Warning: includes mild BDSM scene during a mission. Author has never written a BDSM scene before. It includes bondage, a riding crop, nipple clamps, and implied breathplay. Also drug references. You've been warned.

"Arrows and Aftercare"

Ever since Coulson had agreed to move New SHIELD's operation to a Stark Industries-owned building near Stark Tower, the team had been pestered by various Avengers. SI employees were helping them move everything from The Playground to the bus, and then from the bus to their new base. It would've been fine, only with Jemma Simmons overseeing the equipment transfer, some of the technicians were pretty… scared.

"I told you to handle them carefully!" she said when there was an ominous jangling in one of the packing boxes. "Did you not even use enough foam or packing peanuts? Don't skimp on safety! Some of these devices are extremely delicate, or did you not receive the memo?"

Clint watched, amused, as Simmons barked out orders to Stark's employees. She was a regular little English spitfire, far different from the quiet bio-scientist he'd heard about. No one had mentioned this bossy side of her. He kind of liked it.

(No 'kind of' about it. He really liked it.)

Suddenly, she drew her shoulders back even further, levelled the hardest stare he'd ever seen at one moron who was about to pick up the box beside her, and opened her mouth.

"Leave that alone or I'll have you punished," she said in a low, clear voice.

Clint nearly went to his knees. He must've made some noise – surprised, shocked, turned on – because her gaze snapped around to meet his. She looked down his body, eyes widening when she saw what he noticed: his knees were bent as though he was about to drop. He quickly straightened up and disappeared around the corner, glad that Coulson's team wouldn't be living in Stark Tower. If she was always like that, he didn't think he could cope with Natasha's silent laughter.

Jemma had learnt sign language for her deaf cousin. That was British Sign Language, of course; she personally found it quite easy to learn ASL when she joined SHIELD. It was an optional short course, and she was one of the prized pupils. She'd never been more grateful for it when she started going into the field. Now that they were going to be working with the Avengers sometimes – especially Romanov and Barton, who were joining New SHIELD on a consulting basis – it seemed appropriate to brush up on her skills.

She did have a more personal reason for wanting to remember ASL.

Sighing, Jemma rolled over in bed. They had double beds in their base, nice little rooms to themselves with a decent amount of storage space and actual en suites. She spent most of her time in the labs or common areas, so her personal space didn't matter as such.

Especially when there was no one else to share it with. Her hand landed on flat covers, and she scrunched the sheet up in her fist. With a tired huff, she pulled the spare pillow into her arms. She curled around it, wishing it was a person. A Hawkeye-shaped person, preferably. If she couldn't have her soulmate, she could at least dream about the Avenger with the muscled arms and wicked smile.

She'd noticed him when they were moving things to the new base. She'd seen his knees jerk when she used her Domme voice. There wasn't much hope that he was a true sub, because she'd affected male Doms before when she was truly pissed off with them. If they weren't going to be careful with scientific resources, they deserved to be reduced to tears. Honestly, the movers today worked for Stark. Surely they recognised the importance of…?

She groaned, burying her face in the pillow. She'd never get to sleep at this rate. Before SHIELD fell, Fitz had been willing enough to let her boss him around behind closed doors, just to get some of it out of her system. She'd visited a few discreet places when she had the time off and someone forced her to go out. Even the Boiler Room had a few areas which she had made use of when the stress of exams got to her.

If that technician hadn't touched her personal box, it would have been fine.

Jemma wasn't ashamed of being dominant outside of work, but she had an image to maintain, and the things in that box most certainly did not fit with that image. There was even the possibility that someone might think that the collar was for her neck, that the silk ties were for her wrists, that…

She never let anyone near that box. Only Fitz knew some of the contents. It stayed in the back of her wardrobe, hidden beneath folded jeans she never wore and an ugly hat her grandmother had knitted not long before she died. The team knew not to touch that hat, ever.

Pulling the pillow closer, Jemma wished it was a person. At least it gave her arms something to hold, and she slowly, painfully, fell asleep.

Leo and Simmons went out sometimes. They were gradually returning to some resemblance of their former partnership. He didn't think he could be submissive the way he used to be, and she hadn't asked that of him yet.

They were shopping to top up their candy supplies when Simmons stopped outside a toy store. There were soft toys of the Avengers, which made him laugh. They worked with these people now. Well, sometimes. Simmons was staring at the Hawkeye plush.

"You should get it," he said. "I won't tell anyone."

"They probably don't make them any bigger," she said wistfully.

"Why would you want one bigger than that?"

"A pillow is only so big, and it's pillow-shaped."

He stared at her. "You're pining."

"No, I'm not."

"I don't know how you lasted undercover so long, you're still rubbish at lying."

"Shut up, Fitz!"

"Simmons, just buy the damn doll. If it was any bigger it'd be harder to sneak it on base."

"That's true," she murmured. "I suppose I could get one of the science kits 'for a laugh', one that's big enough to take a large bag, and sort of keep it hidden that way." Leo smiled. "I really am considering this, aren't I?"

"Yes, you really are. Shall we get sweets first?"

"We'd better."

She bought more junk food that she really needed, considering that she didn't share it with anyone, but since days off were rare, it was understandable. Leo probably also over-indulged, but justified it as being prepared. Then they went into the toy shop, and he took Simmons' bag from her.

"Grab a basket," he said. "You might need one."

The first thing to go in was the biggest Hawkeye soft toy that they could find. It was a bit bigger than a standard pillow size, and was fairly pliant, so that was good. Then they wandered through the other aisles. Simmons settled on a telescope – which they could actually use, probably – and a small, purple toy car.

"What on Earth is that for?" he asked, nodding towards it since his hands were full. She shrugged.

"I just think it's cute," she said.

"You never buy things just because you think they look 'cute'."

"Well, it's the kind of thing I might buy a…"

A partner, he thought. A boyfriend. What I could've been once, if she'd ever looked at me that way. Simmons didn't mind passing the time with submissive male strangers, but he knew that she was ultimately looking for her soulmate, wherever he might be. And if she thought he'd like a toy car, of course she was going to get it. A nice little present, if you were into that sort of thing. Hell, Leo knew a few people who'd appreciate one.

"You're just going to add it to the stockpile, aren't you?" he asked as they waited in line.

"What do you—?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed you eyeing things while we've been out. If you think your sub would like it—"

"I don't have a sub—"

"Then you get it. A waste of… of…"

"Money?" she asked tightly.

"Yeah, money until you find someone, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you!" He flinched, and she sighed. "I'm sorry, Fitz. I'm just lonely. I never really felt it all that much before, but now that we have double beds, I'm feeling it. That emptiness beside me."

"You're too damn sentimental for your own good."

"Eighty percent of the world's population have found their soulmate before they reach twenty five, and eighty-seven percent before they reach thirty. I just want…" She sighed. "I just want someone to take care of. I know that the situation is reversed – goodness knows we both need someone to drag us out of the lab – but it would be lovely to have someone to pamper."

"Here you are," he said, nudging her forward to pay for her purchases.

The fun part was going to be smuggling them onto base.

Because they worked for a covert organisation, the only way to get into a bedroom which wasn't your own was to use an override, which alerted security that there was a problem. So Jemma's room was fairly safe. She was able to leave her Hawkeye doll tucked under the covers and leave stupid trinkets like the toy car in the back of her wardrobe, stuffed in the box under the jeans. When it became a bit full, she started piling things beside the box until she could get a new one to hide them in. For the time being, it was safe.

"All hands on deck for this operation," Coulson told them in the briefing. "We're working with Barton and Romanov on this one; or, to be more accurate, they're working with us. A drug baron with HYDRA ties will be at the opening of a new club. We don't know what kind of club it is; it's all hush-hush."

"I couldn't find anything on it," Skye said.

"Damn, it must be secretive then," Mack said. She poked her tongue out at him. Coulson glared at her.

"Barton's going into the club," Coulson said. "Simmons, because this may involve illicit chemicals, you're going in as well."

"Is that wise?"

"Skye obtained five invitations: for you, Barton, May, Hunter, and Morse. Barton's going as your protection. You'll be made up first, your hair styled differently. All you have to do is go in, use Barton as cover while you identify anyone with symptoms of possible drug use over the comms, and then he'll get you out of there. Romanov's taking another entrance. They'll all await instructions based on your intel."

"So no pressure, then," she said.

"We'll make sure no one would recognise you without looking closely, just in case there's anyone you might've worked with when you were undercover. Just act natural, and no one will think to look at you twice. Follow Barton's lead."

"Very well, sir." It wasn't as though she had any other choice. And she wouldn't have to be around him all that long.

Timing as it was, they showed up separately. Not even a chance to say hello. Jemma had Romanov looking out for her, May was ahead in line, and Bobbi (heavily disguised) and Hunter were a few people back, so she was neither alone nor unprotected.

But as soon as she entered the club, she noticed three people she had worked alongside, one of them talking with a target. Keeping her head high and her eyes down, she walked past them, attempting to discern what kind of club it was. By all appearances, it seemed like an ordinary, slightly higher class establishment. She didn't order anything to eat or drink at the bar, just in case. On the other side of the room she saw Hawkeye, looking just like he had in the picture she'd been sent. Mouth-wateringly good, in tight faux-leather trousers which hid nothing, cowboy boots, and a shiny purple shirt which clung to his abs and had a few people staring. It was completed with a single earring.

"I see him," she whispered.

"And I can see you drooling," May replied. Jemma wiped at her mouth. "I meant metaphorically."

"…I knew that."

"Make. Contact."

What kind of place is this? she signed. She saw Barton's eyes widen. He shifted further back, and then discreetly signed, I think it's for BDSM.

Oh dear Lord.

Are you sure?

Found out at the last minute. Why do you think I'm dressed like this?

I think you look gorgeous, she signed. She could've kicked herself, and looked down, blushing, before she could see his reaction.

"Stop flirting and get over there before you attract any more attention," Bobbi said. Jemma had no idea where either she or Hunter were, but she could see May.

"On my way," she said. Just as she was weaving through the crowd to reach Barton, the owner of the club stood on a table and called for attention. She made it to Barton's side, but didn't have a chance to speak to him.

"Time for the fun to begin!" he said. "Ladies, gentlemen, and other patrons," there was some laughter, "pick your partner or partners and please, make good use of our facilities. Anyone who doesn't will be publicly punished."

He pressed something on a remote control, and panels which held paintings or fake flowers lowered to reveal a variety of restraints, paddles, whips, blindfolds, and so on. It nearly made Jemma dizzy to look at them.

"You can't leave yet," May murmured. "I'm going to make contact with Romanov in the ladies room."

"What are even half of these things for?" Hunter said.

"I can give you the names of a few people I know, but I haven't seen everyone in this room yet, and I don't think the drugs have been dispensed yet," Jemma said. She paused, then grabbed a couple of masks. She handed one to Clint, who put it on without question, while she strapped her own on. Better safe than sorry.

"We can't get you out covertly," Bobbi said.

"It's fine. I've got this." She looked at Barton, who raised his eyebrows. "Down on your knees, now."

His lips parted and he dropped to the floor. He hooked his hands behind his back like a pro, and Jemma grabbed the last riding crop from the nearest panel. She used it to lift his chin up, and their eyes met.

"Whatever you say, mistress," he purred.

What?

"Trust me to find my soulmate in a BDSM club," she said. His lips curled up at the edges.

"I much prefer this scenario to the ones I'd imagined," he said.

"What's your safeword?"

"Arrows."

"Good boy," she said. She nearly giggled, remembering that that's what she said to her stuffed toy. Barton chewed his lower lip. "Do you like restraints?"

"Probably not the best idea," May remarked.

"I don't mind, mistress," Barton said. Jemma grabbed a silk rope and knelt behind him.

"Just to keep your hands in place," she said. "Relax your arms. I know how to do this. I'm a doctor."

He let her tie the rope loosely. She pressed the end of it into his hands, so that he could pull on it and release the knot in case they needed to move quickly. She tucked her finger in the top of his trousers.

"I'm going to pull these down far enough to have some bare skin to work with," she informed him.

"Yes please, mistress."

"Such a fast learner," she praised, and she placed a kiss at the nape of his neck. He shivered. Her soulmate! She was still trying to believe it. In the meantime, she had a mission to attend to. If there were chemicals being used on patrons, Jemma was there to identify symptoms. She couldn't get lost in the scene.

She drew Barton's trousers down, leaving his underpants where they were, and pushed him forward so that she had a clear path. Then she stood up, stroked the riding crop along the pale skin, and brought it down with a smack. Barton gasped, and Jemma admired the red line.

"You mark so beautifully, sweetheart," she said. She hit the backs of his thighs again. This time, he moaned. "I do love those sounds. Don't hold back."

"Yes, mistress," he said breathlessly.

After half a dozen or so more slaps, Jemma returned the crop and then rubbed the marks. They were fading already, and she praised him for being so good, talking lowly into their comms. Half the words were names of people she'd identified, and descriptions of some strangers who may have already been drugged. Wealthier-looking patrons, which made sense. But they weren't done yet, nowhere near.

"Want to use your safeword yet, darling?" she asked, kneeling behind Barton and stroking his chin.

"No, mistress. Keep going. Please."

Jemma untied his wrists, then pushed him back on his behind. There was a hook she hadn't noticed before, so she tied his wrists above his head. She stroked up and down those strong arms, and hoped she wasn't drooling again, metaphorically or otherwise.

"Please, mistress," Barton said. His trousers were still down around his knees; for all that they looked painted on, they were remarkably easy to move, which was probably the idea.

"Let me know if your arms get sore, sweetheart," she said, and she kissed him on the nose. His eyes were soft as he looked up at her.

"Yes, mistress," he replied.

"Good boy. Such a good boy." He whimpered, and lifted his hips. "Soon, baby, soon. You can be patient, can't you? You can stay still for me?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes what?"

He swallowed. "I'm sorry. Yes, mistress."

She smiled, trailing a finger down his shirt. She glanced at him, seeking permission. He nodded, and she rubbed between his legs. He groaned, hips almost jerking, but he held them back.

"Good boy," she repeated. "What a good boy you are. I think you deserve a treat. One moment."

Barton whined as she walked away. She smirked at a few people who'd been watching them, and scanned the room before she turned to one of the panels. She pretended to be murmuring to herself, all the while passing on more information to May, Bobbi, and Hunter. It was hard to forget that they were in her ear when she heard them talking occasionally.

"Oh, I like these," she said, hiding a couple of things in her hand. She sauntered back to Barton, feeling freer than she usually did in public. She straddled his lap and worked his shirt open, laving his neck and whispering more intel, this time about the drugs she thought she had seen under a grate beneath the handcuffs. There was a slot with a dollar sign on it, probably to pay for them.

"What do you like, mistress?" Barton asked.

"These," she said, revealing the nipple clamps. His eyes darkened further, and he whimpered as she attached them. "Do they hurt?"

"Tighter," he begged.

"Like that?"

"Yes." He exhaled. "Thank you, mistress."

"Anything for you." She kissed him gently, before grinding down on him. His hips bucked again in reaction, and she knelt up. "Bad boy!"

"I'm sorry, mistress!"

"What do you intend to do to make up for it?"

"Anything, mistress."

"Who's in charge here?"

"You are, mistress."

"What did you do wrong?"

"I didn't stay still, l-like you told me to," he said, his eyes wide.

"That's right. I don't know whether I should be merciful or not, since this is our first time."

"Please, mistress. I'll do anything."

"Will you, just? Mmm." She lowered herself onto his lap again. "Stay perfectly still, and I may let you come."

"Thank you, mistress."

"And stay quiet. You know how to be silent, don't you, baby?" He didn't reply. "Good boy. That's much better." She stroked a thumb up the centre of his throat. "Like a statue, until I say so."

Jemma teased Barton for a little while, half-listening to the plans for a raid going on over the comm. unit. At one point, Barton's eyes flicked towards the panel, and she looked in the dark of the windowpane to watch as a man slid something which looked like a credit card into part of the panel, and pulled out a small bag of what looked like cocaine.

"I think you're doing very well," she murmured to Barton. His eyes moved back to her, and she noticed him swallow. "I think it's time for a reward." She stroked the thumb and index finger of her left hand up the sides of his throat, and squeezed her hand gently. "You can come now."

The raid hit soon after. Clint straightened his clothes while Simmons brushed her dress down into place, and they waited in the shadows while those nearest to them fled, or tried to. He wondered why his soulmate's cheeks were so pink.

That's right. She was his soulmate. He grinned, and turned her to face him.

"I know we got caught up in the scene," he said. "I guess I should introduce myself. Clint Barton."

"Jemma Simmons," she said, shaking his hand. "Lovely to meet you. Finally."

He laughed. "We haven't had an opportunity before this, have we?"

"I'm sorry my words may have given you nightmares."

"Not to worry," he said. "What did your parents think of your words as you grew up?"

"I tried to make it look as though I couldn't even spell BDSM. Gave them less reason to worry about me."

"You work for SHIELD, and that's the part of your life they'd worry about?"

She glared at him, but it lacked heat. "I'm sorry about what happened."

"In case you couldn't tell, I had fun."

"Was I too distracting?"

"A bit, but I was here to guard you. Since I was so focused on you, that wasn't really a problem. I was impressed that you kept your head the way you did."

She flushed. "Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you."

"Would you like to… get a drink with me?"

Coulson interrupted them in his usual dry voice.

"You have a debriefing to attend," he said. "Of the work kind."

Clint swore as May chivvied them out of the nook, and he climbed into the van beside Simmons on the ride back to New SHIELD base.

His mind kept returning to the scene. He knew that he hadn't been kept on edge long, and that part of him was always on the lookout for danger towards his soulmate. He wished that they could've had longer together, with no distractions. It almost felt like it hadn't happened at all, if it wasn't for the lingering itch at the back of his thighs and the damp spot between his legs. He could feel the phantom ache of the clamps, but nothing in his arms. She knew what she was doing, that's for sure.

"Agent Barton?" There was something on his leg. "Please look at me."

"Hmm?"

"Here!" The sharp voice brought him back from the land of fantasy, and he saw Simmons' concerned face.

"Yes, mistress?" he said automatically. Her eyebrows drew together, and he realised that the car had stopped. He climbed out after her, and went willingly when she began to drag him away from the others.

"Simmons!" Coulson called. "Debriefing now."

"No, sir," she replied.

"What?"

She whirled around and glared at their boss. "He's not focusing. He may be in sub-space. I need to take care of him."

"Uh—"

"I don't want him dropping!" she snapped.

Coulson blinked. "I'm sure you know what you're doing."

"Thank you," she said. With that vague permission, she kept leading Clint through the base until they stopped outside a room. She opened the door, and he saw a bed. Her bedroom, then. She ushered him inside, and he waited for further instruction. "Kneel down."

He obeyed, and she stroked her hair.

"Good boy, Clint," she said.

I've never written a BDSM scene before. (I'm pretty sure that's something I'd remember.) The fact that it was in the middle of a mission is why it might not be terribly accurate, before someone starts criticising. Gah! I did my best. I researched beforehand, but, as I said, middle of a mission. Jemma had to adapt the scene according to circumstances.

Um… review? Advice would be great for future ventures. *Head-desk* Took the idea of pining!Domme from a prompt on the kink meme, page 18, round 26.