dreaming of mercy

She landed on the high part of her stomach with preserved the breath in her lungs, but her hands had to reach for the floor to keep herself from catapulting over the arm. A little grunt of surprise echoed from her when she landed, but it wasn't completely ungraceful and when she flipped her hair over her back the grin she shot Tasha was shameless.

"You're mean," she muttered back, taking a second to consider her options with her lower lip between her teeth. She let it slide loose slowly, emphasizing the moment it popped free with a twitch of her grin as she sat up high enough to plant her elbows on either side of her chest.

No good. Tasha only swatted her hands away, then did some sort of swirl thing with her tongue that had Jess momentarily seeing stars and arching a little higher off the couch seat.

And then Natasha made good on her word. (Like there was any doubt.)

It also seems like someone is much happier having  Natasha press a hand down her pants in lieu of leisurely kisses and searching touches.  Natasha can accommodate.  

In silent thanks she gave Tasha back her hand, reaching up above her to grab the pillow from the couch arm to stuff it under her head. The shift gave her a chance to stretch out and now that her head was up she could see properly, chest arched upward as she shifted her hips up and gave Tasha the room to slide her shorts off.

(Actually whatever you call her had better be sincerely complimentary unless you were one of a special few.  It goes with the whole ‘assassin’ territory.)

She goes along with the movement easily enough but the moment Jess was distracted with fiddling with her collar, Natasha flipped them.  And if the camera got tipped over to the floor, red light still gamely glowing and the auto focus moving the lenses to get a good, sharp picture of the frontmost right couch leg well, accidents happen when spy wrestles spy.

But when Tasha spoke again it broke the thrum of paranoia that echoed in her chest, and one breath let her relax again. She was safe. It was Tasha, for God's sake. If there was one person in this tower that she could trust to throw her around (spare maybe Steve... ooh, hello interesting train of thought to save for later), it was her.

The combination of the recording camera and her own impatience was starting to itch at her. Was Tasha seriously just not interested? Usually by that point she was at least trying to get Jess back for being mouthy. Something about the situation - or the antsy state she'd already been in before Tasha showed up, or whatever - was just kinda... killing the moment.

It wasn’t a threat, or even a promise that darkened the edges of Clay’s voice.  It was a simple statement of fact.  Clay knew what he wanted, and he knew that he wanted to watch her leave, iron-spine, fawn legs, reeking of him and painted blue and black and red and purple over ever inch of skin.  He wanted to watch her with her head high, her lips smiling satisfied and her eyes saying we’ll do this again.

Her labia had bloomed open, swollen with arousal and parted by her fingers.  It was a mess, she was a mess and Clay adored it.

He didn’t waste time beyond what was needed to peel open a condom and roll it on.  Her fingers were still holding herself open, as if inviting him, and he slid between the digits completely unimpeded.  “Nng god, don’t even need fingers in you, you open up for me so well.” 

But not Clay. He pulled her apart slowly, with just enough incentive to keep her focused but otherwise he controlled the pace and everything she received. There wasn't a bit of control or fight left in her by the time he buried himself, just the mindless beat she sought out every time he thrust forward with a breathless whimper into the sheets between her clutched fingers.

But his words were her total ruin. The lewd promise sent something white-hot rocketing down her spine and into her gut, obscene images and the fact that he was the one to suggest it colliding at once and for a moment it was all she could do not to fall apart on the spot.

He use to love weather like this; it’s such a great cover for missions. But now all it does is fuck with his head and he hates it. All it does is remind him of the times when he’d be out there to pull the trigger and end someone’s life; ruin a family, and in some cases, make the world so much worse off. 

When he turned she let him go, curling her arms to her chest under the blanket without making a move to scoot toward his back. If he was still on edge, she was probably making it worse by even being there. Come to think of it, it was probably a bad idea to step on his nerves during a time when he was probably already on edge, anyway. Good going, Drew. Way to get things moving on the most awkward club foot ever.

Jess was a hard and fast kind of girl.  She had the come hither look as meticulously developed as the ‘fun’s done, fuck off now’ one, though Natasha can honestly say she’s never personally been subjected to the latter.  Still, Jess is unapologetically wham, bam, thank you ma’am, and today Natasha wants to savor.  She doesn’t plan to be glacial, naturally; her own patience wouldn’t last so far.

But in Natasha’s opinion, Jess is made for sipping, not chugging.

The letch.  She grins at the thought of him.  She’ll probably end up getting him something nice to make up for the torture (even though he deserved it).

…(A dicking.  She’s probably going to give him a good hard dicking, so hard he’ll taste her spunk when she comes in his ass.  It’s already been planned.)

(She also wasn't naive enough to deny how hot of a thought that was, even if it made her common sense flip out just a bit. If there was one person on this planet she could trust to turn a camera on her in any sort of incriminating situation, it was Tasha. She had to remember that.)

Yes, she’s got hooks on her bra for carrying things.  Her hands were full and she wasn’t going to leave the vodka and have to rely on liquid candy for the potential to get drunk.  Besides pulling stuff randomly from behind your back tends to throw people off.  She kind of likes that.

Natasha held out the bottle with what started off as a grand gesture but halfway through, when she got bored with the effort, ended up being a half-flap of the hand.

If anything, she was just a teeny, tiny bit jealous of Tasha for it.

(Pro-tip: she doesn’t.)

"Of course this is only the first stage of my revenge," she pointed out, setting up the camera and setting the tripod backwards so the angle adjustment arm is towards the front.  "My save cartridge was also in that night stand and the plastic was very neatly cracked right down the center so everything is completely unsalvageable."  She checked the view, making sure that the couch and Jess were both perfectly aligned center.  "This is only a taste of the torment he has coming."

Plus, there were video games in reach.

She managed to successfully pluck it from Natasha's grip but not before she used the woman's sudden vice-grip against her, tugging their weight over so Jess could work her way inward and plant one good, solid kiss on her lips.

There was a trace of whatever Natasha had brought along as collateral for the donut vodka, and it mixed with the deep, earthy thrum her own poison of choice left behind like the two were made for each other. It was difficult to pull back but if she lingered for more than a second the video game wouldn't happen, and distracting Natasha from a video game was the ultimate distracted thought for a dude who played Call of Duty to zone out. It was a poetic pick, really.

What three things would to take to a grocery store register without explanation to make the cashier question your life choices?