I don't own Avengers/Marvel or any of its characters! Clintasha. Trigger Warnings: mentions of rape, noncon, BDSM, DDlg, and a multitude of other kinks. Don't like, don't read. Enjoy!

Sitting around the kitchen table in Stark tower, Tony was the one who started it. At first, it was just him and Pepper murmuring suspiciously. But, then Bruce fanaggled his way into the conversation and began laughing with them whenever they did, drawing the attention of Steve and Clint. With her conversation stolen, Natasha was forced to focus on them too.

"I'm just saying that he seems more caramel-y than plain vanilla." Natasha was content to listen and figure out what they were talking about, but Steve was not. After he asked two or three times, Pepper finally caved. She smiled, almost enjoying the fact that Steve didn't know what they were talking about even if it was just for a minute more.

"Ice cream flavors correspond to certain… tendencies. We're assigning flavors based on what we think each person's tendencies are." But Steve didn't get it.

"Tendencies? Like towards good or evil, you mean?"

"Sexually, Steve. They're talking about kinks." He gaped at her. In fact, most of the table did. Except Pepper, who just flashed her a knowing smile and continued with the conversation.

"Anyways, we were discussing Bruce. Tony says plain vanilla but I think there's a little more caramel in there and maybe even strawberries and blueberries?" Steve raised his hand again, like a kid in class. "Yes, Steven?"

"I get the vanilla, I'm not that old, and I think I get the caramel. But strawberries and blueberries?" Pepper laughed. She poured another glass as Natasha watched, making sure to catch her eye, and jerked her head towards Steve as if to say this guy amirite. Natasha wasn't quite sure why being the only two girls in the tower made Pepper think they were friends. She liked her, actually, compared to most people. And she was close to the team, which made Natasha like her a little more. But that didn't make them friends. She didn't have friends.

"Oh, honey. Okay, I guess we'll just have to go over the toppings and flavors, then, won't we? You got vanilla, caramel is like vanilla but a little sweeter, a little more tender. Blueberries are blackish blue, meaning the person either like having those colors blossom on their skin or making them appear on someone else's. Strawberries are sweeter, and pink. The kind of sweet that might make you call someone by a parental term of endearment…?" Steve's face clearly said he did not connect the dots.

"Daddy. She means BDSM and a daddy kink." Again, all eyes turned shocked on her. She could have sworn that Tony's face lit up just the slightest bit when she said it, though she couldn't be sure. Was Pepper kinky like that?

"Yes, that's strawberries. Rainbow sprinkles mean gay. And, obviously, chocolate is the opposite of vanilla. My guess for Bruce here is vanilla ice cream with caramel and blueberries sprinkled on top." Across the table, she watched Bruce's face turn pink. It was amusing, she wasn't going to lie, but she didn't think they were right.

"No, blueberry ice cream-on the bottom-and vanilla with caramel on top. Chocolate chips, but only sometimes." Bruce gaped at her. The whole table gaped at her like they couldn't believe that had just come out of her mouth. Was it really that shocking? It wasn't like her and Bruce were particularly close compared to the rest of the team but she'd spent her entire life being trained to read people, especially sexually. Giving some politician a taste of their biggest kink was sometimes the best way to manipulate them. Some were so deprived it was ridiculous. Once, a foreign dignitary had given her his porsche just for letting him tie her up for an hour or two. Ridiculous.

"Well," Pepper finally recovered. "Is she right?" And then all eyes were on Bruce, not her. She could guess he would be into BDSM, and she'd said blueberry on the bottom for a reason. With the Hulk resting just under his skin, she had no doubt that he loved the idea of being tied down and giving up control to someone he trusted. He would want the surrender, the relief. But he also didn't let himself get close to people often, meaning he would love the sweetness after too. And chocolate chips because he got bored easily in everyday life, probably in the bedroom too.

"I… yeah." It became a game. They would guess, then Natasha would correct, and the current subject would always agree with her. For Tony, Pepper wasn't allowed to play because she was too close to the subject, they said, and that was cheating. But when the rest of the group came up with his ice cream, Tony laughed. Caramel ice cream, because he loved her so much, with vanilla and chocolate drizzle to add variety. Tony full on belly laughed.

"Not even close." Then, all eyes went to her. She squinted at him, even though she already knew her answer. She knew her answer for all of them, actually, and had since she'd met them. It was instinct, even now. But she pretended to think to make them feel a little better about being so wrong. Tony was so inventive and creative, there was no way he was vanilla. He did love Pepper, they all knew that, but love didn't mean sweetness necessarily. The flare of his eyes when she'd said the word daddy couldn't be ignored, however, so she added it to her calculations.

"One scoop of chocolate deluxe, one scoop of strawberry. Caramel drizzle, with strawberries and blueberries and chocolate chips-white chocolate, milk, and dark. Hot fudge, too." Tony stared at her, a small smile on his face. He licked his lips, probably unconsciously, and she watched him lay a hand possessively on Pepper's leg under the table. Her breath caught, if only for a second. So Natasha had been right after all.

"Yes, exactly." The team suddenly all blushed at the realization they'd just been told that Tony like being called daddy in the bedroom, along with a lot of other kinks. But Natasha didn't blush. Sex wasn't something she'd ever been raised to be embarrassed about. Even if she'd learned to see it as a more than a manipulation tool, she'd never had that underlying shame surrounding it that everyone else seemed to.

For Pepper, they were closer to the mark. Tony wasn't allowed to participate, but they could guess knowing his answers. They gave her chocolate and strawberry ice cream with caramel chips and caramel drizzle. But Natasha shook her head.

"Double scoop of strawberry, with strawberries mixed in. Hot fudge on top and chocolate chips. Cone dipped in caramel." The group immediately was on her, complaining that dipping the cone hadn't been one of their options and demanding to know what it meant, but Pepper interrupted them. It was her turn to give Natasha that little smile.

"It means outside of the bedroom. And, yes, you're correct." Then, onto Steve. Pepper gave him vanilla bean ice cream-stronger than regular vanilla-and a little bit of caramel sauce but no chocolate. Steve looked like he wanted to fade into the floor. He was simpler, comparatively, but that didn't make him vanilla. Tortured minds were very rarely vanilla.

"Not chocolate or vanilla…" she mused, carefully watching her word choice. "Caramel ice cream. A few chocolate chips, maybe, and some vanilla sauce, but mostly caramel. Almost pure caramel." Steve turned bright red, but she already knew she was right. It had been a different time back then, and being frozen alone had probably had more than just the hypothermic effect. He craved contact, any kind of physical reassurance, and he was too much of a boy scout to be into a daddy kink. BDSM was a maybe, for the power exchange, but she doubted it. He wanted the sweetness, wanted to be loved and show someone else how much he loved them, and he seemed like the time for sensual baths and loving massages rather than handcuffs and blindfolds.

"Y-yeah…" That just left her and Clint. Going around the circle, it was her turn before his, and she stayed quiet as they all studied her. She could see them calculating, taking in how much she knew about the different innuendos and her horrible childhood, trying to add into the equation her reputation as a widower.

"Chocolate ice cream," Pepper finally said, breaking the tension. "With blueberry-on top. Strawberries too? Caramel dipped cone?" The longer so spoke, the more it turned into a question and it made Natasha laugh. It was her being analyzed so she didn't have to wait for herself to correct them, but Clint jumped in when she least expected him to.

"No, that's not right." They all stared at him, even her. "Blueberry ice cream-on the bottom-then strawberry ice cream. Hot fudge with blueberries and strawberries on top." Clint's eyes burned into her like they were on fire, charring through her skin to her chest where her heart was beating slightly faster than it should have been. She smiled at him. Interesting. A lot of the time, she could learn more about people from what they chose to see in her and Clint was no exception. They were close, but not close enough for her to have told him anything like that. He thought she was into BDSM, but she was submissive. And he thought she had a daddy kink-rather prominent, given the ice cream flavor and the strawberries added on top. Interesting…

"Well, are we right?" Pepper looked at her expectantly. "Or is he?" Natasha smiled a little, folding her hands under the table. They were all staring at her, hanging on the edge of their seats, except Clint. He looked confident.

"He is." That made him smile a little in pride. She didn't think he was kinky, or at least not as much as her, but the smile was because he was right. The rest of the group just gawked at her. She couldn't tell if it was because she was submissive or because of the daddy kink but either way they seemed completely overtaken by surprise because of it.

"What about Clint?" Three little words turned all the attention away from her and onto the archer. His smile didn't fade though, even as the group went back to guessing.

"One scoop of caramel, one of blueberry. Chocolate chips on top?" Pepper didn't sound so confident anymore, but Natasha couldn't take her eyes off of Clint. She was focused, observing him.

"No, two scoops of vanilla. Caramel drizzle on top." Clint began to smile and she already knew she was right but he didn't get the chance to say so. The doorbell rang. Saved by the bell. Tony went to Answer it. Pepper began to clear the table, which prompted the rest of the group to saunter off to their rooms and Natasha followed suit. She was content to let it be at that for now at least but she knew she would get an answer from him sooner rather than later and if he didn't come to her, she planned to go to him.

That night, she waited until they were all asleep or at least likely asleep and then snuck off down the hall to doors to the right and slipped into his bedroom. He was awake still, and she knew he would be. He was sitting on his bed, typing on laptop like usual, and she had to laugh at how predictable he'd become since moving into the tower. It was funny and concerning at the same time. But they had a routine, so she sat on his bed and he looked up from his laptop, giving her a small smile and taking out his headphones. He closed the lid of the laptop and set it aside. She crossed her legs as he pulled his up to sit cross legged, facing her. Usually, they talked about anything from the job to what kind of eggs Tony ate for dinner that night but, tonight, she had a topic in mind.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Clint flashed her a look but didn't answer her. But she already knew that she was. It was disappointing, really.

"See? That's why we could never work. You could mean the world to me, but we just don't match in our... ice cream preferences." He looked up again from his hands where they were clasped together in front of him. Suddenly, she got the distinct impression that she'd hit a nerve but she wasn't sure that she wanted to back off, or that she needed to. He didn't seem upset, not yet.

"What makes you think we could never be together?" The question shocked her more than she'd expected it to. She'd been ready for a different response entirely, but she recovered quickly. What did he mean by that? Was he suggesting that they could be together? That was insane, right? But she hesitated for first time since walking into his room, and he noticed. He didn't say anything, though.

"Are you suggesting what it sounds like you're suggesting?" Clint merely gave her a small smile that didn't answer one way or the other. He'd been doing that a lot lately. It was becoming rather annoying, especially when she wanted the answer as badly as she wanted this one. But he just smiled.

"You're right, we are far too incompatible. That's what you came here to hear, right? Our ice cream preferences don't match, as you said." It was too easy, though. He was too willing to agree, to ready to tell her she was right.

"Are you saying I was right?" Again he didn't say yes or no, he just smiled. She stared at him, determined not to break before he did or fill the silence until he gave her a straight answer, but he just kept smiling at her. Finally, he opened his mouth.

"No, you were not right. But if you're so convinced that we're incompatible, then I suppose there's no point in discussing any further." This is insane. His tone is coy and only slightly bitter, but she can't quite recover enough to realize what he's doing. She'd been wrong. Was he suggesting that they were compatible?

"Then what is your ice cream flavor?" He just smiled at her.

"You really want to know?" God he was toying with her like a cat with a mouse!

"Obviously, or I wouldn't be asking." That made him smirk, even as he looked down at his hands.

"Well, personally, I'm a fan of a lot of flavors. If I had to narrow it down, though, I suppose I would say a scoop of strawberry and a scoop of blueberry-on top. With caramel and chocolate chips, blueberries and strawberries too. Lots of caramel, though." She stared at him, not quite believing. He was joking. He'd made it so nearly identical to hers because he was messing with her, right? That had to be it.

"If you're trying to be funny, it's not working." But his smile melted away and he leaned forward just the slightest bit. Had he always been so much taller than her? Now, though, she was extremely aware of having to look up to meet his eyes, having to look up at him. He seemed to enjoy it, though.

"I'm not trying to be anything, Natasha." Her full name sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, or even the first time he'd called her by it, but it was the first time he'd said it with that note of authority behind it. Like it was a warning, almost a dare. It was just her name but… God if he said it like that again she might just melt at his feet.

She was very aware of how straight he was sitting, though it wasn't forced or fake looking, even with his shoulders squared. It looked natural, actually. And powerful.

"Why are you looking at me like… that?" He caught her chin between his forefinger and his thumb and lifted her face to look into her eyes. "Hmm, babygirl?" Fuck that went right to her crotch. His eyes stared down at her-down at her-and she fell forward into his hand without even realizing that her breathing had shallowed. The smile that spread across his face was damn near predatory, but she loved it. God she loved it. And he could tell, because she saw that glint in his eyes that she'd only ever seen in professional doms.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue, little one?" She almost moaned, only catching herself because she dug her nails into her palm. Goddammit! He knew exactly what he was doing to her! The way he thumbed her chin, the way he tilted his head at her, the way his tongue darted out over his lips when his eyes lowered to hers… Just two pet names and she was already so fucking turned on. She wanted to drop to her knees and feel his hand tangle in her hair to keep her upright-god she was already halfway to falling to the floor. The only thing stopping her were his fingers holding her chin.

"Mmm… Look at you. Just two little sentences and you're putty in my hands? And I thought you might put up a fight." She sighed, feeling his other hand slip around her torso to hold her upright. Another day, another time, she would be a brat. She could be a hell of a brat when she felt like it, honestly, and was disobedient for the fun of it more often than not. But not now. Not when she wanted so badly for him to take control, wanted to feel just how in control he was. Not when that sweet, quiet mindset was just barely out of reach.

"Do you want to kiss me, babygirl?" Before the words were even out of his mouth, she was nodding. Her voice was too shaky but she nodded, frantically trying to show him how much she wanted it without slipping out of his grip.

"Oh, babygirl. I didn't hear the magic word." Goddamn! His voice was coy and devious but his eyes were so fucking serious, daring her to disobey and just itching to watch her beg. She gaped, opening her mouth, when that look made her entrance twitch. But he was still staring, waiting for a response. She didn't want to disappoint him, not yet, not so soon.

"Pl- Please?" Her voice trembled out over her lips, much weaker and more desperate than she was planning, but he just smiled. Her panting neediness only seemed to make that fire in his eyes flare higher. He liked seeing her desperate and begging.

"Mmm… Well, since you asked so nicely." She fell the second he let go of her chin. But, rather than landing on the floor, a hand caught her-by her throat-and pushed her back to lie flat on the bed. He didn't squeeze or press down, just held his hand there, but fuck she loved it. He didn't know that choking was a major turn on for her-he couldn't have known-but he recognized it in the way she whined for more contact, more pressure. His smirk gave him away. But he didn't comply, he just ran his thumb over her pulse point as he leaned over her. He smirked down at her.

And then, suddenly, his lips were crashing against hers and she felt herself arch off the bed against his body and she was gone. She was so fucking gone. With his hand on her throat, just ever so slightly pressing her pulse point as he thumbed it, she could have fallen. But with the damn near blissful feeling of his lips on hers? She whimpered, parting her lips to give him access before he even asked for it. Jesus she was already in love with him just from this alone. She fucking moaned into his mouth when he pressed a little harder against her pulse point, and he laughed against her lips.

"Careful, babygirl. Keep making sounds like that and won't be able to control myself." His words in her ear were like straight cocaine in her veins. She was more than willing to push him until he fucked her right there on his bed but, even with how far gone she was, she paused at the wording. He wouldn't be able to control himself. She'd had a lot of relationships that involved her being submissive-some her choice, some not-and she'd seen professional doms under different identities when the pressure just got to be too much. But Clint was the first person, aside from the professionals, to say those words and not spark an ounce of fear in her. He wouldn't lose control, he couldn't. When other non-professionals said that, losing control meant hurting her or raping her or, in some cases, almost killing her. But when professionals said it, it meant putting her behavior training below his pleasure, if only temporary. And Clint meant the second kind, she just knew. That alone almost made her slip completely into that headspace she was so addicted to because she trusted him completely and her confidence that he wouldn't hurt her only grew the longer this went on. But she made herself stay semi-present. They hadn't discussed anything, he hadn't agreed to anything more than what was already happening. If she slipped, there was no guarantee he knew how to bring her back.

"Clint- Clint stop." She panted it out but he heard her and slowed, breaking away to look into her eyes. But he didn't pull his hand away from her throat or move away from her on the bed, he just held her eyes with his own until she could breathe again.

"You okay?" God there was so much concern in his voice she wanted to cry. No one had ever talked to her like that, even professional doms, because they were always worried that she wasn't okay, not that they'd hurt her. With Clint, it was far more personal. But as she caught her breath, she felt his eyes still waiting for an answer.

"Yeah," she practically gasped. "Yeah just… stop for a sec." He did, leaning a little farther away but not leaving her. She was unbelievably grateful for that, actually, because she didn't think she could survive the rush of cold air at his absence in the state she was in. But, slowly, she made herself come back to the present. He was just sitting there, his hand still gently blanketing her throat, but the other was tracing lazy patterns on her arm.

"You sure you're okay?" She took a slow, deep breath and nodded. He sounded so worried, she felt like she had to reassure him before she tried to explain anything.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I mean… Shit I haven't been this okay in a long time. But I'm slipping, and you don't know how to bring me back." He laughed, though. It was immediately clear he wasn't laughing at her, and she didn't feel insulted but she was confused.

"I know you better than anyone, Tash. I think I can bring you back." She frowned, even if her facial muscles were a little slow to respond and still trying to relax back into that slack-jawed moaning expression.

"You know me, but not like this. Can we just…" His laugh faded and his face softened. Slowly, he leaned closer but it wasn't sexual anymore as much as it was caring, like he wanted to see the truth in her eyes.

"Do you want me to stop?" He didn't frown, though, or scrunch up his face like he was secretly upset. It was just an honest question.

"Yeah.. Yes, just for right now." Immediately, he backed off. But he didn't move away-she still wasn't sure she could bear it if he did. Instead, he traded the hand around her throat for a hand in her hair, lightly rubbing against her temple rather than her pulse point. She shuddered at the touch, even though it was absurdly gentle and sweet. That almost made it worse, honestly, because she was used to harsh touches and she was even used to being dominated but she wasn't used to the soft, gentle touches. It made her want to bury her face in his lap and cry.

"Tash, do you want me to leave you alone? Or do you want me to stay?" She snatched up the hand on her ribs before he could pull it away, desperate to keep him touching her.

"No, stay." He didn't move away or towards her, so she tried again. "Please?" At that, he smiled. He smoothed her hair and squeezed her hand in reassurance, still smiling.

"Do you want to stay like this, or do you want to lay down?"

"Lay down, please." Another smile, that made her smile slightly too. He nodded and shifted her so that he could lay beside her on the bed, but he didn't take any more contact than he already had. She had to push herself back against him to get his arms around her. But she was glad she did, because he wrapped her tightly against him until she could feel his heartbeat against her shoulder blade and she almost whimpered at it. She'd never felt so safe in her life. Gently, he kissed her temple. She sighed relaxing into him and wondering how the hell they'd never done this before in all their years of knowing each other.

"Hey Tash?" Shit. She knew this was too good to be true. Now, came the favor. He did something for her, so she did something for him. It would probably be a blowjob, which she could deal with, but that didn't stop the sting of that realization. She'd known it was too perfect, too amazing. Things like that didn't just get handed to you on a silver platter, no matter how many cities you save.

"Yeah?" She braced herself. What if it was worse than a blowjob? What if he demanded to fuck her, or even anal? She wasn't opposed to any of it, per se, but that didn't mean she wanted to have to do it as a favor. For once she'd hoped it wasn't about keeping score. But, obviously, she'd been wrong, so she just bit her lip and tried to tell herself it could be worse.

"Can you turn just a little? My arm is falling asleep." Wait, what? She nodded and shifted the way he indicated, but her mind was reeling. That.. was it? That was the favor? That was all he wanted from her in return?

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Even that nickname, which wasn't inherently sexual, made her shrink down in his arms. He just held her a little tighter. Maybe he thought that reaction was fear? But it wasn't.

"I thought you were going to ask for more." She felt his frown against her cheek, even if he didn't say anything at first. Was it really that surprising, though?

"What you do mean more?" She shrugged. Her cheeks grew hot the longer they sat there in that tension because she realized maybe she was just that royally fucked up. She didn't want him to know that.

"Nothing."

"No, Tash. What do you mean?" He wasn't going to let it go. She knew him well enough to know when his tone verged on the edge of serious concern, and he didn't ever drop a subject if he thought she was hurt.

"You know… Like a blowjob or something." That made him sit up. She was so acutely aware of his sudden absence that it was downright painful, even if he kept a hand on her waist as he did.

"What?" He sounded so fucking wounded! Like she'd kicked a puppy or something! It wasn't that terrible, even if she'd been wrong, couldn't he just drop it? But she knew he wouldn't.

"You heard me." For the first time since she'd walked in, her voice was steely and borderline disrespectful. But he didn't call her on it, he just rolled her onto her back so that she had to look at him. Why did he have to look so fucking saddened by it?!

"Why would I ask you for something like that?" She shrugged, suddenly very embarrassed that that had been her first thought. This was Clint, not some greasy politician.

"...quid pro quo, or something." He bit his lip and sighed. Slowly, gently, unbelievably carefully, he reached out and cupped her jaw.

"Natasha." His voice was firm, now, but it was no longer a playful warning-he was dead serious. "I will never ask anything like that of you, I will only take it if you want to give it. This is not a quid pro quo relationship, okay? We're not keeping a tally of who owes who more favors. That's not what this is. That's not ever going to be what this is, okay Tash?" She nodded, not trusting her voice. She was going to cry, maybe she was already starting to cry. But, for once, he didn't question her with concern tinged in his voice, he just pulled her up between his legs and placed her head on his stomach. Slowly, he stroked her hair and brushed invisible tears from her cheeks. She just nuzzled in closer, feeling like the smallest, safest thing in the world despite crying. He had that effect on her. Always had.

"Hey, Tash?" She hummed to show she was listening, but she didn't want to move. "Thanks."

"For what?" She sighed as he brushed her temple, nails trailing against her scalp.

"For having the same taste in ice cream."

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