Earned (Marvel, Melinda/Natasha, Rated E, 1052 words)
Written for the femlash_today Porn Battle. Prompt: Melinda May/Natasha Romanoff, robotic.
Natasha knew she’d like Agent May the second they stood in the same room together-it was like the sleek walls and angles of the Bus glossed over in ice; the temperature in the room plummeted. For the first time in a long time, Natasha met her match.
“The Black Widow,” May said, and her voice was like a neat engine purr-sexy and mechanical at the same time. Natasha thought she was the only one who mastered that. “I’m quite the fan.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow and extended a hand in greeting. “The Cavalry. I’ve heard great things.” More black belts than the Black Widow. “I thought you were a desk jockey these days.”
May’s face pinched at the mention of her popular nickname, but she said nothing further. “Coulson wanted me on the team. I was just the pilot.”
“Was?” Natasha abandoned the sleek tilt of her head she used when interrogating men; the one that said I’m just a little girl, explain this to me, help me. May was not the type to be fooled.
May sat down on the sofa in the middle of the room and crossed her legs smoothly, scanning stacks of paperwork on the coffee table. “I asked to report for combat. I was sick of babysitting from the cockpit.” She looked up, twitching a lock of dark hair away from her stony eyes. “Which is exactly what Coulson sent you here to do.”
Natasha shrugged. “Not exactly. I’m not flying. I’m just babysitting.” She sat down across from May and crossed her legs at the same angle, in the same fashion.
May smirked, thumbing through a stack of files. If it was anyone else, Natasha would’ve seen the paper-shuffling as a distraction, a technique to make it look like she wasn’t watching Natasha’s every move. But Natasha could tell May was keeping one eye on Natasha and one on her work, separating the paper into stacks, writing notes on a legal pad, tapping on her PDA. It was almost impressive, her efficiency.
“You’re welcome to my bunk later,” May said, voice betraying nothing. Not a note of interest, arousal, or passion. Natasha was so used to that voice it ached-she knew what it was like to have the passion burned away (or even to burn it away yourself). May looked up again. “Unless you’d rather not fraternize.”
Natasha shrugged again, delicate, a barely-there twitch of the shoulders. “I’ll come around after I check up on the rest of the team.”
*
“You’ll have to show me sometime,” Natasha said, careful to keep her voice steady as she twined her hands through May’s hair. It was admittedly difficult to keep in check when she had a beautiful woman between your legs, but Natasha was nothing if not well-trained.
May looked up for a moment, and Natasha held back a whimper at the loss of her warm, wet mouth. May’s eyes were a little glassy and her face was flushed. “Am I not showing you now?”
Natasha bit her lip and leaned back against the cold wall of May’s bunk; it was too small for comfort but perfect for a quick, efficient fuck. “We’ll have to spar sometime. I want to see if you really earned those black belts.” Her voice hitched as May ducked back down and licked a broad, hot stripe up the sopping seam of Natasha’s cunt. She pressed her thumb firmly against Natasha’s clit and Natasha arched off the mattress, back set in a neat curve.
In all of May’s proficiency, she was bold in her movements-she was stoic and quiet as she placed her palm at the bowed small of Natasha’s back, possessive and hot; she made no noise of warning or question as reached up with her other hand and felt for Natasha’s breasts, still covered in a regulation grey cotton sports bra. With her face still buried between Natasha’s legs, she said, quiet and dark, “I always earn what I get.”
As May moved her hand from Natasha’s chest to her cunt and crooked two fingers into her in a smooth thrust, Natasha believed her.
*
Natasha woke at dawn; she always did, it was her inner alarm clock. She was used to waking like the dead and feeling that deep tiredness still in her bones. But she certainly wasn’t used to waking in a cubicle of a bunk with her bra twisted around her chest, an ache in her cunt, and a hickey on her hip.
She rolled onto her back and listened carefully; there was no sign of movement or waking from the younger agents, so she found her clothes in the tangled sheets, dressed quickly, and slid out into the common area.
“Good morning,” May said from the sofa, still rifling through paperwork, although Natasha saw that it was an entirely new batch. May worked fast.
“Morning,” Natasha answered, running a hand through her hair. She knew the layout of the Bus (she memorized it before coming aboard) and she should’ve stopped at the bathroom to clean up-May looked just as perfect as she did the night before. Her hair was combed and washed, her face was smooth, and she wore a clean jacket and pants. “Do you guys have coffee on this thing?”
May nodded and gestured towards the kitchenette. “I’ve already laid out a cup for you.” She returned to her paperwork. “And Agent Romanoff, I had a fine night. Please welcome yourself into my bunk any time you’d like.”
Natasha stood still for a moment-it was so smooth, so neat, so calculated, and it left Natasha speechless for a moment. On the couch sat not a passionless woman, not a cold woman, but a brilliant woman. There was nothing else to say besides, “Thank you. I will take you up on your offer.”
Natasha knew she had to start her report for Coulson, but instead, she sat down across from May with her coffee. “How are you organizing these?”
“By name, then clearance level. Start a new stack there.” May gestured toward Natasha’s side of the table.
Natasha sipped her coffee and got to work. After battling aliens and gods for a few years, she’d forgotten how nice it was to shuffle papers once in a while.
Natasha knew she’d like Agent May the second they stood in the same room together-it was like the sleek walls and angles of the Bus glossed over in ice; the temperature in the room plummeted. For the first time in a long time, Natasha met her match.
“The Black Widow,” May said, and her voice was like a neat engine purr-sexy and mechanical at the same time. Natasha thought she was the only one who mastered that. “I’m quite the fan.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow and extended a hand in greeting. “The Cavalry. I’ve heard great things.” More black belts than the Black Widow. “I thought you were a desk jockey these days.”
May’s face pinched at the mention of her popular nickname, but she said nothing further. “Coulson wanted me on the team. I was just the pilot.”
“Was?” Natasha abandoned the sleek tilt of her head she used when interrogating men; the one that said I’m just a little girl, explain this to me, help me. May was not the type to be fooled.
May sat down on the sofa in the middle of the room and crossed her legs smoothly, scanning stacks of paperwork on the coffee table. “I asked to report for combat. I was sick of babysitting from the cockpit.” She looked up, twitching a lock of dark hair away from her stony eyes. “Which is exactly what Coulson sent you here to do.”
Natasha shrugged. “Not exactly. I’m not flying. I’m just babysitting.” She sat down across from May and crossed her legs at the same angle, in the same fashion.
May smirked, thumbing through a stack of files. If it was anyone else, Natasha would’ve seen the paper-shuffling as a distraction, a technique to make it look like she wasn’t watching Natasha’s every move. But Natasha could tell May was keeping one eye on Natasha and one on her work, separating the paper into stacks, writing notes on a legal pad, tapping on her PDA. It was almost impressive, her efficiency.
“You’re welcome to my bunk later,” May said, voice betraying nothing. Not a note of interest, arousal, or passion. Natasha was so used to that voice it ached-she knew what it was like to have the passion burned away (or even to burn it away yourself). May looked up again. “Unless you’d rather not fraternize.”
Natasha shrugged again, delicate, a barely-there twitch of the shoulders. “I’ll come around after I check up on the rest of the team.”
*
“You’ll have to show me sometime,” Natasha said, careful to keep her voice steady as she twined her hands through May’s hair. It was admittedly difficult to keep in check when she had a beautiful woman between your legs, but Natasha was nothing if not well-trained.
May looked up for a moment, and Natasha held back a whimper at the loss of her warm, wet mouth. May’s eyes were a little glassy and her face was flushed. “Am I not showing you now?”
Natasha bit her lip and leaned back against the cold wall of May’s bunk; it was too small for comfort but perfect for a quick, efficient fuck. “We’ll have to spar sometime. I want to see if you really earned those black belts.” Her voice hitched as May ducked back down and licked a broad, hot stripe up the sopping seam of Natasha’s cunt. She pressed her thumb firmly against Natasha’s clit and Natasha arched off the mattress, back set in a neat curve.
In all of May’s proficiency, she was bold in her movements-she was stoic and quiet as she placed her palm at the bowed small of Natasha’s back, possessive and hot; she made no noise of warning or question as reached up with her other hand and felt for Natasha’s breasts, still covered in a regulation grey cotton sports bra. With her face still buried between Natasha’s legs, she said, quiet and dark, “I always earn what I get.”
As May moved her hand from Natasha’s chest to her cunt and crooked two fingers into her in a smooth thrust, Natasha believed her.
*
Natasha woke at dawn; she always did, it was her inner alarm clock. She was used to waking like the dead and feeling that deep tiredness still in her bones. But she certainly wasn’t used to waking in a cubicle of a bunk with her bra twisted around her chest, an ache in her cunt, and a hickey on her hip.
She rolled onto her back and listened carefully; there was no sign of movement or waking from the younger agents, so she found her clothes in the tangled sheets, dressed quickly, and slid out into the common area.
“Good morning,” May said from the sofa, still rifling through paperwork, although Natasha saw that it was an entirely new batch. May worked fast.
“Morning,” Natasha answered, running a hand through her hair. She knew the layout of the Bus (she memorized it before coming aboard) and she should’ve stopped at the bathroom to clean up-May looked just as perfect as she did the night before. Her hair was combed and washed, her face was smooth, and she wore a clean jacket and pants. “Do you guys have coffee on this thing?”
May nodded and gestured towards the kitchenette. “I’ve already laid out a cup for you.” She returned to her paperwork. “And Agent Romanoff, I had a fine night. Please welcome yourself into my bunk any time you’d like.”
Natasha stood still for a moment-it was so smooth, so neat, so calculated, and it left Natasha speechless for a moment. On the couch sat not a passionless woman, not a cold woman, but a brilliant woman. There was nothing else to say besides, “Thank you. I will take you up on your offer.”
Natasha knew she had to start her report for Coulson, but instead, she sat down across from May with her coffee. “How are you organizing these?”
“By name, then clearance level. Start a new stack there.” May gestured toward Natasha’s side of the table.
Natasha sipped her coffee and got to work. After battling aliens and gods for a few years, she’d forgotten how nice it was to shuffle papers once in a while.