AN I do not own Marvel or any of its characters!
"Assassins these days!" Natasha rolled her eyes, twirling the knife she'd picked up off the body in her hand. "They're just too dependent on guns and blades-on machines!" Clint scoffed at her, taking the knife and wielding it like it was an extension of his arm.
"Oh? And what do you suppose we lesser assassins do to fix that?" In a split second, he watched the question process in her mind and flick to the answer.
"I suppose I'll have to teach you to have a more... human touch."
That night, in their crappy one room apartment over the crowded streets, she took his weapons and blindfolded him. She smirked, running her fingers along his skin and telling him to anticipate her-to sense what she was going to do before she did it. He tensed and flinched away from her, like a normal human would, but she just tsked at him. They'd been together, as partners and as more, off the record, for years and both of them had learned not to flinch at each other's touch. But it was the anticipation, the waiting for it, that made him jump. She asked again.
"No, no, no. Feel for it, sense it. Don't flinch in anticipation-don't flinch at all, Clint. Know when my fingers are going to brush your skin before they do." It wasn't much. She didn't attack him or fight him or even scratch him, like he was expecting her too, she just brushed her fingers against his skin. Randomly. She pressed her body against his and guided him like a stereotypical guy sexily teaching a girl to play pool.
"Is this really necessary?" But Natasha smiled, letting her breath touch the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Normally, no. But with something like this… it takes a more personal touch." She touched him easily, wrapping herself in among his limbs to slide her foot up the inseam of his leg. She didn't stop until he shivered.
"Your body," She whispered, letting her chin rest between his shoulder blades because of the height difference. "Is a weapon. You can use it for pain," She raked her fingernails across his chest, leaving marks as he hissed. "Or pleasure," She slid her hand down to cup the bulge in his pants. "Or anywhere in between. But what you cannot do, is use it poorly. It isn't like a gun or a blade that you can jab into someone and count on it doing damage. With your body, you have to know exactly how far you can push yourself," She twisted, locking one leg around his waist and slowly lifting herself off the ground to gracefully hook the other into place. "So that you know how far you can push others." With her legs holding her up, she slid her hands up his chest and palmed his nipples. His breathing hitched; she smirked.
"See, Clint, what you don't understand is that I've spent my entire life mastering my own body, which allows me to manipulate others. I don't need a gun, or a knife, or any other kind of weapon." Again she rubbed his nipples. "I am the weapon."
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