I had this in my WIP folder for two years but Marvel isn't my fandom so I will probably never do more with it. But I like the sex scene so up it goes. Enjoy!
He doesn't really know how it had happened so fast but he definitely doesn't mind it. He is lying on his back, his pants are somewhere else and Natasha is straddling him. Her dress is hitched up over her hips. Her red hair hides her face and he brushes the strands away to see her eyes, only to have to close his eyes as she guides him inside her. He moans loudly but she only gasps a little.
"You know how I work, you can't trust me," she says quietly as she moves her hip in a slow, circular motion.
This is true and maybe he is just fooling himself. "Look at me," he says but she hides behind her hair again.
She keeps moving, up and down, taking him deep. "Natasha, look at me," he says a little louder. She throws her hair back but looks to the side. The hesitation alone is telling. Natasha Romanov always looks you in the eyes, as long as possible, until you're dead.
There are many Natashas, deadly and cruel, vicious and quiet, elegant and cold.
The Natasha that finally looks at him as she rides him is different. Beneath the glow of desire and lust is something he has not seen before. An openness, a vulnerability. Something so true that his heart misses a beat.
He swallows hard before he can speak, "I trust you."
"You're a fool."
He grabs her hips and pulls her closer, adjusting to her rhythm. He holds her gaze as he thrusts his hip up to her, watching her, following her moves until he can see her falter. She fights the loss of control, the wave that will take her over.
"Look at me, look!" he calls out to her when her eyes leave his.
She looks, her eyelids flutter, her mouth opens in a wordless moan. She keeps looking until the very last moment when the wave of ecstasy crashes over her and she throws her head back with a loud breath that is almost a scream. Just almost.
He keeps the rhythm up until he can't control himself anymore and presses his mouth into her neck as his world turns white.
They collapse in a heap of tangled limbs and Natasha looks at him again. Her hair clings to her forehead in sweaty patterns, her lips are glistening, her cheeks are red and shining of sweat. Natasha Romanov uses sex as a weapon but Clint is sure that not a single one of her targets has ever seen her like this.