“CIA guy is tied up in the tub,” Shaw announces as she emerges from the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her.
“So you're planning on knocking him out again every time you have to pee?” The bed would have been a much more convenient place to keep a detained operative out of their way, but Root bites her tongue on pointing that out lest Shaw notice the opportunity she'd left.
Shaw gets a gleam in her eye that Root finds endearing in its ruthlessness. “I'm sure they've got sedatives somewhere.”
“Plus this way, we can use the bed.”
Root holds up a hand, interrupting Shaw's complaints about the empty fridge. “Hold that thought.”
She slips out the door and moments later Shaw hears a muffled conversation coming from the elevator. An enticing smell wafts through the door Root left ajar, just before a pizza box nudges it open.
“Our neighbor at the end of the hall ordered one with the works,” Root says, wiggling the box in Shaw’s direction.
“The Machine helped you steal a pizza?” Seems like there might be benefits to this arrangement after all.
“She thought it was necessary for the success of the mission.”
“Why do you even need me? You're a criminal mastermind or whatever, I'm sure you could’ve stolen a car, cut that fence, broken in here, and taken down that guy yourself.”
“Why thank you, Sameen.”
“That wasn't… Ugh, forget it.”
“I'll have to have a handler when the CIA shows up in the morning.”
“You telling me I could’ve slept in instead of running around all day with you?”
“I suppose, but the Machine thought I could show you a good time. And there's still plenty we can do together.”
“It's not happening, Root. You keep your hands to yourself.”
Root claws at her back as Shaw pushes inside her, arching up into her touch, and Shaw knew she should have grabbed those zip ties on their way back to the bedroom but she thinks she can be forgiven for having her mind elsewhere. Namely, the way Root had already fallen apart against Shaw where she had her shoved against the wall, and how quickly she could rid her of her clothes and get her mouth on her skin and experience Root’s orgasm the way it clearly should be.
Which is to say, knuckle deep and clenching around her fingers.
“Look, I never said anything about me keeping my hands to myself.”
Root admires the bob of Shaw's throat as she downs her water, trying to cool off before their next round. Root certainly appreciates the exertion on her behalf, but it only seems fair that she get to share the workload.
“You got shot two days ago, Shaw, don't you think you should give your shoulder a rest?”
“I got tased the last time I tried to give it a rest,” Shaw points out. “By you.”
Honestly, you tase a girl twice and she holds it against you forever.
Shaw's a genius. An absolute goddamn genius.
Root wasn't wrong, her shoulder was aching, but she wasn't about to give Root the satisfaction of making Shaw come apart under her touch. But there's only so many times she could get herself off on Root's thigh before it got boring, which was when she remembered the zip ties like the fucking genius she is, secured Root's wrists to the headboard, and perched herself over Root's mouth.
Root's tongue does something that makes Shaw moan. Shaw grinds herself against her face, suffocating her a little, before Root can get smug about it.
Shaw may have taken a shower to rid herself of Root, but the heat has brought a flush to her skin that exaggerates every mark Root's nails left behind, and Root can't help but stare.
“It's never happening again. Stop being a creep,” Shaw says, very deliberately not looking at her. She drags the CIA guy back into the tub, her muscles twisting and shifting in a way that Root is now gloriously familiar with.
Maybe zip tying Shaw’s wrists to the steering wheel had mostly been so Root could ogle her arms, but Shaw doesn't need to know that.
“Don't think that I've forgotten how I feel about you.”
“I don't know, Shaw, it certainly seems like you've grown fond of certain parts of me at least.”
“Are you unfamiliar with the concept of hate sex?”
“I certainly didn't hate any of it.”
“Yeah, well, don't take the fact that I don't hate the way you shout my name when you come as any indication that I don't hate you.”
“Told you I could show you a good time.”
“And I could still show you a bullet. Now shut up and forget this ever happened. I'm going to sleep.”
Newly at the top of the list of reasons why Shaw hates Root: the fact that she actually fell asleep while Shaw decidedly has not, and now has nothing to do but stare at Root from her spot on the floor.
It's not the sleeping arrangements that are pissing her off, she'd insisted on those. It's Root's stupid hair spread across her pillow. It's Root's stupid long, lean limbs stretched out on the bed. It's Root's stupid face just lying there, existing, in her space.
Root lets out a contented sigh in her sleep. Shaw adds it to the list.
Newly at the top of the list of reasons why Root is glad the Machine had her recruit Shaw: the slight softening of her features as she slumbers, even as her grip on her gun never slackens.
The Machine had been less than forthcoming about her reasons for enlisting Shaw earlier than necessary, but Root thinks she's beginning to understand. For all Shaw's grumbling about not trusting Root, her body is aimed more at the potential threat of the door than Root herself, and Root smiles as she absently stares in Shaw's direction and oh shit her eyes are open -
“The fuck are you doing?”
Shaw would be amused at the deer in the headlights look on Root's face as she sits up and points a finger accusingly at her, if it hadn't been immediately preceded by Root staring at her, smiling, while she slept. Root quickly gathers her wits, though, and she quirks an insufferable eyebrow.
“What are any of us doing, Sameen? When you really think about it - ”
Oh hell no, Shaw is not putting up with another goddamn monologue. She shuts her up with the only method that's been proven effective, and Root moans into her mouth.
“Pull your shit together, it's time to start worrying about the actual CIA getting here early.”
Root pointedly adjusts her disheveled clothing. It's not like she's solely to blame for their current state of debauchery. “Are you giving me the pep talk, or yourself?”
Shaw glares at her. “The only pep I need is some goddamn breakfast. The Machine couldn't have stolen us some bagels?”
“The agents coming to meet us have donuts in their car.”
A hungry look crosses Shaw's eyes. Root chooses to believe it's because of the zip tie she's formed into a loop in her hands.
Look, Shaw knows the actual CIA are always exactly on time, but Root is playing with a zip tie and Shaw is both regretting and definitely not regretting knowing what those fingers feel like slipping inside her. She’s not dealing with the CIA while thinking about getting fucked by their prisoner, dammit.
… Shit. Think unsexy thoughts.
Shaw grumbles about breakfast and doesn't pay attention to Root's reply, her eyes locked on Root's stupid long nimble fingers as they form the zip tie into a loop.
Root is more dangerous than she thought. Shaw’s not letting her out of her sight.