Work Text:
"Der'mo." The green light flashes before Yelena's eyes as she rummages through her vest, for once the abundance of pockets causing annoyance instead of delight.
With a scowl and a particular finger stuck up at the cars all hooting behind her motorbike, she plants her foot to make a highly illegal u-turn, tyres squealing against tarmac as she weaves her way back through the heavy morning traffic to the apartment.
—
Resolving to simply grab her handgun and make a quick exit, Yelena turned the keys in the lock quietly and stepped into the apartment— being a former assassin, now Avenger, definitely had its advantages— she was completely silent.
She could hear the shower start and the glass door close as she stepped soundlessly through your shared apartment, cursing in muted whispers through clenched teeth as she rifled through files, overturned baskets, and kicked aside ornaments looking for the firearm.
As she opened the door to the bedroom, she froze in place, her brain short circuiting as she listened to your voice from the shower.
"So bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry
And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
Singin',
'This'll be the day that I die—
This'll be the day that I die.'"
Your voice is beautiful. How has she not heard it before? Has she never made you sing for her before— now that she thinks about it, cursing herself out for her stupidity, she hasn't.
She's snapped out of her musing by your smooth intonations winding her way through her head, the calming undulations of your voice seeping over her like warm honey on a summer morning.
And it's her song you're singing, she becomes aware of, the corner of her mouth tilting up in a warm, genuine smile she can't seem to stifle.
She loves you, she realises in that moment.
The door to the bathroom isn't shut, and from her vantage point near the door she sees the warm morning sunlight filtering through the blinds to fall upon the smooth curve of your hip, the rolls of your belly, the little dimples that sit upon your lower back, all things she's traced lovingly before, with mouth and searching fingers.
She's been looking for a home in you, comes the sudden, unbidden thought that arises in her mind— and she's found it. In the way you make her dinner after a long mission, making her eat and take a shower so she can curl up, safe and warm, in bed with you instead of simply dropping straight onto the couch; in the way you stroke her hair and look into her eyes as if she's the most beautiful thing in the world to you; in the way you love her with all of you.
The song resumes, and, handgun completely forgotten, Yelena throws her bag quietly to one side, sets your scrubs on the dresser instead, pulls off her boots, and settles down onto the bed, crossing her legs as she closes her eyes and just listens. You've switched to another song now, one she hasn't heard before, and your clear voice rings out through the apartment:
"And sooner or later, it's over,
I just don't wanna miss you tonight.
And I don't want the world to see me,
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand:
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am,
I just want you to know who I am."
Your voice rings with raw emotion, and it's breathtaking. She finds herself lost in the words of the song, in the smooth timbre of your voice, in the way it's still slightly rough from sleep and the way it breaks ever so slightly on some words.
It's you, pure and unfiltered, and she can't get enough of it.
So much so, in fact, that when you finally emerge from the bathroom, she's taken completely off-guard. Her. Yelena Belova, famous assassin— she's an Avenger for gods' sakes. And still, the way you look now— hair slightly damp and wavy, towel loosely wrapped around your torso, cheeks flushed a rosy red, eyes wide and lips slightly open— renders her almost unable to move.
She wants to wrap her arms around your waist, to kiss that lovely face absolutely stupid— and so that's what she does. She's across the room in two quick bounds, swallowing your quick inhale and surprised squeak of "Lena!" as she winds her arms around your waist, pressing her lips to yours.
You sigh into her, letting her tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss as one of her hands comes up to cup your cheek. When you finally break apart for air, your lips are red and swollen, your hair slightly messy from where her hands ran through it, and you're currently looking at her with wide, curious eyes as she rests her hands on your smooth, soft, plushy waist, holding you close to her.
You rest your hands on her chest, looking up at her with that gentle smile she loves so much as you tilt your head to the side. "Lena, what was that for? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"
"What, I can't just come back to my apartment to kiss my beautiful girlfriend?" Comes her playful reply, tilting her head with that small sparkle in her eye as you blush.
"Lena..." you're going to tease her when you trail off, wide eyes quickly flickering back up to hers. "Wait. You didn't— you didn't hear anything, did you?"
Yelena's expression softens as you nuzzle into her neck, taking her silence as an answer. "Lena!" You drag out the syllables of your nickname for her, and it's the cutest thing she's heard. "I didn't want you to hear that!" You whine into her chest, and she pulls back to lift your chin to meet her eyes with a curled index finger.
"Milaya, that was beautiful." The fierce way she says the words makes your eyes flicker up to meet hers again. Those beautiful hazel-green eyes are filled with so much emotion that you go quiet as she continues.
"I... I love you."
Your lips part slightly as you look up at her, and she's completely frozen, unable to move. It's as if she's not even in control of her own body anymore, and she's consumed with the singular thought that it was too soon, she shouldn't have said that, she's ruined everything.
Until you seem to recover from your shock, winding your arms around her neck and pressing a soft, deep kiss to her lips that leaves her breathless. "I love you, too, Lena." Your eyes are so warm and full of love for her as you say the words she's been dreaming of hearing you speak with that gentle tone of yours for ages.
"Don't go to work," she says suddenly, breaking the quiet, affection-filled silence as she looks at your scrubs with narrowed eyes, as if they've done something to personally target her.
"Lena, I can't just not go to work, there are people counting on me and I— mrrpfh!" You're cut off by her smooth, soft lips fitting against yours as one of her rough, calloused palms glides up to rest on your face, the other winding around your waist as she nips your bottom lip.
Her lips curve into a smug smile against you as yours fall open for her, and you let out a quiet moan as you press yourself flush against her, winding your arms around her muscled shoulders.
She breaks the kiss after a moment to bring her lips to your ear, her warm breath tickling your cheek as she speaks softly, "Please stay home." She breaks off to meet your eyes with those expressive, beautiful eyes, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side.
Damn it.
"I'll call and hand over my lists to Michaels," you sigh against her finally, and she grins at you, pressing another kiss to your cheek as she pulls away reluctantly.
"Thank you. I love you," she says gently, and you can't help the soft smile that finds its way onto your face.
"I love you too, Lena."
She melts, nuzzling your neck as you laugh and squirm against her, pressing little kisses to it as she pulls away. "You better get dressed, huh?" It's that brief, dancing flash of mischief in her eyes that makes you narrow your eyes, drawing back slightly to cross your arms.
She unravels your towel in one quick, fluid movement, slapping your ass as she runs from the room, laughter echoing off the walls of your apartment as you're left standing quite naked and affronted— albeit affectionately so.
"I'll get you back when I'm dressed!" You yell back through the apartment, shaking your head softly as you pull on a pair of pyjamas, padding to the living room where Yelena sits with her phone out.
You yank it from her hands quickly, spinning away from her before she catches your waist, pulling your back flush with her front as you hold the phone as far in front of you as you can.
"Nuh uh, you have to go change into pyjamas first!" You laugh as she lifts you into her arms, nuzzling into your neck. "No— Lena, stop!" You laugh, punctuating your sentence with paroxysms of amusement.
"No! I can't— cuddle with you— in a tactical suit!" You gulp in breaths of sweet, crisp air, your face red as your hardened assassin finally relents, setting you down with a laugh. You stumble right back into her chest, though.
She wraps her arms around you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Can I have my phone back now, detka?" She speaks softly in the quiet of your apartment, and you wrap your free hand around her neck as you press a kiss to her cheek.
"No. Go change first, and we'll see." Comes your firm response, as you give her a triumphant smile.
She raises an eyebrow, crosses her arms.
Oh, no. You've awakened the competitive side of her.
"Milaya, you know I could make you, right?"
You cross your arms over your chest. "Nope, nice try, though. You'd never hurt me." You turn your chin up at her as you turn on your heel, making your way to the kitchen.
Yelena follows.
You set the phone down, turning back to her as you raise an eyebrow. "I don't know why you're still following me, Lena. I won this one."
"You're right, I'd never hurt you," comes her soft, mischief-filled voice as she steps closer to you. You realise you're backed against the counter as you look up at the assassin now pressed flush against you as she sets her hands on your waist ever-so-lightly, leaning down to speak softly into your ear. "But I could do other things to you."
You look up at her with wide eyes, and flushed cheeks. The way she speaks, her voice rough and low, makes your brain turn to mush and your legs tingle faintly. You gasp softly as she dips her head to press lazy, open mouthed kisses against the fevered skin of your neck. You let your head loll to the side with a quiet moan as she finds your soft spot, worrying at it with her teeth and tongue until you're gasping, coming up to press her lips against yours with a quiet sigh.
So quickly you don't even comprehend it through your lust-filled haze, she slips her hands beneath your thighs and lifts you onto the counter, pushing your thighs apart so you can stand between them. "Lena," you gasp as she discards your shorts and underwear in one smooth movement, trailing a hand down your torso until she reaches the insides of your thighs.
When she brushes against your folds, you can't help but let your head fall back as she lets out a quick exhale. "Bozhe moi, you're soaked."
"Only for you," is all you can say through a broken moan as her fingers finally find your centre. She groans with you as you clench around her, and she maintains a torturous pace until she senses how much you need her, her fingers reaching deeper and faster until you finally see stars as she makes a 'come hither' movement with her fingers.
You finish with her name on your lips, echoing through the apartment until you finally zone back in. She's stroking your hair gently, carding her fingers through your messy locks as your eyes flutter back open to meet hers.
Her expression is soft and open, and you pull your bottoms back on as you hop off the counter, stumbling into her chest again as she laughs softly, steadying you with her strong, calloused hands around your waist as you look up at her with a soft smile.
"And now we both need a shower," comes your mirth-filled voice as she shoves your shoulder, laughter ringing through the apartment as you tug her with you— but she stays still, and you're yanked backwards with a huff of annoyance.
"Only if you sing for me," comes her soft voice, tilting your head up as you blush profusely, mumbling a soft word of acquiescence, as those beautiful jade-green eyes fill with affection for you once again.
—
Your smooth voice rings out from the bathroom:
"So bye-bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry—"
as another, rougher voice that lilts slightly with her accent joins yours, echoing through the home you've built together.