Safe.
Most people wouldn't apply this term to how they felt lying next to a deadly assassin.
Then again, Clint Barton wasn't exactly most people.
But with his eyes closed and his arms wrapped around the deceivingly slender figure of such a dangerous person that was precisely how he feels.
Warm. Content.
Clint leans in close, burying his face into the mass of red hair and breathing in the scent of spices, vanilla shampoo and clean skin. It's comforting and something so distinctly her.
Natasha.
He's probably an idiot for feeling so secure with someone who was trained to kill since adolescence. Someone who had tried to kill him in the past. But he does, and if that makes him stupid than so be it. Because after all, it was stupid decisions that got him here in the first place.
Like the one he made years ago when he let the target he was sent to take out live. Or when he took her back with him from Russia. Or when he agreed to take her on as his partner despite the attempts she made on his life.
Natasha had once told him that she was incredibly thankful for that, though she would have never admitted it back then. Clint had to agree with her on that one. It was a choice he never regretted making.
He still doesn't exactly what it was that made him spare her. He has his theories but figures that it doesn't really matter to why, just that it did.
Clint sighs softly and presses the softest of kisses to the nape of Natasha's neck, rough and worn hands sliding down her soft curves.
It is amazing how delicate and fragile she feels as he holds her. But he knows how far from the truth that is. He knows that she's like this, so relaxed and open, because she trusts him. And the sheer amount of complete trust she has in the archer makes his heart clench. Clint presses closer into the curve of her back, focusing on the heat radiating from her bare skin and letting himself sink into it.
It's not like he hadn't lied this close to her or seen her naked before. Those things happened many times, but the context always seemed less than desirable. Quick changes in tight spaces, clothes shredded from fights and explosions, open wounds that had to be sewn shut and treated, showers or baths in streams that left the water brown and scarlet from injuries that were left bleeding and caked with mud. Or situations where they had huddled together in freezing weather to keep alive or pressed flush together in small crevices to keep hidden.
But none of those times were like now. Times like that only riddled them both worried, miserable and -more often than not- in pain. It's in those times that Clint wants to just protect her and keep her from any harm. It's in those times that Natasha pushes those inclinations away and insists she can handle herself which of course he knows is completely true. But right now they're in no danger.
So Clint pushes all of those thoughts out of his head and adjusts his hold on Natasha as she flips over, placing her hands on his upper chest. He watches her face in the dim light, brushing a few strands of wavy crimson hair from her face and placing a light kiss between her brows. He observes as the slight crinkle of tension fades from her face at the gesture before she nuzzles her head under his chin, making his lips curve upward into a smile.
They have both been through hell and back and the images still haunt their subconscious minds, but right now there was only peace. Peace which Clint holds onto just as he holds the woman sleeping beside him. Moments like this are so precious, so fleeting and he knows better than to take them for granted. So he pulls her closer and focuses on her warmth and the even breaths against his neck that were a constant reminder that she was alive.
And never in his life did he feel so...
Safe
