Disclaimer: I own nothing:(
A/N: Hello, hello, my darlings! Missed me?!
I'm so genuinely sorry for the lack of updates, but it so happens that I have a great excuse! In the year and a half of silence I managed to produce a baby, so you are honor-bound to forgive me :D
I know that my lovely followers are expecting the "Battle" series completion from me; worry not, ma dearies, you will get the fourth chapter before the week is out! I am writing it as we speak (read?:)), so this is a promise!
And now for the little ficlet at hand:
As you all know me, I am the ever-ruling, ever-loyal, never-faltering Queen of Canon. I ALWAYS prefer book-verse to movie-verse and am a great champion of the Written Word of the Author. However, with this pairing I make an exception. When it comes to Hawkeye and Black Widow, I am movie-verse all the way, baby :D
Enjoy this steamy one-shot, darlings!
P.S. there is a bit of humor in the end :P
In Abandon
Her first vaginal orgasm is achieved thanks to him, in an empty warehouse at the outskirts of Budapest.
It happens quite naturally, on their hasty retreat back to base after the carnage, and she is quite surprised that it did not happen much sooner. She digs her fingers into his arms, he kisses her roughly and desperately and they stumble into the abandoned building without caring, for once in their lives, whether someone notices them do so, or not.
It may seem funny and unbelievable that she, the famous seductress, has never climaxed during sex before; but, once you think about it, it really doesn't. She never quite manages to get much "action", after all, before her sexual partner of the hour checks out of life and she is left with nothing but a nasty throb in her nether regions. She always takes care of the throb later, of course, when no threats can bother her; however, it is never too satisfactory.
Things are completely different with Clint Barton between her thighs. They lie on the filthy, cold floor of the warehouse; her suit thrown in the corner in a careless, stupid way, while his is pooled around his ankles. Her thigh is hoisted up on his hip, his fingers gripping the flesh as he drives into her with the determination and precision that only the Hawkeye is capable of. His face is buried in her neck and she feels, rather than hears, him panting; knows that the bleeding cut on his forehead is staining her skin. it makes her even more wet than she already is, if that is at all possible. She is clutching his muscular arm with one hand, and his exquisite ass with the other, urging him on. He grunts out her name, kisses his way up to her mouth and when his lips reach their destination, she is reminded of the cut in his lower lip; the taste of blood that mixes with their saliva in her mouth makes her shudder and mew like a cat in heat. She is making sounds- genuine sounds- that she has never made in the course of her sexually active life. Oh, she faked orgasms left and right before - should be given a fucking Oscar for her troubles, really - but this thing with Clint is so real, so unbelievably right, that she finds herself realizing that this is the first time in her life that she beds someone of her desire and choosing.
"Nat, "Clint grunts against her ear, "you feel so fucking good, I think I might die."
She is ashamed to admit to herself the effect that his words have on her and her body.
"Don't die yet," she gasps out and digs her ankle into his ass, "I think I'm coming."
She feels the wicked grin on the skin of her neck as he doubles his efforts. She knows that they should not make any noise, lest they be found, and tries to keep the moans to a minimum; however, exactly then his priorly quite idle left hand creeps down her body, finds her clit, and all hell breaks loose.
She comes so hard, she is sure that all of Budapest can hear her screaming his name in abandon. Her nails tear the skin on his back, leaving thin snakes of blood in their wake, and he hisses.
"Fuck," he moans and she can finally see his face, the sight of which provides aftershocks and some more squeezing of her vaginal walls, "fuck, fuck."
He slumps against her body, breathing hard in her ear; his sweat is on her skin, cooling and calming her down. Before he rolls off of her to lie at her side, she manages to feel their hearts slowing down together.
"Sweet fucking Jesus, "she breathes out in blasphemy once both of them regain some of their composure, "I owe you one."
Clint laughs loudly and brightly, his right hand squeezes her upper thigh affectionately.
"Oh, believe me; I will not fail to collect."
"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?"
She tries not to smirk at the leering face when she replies.
"Love is for children; I owe him a debt."