Carol laughed, a low sultry sound that went straight to Sam's gut; stretched out on the bed, Carol's body laid out against his, he was already half-hard just from the patterns her hand was sketching on the soft cotton of his t-shirt. The glow of the city lights through the sheers lit the room as they lay entwined on top of the bedspread.

"So now I can add possession to my resume, right behind pilot and Avenger." Chin on his chest, she was completely at ease, the memory of the day's events firmly put in the file of strange and exotic things to think about tomorrow. She'd much rather concentrate on the warm pool of lust in her belly, the tingle in her breasts, the rock hard abs of the man beside her.

"Been there," Sam's hand skated down her back in the quiet dark of the night - Thor had left, Stark was gone to his own suite, Clint and Dean had disappeared long ago –and it was just the two of them, riding out the lingering emotions and the smooth liquor they'd consumed. For once, Carol wasn't second guessing, thinking through the whats and ifs; she was going with the moment. There was just the tiniest tilt, and her mouth was so close to his that she could swipe the bottom edge with the tip of her tongue, make him sigh, take the easy way into the kiss. Enjoy the throb of her pulse in the places their bodies were touching, the press of her leg over his, the splay of her hand on his chest, the line of his arm curling up and around her back, drawing her in even tighter. She sank into his heat, let his tongue reel her in closer as he explored the depths of her mouth, slid her bare foot up the heavy denim clad calf and her hand down his cotton-covered abs. Time was suspended as they kissed, long, drawn out and thorough.

She grew restless; Sam seemed content to stay relaxed, but her jangled nerves demanded more. Shifting up, she hungrily opened her mouth and invaded his more aggressively. His hand curved around her ass and clenched, hiking her up further and she took advantage of the new position. Unbuttoning his jeans, she freed his semi-hard cock, palmed the length of it, fingertips teasing his balls; suddenly ravenous for him, she pushed up onto her knees, rising above him, keeping their mouths connected as she began to stroke him firmly. Surprised by the urgency of the assault, he caught her face and tugged her back enough to open his eyes and look at her.

"You don't have to …" He started, but Carol was having none of it. She knew what he wanted and just had to make him understand that she shared the same needs.

"What she said earlier? About knowing what you want?" Carol was already breathing heavily, chest rising and falling quickly at the feel of him hard now and velvety soft in her hand. "I want it too. I mean … look, I intimidate people, men. They expect me to be all dominating and they're terrified of me." She swallowed, a spike of fear running up her spine. She'd face a thousand doombots rather than talk about sex, say what she needed rather than just accept what she was given.

"What do you want, Carol?" Sam asked, his gorgeous eyes encouraging, giving her the courage to say it.

"Oh, god, Sam. I want you to roll me over and take me, fuck me so hard that I scream. Leave bruises and marks and …" the words caught in her throat as he flipped her, his big hands capturing hers and holding her down, clamping around her wrists like vices.

"You sure?" The question hung there between them. She licked lips gone dry from desire, knowing her eyes were wide

"I can take it" she whispered.

And then he gave no quarter, straddling her, rubbing his erection hard against her as he kissed … no, plundered … her mouth; there was nothing easy about any of it, every touch of his mouth on her skin was biting and sucking pressure that dragged another moan out of her, leaving a map of his journey in bruises and red circles. The tiny pricks of pain coalesced and settled between her legs as a low-grade fever, burning through her body.

"Shirt off," he muttered, sitting them up and yanking the hem of hers while she fumbled to get his off; a shove back and he was off of her, unbuckling jeans and wrestling them down her body as his followed, jumping on one foot to kick them off. Then he was back on top of her, nothing now but long sensitive swaths of skin to nip and lick; his mouth found her hardened nipple sucked greedily and then grazed with his teeth, and she arched and cried out his name, fever spiking. Her hands threaded into his hair, but he stopped the glorious thing he was doing with his lips to push them back; rolling off the bed, he dumped his duffel, pawed through the items and came back with silver glinting in his hands, holding handcuffs and a foil packet.

"Oh, hell yes." Her eyes grew even wider and something uncoiled inside of her, some wanton part of her libido that normally sat on the sidelines. "Please?" She held her hands out to him, a tiny logical voice in her head thankful that Tony only stayed in upscale hotels that boasted antique beds with ornate headboards and footboards of wrought iron. One set for each arm – both wrists to the same finial at the end of the bed – and she could still wrap her hands around the metal bar, holding on as he gave her the most sultry smile she'd ever seen, parted her legs and put his mouth to work on driving her completely wild. Relentlessly, he stroked, sucked, bit, plunged his tongue inside of her, used his fingers to take her to the edge of her climax; she was reducing to sobs of pleasure, begging him in at least five different languages to make her come apart. The hard press of iron clenched in her palm, the cool metal of the cuffs on her wrists were juxtaposed with the absolute fire that consumed her from the inside out as his finger found the tangle of nerves and jolted her into an amazingly intense climax. She bucked, trying to throw him off even as she clenched her muscles to draw him further in; if it wasn't a scream that tore out of her throat, it was damn close and she didn't really care one way or the other because he didn't give her any time to catch her breath before he rolled on the condom, buried his cock deep inside and began to ride her.

"Sam," she groaned, the shudders of her release echoing in her voice. "God, yes, fuck me, fuck me hard." Tilting hips up to welcome him in, the wanton part of Carol took over; instead of dropping back to earth, the tension in her ratcheted up even more, as if her first orgasm was just a plateau on the way up to something even more earth-shattering.

"Oh, fuck, Carol," he groaned; bracing his hands beside her on the iron rail, his thrusts made the whole bed creak and groan in protest, but neither of them gave a damn, too lost in the lust spiraling out of control as their bodies collided, his hardness sliding into her wet heat, sweat mixing on their skin. He bent, mouth hungrily taking to her breast, and she recoiled at the sudden influx of pure electricity that his tongue caused, hips thrusting up, his cock slamming into the right spot.

"Sam!" She did scream this time, for sure, because her throat was sore, her voice ragged and hoarse.

He didn't stop, just raised his head and smiled at her and thrust even harder at the same angle. Nothing prepared her for the jolt after jolt that ripped through her; her head hit the footboard as the power of his plunges pushed her forward, inch by inch, and, god, everyone in the suite had to hear them, their gasps for breath, the squeak of the bed, her cries.

Sam's knee slipped off the edge and they went tumbling to the floor, handcuffs rattling as her arms were jerked above her head, bodies separating; she hit her elbow on an iron crossbeam, hard enough to cry out, and she heard Sam's intake of breath as he slammed into hardwood floor. Then he was lifting her up to her knees, wrapping her hands around the finial, holding her up with his arm around her waist, and he was pressing back into her as she braced herself. Her head fell back onto his chest; his strength kept her in place and she gave herself over completely to his control, body coiled so tight that even the slightest breeze of air across her skin stirred her further. She was about to break and she knew it.

"Sam, I'm going to …" she managed to gasp out, and then his teeth came down on her shoulder, his fingers parted her and stroked her clit.

"Going to make you fly," he whispered into her skin just as her world exploded into an orgasm of such intensity that she saw nothing but white behind her eyes, knew only a floating feeling of sated pleasure. She didn't know when he came just seconds behind her, when he rocked them back onto the floor in his own exhaustion, resting them both against the side of the bed. Didn't feel his fingers gently untangling her hair, pulling it away from her sweaty face. First thing she did know was his easy laugh and warm body holding her tightly; the two curled together, her hands still locked to the bed.

"Holy fucking hell." There were no words that suited the moment; nothing had prepared her for what to say after something like this. "Best fucking sex ever. So far in my life. Seriously." She thought about that for a second. "Don't care if it strokes your ego or not. Damn." A couple more breaths and she started to think again. "Don't care if Tony heard the whole thing."

"For what it's worth, I imagine Dean and Clint were too distracted to notice," Sam offered as he nuzzled her neck; little tremors of bliss rocked her. "Now, you want me to unlock you so you can use those on me?"

Clint came out of the insanely big master bathroom wearing just his jeans, edgy from too much scotch, too many emotional scars, and a heady dose of anticipation. Dean's earlier question … would it stop him from fucking him tonight … echoed in his head and stirred his body; no matter how much happened, Clint still felt the pull of Dean's attraction. In his experience, lust tended to dim quickly after the first few rounds of sex, the mystery gone once bodies were revealed. Which meant, much to his surprise, that what he felt for Dean wasn't just lust – oh there as more than a healthy amount of pure 'damn but the man is fucking hot' driving his libido, but there was something else, something more. And he wasn't going to think about that. Not when he saw Dean waiting for him, nothing on but a pair of old button-up jeans, completely undone, hanging obscenely low on his hips. All the lights were out except for one small bedside lamp, leaving the room lit by the lights of the city beyond the wall to ceiling windows; curtains were wide open, showing a view of the White House and part of the green space that surrounded the monuments. He stopped to catch the edge of the sheers, starting to pull them close.

"No," Dean said, and Clint stilled. "Leave them open."

"With the light on, anyone can see …." Oh, god, he saw it in Dean's eyes and he shivered, some primal part of him realizing what Dean had planned.

"That's the idea, isn't it?" Dean crowded Clint into the wall of glass, trapping him against the cool surface and Dean's own hot body. "I bet the White House has cameras everywhere, some bored Secret Service agent manning the feeds. Want to give him an eyeful he'll never forget?"

"Dean," Clint breathed the name, eyes drifting closed at the very thought, blood rushing to his cock so fast it was almost painful. A soft brush of thumb down the side of Clint's face, tracing the hairline, curving forward along the jaw, stopping at the corner of his mouth – he opened his eyes and saw the raw need in Dean's face, that endearing little lopsided half-smile he didn't even know he did. Dean's fingers smoothed back into Clint's hair, palm cupping the side of Clint's face.

"You can say no at any time," Dean offered, a tiny flick of his tongue over his lips giving away his own arousal.

"Why the hell would I do that?" Clint matched Dean's honesty by letting his own emotions show, and they hung there for a moment, paused before the headlong rush.

Dean's kiss was like the first time in that dark alley, a light brush that cloaked a burning need, not unsure now, but understanding, sharing pasts filled with pain and loss; so intimate it should scare Clint, a man who kept things close to the chest, send him running for cover, but then Dean was the same, and that was why Clint stilled and parted his lips, giving even more access to the deepest parts of himself. Dean chased the line of Clint's throat with his mouth, kissing a line across his collarbone, sucking in the triangle of flesh in the little vee at the base of Clint's neck. Each taste was exquisitely slow and thorough, and Clint rested the back of his head on the glass as Dean worked his way down to his nipples, taking his time with them before he drifted lower, easing down to his knees. His fingers paused on the button on Clint's jeans then dragged along the bulge, teasing through the denim.

"Not going to take much," Dean tugged the zipper and pulled the jeans down; Clint lifted enough for them to slip over his hips, and he hissed a little when his ass hit the cold window. Dean just grinned and stripped them the rest of the way off before he settled his hands on Clint's hips and brought his lips to the head of Clint's cock. "Think about it, what someone would see, your back, that mighty fine ass, me on my knees."

"Fuuuuuuucccckkk," Clint groaned, low and drawn out as Dean tasted him; swirling his tongue around the head, he spread the pearly liquid leaking from the slit. He worked his way along the stiff length with his tongue and his lips until he finally swallowed Clint down. "Damn, Dean, god that's so good, god, oh, hell, good god …."

Clint could barely focus on anything but the feel of Dean's mouth and the slick glass under his hands, the image of them burned into his brain; he's spent too many hours watching through scopes to not know exactly how lighting worked and the way their bodies would be silhouetted in the night. As Dean pulled and then released, Clint rested his hands in Dean's hair, stroking light caresses as he rode the sensation, tension curling in his gut as he began to move his hips in time with Dean's rhythm. Just as he knew Clint was on the edge, Dean pulled back and stood up; Clint groaned and banged his head against the window.

"Turn around, put your hands on the window," Dean tugged him, warm hands on Clint's waist.

"Damn," he murmured as he complied, bracing himself, looking at their reflections. God, he was completely debauched, face flushed, eyes wide, cock straining forward; Dean ran a hand up the knobs of Clint's spine, stroking the hairs at the back of Clint's neck, leaning in to drop a light kiss behind his ear. Green eyes were darker, hooded with lust, as Dean met Clint's gaze in the window.

"You know," he dug into his pocket and busied his hands, preparing; fingers traced down, over the dip and along the curve, between Clint's cheeks, teasing. "There's someone with a cell phone out there." He eased one finger past the tight muscle and Clint couldn't help but clench around it. "Now, we are pretty far up," he stroked in and out, circling as Clint gasped and strained back, "but, hell, you're a superhero, and people love to know everything about you guys." Clint dropped his head to his chest as Dean added a second finger. "We'll be one of those YouTube sensations, maybe make the tabloids." Dean's other hand stroked down Clint's chest, along his hip and down his thigh. "Hawkeye getting fucked." Shaking, Clint gritted his teeth to hold himself back, so ready that he had to take deep breaths as Dean's three fingers opened him wider.

"God, you've got to stop or I'm going to come right now," Clint moaned then his ass was empty as Dean withdrew his fingers, kicking off his pants and getting himself ready, condom and lube from his pocket. Dean's hands clenched at Clint's hips and he was breaching Clint, pushing up and in, a slow burn that dragged a mutual groan from them both.

"Clint. Damn, you feel good," Dean murmured. He dropped his nose into the curve of Clint's neck and Clint could feel the warm exhale as Dean rocked his hips, sinking a little deeper, stealing a glance in the glass at Clint's face. "God."

As Dean started to move, Clint kept his eyes locked on Dean's, the two of them intimately joined, juxtaposed over the city lights. Sounds from outside filtered in and mixed with their ragged breaths, the murmurs of encouragement, the half-strangled terms of endearment that could only be said at this moment. Dean snapped his hips harder, and Clint cursed, the angle just right so the intense pleasure rattled his bones. He could feel Dean's silver ring against his hip where fingers dug in, could see the concentration in Dean's eyes, could tell when Dean crossed over and started to lose control. His thrusts were faster and Clint matched him, pushing back into Dean's strokes.

"You ready?" Dean growled in his ear. "Close your eyes, think about stumbling on this, on some stupidly boring stakeout, no sound, just the grainy video of us, right now, when I'm about to come inside of you …."

"Holy fuck," Clint couldn't think, could only arch his back and cry out as the orgasm hit him, and he came, the release rolling through him as Dean stuttered and followed him. Aftershocks shook him and his knees trembled, but he stayed upright as Dean's weight slumped against his back, bodies molding together as they tried to catch their breaths. "I am so fucking fired if this hits the internet."

Dean chuckled and kissed the nape of Clint's neck. "The reflective glaze will make it impossible to get a clear view. Give me some credit. And, hell, Stark has a ton of porn videos out there."

"True," Clint sighed as Dean slipped out of him and pulled away. Turning, Clint caught Dean's elbow and reeled him in, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist. "And that was definitely worth it." The kiss was soft and bordered right on the edge of sweet, Clint's emotions evident in the brush of sensitive lips. "Makes my plan seem not quite as original, I'll give you that." He let Dean go and snatched up his jeans from the floor. Using some Kleenex to clean himself up, and the window, Clint slipped into his pants as Dean did the same.

"Plan?" Dean cocked a questioning eyebrow at him as Clint opened the small refrigerator in the room and took out a white box tied with string. "Oh, hell. When did you have time to do that?"

"Asked the front desk before we left earlier. They brought it up." He sat the box on the small table and opened it. "This is called a Baltimore Bomb. Vanilla chess with Berger cookies mixed in. It was featured on the Food Network as a guilty pleasure." He scooped up a broken piece from where it had been cut into slices and offered it to Dean.

"Oh, I know what you have in mind, and you'll have to wait a bit. I'm not sixteen anymore." Despite his complaint, Dean took the proffered hand and licked the pie off, sucking in Clint's finger with a wicked grin. "Ah, damn, that's good. Got a plate? I'll take a piece now for energy." He looked longingly at the rest of the pie.

"No plates," Clint nudged Dean towards the bed. "Fingers and hands … and other body parts only. Turnabout, fair play and all."

"Aw, fuck, Clint."


"You going to eat that last piece of bacon?" Clint snagged it from the plate even as he asked. Sam poured skim milk over his granola as Dean tucked into a stack of blueberry pancakes. Carol was working on her on granola and strawberry mixture. They'd ordered room service, on Tony's dime of course, and were eating their way through the spread the hotel had brought up.

Clint's phone rang; he checked caller i.d. and wrinkled his nose. It was the call he'd been half-dreading, but expecting. Nodding to Dean, he stepped away, into the living room, to answer.

"And what the hell is this video I'm watching? You better have a good explanation, Barton," Nick Fury's voice boomed out of the handset.

"Video, sir?" Never give anything away. First rule of espionage. Or just butt saving 101.

"Heard of camera phones? Bane of my fucking existence?" Fury didn't sound all that angry, considering. If he was really pissed, he'd have already ordered Clint to pack his bags.

"Hard to stop people from using them, sir." He saw Dean eyeing him and gave him a shrug.

"Well, next time you and Danvers and Stark decide to have a throw down by the reflecting pool in D. C. you can damn well at least prepare the PR department for the fallout. And bringing in non-combatants? Coulson's going to kick your ass for all the paperwork you've caused."

"Yes, sir, of course sir," he said with his usual sarcasm. One day, he was going to go too far with Fury, but now he was too relieved that it was just yesterday's skirmish that Fury was yelling about. He gave Dean a little negative shake of his head.

"Belay that shit, Barton and get your asses back to New York so Phil knows what bullshit to put in the report. Tonight," he ordered.

"Will do," he said.

"Oh, and Barton?" Fury said as Clint started to cut off the call. "You owe me a bottle of Bowmore Legend and a box of Cubans. That's the going rate to bribe a Secret Service agent. The pie was a nice touch though. Bring a couple back."

Clint wasn't sure why he thought he could ever fool Nick Fury. Damn man knew everything.

Carol's phone buzzed just as Clint sat back down. "April?" She asked as she connected. She listened intently for a few minutes, the rise and fall of the detective's voice clear. "Actually, they're sitting right here having breakfast. Why don't you just ask them?" She held out the phone to Sam. "April's got a case that sounds like it's right up your alley."

"Hello?" Sam tentatively asked, taking his turn to listen. "Look, strange question, but were there any electrical disturbances? Lights flickering? Cold spots?" He snagged the pad of paper by the phone and started jotting down notes. "Seven? In one place? No, that's not usual, but in our experience anything is possible. Give me directions to Sunset Beach." He wrote down an address. "Tell the Sheriff we'll be there say," he glanced at Dean and they silently communicated, "by four?"

They finished their breakfast and packed quickly; none of them had a lot to gather up. One thing about their lives, they all knew how to say goodbye and move on without any closure. And they all knew that this thing with Morwen was only postponed due to magical intervention. But they had one more stop before they headed out of town. Carol went for a spot just below the curve of her back, the Enochian symbols in a line below the charm. Clint picked his upper back for the charm and let Dean talk him into a circlet of symbols around his left bicep. He had to admit, it did look pretty damn sexy there even if SHIELD regs forbid identifying marks. Better flaunting the rules than possessed. He figured Coulson would understand, at least.

Pulling herself back together took more energy than she could afford to expend and was excruciatingly painful, but it had to be done. The strange world she found herself on was none too friendly, all science and machines, magic relegated to myth and legend; it took much too long to find the vessel, a measly one but it would have to do, and by then she was so weak that she had to sacrifice three others just to be able to rejoin the woman's ship and leave the planet. Their aversion to religion of any kind amused her; they might not worship any god, but they gave technology the same place in their lives. All she had to do was gather her strength and wait. Soon, very soon, she'd used their science to punch a hole back into her own universe … then she'd have two worlds to play with and be stronger than ever.