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“Kate, are you sure you…?”
“Yes,” the archer replied, interrupting Kamala before she could finish her question. “Yelena’s been alone for three days…three days of our vacation together we’ve missed. I just want to get back to the farm as quickly as possible.”
“Very well,” the Jersey City teen replied, a smirk on her lips.
“Wha-thwak!” Cassie vocalized a sound clearly reminiscent of…
“Girl, you’re whipped!” Riri added, chuckling. “Wait, are you into that?”
“I’m sure Yelena is really skilled at tying people up,” Cassie quickly interjected.
“What? Oh, gods, please…tell me that you do not sit around thinking about our sex life?”
“That wasn’t a denial,” Cassie snickered, while Riri raised her hands in rejection of Kate’s insinuation.
The archer raised an eyebrow at the brunette, who shrugged. “San Francisco, remember.”
“Oh my gods!” the New and Improved Hawkeye shook her head. Between Kamala’s fanfics and Cassie’s fantasies…was everyone obsessed with her love life?! But she had snagged the hottest—and deadliest—woman on the planet, so maybe it was to be expected?
Still, it was one thing for them to wonder about it in private, but it was quite another for them to discuss it in front of her—or, worse, ask her about it! “Kamala, how long before we get to the farm?” Kate practically shouted. Why Kamala was the one who got to pilot their Quinjet was beyond the archer’s understanding—one trip on Captain Marvel’s spaceship and suddenly she was a pilot?
“Not too much longer.”
“Please make it faster,” Kate pleaded, exasperation beginning to set in.
“At least I have a driver’s license, Bishop,” the Jersey-based teen teased.
“I’m from the City; there’s no need.”
“And filthy rich,” Cassie razzed. “Chauffeurs and butlers and maids and all that shit.” After a beat, she added, “Ooh, I bet you can afford the softest, most supple ropes.” The brunette smirked, and Kate flipped her the bird. Cassie then quirked her head and furrowed her brow, pondering. “Is that a quality ropes have, suppleness?”
Seriously, what was with them? The obsession with the idea that she and Yelena were into BDSM or at least rope play was wild. Kate would call her teammates children, except all of them were now adults—in biological age, at least!
“Yeah, it is,” Kamala called out from the controls.
“You’ve written a bondage fic, haven’t you?” Riri intimated.
The pilot was slow to reply, but as everyone’s eyes focused on her head, she finally answered. “Um, yes.”
“Oh, gods, please tell me it wasn’t about Yelena and me,” Kate begged. “Wait, no, I don’t want to know.” She had changed her mind; if the eighteen-year-old had written a bondage fic about her and her girlfriend, best not to know.
“You’re safe, Kate.”
The archer breathed a sigh of relief.
“Aw, c’mon, who was it?” Cassie inquired.
“Spill, girl…” Riri piled on, gently goading the fanfic-writing pilot.
“It…uh…” If Kamala’s powers had reflected the colors of her emotions, they would have been beet red right now. “Natasha and Clint,” she answered hurriedly, words mashed together and barely discernible.
“Oh, gods, I did not want to know that,” Kate exclaimed. “How is that safe for me? That’s my mentor and my girlfriend’s sister…”
“Oooh, speaking of ‘safe,’ I bet you two have a fun safeword,” Riri jested.
Cassie let out a low whistle. “YGs taking after the OGs!”
“We do not have a safeword!” the archer exclaimed, exasperated.
“Oh, you go hard…but also trust each other completely. Respect,” the west coast teen added. What sorts of clubs did she frequent in San Francisco when she wasn’t out protesting?!
“No! Uh…we…I…” Kate floundered. She could tell from the heat her face was generating that it was getting redder and redder. How had she ended up here?! All she wanted was to be back at the farm, hug her girlfriend, and curl up on Clint’s couch with her and the dogs. Instead, she was still fending off questions and assumptions about her sex life with the Widow. Her teammates needed to get laid—maybe that was the problem? If no one was getting any other than Kate, then perhaps they were trying to live vicariously through her, thus the obsessive questioning! That had to be it.
“Natasha was the sexy domme, right?” Kate vaguely heard Cassie ask, the brunette leaning forward, eyes full of excitement. “Flowing auburn locks, sexy Russian accent, heaving bosom and luscious décolletage?” The others must have looked at the brunette strangely, because the next words the archer registered were, “What? I got my start with my mom’s collection of bodice-rippers. When you’re all alone for five years, there’s only so much quantum theory you can read every day.”
That explained a lot, Kate realized. As traumatic as the post-Snap world had been, Kate at least still had her mom and the luxury of being a Bishop. Cassie had had no one—not to help her navigate the world, not to help her understand the changes in her body. Only handwritten journals on advanced scientific concepts and steamy romance novels.
“…That’s gotta be one of the perks of Yelena…just like her sister…”
The New and Improved Hawkeye was only hearing pieces of the conversation now, tumbling deeper into her own thoughts. All of their talk of Yelena just reminded the woman of how much she missed her girlfriend, of the aching in her heart to return to the blonde’s side. Gods, she was such a sap! But she didn’t care. When you found someone like that…it was only natural to want to spend every moment of your life in her presence. And experience her strong hands binding you for enhanced pleasure and…what?! Apparently, now she did want to know how good Yelena was at tying people up…and that was not a thought she would have ever anticipated having when she stepped onto the Quinjet at the farm after hugging and kissing the dogs and her Widow goodbye three days ago. Oh, the yearning! ‘Get it together, Kate Bishop; you’re an Avenger, ish, not some besotted schoolgirl crushing on the hot blonde with an air of danger!’ Still, she missed her girlfriend, and there was no helping that.
Well, she’d be back with Yelena soon enough, and that was all that mattered. Even if her teammates were getting her primed to jump the Widow as soon as she saw her again. But she guessed the ridiculous questioning was a good distraction, because the Rockies were falling away behind them and the Great Plains stretched out before them…almost home. Well, back to the farm, but as the old saying went, ‘home is where the heart is,’ and Yelena was currently at the Barton farm, so it may as well have been home in that sense. Soon enough, Kamala would be setting the Quinjet down in a field, and Kate would be dashing out the rear hatch and running across the pasture into the waiting arms of the blonde, sun catching in her hair, just like in one of those movies. If the speculation about their sex life had helped the time pass more quickly, then maybe it was worth it.
When Kate tuned in to the conversation again, it had—mercifully—moved on without her. The others were listening with rapt attention as Cassie described a bondage burlesque show she’d seen earlier that year. From the very movement of Kamala’s head, the archer could tell their pilot was mentally taking notes on the show for another fic—gods, she hoped she and Yelena didn’t end up in that one, either! (Or Clint and Natasha, for that matter.)
Kate loved that the teen was such a fan—a fangirl—so earnest and inspired, so creative, so committed to inspiring others to be the kind of heroes in their everyday lives that the world needed—Captain Rogers would have loved her, she was quite certain—but sometimes she wished that enthusiasm and the younger Marvel’s literary talents gave a wider berth to her, Yelena, Natasha, and Clint. How it was not weird to Kamala she would never understand; it was weird for her, even though she, like Kamala, had met her hero. Maybe it was generational? Kate didn’t know. But she had learned to grin and bear it—and to keep Yelena and Clint off of the internet. She would never yuck in the Jersey girl’s yum. Not just as a supportive teammate and a good adult role model (ha!), but also as a decent person and a friend.
Thankfully, the ridiculous and probing discussion had not only made the time pass more quickly, but it also had been a sufficient distraction that Kate had barely noticed the dampness seeping through her outfit. Occupational hazard. But she’d be back with Yelena soon, and that was all that mattered. Her mind was filled with fantasies of meeting those sexy Russian lips with her own, of wondering what flavor lip balm the blonde was wearing—cherry, or maybe something exotic like piña colada? And then spending the rest of their vacation lounging around the Barton house in nothing but their pajamas (sleep shorts and soft, well-loved t-shirts, since it was summertime). They deserved it.
The archer’s daydreaming was interrupted by the slight jostle of the Quinjet setting down—and the call from the cockpit, “Kate, we’re here.”
“Wha…oh…awesome! Thanks, Kamala.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and began collecting her gear as the Jersey teen finished the landing procedures and lowered the aft hatch ramp. “This was fun and all, but, uh, I really hope nothing else comes up for the rest of my vacation.”
“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you miss your short blonde spitfire,” Cassie teased.
There was a brief flash of something on Kate’s face, for the teasing hit home. She didn’t know why she was so emotional right now, why she missed Yelena so much—especially when the blonde was now just across the pasture. It hadn’t been a difficult or particularly dangerous mission, and it wasn’t like she was unaware that superheroes didn’t get normal vacations. But somehow being pulled from the bliss of being alone with Yelena and the dogs on the Barton farm—which they were technically looking after while the Bartons were visiting Laura’s parents and the beach, but whatever—had made her sappier than usual today.
“We’ll only call if it’s a big emergency,” Kamala replied. “Now go hug your girl and your dogs and enjoy the rest of your vacation, Hawkeye.”
Kate offered the dark-haired teen a playful salute. “Aye-aye, Captain!”
“Have fun, Bishop,” Riri chimed in.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Cassie added.
Riri broke out laughing. “That’s not much of a limiting factor, Cass.”
The archer turned her head and stuck out her tongue at the brunette—really, she’d look so much better as a blonde, and Kate didn’t understand why that, of all things, was not something Cassie had tried. The archer wouldn’t be surprised if, after today’s discussion, the San Franciscan held her upcoming birthday party in a BDSM dungeon! But Kate shook her head one final time to dispel those thoughts as she stepped off the hatch ramp and onto that rich Iowa soil; she was home.
As Kamala coaxed the Quinjet out of the pasture and back into the sky, Cassie and Riri rushed to the cockpit. “Don’t go too far,” Cassie implored the pilot.
“Yeah, we’ve got to see what happens,” Riri added with a chuckle.
There was a twinkle in the pilot’s eye as she engaged the cloak and maneuvered the jet to a safe distance while remaining in visual range of the Barton homestead. She was no doubt brainstorming yet another fanfic…
Kate set off in a sprint across the pasture. She was certain that Yelena would have heard or seen the Quinjet arriving and would be out to greet her at the fence, or at least in the dooryard. She had a flash of the blonde in a short-but-modest pastel dress and an apron, spots of flour everywhere from sweets in the oven, a faux 50s fantasy. What was with these crazy ‘dreams’ she’d been having today?
As the archer looked up, in the direction of the house, sure enough, there was Yelena running in her direction. Kate felt a smile stretch across her face as their eyes locked across the field—and she faintly registered the sounds of the Quinjet rising for departure. There was no apron or 50s housewife dress, but the sun did reflect off of the blonde’s hair just so, and, honestly, that was more than enough. No silly daydream would compare to the strong embrace of the Widow’s arms, their bodies crushing together, the way the older woman’s face fit perfectly into the space between Kate’s neck and shoulder, her breath tickling the sensitive skin, and, finally, their lips pressed together, (re)joined as one. No fantasy could compete with the reality that was Yelena Belova, the love of her life, the woman in her life.
Which was why, when Yelena stopped abruptly and crinkled her nose, Kate was confused, disturbed even. Then her brain caught up with her eyes, and, oh! The smell. She’d grown…accustomed wasn’t the right word, because it was indeed rancid, and that would never be OK or normal, but she had successfully compartmentalized the odor and her body’s revulsion to it in order to complete the mission. Really, Yelena should be proud.
The Widow’s face next morphed into a look of shock as she fully took in the archer’s appearance. Oh! Apparently Kate looked much worse than she thought.
“Kate Bishop, no. Stop.”
The archer immediately came to a stop in response to the command; it was almost as through Yelena had trained her. But she couldn’t help it if she found that voice and that tone irresistible. Surely anyone would react the same way.
From the corner of her eye, Kate caught two good-sized, dark brown shapes dashing towards her (or them), and Yelena’s face changed once more, becoming a glare, equal parts anger and disappointment. The panting and excited barks as the shapes moved closer clued the archer in that those were the dogs, but, gods, what had happened to them?
“Lucky Bishop,” the stern Russian lilt began, “what have I told you about playing in the mud hole, hm?” The retriever barked in response, but not one that sounded like agreement. “We do not do that, da. We are dogs, not pigs.”
Then, bringing the glare in the direction of the other dark brown shape, Yelena continued. “Fanny Yelenovna, what have I told you about following after Lucky when he is misbehaving?” Fanny at least had the sense to whine contritely. “That is right, we do not follow him into the mud hole.”
Finally, the Widow brought her gaze back to rest on the archer. “And you, Kate Bishop, you are where they learn these behaviors. You are a bad influence. Look at you! You are covered head-to-toe in gunk I do not even want to guess what it is. I can barely seen any purple! I cannot believe Kamala let you on her plane like this.”
“It was a messy mission!” Kate protested. “We all got dirty.”
Yelena raised an eyebrow.
Kate sighed. “Yes, I was the dirtiest. But Riri and Cassie have exosuits,” she pouted, “and Kamala has powers. I don’t have a gunk-repelling arrow. How would that even work?” Her brain started to wander down that path, before she shook her head and returned to the matter at hand. “They put a tarp on top of my seat. I just wanted to get home to you as quickly as possible,” the archer concluded, her voice now soft and full of love and longing.
Those words melted Yelena’s glare, and a look of love and adoration washed over her face. “Hmm, you may have a point, Kate Bishop…”—the other woman’s face lit up like an excited puppy—“…but that does not change the situation. Come, all three of you,” she ordered, and soon all ten dirty legs were following the blonde to a grassy area at the side of the barn.
When they arrived, the Widow picked up a hose and turned it on Kate and the dogs, blasting them with a stream of cool water. She moved it back and forth, hitting each repeatedly, scouring the mud and whatever from their bodies. “You are lucky, Kate Bishop, that I am not making you stay in the barn; the smell seems to be dissipating as I clean you of…whatever you are coated in.”
“Alien pupa guts. Mostly. Some sewage, possibly. Why do aliens always choose sewers to undergo their metamorphosis? Why couldn’t, for once, they choose subway tunnels? Or aqueducts? Even a cave? Literally anything other than a sewer!”
“Kate, stop talking,” Yelena interrupted with a command.
“Hmm?”
As soon as the raven-haired woman closed her mouth, the Widow hit her square in the face with another blast of water. The archer reached up and pulled out her hair tie, freeing her ponytail, and turned into the stream, finally helping her girlfriend with the task of rinsing her clean. “Ya’ know, if I had a bar of soap…. Oh! We should tell Clint he needs an outdoor shower!” she announced excitedly.
“Kate Bishop, do not tell me you are planning to get this dirty again.” The Widow shook her head.
“No, but it seems it would be useful for farm work,” she replied, continuing to move her body into the spray. She could feel Yelena giving her a look of disbelief—literally, as the way the water hit the back of her head shifted and became more focused. The archer shrugged her shoulders and concluded, “Just sayin’.”
When the Widow directed the hose back on the dogs once more, Kate turned back around and began unzipping her uniform top. She shrugged out of it and crouched down to unlace and remove her boots—it would take them forever to dry!—and socks, before rising. She unbuttoned her pants and then shimmied them down her long legs before stepping out of them, leaving her in just her sports bra and panties (both purple, of course). When Kate looked up again, Yelena’s mouth was wide and she had stopped moving the hose, leaving it streaming at a random spot on the ground.
The archer’s mouth curled into a smirk, and with a twinkle in her eye, she began speaking. “C’mon, Lena, just a bit more; I know you want t…” she teased. Before she could finish, however, the blonde had already redirected the hose, hitting the taller woman in the face briefly before moving lower to rewash the newly-revealed skin and garments. After a few moments, Kate began turning slowly, allowing the water to work its way over her sides, before she paused her rotation with her back to the stream. The cool water felt surprisingly good between her shoulders—more the pressure than the temperature—but she knew her girlfriend’s talented fingers would be even better at massaging away the tension later. She could feel the hot Iowa sun beating down on her skin, too, and the cool water was the perfect complement.
Kate knew her girlfriend was enjoying the show, the long, muscular limbs, strong shoulders, tight stomach, and curves in all the right places, dancing in the water. She was putting on one hell of a show, and the Widow was delighting in it—well, in the whole ‘hosing down’ experience, actually; one thing about the Russian was that she always found delight in the archer’s mishaps and minor disasters. (Never the serious ones—then, the blonde alternated between the tender nurse delicately attending to every last injury and the attack dog chomping at the bit to take revenge on whomever had harmed Kate.) The younger woman took it in stride; she did have a penchant for ending up in all sorts of crazy situations, and being covered in alien metamorphic goop was just one of many. Luckily, she had a great sense of humor and could laugh at herself right alongside her girlfriend. But those times when she was able to make Yelena’s mouth drop open and practically drool—like now—made all the rest more than worth it.
“Seriously, though…a bar of soap and I could practically shower.”
“Kate Bishop, you will be taking a proper shower soon enough.”
“And an improper shower?” she teased, wagging her eyebrows as she swayed with the water.
“Daj bog!” Yelena muttered, shaking her head.
“It’s been three days, Lena,” the archer whined, “and Cassie…”
“Of course that girl!” the blonde let out an exasperated sigh followed by a chuckle. “I will recommend her some techniques we learned in the Red Room for such situations.”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” Kate joked, only to be hit in the face once more with a blast of water from the hose.
“Kate Bishop, you know that I am plenty of fun. But right now, you will go shower and I will finish cleaning up the mess your dog created.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Kate once again saluted and then dashed for the house before Yelena could hit her with a stream of water again. The Widow’s laughter—a sweet melody the archer could never get enough of—echoed behind her.
“Oh, yeah, we are all taking showers as soon as we get back to base,” Kamala laughed.
“And Riri’s gotta take that tarp to a hazardous waste facility!” Cassie added.
“Damn, girl, why me?!”
“You can use one of your autonomous units,” the pilot chipped in, “ensuring none of us has to touch it again!”
“Fair.”
The three women burst into laughter.
A few days later, Fanny came dashing up the Barton farmhouse, barking loudly to get her mother’s attention. Yelena exited the house and followed the Akita to the barn, where a look of disbelief soon encompassed the woman’s face. This again?!
Kate stood beside the barn, a sheepish look on her face, accompanied by Lucky, who was grinning from ear to ear, tongue lolling from his mouth, anything but sheepish. The duo were both covered in mud from head to toe, so much that one could barely make out Kate’s very short cutoff jean shorts and purple tank top—both were very, very brown. Her hair looked like it had been submerged in a chocolate fountain, so heavy and coated was it with the damp, viscous muck. It was a wonder that the archer’s bright blue eyes were even visible, as completely doused in mud as she was.
“Kate Bishop?” Yelena queried, a note of disdain or accusation in her voice.
The archer shrugged. “He chased after a rabbit.”
“And you? Did you chase the rabbit also? You are Hawkeye, not Mudhawk!”
Kate envisioned Yelena picturing her chasing after Lucky and the rabbit on all fours, scampering through the brush, over logs and under partly-fallen trunks, before leaping and then splashing down in a giant mud hole. It was not so far from the truth; there were several tight spots she was only able to traverse on her hands and knees. But most of the time she was on her feet, including—to her chagrin—when she slipped off the log and fell into the mud hole, leading Lucky to—finally—abandon his chase of the rabbit and attempt to help. That had, predictably, ended up with the retriever jumping in and sort-of paddling over to the archer; what a big help he was! To add insult to injury, the rabbit had turned around and come over to the edge of the hole to watch the duo thrashing in the mud. She was certain the cheeky critter was smirking at them! And now her girlfriend was calling her a mudhawk! (Was that even a real thing? She had heard of the Toledo Mud Hens, but never a mudhawk.)
“I didn’t know where he was gonna go,” the archer protested, weakly. “I had to keep an eye on him so he wouldn’t get lost. This is a big farm!”
“And your idea of keeping an eye on him was following him into a mud hole? You are ridiculous, Kate Bishop,” the Widow replied, exasperated but playful, shaking her head.
Fanny barked, as if in agreement.
“Yes, Fanny, you are a good girl.”
“I…uh…fell in first,” the archer admitted, sheepishly. She knew it would cost her in ribbings, but it was unfair to let Lucky take the blame for all of the mud hole catastrophe.
Shaking her head again, Yelena exclaimed, “Daj bog! How am I responsible for three dogs?!”
Kate pouted and did her best to bat her mud-caked eyelashes at the blonde.
“Your puppy-dog eyes will not work on me this time, Kate Bishop.”
“But you love me,” the mud-covered archer replied, overly dramatic and saccharine in her delivery.
“Unfortunately, that is true,” Yelena replied, blasting Kate in the face with the full force of the hose. This was her way of showing it—especially when the New and Improved Hawkeye had done something…not so cool.
The cool water began to break through the layer of caked-on mud on the taller woman’s head, sloughing it off in a droopy, dramatic fashion. Ever so slowly, the archer’s face and hair began to reveal itself—and, equally as slowly, a puddle the consistency of frozen yogurt began forming around her boots. Her goofy smile grew wider as she pushed her head forward to meet the stream, moving the body part back and forth as though chasing the water.
Eventually, the front of Kate’s head was clean enough that Yelena lowered the hose to her neck—whereupon Kate started vibrating her vocal cords with the water, making funny sounds—and then her shoulders and upper chest. Mud slid down the archer’s body not unlike a mudslide, thickly and slow-moving, as the Widow worked to clean her girlfriend.
“Outdoor shower, just sayin’…” Kate beamed.
“Fine, you can tell Barton he needs to install an outdoor shower because his protégé gets dirtier than a five-year-old child while he is away,” the assassin teased. “Even when Natasha and I were little, we never got this dirty playing in the neighborhood, not even after it had rained. It takes a special talent, Kate Bishop.”
The still-partly-mud-caked woman beamed. Not just because she had a special talent, but because her girlfriend had chosen to reveal a tiny bit of her life—with her sister, no less—to Kate. The shorter woman was better about sharing than she had been when they first met, but overall still very guarded about her life with Natasha. Kate treasured every moment.
“You know, if I had a bar of soap, I could help.” But she was still Kate Bishop, and being silly—and breaking any tension that may have been forming in the aftermath of the blonde’s admission—was in her DNA.
With an imperceptible movement of the wrist, the deadly assassin redirected the water to splash her girlfriend square in the face once more. Then she aimed the hose towards Lucky, who had whined at being left out of the cleaning so far, leaving the taller woman standing with thick globs of mud still slowly dripping off of her.
“Lena…” she pouted.
The Widow raised her eyebrow as she flicked her head back to her girlfriend. “Would you like to be blasted in the face again? Hmm, Kate Bishop?”
Kate’s face quickly became serious, lips pressed together tightly to signify her dislike of the idea, and she shook her head vigorously, sending droplets of water and mud flying off in all directions. (She was extremely lucky she did not get any on Fanny or Yelena—or maybe her girlfriend had latent telekinetic powers like the Scarlet Witch?)
“I thought so,” the blonde continued. “And Lucky deserves to get clean, too; he should not have to wait, particularly if it was not his fault.” The assassin’s voice softened as she spoke of the retriever, and Kate almost could have sworn that her girlfriend was making heart eyes, too.
“Hey!” the archer protested, “He didn’t have to jump in after me! Besides, he was the one chasing the rabbit in the first place!”
Yelena gasped dramatically. “Kate Bishop, throwing your dog under the carpet?! I am shocked.” She flicked her wrist again, blasting Kate in the face, before again aiming the stream of water at her chest.
The New and Improved Hawkeye sputtered from the water to her face. Once she could speak properly again, she replied, “It’s bus, Yelena, ‘throwing someone under the bus.’”
“Bus, rug, same difference.”
“It’s…” Kate began softly, before thinking the better of it, her voice trailing off and her head shaking gently. When Yelena had the water already on her body, it was best not to push it, lest she end up gurgling again. “But I didn’t throw…I was just stating the facts.”
“Yes. The facts. One, you fell in the mud hole. Two, Lucky jumped in to rescue you.” The Widow’s tone was matter-of-fact, not teasing.
“Well, yes…”
Lucky barked, as though agreeing with the presentation of the facts and the archer’s admission.
“So, we are all in agreement. Lucky does not deserve to wait to be clean when the only reason he is dirty is because he jumped in to rescue you.”
Kate’s traitorous dog barked once more.
“But…but…I didn’t need him to help me get out!” the archer protested.
“Likely story.” Yelena redirected the water once more to the canine, hosing him off a second time; he was definitely closer to clean than Kate already.
‘Likely story she knew, but not throwing someone under the bus?!’ Kate almost couldn’t believe it, but that was the thing about Yelena, you never knew what you were going to get. She kept you on your toes!
Speaking of toes, Yelena’s latest round with the hose had finally removed enough of the excess mud that Kate’s long, toned limbs were visible. Not clean, but visible. The archer made an elaborate show of inspecting them, all for the benefit of her girlfriend. She could see the blonde raking her eyes over the mud-streaked flesh (even as the other woman hosed off Lucky), with a look in her green eyes not unlike how she had stared that the great Greek and Roman marbles. It felt good to be wanted…even better when the one wanting you was Yelena fucking Belova.
Kate took the opportunity of having the shorter woman’s attention to strip out of her mud-drenched tank top, tossing it at the side of the barn—where it stuck to the boards like paint. With a smirk, she turned around and started to undo the button and fly of her cutoffs, only jumping slightly when she felt the cold water suddenly crash into her nearly-bare back. The archer took her time and slowly lowered the mud-saturated garment to the ground, gauging Yelena’s reactions by the movement of the spray water.
“Kate Bishop, you are a dirty, dirty girl,” the assassin lamented. “A dirty horned dog.” She shook her head in playful exasperation.
The New and Improved Hawkeye turned back around, allowing the water to strike her toned stomach and abdomen, and she winked at her girlfriend. “But you love me,” she repeated.
“Unfortunately, that is still true,” the blonde sighed, focusing the stream now on those long, limber legs and the mud-filled boots into which they disappeared. “The things we do for the idiots we love.”
Finally mostly clean, Kate removed her boots and then leapt from where she had been standing to a patch of grass nearby. Yelena gave her a final going-over with the hose, washing away almost all of the remaining mud. The archer beamed, grinning like the idiot she was. This was not how she had pictured her day going, but when life gives you mud holes, you make loving hosing-downs out of it, she chuckled. Lucky, also freshly rinsed and clean enough to make it to the bathtub, ambled over to join her. The sun’s warm rays were already starting to dry them—Kate more than Lucky, of course.
“Bishop dogs will be the death of me,” Yelena muttered under her breath as she finally turned the hose off.
When the blonde returned to where she had stood for the hosing-down, at Fanny’s side, the Akita let out the bark she used when asking for a treat. After all, she had brought her mother to the dirty dogs and had not gotten muddy herself, and she had waited patiently for her person to wash the other two. All of that surely was deserving of a reward.
Yelena leaned over to rub Fanny’s head and scratch behind her ears. “Yes, Fanny, you have been a good girl; we will get you a treat.” The Akita yipped in response.
A few feet away, both Kate and Lucky whined, somehow in unison. What was the old saying about people being like their dogs?
Yelena turned to the pair and met them with a stony gaze. “Nyet!” She shook her head. “Kate Bishop, you have not been a good girl.”
“But…but…”
The Widow shook her head again, a smile beginning to break across her lips. “Come, you need to shower and finish washing Lucky. Then we will get dinner.” With a twinkle in her eye and the edge of her lips curling, Yelena finished, “Then, if you have been a good girl—and you, Lucky Bishop, a good boy—we will get treats.”
The two women broke into laughter, and for once Kate didn’t mind that Miss Goody Two-Shoes Fanny was barking at her with her ‘making-fun-of-you’ bark. A shower, dinner, and treats—and, most of all, an evening with her loves—sounded like a good way to end the day.