Clint and Natasha first slept together a long time before they actually slept together. Their first mission as partners was in Norway, and it turned into their being stranded in the middle of nowhere overnight. It wasn't winter, thankfully, but the temperature still dropped into the freezing-your-ass-off range, in Clint's opinion.
"Shit," Natasha muttered. "There's only one sleeping bag."
Clint came over and checked the crate S.H.I.E.L.D. had dropped for them, as if that would make a second sleeping bag materialize out of thin air. Natasha gave him a look that made his balls shrivel up. "Did you think I couldn't count?" she said icily.
"I was just hoping if I looked, too, another one would magically appear," he replied defensively. "We're going to have to share."
"I beg your pardon?"
He sighed. "It's either that or one of us dies of hypothermia. Your choice, Romanoff."
The sleeping bag really wasn't big enough for two people, even if one of them was a petite young woman. She grumbled but shimmied in beside him, though when they zipped it up, she ended up half on top of him.
All in all, it wasn't too uncomfortable, at least from Clint's point of view. The most uncomfortable part was desperately trying to not get a hard on. He didn't think Natasha would appreciate that, and he would probably lose a testicle if it happened.
Morning dawned dreary, and Clint woke up with Natasha's hair in his face and her arm thrown across his chest. He sighed and she woke up, scrambling out of the sleeping bag as fast as humanly possible.
He noticed the faint blush on her cheeks as she radioed in, and he folded the sleeping bag with a grin.
They were waiting for evac in Kinshasa, sleeping on cots in a tiny apartment, and Clint was having a nightmare. The room was humid and hot, and Natasha knew that was keeping her awake just as much as the memories running through her mind on a disturbing loop.
It had been a bad mission. They'd been sent in to investigate a human trafficking ring that was rumored to be supplying subjects for gamma testing, and... it had been bad.
Natasha lay on her cot, listening to him toss and mutter in his sleep until she couldn't take it anymore. Getting up, she padded across the concrete floor to his side. He was just in his boxer-briefs, a sheen of sweat on his skin, and as she watched, he twitched, making a faint noise of distress like a much quieter version of the "No!" he had shouted when the first captive had been shot.
Carefully, she sat on the edge of the cot, nudging him with her hip. As she expected, he jerked awake, fist coming up to fend off an assailant. Natasha deflected the blow and caught his hand in hers, making a soothing sound. "Clint, wake up," she murmured.
His eyes cleared as he came awake, and then his body relaxed when he realized it was her. "Shit," he muttered, scrubbing his other hand over his face.
He nodded, refusing to meet her eyes, and she could see his throat work when he swallowed hard. "I couldn't sleep at all," she said softly, nudging him to move over.
He gave her a puzzled look and tensed a little as she lay down against his side, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Shut up," she said when he opened his mouth to ask what she was doing.
He let out a huff of laughter. "You have such a comforting manner," he said, sliding his arm underneath her shoulders.
"What were you dreaming?" she asked, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
Clint tensed again, and instinctively she cuddled closer to him, tightening her arm around his waist and hooking her leg over his. He was right; she knew she wasn't very good at comforting people, so instead of using words, she tried to tell him with her body that he could trust her and unload all of the emotional baggage from this mission.
Slowly he relaxed against her, and he put his free arm around her waist, his hand hot against her back. It occurred to her that they were both nearly naked (it was too hot to sleep in anything more than her panties and bra), but their embrace didn't feel sexual. It was too hot to lie together like this, but Natasha didn't care. Being close to him was comforting, and she leaned into his body and waited for him to open up.
"I just... I keep thinking about how I should have been faster," he said quietly, his fingers tracing circles on her skin. "If I could have pulled off that first shot faster, we could have taken out all of their shooters and then... then those people wouldn't have died."
Natasha pressed her lips together and sighed against his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Clint," she whispered, but he shook his head.
"I should have been faster."
"You're only human," she said, pushing herself up on her elbow and looking down at him. "So am I. And two humans can't take out that many guys in a split second. We did everything we could. You took down at least ten gunmen. We just... have to accept that we can't work miracles. We can only do so much."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's comforting to the ten year old boy who got shot in the head."
He squeezed his eyes shut suddenly, but that didn't stop tears from escaping, pooling against the bridge of his nose and dropping onto her hand where it rested on the cot. Biting her lip, she reached up and brushed the tears away. "It's not your fault," she repeated gently, stroking his cheek. "We did everything we could."
Shifting on the tiny cot, she arranged them so that she was almost on her back and he was wrapped around her, his head on her shoulder now with his leg slung across hers. "With all the shit I've seen, you'd think this one mission wouldn't affect me so much," he muttered.
Natasha wrapped her arms around him, and they tried to fall asleep, sweating in the heat and listening to the night sounds of Kinshasa on the street below.
Natasha was crying, and that apparently made Clint turn into a mother hen.
She didn't want him to know she was crying. He could tell in how her shoulders were hunched, her body turned away from him as they walked to the residential level in HQ. She pushed into her quarters without a word, and Clint stood in the hall for a second, debating whether he should let her deal with it on her own or if he should butt in and... hug her or something.
Of course, if he were to hug her, he was running the risk of getting punched in the throat, but he couldn't stand to see her this upset. What had gone down with Yelena Belova and Alexei Shostakov had rattled him, and he wasn't even the one with the history with those two.
"Fuck it," he muttered.
Her door was locked, but he knew her entry code. She wasn't in the living room; he found her sitting on the bed, so wracked with sobs that she didn't notice him at all until he knelt in front of her. Her head jerked up, shock written across her tear-stained face, and she shoved at him. "Get out!" she cried, but he caught her hands.
"I'm not leaving, Tasha," he said, and she resisted him for just a second more before letting him pull her into his arms, sitting astride his lap.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. Clint held her close and stroked her hair and whispered soothing nonsense to her, and her tears soaked into the cotton of his t-shirt. She eventually cried herself out and went limp against him, her breath cool against his damp neck.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he murmured, smoothing her hair back from her face.
She shook her head, her fingers fisting in his shirt. "Okay," he said. "If you ever need to, you know where to find me."
Lifting her head, she looked at him and nodded, wiping her face. "Thank you," she whispered.
He could tell she was embarrassed, so he smiled at her and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "Your secret's safe with me."
Her lips quirked a little. "I didn't want you to see me like this," she said. "I don't like... being like this."
Clint immediately read the underlying meaning in her statement. "It doesn't make you weak," he said, cupping her face with both hands, "So don't even think that. What happened today was more than enough to break someone, but it didn't break you. I think you can be excused for crying it out, Tasha."
She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, but didn't say anything. He could tell she was turning his words over in her mind, analyzing them, seeing if what he said would fit into her view of herself.
"I'm tired," she finally said.
"Then let's put you to bed," he replied, helping her stand. "You'll feel better after you sleep."
As he got to his feet, she slipped out of her jeans and pulled back the duvet, crawling into bed. Clint started to pull the blanket up, but she caught his hand, looking at him uncertainly. "Please," she said softly, "Don't leave."
His breath caught a little, and he nodded. "Okay," he said for lack of anything better, taking off his own jeans and crawling in beside her.
Natasha turned away from him, so he spooned her, wrapping one arm around her waist and slipping the other under the pillow. It was a long time before she fell asleep, but she finally relaxed against him.
He buried his nose in her sweet-smelling hair and closed his eyes.
She had just dozed off, and she grumbled irritably at him, rolling onto her back and flinging an arm over her face. "What?" she mumbled.
They slept in the same bed nearly every night by then, more for comfort than anything else. When you had a tough job and not too many people you trusted, you tended to hold the people you did trust close. Sleeping beside Clint just made her feel better, because she knew he was always at her back, and she was at his. And he was very warm and a very good cuddler. Those were pluses, too.
He didn't answer her, so she moved her arm to look at him. He was propped up on one elbow, his hair sticking up even more than usual, and he had an unusually serious expression on his face. "What is it?" she said, concerned.
He watched her for a moment, as if trying to anticipate a reaction, his lips pressed together. "I just... need to tell you something," he finally said, fiddling with the edge of the sheet.
Natasha looked at him warily, because in her experience, nothing good starts with "I need to tell you something." She braced herself for "I'm quitting S.H.I.E.L.D. to become a mobile dog groomer" or "I was the one who dropped your favorite gun into the East River."
"I'm in love with you."
She hadn't braced herself nearly enough for that one. Actually, it felt like he had dumped a bucket of ice water on her. She bolted straight upright, staring at him in shock. "I... you... what?" she exclaimed.
His face fell, and he sat up, reaching out for her arm, but she scooted out of his range. "Tasha--" he began, but she cut him off.
"No!" she said, scrambling out of his bed. "No, I can't deal with this."
Her sweatpants and hoodie were tossed over a chair, and she stepped into the pants and shrugged the jacket over her camisole, making for the door as fast as she could. A little part of her knew that she was reacting badly, that she shouldn't have just walked out, but those five words had just rocketed their partnership into completely unexplored territory, and that scared the shit out of her. It had been difficult enough to come to trust him; how was she supposed to deal with... with everything now that he was in love with her?
She ignored the curious looks of the agents she passed, and she didn't stop until she was in her own quarters, door closed and locked and her back against it. God, why had he said that? How could he be in love with her?
A little voice in the back of her head pointed out that she wasn't exactly comfortable with her own identity, which is probably why she couldn't believe that he could love her. If she didn't love herself, she couldn't believe that anyone else would love her, either.
Natasha angrily ignored that voice, sliding down the door to sit on the floor. It just didn't make sense that he would jeopardize their partnership with something as stupid as this. But that little voice in her head was back. How does this jeopardize your partnership? it asked, and she closed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Because it will be a distraction in the field," she whispered.
How would it be a distraction? You already care about him, and you know he cares about you. Would being in love with him be any more of a distraction than what you already feel? Would you do any less to protect him if you weren't in love with him?
Her head dropped down to her knees, and she pushed her hands back through her tangled hair. "Who says I'm in love with him?" she mumbled, and even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew it was a lie.
You know you can trust him. Don't screw this up for yourself, Natasha.
She let out a long sigh. She prided herself on being detached, being the observer, being in control of every situation. The idea of being love was something that meant giving up control, and that terrified her. She couldn't stop him from feeling it, force him to stop loving her, but at the same time, she wouldn't be able to... to keep him safe all the time. Loving him meant running the risk of losing him.
"Oh fuck," she muttered, letting her head fall back against the door with a thump. "I am in love with him."
It took a couple of hours for her to screw up enough courage to go back to his quarters, which embarrassed her intensely. She was Natasha Romanoff. She wasn't afraid of anything. Except maybe telling her partner how she felt about him.
Clint was still in bed, flat on his back in the middle, and he looked up in surprise when she slipped into the bedroom. "Shut up," she said preemptively, shucking her sweatpants and crawling back into bed with him.
He gingerly put an arm around her shoulders as she pressed herself against his side, as if he were afraid this was a trap she was waiting to spring on him. "Tash, I shouldn't have--" he said.
"I said shut up," she repeated, pressing her face against his bare chest. "I love you."
That seemed to shock him into silence, at least for a moment. She listened to his heart race, and she smiled a little, soothed by the knowledge that he was just as nervous about this. "Can I tell you that I love you again," he finally murmured, "Or are you going to yell at me and storm out of the room?"
She poked him in the ribs, which made him yelp and laugh, and then he rolled on top of her. "Hey now," she said, pushing at his chest. "I'm saving myself for marriage, you know."
The look on his face was priceless. "...what?" he said, holding himself up on his arms as if he actually believed her. "Are you serious?"
Natasha snorted and raised her eyebrow at him. "Of course I'm not serious," she said with a faint grin, stroking her hands down his sides. "But I do want to save myself for a day when I'm not physically and emotionally exhausted. I just had to face down a lot of personal demons. You'll have to catch me on a better day."
Clint's smile made her heart do a funny little flip-flop. "I can deal with that," he said softly, shifting to the side and cuddling up against her.
Lifting his chin with a finger, she brushed a kiss against his lips, savoring his sharp intake of breath and the way his hands suddenly clutched at her. "Good night," she whispered.
He responded by kissing the breath out of her before pulling her against his chest, resting his chin on top of her head. This being in love stuff would take some getting used to, she thought as she dozed off. But she thought she might like it.
Of course fate would conspire to keep them so busy that they couldn't... well, act on their newfound love. And Clint really couldn't believe that phrasing had actually popped into his head. Maybe being in love did change a guy, because that sounded like a romance novel or a Lifetime movie, and neither of those were things that he was familiar with or particularly interested in.
What he was interested in was getting Natasha naked and showing her exactly how much he loved her. In many different positions, because he thought that he could show her so much more effectively if he didn't limit his imagination.
And it was going to have to happen soon, because he was getting seriously distracted by daydreams of just how he could express his love. It wasn't particularly convenient, but he had to admit that the look on Fury's face when Clint drifted off during a briefing was pretty hilarious. Clint had been thinking about licking his way down Tasha's flat stomach and settling in to lick somewhere a little more intimate when he realized that everyone, Natasha included, was staring at him.
"Thinking hard about this upcoming mission, Agent Barton?" Fury said, his remaining eyebrow arched in a way that reminded him forcefully of Natasha when she was in one of her no-bullshit moods.
Clint coughed, grateful that his lower half was hidden under the table. "Sorry, sir," he said with a winning smile. "I was just admiring your head. It's very shiny today, sir. Is it freshly waxed?"
Natasha kicked him under the table, but Fury just rolled his eye. "Pay attention, Barton. As I was saying..." he said irritably.
Clint really tried to pay attention. It was just that Natasha was just too distracting.
"Barton and Romanoff will leave at 0600 hours tomorrow to investigate the possible connection between Stark Industries and the Ten Rings organization," Fury said, finally wrapping up the meeting, but unfortunately right in the middle of Clint's fantasy about putting Natasha's ankles on his shoulders and seeing just how flexible she really was. "The rest of you need to prepare your reports ASAP. I want them on Coulson's desk in two hours. Dismissed."
He fell into step beside Natasha as they headed toward the living quarters. "Where the hell was your head, Clint?" she muttered. "I thought Fury was going to strangle you."
He coughed to hide a laugh. "Sorry," he muttered back. "I was just thinking about... things."
Cutting her eyes over at him, she unlocked the door to her quarters. "Things, hm?" she said, giving him a faint smile. "Go pack your bag, Barton. Maybe we can talk about those things a little later. Did you even hear anything about the mission, though?"
"Of course I did," he said, putting on a mock-offended face and repeating the mission highlights back to her. "I am capable of multitasking, you know."
A grin curved the corner of her lush mouth, and Clint's thoughts went south again. "Oh really?" she said, and he had never heard so much innuendo crammed into two words. "Go pack your bag. Then come back here. 0600 will be here before we know it."
He sincerely hoped he had packed all of the clothes he would need, because he really wasn't paying attention to what he was shoving in his duffel bag. He crammed a last handful of underwear in, zipped it up, and dashed out the door. When he passed Coulson in the hall, Clint forced himself to slow down to a leisurely pace, but there was no fooling the senior agent, and Clint actually blushed a little at the knowing (and slightly disapproving) look on Coulson's face.
Natasha was bent over her bag, sorting through something, when he entered her quarters, and Clint came up behind her, pushing his hips against her shapely backside. "You finished packing yet?" he rumbled, sliding his hands around her hips and onto her stomach.
She stood up and pressed back against him, her body arching in his grasp. "I think I can put the rest of it off for a little while," she murmured, turning her head to give him a scorching kiss.
The bag ended up on the floor along with the clothes they had been wearing, and then she was arching up against his mouth, hands fisted in the sheets and her face contorted with pleasure. "Oh fuck!" she cried, shuddering in his grip.
He made her come once on his tongue and was just working her up to a second orgasm when her phone chimed insistently. Natasha let loose a string of curses that would make a nun faint, and Clint collapsed onto his ass on the floor. "Motherfuck," she finished with gusto and reached for the phone. "Romanoff."
Her expression suddenly went neutral, and Clint sighed and reached for his clothes. "Yes, sir," she said after listening for a moment. "No, I'll find Barton. We'll be ready in ten minutes."
Clint raised his eyebrows at her as she ended the call. "Disaster?" he asked.
"Stark's been kidnapped," she answered, and he let out a low whistle. "We're on a flight to Afghanistan in half an hour. This isn't an investigation anymore. Fury wants us to start poking around and see if we can track Stark down."
When they were both dressed again and Natasha was throwing a few last things into her bag, Clint suddenly laughed. She looked at him over her shoulder. "What?" she said.
"We just got cockblocked by Nick Fury," he said with a chuckle, tossing his duffel over his shoulder. "I should have expected that."
She grinned at him and zipped up her own bag. "When we get back from this mission," she said, coming over and sliding her arms around his waist, "I am going to fuck you so long and hard you won't be able to walk for a week."
Clint swallowed hard and kissed her. He really hoped they would find Stark, and fast.
They ended up sleeping on the plane, Natasha's head on his shoulder and his hand on her thigh.
The Afghanistan mission was a bust, but Fury was surprisingly not pissed at them for not finding Stark. Turned out that Stark had managed to rescue himself, so to speak, and Fury's interest was piqued. Their debriefing ended with Fury muttering something about Howard's old files and leaving them staring at the door as he closed it behind himself.
"Wanna make out on Fury's desk?" Clint said, waggling his eyebrows at her.
It was a sign of just how sexually frustrated Natasha was after three months of hiking through the Hindu Kush mountains, peering in caves and looking for a kidnapped billionaire, that she gave the idea some serious thought.
Then she shook her head to clear it of the dirty thoughts that had suddenly proliferated there. "You know he probably has this room bugged," she said with a smirk. "And right now, I just want a shower. Don't give me the puppy dog face, Barton. Why don't you go take a shower, too? You smell terrible."
"I smell like I just spent three months hiking through Afganistan," he retorted. "And so do you, Romanoff."
"Hence the shower," she said, getting up and opening the door. "After you. And I'll meet you in your quarters in an hour."
"You need an hour to take a shower?" he called after her as she walked down the corridor.
She did, as a matter of fact. HQ had a pretty much infinite supply of hot water, and Natasha took full advantage of that. She showered first, washing off the travel grime, and then filled the bathtub (she had battled Facilities to get a tub installed in her quarters, and she had emerged triumphant) with steaming hot water and a little vanilla bath oil. And she soaked until she was sweaty, which meant another shower to wash her hair.
When she finally emerged from the bathroom, she saw that it had been two hours, and she took pity on her poor... partner? That sounded too impersonal for what they were slowly developing. Boyfriend just sounded juvenile, though sometimes that fit Clint pretty well. Lover?
Not yet, but he would be soon enough.
She tugged on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt and pulled her hair into a damp ponytail, and she set out for his quarters.
What she found when she got there was... unexpected, to say the least.
There were rose petals everywhere, and how he had acquired that many rose petals in the last two hours (it was the middle of the night, after all) she had no idea. She could see the flickering glow of candles in the bedroom, and there was some kind of sexy music playing softly.
Natasha couldn't help herself. She giggled.
Clint's head popped around the bedroom door, his expression so perfectly surprised that it made her giggle harder, and Natasha just wasn't the type of woman who normally giggled.
"What's so funny?" he asked, and she stopped laughing immediately.
He was upset, even though he was trying to hide it, and she bit her lip. "Nothing, Clint," she said, putting on a falsely bright voice that he saw through immediately.
"Well, if you don't like it..." he muttered sullenly, disappearing back into the bedroom.
Natasha thought it was definitely time to start damage control. "Hey," she said, tiptoeing through the rose petals into the bedroom. "Clint, wait."
He glared at her over his shoulder for a second before blowing out one of about a dozen candles arranged on his dresser.
"Stop it," she said, taking his arm in her hands. "I like the candles. You just... surprised me."
"You think this is stupid."
Oh boy, she thought. She had a full-blown pouting Clint situation on her hands. "No, I don't think this is stupid," she protested. "It just surprised me, that's all. I didn't expect you to go get rose petals and candles and... I like this music. What is it?"
"I dunno. I just typed ' sexy' into Pandora."
She grinned, and he scowled at her again, but she could tell he was slowly caving. His expression wasn't quite as grumpy, and his frown became more theatrical than genuinely upset.
"You know you didn't have to do all of this," she said, waving a hand at the candles and the rose petal explosion and... oh god, was that a heart-shaped pillow?
He grabbed it and quickly shoved it under the bed.
Natasha bit her lip to keep from smiling. "Um, yeah. You didn't have to do this, Clint," she repeated, reaching out to stroke the back of his hand.
"I just wanted it to be perfect," he mumbled, blushing a little, which just might have been the most adorable thing Natasha had ever seen.
He was so sincere that she couldn't help herself; she leaned in and gave him a long, slow kiss. "It will be perfect," she murmured against his lips. "You know why? Because I will be having amazing sex with you, and I can't think of anything more perfect than that."
One corner of his mouth turned up, and he blushed a little. "...Did you practice that line or something? Because it's really good," he said, smoothing his fingers back over her hair to tug at her ponytail.
"I've been saving it just for you," she said seriously, and he grinned at her.
"Jesus, this was stupid," he said and pushed his hand back through his hair, making it stick up. "I dunno. I was just trying to be romantic."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but take off your fucking pants."
He gave her a mock-scandalized look. "Well! That certainly wasn't in that Cosmo article I read," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Oh god, tell me you didn't really get romance tips from Cosmo."
"Nope," he said with a grin. "I found a Wikihow article."
Natasha hooked her fingers into his belt loops. "Pants. Off."
"Should I leave my shirt and socks on? I think the ladies dig that look."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Get naked, or I'm out of here. I can take care of this myself with a lot less smart-assed chatter, you know."
That threat did the trick. "Hey now," Clint said, stroking his hands up her arms. "Trust me, baby doll, you want me to take care of that for you."
"'Baby doll?'" she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't like that one? Let's see... Hot stuff? Kitten? Sugar lips?"
That one earned him a poke in the chest. "Sugar lips, seriously?" she said.
"I can do this all night, princess," he said with a leer.
"Nice double entendre," she replied, smirking. "If you aren't naked and silent in four seconds, hotshot, I'm going to make a date with my vibrator tonight instead of you."
"Silent? Oh, but you haven't even heard me talk dirty yet, gorgeous," he said, but his shirt came off, exposing the deliciously hard muscles of his chest and stomach.
His pants followed quickly, and Natasha took a moment to savor the sight of him. She only got a moment, though, because then he was all over her, pulling her hair loose of its ponytail, tugging her shirt over her head, struggling to get her pants off without breaking their kiss.
It was definitely better than taking care of business for herself, and Clint hadn't been lying all those times he had bragged about his prowess in bed. She had been very impressed with their first, sadly interrupted attempt, and he didn't disappoint the second time around, either.
He got her off with his fingers first, whispering a steady litany of all the filthy things he was going to do to her right in her ear, his heavy body pressed against hers. Then he slid down between her legs and put his tongue to use, making her come twice more before she had to wriggle out of his grasp, gasping and shuddering. "Too... too much," she panted, a hard shiver wracking her body when he stroked his hands over her thighs.
"Can't handle it, hot sauce?" he teased, and she gave him a mock glare.
"Just give me a second," she moaned, squeezing her thighs together, "And I'll pay you back for that."
He crawled up to kiss her, and she hooked her foot around the back of his thigh, gripping his biceps tight and lulling him into a false sense of complacency before flipping him onto his back. He landed with a grunt, but she had him pinned before he could react. Catching his eye, she slowly slinked down his body, trailing her hands down his chest and stomach to pin his hips against the bed, her mouth tracing a hot path up the inside of his thigh.
"Fuck me upside down," he groaned when her tongue dipped underneath his balls, and her breathy laugh made him shiver. "If this is payback, I'll take it."
"You may regret that," she purred, nuzzling his hipbone. "This is my specialty, you see, making men come apart at the seams."
"Oh god, I'll take that chance."
"I dunno, you might not survive," she said with a purposefully breathy laugh. "I'm really good at this."
"Why don't you let me judge for myself?" he replied with a leer.
Slowly, she worked him up with her lips and tongue and hands, licking and sucking and stroking until he was shuddering, propped up on his elbows so he could get a good view but sagging back down to the mattress. He was gorgeous when he was barely holding onto his cool by a thread, his eyes heavy-lidded and his jaw slack, the muscles of his stomach corded with the effort of holding back.
"Oh fuck, Tasha," he groaned, his hands fisting in the sheets.
She pulled her mouth off of him with an obscene slurp, grinning wickedly. "Hm?" she said. "Was there something you wanted?"
He glared at her as best he could in his current condition. "Please..."
His eyes slammed shut when she grazed her tongue over the head of his cock, his hips jerking up into her grasp. "Please, please, I wanna come in your mouth so bad, baby," he gasped.
Natasha took pity on him and got down to business, stroking and sucking until she could tell he was riding right on the razor edge, his whole body taut and ready to go. "Oh! Oh, slow down, slow down," he moaned, and she eased her pace, holding him deep in her mouth while slowly sliding her hand up and down.
A few more strokes and he was shouting out, his hand slapping flat on the mattress, his cock jerking in her grasp, and she swallowed the sudden flood of come, lapping at him until he was a twitching mess, begging her to stop.
"Can't handle it, hot sauce?" she said with a grin, licking her lips.
Clint collapsed onto the bed, still shivering. "You shut up," he mumbled.
Laughing, she slid up his body, pressing her breasts against his chest. His hands came up, one to the small of her back and the other sinking into her hair, and he kissed her deeply, licking his taste from her tongue. She was already turned on, but that kiss made something tighten deep in her body, and she rubbed herself against him, settling her knees on either side of his hips.
It wasn't long before he was hard again and pushing up against her, and god, she wanted him so much. She had wanted him for ages, long before she had fallen for him, but she was glad she had never given into temptation back then. This was so much better, knowing that he loved her and wanted her just as much as she loved and wanted him.
His cock dipped briefly inside of her, and they both moaned, bodies stilling. "Oh god, need a condom," she whimpered.
Clint rolled her to the side and fumbled in the nightstand drawer, coming back with a foil packet in his hand. Natasha took it from him and ripped it open, rolling the condom onto him before pushing him flat on his back again.
"Oh yes," he rumbled as she straddled him, pinning his hands above his head. "C'mon, beautiful. Show me what you got."
Planting her knees on either side of his hips, she brought his hands up to her breasts, sinking slowly down onto him. His face went slack with pleasure, and she had to fight the urge to close her eyes; she didn't want to miss a single thing.
Natasha had always liked sex, but it had always been an impersonal thing for her. Sometimes a warm body was preferable to a sex toy, but she never really put much feeling into it. She just wanted to get off, so she hadn't paid much attention to how a cock felt inside of her, other than that it was there.
It was so very different with Clint. She tried to focus on everything, every sensation, and she committed it to memory. His hands were warm against her breasts, damp palms dragging against her nipples. His chest rose and fell sharply, his breath quick with desire. His hips were strong underneath hers, his thighs firm against her backside. And his cock... his cock was thick and hard, filling her perfectly, and she could feel the throb of another orgasm beginning to build inside of her, before she had even moved on him.
With a sigh of pleasure, she rolled her hips, rocking against him, bracing her hands on his broad chest. He tugged at her nipples, sending a jolt through her body, and she arched her back with a gasp.
"Natasha," he breathed on a moan. "Wanna feel you come around me."
She gripped his wrists, encouraging him to keep teasing her, and she lost herself in the feel of his body. He felt so good inside of her, so amazingly good, and she squeezed him tight, grinding against the coarse hair at his groin. He felt so good, and she was so in love with him. His blue-green eyes were dark with desire, and his lips curved up into a knowing smile as he pinched her nipples, twisting them just enough to wrench a cry from her throat.
The first spasm of an orgasm rocketed through her, and Clint's hands dropped to her hips, pushing her down on his cock. "Oh yes," he said, his voice rough. "Come for me, Tasha, come hard--"
She cried out his name, bucking and coming harder than she thought she ever had before, her fingernails digging into his forearms. He hissed at the pain and tugged her body down against his chest, suddenly flipping her onto her back.
His arms hooked under her knees, lifting her ankles onto his shoulders, and he bent her double, pushing in deep and making her gasp. "God, I love you," he groaned, kissing her ravenously.
She was pinned underneath him and couldn't do more than grasp at his thighs in this position. She normally hated being pinned in any situation, but this? This was incredible. He was in complete control, and he was focused on bringing her pleasure with single-minded determination. The angle of his thrusts made her see stars, and she threw her head back, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his flanks as she came again, shuddering underneath his body.
When she finally went limp, he moved her legs off of his shoulders to his hips, wrapping his arms around her and pressing himself against her from head to foot. "You're amazing," he murmured, and she sank her hands into his hair, kissing him for all she was worth.
Holding her tight, he fucked her long and hard until he went stiff, his body jerking against hers as he came moaning her name against her lips.
She savored the feel of his body on top of hers, his breath hot and damp as he panted against her neck. "See?" she breathed, stroking his sweaty back and nuzzling his jaw. "Perfect."
Clint pushed himself up on his elbows and smiled at her. "Perfect," he agreed.
They staggered into the bathroom to clean up a little, and then staggered back to the bed where they collapsed and curled up together. Clint was dozing off, his body slung halfway across her and his legs tangled with hers.
"Hey," she murmured, and he stirred, lifting his head to look at her curiously. "I like sleeping with you."
He gave her a warm kiss before snuggling even closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Good," he mumbled in reply. "This is the best sleep you're ever gonna have, babe."
Natasha smiled sleepily at the ceiling.