"Tash."

"What?"

"Red lace?"

"What's wrong with red lace?"

Clint fixed the string of his bow, tested the tension in the wire, two fingers drawing it back to his ear. He let it fly forward, as if aimed her way- it made a slick swishing noise, a satisfying sound as he could manage. Natasha just rose an eyebrow, eyeing his spread legs and resting face, which was in all honesty, quite intense.

"Nothing is wrong with it, exactly..." he said slowly.

"Then what's your problem? Your micro expressions are all... nervous."

"I don't know about nervous."

"Then what about the red lace?"

He just sighed shortly, left his bow balanced over his legs, leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. He decided to be frank - it was usually the best way to go, concerning Natasha.

"Aside from the fact fact that I haven't gotten laid in months-"

"Don't start, Barton." she shifted the cups of her bra, testing to see if his eyes dared drop from her face. They didn't. "You wouldn't have mentioned that if I were Fury."

"I would've been bemoaning my lack of fucking all the same, especially if you were Fury. But I wouldn't have been concerned about his underwear. Mostly 'cuz red lace would suit his colouring."

"Are you saying I don't look good in red lace?"

"I'm saying you should go the bottle green." he nodded to the other pair of underwear out on the bed - the matching bra and panties. She lifted the thong with her finger, raising it to eye level. "Matches your hair better."

"Like red doesn't?" she rolled her eyes. "Honestly. You're so picky."

"I'm just saying. You look good in everything, and you know that. You could go in a damn burlap sack and he'd have a fuckin' aneurysm just looking at you." he eyed her hands -because if he didn't he couldn't possibly be held accountable for where his eyes would wonder to.

"I think I have shoes to go with the green..." she murmured, and flipped the case open.

"Christ. The black on your skin. Go the black, for sure. You haven't been anywhere sunny for a while, you look like you're made outta porcelain."

"Gee, thanks. Just what I like to hear, I'm pasty and fragile." she lifted two leather pumps and the black lace underwear set, and he gulped inaudibly sitting forward, his forearms resting on his bow.

"Or..." he said, with as serious a face as he could muster. "Don't wear anything, at all."

"You know I have to brace the public, Clint."

He waved a hand absently at the three coats that were hanging on the back of the hotel door.

"Yeah, I know. Wear the white coat. The red heels."

"I'm concerned for your fashion sense. Red and white. Really?"

"Yes, really." he wetted his lips. "Wear the red heels, the white coat, and nothing else."

"And where exactly will I put the poison? Hm?" she fixed a steely eye his way, still wearing nothing but red lace but looking more than capable of beating him down. "Don't play out your fantasies, I have a job to do."

"Uh... Tuck it..." he licked his bottom lip, gave the red lace another once over. "Where were you going to put it, wearing that, exactly?"

She closed her eyes briefly, flipped forward the crotch of her underwear, were the two small tabs of poison were 'hidden'. His mouth watered copious amounts, and he entertained the idea of death just to taste the poison.

"Wear garters." he swallowed a heavy mouthful "Shit, go the black stockings, the ones with the seam up the back and the lace up the top. Wear the black jacket, red shoes."

She fumbled for a moment in the bag, then came out, triumphant, with garters in hand.

"Fuck me."

"No."

"I wasn't asking. Or demanding." his eyes wouldn't come off the garters she was holding up to her hips, mismatched to the red lace. "It's an expression."

"Whatever you say." she relied thoughtfully, placed the garters down and dug about in the bag again. "I have another pair I like. Practical, comfortable. Would these be acceptable?"

"Lemme see?"

And from the bag of magic tricks, she pulled forth a plum coloured set. They were mesh cups, with a few lime ribbons threaded through the straps and waist line. The crotch was a tiny triangle of mesh, and she made a disappointed sound.

"On second thoughts, maybe not...They're see-through. Means I still can't hide these tabs anywhere..." at the sound of his choked noise, she looked up at him, who was apparently fine, but who didn't seem to be moving, not even to take breath. "Barton? Are you still breathing?"

"Yes. But not for long. I've just seen the corset." his eyes flicked to the suitcase, his neck stretched out for a better look. "Jesus, I'm going to hell."

"I'm not wearing that, it restricts too much movement." he just wouldn't understand. "And it's ivory, it'll wash me out if I'm so porcelain."

"You'll look virginal in it. Fuck." his hands squeezing his bow, the wire pressed into the heel of his palm while his fingers wrapped tight around it's steady curve.

"If I hear my name in your sleep..." she warned.

"I'll get it all out in the shower when we're done." he promised in return. "I like the plum, but you're right - can't hide it anywhere in that." again his eyes went to the case.

"Try the blue?"

"Which ones?" she mused, and was surprised when he smacked his own forehead, scrubbed his brow like he was scrubbing away thoughts he didn't want to have. "Clint?"

"Why do you have so much underwear?" he grumped. "Why don't I get this luxury shit?"

"Clearly you've never been in a thong." and she pulled the bottle green thong on her finger, and with precise aim, had it sailing across the room to land directly on his nose. He tried not to let it get to him, he really did.

"Don't fling your sting at me, Tash." he said, mostly indignant, but his hand fisted the lace. "Hold the navy up?... Hmmm."

"You sound like you're purring." She was very amused.

"Hmm. The baby blue- No. No. Navy. Navy, for sure. Or the black, with the garters. Unless you have navy garters?"

"What is it with you and garters?"

"Garters are hot. They don't get in the way and they're pretty."

"You frighten me when you use words like 'pretty'. I'll look for navy garters, then. I don't know who picked out these sets, so I can't be sure..."

"You don't pick out your own sets?"

"No. Like everything, it's on SHIELD's dime, so an appointed handler handles the delicates."

"...I'm not going to lie, I think it's Phil."

"Not Phil. He's partial to diamonds - last time Phil handled the delicates I only got to choose between three... He's an expensive man, Fury hates when he gets assigned. I don't, he's got good taste."

"And all these years I've spent wondering why anyone would want to do what he does. Now I know."

She snorted, he grinned. She rummaged in the bag for a moment, tucking her hair behind her ears. But she came up empty, after turning nearly the entire contents of the suitcase onto the bed.

"I'm so glad you trust my opinion."

"You have a dick. Clearly." she sent a heated look at the bulge at his crotch.

"Don't glare at me like that, I'll shrivel up."

"That's the point."

"Is that a-...?" his grin was very suddenly gone - he looked a little pale. A sweat broke out across his brow and his eyes went wide. "Oh, god. I need- you don't understand." he lifted a hand from the bow and shifted his manhood, cursed under his breath in a feral hiss at the sensation.

"My balls are aching."

"All this over a riding crop, really?"

"Don't smack it against your hand like-..." he grunted, forcibally had to remove his hand from his front. "I'm going straight to Hell."

"If you start humping my leg I'll make good use of the whip." again, she hit it against her hand. Clint had a very intense vision of spear tackling her to the floor and rutting against her, whip or no whip in her more than capable hands. "Comes with handcuffs, in case you were wondering."

He was.

"You're making it really hard..." he said testily.

"Really hard to what?"

"What do you think is being made really hard?"

She smirked, very delicious inch of it was devious on her pale painted mouth.

"I'm not blind, it's nearly jabbing me in the eye."

"I'm honoured you haven't bitten it off yet."

"I am a highly trained spy. It's in my repertoire to know how to use self control, as opposed to say, you."

"You don't have a dick. You don't look at yourself like I do. Give a guy a break." he shifted in his seat, still squeezing his bow. "Besides, it's been a really, really long while, since I got laid. Good and proper, I mean... Satisfyingly, laid. A good marathon. I think you're underestimating how long it's been."

"Of course. So, after all of this sussing out of my outfit-" she used the riding crop to pick up the black bra. "Black, or blue?"

"Black. Garters. Black pumps, the ones with the strap 'round the ankle. In velvet, so you can play footsies. Nothing quite like velvet rubbing one out for you."

"You would know?"

"Course I do. I wear somethin' low cut and bitches fling themselves at me."

"I don't." she blinked at him.

"You're not a bitch." he cooed.

"I'm not going to sleep with you, even if you are being nice."

He groaned something that sounded suspiciously like a drawn out: "Whyyy?"

"Because I'm not. Put your boner to bed while I go change. If I catch you peeping I'll take an eye."

"I'd prefer not to lose an eye, but seriously, it might be worth it."

"I'll make it hurt."

"It's still gonna be worth it."

She, barefooted, walked into the bathroom with the black set in hand, swinging her hips - he thought: On purpose, that's cold, Tash.

His cock twitched as he tried to flip it into a more comfortable position He growled out another curse, adjusted his balls through his pocket. His whole body was strung like his bow - he'd snap if something touched him. The clock told him he had fifteen minutes before he had to go and set up on the roof across from her opperation.

"Tash, hurry up." he got to his feet, placed his bow on the table, and picked up her jacket. As soon as she opened the door, he held it up, hiding whatever glorious vision her body was with the coat, just meeting her eyes over the collar.

She raised her eyebrows slowly, turned around, sliding her arms through the holes of her jacket. The crop was on the bench, and she took it carefully, tying her jacket around her waist. The thing was suave enough, though it went to her knee, it cinched at her waist and had a nice low cut on the bust, but it wasn't lace.

"I need the bathroom." he mumbled as she took her time fixing her hair with one hand.

"Couldn't put him to bed?"

"I'll be ten minutes."

"You're cutting it pretty close." she checked her phone.

"Yeah, I know." he cleared his throat and edged around her, turned the shower on. "I'll make it as quick as I can."

"Need a hand?" she purred, and he nearly took her up on it, just before he saw that evil glittering in her eyes and that smirk. "I was kidding. I don't care if your balls seize up and explode, I'm giving you ten minutes. Otherwise you get this."

And from the pocket of her coat, a cockring.

He would be lying if he said he didn't mind the sound of that. Or wonder who exactly provided her with a riding crop and cockring. As if they weren't cruel enough.

"It was Maria, wasn't it." he said flatly. "It had to be a woman. Picking these out for you. All the colours, none of the flavours. Next time, just let me do it, would you?"

"I'll talk it over with Maria. Though we're the same size, so she gets my cast offs."

"You are not helping my situation, here."

"What, not with images of me and Maria in lace, swapping colours, me with the crop, her with the cuffs?"

"Yeah, I'm not having a problem, with that." he eyed the way she laughed. She really was quite a cruel partner, sometimes. "One of these days, woman, I hope you know I'm going to get you underneath me, and you are never, ever going to recover. I'll ruin you for other men."

"I don't doubt it. The problem is getting me underneath you, first. I prefer to be on top." And that made his balls twitch.

"Alright, allow me to rephrase. I'm going to get into you. One day."

She just smiled, patted his crotch in a fond way. He jolted, slammed his hand down on the door frame to keep his knees under him.

"Tick tock, Barton. You've got seven minutes."