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under 8 原文

under cover of darknessbrightly_brightly

Chapter 8: quarantine

Summary:

quarantine
Reese gets traumatized by the sex
ball gags
minor exhibitionism but not really
failed attempts to have silent sex
Finch scolds them


Notes:

i know Schneebein is not an Albanian name. sadly i do not know Albanian. it means "snow leg" in German, which i speak (not excellently but enough to make up last names and words which i convince myself are legitimate).


Chapter Text

Root gets sent on assignment to Cairo. It's just shy of two weeks and it's boring and sweaty and she gets awkward patches of sunburn.

"What's Sameen doing?" She asks the Machine. Bad idea. The Machine makes everything Shaw does sound even sexier than usual.

"PRIMARY ASSET SHAW IS BOXING WITH JOHN REESE. PRIMARY ASSET SHAW IS EATING A BURRITO... AND SPILLING ITS CONTENTS ON YOUR COUCH. PRIMARY ASSET SHAW IS BUYING CONDOMS. PRIMARY ASSET SHAW IS COMMITTING VOTER FRAUD. PIMARY ASSET SHAW IS LOOKING FOR HER PHONE CHARGER. AGAIN. IF ANALOGUE INTERFACE WOULD LET ME HAVE ACCESS TO **ALL** THE ROOMS OF THE APARTMENT, I AM SURE I COULD ASSIST."

Shaw goes clubbing every night and sends Root tantalizing pictures. The little black dress she had to get for some number makes a... cleavage-accentuating appearance.

"I can't wait to fuck you silly," Root texts.

"thumbs up emoji" Shaw texts back (because she's less eloquent over text, and is inherently mistrustful of technology now. With good reason).

"HOW DOES ONE ACCOMPLISH 'SILLINESS' VIA INTERCOURSE?" the Machine queries Root.

 

The Thursday before the Sunday Root is due home, Shaw has a lot of pent up, fidgety energy, so she goes on a morning donut run.

It's less about running and more about the donuts coming out of the fryer at 5:54 and Shaw getting to the shop at 6:00 to buy a dozen of them (to share, ok, Bear can have one, and Finch and Reese can... share one).

Shaw is on her way around the corner, only a few yards from the sacred temple of donuts, when she is jerked violently into an alleyway by the back of her coat.

She spins around, breaking her attacker's grip but then-

there's that arrogant smirk, saying,

“What, no kiss hello?”

Root, toting a large purse, steps from nowhere into her personal space and puffs a hot breath onto Shaw's freezing nose.

Shaw gapes, just a little.

“Naughty assassin,” Root says, tapping said nose firmly with two leather-gloved fingers.

Shaw catches Root by the wrist easily. New leather gloves, fitted, very sexy, already a powder singe on one thumb. Careless nerdling.

Then, Shaw catches Root's eye. Root holds her gaze as she grips her wrist.

They have themselves a little stare-down. The staredown says “at this juncture in our relationship, I expect a kiss hello” and “so don’t smack my nose like that” and “if you ever want me to smack you anywhere again you’ll stop acting like you’re bummed out to see me” and “you were gone for eleven days” and “well you spent six of them kicking ass” and “but i wanted you” and “you have me now” and at some point the staring evolves into actual words and Shaw tells Root she owes her steak and scotch.

“And eleven orgasms.” Shaw adds. “I had to make my own while you were gone and now I want the good stuff.”

Root doting-smiles at her and hands her a small black box, about the size of a shoebox. It’s heavy-ish but it makes no sound when Shaw shakes it.

She waltzes off, calling back, “open that somewhere less public and familiarize yourself. We’re breaking it in tonight.”

Shaw ignores her, strolls back down the alley, behind a dumpster, and wrestles open her present.

It's a double ended dildo. One of those L-shaped ones, that you can use as a strap-on, without a harness, allegedly. It's blue and is made of the kind of material that's supposed to feel like skin.

"Mmm, it'll never work," Shaw mutters to herself, doing the math in her head. For one thing, Root's too tall for them to use it standing up and for another... well, there's no way in hell it would stay in place with all their vigorous thrusting and sexual gymnastics.

Shaw shrugs, tucks the box under her arm and heads for the donuts. She's willing to try it, if only to prove her knowledge of applied physics still surpasses Root's.

Shaw leaves the donuts on the ammo table, where a hungry looking Reese descends upon the half empty box without even playing it cool. She shoves the other box into her duffel, she has a busy day ahead of her, after all, and wouldn't want to accidentally leave it at the subway.

It's one of those days that feels like it will never end. There's a bit of industrial stalking (for which Root conveniently turns up in another one of her sultry scientist outfits and makes eyes at Shaw through a pair of sexy librarian glasses for an hour).

Shaw walks by Root's desk while their mark is in the bathroom. She leans down and whispers, "thanks for the present, can't wait to use it on you later"

Root makes a noise like a hiccup and can't respond because the number comes back. hah, Shaw grins.

Unfortunately, the day ends with a stand-off in the lab, the number threatening to expose them all to some kind of virus or other, blah blah blah, Shaw's not really taking notes, because there are donuts left in the station and the toy and she hasn't eaten all day---

and, yep, the asshole splashes some kind of liquid on them- her, Root, and Reese (who stormed in all guns ablazing when things took a turn for the psychotic).

Shaw kneecaps the guy- both knees, he earned it- and shove Root under the nearest emergency shower. There are only two in the lab. Reese ducks under the other one. She and Root frantically rinse and strip at the same time.

When Shaw pulls the shower cord, the alarm over the door immediately sounds and the door thuds shut of its own accord. Shaw swears she can hear it locking.

"fuck, fuck! shit!" She snaps because whatever that stuff was it burns like hell.

Root grits her teeth, like she always does when something hurts, afraid that the tiniest sound out of her mouth will constitute a surrender. Shaw brushes her palms up and down Root's arms, like Root does to her sometimes, to comfort without crowding. Root's makeup melts down her face and she shivers.

Poor baby, Shaw finds herself thinking, even though Root is being typically stoic and not even looking at her. Not even trying to lean into her for warmth, even though the water is icy and her lips are bluish.

Shaw jerks the shower cord again when the water starts to slow down. They shiver together and listen to John hiss at the cold in his shower. Her and Root's clothes are on the floor in a sad, saturated puddle and the number is yelling something in ... Serbian?

"Albanian." Root mutters, wincing.

"The serum hasn't caused any visible discolouration on your skin." Shaw says, "I'm guessing we probably didn't absorb too much, if any, of it."

"Well, that's a mercy."

After five more minutes of decontamination showering, the three of them awkwardly squelch around the lab looking for spare clothes.

They find some olive green scrubs. John's are too small. Root's are a little too big in the shoulders. Shaw's ... well, she has to roll up the sleeves and the legs. A lot. And hold the waistband of the pants up with one hand.

Root bites her lip and looks half amused and half turned on at the sight of Shaw struggling to hold her scrubs up as she shuffles around. John smirks but doesn't say anything. Shaw socks him anyway.

The number, fortunately, has passed out.

Shaw groans and patches him up with the lab first aid kit. She gives his face a generous helping of duct tape, and zipties him up. Root stares at her. So she drags him under one of the showers and pulls the cord, smirking when he squeals under the blast of cold water.

"We're going to have to quarantine ourselves" Root says, kicking the now empty serum beaker into a safe and locking it.

Shaw sighs, but she knows it's true. The virus was highly transmittable. Allegedly.

"I'm guessing 72 hours," John says.

"48 should be sufficient, Mr. Reese," Finch chimes in. For the first time in an hour.

"Thank god this room has a bathroom," Root says.

Shaw scowls.

"I'm hungry. And I left my donuts at the station."

"I know, Miss Shaw, but it's only two days. Your lab is already in lock-down, it's building security protocol. I have tapped into the security mainframe so it appears Dr. Schneebein simply doused himself in the compound. I can have facilities put some supplies in the air locked dumb waiter, but only once---"

"pizza," Shaw interrupts, "and bourbon and blankets and bigger pants for Reese. I don't need to see his secret weapon any more."

"I might not be able to procure bourbon--"

"I might accidentally shoot Dr. Schneebein in the head. Or let Root at him with a scalpel."

Root perks up, her eyes suddenly brighter and face just a tad pinker. She loves a good scalpeling. Really puts her in the mood for... other fun things.

Finch backs down and they ask for a few more basics, like enough food for two days, toothbrushes and toothpaste and socks.

It takes three hours, so it's around seven at night when the air lock finally hisses and John pulls the plastic bin with their supplies into the lab.

Shaw eats half a pizza, downs a quarter of a beaker of bourbon, and falls asleep on one of the surgical steel counters.

John and Root eat the other half of the pizza- and fortunately, Harold sent them three- and hang their clothes up to dry while Shaw naps.

Root wakes her up hours later. John has fallen asleep wrapped in a blanket on another counter.

The lab lights are off- there's just computer screens and the low lights in the beaker cases illuminating the room now.

Shaw blinks awake to Root poking her on the shoulder, face way too close.

She sits up, groggy but less grumpy. "Time is it?"

"Midnight," Root whispers. "missed you" she adds, softer.

Shaw slides off the counter and wraps herself in her blanket. She doesn't need to ask to know what Root wants.

They wander over to the far end of the lab, where Root has a pillow, a blanket, and a yoga mat on the floor. Shaw sinks down next to the yoga mat, and soon she's spooning Root, and using half her pillow.

Root shivers a lot. So much so that Shaw can't fall asleep. The floor is cold as fuck after all- and it feels like there's an air vent piping air conditioning on them nearby.

"ok," Shaw whispers, "we need to move"

Root turns to face her, teeth locked from the cold, and simply nods.

They collect the meager excuse for a bed and make their way back to the warmer end of the lab, where they ignore the fact that John is sleeping and shove two desks together.

"sleep on top or fort underneath?" Root hovers with an armful of bedding.

"on top"

"a rare choice for you, Shaw."

"shuttup or we will never use that present you got me."

Root shuts up, but Shaw still can't sleep. There's something about having to cling to each other for warmth- and, ok, maybe a little bit for comfort- that feels good, soothing, despite the shitshow of a day they've had.

Shaw reaches down the leg of Root's baggy scrubs and strokes Root's warm thigh, the smooth skin under her fingertips feels like home. She drinks in the sleepy softness of Root, the smell of her hair, the steady sureness of her breaths. Maybe her hand wanders up past Root's thigh a little bit. Maybe it gets itself into a dangerous place and she suddenly feels Root's whole body twitch.

"oh, Shawwww," Root breathes.

"Still cold?"

"Getting warmer."

"Maybe I could heat you up a little bit.

"Sweetie! You wanna light my fire?"

If Shaw hears what sounds like a snort from where John is sleeping, she promptly erases it from her mind. She can totally get Root off, as long as Root stays silent... which, knowing Root, might not actually happen.

She shoves one arm under Root's head so her hand, at an awkward and painful angle, floats in front of Root's face.

Shaw would never put her hand over Root's mouth, not without permission, not during sex. Being silenced really, really upsets Root and Shaw knows that. But still, hackers gotta keep quiet if they want an orgasm.

"I need you to be quiet if you want to come. So, can you bite on my hand?"

Root nods and wraps her mouth around the soft flesh at the juncture between Shaw's thumb and index finger.

Shaw uses her other hand to finger Root, who snuffles through her nose and bites really, really hard on Shaw. The biting is white hot, but the feel of Root, soft and wet and so desperate against her other hand more than makes up for it.

Somebody moans, somebody else hisses, somebody's pussy makes loud wet noises as it gets vigorously fingered by somebody else, somebody smacks their hand down on the desktop-bed as they come.

Somebody on Reese's side of the room clears their throat.

But it's definitely Root who giggles. And who sucks Shaw's hand clean. Loudly.

The next morning there's an awkward patching-up with the first aid kit and Shaw has yet anoth set of Root-teeth-marks to add to her collection.

Reese refuses to make eye contact with either of them for the duration of the quarantine.

When Schneebein is packed off to Interpol and they're all cleared to go because it turns out the contaminate was total bullshit anyway, Harold makes them come back to the subway.

Reese gets to leave with the promise of a weekend off.

Shaw and Root get a stern scolding about having sex on missions with Reese RIGHT THERE and their comms still on and a dangerous spy a mere ten feet away.

Root pretends to be repentant and it feels utterly sarcastic.

"I promise you, Harold, when we get home, Shaw will be soundly punished for breaching protocol like that--"

Shaw squawks in protest-

"No, Sameen," Root cuts her off, "you were the one who got handsy and you're the one who will be handcuffed to the headboard tonight as punishment. For hours... and hours..."

Root smiles her dirty secretive smile.

"Oh, yes, right. I'm very remorseful Finch, but we have to go now, also what kind of perv listens to me fingerbang Root over the comms without even saying anything, we were doing it for like half an hour"

Finch has nothing to say so Shaw lets Root drag her home for a good handcuffing.

The physically impossible dildo gets shoved into the drawer of an end table and forgotten because Root decides she needs to "make Shaw think about things" by using her mouth on her.

For three hours, on and off, give or take (Root gives, Shaw takes).

"I went into that lab fine, and I came out with a bad case something," Shaw gripes as Root pulls her back from the edge for what must be the ninth time that night.

"With what?" Root frets.

"You."

"That was cliche, Shaw."

Root squeezes Shaw's jaw open and pops a ball gag into her mouth, "now you'll need to earn back your talking privileges."

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