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Going to the Chapel

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They were finishing the last of the take out when Natasha finally brought the subject up, in her usual nonchalant manner.

Clint was surprised, to say the least, which amused her to no end. He was usually so attuned to her that it was rare for her to catch him off guard like this.

"Married?" he snorted after he'd recovered from nearly choking on a wonton. "Us?"

"It's not beyond the realm of possibility," Natasha argued, shrugging casually and giving absolutely nothing away. "Most of our friends and colleagues assume we're secretly married anyway."

He raised a brow at that. "You think?"

She shot him a look that clearly telegraphed how clueless she thought he was. "Tell me Stark hasn't asked you a thousand leading questions hoping you'll slip up and say something about our relationship."

Clint didn't disagree. "He's not exactly subtle about it. But that's not the same as thinking we're married. Or the same as actually getting married."

"No, it isn't, but that still doesn't answer my question. What do you say? Will you marry me?" she asked.

"No pretty words or flowers or declarations of undying love?" he asked with a small smile.

"Would any of those mean more to you than everything we've already been through together?"

"Probably not." He was quiet for a moment, just looking at her, and she had to quell the urge to squirm in her seat. "So, where's my ring?"

"Is that a yes?" she asked, her expression brightening.

He flashed her a brilliant smile. "Yeah, it is. On one condition."

Natasha looked puzzled. “Condition?”

Clint reached out and took her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. “I don’t want to elope in secret. I want a wedding, all the usual trappings. We’re going to be husband and wife and I don’t care who knows about it.” He gave her a sly grin. “And I really want to see you in a wedding dress.”

“Okay,” she said with a laugh and a fond roll of her eyes. "We're getting married."

"Yep. Where do we do it?" Clint asked. "A church? Doesn't seem much like us."

"No, it needs to be someplace more personal." She paused, thinking about it, then looked up at him with a huge grin. "Budapest. We get married in Budapest."

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Several days later, however, after they'd looked into what a small but somewhat traditional wedding would entail, they realized they were way out of their element. They were a spy and an assassin and had each grown up in the most untraditional ways. Aside from the occasional mission-required infiltration, what did they know about weddings? That's when Natasha decided they needed to call in some backup.

"Flowers, food, invitations… there are too many factors to consider. Plus, when do we even have the time to plan all this?" Natasha asked in exasperation, throwing the latest copy of Brides Magazine onto the growing collection of wedding publications strewn across their coffee table. "We need someone to help us."

"Like who? You really think any of our friends know much more about weddings than we do?" Clint asked, idly flipping through the pages of Martha Stewart Weddings.

Natasha shook her head. "Probably not, but there's got to be someone we know who is organized and has an idea of how these things work."

"Hey! We're organized," Clint protested, dropping the magazine onto the pile. "At least when it comes to missions. So why can't we look at it like a mission?"

Natasha was doubtful. "It's more complicated than that. Do you even know what kind of flowers we're supposed to have? Or how to word the invitations?"

"No." Clint sighed. "Maybe you're right and we should just hand it all over to someone else to plan."

"The problem is who," Natasha said glumly, sinking down onto the couch next to him. He pulled her in against his chest.

"Pepper might be able to help," Clint ventured uncertainly.

"Pepper's busy running Stark's empire and barely has time to plan a luncheon," Natasha mumbled into his shirt.

Clint gently rubbed her back. "Steve?"

Natasha sat up at that and laughed. "While I'm sure he's dying to be your best man, no."

Clint look startled. "Shit! I need a best man?"

"I think with the size of the wedding we're having it would be all right to skip attendants," Natasha assured him, leaning up to plant a kiss on his jaw. "But I'm not even sure about that, which is why we need help."

Clint dipped his head and gave her a soft kiss on the lips, which led to another, which led to several heated kisses before they finally pulled apart.

"Ok, so back to this organizer thing," he said reluctantly. "Who do we ask? Who do we know that could pull off something like this? Hill's an organizational whiz, but I don't think weddings are quite her thing either."

Natasha agreed.

"We need someone who isn't afraid to think outside the box and is used to managing difficult people." She thought about it for a few minutes, then smiled up at Clint. "I think I know just the person."

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Darcy had never planned a wedding before, but she'd read more than her fair share of celebrity wedding exposes and seen a lot of weddings on TV. Plus, she'd wrangled Jane and Eric plenty in the past few years, and they weren't exactly the most cooperative people on the planet on the best of days. She figured handling a wedding where everyone was enthusiastically on board couldn't be that hard to pull off.

And if it was? Well, that's what coffee was for, she thought as she took a sip from the steaming cup Natasha had handed her a minute ago.

She pulled out her StarkPad and set it on the tiny cafe table. "So, like, what kinds of things are you going to need?"

Natasha tapped a finger against her chin while she thought about it. "Everything. To start, the venue should be something small and intimate, just big enough for us and our closest friends."

"Got it," Darcy said, taking another sip of her latte and entering some notes into the tablet one-handed. "Any particular flowers or music you want?"

Natasha took a sip of tea. "We want everything as traditional as possible." Darcy had barely opened her mouth to ask how on earth that would even be possible when Natasha grinned and quickly added, "Well, as traditional as possible considering we're Avengers and not at all traditional ourselves. What do you suggest?"

Darcy closed her mouth and thought about it a bit.

"Roses and Mendelssohn," she finally said. "What about bridesmaids and groomsmen? I know a smoking hot brunette who would make an awesome Maid of Honor."

Natasha's lips quirked up slightly. "While I appreciate the offer, we were hoping everything would be small enough that we wouldn't need attendants."

Darcy nodded, totally understanding. "So no attendants. What about wardrobe? Do you need any help with a dress or a veil? Will Barton need to be bullied into tux fittings?"

"No, I've already got my gown. And Clint's covered, too."

"Or uncovered," Darcy muttered under her breath, before shooting a worried glance at Natasha. Considering they'd asked her for wedding help, she figured she was pretty safe, but this was the Black Widow and who knew how well she'd take a joke?

"That too," she laughed, and Darcy had about one second to feel relieved before Natasha hit her with a final wedding detail. "Did I mention we're doing this in Budapest?"

Darcy blanched and carefully set her latte on the table. "Uh, no. I think you left that part out."

"We're doing it in Budapest," Natasha repeated, taking another sip of tea as if she hadn't just dropped a huge bombshell on Darcy. "So you'll need to make arrangements for travel and everything else that goes with that."

"Yeah, of course. No problem," Darcy said while she frantically took notes. She put bold underlines under 'Ask Tony Stark about using a company jet' and 'Does Stark own any property there?' She picked up her drink and took a big gulp before asking the final question.

"And I assume we're going to go for a red theme here?" Darcy asked. "Based on your hair and, ya know, other things.”

There was a small pause and Darcy wondered once again if she'd gone too far. She was relieved when a slow, wide smile spread across Natasha's face.

"No. Not red. Purple."

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Clint walked into Tony's lab with more than just a little trepidation, considering the reason he was there. The room was overly warm and Clint caught the vague scent of smoke and burnt hair. He checked to make sure Tony wasn’t actively smoldering before he spoke.

"Stark."

Tony didn't even look up from his worktable, his focus on a cluster of tiny bits of circuitry. "Katniss."

"What do you know about metals?" Clint asked casually, as he took a cautious seat on one of the stools near where Stark was working. He didn’t want to get too close, you never knew what might happen when Tony was tinkering.

"I know a lot about metals," Tony said, still intent on whatever the project before him was. "Depends on what you need the metal for. Bullets? Protective gear? Arrows?"

Clint took a deep breath, settling his nerves. It was now or never. "Rings."

Tony looked up and frowned at him for a moment, then his eyebrows shot way up. The thing he'd been fiddling with fell to the workbench with a muffled clang.

"Rings? You're looking for rings? Like jewelry rings? Plural?"

"Yeah."

"Oh ho! Are you and Anastasia finally getting hitched?" he crowed.

Clint sighed. "Yes."

Tony came over and clapped Clint on the back. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Clint said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He was thrilled to be marrying Natasha and trusted Stark with his life; that was one of the reasons he'd come to him about the rings. But talking about this kind of thing just wasn't something he was used to.

"So when's the big day? Is there going to be a big church to do?" Tony asked. Then he shook his head. "No, you two aren't the church type. City Hall? Vegas?"

"Destination wedding," Clint answered. "Not Las Vegas. Nat's securing a planner to help us figure out the logistics." He paused then added, "You and Pepper are on the invite list."

Tony nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

"So. Rings? Could you make us some?"

"I could, but if you want truly spectacular rings, I can introduce you to my jeweler down on Fifth. He does the most amazing work. Last Christmas, he made this gorgeous platinum and sapphire set for Pepper that -"

"No," Clint said, cutting him off. "We need something that won't be a liability out in the field. Something more durable than what your average jeweler can make. And for fuck’s sake, nothing too shiny. We're looking for simple.”

"And you came to me?" Tony asked, clearly equal parts confused and pleased.

"You are the best. Genius, etcetera," Clint said. "Can you do it?"

The words held just enough of a challenge to stop Tony in his tracks. He stopped talking immediately and Clint could practically see the gears turning in his head.

"Adamantium!" he finally declared, snapping his fingers.

Clint nodded thoughtfully. "That might work. Can they be inscribed?"

Tony considered it for a moment. Clint saw his semi-evil genius mode kick in. "I don't know. But it will be fun finding out."

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Stark's jet was full of all their teammates and friends, with the exception of Thor and Jane, who would be flying in from London. Darcy had arranged for hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Everyone was relaxed and the conversation was flowing as freely as the wine and liquor.

Which was why Clint saw nothing wrong with approaching Natasha at the drinks cart to see if she'd be interested in escaping the crowd for a while.

"So, what do you say, think we can sneak out of here for a bit and join the mile high club?" Clint asked, his voice low and seductive. He ran his fingers along the inside of Natasha’s wrist, sending a frisson of pleasure through her.

Natasha laughed. "Just how often can we join that club? Aren't we already platinum members?"

Clint leaned in and nuzzled her neck. "Quickies on the quinjet don't count."

"What about the not-so-quickies? I seem to recall the flight from Australia that one time…" She trailed off as Clint sucked and then nipped at her neck. "I hope you didn't leave a hickey for our wedding photos."

"That's what you get for reminding me of Australia. God, that was -"

"Hotter than anything you'd ever experienced before?" she teased.

"Yeah, something like that," he said with a lecherous grin.

"Where would we even go on a plane this size?" she asked, leaning into him as she warmed up to the idea.

Clint slid his hand down her side to her waist, fingers inching beneath her t-shirt. "There's a bedroom, right?"

Natasha made a face. "Tony's personal one."

"Yeah, no way. Bathroom?"

She nodded. "Near the bedroom, off the main cabin."

Clint waggled his eyebrows at her. "We've gotten creative in tighter spaces. What do you say? Wanna get creative again?”

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"Holy crap, Natasha!" Darcy exclaimed as soon as she walked into the room where Nat was getting dressed for the ceremony.

Natasha turned away from the full length mirror in front of her to look over her shoulder at Darcy. "Good or bad?"

Darcy gulped. "Uh, good. Like, really, really good. I've been staring at your dress on the hanger for two days now, utterly amazed at how prim and proper it was and now… Wow."

"Perfect," Natasha said with a big smile. She took a small spray of flowers from Darcy's hand and tucked a couple of the smaller blooms into the curls of her updo. "That's exactly the reaction I want Clint to have."

"Oh, you'll get it," Darcy said smugly. "The man's going to stroke out as soon as he sees it."

"I hope not. I have big plans for our wedding night."

Darcy came over and reached up to adjust one of the flowers.

"Are you nervous?" she asked Natasha.

"About marrying Clint?" Natasha asked.

Darcy nodded.

If possible, Natasha's smile got even bigger. "No, not one iota."

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"Wait until you get a load of Natasha's dress," Darcy said.

"Is it a knockout?" Clint asked, already expecting the answer to be yes. Nat always wore knockout dresses; it was as predictable as him wanting to peel them off her all the time.

"Um…"

He looked up from where he was fixing his cufflinks. "Darcy?"

She bit her lip, not quite sure how to best answer him. "I'm not sure ‘knockout’ covers it."

He looked at her conflicted expression and didn't know whether to laugh or not. "Care to elaborate?"

"Let's just say I think you'll be pleased," she finally said. She held up a florist's rose. "C'mere. I have strict instructions to make sure you wear this and don’t rip it off within minutes."

He grumbled, but obediently stood still as Darcy fixed the bright purple flower above his vest pocket.

"You know, you're awfully calm for someone getting married in a few minutes."

He shrugged. "It's Natasha."

Darcy shook her head and smiled.

"She said exactly the same thing. Well, not exactly, but you know what I mean. It's adorable." She made one last adjustment to the flower then stepped back. "There, you're all done. You ready to do this thing?"

He grinned. "More than ready."

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He couldn't stop staring at her. All throughout the short ceremony and the well wishing from friends, he kept an eye on Natasha, who had truly outdone herself this evening. The front of her dress was high-necked and demure, but the back… the back was making him regret agreeing to a formal, post-ceremony dinner.

He told her so when they finally got a moment alone.

"Jesus, Tasha, that dress."

She beamed. "You like?"

He swallowed. "’Like’ is not exactly the word I'd use."

"What word would you use?"

"I wouldn't use words at all," he answered, reaching out and ghosting his calloused fingers across the bare skin of her back. She shivered at his touch.

His fingers slid lower, toward the edge of the dress, and she let out a small laugh. "I think we're supposed to save that until after the dinner and dancing."

"What if I don't want to?" he asked huskily, leading her out onto the dance floor. He lifted her hand in one of his and snaked his other around her waist as he led her into a traditional waltz. A few steps in, he spun her around and dipped her while Tony and Steve shouted encouragement.

She grinned as he pulled her back up. "Those are some fancy moves."

"You ain't seen nothin’ yet," he said, spinning her again and leading her into a series of intricate steps that would have put Astaire and Rogers to shame.

When he was done, he pulled her in very close. His fingers ran down her back again, going even lower this time to dip beneath the very edge of her dress. Natasha puffed out a small breath against his neck.

"After," she whispered.

"Why?" he whispered back, fingers stroking along her skin some more. "It's our wedding. Can't we leave whenever we want?"

She chuckled and stole a quick glance over his shoulder. All of their friends were dancing and talking and having a good time. They'd probably never be missed if they decided to duck out now.

She reached up then and pulled his mouth down to hers so she could kiss him, slow and deep. Licking her already wet lips, she looked up at him, her desire clear. "You know, I think you're right. We should definitely leave now."

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They barely made it into the elevator that would take them to the exclusive upper floor of the hotel before he was pressing her up against the wall and kissing her again.

"Remind me tomorrow to tell Darcy she did a fabulous job," Natasha said as Clint's lips trailed across her throat.

"Tomorrow?" he growled, nipping at her neck and making her gasp. "Who said I was letting you leave our hotel room tomorrow? Or even the next day?"

"Is that a fact?"

"Hell yes," he said. "I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I can barely wait to peel you out of this thing." He flicked a finger at the lacy cuff of her sleeve. "Once I get you naked, you're not getting dressed again for a while."

Her only response was a delighted laugh as she tugged his head down and captured his mouth with hers. She slid her tongue against his and they lost themselves in the kiss.

A few floors later, the elevator dinged to announce their arrival. Somehow, they managed to get themselves out of the elevator and down the short length of hallway while still kissing. Clint had her pressed up against the door to their room, one hand buried in her hair, tilting her head so he could kiss her thoroughly. His other hand had slipped down her dress at the small of her back again, caressing the soft skin underneath. As he slid his hand even further toward the curve of her ass, he encountered lace. He pulled away from her mouth.

“Please tell me you bought new lingerie,” he said hopefully as he fingered the lace.

Natasha just smiled coyly at him. “Get us inside the room and I’ll let you see.”

Before she could react, Clint had his arms wrapped around her hips and had lifted her off the floor. She laughed as she fumbled the key card out of his breast pocket and somehow managed to insert it in the slot to get the door open. Once inside, Clint set her down near the windows overlooking the city, but didn’t let her out of the circle of his arms. He mouthed at the side of her neck as his hand slipped back inside her dress.

“Did… oh, god, that feels good… did you just carry me across the threshold?” Natasha asked with a moan.

“Well, Mrs. Barton,” he said between nips along her jawline, “we did say we wanted traditional. And I aim to please.”

She tilted her head more to the side to give him better access. "You certainly do."

"So… lingerie?" he prompted, fingers snagging the scrap of lace and tugging.

"Oh, you want to see it now?" she teased.

He moved back up to her mouth to give her a bruising kiss. "Yes."

Stepping away and turning her back to him, she lifted her arms and slipped the three pearl buttons at the nape of her neck from their loops, sending the narrow strip of lace at her back cascading to the floor. Then she slowly peeled the sleeves down her arms, holding the bodice up against her chest for a moment before letting the lacy gown fall from her hips to pool at her feet.

"Fuck," Clint breathed, taking in the pale silver of her flimsy lingerie, her ridiculously girly garter belt, and the expanse of pale, naked skin on display.

"You like?" she asked over her shoulder with a grin.

"Fuck, yes, I like it. I can't believe I waited this long," Clint said tracing his finger lightly down her spine until he reached the lacy garter belt. He ran his hands around her waist and pulled her back against him, kissing her over her shoulder. His teeth worried her bottom lip.

He broke the kiss, turning her around as he took a small step back and groaned helplessly. The bra she wore was specially fashioned so the straps wound around her waist rather than across her back, and there was something so very tantalizing about how it highlighted every curve of her body. Beneath the bra was the garter belt he'd become so fascinated with and a tiny scrap of satin that could barely be considered underwear. Never in a million years would he get over how beautiful she was.

He swallowed hard.

"You look… amazing. I will never ever get enough of you."

"I should hope not," she said with a smile, winding her arms up around his neck and pressing against him. "Because you're stuck with me now, Mr. Romanoff."

He practically growled as he kissed her again.

She lowered her arms and reached down, intent on unclipping the garters holding up her stockings, but he stayed her with a hand over hers.

"Don't," he ordered huskily.

She raised a brow in question and he shrugged. "I'm not quite sure I want you completely unwrapped yet. And when I do finally get you unwrapped, I wanna be the one doing it."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer and slowly kissing his way down her neck. When he got to the top of her ridiculous, barely-there bra, he scraped his stubbled chin against the upper swell of her breast, leaving faint pink marks which he soothed with more kisses.

"Oh god, you do know how to turn a woman on," Natasha breathed as she carded her fingers through his short hair.

He chuckled, then moved lower to suck a nipple into his mouth through the lace. When it was hard and pebbled, he blew a hot breath across the wet fabric, making her shiver. Then he dropped to his knees, kissing his way down to her stomach, his lips and tongue lavishing attention on the dip of her bellybutton before going even lower to mouth at her through the flimsy underwear. She shuddered with pleasure and her moan was music to his ears.

Sliding his hands up her stocking clad legs, he waited until he got to bare skin then inched his fingers up her hips. He hooked his thumbs beneath the tiny strings holding together the thong she wore and very slowly slid the lace and satin down her legs. Once he helped her step out of it, he kissed his way back up her leg until he reached the apex of her thighs. He cupped her bottom in his hands and pushed his tongue deep between her curls to tease her sex. She was already soaked with arousal, and he breathed in her scent, amazed that he had the power to do this for her, to make her feel this way. His pulse raced and his dick was straining against his pants but he ignored it in favor of focusing on the woman in front of him, his wife. He licked along her sex and groaned at how easily she responded to his touch, moaning his name and gripping his hair with both hands.

"Clint," she breathed, voice tremulous. "I don't know if… Oh… God, yes, right there. Please, more, right there."

Hearing her beg for more encouraged him and he slid a finger inside her wetness, the combination of his mouth and hands making her tremble. He was awed by how easily she responded to him, how passionate and open she was whenever they made love. His lips and tongue and fingers continued to caress her, slowly, deliberately. He added a second finger, then a third and pumped them into her a little harder. It wasn't long before she was shaking with the force of her orgasm, moaning with pleasure and crying out his name. His fingers stroked lightly down the backs of her thighs, holding her steady as she calmed, while he placed gentle kisses along her hip.

"You good?" he asked softly, looking up at her as he rocked back on his heels and palmed his dick through his pants, trying to get some relief. She was stunning, even more beautiful when she was relaxed and sated like this. And he was the lucky bastard she'd chosen to be with.

Breathing deep, she licked her lips and nodded. She loosened her hold on his hair and lightly massaged his scalp, easing the mild hurt her grip had caused.

"Wanna feel even better?"

She nodded again and he grinned before planting a wet kiss against her thigh.

"So I'm guessing it's okay if I unwrap the rest of my wedding present now?" he asked, lifting her foot and placing it on his thigh so he could work at the delicate ankle strap on her sandal.

"You mean me?" she laughed.

He arched a brow as he slipped the sandal off and lifted her other foot. "Is there some other present you got me?"

She smiled down at him. "Nope. Just me."

He made a small satisfied noise and slid the second sandal off before placing another hot, opened mouth kiss against her thigh. Clint couldn’t seem to get enough of the taste of her.

"Turn around," he instructed, "and face the window."

Without hesitation, she turned so that her back was to him, leaning forward slightly, palms against the cool glass. She peered over her shoulder. "Good?"

He stood and kissed the exposed nape of her neck. "You are so fucking beautiful."

As she looked out onto the moonlit city, he reached around and cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs across her nipples. Natasha arched her back and pressed herself into his hands. A long, low moan escaped her as he gently bit at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

"Christ, do you know how much I want you?" he breathed against her skin, pushing his hard erection against her ass. Even through the layers of clothing, he was sure she could feel the heat of his need.

"As much as I want and need you," she said, reaching back with one hand to pull him away from her neck so she could bring his mouths to hers. The kiss was hot and wet and they were both breathing hard when they broke apart.

Desperate to get her completely naked, Clint slid his hands around to her back and worked at the fastening of her bra, unwrapping the straps around her lower back and flinging it to the side when he was done. He rubbed lightly at the marks the straps had left on her skin and Natasha groaned appreciatively.

He then took his time with her stockings, unclipping each one from the belt and rolling them down slowly, his fingers caressing her legs as he moved from her thighs to her knees to her ankles. As he slid each stocking from her foot, he kissed her instep gently, eliciting a soft sigh from her.

Clint momentarily pulled away from her to unfasten his belt and pants. He ran both hands down her back before circling her waist and hugging her to him. She gasped as one calloused hand came up and cupped her breast again, his thumb teasing her over sensitized nipple. With the other hand, he bent her forward, positioned his hard erection at her center, and pushed in from behind.

“Oh, fuck, yes!” she cried.

“You feel so good, Tasha, so good.”

Their eyes met in the window's reflection and the raw emotion between them was palpable. She turned her head to kiss him again and he could practically taste how much she loved him.

"Jesus, Tasha…"

With one hand on her hip to keep her steady, he rocked against her, setting up a nice, smooth rhythm.

She gasped. "God, Clint, that's… Oh!"

She turned back to their reflections in the window, holding his gaze as they moved together, the pleasure building between them. Her hand reached blindly towards the one he had on her hip, and she laced their fingers together, holding on to his hand tightly as he thrust inside her.

He moved his other hand from her breast, slipping it between her legs and finding her swollen clit, lightly pressing a finger against it before rubbing small circles around the nub. She shivered and he grinned against her shoulder.

"That's it," he crooned as her breath came in ever shallower gasps. He increased the pressure against her clit and thrust harder into her. "That's it, Tasha. Come for me, sweetheart."

“Oh, yes!”

He groaned in pleasure as she fluttered and then clenched hard around him. He desperately wanted to spill himself into her but more than that, he wanted this night to be special, he wanted it to last. With a jerk, he pulled out before he could come.

She sagged against the window, catching her breath. "Clint?"

"I just don't want things to end too quickly," he explained gruffly, spinning her around and kissing her roughly. He hooked an arm around her waist and backed them up until his knees hit the bed. She pushed him down, then knelt before him to take off his shoes and socks. He lifted his hips and she obligingly finished pulling off his already unfastened pants and boxers.

"I don't either," she said, smiling wickedly as she ran her hands along his thighs, lightly scraping her nails against his skin. She swiped one long, slow lick along his dick, from base to tip.

He cursed and tried to pull away, but she held his hips down and dipped her head again to suck at the head of his cock before licking his length once more. "I love how you taste; I love how I taste on you.”

"Shit!" He gripped the bedspread tightly, willing himself not to thrust up into her mouth. "You're trying to kill me, aren’t you?"

Laughing, she stood and pushed him back so he was sprawled flat on the bed. "No, but I am going to make you scream my name when you finally come."

She slowly crawled over him, straddled his hips, and took him inside her once more. Clint had his hands on her thighs, lightly stroking her soft skin. Natasha took his hands in hers and laced their fingers together. They held each other’s gaze and neither moved for the longest time, too caught up in the wave of emotion just being with each other like this caused.

"I think I still have too many clothes on," he finally said and broke the moment with a thrust of his hips against her.

"I think you do too," she agreed, her nimble fingers working at the buttons of his shirt and slowly flicking each one open. He licked his lips, but did nothing more than watch as she undressed him. When she was done, she smoothed her hands along the starched white fabric, parting it to reveal the hard, toned muscles beneath. She leaned down and flicked her tongue across his nipple before nipping it gently.

"Help me get this off," he growled, pulling awkwardly at the sleeves for a few seconds before remembering the cufflinks.

She laughed and ordered him to give her his hand. "Here, let me unfasten them."

She carelessly flung them to the floor as soon as they were off. Then she rolled them over so Clint was on top and shoved the shirt from his shoulders, tossing it the way of the cufflinks.

"Much better," she said, running her hands across his shoulders and back, then wrapping her legs tightly around his waist.

He groaned and buried his face against the side of her neck. "I hope you're not expecting a lot of foreplay this time."

She tilted her hips up at him. He sucked in a breath then mouthed at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

"Why? Are you impatient?" she laughed.

"Yeah, you go ahead and laugh, Miss ‘I’ve had two orgasms already,’" he muttered as he started to move inside her, trying to keep his rhythm slow and steady.

"Missus," she corrected with a lusty moan and that was enough to make him lose control, his thrusts coming harder, faster.

"Oh fuck, Clint. I'm so close, but…" She stopped and bit her lip, then slid a hand down between their bodies. Her fingertips brushed briefly against the base of his dick before she slid them higher to finger her clit. He slowed again, trying to give her a chance to find her rhythm, only to have her hook an ankle higher against his back and arch her hips. "Oh, God, don't stop, not now… Please don't stop."

He felt her tighten around him and moments later he lost all ability to hold back and shouted her name as he came.

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When he could move again, Clint rolled off her and tried to catch his breath. “Fuck, you really are going to kill me one of these days.”

Natasha just hummed and curled into his side. She was breathing heavily herself. After a few long moments just lying together, Clint slid out of bed despite Natasha’s protests.

“Don’t move a muscle,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”

It took him longer than she anticipated to come back from whatever he was doing and she propped herself up on an elbow. "Clint? You coming back to bed anytime soon?"

"Yeah," he called back distractedly from the other room in their suite. "Just give me a minute."

When he returned, he was juggling a warm, wet washcloth and a hairbrush in one hand and some bottled water and a covered plate in the other. He handed her the washcloth first, which she accepted gratefully. When she was done cleaning up, she reached for the hairbrush, but he held it back.

"Nuh-uh. We'll get to your hair in a few minutes, but first…" He lifted the lid off the plate, revealing the sweet, shredded pancake that she'd loved so much the last time they'd been in Budapest.

She grinned in delight. "Császármorzsa?"

"Yep. With plum jam instead of raisins, just the way you like it," he said, crawling back onto the bed and relaxing against the headboard. He patted the spot between his legs. "C'mere. Sit."

"You gonna feed me?" she asked with a smile. She turned and settled in front of him, getting comfortable.

"Nope. You're going to feed you while I brush out your hair. I wasn't considered the third best hairdresser in the circus for nothing," he said smugly as he started pulling pins out of her updo.

"Only the third?" He could still hear the teasing in her voice even muffled as it was by pancake.

"Hey, the bearded lady was a genius with hair. And the girl who performed with the horses… her hair went down to her ankles. It was a given that she could do all the fancy hairdos," he said, turning her head and gently tugging the crushed flowers from her hair. He handed them to her. "Hope you weren't planning on keeping these."

She spun the stems between her fingers for a moment then shook her head slightly and tossed the flowers in the same direction as his cufflinks. "I don't need a couple of dead flowers to remind me of today."

"Got some better reminders?" he asked.

"Some much better ones," she said, turning and feeding him a piece of the császármorzsa. He took it and licked off a bit of the jam that stuck to her fingers. "To start with, I got myself a husband."

He grinned. "Yeah, I guess you did."

She turned away from him again and he picked up the brush to start untangling her hair while she ate. Starting at the ends, he gently worked the knots out as he made his way up toward her scalp. Every once in a while she handed back a piece of the pancake and he used the opportunities to bestow quick kisses on her fingers and palm.

When the császármorzsa was finished and her hair was smooth, he tossed the brush to the side and lifted the empty plate away. With a satisfied sigh, she leaned back against him.

"Still with me?" he asked, as he tenderly brushed the hair back from her forehead and threaded his fingers through the silky strands.

"Mmhmm," she sighed, as she closed her eyes.

"Hey," he said, leaning in and gently kissing where her neck met her shoulder. "Don't fall asleep on me."

"Not falling asleep," she said with a smile. "Just enjoying the pampering."

He chuckled and kissed her cheek.

"Sit up and scoot forward," he said, nudging her with his knee.

"Don't wanna," she complained snuggling further back into him.

"Just a little. I promise it will be worth it," he coaxed.

She sighed but did as he asked, and was rewarded when he began to massage her neck and shoulders. His hands felt amazing against her skin and she groaned with approval as she relaxed into his touch.

"Hey," he said a while later, placing tiny kisses along her spine. "You sure you're still with me?"

"Uh huh. But if you're worried..." she said, opening her eyes and turning so that she was kneeling in front of him. There was a wicked gleam in her eye as she looked down at his semi-hard cock. "I can show you how awake I am."

She dipped her head, red curls pooling around his thighs as he felt the warm wetness of her mouth surround him. She took him in as far as she could before lightly sucking. Clint groaned as she pulled off and swirled her tongue around the head of his cock.

"Fuck," he moaned softly. After a few moments of exquisite torture, he tugged gently on her hair. "Hey, not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but come up here."

Smiling, she lifted her head and kissed her way up his chest. "Is there something in particular you’re interested in?"

"Yeah. Come here," he repeated, lifting her onto his lap. Her thighs fell on either side of his and he slipped easily inside her.

She sighed and rested her forehead against his for a moment, before kissing him softly and meeting his eyes.

The slow pace of their lovemaking this time was incredibly intense, every sensation heightened. Natasha couldn’t pull her gaze from Clint’s.

He flexed his hands on her hips before stilling her movements. Natasha went to kiss him again but he stopped her. He reached for her left hand with his and brought it up to his lips, kissing the ring he’d put on her finger just hours before.

“This matters to me,” he whispered. “Being married to you matters.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her chest and she thought her heart just might burst. She blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes and nodded.

“It matters to me too,” she whispered back and pulled their joined hands to her lips to kiss his ring. She brought their hands to her heart and leaned in again to kiss him. It was soft and gentle and conveyed more emotion than she thought possible.

Clint’s hands moved on her hips, urging her to start rocking against him. It was a slow build to climax and when she finally came, the only thing she could do was collapse against him and sigh, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he echoed as his own orgasm overtook him.

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The next morning, they lay propped against the pillows enjoying the excellent breakfast service the hotel had provided. Every once in a while Clint would steal one of the berries off Natasha's plate and she'd retaliate by taking a bite of his pastry. When they were done, they snuggled together to enjoy their coffee and tea.

Natasha was idly playing with the ring on his finger when Clint plucked at the white cotton of her sleeve. "You know, as much as I like seeing you in my shirt, I'm really gonna have to ask for it back."

She playfully bumped her shoulder against his. "You think it's gonna be that easy?"

"Yes." Clint set his coffee cup aside, took her tea mug from her and set that aside, too. "Why are you wearing it anyway?"

She shrugged. "I didn't pack any pajamas and I thought it might be a bit indelicate to open the door to room service while stark naked."

"That was over an hour ago," he grumbled. "And please don’t put ‘stark’ and ‘naked’ in the same sentence ever again."

"I'll try my best but given the messes Tony tends to get himself into, I can't make any promises," she said with a laugh.

He groaned.

"Enough about Stark. C'mon, up," he urged her, throwing the blankets off.

She smirked. "I thought you said we weren't leaving the hotel room all weekend."

He raised a brow, challenging her, as he climbed out of bed. He grabbed her hand and tugged.

"I also said we weren't getting dressed, but look who has a shirt on? Besides, who said we were leaving the suite?" he asked. He pulled her up and led her toward the huge bathroom and it's sunk-in tub. "I just thought it’d be nice to start the day with a relaxing bath."

Her answering grin was one full of pure joy. "I think that's an excellent idea."

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And they lived mostly happily ever after...

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