hard and straining towards her, "what's on your mind?"
His smile was gentle. "Something a little new for you. Do you trust me, Jemma?"
"Always," she said it without hesitation.
"Good. Come here, then," she moved as he directed, kneeling on a pillow with her legs apart, her back straight, hands grasping onto the wooden headboard. "That's it. Knees a little further apart. No, don't sit back on your heels."
"Like this?" she looked over her shoulder at him, her hair falling sexily across one eye, and Clint sucked in a sharp breath.
"Fucking hell, you're so beautiful," he moved to kneel behind her, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, tweak her nipples in his fingertips. Jemma smiled and wiggled against him, feeling his arousal pressing against the small of her back.
"Mmm," Clint kissed her, long and slow, playing with her tongue until her neck began to hurt from being twisted around. Then he moved back, his fingers still playing with her nipples, which by now were hard and aching.
"Please," Jemma gasped, arching into his hands. "I want you."
"Not yet," she heard the laugh in his voice, and moaned in frustration. Yes, the orgasms were better when he made her wait for them, but right now she felt empty, desperate to be filled in the way that only Clint could.
"You're cruel!" she accused.
"Oh, sweetheart," he nipped lightly at her neck. "You ain't seen nothing yet."
Jemma shivered, suddenly feeling chilled as he moved away, taking his hands off her breasts. She started to move back too, but a firm hand on her bottom stopped her. "You stay right there."
She obeyed, and then gasped as he was suddenly lying there between her legs, looking up at her with a mischievous grin on his face, his big hands grasping her hips and pulling her down to him. "You're gonna sit on my face, sweetheart."
"Oh," was all she managed to get out before he was suddenly shoving his tongue deep inside her, his teeth scraping lightly over her clit. "Oh my God!"
Clint had eaten her out before – he'd made it clear he very much liked doing it – but never for so long. Jemma figured out very quickly that orgasm denial was not in his plan for tonight, when he seemed to be taking it as a personal challenge to find out how fast he could make her come (pretty damn fast). He pushed her through three orgasms in quick succession, and by the third Jemma's grip on the headboard was white-knuckled, her whole body shaking, and she was sure she would have collapsed long before if not for his strong hands on her hips holding her up.
"Cliiiiint," she whined. "Please."
Her only answer was a dark chuckle – that vibrated against her swollen, sensitive clit and made her moan again – and one of his hands sliding off her hip and in between her thighs to join in. She felt his thumb press deep inside her, curving and twisting and oh God. She really didn't notice the movement of his fingers until an unfamiliar pressure at her bottom made her twitch.
"What – oh," he'd been spreading moisture, slicking her up, and now one long finger slid slowly deep inside her ass. No one had ever done this to Jemma before. And she really hadn't thought she'd like it. But the pressure – and yes, a tiny edge of pain – was doing extraordinary things inside her, combined with the movement of his tongue around her clit and the tip of his thumb flicking against her G-spot.
Jemma keened, her head falling back, as Clint worked his finger in her ass, stretching her gently. He didn't intend to have her ass tonight – she was too tight and small, in no way ready – but one day, he'd have her that way. He had a fantasy of sliding into her behind while using a vibrator in her vagina, filling her completely and making her scream louder than she'd ever done before.
"That's it, sweetheart," he mumbled against her as she came again, squeezing his finger tightly. "Fuck, you're so good." His cock was aching, desperate to be inside her slick heat. "I gotta have you."
"Uhhhh," Jemma couldn't make a coherent sound. Not that it mattered, as Clint lifted her off him and flipped her onto her back, moving over her, kissing her fiercely, his hands pulling her knees up as he pressed deep into her. "Aaaah!" He wasn't wasting any time, setting up a hard, driving rhythm, obviously holding onto his control by a thread.
"Yes, oh Christ, yes, Jemma," Clint gritted out, way too close to the edge. She reached up with trembling hands and ran them into his hair, scratching at his scalp and the back of his neck in the way she'd quickly discovered drove him mad. "Shiiiit," he'd hoped to be able to get her to another orgasm. But hey. Four would have to do, he decided, as he started coming down from his own, incredible high. For now. He smiled against her hair.
And yay, finally back to BioHawk smut! Next chapter we'll cover Skye's reactions when she wakes up…
Hope everyone is still enjoying, my commenters have gone a bit quiet… are you missing the cliffhangers already? No more for a few chapters, but the plot fairy has been visiting again…