A/N: So this is a sequel to Jusqu'à la fois which you don't actually need to have read prior to this. Long story short, Natasha was married to James Bond for a month and Clint found out in the middle of a mission, so now he's pouty and curious. I didn't label this one as a crossover fic because Bond is only mentioned for a few seconds and this is mainly Clintasha. Enjoy, and reviews are always appreciated! :-)
Disclaimer: Marvel owns everything, or else I'd have everything be Clintasha, hah.
When Natasha gets back to the hotel, Clint's already there, perched on the bed pouting. She knows he wants to talk, but all she really wants to do is get out of her too tight heels and her restricting dress.
Normally, she doesn't mind dressing up for assignments, but she's become accustomed to having Clint by her side, snide remakes making them much more tolerable. Especially when she has to converse with the vapid attendants of the parties they're forced to participate in.
It was a rather sudden revelation, she supposes, Clint learning about her marriage, albeit brief, to James Bond. But she'd really rather not dwell on the past right now, so when she exits the bathroom wearing nothing but her underwear, she hopes it's enough to keep him from questioning her.
Her hopes are dashed when he leaps from the bed, her feet just barely touching the carpet. He opens his mouth to say something and his brow is furrowed in that way that Natasha has begrudgingly deemed adorable. She doesn't wait to hear what he has to say though, silencing unspoken words with her own lips and kissing the breath out of him.
Before he can accuse her of using sex to distract, she's shoved him back onto the bed, pulling his pants and boxer shorts down his thighs.
His petulant, "Natasha," turns into a moan as she takes him into her mouth, and the feeling of her throat constricting around his cock has him gripping her hair, hard.
She's makes him forget that night, her hands, cunt, and mouth weapons as much as her thighs. By the time she's finished with him, he's all but forgotten his own name; a victim of the Black Widow. Mind you, she doesn't treat him like she does their targets, she'd never dare, and she knows he'd hate it, he'd never forgive her. With Clint, she is not the Black Widow or Natalia, she is Natasha, walls and masks discarded giving him everything that she is and nothing more.
The next night, Clint is not so yielding. When Natasha tries to surprise him in the shower, he throws her over his shoulder and pins her to the bed, his eyes filled with determination rather than lust.
"You can't just tell me that you were married to James Bond and not expect me to want answers, Tasha!" He exclaims exasperatedly. He's straddling her torso, her arms trapped by his thighs.
"I told you Clint," she rolls her eyes, "It was one month."
"James Bond," he replies, putting more of his weight on her body.
She sighs, looking up at him, and Clint is almost distracted by how beautiful she is, especially when he's got her pinned under his body, her hair spread around her head like a fiery halo.
"He and I had met once before, when our assignments caused us to cross paths in Belgravia, and there was a lot of chemistry, so..." Her voice trails off as she continues to stare up at him.
"So...?"
"So we fucked. Jesus Clint, what more do you want?"
He can tell she's becoming frustrated.
"How did you end up getting married?"
She sighs again, her body relaxing underneath his, indicating her surrender.
"I had some time off and he needed a cover for a job, so I decided to help him out. I guess in more ways than one. And it didn't end up being just about his assignment. I helped him get over some girl—Vesper, I think," she shrugs. "Things worked out really well between us; we had a lot in common and we complemented each other."
A mischievous glint appears in Natasha's eyes suddenly, and Clint thinks he might be in trouble. Before he's figured out what's about to happen, Natasha's got her steel thighs wrapped around his waist and she flips them, her slender fingers squeezing his wrists tightly, and although she's not as strong or heavy as him, her grip is unyielding.
"Ooh, we complemented each other so well," she says breathily, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, eyes sharp, cutting like diamonds. Clint struggles against her hold, but doesn't interrupt.
"If I remember correctly, we spent almost the first two weeks in bed, not getting up except to eat and use the bathroom. It was just a few months before I met you, actually. Oh, but we fucked standing a few times; in the shower, in the doorway, mmm, me bent over a chair. There was this one time when we'd gone out for lunch and he fucked me on the t—"
Clint uses all his core strength to sit up and kiss her, his lips halting the flow of her words. They break apart gasping for air.
"I may admire Bond," he grumbles, wrapping his hands around her wrists when she releases his own. "But that doesn't mean I want to imagine you and him fucking."
He reverses their positions on the last word, his weight crushing her into the mattress, but she doesn't mind. He grinds his erection against her panty covered pussy, and Natasha lets out a long, low moan, her back arching and her head rolling back, canting her hips towards his in an effort to get more friction.
"Oh, but I've thought of an even more fun time," she moans, the "Oh" wrenching from her lips so deliciously.
"Natasha..." Clint groans, his head dropping into the curve of her neck and his fingers clenching tighter around her wrists in warning. His petulance makes her laugh and it steals his breath away even while he's annoyed with her.
"Just wait, this one is a better"—she rolls her hips—"lover." And suddenly Clint is all ears. She can feel the way his lips curl as they pull up into a grin.
"Oh, really?" Clint asks, looking up at her, his eyes filled with mirth.
"Oh, yes," she replies breathily and Clint groans as he grinds his erection against her sex.
"This guy and I, well we were in Dubai and..."
They'd just returned from a mission and both could still feel the electricity running through their veins, coursing through them like fire. Neither were anywhere near coming down from their adrenaline highs and they'd kind of made a habit out of post-job fucking for the past five assignments. Clint was still unsure of where they stood though, and he and Natasha hadn't reached the step in their partnership, or even friendship, where they sat down and talked about things.
They were sharing a room, like always, and Natasha had stepped into the bathroom the moment they got back, the sound of water spraying leaking through the door.
Still worked up and not sure what to do, Clint stepped out onto their balcony which overlooked the city, and what a marvelous city it is, he'd thought.
They hadn't had any time to explore the various parts of Dubai, and Clint contemplated asking Natasha to walk with him when she finished her shower as he perched on the railing, looking out at the beautiful skyline.
So distracted was he, that he failed to hear her as she stepped out of the bathroom and onto the balcony.
He startled visibly at the sound of her clearing her throat, jarring him from his thoughts, but when he turned around to look at Natasha, his eyes went wide and his footing faltered, because there stood Natasha in all her naked glory, and although he'd seen her naked before, she never failed to awe him.
Her brow furrowed when she saw his body sway precariously and she stepped forward, an arm slightly outstretched to help, before he stopped her and leapt down from the railing.
"Have more faith in me, Tash," he said, his face splitting into a toothy grin.
"You looked like you were having a heart attack, Barton. I was just trying to help a senior in need," her responding smirk was just a small quirk of her lips and a teasing in her eyes, but Clint knew it was as big as his.
Before he could retort, Natasha was on him, pressing him back against the balcony wall, the railing digging into his lower back, but Clint found he didn't really mind.
She kissed him greedily, their teeth clacking together, and her tongue sucking at his own. She could never get enough of him and that scared the shit out of her, but she knew she'd never tell him and everything would be okay in the end.
As she pressed through her toes to get closer to him, as if trying to meld her body into his, Clint's fingers kneaded her hips and her ass, his large hands massaging the backs of her thighs.
Natasha could feel Clint's erection against her stomach and she pressed herself against him even more, her body writhing against his.
They never took their time when they fucked, always going hard and fast, ridding themselves of all the extra energy and spending the rest of their time waiting to be picked up sleeping. That evening was no exception.
He spun her around, grasping her hips as she clung to the railing, her nails digging crescents into her palms in her anticipation.
They were so close, she thought, and she ground her ass back onto his cock, the material of his trousers creating a delicious friction against her clit. Clint groaned, his fingers biting into the flesh of her hips, and he stilled her movements.
"If you keep doing that, this isn't gonna last very long," he managed to grunt out between gritted teeth.
"It never does," she responded with a laugh, sharp and harsh, but she hadn't meant it in a way that shattered his ego, that's just who they were, and she definitely wasn't complaining about the sex.
Clint made quick work of his pants, unbuttoning them and shoving them to his ankles along with his boxers. He'd already divested himself of his shirt back in the room.
As he settled himself between Natasha's thighs, a whining noise reached Clint's ears, and it took him a moment before he realized the sound was Natasha, a noise that came from the back of her throat, desperate and wanton. Clint thought it was one of the god damned sexiest things he'd ever been witness to—Natasha, the Black Widow, hot and desperate because of him. His balls tightened in anticipation.
Natasha had been playing with herself back in the shower, thinking about Clint and his mouth and arms and hands, and so when he positioned his cock at her entrance and pushed forward, Natasha was already soaked and he slid right in, his pelvis and her ass creating a slapping noise as they met.
He waited a moment for Natasha to adjust, her walls stretching around his dick, and when she squeezed her muscles and pushed back against him, hips wiggling, he pulled back and thrust, hard.
They never had trouble finding a good rhythm, one that worked for both of them, and soon Natasha was sobbing Clint's name, telling him yes, like that! Oh my god, yes! and she had one arm curved behind her, her nails carving holes into his (perfectly rounded, she thought) ass.
With one hand tweaking her nipples and the other working Natasha's clit, Clint kissed along the side of her neck and across her shoulder blades, licking at the water droplets that rolled off her curls and leaving a trail of marks along the way.
He'd have found it all extremely romantic, what with the gorgeous sunset and the beautiful city below them, but he wasn't quite sure if rough fucking on a balcony qualified as romantic.
He could tell she was close when her nails dug further into his skin, threatening to break it, and he could feel her legs trembling beneath him. He used the hand he'd had on her breasts to sweep her hair to one side of her neck and he leaned forward as he continued to thrust, the flesh of her ass flushed a deep red, almost purple. She'd be sore in the morning.
He sunk his teeth into her neck, just above the tendon and not too hard, but hard enough. Natasha keened loudly, wailing Clint's name, and her back arched in a beautiful bow, her legs giving out beneath her.
As her orgasm washed over her, her cunt clenched around him, milking him, and triggered Clint's own orgasm, his hips slamming into hers a final, bruising time.
Natasha turned her head as the tremors continued to wrack through them both, her lips meeting Clint's and sucking the last of his remaining energy out of him. Clint ground his balls against her clit in an attempt to prolong both their orgasms, and when neither could take it anymore, both wincing at their sudden sensitivity, Clint swept her into his arms and moved them to the bed, pressing her body into the mattress with his own.
When she finishes, or rather, when they finish together, Natasha and Clint lie side by side, flesh against flesh, and they listen to the sounds of the other catching their breath. Natasha can feel the way the mattress sinks and the springs groan as their bodies relax further into it.
She turns her head to look at Clint, because she finds watching him to be a soothing activity, and her gaze is met by his deep green-blue one, and the love that she sees in his eyes is so overwhelming she starts to feel a stinging in the backs of hers.
"If that had been about Bond again, well, that would've ended a lot differently," Clint jokes, but Natasha can hear the uncertainty in his voice, a whisper at the edge.
"You needn't be jealous," she says softly, silencing him with her mouth and rolling so she's straddling him again. The kiss they share tells him everything he needs to know, but she says it anyways.
"It's always been you and it always will be you," she murmurs against his lips, her hair creating a curtain of fire between them and the rest of the world.