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what we deserve

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They fuck.

It’s not making love, it’s not sex. It’s fucking. It’s hard edged and glinting in the light. It’s dangerous and painful and she doesn’t care because it’s what she should have, what she deserves. Clint tells her otherwise, tells her that she’s worth more than this, but he doesn’t know all the blood on her hands, not yet, he doesn’t know her secrets.

He’s learning and every time they fuck, he kisses her so hard at the end of it, it takes her breath away. He tells her that she deserves more, that she’s worth so much more than blood and pain and sharp edges.

And she’ll kiss him, and she’ll tell him he’s a good man and that he’s probably right but the next time they get together, it’s the same old fucking again, the same old blood and bones and pain.

“‘Tasha,” he says one night, and she looks up at him, curious and confused all at once.

“What?”

“I’m gonna do something, okay, and yo can’t argue with me, you just have to let me do it.”

She laughs, raising her eyebrows at him but shrugging all the same. “Go for it.”

And then he starts kissing her. Gentle and sweet, stroking her side with one hand and cupping her breast with the other. Each touch is soft, kind and sweet. Each kiss tastes of him and not of her own blood.

He moves down, touching her everywhere with careful fingers and even more careful lips. His teeth never touch her but his hands rub away all the aches and pains she has from the day, from their fucking, from everything.

And he spends hours doing just that. Kissing her, rubbing her, not letting her get up. She tries to protest but he shakes his head and kisses her again.

Eventually, she gives in, just lets it happen and she can feel the knot in her throat, the discomfort as such kindness but she just lets it go, pushes it down and lets him do what he wants. This is for him, she tells herself and that makes it easier to take. After he’s got this out of his system, things can go back to normal.

“You’re a good man,” she mutters at one point, one hand resting in his hair as he kisses her thigh.

“And you’re a good woman” he replies, as if it’s something they’ve always said to each other.

That punches her in the gut and it takes her a minute to swallow down the emotion before she speaks again. “You don’t know that.”

“Fine,” he says, moving up so he can kiss her on the lips. “I’ll make you a good woman, is that better?”

She laughs a little and when she does, he kisses her throat. “Do what you want.”

“What I want is you,” he informs.

“You’ve got me, you’ve had me for a while now, in case you’re not noticed.”

“No,” he says gently, moving beside her so he can pull her against him. “I want you the way you deserve, not the way you think you do.”

It makes her look up, study him and shake her head. “You know, you’re being ridiculous,”

“Maybe I am,” he says, moving to kiss her shoulder. “But you love me for it.”

“I don’t love you for being riiculo9us.”

“Yes you do.”

And then he’s kissing her again, his hands tracing the lines of her body, going everywhere and leaving no spot of skin untouched.

She groans softly, pressing into him. “Harder,” she mutters.

“Not today,” he says gently. “Just give it a chance, okay? Just try it this once.”

And when they lay together, it’s not fucking. it’s not even having sex. It’s making love. Making love in the sweetest way possible. Making love with passion and grace and care and adoration.

He kisses her and she kisses him and even though she doesn’t bleed, she feels closer to him than she ever thought possible.