Chapter Text
Shaw bit down her lip. This mission wasn’t going as planned – lately it never was. Samaritan continuously had the upper hand as they squirmed into their daily jobs and unsatisfying covers, and Shaw blamed her recent weakness on the fact that she had been still for too long.
“And now you’re wondering if I’m lying to you,” Martine purred, her nails raking down Shaw’s scapula. She didn’t need to check to know the hotel’s corridor was empty, most guests still gathered at the commotion downstairs.
“That, too,” Shaw groaned, letting her head rest against the wall. Her body tingled with pain and pleasure all the same, and Shaw still felt the sweet rush of having recently fired her weapon at someone. A few floors below she imagined the police searching for them both, but Shaw knew better than to run.
Somehow, she hadn’t thought another run-in with Martine would end up with Martine’s hand up her dress again, but now that she felt that warm breath running down her neck Shaw couldn’t figure out how it would ever end another way, with the exception of one of them gunning down the other.
Shaw was confident she would be the one shooting first then, when it would come to it. No reason not to enjoy this while it lasted.
Martine smirked, as if she had guessed Shaw’s thoughts, and Shaw averted her eyes. “Has it occurred to you yet,” she pushed one hand against Shaw’s wounded thigh and forced a hiss out of her throat, “that I’m not the only one lying?”
Groaning, Shaw grabbed Martine by the waist and pushed her across the corridor, shoving her body against the wall. Martine’s grin only widened, ignoring the loud thump of the impact and the bruises it would surely leave.
“Room 409,” she gritted through her teeth, sending one look to her left, indicating the way.
There was no point in questioning her words – with Samaritan buzzing answers through her earpiece of course Martine knew where to go. Shaw had a mind to sever her connection and watch her squirm, but something prevented her from using the tech Root had given her a few days ago. Some old pain lingered in her stomach and she swallowed hard, pushing the burning down.
Ignoring the little stream of blood running down her cheek, Shaw pushed Martine down the hotel’s corridor, exchanging bites and scratches with every door that went by. They found the 409 bloodied and bruised, both already aching and panting. Martine easily unlocked the door, yet allowed Shaw to move in first, an odd smirk twisting her lips like some private joke Shaw couldn’t understand.
“You think you like to be in control,” Martine started, following Shaw inside the room and closing the door behind her.
She took only one step forward before Shaw shoved her against the door, biting Martine’s lip to erase that grin she hated.
“You’re so predictable, Agent Shaw,” she mocked, her fingers running down Shaw’s black dress again, voice and fingers dangerously lowering. “So obvious.”
Shaw groaned. “Do you ever shut up?”
Martine’s laugh, as clear and cold as a river, it rushed the air out of Shaw’s lungs at the exact moment Martine hitched up Shaw’s dress, the fabric hanging tight above the waist. Nails raked against Shaw’s inner thighs and Shaw closed her eyes, picturing them black.
“What’s so funny?” Shaw asked, opening her eyelids, frustrated and annoyed when Martine continued to laugh and tease all the same.
“You don’t want me to shut up,” Martine smirked, and again Shaw felt that old wandering pain in her gut, like a fire burning inside, flames licking at the skin and reaching up her throat. “You like it when I go on,” the fingers slipped into Shaw, rigid and cold, and Shaw closed her eyes again. “And on and on,” Martine repeated, her wrist twisting ever so slightly.
It took her a second to slip her feet behind Shaw’s ankle, pushing herself forward and spinning fast, shoving Shaw against the door in her place. Shaw didn’t repress a groan from leaving her as the pain spread down her spine, adding to the pleasure Martine’s skilled hands hadn’t stopped giving. She fisted Martine’s clothes, grinding against the hand as her fingers dug into Martine, creating little bruises here and there, and angry red crescents where her nails marked the skin.
“It makes you think of her,” Martine whispered in her ear and even with her eyes closed Shaw knew those red lips were curled up in a smirk. “Of what you want her to do to you.”
Martine bit down Shaw’s neck hard as she rushed a third finger in and Shaw cried out unwillingly. Her arousal flared up as she listened to the words, refusing to acknowledge the pronouns.
“Of what you want to do to her,” Martine brought her close to orgasm with one twitch of the wrist and then slowed down drastically. “I wonder, are you going to say her name when you come?”
The voice was mocking and taunting and the perfume was all wrong. Shaw felt the pleasure rolling inside and the anger burning wild and she allowed both to pull her apart.
“I won’t be angry,” Martine continued, voice softening while her hand moved more furiously. “You want to scream her name now, don’t you?”
Shaw clenched her jaw, trying to ignore Martine’s voice, although the flames inside blazed as if encouraged by some relentless wind, feeding it oxygen even as Shaw lost her breath.
“Do you need me to say it?” Martine asked and Shaw’s eyes flicked open.
“Shut the fuck up,” Shaw threatened even as her hips continued to grind against Martine’s hand. Disgust rolled at the back of her throat, and it was uncertain who it was aimed at. She swallowed hard, one hand clutching at the door as the other pulled Martine closer.
Martine laughed again, only this time it wasn’t a river, it was a sea and Shaw drowned in it, closing her eyes and picturing another voice, another face, another name. “Oh but you like lying to yourself,” she pushed against Shaw harder, her other fingers scratching down Shaw’s neck until it drew blood. “I don’t mind helping you with that.”
Shaw came almost violently then, shaking and cold, with a groan stuck in her throat.
“But one day, I’m going to make you scream my name,” Martine warned with a smirk, pulling out of Shaw and licking her fingers. The burning inside was choking and Shaw pushed Martine off of her, ignoring the trembling of her hands and the weakness in her knees.
She replaced her clothes without sparing Martine another look, and opened the door as instinctively as if she was reaching for her gun. “Good luck with that,” Shaw replied with a smirk of her own.
Yet hours later, when Root showed up at Shaw’s makeup counter, that grin slipped off Shaw’s lips. The red scratch marks on her neck felt like they were burning right through the body foundation she had used to conceal them. Root didn’t comment on them, but her sad eyes told Shaw more than she ever wanted to know.
That old pain in her stomach returned, deafening and threatening to pull her apart, and as Root bit down her lower lip nervously, Shaw was tempted to let it burn her whole.