Chapter Text
A wet sponge travels up his leg, past his knee and respectfully stops before his groin. A slender wrist quivers. It’s barely noticeable when it dips the sponge in water and softly places it next to his ankle. Another line of delicate material brushes him. The water is warm, it washes away the dirt. He is outside of the cage, sitting on the same bench Shostakov was sitting on weeks prior. She placed a towel on it, he obediently sat down and did not say a word when she knelt in front of him and started washing him. Resting his hands at the back of the bench resting his eyes.
He woke up with a hand on his cheek. Soft nails scratching at his stubble. Opening his eyes and following hers looking as if they were dragging a shadow of a thousand black horses underneath. She smiled at him, he reciprocated. Nodding at the bottom of the cage and showing that it’s open. He slowly crawled out of it, needing a minute to stretch before making a few unsure steps towards the place she pointed at.
They don’t say anything. Don’t speak. Touch is all that is there between them.
“Clint...” She whispers kneeling in front of him. She opens her mouth to say more but he places a fingers on her lips.
“Not now, Tash.” He isn’t ready. What she has done isn’t okay. He doesn’t want to hear her excuses. But he missed her, so he places a soft kiss on her lips where his finger was a second ago. They are cold, dry and quivering. They hurt her. He feels it in his bones. She needs this as much as he does.
“Later, okay?” His forehead is next to hers, he’s holding her head. Her wet hands are tightly wrapping his leg. She is shaking. She pulls away and opens her mouth. No word is uttered, lips slowly tightening into a thin line. She opens and closes them again. And then she exhales. And nods her head. ‘Not now’, he said and she is going to respect that. Her hands let go of his leg, grab a sponge and continue washing him. He lets her. She needs it. As much as he does, if not more. Her taking care of him, giving him relief, love, an illusion of safety. Next time she reaches his groin and starts to pull away he grabs her wrist and holds it there. He can feel her weight, sense the tremor. They look at each other, an unspoken question answered with a nod. He lets go of her hand. She does not move it away. Instead, the sponge travels further up his leg, touching his manhood. He exhales in relief. She doesn’t do much, just ensures that he is clean. But that is enough to bring some blood into his cock. He wouldn’t mind her wrist around it, slowly stroking him into orgasm. But she moves past it. Continues cleaning his legs. Every time, when coming back up slightly teasing him. He lets out a rasped breath. She doesn’t acknowledge it moving her palms to his upper body. Each stroke of a sponge washing away weeks of dirt. He should get soft but whenever his thoughts escape her beauty, she reminds him of herself, her second hand placed close to his member. A soft kiss to his tip. Another pass of the sponge. She keeps him entertained. His breathing fastened. Not planning to finish him off until his abs have received enough attention, until his back was left unforgotten and he finds the smallest brush of her finger an agony. The tiniest skin contact an electric shock. Breathing through the tease, loosing himself in the sensation until at last her fingers wrap his shaft. No sound leaves his lips. It would seem inappropriate. Her hand moves around him, engulfing his member in her soft touch. Massaging, stroking, caressing. His back straightens and the air leaves his lungs. Slowly, agonizingly slowly she increases the tempo. It’s so easy to bring him to the edge. Embarrassingly, if under any other circumstances. But he hasn’t been touched down there for so long. And she pays attention to him. Just him, no one else. And her hand is so warm and nice and before he even knows it he comes onto her hand. Barely touched, barely taken care of. But it’s enough. It’s her. She kisses his tip one more time, his over sensitiveness making him feel as if she was kissing his whole body, swallowing him whole and reaching his insides. For a few short seconds, everything is okay, the world has slowed down and he had a chance to breathe.
It takes her a moment to replace the dirty water with the clean one, this time cold, from the sink in the room and wash his hair. Playing with it, massaging his scalp. He hasn’t forgiven her. He hasn’t accepted what happened. He didn’t let her speak and explain herself to him. She touches his body as if every single stroke was the last time she would ever touch him. Eyes fascinated with the smallest nuisance of his pale skin. Enjoying the scent of soap and his body near hers. She continues to wash him, even after he has been clean for a while. She does not stop. He does not interrupt her.
She locks him back up right after. They hold onto each other’s hands for a while until she lets him go. The door is opened for her without any necessary knocking. And it’s as if she was never here. Except. Except he is clean, and calm. And his lips involuntarily raise. There is another thing that she left next to the cage. His hearing aids. For now, he leaves them where they are. He knows the meaning behind them. Something is ending. Something new is beginning. He will be ready, he will put them on and he will be ready. He just needs those five minutes more. Trying to remember her touch on his body. And falling back asleep thinking about her.