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Things That You Might Have Done

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Natasha settled on the bar stool, grateful that her current op had sent her to Paris, a city she knows like the back of her hand. She'd made her first contact with the mark--another asshole arms dealer/manufacturer, one of those guys who made her appreciate how far Tony had come--at a Czech Embassy gala, and now she could leave it to the agents on surveillance while she remained elusive. If he called her tonight, she wouldn't answer anyway.

But an evening spent as SHIELD's resident seduction artist had left her with a low thrum under her skin that she didn't want to take care of on her own. So here she was, still in her party dress, nursing a glass of chartreuse at a bistro she knew was popular with certain kinds of working women. She could restore some balance, and for the women it was an easy night's work. She put it on her expenses as "services rendered" but she suspected Coulson knew very well what it represented.

She heard the door open and looked up to see a tall slender blonde take a seat at the other end of the bar and order a French '75. When Claude, the bartender, came near Natasha to get the champagne, she inquired.

"Ah, l'Americaine?" he said, smiling. "She does well here, I think. Very high class."

Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Then put her drink on my tab."

"A good choice," he said, chuckling.

The woman raised her glass to Natasha, and after a moment came to join her. Up close, Natasha could see her appeal—the perfect all-American snooty bitch, with a sleek updo, tasteful and expensive clothes, pointy shoes, everything just so. The exact sort of woman a certain kind of man liked to bring low. She probably got her mouth fucked a lot.

Natasha, of course, loved bitches.

"To whom do I owe my gratitude for this drink?" the woman asked. She even had the flat vowels of a prep school girl.

"I'm Natalie."

"Virginia," she replied. "How do you know Claude?"

Natasha smiled. "I've been coming here a long time, haven't I, Claude?" she asked, and he nodded. "But I've never seen you here before."

"This isn't my usual," Virginia replied, shrugging—and even that gesture was elegant, controlled--"but I found myself at loose ends this evening. It's good to change one's routine, don't you think?"

Which meant, Natasha thought, that she'd either had quite an early appointment, or had struck out elsewhere. Judging by the long legs she crossed to subtlely angle her body toward Natasha, it was more likely the former.

"I'm at loose ends myself," Natasha said. "I was at a professional function earlier, and it's so hard to wind down from those things."

Virginia's eyes lit up, likely at the prospect of Natasha's advertised expense account. "I'm quite good at helping people relieve stress," she said. "If that's what you're looking for."

"I don't know if I can afford your services," Natasha replied.

"I'm sure we can work something out," she said. "After all, you know Claude, so you must be all right."

Natasha smiled, slow and sexy. "Then you'd better finish your drink," she said.

Virginia took her to a room at a rather posh hotel not far away, and like the professional she was, quickly and efficiently took care of the financial side. Pricey, but Natasha could tell she'd be worth it. She listed her do-nots in the same brisk and precise manner, then said, "So what would you like?"

"I would like you to take off your clothes and lie on the bed," Natasha said. She sat back in her chair and sipped some sparkling water, wanting to keep her head clear.

Virginia stood in front of Natasha and unzipped her shift dress, slipping it from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. As Natasha had suspected she wore no bra, and her small breasts were as covered in freckles as the rest of her, rosy areolas standing out against her pale skin. It was a warm night so she wore no stockings; she slid off her panties and stepped out of them and her shoes. Then she crawled onto the bed, every motion choreographed to show her body off to best effect.

Natasha stood and removed her own panties. She was still wearing her little black dress from the party—plunging neckline, narrow waist, a-line skirt, body-hugging to show the goods but still allowing for freedom of movement and the concealment of several weapons upon her person. For now she removed only the pistol and knife from their thigh holsters; the rest would keep. She set them on the nightstand.

"What is that?" Virginia asked, frowning.

"Don't worry yourself," Natasha said, kneeling on the bed. "Now, I'm going to sit on your face and you're going to put your hands on my thighs and use that tongue to get me off. Understood?"

"Of course," she replied.

Natasha straddled Virginia's head and lowered herself down, not quite sitting of course but her thighs could take it. She flared out the skirt so the fabric surrounded Virginia's head, and felt first Virginia's hands spreading her apart, then the wet, soft touch of her tongue. Natasha closed her eyes, remembering how that pink tongue had looked inside Virginia's mouth. The woman was clearly talented, alternating between broad swipes and pointed jabs and even the occasional brush of teeth. She didn't confine herself to one area, either, but moved around as best she could within her confined space, licking and sucking and finger-fucking Natasha from clit to ass and back again.

Natasha bent over until she lay flat against Virginia's body and truly relaxed for the first time since she'd arrived in Paris. No role to play, no man to seduce, no flunkies to guard herself against. She moaned, tipping her pelvis further, and with each press Virginia hummed and pushed up into Natasha. She pushed Virginia's legs open further, wanting the woman to feel exposed, and a quick brush of her fingers confirmed that Virginia was as turned on as Natasha was. She rolled her pelvis, slowly thrusting into Virginia's face, and was rewarded with a low growl, so she did it again, and again. She could feel Virginia's cheeks, her lips, that perfect patrician nose grinding up against her, and it was bliss, everything she needed and wanted. She came hard, though she tried not to clench her thighs around the woman still writhing beneath her.

Natasha rolled off her and was more than satisfied to see that Virginia's face was a mess, her makeup smeared by Natasha's wetness and come. Natasha trailed teasing fingers between her legs, making her shudder.

"You need to come?" Natasha asked.

"It's not necessary," Virginia replied.

"Or customary, I know, but what if I wanted you to?"

"What you want is what I want," she said.

Natasha flipped so she was sitting up against the headboard, pillows at her back. "Come here," she said, and pulled Virginia into her lap, facing forward. Virginia relaxed, letting her legs fall open and her head rest on Natasha's shoulder. Up close she was even prettier, especially with the evidence of Natasha's orgasm drying on her high forehead and sharp cheekbones.

Natasha wrapped her arms around her, one hand between those spread legs while the other fondled her breast, teasing her nipple. Virginia arched up into her touch. She was so wet; Natasha knew this wouldn't take long.

"You loved that, didn't you? Loved my sitting on your face?"

"Yes, I loved it," she said. Her voice was hoarse but flat and even, not what Natasha wanted. She pressed her thumb hard against Virginia's clit and she moaned.

"Slutty," Natasha said. "That's why you do this, isn't it? Because you're a slut and you can't get enough? Say it."

"I'm a slut," Virginia repeated, her voice hitching.

"Whoring yourself out for money."

"I'm a whore."

"You just love walking into a room and making them all want you. Men, women, doesn't matter to you."

"I love it," she said and she was close now, shuddering in Natasha's arms.

"Keep talking if you want to come," Natasha said.

Virginia moaned. "I'm a whore. I'm a slut. I'm a harlot—fuck—" and she was coming, all that pretty pale freckled skin flushed pink.

Natasha loosened her grip and sat back a bit to give her room.

Once her breathing settled Virginia asked, "Are we done?"

"If you are," Natasha replied.

"Good, because this wig has to go." She pulled off the blonde bob to reveal two coiled red pigtails.


"Shower," Pepper replied.

"How long can you stay?" Pepper asked when they were clean and wrapped around each other in bed.

"All night," Natasha said. "If he's having me followed, then I picked up an unknown woman in a bar and went back to her hotel. I've known Claude for a long time—he knows better than to say anything different."

"Such as agreeing to pretend that I'm a prostitute, or my real name?"

"Yes, such as that," Natasha said, smiling.

Pepper was silent for a moment, just breathing along with Natasha. Then: "When I saw you tonight at that party—"

"You were jealous?" she asked, and Pepper could feel her body tensing.

"No," Pepper said. "I was watching you across the room and I was amazed at how much that woman didn't seem anything like you at all. She had your face, but that was all. It was sort of fun to see you operate."

"Since I've seen you in your element, I suppose it was only fair." Natasha turned to lay more fully atop Pepper, and rested her chin in her folded arms. "You know the only other person who reacted like that is Clint?"

"He likes watching you seduce someone?"

"He thinks it's hilarious," she said. "Though he bitches to Coulson that he doesn't get his fair share of seduction assignments."

"And what does Phil say to that?"

"He cites the lower incidence of dangerous persons desiring male companionship, then notes that Clint had not shown any particular skill when seducing him. And Clint says, 'But that was real.'"

Pepper reached out to push an errant lock of hair out of Natasha's face, and she leaned into the touch, then pushed forward for a kiss, slow and sweet. Pepper was still getting used to Natasha's indirectness, to gleaning information from hints and stories and turns of phrase, but this message, she understood.

Aloud she said, "Thanks for tonight, by the way."

"Was it everything you wanted it to be?" she asked.

"And more."

"How do you know Claude, anyway?"

"I know nearly every bartender in the seventh arrondissement," Pepper replied, "since Tony's apartment isn't far from here."

"Is that how you changed so quickly?"

Pepper nodded. "So yes, I liked it. Especially that position."

"Maybe we should put it into our repertoire at home," Natasha said. "Without any roleplaying."

"I'd like that."

"By the way," Natasha said, sitting up. "You didn't really charge my credit card, did you?"

"Hey, I ain't no cheap thrill," she replied.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Well, since I paid for the whole night," she said, and pulled a giggling Pepper further down under the covers.