Fic: money on my mind
Title: money on my mind
Summary: This week she's Coulson's- sorry, Richardson's- high-priced companion.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 1576
Rating/Contents: NC-17, undercover, prostitution roleplay
Pairing: Phil/Natasha
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For
kink_bingo (prostitution/sex work)! I was totally stuck on this square, until I remembered this little ficlet what I wrote a while ago. So this is (most of) the whole story. Sort of. It went in its own direction, and I have a hard time caring about that.
The suitcases- which Natasha assumes have already been gone through, she packed accordingly- are waiting by the bed when they walk into their cabana. Truth be told, she's glad to be in here instead of in the lodge. The owner's the target this time around, and while she's gotten so used to being ogled that it usually only registers as a potential weakness on the ogler's part, his gaze was so unusually slimy that she felt like she needed to shower. Coulson put his arm around her and pulled her close, but it didn't help at all, not with this asshole.
She'll be glad to put him down.
No telling how soon that's going to happen, because this is technically still recon. This week she's Coulson's- sorry, Richardson's- high-priced companion, and they're just a couple of tourists, enjoying a vacation in this very remote, very expensive 'eco resort.' Everything about this trip is very expensive, right down to the house-blend, eco-friendly soaps in the palatial bathrooms; sometimes she gets a kick out of spending SHIELD's money, especially when they'll get it back just as soon as they seize this guy's assets.
She only lets Coulson get two steps inside the door of the cabana before she slams it shut and shoves him up against it, licking a stripe up his neck. "Half the staff is packing," she whispers in his ear. "Security cameras all over the lodge, some in the bushes on the way out here, some of them meant to be found and some of them not. The bug sweeper is in my purse, but I don't think we'll find anything. They'll be watching through the windows. The top panes don't have shutters."
"I didn't know we came for amateur hour," he tells her.
"Just means we don't know when the real fun's going to start," she replies, biting his earlobe. "I'm gonna freshen up," she says, louder, taking her purse and heading into the bathroom. Sure enough, the bug sweep comes back clean, and she tosses her purse onto the counter, regarding herself in the mirror and thinking about her next move.
She strips down to her bra and panties, suitably scandalous things that are incredibly uncomfortable but definitely necessary. Coulson, halfway through taking his socks off, looks at her with one eyebrow raised. "We're clear," she says, but she walks over and pulls him up, kissing him as she unbuttons his garish Hawaiian shirt, pushing it down his shoulders. He lets it fall to the floor before he puts his hands on her, grabbing her around her waist and pulling her in. "You're just going to have to think of England on this one, Coulson," she says, roughly pulling on his belt and yanking his pants open.
"Not exactly what I'm thinking of right now," he replies, before she kisses him again. He lets her strip him of his pants and boxer briefs while he unhooks her bra, lifting it off and tossing it away. He surprises her, kneeling in front of her as he pulls down her panties, kissing her thigh as he comes back up again.
Natasha lets it go on for another little while before she pushes him onto the bed, crawling on top of him. She straddles his hips, grinding down against him as she kisses him. He's definitely enjoying himself; she's got to admit that she's having a good time too, or else she wouldn't welcome it so much, wouldn't be savoring the way they slide together, slicked up by the wetness of her cunt.
"It's not necessary for us to-" Coulson says; he lets the sentence hang there, because they both know how it ends. "It only needs to fool infrared."
Leave it to Coulson to be a gentleman at a time like this. "Nobody said anything about necessary," she tells him, reaching between them to take hold of his cock. "Come on, baby," she says, grinning. "You paid for it."
He laughs breathlessly. "I should get my money's worth, then." He cocks his head towards the closet. "Condoms are in my suitcase."
Natasha shrugs. "If you're clean, I've had the shot."
"Then fuck it," he says, sliding a hand up her thigh; she groans when he strokes her clit, rubbing circles with his fingertips. "Keep your mind on the money," he reminds her.
"I'll try not to be too enthusiastic," she says.
"Nobody said anything about enthusiastic," he replies, and she smiles.
His fingers feel so good on her, inside of her, but it's not enough, not by a long shot. "Remember," she says, kneeling up so that she can get his cock into the right spot. "I'm the best you've ever had."
"Might be hard to forget," he says as she sinks down around him, his voice strained. It's certainly good; his cock is appealingly big, just enough that she feels stretched out, filled up. She moves slowly up and down on him, trying not to let her face show the satisfaction she feels. She moans theatrically instead, loud and clearly fake, her head thrown back. "You're going to make me crack up if you keep doing that," he tells her.
"Come on, big daddy," she says, riding him a little faster, and he bites his lip this time; whether because he's trying not to laugh or just feeling good, she's not particularly concerned. "You spent a lot of money to feel good. I'm supposed to stroke your ego as much as anything else."
"More concerned with 'anything else,'" he tells her. "But I really am getting up from this bed if you call me 'big daddy' again."
"Fair enough," Natasha says. She's starting to get into it now, rolling her hips against his, running her hands over his chest; he jumps a little when she thumbs his nipple. "Sensitive," she says, doing it again. "I'll have to remember that."
He sighs. "Why do I feel like that's going to bite me in the ass later?"
"Enjoy it while you can," she says, like he's not arching towards her fingers. She leans in and kisses him, nice and hard, just to prove to the cameras who's in charge.
"You're going to kill me," he tells her.
"You'll die with a smile on your face," she tells him, "or your money back."
He laughs. "Unsettling thing to hear from an assassin."
"Who said I was an assassin?" she says, in the innocent, demure voice she's been using in public. "Sounds scary."
Coulson gives her a look. "Being a whore is better?"
She kind of likes that, the honesty of that word, not some euphemism like 'call girl' or 'escort.' "The pay is better," she says. "So are the hours. And I'm starting to like the perks," she adds, grinding down on him. He doesn't respond to that one, shutting his eyes; it's weird, not being able to see him like that, weirder than she expected. She looks up at the ceiling instead, just so she doesn't have to think about it. She moans a little more, which is only sort of an exaggeration at this point. His words come back to her, mind on the money, something she's supposed to be good at.
She curses at herself for getting off track, slowing down and making it more showy, like she's trying to earn every cent of her massive fee. Coulson makes a frustrated noise, pushing up against her, but she holds him down, fucking him just the way she wants. Even despite her misgivings, she's still so turned on, having trouble controlling herself, considering just ending it and moving on, mission be damned.
"I'm calling it," Coulson says, after what might be an hour or a thousand years, halfway a groan. "I can't take any more."
"Thought you'd never ask," Natasha says, looking for his eyes again. They're dark, greedy, but he's smiling like everything's okay, like they're still whatever they are, maybe the closest she gets to friends. She grins at him, her hand slipping down to play with her clit, and after all that, it only takes a minute for her to come; Coulson holds her tight against him as he follows, so deep inside of her. She doesn't move when his hands fall away from her, still riding it out, the aftershocks still shaking her.
Not the best she's ever had, but she can definitely put it in the top twenty.
"That's your cue to pass out," she says, kissing him lightly before she dismounts.
"What a cliché," he says, even though he's yawning. "We can't even cuddle?" he asks, a wry smile on his face.
"Hookers don't cuddle," she returns.
"I either didn't pay enough or I paid too much," he says, shutting his eyes.
"I'll take first watch," she says, kissing his cheek as she climbs out of bed. "Right after I finish stealing all your money."
"I definitely paid too much," he says, nodding. He turns onto his side, curling up a little, and then he's out like a light. It's oddly endearing, despite the fact that she knows he'd be up in a half a second if he heard a noise, that he'd have her pinned before she could think about it if she tried to shake him awake. She just watches him for a moment, the regular rise and fall of his chest, the way his face goes slack and peaceful.
And then she reaches for his wallet.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/426175.html.
comments over there.
Summary: This week she's Coulson's- sorry, Richardson's- high-priced companion.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 1576
Rating/Contents: NC-17, undercover, prostitution roleplay
Pairing: Phil/Natasha
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For
kink_bingo (prostitution/sex work)! I was totally stuck on this square, until I remembered this little ficlet what I wrote a while ago. So this is (most of) the whole story. Sort of. It went in its own direction, and I have a hard time caring about that.
The suitcases- which Natasha assumes have already been gone through, she packed accordingly- are waiting by the bed when they walk into their cabana. Truth be told, she's glad to be in here instead of in the lodge. The owner's the target this time around, and while she's gotten so used to being ogled that it usually only registers as a potential weakness on the ogler's part, his gaze was so unusually slimy that she felt like she needed to shower. Coulson put his arm around her and pulled her close, but it didn't help at all, not with this asshole.
She'll be glad to put him down.
No telling how soon that's going to happen, because this is technically still recon. This week she's Coulson's- sorry, Richardson's- high-priced companion, and they're just a couple of tourists, enjoying a vacation in this very remote, very expensive 'eco resort.' Everything about this trip is very expensive, right down to the house-blend, eco-friendly soaps in the palatial bathrooms; sometimes she gets a kick out of spending SHIELD's money, especially when they'll get it back just as soon as they seize this guy's assets.
She only lets Coulson get two steps inside the door of the cabana before she slams it shut and shoves him up against it, licking a stripe up his neck. "Half the staff is packing," she whispers in his ear. "Security cameras all over the lodge, some in the bushes on the way out here, some of them meant to be found and some of them not. The bug sweeper is in my purse, but I don't think we'll find anything. They'll be watching through the windows. The top panes don't have shutters."
"I didn't know we came for amateur hour," he tells her.
"Just means we don't know when the real fun's going to start," she replies, biting his earlobe. "I'm gonna freshen up," she says, louder, taking her purse and heading into the bathroom. Sure enough, the bug sweep comes back clean, and she tosses her purse onto the counter, regarding herself in the mirror and thinking about her next move.
She strips down to her bra and panties, suitably scandalous things that are incredibly uncomfortable but definitely necessary. Coulson, halfway through taking his socks off, looks at her with one eyebrow raised. "We're clear," she says, but she walks over and pulls him up, kissing him as she unbuttons his garish Hawaiian shirt, pushing it down his shoulders. He lets it fall to the floor before he puts his hands on her, grabbing her around her waist and pulling her in. "You're just going to have to think of England on this one, Coulson," she says, roughly pulling on his belt and yanking his pants open.
"Not exactly what I'm thinking of right now," he replies, before she kisses him again. He lets her strip him of his pants and boxer briefs while he unhooks her bra, lifting it off and tossing it away. He surprises her, kneeling in front of her as he pulls down her panties, kissing her thigh as he comes back up again.
Natasha lets it go on for another little while before she pushes him onto the bed, crawling on top of him. She straddles his hips, grinding down against him as she kisses him. He's definitely enjoying himself; she's got to admit that she's having a good time too, or else she wouldn't welcome it so much, wouldn't be savoring the way they slide together, slicked up by the wetness of her cunt.
"It's not necessary for us to-" Coulson says; he lets the sentence hang there, because they both know how it ends. "It only needs to fool infrared."
Leave it to Coulson to be a gentleman at a time like this. "Nobody said anything about necessary," she tells him, reaching between them to take hold of his cock. "Come on, baby," she says, grinning. "You paid for it."
He laughs breathlessly. "I should get my money's worth, then." He cocks his head towards the closet. "Condoms are in my suitcase."
Natasha shrugs. "If you're clean, I've had the shot."
"Then fuck it," he says, sliding a hand up her thigh; she groans when he strokes her clit, rubbing circles with his fingertips. "Keep your mind on the money," he reminds her.
"I'll try not to be too enthusiastic," she says.
"Nobody said anything about enthusiastic," he replies, and she smiles.
His fingers feel so good on her, inside of her, but it's not enough, not by a long shot. "Remember," she says, kneeling up so that she can get his cock into the right spot. "I'm the best you've ever had."
"Might be hard to forget," he says as she sinks down around him, his voice strained. It's certainly good; his cock is appealingly big, just enough that she feels stretched out, filled up. She moves slowly up and down on him, trying not to let her face show the satisfaction she feels. She moans theatrically instead, loud and clearly fake, her head thrown back. "You're going to make me crack up if you keep doing that," he tells her.
"Come on, big daddy," she says, riding him a little faster, and he bites his lip this time; whether because he's trying not to laugh or just feeling good, she's not particularly concerned. "You spent a lot of money to feel good. I'm supposed to stroke your ego as much as anything else."
"More concerned with 'anything else,'" he tells her. "But I really am getting up from this bed if you call me 'big daddy' again."
"Fair enough," Natasha says. She's starting to get into it now, rolling her hips against his, running her hands over his chest; he jumps a little when she thumbs his nipple. "Sensitive," she says, doing it again. "I'll have to remember that."
He sighs. "Why do I feel like that's going to bite me in the ass later?"
"Enjoy it while you can," she says, like he's not arching towards her fingers. She leans in and kisses him, nice and hard, just to prove to the cameras who's in charge.
"You're going to kill me," he tells her.
"You'll die with a smile on your face," she tells him, "or your money back."
He laughs. "Unsettling thing to hear from an assassin."
"Who said I was an assassin?" she says, in the innocent, demure voice she's been using in public. "Sounds scary."
Coulson gives her a look. "Being a whore is better?"
She kind of likes that, the honesty of that word, not some euphemism like 'call girl' or 'escort.' "The pay is better," she says. "So are the hours. And I'm starting to like the perks," she adds, grinding down on him. He doesn't respond to that one, shutting his eyes; it's weird, not being able to see him like that, weirder than she expected. She looks up at the ceiling instead, just so she doesn't have to think about it. She moans a little more, which is only sort of an exaggeration at this point. His words come back to her, mind on the money, something she's supposed to be good at.
She curses at herself for getting off track, slowing down and making it more showy, like she's trying to earn every cent of her massive fee. Coulson makes a frustrated noise, pushing up against her, but she holds him down, fucking him just the way she wants. Even despite her misgivings, she's still so turned on, having trouble controlling herself, considering just ending it and moving on, mission be damned.
"I'm calling it," Coulson says, after what might be an hour or a thousand years, halfway a groan. "I can't take any more."
"Thought you'd never ask," Natasha says, looking for his eyes again. They're dark, greedy, but he's smiling like everything's okay, like they're still whatever they are, maybe the closest she gets to friends. She grins at him, her hand slipping down to play with her clit, and after all that, it only takes a minute for her to come; Coulson holds her tight against him as he follows, so deep inside of her. She doesn't move when his hands fall away from her, still riding it out, the aftershocks still shaking her.
Not the best she's ever had, but she can definitely put it in the top twenty.
"That's your cue to pass out," she says, kissing him lightly before she dismounts.
"What a cliché," he says, even though he's yawning. "We can't even cuddle?" he asks, a wry smile on his face.
"Hookers don't cuddle," she returns.
"I either didn't pay enough or I paid too much," he says, shutting his eyes.
"I'll take first watch," she says, kissing his cheek as she climbs out of bed. "Right after I finish stealing all your money."
"I definitely paid too much," he says, nodding. He turns onto his side, curling up a little, and then he's out like a light. It's oddly endearing, despite the fact that she knows he'd be up in a half a second if he heard a noise, that he'd have her pinned before she could think about it if she tried to shake him awake. She just watches him for a moment, the regular rise and fall of his chest, the way his face goes slack and peaceful.
And then she reaches for his wallet.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/426175.html.
comments over there.