#hawklint

She didn’t expect being on the run to feel so freeing.

She knows it’s not an ideal situation, and, sooner or later, it’s going to catch up with them. Being an Avenger doesn’t simply stop because they’ve made their mistakes, or because someone decides that they’re not worth trusting anymore. For right now, though, there’s nothing any of them can do except lay low as the dust settles, and Wanda would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the liberty of going into hiding. With her hair dyed lighter and cut shorter, no one seems to recognize her. No one gives her a second glance, or whispers as she walks by, or flinches back in fear, and it’s -

It’s nice.

She tosses her head back, swivels her hips as the bass pulses through the air of the club. It’s rather ironic, she thinks, how exhilarating it feels to be under the glow of the red, neon lights, the song vibrating through the air and practically radiating over her skin. Her body feels tingly, her mind hazy with the warm buzz of the alcohol thrumming through her veins. She’s had just enough to drink that it feels good, and whatever nerves she would’ve had about some stranger pulling her to dance on top of a table are completely gone.

She does a twirl, her hair flipping around and falling over her shoulders, and when she opens her eyes, she finds a pair of bright, beautiful blue eyes among the shadowed crowd of faces, making her grin. His lips are parted slightly, his eyebrows furrowed as if in concentration, but she knows better. She knows that if she walked closer, she’d feel his desire radiating off of his thoughts in waves. She’d see his pulse thrumming in his neck, see his eyes clouded over in want.

She bites down on her lip, a white-hot warmth shooting through her veins.

She wants him, too. But she wants him to come here and get her.

She wants him to make the first move this time.

So she just tosses her head back again, her hands above her head as she sways to the tantalizing beat of the song. She feels his thoughts drawing her in now, calling for her, and she lets them wrap around her mind as she runs her hands through her hair. His desire is pure and unapologetic, in a way he has only ever been with her, and it makes it that much more thrilling. After all that he’d been through, after centuries of his mind being prodded and rewired and invaded, he wants her to invite herself into his thoughts. He wants her to see inside his head.

And it certainly doesn’t disappoint.

She falters in her spin, a sudden warmth unfurling in her stomach as she sinks into his thoughts too deeply, too quickly. She bites down on her lower lip as his memories pour into her mind, and it takes all she has not to let out a moan. Not that anyone would be able to hear her over the thrum of the song, but still.

He’s remembering their first night in their hotel room in Seoul, their bodies slicked with sweat, her legs wrapped around his hips and her spine arched as he took her against the wall. Their borrowed (stolen) truck parked at the edge of some border town in South America, his face between her legs as she had been spread out across the back seat, the windows fogging with her breathy mewls and moans. Their weeks at the cabin safe-house they’d come across in Russia, when he’d made love to her on the carpet by the fireplace, and when he’d sunken into her from behind as she bent over the kitchen counter, and when they’d spent the entire afternoon in the left in the warmth of the sunlight and tangled between the sheets.

She does moan this time, unable to catch herself as she runs her hands down her neck, feeling her pulse quickening, feeling her sex growing slicker and her skin growing warmer. It’s suddenly too hot in this club, the air too thick and the bass too loud, but she’s too caught up in James’s thoughts to stop.

Because now he’s thinking of tonight, her lips parting as she’s seeing herself dancing through his eyes, her skin bathed in the glow of the red lights, her hair falling around her face and her body swaying to a beat she can’t quite discern. She doesn’t just feel James’s desire or arousal. She feels his awe. She feels his captivation with her, his fascination, and it draws a whimper from her lips. She’s never felt anything like this before. She’s never felt like she’s being adored.

James.

She sucks in a sharp breath as his thoughts shift, and now he’s imagining her pressed against one of the walls of this club, shadowed in their own corner as he spreads his palms over her thighs, sliding them under the hem of her dress and cupping at her wetness. He’s imagining himself ripping her dress off and grabbing a bottle from behind the bar, the cold liquid sliding down her bared skin as he pours it down her chest and laps it up. He’s imagining them in the middle of the dance floor, pressing her back against his chest as he flips the hem of her dress up and tucks his hand into her panties, fingers sliding through her slick sex as she murmurs his name over and over again. He’s torn between having him to herself, and wanting everyone to see how she melts at his touch. He wants everyone to give her the adoration she deserves, but he doesn’t think they deserve her, either. He doesn’t think he deserves her, but oh, he wants to try. He’d live the rest of his life on his knees if it meant he could be with her.

She jumps in surprise as a hand wraps around her calf, and her eyes flutter open to find James staring up at her, the ghosts of a smile tugging at his lips. His eyes are dark and hazy, his eyebrows still furrowed, and she - she -

She needs him. She needs him right now.

She all but throws herself into his arms, not caring if anyone is paying them any attention as she wraps her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck and presses her face into the curve of his neck, sucking his pulse between her teeth. She feels his chest rumble in a low groan, feels how hard he is through the front of his jeans. Every part of her feels sensitive, as if he’d been touching and teasing her all night. That’s how vivid his thoughts had been, how deeply she’d been drawn into his mind, and she knows that had been his intention.

He elbows them out of the club, the crisp night air hitting her skin, and she whimpers, grasping his face with her hands and kissing him, hard and hot and heavy. She doesn’t know how he manages to walk them the few blocks back to the motel with her wrapped around him like this, but she doesn’t care.

“James,” she whimpers, and he groans, his hands fumbling to shut the door behind them and switch the lock into place.

“I know, doll,” he murmurs against her lips. “Me too.”

He stumbles back until he’s guiding them onto the bed, settling her in his lap with her legs still wrapped around his hips. He tucks a hand into her hair and kisses her harder, deeper, dirtier, and she nips at his lower lip and slides her fingers through his short hair. “Yours, all yours,” she murmurs against his lips. She knows she’s not nearly coherent enough right now to make sense of her own thoughts, but James nods because he understands her anyway. He always does. He always will.

I’m yours. My mind. My heart. My pleasure. It’s all yours to take.

He very nearly growls into their kiss, rolling them over and pressing her against the mattress and tugging her panties down her thighs. Normally, he would take his time to undress her, or practically tear her out of her clothes, but he lets her panties catch around her knees as he sinks two fingers of his metal hand into her slick heat. Her spine arches, her walls fluttering, and she’s so wound up that she knows it won’t take long. She can still feel his desire pulsing through her thoughts, and it’s overwhelming, wrapping around her, quickly pushing her toward that dizzying edge.

His fingers curls, brushing against that sweet spot that makes her moan and bow off of the bed. He leans over her, tugs her dress aside with his teeth and latches his lips around one of her nipples, sucking gently. She whimpers, his free hand cupping her other breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers.

He groans, his thoughts growing louder, wilder.

I love you. I adore you. I am everything because of you.

His thumb comes up to circle her clit, once, twice, three times, and she whimpers as her orgasm starts to wash over her. She squirms underneath him as her fingers twist into the blanket, her every thought dissolving into a white-hot blur of pleasure. She can still feel his fingers working her through her high as her orgasm rolls over her in waves.

He pulls his mouth off of her breast, pressing wet kisses over the curve of her neck, along the underside of her jaw, easing her down from her high.

Then he pulls back, withdrawing his hands from her sex, and she blinks her eyes open as he takes his fingers between his lips to gather her slickness on his tongue. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips parting, and his lips quirk into a little grin as he pulls his fingers from his mouth and lowers it to her lips, letting her taste herself on the cool metal of his fingers as he holds her gaze.

“I’m yours, too, you know,” he tells her after a moment, his voice low and gravelly. “My mind. My everything. It belongs to you.”

She nods softly, reaching up and grasping his face with her hands, drawing his lips back down to hers. Their kiss is tender, almost tentative, but it feels perfect and a little overwhelming, but not in the best way possible. She strokes her thumbs over his cheeks, sliding her tongue against his and humming gently.

Then she draws away, glancing up at him from under her long eyelashes.

“Once I’ve caught my breath,” she starts, lips tugging at the corners in a smile, “you’re going to let me adore you this time.”