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Non-Networked Solutions

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"We could try a smash and grab."

"No; We couldn't be sure we'd gotten all the information. If we can get inside, we can download the data, then wipe the system," Natasha suggested, flicking at a folder on the screen.

"Once we’re in, what do you think, we'd need about 15 minutes?"

"More like twenty. The cards have a high transfer rate, but I doubt Mitchell's computer systems are quite as advanced as Stark's."

"I'm flattered, Agent Romanov," Tony said as he walked into the room.

Natasha turned and gave him a look, which Tony completely ignored.

"What're my favorite spies up to this morning?" he asked with a grin, clapping Clint on the back.

"Fury sent over information on a suspected computer terrorist who’s threatened to leak sensitive information from SHIELD's systems. Fury wants us to recover the data and erase his drives," Natasha explained.

"So hack the system. Hell, I can do that from my phone in less than five minutes." Tony gave them his devil-may-care shrug.

Clint rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Yes, thanks, we already thought of that. The system is on a closed network. No lines or signals to the outside world. It's an inside job or no joy."

"That's... trickier." Tony looked like he was contemplating the idea of a non-networked world with something like horror.

"Yep." Clint's hands were shoved in the pockets of his jeans and he looked smug.

"Our guy Mitchell is having a fundraiser tomorrow night," Natasha mentioned casually. "You could probably get an invitation if you applied yourself."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "I'm being set up, aren't I?"

They both just grinned at him. He found it incredibly disturbing.


By five the following afternoon, Tony had secured not just an invitation, but a request to speak at the dinner portion of the evening. He was glad that Pepper was still in Portland at a clean energy conference, because even though it shouldn't be the kind of thing that would end in a firefight, he'd rather not have her anywhere near it.

After a brief discussion, Clint (of all people, Tony couldn't help but think) had suggested Natasha go as Tony's date. He, on the other hand, was going to slip in the back way, after which he would blend in with the rest of the crowd, while Steve monitored everything over the comm system from outside. When Tony had asked why she and Barton didn’t just both slip in, Natasha had responded slowly, as if she were talking to a very small child, that no, Tony sweetie, you weren't only the way in, you were also going to be the distraction. Condescension had never particularly bothered Tony, or at least, he certainly wasn’t going to let on that it did, so he agreed to the plan, happy that he could at least get a few free drinks out of the bargain. Besides, they were letting him do what he did best; he drew stares when he was on an even keel, and if he amped it up, got a little party-playboy on them, he could keep the crowd distracted well into the evening.

So it was that Tony found himself ushered into one of his flashier sports cars by Natasha in the quintessential little black halter dress cut so low in the back he did a double take, and wearing what appeared to be four inch heels along with nude silk stockings. When she climbed in after him he thought he even caught a glimpse of a lace garter ringing her upper thigh. It took most of his willpower and the constant mantra of “she can kill you with her pinky” to keep his eyes on the road for the short trip across town. Barton was a damn lucky man.

They arrived fashionably late, as planned, and Tony marveled at how easily Natasha transformed into the epitome of old money nonchalance when he helped her out of the car. Half the eyes in the room turned to stare at them, at her when they were announced, and when she disappeared from his side to “powder her nose” (read: check in with Barton), he tried not to be disappointed that most of the crowd’s attention waned.

Tony wandered around for a while, mingled with the other guests, sipping at scotch and greeting old acquaintances, and he tried not to worry about what was taking the her so long. He shouldn’t have worried because two minutes after the thought occurred to him, he felt a hand at his arm, and when he turned, Natasha was there with a smile.

"You should dance with me," she said and he was reminded of her as Natalie, flirting with him at his birthday party. When she frowned, he realized he was beginning to scowl and shifted his features back to a pleasant party face.

"That sounds like a plan." It wasn't hard to sweep her into the movement of the slowish song that was being played by the nearby quartet. She leaned in close, and his arms tightened around her with only a hint of reluctance. Talking low and near her ear so no one else would hear, he asked, "Are you sure your boyfriend's ok with this?" He'd meant it as a joke, but her hand tightened to bruising on his shoulder. To his credit, he didn't flinch.

"Her boyfriend isn't threatened by you, Stark," Clint's voice was laced with amusement over the tiny earpiece. "You're a playboy, right? Start acting like it. Right now you look like you're dancing with your sister."

Tony would swear the other man was laughing at him. He supposed that if he was in Clint's shoes, as secure in his relationship with a woman like Natasha as he seemed to be, he might also get a kick out of watching her screw with another guy's head - he certainly liked watching Pepper when she took board members to school and he got to watch. A quick scan around the room showed him Clint standing nonchalantly near the door that led to the rest of the house. He wasn’t facing them directly, but Tony had no doubt he and Natasha were all Barton was paying attention to.

"We should attract some attention," Natasha murmured, and when he looked down at her there was a challenge in her eyes.

All right then. He could play this game. The first hints of adrenaline blazed through his system, similar to how he felt when he took off in the suit and threw his body skyward. He was beginning to see the attraction to their line of work, and he did enjoy putting on a show for people. His hands shifted along her body and as the music's tempo picked up he dipped her in an low arc and then bringing her up firmly against him. Her look was both approving and dangerous, although he would be willing to bet that to someone who didn't know her, she might seem turned on. Subtle differences of expression, he realized, and filed it away for later. They spun and twisted across the floor for awhile, showy but still fit for polite company, and much less likely to seem familial.

"Better," she told him at one point when he brought her in close, and his smile widened. The music trailed to an end, and they separated so they could turn and clap politely for the musicians.


From his place near the wall, Clint kept a close eye on the couple making waves on the dance floor, still amused by how easily he’d managed to throw Tony off balance. Somewhere along the way (pretty quickly, actually) he'd decided he liked the guy, once you got through the layer of bravado and ego he wore just as well as he did the Iron Man suit. For all that Tash had bitched about the billionaire while she was working for him, he'd also managed to gain her respect, which to Clint's mind spoke volumes.

It was kind of nice, actually, to watch the two of them work together. He'd never tell her (because she might not shoot him, but she'd at least kick his ass) but watching her work gave him a certain thrill of possessive pride. Hell, he was just enjoying being able to play out this scenario when he didn’t have to worry about who had their hands all over her. Which Tony actually didn't, because he was a good guy when you got down to it. Usually when they used this scenario, her dates weren’t on their side and genuinely thought they were going to get somewhere. Sometimes they did. And Clint dealt with that, because it was their fucking job, and it was who she was and he knew down to his bones that it was one of the most impersonal things she did. It had taken too long to get her to drop the natural pretenses she wore when they were close for him to worry about her having that level of intimacy with anyone else. Because, simply put, she just didn’t.

Clint dropped his glass on the tray of a passing waiter and stepped away from the wall. Enough contemplation. It was time to get down to business. He adjusted his tie, signaling to Natasha, who nodded over Tony’s shoulder, and then he headed down the hall to wait for his partner to show up with the data cards.


Steve's voice crackled through the earpiece. "What's the status guys? You've got some general party traffic in a nearby hallway."

"Tash, we might have company."

"I heard. We've got three cards so far, and I've got at least six more to go before we can scrub the drives. Unless you want me to start trying to cherry pick it?"

"No, we need all of it. Fury has to know everything this guy might know. Tony, you might want to get drunk," Clint suggested, even as he strode over to the desk where Tasha was bent over the keyboards.

She raised her head to look over her shoulder at him, tilting it slightly to the side in a question, but a smile he could only describe as mischievous was flitting around the edges of her mouth.

"Time for a cover?" she asked, even as his hands were sliding along her hips, his calluses catching ever so slightly on the silk of her dress. One of her hands covered his, urging him to tighten his grip and he obliged, deepening the pressure to just the good side of painful and grinned when her breath hissed out.

"Someone could open the door anytime. We do need a plausible reason to be in here."

"It worked in Tokyo," she agreed, and he smiled wolfishly at the memory. He pulled her back against him so she could feel how hard he was getting at the thought.

"What worked in Tokyo?" asked Steve through the comm.

Natasha threw an amused glance over her shoulder as she answered. “Oh, nothing you need to worry about, Cap. Hawkeye and I have this covered.”

She swapped out a full card for a fresh one even as Clint leaned over her and ran his hands lower down her legs. He was inching up her skirt when he added, “Just make sure Stark keeps the guests distracted for the next fifteen minutes.”

“I excel at keeping people distracted,” Tony cut in, and the clinking of ice against glass sounded over the radio channel.

Smiling, Natasha turned around and took a seat on the edge of the desk, and Clint immediately moved in close. He pressed his palms against the wood on either side of her hips and brought his lips to the side of her neck.

“How long until we need to swap it out?” he asked, nuzzling her with a hitch in his breath, yet still focused on the task at hand. Clint’s ability to multitask was one her favorite things about him.

She ran her hands up the fabric covering his arms, squeezed his biceps. “Minute, minute and a half,” she said, directing a lustful gaze at him.

Seizing the opportunity, he slid his palm along the length of her inner thigh, and when his fingers ghosted over her covered mound, a small, inadvertent moan slipped from her lips. He stopped abruptly, raised his eyebrows mockingly at her. Usually, he was the one who had to be quieted down, and he was damned if he was going to let Natasha off the hook.

“Everything ok, Widow?” Steve actually sounded worried.

Clint smirked when she answered, “I’m fine, everything’s fine. Just banged my knee.”

Tony laughed, obviously having figured out just what their proposed “cover” was going to be. “Is that what you’re going with?” he muttered sotto voce, then greeted someone whose voice didn’t carry over the comms.

“Be careful,” Steve admonished. “This is our one shot.”

Natasha liked Steve, she really did, but sometimes he forgot who he was working with. Sharing a silent grin with Clint, she crooked her finger at him, beckoning, then grabbed hold of his tie.

He pressed even closer, until they were only separated by the layers of fabric. Gripping her waist, he ground his rigid cock against her, desperate to relieve some of the pressure. Natasha arched against him, biting her lip instead of moaning, and fuck, she loved this job. She kissed him then, all tongue and teeth, and when she shifted her hips against his, he nearly came in his pants.

Trying to distract her, Clint pulled the top of her dress down, her nipples stiffening in the cool air, and he stooped low over her to suck one peak into his mouth, nipping lightly. Never one to be passive, Natasha ran one hand between their bodies to fuss with his waistband, making quick work of the buttons and zipper, and she reached inside to grip his cock firmly in her hand.

“Put the card in, Barton, now” she hissed, clearly not talking just about electronics. He released her nipple with an audible pop and stood up straight, taking his time as he dragged his gaze down her partially exposed body to where her hand was lazily working his cock.

From his vantage point, he saw that she’d already soaked through her panties, and he could smell that she was enjoying the mild exhibitionism as much as he was. She twisted at an odd angle to change out the cards, and the position emphasized her upper body in such a way that he simply could not wait any longer. He had to be in her, so while she secured the data card, he tugged her panties to one side and plunged into her slick heat.

They’d just started to get a good rhythm going when the door creaked open.

“Oh my god!” the guest yelped as she realized what she was interrupting. The older woman stood there for a long moment, blinking in shock before turning crimson and quickly turning, shutting the door behind her.

Natasha met Clint’s eyes as soon as the woman left the room, and they started laughing.

“Everything down there okay, guys?” Steve’s voice came over the comms. Clint was still chuckling, the rumble doing funny things to the pit of her stomach, so Natasha replied.

“An . . . unexpected guest showed up, but we, uh, managed to avoid any unpleasantness. Mission is still a go. We’re fine here.”

Tony couldn’t stop himself from replying to that one. “Yeah, I bet you are.”

Clint chose to ignore that comment and let Natasha draw him back to her.

The grin he’d been sporting disappeared as Natasha used the grip of her thighs to thrust against him, and soon they’d regained the slow, steady pace they’d set before they were interrupted. He kept one eye on the monitor as they rocked together, knowing it would be easier for him than her.

“Next card’s ready,” he managed between thrusts.

She reached over her head, plugged in the disk shakily, barely managing to get it into the slot properly. As soon as she checked to make sure the last of the files were transferring properly, she refocused her attention to the man between her legs.

When she ground out between clenched teeth, “You can do better than that. Come on, Barton!” he hoped that Steve or, god forbid, Stark, didn’t speak Hungarian.

He pulled her leg up, propped it on his shoulder, the new position increasing the depth of his thrusts and he could see Natasha beginning to lose control, could feel it in the way her muscles fluttered around his cock. He moved his hands from her waist up to her breasts, playing with her nipples again, tugging and pinching the way he knew she liked. Her face contorted, mouth open in a grimace of pleasure, and he leaned forward to nip at her stiffened peaks. She grabbed his hand then, brought it against her mouth, and bit into the meaty part below his thumb to keep herself from screaming while she came. She was almost successful, but Stark made a strangled noise that registered somewhere in the back of Clint’s mind.

He felt his own orgasm start to build as she quaked and rocked, her legs a vice grip around his waist, and then without warning, he was there with her, toppling over the edge.

“Fuck!” he hissed as he came, tearing his hand from her slackened mouth and gripping her hips with bruising force and pumping into her with everything he had left.

Steve must have said something he missed while his brain was short circuiting because Tony was talking now, trying to explain why they didn’t need to scrap the mission.

“ . . . then why haven’t they responded? Hawk, Widow, report. What’s happening?”

Clint recovered first. “Everything is fine, Cap. Just maintaining our cover.” He leaned down to kiss Natasha before pulling out and digging into his pocket for a handkerchief. Natasha gratefully took the fabric from him, hopping down from the desk, and exchanging the full disk for the last empty one.

“It looks like we’ve got a little less than one card left. We’ll be ready to pull out in five minutes.”

Tony sputtered into his microphone. “Dammit, Widow, have some pity on those of us who didn’t spend 70 years trapped inside an ice cube! The tie you just ruined is Armani!”

“Take it out of my paycheck, Stark,” she replied.

Natasha was adjusting her dress when the door opened again, and Mitchell himself stepped into the room. Caught off guard, Clint didn’t need to fake his surprised gasp.

“Oh, shit!” he cried out, stepping in front of Natasha, shielding her from Mitchell’s view.

Natasha had already noticed, of course, probably had heard the man’s footsteps outside the room even before his hand was on the doorknob, but she’d put off her reaction until they were found out.

“Fuck!” she screeched, a perfect imitation of surprise etched across her features as she scrambled to cover her chest with her arms. “I thought you said we wouldn’t be bothered in here!” she screamed at Clint, whacking him across the chest with one hand as he hastened to pull his pants up.

Mitchell waved a hand at them. “I’d ask what you were doing in here, but I think I can figure it out on my own,” he said dryly.

“Oh, man, is this your place? We are so sorry, man, I had no idea.” Clint grabbed his sport coat off the back of the chair and wrapped around Natasha’s shoulders while she continued to pout.

Mitchell raised his eyebrows at them. “Yes. This is my . . . place,” he laced the word with contempt, clearly taken in by Clint’s vapid rambling. “You two need to get out of here before I call security.”

“Yeah, of course. Fuck, man, we’re really sorry. Just, um, give us a second here.” Clint turned a little as he babbled, making sure to keep Mitchell’s focus on him and Natasha out of the other man’s line of sight while she grabbed the last card out of the computer and tapped a button to initiate the worm that would wipe out all of Mitchell’s systems. She bent down, pretending to fuss with her shoes, but dropped the Stark Tech degausser on the computer tower instead because, well, better safe than sorry.

As they headed out of the room, all six data cards secured in Natasha’s purse, she muttered with a glare, “I can’t believe you got us kicked out of this party. I will never live this down. You can forget about the Bahamas, buster . . .”


She had to give Tony credit, he held out longer than she thought he could. They made it a full thirty seconds after climbing into the back of the limousine before asking.

“’Put the card in, now’? Really? That was the best you could come up with?” Tony sounded incredulous, but he was probably more annoyed that she had been so transparent than he was that they hadn’t bothered to mute their comms.

“I was under a lot of pressure.” Natasha didn’t so much as blush.

Tony raised his ever-present rocks glass in a kind of salute. “May we all be so lucky.”

Clint groaned.


“And what, then, exactly? The two of you just . . .” Steve makes an unexpectedly graphic motion with his hands, a substitute for the words he can’t seem to find. “You just . . . each other when you need to create a diversion?”

Clint looked at Natasha, who was calmly cleaning her gun.

He shrugged. “Yup. Think about it, Cap. You walk in on someone necking, that’s a cliche. You see that, you think ‘hey, they’re not really into each other, they’re up to something.’ But if you walk in on them actually having sex? Whole different ballgame.”

“But that’s . . . that’s so . . .”

“I think the word you’re looking for here is awesome.” Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder, then turned to look at the spies. “Just as a side note, though, Agent Romanov, and you can put this down in your files or what have you. I am very much available for any future mission that might require such a cover.”

Natasha snorted, rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me hurt you, Stark.”