Chapter Text
“You're supposed to be helping with the dishes.”
“I am helping,” Yelena mumbles around the spoon in her mouth. Bob shoots her a speculative side eye but says nothing.
“Supervision is helping.”
Snorting his disbelief rather than engaging, Bob returns to his work, pretending to studiously ignore her pink tongue licking at her cereal spoon like a kitten desperate for the last remnants of cream.
For all his pretending, the subtle reddening of his cheeks, and the way his tongue peeks out to lick at his lips as if he can taste her, is a dead giveaway that she has his attention.
See, Yelena has a plan. It isn't a complicated plan, but one that has been carefully crafted with this exact scenario in mind.
Honestly, she came up with it like five minutes ago.
After their customary Sunday morning team breakfast cooked by Bucky and Ava, because you did not want her or Alexei behind the stove, John only cooked on ‘special occasions’ (whatever that means), and Bob’s culinary skills are sketchy at best, the rest of the team departed. Everyone citing plans she didn’t care enough to listen to, before leaving Bob and Yelena to fend for themselves.
With no adult supervision.
And no annoying roommates within earshot that would most assuredly object to the debauchery she intends to inflict upon everyone’s favorite sad puppy. As they did, very loudly, last time, semi-public sex was the order of the day.
“In fact,” she purrs, abandoning her spoon to slide into his space, her curves hugging his side in a calculated gamble. At the change in proximity, his chocolate gaze flicks to her, tracking her every movement. “You missed a spot.”
Momentarily distracted, Bob glances down at John’s favorite mug that is being held in a precarious death grip in his lovely hands.
Yelena has a thing for Bob’s hands. Truthfully, she has a thing for all of him, but his hands are particularly entrancing.
“What? Where?” He bleats. Something in her chest tightens uncomfortably at the almost wounded look he casts at the spotless mug.
Ever since Void's debut, V day for short, Bob’s factory reset has been firmly set to BOB. While this is best for everyone involved, it hasn't helped his deeply rooted feelings of inadequacy when it comes to his perceived worth to the team.
Softening her smile in a reassuring tilt, Yelena slowly reaches across his torso, his downcast eyes focusing on her once more. Like a magnet, his face turns toward her touch even before she makes contact.
“Right, here.” The calloused pad of her thumb catches the thin line of his bottom lip, swiping over the soft skin as if to cleanse him of an imaginary crumb.
A deep, almost guttural groan accompanies her touch, causing a familiar heat to swirl low and hot in her belly.
Бог, she moans internally in her mother tongue.
It takes so little for him to set her body aflame; it's a wonder she dragged herself out of bed in the morning with him still nestled in the sheets beside her.
Seduction is a valuable weapon for a Widow. A single kiss as alluring and deadly as nightshade to an intended target. She, like her sisters, is a master of her craft, but for all those she has taken into her body, she's never once experienced a drop of desire for any of them.
Attraction has always been more of an abstract concept, one she understood in principle more than practice. That was until this fucked up, mentally unstable, but beautifully divine man came crashing into her life. In a matter of 48 hours, he pulled her in with his unassuming vulnerability, then unceremoniously suckered her and half of Manhattan into his personal hellscape and spit her out again with so much admiration and affection for him that she has absolutely no hope of escaping.
“Yelena…”
The plea of her name on his lips is punctuated by an echoing crack as the marble counter beneath his fingers fractures along the vein. Startled and more than a little turned on, her mind catches on a memory of those same hands gripping her hips, providing balance as she rode his cock to completion the night before.
As if sensing her thoughts, and he probably can, he hooks his arm around her waist and deposits her on the dripping sink ledge. The damaged stone groans in protest under her weight, which she tries not to take personally. Before she can squawk a protest at being manhandled, his hot lips claim hers in a kiss that has her clawing at his back and shoulders like a feral cat in heat.
Much too soon, he pulls away to rest his forehead against hers while they both attempt to draw oxygen into starving lungs.
“Shit! I’m sorry, Lena. I got you all wet.”
Yelena barks out a horse laugh, nipping at his jaw playfully. “Oh, you certainly did, but that is the point of foreplay, no? So, I think I can forgive you.”
He groans in what she assumes is embarrassment, but she can't be sure with his face buried in the hollows of her neck.
“Why do you make things so hard?”
Chuckling wickedly, she slips her hand down his sweater-covered chest and asks, “Is it hard already?” before palming him through his obligatory corduroys. Sadly, he is only at half-mast, but he twitches promisingly against her fingers.
“Fuck! Lena…”
The sour edge in his corresponding whine catches her attention, giving her pause. She stills her pursuits to cup his jaw, ducking until his chocolate gaze meets hers. “Do you want me to stop?”
Because she will. No matter how many times they've been intimate, their budding relationship is built on trust, and she would never take from him without his express consent.
He watches her for a moment, gaze flickering between her eyes and lips, before a beatific smile settles over his features. The knot that's been busily winding precariously around her heart loosens, allowing her heart to beat once more.
“Fuck it.”
Decision made, Bob surges forward, crushing his mouth against hers. Any trace of hesitancy vanishes, boiled away by the rising heat sizzling between them.
He kisses like a man starved, like a man that hasn't had his way with her the night before, and the morning before that. Let's face it, once Bob boarded the clue train, and Yelena got the green light, she's mounted him every chance her Avenging schedule allows.
For a woman who thought herself incapable of finding enjoyment in carnal pleasure, she's taken to sex with a thirst that borders on addiction.
Her government-issued therapist suggested she is replacing one addiction, alcohol and thrill seeking, with another, Bob and fucking him in every way and place imaginable, during their last session.
Naturally, she told the woman where she could fuck off to.
If Bob, with his doe eyes, sun bright smiles, epic mood swings, multiple alter egos, and adoring devotion to her undeserving happiness, is an addiction, then she is going down with this ship, vodka raised to the sky in thanks.
Needing him closer, always closer, her legs wrap around his lean hips, drawing his now fully erect cock into the cradle of her sex. And it is delicious, the way he practically melts against her, allowing his body to flow with the current of her own. Their hips are rocking in a desperate bid for friction.
“I want to suck your cock,” she pants, “right here, on my knees.”
“Fuck…” He croons against her skin, running the blunted edges of his teeth along the column of her neck, sending shooting sparks straight to her clit.
“Do you want that?”
He can only nod his assent. Grinning, she pushes at his heaving chest, her own breath coming in similar pants, until she slips from her perch to the floor. It doesn't take much to bodily maneuver him until he is balanced against the ruined counter. Satisfied he's steady on his feet, because he can be clumsy when drunk off endorphins, she falls to her knees.
Molten eyes watch her as her deft fingers work at his pants with practiced ease until the button fly parts, allowing the baggy material to pool at his feet, leaving him in black boxer briefs. His cock strains against its fabric prison, twitching and pulsing under her hungry gaze, and she is suddenly ravenous.
Licking her lips, she glances up to see Bob watching her with blown pupils. His mouth hung open in slack-jawed wonderment. Yelena has never felt more feminine, more powerful, than when he looks at her like this, so full of trust and devotion.
Freeing his hard length, her fingers work over the shaft, paying special attention to the weeping tip. Her tongue flicks out in a kitten lick, catching the pearly drop of fluid about to drip over her fingers, causing Bob to throw his head back in a groan of pleasure.
Feeling her arousal spike, she opens her mouth, poised to swallow his shaft like a Popsicle when he rudely attempts to pull her up by her shoulders.
“Wait, Yelena.”
She is about to bite him. Invulnerable cock be damned. If he decides to be a gentleman while she's trying to get her lips around his cock and suck his beautiful brain out through the tip, he's going to lose an inch.
“You know, it's not polite to interrupt a woman about to swallow your cock.”
“I-I know, and I-I want you to continue. It's just, can you?” Words fail him as he pulls at her again, using a hint of enhanced strength to drag her to her feet.
One hand holds her rigid body close, while the other fumbles for the drawer to her right. The contents spilled out in his attempt to grab a handful of dish towels that he had painstakingly folded the night before.
All at once, she realizes his intent, and with it, any vestige of annoyance she felt melts away along with her higher brain function.
This beautifully fucked up man, with his floppy hair and perpetual shyness, is arranging the towels at his feet so she can blow him in relative comfort.
The knot in her chest grows tight with the weight of words still unspoken. But rather than ruin this perfect moment with messy confessions and even messier feelings, she grabs his neck and lets her lips say everything she isn't ready to voice.
With renewed purpose, Yelena makes quick work of his sweater, leaving him gloriously naked. She loves his chest, is practically obsessed with the lean play of muscles that flex and release under her touch, and the dark trail of hair that leads to her prize.
Early in their physical awakening, Yelena spent the better part of an evening bathing every inch of his golden chest with her tongue. Letting his sweet sounds of pleasure guide her until he was practically humping her leg, desperate for release. If her blood weren’t on fire, she would take her time with him again, but there is a very real chance that if she doesn’t get his cock in her mouth soon, she is going to combust.
“Eyes on me.” She commands, falling to her knees once more.
Nodding, his fingers slip into her hair, gripping the short strands just that side of too tight. Relishing the slight burn in her scalp, her fingers wrap around him, stroking up and down, twisting at the tip with every pass. Earning an appreciative sigh for her efforts that communicates directly to her clit.
With a confidence born of months of intimate exploration, Bob gently guides her head, encouraging her to take him into her mouth. Happy to oblige, she swallows half his length in one go.
Like sweet music to her ears, her name falls from his lips like every syllable is a prayer. Growing louder with every flick of her wrist and swipe of her tongue.
“Lena…your perfect.” He babbles above her. “Feels so good. Every time it feels so good.”
She loves him like this, needy, with his hard body bowing over her. His sounds of pleasure were more potent than anything the Red Room pumped into her system to help her get the job done. She can feel her core leaking, pulsing in time to the beat of his heart. Her thighs clench in a desperate bid for friction that will have to wait.
A little nose, somewhere between a gasp and a cry, falls from his parted lips whenever she pays special attention to the pulsing vein running the length of his hard cock.
His hands grow restless on her now.
Moving from her hair to her neck and sometimes straying to the hollows of her cheeks. The soft pads of his fingers testing the weight of her jaw, with his length stretching her lips. Enjoying his attention, she hums around his cock, swallowing in time to his gentle thrusts.
He's getting close, his body coiled tight underneath her touch. The delightful sounds he makes grow louder by the second. His hips rock harder, seeking the warmth of her throat, practically begging her to take him deeper.
Not one to deny a desperate man, she opens her lips wider and lets his next thrust slip past her tongue and down her throat. She works him expertly, while her free hand cups and rolls the weight of his testicles. Her index finger runs practiced strokes to his perineum, applying just enough pressure to push him over the edge.
Knowing his end is near, he pulls at her in earnest now, “I- I’m going to cum, Lena.”
While she appreciates his chivalry, she has no intention of wasting a drop of her hard work. Reaching around his straining thighs, she palms his ass and takes him to the root.
With one final thrust, Bob bends over her body with a cry, spilling himself over her tongue in ribbons of sweet release.
Yelena doesn’t pull back right away, she works him through the aftershocks, licking his spend until he's soft in her hands. Satisfied, she leans back on her haunches, admiring the picture he makes.
Miles of golden skin stretch out before her, damp and glowing in the mid-morning light, casting his near-godly visage ablaze.
Bob is magnificent, and she is damn lucky to have found him amongst the rubble of their broken pasts.
Standing on shaky legs, Yelena catches herself against his body. The motion brought him back from his post orgasmic stupor. His dark lashes flutter against his flushed cheeks, and they open to reveal chocolate that warms to rich honey before her eyes, with specks of gold creeping into the striations of his irises.
A glimpse of Sentry gleams back at her, hungry in a way she’s never seen before.
And for the first time, she isn't entirely sure who she's looking at.
“Bob…” She questions softly.
Strong hands grip her hips almost painfully, to pull her off her feet until she has no choice but to rest her weight against him.
Still, he says nothing, the slight tilt of his head the only sign he's heard her. Her mouth opens to try again, anything to break this stalemate, but the hum and subsequent ding of the elevator steels his attention.
Before she can formulate a thought, let alone a warning to whomever had decided to return early, the kitchen disappears and is replaced by the orderly interior of Bob’s bedroom.
Fuck!
Yelena doesn't know if he ran or flew them from the scene of the crime, but even with his gilded iris still shining like a lighthouse in the sea, she's grateful for the escape.
“The fuck! The kitchen, again? I'm telling Alexei, Yelena!” John yells down the hall, heavy-footed steps reverberating through the floor even from this distance.
Yelena smothers a near hysterical fit of giggles into her palm at the image of John finding Bob’s clothes on the kitchen floor, leaving no doubt as to what they've been up to.
“And my favorite mug?? You owe me a new mug, Reynolds!”
Cursing the whole way, John’s voice fades till Yelena can't hear anything but the beating of her own heart and the answering call of Bob’s staccato rhythm through his heaving chest.
Finding her voice, she tries to redirect his attention from the wood behind her head, lest he burn a hole through the door.
“Hey, Bob? Why are we in your room?” She doesn't mind but finds it an odd choice since her room is closer and is where they usually end up.
The sardonic curl to his lips rolls through her like thunder over the eastern seaboard. “Because I didn’t think you’d want Guinness the guinea pig to witness his mommy get fucked through the door.”
“Oh.”
He punctuates his words with a hard thrust of his revitalized erection against her clenching core.
Mouth dry, she groans out, “Yeah, sounds good to me,” before she throws any good sense left in her head out the window and allows him to claim her lips in a viscous clash of tongue and teeth.
The force of his assault rattles her bones, but she doesn't care.
Is allowing this overpowered, manic side of her boyfriend to fuck her into next week a good idea without establishing a safe word or alerting her teammates about the potential for a ‘code void’ post coitus a good idea?
No, definitely not.
Is she going to let him rip her shirt and shorts off in the hottest display of strength she’d ever seen, then sink her overripe pussy down on his cock until she screams herself horse?
Oh fuck, yes!
All she can do is hold on, her hands running frantically over his body while he surges into her relentlessly. Yelena's dizzy with need, gasping her pleasure against his shoulder, sinking her teeth into the blue line of his jugular, wishing she could draw blood from his veins. Anything to get closer, to sink inside of him as deeply as he's buried in her.
It's good, so fucking good. Bob is always good. Even when he's unsure, when both of them were still learning, he’s never failed to satisfy her.
But this.
This is different. The way he drives into her body like he's trying to crawl inside of her and make a home where her womb once was.
Like he'll die without her.
Like she might die without him.
Needing a touchstone, she tugs him down into another kiss that is more of an exchange of breath than the dirty claiming of moments ago.
“You ride my cock so prettily, Yelena. You take it like you were made for me.”
And maybe she was, because she can't stop chanting his name. Little hiccuped screams escape every time he hits her G-spot with a well-placed thrust.
Yelena’s brain breaks a little when he shifts her weight, palming her ass in one hand and snakes the other between their bodies to stroke her pulsing clit. The pleasure/ pain of his practiced fingers working over her sensitive flesh sends her hurtling over the edge.
The waves crash over her, dragging her under until she's spinning around in a torrent of orgasmic bliss like her world has no ceiling.
But he doesn't stop there, “That’s my girl. You’ve got one more to go.” He whispers against her crown and picks up the pace.
She isn't sure if she's laughing or crying anymore. The lewd sounds of their bodies coming together, mixed with her cries of pleasure, fill her mind like a symphony that she hopes to God that John isn’t in the building to hear.
White hot light explodes behind her lids as he rings another orgasm out of her as promised.
“Good girl.”
Boneless and spent, she holds on to him with what little strength remains as he races toward his own release. “Come for me, Bob.”
Even with Sentry this close, he still obeys her command.
With two, three, four thrusts, his grip tightens to the point of bruising, and then he's coming inside her quivering heat with a roar of his own.
Softening, he slips from her body and he hoists her like a rag-doll into his arms.
Unmoored by the sudden loss of gravity, she is relieved to feel the cool kiss of his duvet against her overheated skin.
Minutes or hours later, he slides up behind her and pulls her into the warm cocoon of his embrace. The contrast of his sun-warmed skin and the cool bed beneath her sends goose flesh pricking along her extremities.
“Yelena?”
Her mind is muddy, hovering on the edge of blissful oblivion, but she mutters something that sounds vaguely like a yes to his inquiry. She can't be sure she speaks English, but he can't expect more when she's just been thoroughly fucked into next week.
“Yelena, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Suddenly alert, she twists until she faces him fully. His arms make room for her to get comfortable before caging her in once more. She searches his eyes, but all traces of the Sentry are gone; only rich chocolate remains. “No, дорогой. You didn’t hurt me.”
The downcast slant to his brow tells her he doesn’t believe her. Fearing what mushy sentiment might come out of her mouth, she kisses him. Licking into his mouth with sweet affection, she pours every ounce of feeling she has for him into the act.
“Point of fact,” She murmurs against his parted lips. “If you ever want to let Sentry out to play again, I would happily welcome a repeat performance.”
“That’s not funny. I could have hurt you.” He has the audacity to look genuinely perturbed with her.
“It is funny,” she flicks him on the nose before continuing, “and you didn’t hurt me. I trust you, Bob. I trust every side of you when it comes to us.”
Yelena trusts him completely. He can fall into her mind and dig through the pockets of every skeleton living rent-free, and he wouldn't find a single doubt where he is concerned. Only worry for him, but never of him.
He must see it written on her face, or maybe she's projecting loud enough for him to hear, but his face loses its tightness.
“What did I ever do in my wasted life to deserve you?” He asks with complete sincerity.
Smiling, she smooths the lines in his brow, down his nose, and over the crooked slant of his lips, where he kisses each fingertip before nuzzling her palm affectionately.
“I could ask you the same.” She whispers. “But instead of trying to figure out the mysteries of the universe, why don’t we take a nap before John decides to come back to exact justice for his mug.”
“Shit!”