undeadgirlwalking | [PSL] Ana and Hawkeye

Entry tags:

[ana&clint],
[psl]

[PSL] Ana and Hawkeye

Who: Ana Adams, Clint Barton (Hawkeye)
What: Some TLC post a rough night.
When: Post a mission that was rougher than it should've been.
Where: Ana's apartment above Adams' Books.

***

He said he was coming... And he was late. Anan didn't know nearly enough about Clint's life to know exactly where he was, but she'd observed enough to guess. He fought, he killed, undoubtably for an organisation that would rather stay secret. That was fine, she had secrets enough on her own.

He wouldn't be a part of it if he wasn't skilled... Didn't stop her from worrying. Nursing a cold drink in the kitchen, wearing little more than a shirt that he'd left behind, she restrained the urge to send a shade to look for him.

He'll be fine. Clint would be fine.

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He glanced up at her as he unfastened the rest of the buttons on her shirt, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. Then, slowly, he went back to pressing lazy, indulgent kissed to the skin of her chest and neck.

Questioning everything seemed prudent, triple checking with himself to be sure he was doing the right thing. Getting involved...

Even for a one-night stand, it was dangerous.

She's watching his hands, the colour on her cheeks growing deeper. She leaned into his kisses, one hand stroking his face while the other gently dragged down his back, nails catching on the fabric of his shirt.

He was driving her insane, soft confident touches making her feel light she was slowly being drawn taught like a guitar string. Or a bow string.

The thought makes her giggle.

"I thought I was the one seducing you?"

"I'm already there," he answered, voice lowered. Still, if she wanted to do the work, he'd let her. He rested against the back of the chair again, his hands settling idly on her thighs. A beautiful woman trying to seduce him was nothing to complain about in the least, especially if she was insisting on drawing it out.

With his blood pumping so loudly, it was hard to even think. If she wanted to take over, he'd let her.

Ana shivers and watches him pull back. She bites her lip, looking him over and for a moment she's frozen by uncertainty. What to do?

Her head tilting as she takes in the way his shirt sits on his chest, Ana runs her hands over and down, feeling their way over cloth covered muscle.
She leans forward, back curving and flicks her deep blue gaze up to his. Ana's hands creep beneath his shirt and move up, her cool hands learning their way up his torso, muscle and scars all.

Her fingers don't linger as they explore with gentle touches and the occasional drag of blunt nails and Ana leans over him, mouth seeking his.

When she bit her lip, he could feel the electricity, feel the warmth of desire and arousal winding their way down his spine. Her hands were starting to slowly drive him mad, her fingers on his skin, finding every mark of his life with her delicate touch. Kissing her was suddenly a necessity, something he wasn't going to stop doing until he really felt satisfied, but he could hold back.

And hold back, he did. His fingers kneaded at the skin of her thighs, sliding inward slightly more with every passing moment, but he didn't let himself take any huge steps. She was in control, and he liked that enough to let it stand.

Ana nips at his lower lip, fingers pressing into his skin. Ana moves her lips from his mouth to his jaw, flirting briefly with his cheek before dipping down to the side of his neck. She does her best to leave no marks though a part oof her badly wants to.

Ana settles for tiny delicate grazings of teeth as she works her way down to the curve where neck met shoulder.

She tuggs at the shirt, a silent command. She wants it off, she wants to see, to press herself against his skin and feel his heat.

He'd never hear the end of it if he showed up at HQ with marks all over his skin, so he was glad she was being moderate. Tipping his head back, he let her explore, unable to hold back a low noise of approval when she finds a particularly sensitive spot on the side of his neck. Where her lips explored, he wanted to explore, too. He wanted his hands in her hair and on her body in places he'd only thought about idly before.

His notion to touch her a little more intimately was interrupted by the tugging at his shirt. Obliging, he removed the offending cloth, seeking her eyes again as he tossed it onto the floor. Marks and scars peppered his lean, toned muscles, and the curve of his shoulders was a clear indication of his vocation. Could she tell from this that he was a soldier, a killer, anything more than a sportsman archer?

Not that he cared, really, as he settled his hands at her waist and began moving them higher.

Ana memorises what makes him tense and what makes him moan for hopeful use in the future. She turns her attentions to the other side of his nextm tasting skin and humming at the feel of his pulse under her tongue.

When she finally got the shirt off she took a moment to simply look at him, gaze lingering on his shoulders. She'd always known that he was a warrior, it was not something one took off at the end of the day like a shirt. She liked it, that he fought and more than that she liked his shoulders, they were good. Meeting his gaze, Ana gave him a small knowing smile and returned her mouth to his lips, fingers playing boldly over his chest.

There was no way he'd announce that he's a spy, a mercenary, a secret agent, but his body told enough on its own. He wasn't what he appeared to be, and now that he was exposed to her, he hoped she would just accept it. He gave her a meaningful, questioning look before taking to the kiss again, before allowing himself to let go.

Moving higher, he traced the clasp of her bra--in the front, accidentally convenient--a silent question. Her body was already driving him to thoughts he usually wouldn't entertain.

Ana smiles in reply and made the first brush of lips tender. And then firmer before she opened his mouth to his. She didn't mind, she didn't care, he was his own. She had secrets enough, ink on her arms he hadn't seen, some of the words to O Death inscribed upon her back. And the way it took a holy weapon to cause her any damage.

She pushed into his hands, and broke the kiss enough to murmur a soft 'please'. She kissed her way to his ear and gently nibbled upon his lobe, hands trailing lower to stroke the hemline of his jeans.

'Don't hold back, Clint. I want this.'

Her fingers at his waist sent all his thoughts straight out of his head. Manipulating the clasp was easy enough for him, and he did it without hesitation once she uttered those words. He had no qualms with taking her right here, in this chair, if she so pleased.

One step at a time, though. Clint pulled their hips flush, pressing against her with little regard for propriety or modesty. He wanted her, and he wanted her to know that. There was little room for questioning that now, now that he was pushing the shirt roughly from her shoulders with one hand, her bra following soon after.]

Edited 2012-05-23 02:20 (UTC)

She didn't let herself focus on feeling embarrassment on uncertainty now she was closer to being bare. Ana's breasts weren't exactly big but they were form and they were hers. The rest of her was smooth creamy skin on a body that was healthy but soft.

Pulled against him, Ana groaned to feel how hard he was. She felt proud that she could affect a man in such a way and ground down against him, making a sound that was just plain needy. Her grip on her control was slipping with every touch.

She let her upper garments flow to the floor, raising her hands to pull his mouth to hers, moaning at the way his chest felt against hers. More, she wanted more.

There was nothing embarrassing about her gorgeous figure, and he quickly cupped a hand over one of her breasts, gently squeezing. He wanted more, wanted it now, but he settled for grinding back against her. There was a strange stillness, a quiet that echoed in the room and amplified the groan she favored him with.

Lose control, he thought, so he would be able to join her in it.

Ana's nails dug into his skin and she pushed into his hand. Her hips rolled against his even as her hands fumbled with his belt. She was losing it. She needed him now.

"Clint," she breathed his name and pulled back to look into his eyes. "Please, now."

"Alright," he breathed, moving to slip her from his lap without disturbing what her hands were doing. He wanted her to pull them off, he wanted whatever she wanted to give him, and he'd give all his attentions back.

His hands cupped her cheeks as he sought her gaze, too aroused by her frantic pace to say anything further.

She almost tore the belt undone and paused, not quite sure she'd just done that. Glancing up at his face, Ana bit her lip again as her fingers found the fastenings of his jeans. They came undone quickly, denim peeling away to reveal his undergarments underneath and the hard leangth standing at attention beneath them. She pulled on the jeans.

"Up." she muttered. "Off."

Up he went, standing slowly and putting his hands on her shoulders. She was lost in lust, and Clint wanted to see more. He couldn't put his finger on why, couldn't recall when he'd had any sort of desire directed at her, but he wasn't questioning it. She was before him, and she was making him ready to pounce at any moment.

He helped her, pushing down the jeans from his hips, stepping out of them when they hit the floor, pulling her close once again... Everything was a blur. Pressing his hips against her again, he let out a soft groan.

She helped him balance as he undressed, greedy gaze taking him all in. He was gorgeous, lean and lethal and if anything she wanted him more.

Leanin into him, echoing his groan, leaned up, snaking his arms around his shoulders to kiss his face, lips finding his mouth. Between her legs she could feel how wet she was, and that thought made her shiver. To hell with manners and propriety.

"Clint," she leaned back. "Fuck me." It was half request, half an order.

Shit. He didn't need anything more direct than that to get him tugging her panties down, pulling them off and tossing them aside as they kissed. He slid his tongue against hers, tasted that last remnant of tea on her lips with a satisfied hum.

Here? Now? He could accept it. Shifting his weight, he slipped a hand along the back of her leg, pulling her closer. Then, with a sigh and a quiet chuckle, he pulled them both back into the chair, her on his lap, feeling her wetness against his leg.

She clung to him as they kissed, nails dragging against tanned skin, fingers pulling at his hair. She gasped into his mouth when he pulled her down with him. Pressed against his torso, she sighed, relaxing into the warmth of his skin.

Ana rubbed herself agaisnt his leg, craving more of the friction it gaze her as she reached for what lay between his legs. The first touch was gentle, almost shy. The second was firm, Ana's thumb rubbing over his head and down the shaft.

Pulling her close was the first step in what he wanted to do, but her grip on him threw all other thoughts out of his mind. He dug his fingers into the skin of her behind, letting his short nails leave little crescent marks as he groaned. Her touch drove him crazy, even if it seemed hesitant, timid.

Had she even done this before?

He wanted more, wanted everything.

Ana moans as he grips her, hips rolling. It wasn't enough. She wanted more. Him. Now. Sex wasn't new to her, but it was never like this, never with so much control on her park. Ana's grip on him becomes more confident and she gives him a stroke, watching his face.

His eyes fluttered closed at the stroke, his head lolling forward as he sighed. Her touch was so delicate, so light and fleeting, but he was sure she would warm up, would let herself loose. She just had that sort of nature, that kind of an aura about her. There was something passionate and dangerous beneath that sweet exterior, or so he posited.

Ana couldn't help but smile. She kept touching him, growing bold, eperimenting with touch and presure, grazing nails over his thighs. She moved, rearranging her limps to better stradle his lap. Her hands tembled as she struggled to keep control of herself, her dearest desire at that moment was to bite and claw and take.

"Hey," he whispered, reaching up to tug at her hair as he pulled her close enough to kiss.

"Just let go." And his lips met hers again, a bruising, searing kiss with little regard for the fact that he felt, deep down, that he shouldn't be involving himself with her in any way beyond tea.

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