He Likes to Watch

She was smart, sexy and packed a Taser. He liked that in a woman. The fact that she was built pretty much made her his ideal, and he'd not been able to get her out of his head ever since she'd pushed in front of him at the 7/11 with her arms full of boxes of poptarts, snarking under her breath about the loss of her iPod. Her perfect, pouty mouth was utterly foul – he'd not heard such language since Afghanistan – and she was beautifully eloquent in her summaries of the paternal lineage of a number of SHIELD agents. She was like a breath of fresh air in this stagnant little town, and when she left with her purchases it was as if she'd sucked all the oxygen from the small shop, leaving his head spinning from her vitality and the scent of her lavender shampoo.

And so that was why he was now lying in the freezing New Mexico sand, his sniper scope firmly pointed through the large windows of the scientist's base of operations. The storm had long passed as had all the excitement at the crash site, and through the night sight he could see the Big Guy and…Jane? talking on the roof. He was sure Coulson would want him spying on them, but they held no interest. His attention was riveted to the glass. The lights were off, but the wonders of military grade technology meant this was no barrier to his hungry eyes.

She was dancing, fluidly and unrestrained in the darkness, to the songs on her newly re-acquired iPod which he had left on her doorstep after covertly liberating it from Evidence. She was moving with sinuous grace, weaving between tables and overturned chairs, righting the furniture by the starlight. Eventually all was in order and she made her way to the small bunk she had set up on the floor in light of the *very* drunk Selvig taking over her bed in the ridiculously small RV.

Through the scope he watched her prepare for bed, the skin she was slowly revealing (my god, was she doing a striptease?) tinted a bright green where what little light shone down was reflected from its paleness. He shifted carefully in the sand, attempting to find a position which would release the pressure on his growing erection whilst keeping his eye firmly fixed through the scope. He was grateful that there were no curtains in the building and that she believed she was alone.

She was down to her panties and bra now. Jesus, a matching set and a (she turned briefly away from the desert vista) holy fuck a thong set at that. A rush of blood to his already interested cock left his vision swimming slightly. He pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch in an effort to find some relief. It failed spectacularly when she released her ample breasts from their cotton-and-lace prison, the mass of her (he guessed) double-D chest perking free. Even through the ghostly green scope he could see her nipples were hard in the chill night air, and she turned swiftly to snatch up a cute, too-tight t-shirt and shorts pyjama set. Teddy bears, if he wasn't mistaken. She was turned away from the window when she slipped the thong over her hips and down her smooth thighs and for that he was oddly grateful. The shorts barely covered the soft globes of her arse, the smallest sliver of rounded cheek just peeking from the cut of the leg.

God, she was (unknowingly) providing him with a lot of A-grade wank material here. He rolled carefully to the side so that he could ease the fly of his fatigues down, popping the button and easing the material lower on his hips. He quickly changed his view. The Big Guy and the woman were still talking quietly; their attention was fully on the other and highly unlikely to waver. Good. The consequences of the muscle-bound man catching him spying on the young woman would likely be both incredibly painful and highly embarrassing. His gaze once more turned to the vision of beauty now brushing her teeth at the kitchenette sink. Utterly unself-conscious. Utterly bewitching.

She was padding back to her makeshift bed now. Seat cushions wouldn't make for the most comfortable sleep, but it did afford him an excellent view of her as she had arranged them to lie parallel to the view.

Throwing back the comforter, she paused and looked out into the silvered night. She seemed to stare straight down the scope and into his soul, and he froze and held his breath. One of his hands was still lightly cupped around his balls, which tightened in the cool air. A shrug and she lay down, punching the cushions into a more comfortable submission before lying back. She was evidently too warm for any covers as the worn comforter still lay where it had been thrown.

Minutes passed. Minutes in which he played with himself, running a soft hand up and down his length and wishing it was her slim fingers touching him so intimately. And then, there was movement; she rolled over onto her back. A hand slowly run up her body. His breathing quickened and he shifted, hunching onto his side as if he could get his eye any closer to the scope. He gripped his cock more firmly and ran his fist slowly up the length, twisting it slightly when he reached the tip and brushing his thumb over the weeping head. Pre-come slicked the callused thumb pad and he managed to turn a moan into a heavy exhale just in time. Sound carried well at night and he really didn't want to give himself away. He was well-practiced at the silent jack-off – being out on missions and sleeping in barracks with a lot of horny soldiers gave a man a lot of practice at the art of silent self-loving.

But right now, his self-control (which he liked to think was near-legendary) was being sorely tested by the Siren behind the glass who now had one hand inside her tight little shorts whilst the other kneaded at her breast. Her head was thrown back in the cushions, her dark hair tangled around her face as her eyes drifted closed. He was panting shallowly, his focus roaming between her beautifully vulnerable expression, down over those impressive breasts – rising and falling pretty quickly now – and down to the outline of the hand now working hard inside those ridiculously-cute-but-sinfully-sexy shorts. His own hand sped up, his breath now reduced to ragged puffs in the cool air.

The hot coil inside him was growing larger and heavier, pooling in his gut and slipping lower, towards the root of his straining cock. Her eyes were closed as she was lost in her own feelings, but his were almost glued to the scope and getting dry through lack of blinking. The speed of his hand matched hers and his eyes kept fluttering slightly as his breath devolved to ragged pants and gasps. He was beyond caring if anybody heard him now.

Her back was arching off the cushions, bending like his bow whilst he felt as tense as the string that pulled it. He was close to unravelling and floating in a place of pure pleasure. His cock felt like it was going to explode; he was in the last bit of the countdown before it went off like a bomb. Her feet were scrabbling for purchase and she bent further than he thought possible for someone without specialist training. He could tell she was about to cum and the knowledge drove him even closer to the edge.

Suddenly she stilled before a tremor ran through her body. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, and she fell bonelessly upon her back as his own control snapped like an over-pulled bowstring and he had to bite into the cloth covering his own free arm whilst he emptied the boiling hot coil of need onto the sands. He slumped, his head falling to the side and resting on a patch of lichens as he fought to get enough oxygen into his starving lungs, sucking down air like a half-drowned man.

Eventually, his head cleared enough for him to once more shift to the scope. He observed her with a racing heart as she lay there, running her hands over her thighs and gently squeezing her breasts with an immensely satisfied half-smile. Even at this distance he could see her eyes were half-closed and that it would not be long until she slept. He started to make ready to prepare to go, tucking his spent cock back into his fatigues and zipping up again.

Suddenly, she sat up and adjusted her t-shirt, the movement bringing his eye back to the scope as if it were magnetised. She stood and padded over to a table where she stood for a few seconds, evidently writing something down whilst he admired the roundness of her arse. She straightened, walked quickly to the pinboard nearest to the window opposite him and firmly attached her notice.

As she got back down onto her bed and pulled the comforter over herself, he zoomed in the scope at the piece of paper and read "If you want a repeat performance you're going to have to buy me dinner first".

Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye, made a mental note to do that at the first opportunity as he gathered his equipment and vanished into the night.