Alright, so.. a very good friend of mine inspired this piece. The 'story' behind it is rather flimsy but I had to provide some kind of set-up for the situation. Anyhow, I hope this story is enjoyed. As always, feedback is welcome.
It had been a full week since they had saved the world. Since Thor had taken Loki to Asgard to receive his punishment. The Avengers had immediately gone their separate ways. Sure, they worked well as a team, but they also mixed a bit like oil and water.
Clint and Natasha slipped away together. In truth, Natasha was a bit reluctant to leave her friend alone. She knew how effected he had been from being under Loki's control. It didn't help much that Clint liked to have a handle on any situation regardless. So, to say she was surprised when he came to her with his suggestion was a bit of an understatement. For him to hand over all control to her was huge, such a massive act of trust that made her throat tight. He was so very sincere that she didn't question his decision for a second.
She gladly goes out to acquire the desired items and the next day finds them together in one of the rooms they'd been staying in. "You're sure about this?" she asks softly, toying with a length of satin ribbon in her hands. They had been intimate on and off over the years, but never anything like this.
Clint nods silently and moves to undo his belt.
"Let me." Natasha smoothly steps forward and pulls his hands away before continuing his task. Leaving the leather strip hanging in his belt loops, she trails her hands up his front, overtop his shirt, then down, dragging her nails delicately back to the hem. She tugs at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, dropping it on the floor before moving on to his pants, efficiently undoing the button and zipper before nudging them down along with the boxers underneath.
He accommodates the effort by toeing off his shoes and kicking his pants off the rest of the way. He rests his hands on Tasha's hips, staring down at her with troubled but lustful eyes.
She lifts her hands again to softly stroke his chest and touch his face. "Go ahead and lie down," she murmurs, running the length of satin ribbon through one hand.
Clint does as she instructs and settles on the cheap black futon-bed, stretched out on his back with his wrists crossed above his head.
Natasha perches on the edge of the bed, leans over to tie the smooth purple fabric around one of the metal posts in the futon's frame and carefully secures each end around his wrists. Once she's finished, she double checks that they are not cutting off blood flow and lets her hands ghost along his arms. He makes a low noise in his throat and she glances down at him, noticing his half hard penis. She smiles softly and leans down further to kiss his throat. "You liking this then?"
His brow furrows and he squeezes his eyes shut, looking somewhat ashamed.
"Hey, it's okay to like it." Her fingers brush through his hair to reassure him. "Remember, just tell me if you want to stop. This is supposed to help you, not hurt you."
He nods his head jerkily and looks up at her, his pupils swollen. She loves to look at his eyes, but remembers his requests. She gathers another piece of purple satin and gently ties it around Clint's head, right over those intoxicating blue eyes.
His nostrils flare and he shifts his arms, gingerly testing his range of motion before settling back down. He can feel her press a kiss to his sternum before the weight of her sitting beside him is gone. Being blind to her movement instinctively makes him nervous; he's a marksman, his sight is everything. His heart thumps heavily, but he continues to breathe deep, even breaths. This was all his idea and he was going to follow through with it. Instead, he focuses on what he can hear. A rustle of fabric - perhaps her undressing. An odd sounds he thinks is her digging around inside the bag she had brought with her. Clint worries his lower lip between his teeth, rolling his head in the direction of the sound of very quiet (barefoot?) steps approaching.
The cheap futon dips under her weight and he can feel the heat from her skin against the outside of his hip. Against all his expectations, he finds the anticipation to be incredibly arousing. There's a whisper of a touch ghosting along his torso, tracing his ribs and muscles, leaving goose bumps rising in its wake. He can feel his nipples contract in and harden. The muscles in his torso quiver and twitch lightly as what he assumes can only be a feather continues to dance across his skin in random patterns.
He can feel Natasha's weight shift and his head tilts slightly, speculating at what was coming. Something hard and cool touches his thigh. It's long and very narrow. He can't even begin to guess what it is as it moves away and then returns in a firm strike that leaves his skin stinging pleasantly. Clint jumps with a gasp and twists his body. She gives him a brief moment to process before proceeding to rain down little smacks across his thighs, mindful of the pressure so none of them truly hurt but instead set his nerves alive and on fire. He's sure his skin is marred with several little red lines. He grunts lowly, his body continuing to surprise him as he feels himself harden further and twitch to curve up over his abdomen.
The futon creaks as Natasha leans over him, her fingers trailing lightly over the sensitized red skin. Her full lips dance along his chest, pausing to nibble on one of his nipples before moving up his neck, over his jaw and finally to his lips. His back arches up and he kisses her firmly, demanding more. She leans back out of his reach and he can swear he can hear the smirk on her face. "Uh uh.. patience Barton," she purrs softly. Her hair falls forward and the ends tickle along his fevered flesh. He groans.
"C'mon Nat, please," he pleads roughly. He can feel his cock oozing and throbbing, his helplessness turning him on far further than he'd imagined.
She coos quiet nonsense but obliges and slowly straddles him, her warm, soft thighs framing his narrow hips. He can feel the heat radiating from her center as she perches above his tender thighs. She leans over him, her nipples brushing his chest and drawing a satisfied sound from his throat. She mouths at his throat wetly, nipping his pulse point delicately, making him gasp and moan and writhe wantonly beneath her. The head of his cock nudges her toned stomach.
Her lips trail over to his ear. "What is it you want, huh?" Her tongue traces the shell of his ear and she bites down hard enough to make him jolt.
Clint's voice is gravely and dangerously low when he answers, "I think.. you know very well what I want." He can feel her neck beside his face and he turns toward it, nipping it with his teeth and laving lazily at her skin. To emphasize his point, he tilts his hips up, hissing in a breath between his teeth at the resulting friction.
"Oh, this?" she questions innocently, shuffling back and sitting up, he assumes to look at his erection. "But what should I do with it?" Natasha shifts, rubbing herself upon his left thigh, leaving a warm dampness behind.
He grunts quietly, "Mph.. Nat." His voice holds a warning tone despite his prone and pseudo-vulnerable position (for they are both aware that he could easily escape his simple bonds should he wish to - they were both master assassins after all).
"Nuh uh, I want you to tell me," she practically purrs, her long fingers tracing along the insides of his thighs and grazing his balls.
"I believe I already did," he tries to bite back, but it comes out a bit breathy. She lightly slaps his hip. "Ah, okay. Fine." His head lifts slightly so that were it not for the blindfold, he'd be looking straight at her. "I want you to ride me," his voice is low and gravely as he makes his request and he can feel her shudder slightly above him.
She shuffles forward, dragging her moist center to his arousal, grinding on him momentarily before taking him in her hand and lining him up with her entrance.
He moans and pushes up with his hips, hoping to be engulfed in her heat, but she moves with him; it's her way of telling him that they'll be doing this on her time, not his. Without warning, she sinks down on him with a gasp and instantly begins bouncing up and down. Clint cries out quietly and his arms strain against his bindings. He wants nothing more than to be able to reach out and touch her, to grip her hips in his hands, caress her skin, cup her beautiful breasts.
But his imagination is strong and he can picture in his mind her full breasts bouncing in his face. That alone has him nearly drooling as he grunts beneath her, shifting to brace his socked feet on the thin mattress so he can match each down stroke with a thrust of his own.
Warm, talented hands splay against his chest, giving her leverage to slide up and down along his length. Every few thrusts, she changes the pace and angle, keeping him guessing and on the edge. Clint gladly leaves her to do as she pleases so long as she continues to fuck herself so magnificently upon his cock. Her muscular walls ripple around him and he feels her shift before continuing to ride him with abandon. Ah, he can feel the back of her fingers brushing his lower belly.. she must be playing with herself. The realization has him tugging at his bindings with a strangled groan. Her answering moan washes over him and Clint can feel her juices drip around him as she convulses in ecstasy above him. His hips stutter, his body winding tight as a powerful orgasm tears through him.
He's vaguely aware of Nat slipping off him and collapsing against his chest, her face to his neck, lips pressing lazy kisses to his skin. His senses slowly return to him as she reaches to undo the satin around his wrists. He impulsively stretches his arms and twists his wrists about before quietly slipping his arms around her.
His lips twitch with the barest hint of a smile as he releases a contented, almost relieved sigh, "Thank you 'Tash."