Discombobulated

Clint sighed, his head resting on the knuckles of his right hand as he scribbled out the same word for the second time angrily.
He just couldn't get the words he wanted on the paper.
If only Fury had asked him to sit down and do a taped interview, he would have yakked his head off about every minute detail from the guy's hair style to the way the last bullet dropped on the ground.
But writing it down. No chance.
He pulled uncomfortably at the stiff collar of his shirt and sighed again, putting his pen down and looking across the table at his partner.
Natasha.
Of course, she was scribbling away, 10 words a minute, perfect handwriting. Flowing words that probably put Wordsworth to shame.
Her head was tilted at an angle as she paused; admiring the second page of work she was three quarters of the way down before carrying on.
Spurred on by her dedication and also wanting to get out of there to get lunch with her, he picked up the pen again and forced out a few basic words before screwing up his face and looking over to her.
"…Nat?"
She looked up, her green eyes intense with concentration.
"Hmmm?"
"…how do you spell 'discombobulated'?"
Natasha's eyebrow arch was infamous, and right now it was going for a new world record as she pinned him with a stare that was half incredulity, half disbelief.
"Why would you want to use 'discombobulated?'"
Clint put down his pen and shrugged.
"I thought it sounded clever."
Natasha smiled, giving him an indulgent smile, that indulgent smile that she saved just for him.
"Just write what you remember, and don't worry about making it sound something special. It's for archives; it's not like its getting released for penguin classics."
"…I hope not…" Clint replied, studying his untidy report."…I use the phrase 'fucked up' twice…"
Natasha smiled up at him and carried on writing.
Clint toned down the wordy overtures and struggled out a few more words.
He just couldn't get his head into it.
It hadn't exactly helped that he'd woken up this morning with post-adrenaline sexual arousal from the mission the day before.
Rubbing his face and peering down, seeing his erection he gently nudged the red head at his side and immediately thought better of it.
Any other woman might be somewhat surprised to be awoken by morning wood and the promise of a fantastic day in bed but Natasha Romanov; if he woke her at the wrong moment might be liable to snap the damn thing off.
He lay still and waited for it to go away, which wasn't exactly easy when she was lying beside him, wearing nothing…looking so fucking…
Clearing his throat, he adjusted the way he was sat to accommodate the uncomfortable bulge that was growing in his pants and wished that he could think of something other than what she was wearing under those civvies.
Staring at the paper that seemed to be blanker than before, he threw down his pen and pushed himself away from the desk, getting up.
"…What is it?" she asked, looking up at him, he pen paused on the paper.
"I can't do this. I can't concentrate Nat. I'm sat here, I can't think of a decent way to write that I shot this guy in the ass, you're sat there-like, fucking Harper Lee or some shit…and you're gorgeous, and I know you're wearing the purple panties, Nat. I just fucking know …"
Natasha looked up at him with a look that Clint could immediately name.
It was the look where he was treading a fine line between her smiling at him and welcoming him for a kiss or one where she was ready to punch him into a new nationality.
His breath held in his throat, his eyes focused on the Russian, he watched her click the pen and push herself away from the desk.
"…That's it? You're horny? That's why you're acting like a bear with a sore head?"
Clint drove his hand into his pants pockets and studied a scuff on his right boot.
"…it's a contributing factor."
She looked at him, looking rather like she would like to eat him and smiled a dangerous fire he recognized in those green eyes of hers.
"…come and fix it."
"What?" he asked, suddenly feeling as though the world had changed and he were now in a badly directed porn flick.
"…Come and fix it. Rule number one in the field, neutralize all distractions…"
He swallowed down sudden nervousness as the blood ignored his brain and pumped to the winning organ.
"…here?"
She smiled again.
That dangerous fucking smile…
"…Scared?" she teased.
A low rumble eased itself through his chest as he practically ran to her, pressing an urgent, hungry kiss to her perfectly rounded lips, his hands on her breasts without preamble and just like that he had fallen for the widow's charms again.
The pulse in his crotch echoing his rapid heartbeat as he broke the kiss, his hand in her hair as he looked into her eyes that were ablaze with that Russian fire.
"…If I was the enemy, I'd be dead right now…" he admitted.
She nodded and pulled him in for another kiss, her legs parting as much as they could in the tight, tailored black skirt, her leg wrapping around his, bringing him to his knees in front of her.
Why did she always manage to get him down on his knees?
He was helpless…
Gazing at her as she broke the kiss, he felt torn between panic at being caught in the small, albeit rarely disturbed office that Hill had set them up in, and desperation to please her in any way she wanted.
"…Nata-"
She placed her finger on his lip and smiled again.
"…Get your head between my legs…and don't stop until I scream…"
He needed no further prompting, resting back on his calves; he pushed her black skirt over her stocking covered thighs and came face-to-face with the purple panties.
He gave a very audible groan and pushing his face between her warm thighs wasted no time in kissing the crotch of the panties.
God, she was wet.
Her juices brushed his lips, his nose, chin, cheeks as he kissed and slipped his tongue against the purple lace, caressing the texture of it, his tongue finding the slick lips of her pussy.
Her hand was in his hair, gripping it, she was enjoying it…
Tucking his fingers in the waistband of her panties, he slowly slid them backwards, pulling them off her, easing them away from her and staring up at her as he did, her moisture glistening on his lips, a smile on them.
She bit her bottom lip.
Fuck…he never wanted to fuck her quite as much as he did right now…
But he had to give her what she wanted.
Pulling the panties down her legs, he threw them carelessly over his shoulder before taking her thighs in his hands and parting them, maintaining the eye contact…
Her breath was coming faster now…she was anticipating it…
Power was shifting…
He had her in the palm of his hand…or at least the tip of his tongue.
Moving his head swiftly between her legs, he began to kiss and suck at her soft, pink lips, catching them in soft sucking kisses.
Almost at once he felt her thighs tense, her grip on his hair grow tighter, her breath catching in her throat as he tended to every tender inch of her with his lips.
She tasted fantastic, he would spend hours like this if it pleased her, but judging by her movements, it would be over in minutes.
His tongue finding the sensitive ball of skin, he gave a soft groan, gripping the firm skin of her thighs before attacking it with quick, deft licks, flicks of the tongue.
She gripped his hair in a fist…
He fucking loved it.
Pressing his tongue harder against her clit, bobbing the rough texture of his tongue against it as she bit the skin on her wrist to silence herself.
During their first few months together, her wrist was perpetually bruised from their silent sex session conducted on SHIELD premises, it was a constant turn on for him to see her own teeth marks on her wrist.
Finally, feeling her legs tense up, knowing her toes were scrunched up in those expensive heeled shoes, he softly bit down on the sensitive bump before sucking it between his teeth and licking it hard.
It took only a minute or two before she pushed his face desperately into her pussy, desperate to bring her over.
Taking a deep breath, ignoring the exhaustion in his tongue, he flicked hard, fast, desperate to hear her scream his name…
His tongue was flooded with the sweet reward of her climax as she let out an involuntary scream, barely concealed by her hand as he lapped at her, bringing each aftershock out of her with grateful moans with his tongue.
When he felt her hand release his hair, and felt her relax back onto the chair, he pulled carefully away and looked up at her.
She lay, her tousled red hair over her flushed face, her had rolled back, and her legs splayed, that fancy skirt, and the chair, covered in the evidence of their activities.
She took a deep breath and looked down at him, half smiling as he sat there with a smug, moist look on his face.
Smacking his lips, he smiled and winked at her as he wiped her arousal from his face with his sleeve and leaned up to receive a reward.
Leaning in, she placed a tired, but thoroughly satisfied kiss on his lips before running a hand through her hair.

"…I promise you…tonight, I'll repay the favor…" she mumbled, adjusting her hair back to its original state.
He winked at her.
"…I'll hold you to that…"
"…I hope nobody heard…" she mumbled, resetting her skirt and getting up to retrieve her panties.
"…are you kidding? I hope the whole department heard."
She pressed a forceful kiss to his lips and looked at him warningly before pulling her chair back to the desk, and continuing her report.
Clint smiled, sitting back at his desk, licking the remains of her from his lips, he began to write with relative ease…only to be disturbed by Natasha throwing down her pen and holding her head.
"…I can't concentrate." she muttered.
"…Now who's discombobulated?"