A quickie I wrote a while ago for the Marvel Shipping Games. The prompt is a post on Texts from Last Night.
Disclaimer: I don't own Natasha or Clint. Or anything even remotely Marvel-related. I don't even own Slurrlot.
Going to Tony's Christmas party turned out to be a huge mistake. He had invited the Avengers and their significant others to the Tower for Christmas, with promises that he would keep it "cozy and exclusive". His version of "cozy" turned out to be a professional DJ, spotlights and disco balls, and the entire gym transformed into a dance floor. And his definition of "exclusive" meant the Avengers, their friends, and pretty much every female socialite under the age of 25 in the city.
Of course, both Natasha could blend into the scene easily enough if she wanted to. She'd done so, too, the last time she attended a party Tony hosted – the disastrous birthday party when she was undercover as Natalie Rushman. That experience should have told her that Stark's parties were terrible ideas. Right now, she didn't want or need to pretend to be some young secretary ready to flirt her way to the top.
So she and Clint sneaked out as soon as they could, and they went back to his apartment. It was not as minimalistic as hers, but much messier, with clothing, empty take-out boxes, and important-looking documents littered all over the furniture. He shoved a bunch of files marked as "Classified" off the kitchen table and dumped dirty dishes into the sink. Natasha rolled her eyes at his messiness and he stuck his tongue out at her.
"Do you have booze?" Natasha said, taking off her coat and scarf and dropping them onto the armchair carelessly. She collected the SHIELD-emblazoned files that occupied the couch, stacked them up and put them on the coffee table to make space for herself and Clint on the couch.
"Do I have booze?" Clint echoed with a smirk. He rummaged around in the kitchen. "I have scotch, beer…"
"It's Christmas," Natasha said, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist.
"Mmm," Clint agreed, leaning back into her embrace, his hands coming up to cover hers. She wasn't usually this touchy-feely, even with her sort-of boyfriend and definite best friend, but the glass of dubiously colored cocktail she had at Stark's party seemed to have loosened her up a little. Also, it was Christmas, and if there was ever a time she could get away with being sentimental, it was now. "I don't have wine, if that's what you want, except for boxed wine, and I really don't think that counts."
"No, it doesn't," Natasha confirmed, Clint turned around to face her. Her lips were a bright red, her eyebrow cocked up in that knowing, sassy way of hers, and he couldn't resist cupping her cheek in one palm and kissing her. She kissed him back, standing on tiptoe to deepen the kiss before pulling away.
Clint smirked. "I know exactly what we're having," he said as he moved towards the liquor cabinet.
A few minutes later, he presented her with a glass of plum-colored liquid. At her incredulous look he said, "It's vodka and grape. Closest I could get to wine without a mixer or, you know, actual wine." He swirled it experimentally in his own glass. "I'm calling it a Slurrlot." He clinked his glass against hers and said warmly, "Happy Holidays bitch."
They took a sip of the drink together and Natasha tried not to gag too much at the waste of perfectly good vodka. It was, after all, the season of forgiveness, and Clint made everything forgivable.
Author's note: Merry Christmas all my lovely readers. I wish you guys the best year ever ahead of you.