A/N: I had a spew of ideas the other day and there were too many for my brain to handle but I was able to get this one out. I guess it's kind of schoolgirl kink but like, idk it's more PWP. Reviews are always appreciated and enjoy!
Disclaimer: Marvel owns it all.
When Clint returns from his four month long assignment, the last thing he expects is Natasha...in his room...wearing a white button down, a plaid skirt, and knee high socks.
"Tasha?" He blurts out, his voice a bit too high for his liking and his eyes wide as saucers. He pitches it lower. "What are you doing here?"
"What d'you think? I'm welcoming you home, bird brain. Do you like my outfit?" Her lids are lowered and she gazes at him through her thick eyelashes, her lips tilted in a smirk that Clint really doesn't think he should find so sexy.
He hesitates, licking his lips nervously.
"I, uh, was gonna go to your room once I'd showered." Natasha finds his stammering adorable.
"Well I guess I made it easier for you then," her eyes glint teasingly, and Clint realizes he's been backing up as she's been moving towards him. His knees hit the back of his couch and he falls onto it with a loud thump.
Natasha's dressed up for him before, but never like this and he finds his mouth dry and his pants far too tight; it hasn't escaped her notice and Natasha glances down at the obvious tent in his trousers, a predatory look flashing across her face as she runs her tongue over her lips.
"Mmm, you like them young, don't you, Barton," she all but purrs as she slides into his lap, her arms dangling over his shoulders.
"Only you," Clint manages to choke out, and that surprises her, so she rewards him with a smile that radiates for miles.
He's obviously struggling to keep himself in check, and he's got his arms glued to his sides, his fingernails biting into his palms. Natasha can feel him trembling beneath her, his muscles straining with the effort to keep from touching her.
She slides forward in his lap, grinding against his erection, and she presses her chest up against his, her cleavage right under his nose. He can smell her shampoo, and oh, how he's missed it, the cool scent of cinnamon and an underlying hint of something fruity.
"You can touch me, you know," she says, her lips a hair's breadth away from his ear, sending shivers down his spine. Her voice is low and husky and the way her body completely melts into his, well, Clint is really finding it hard to concentrate.
"I don't want to play any games today, Clint," she whines as she continues to writhe against him, "I only meant to dress up for you. I missed you so much."
The heavy silence that's filled the room is disturbed by the clinking of buttons against the hardwood floor and Natasha looks down at her suddenly open shirt.
She laughs then, throwing her head back, a gravelly laugh that she reserves only for him.
He takes advantage of this moment and leans forward to lick her neck, mark the pale flesh with his teeth.
He can feel the vibrations of her moans through his lips as they crawl up her throat and fly from her mouth. They don't take the time to undress because they're both impatient, too greedy for the skin on skin contact that they've both been denied for months. Instead, Clint bunches Natasha's skirt around her waist and she undoes his pants, pulling him out and stroking him gently.
He holds her face in both hands as she lowers herself onto his cock, her panties pulled to the side, and he swallows the whimpers that pour from her mouth.
It's been so long, he thinks, since he's been with Natasha like this, but the ache in his chest that's been there for the past few months is starting to recede—she's sucking it out of him like poison.
Clint is spellbound by Natasha's beauty—the rosy tint in her cheeks, the way her pupils swallow the green, her lips parted in pleasure, the bounce of her flaming curls over the swell of her breasts. And she finds him just as breathtaking—the lust so evident in the depth of his eyes, the strain in his neck and the way she can feel the play of the cords in his arms, back, and shoulders, the small furrow in his brow as he remains focused on her and only her.
The flaps of her shirt fall open to reveal her elegant collar bone and gorgeous tits and Clint takes the opportunity to lay a trail of kisses, starting at her clavicle. When he reaches her breasts, he pauses as he feels her heartbeat sync with his.
"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?" Loki asks her, and she thinks, yes, yes it is, because she never wants to be with another being like this—only him.
He lavs at her nipples through the lace fabric of her bra as her nails rake across his back and he thinks he'll have marks there tomorrow, but they're his favorite kind, especially from her. He bites down gently on one of them and revels in her keening, the way she claws at his skin.
He's teetering on the edge, trying his hardest to keep his orgasm at bay when he feels her tighten around him. She grasps his face in her hands, the smoothness of her palms a stark contrast to the coarseness of his stubble.
Her kiss is like a hello and a goodbye. A welcome home. A ray of sunshine streaming across his face. It's full of passion and love and all the things she's never said. It's sad, but beautiful and really not that sad at all. It's love.
When their lips part they both let go and they tumble over the edge together, bodies entangled, clinging to one another. They shatter into millions of pieces and put each other back together at the bottom of the abyss. They rebuild.
Their foreheads are pressed together, noses brushing, and they sit together breathing each other's air because they are one in the same.
The rise and fall of their chests fall into sync and their heartbeats return to normal. Natasha can feel Clint softening inside her and she clenches her muscles, pushing him out.
They crawl under the covers of his bed once they've showered and curl into each other, falling into content silence.
"I'm glad you're back," Natasha murmurs into his side, her fingers drawing webs across his ribs.