A/N: James Bond and Natasha Romanoff would be really hot together, but my love for Clintasha conquers all and so here is slight Bond/Natasha, followed by Clintasha. Imagine this 007 as Daniel Craig. :3 Enjoy!
"Black Widow."
"007."
The man laughs, a husky chuckle that sends shivers down Natasha's spine.
She'd never expected to see him again as their paths rarely crossed. His work was primarily not in America and so they'd decided to call things off (for various other reasons as well); it really had been for the best.
She has to admit, though, he looks good and she's willing to bet that he's thinking the same judging by the way he's eyeing her figure.
A person clears their throat and it's then that Natasha remembers she's on a mission and Clint is on the other end of her earpiece.
Tasha, is that who I think it is? And why is he looking at you like that?
She can hear the scowl in his voice and she can picture him crouching on the roof of the building next door with his arms crossed, watching them. She bites back a smile.
"James," she smiles, placing a hand on his arm. "How are you?"
They're standing by a pillar, her target just meters away.
Bond grins and covers her hand with his own. Natasha hears Clint growl through her earpiece.
"Just visiting. I've been...sightseeing," he replies, his eyes meeting hers and then sliding to her left.
She glances over her shoulder, pretending to admire the architecture of the ballroom, and her gaze lands on Gustavo Leibovitz, one of the top men in the sex slave business.
Natasha turns back to James, a bright grin plastered across her face.
"How wonderful."
Her voice is overly saccharine and James laughs, his hand sliding off hers and sweeping around her waist. He pulls her close, their fronts pressing together, and he smirks down at the way her breasts push against his chest.
Natasha hears Clint swear, followed by the clicking of a gun being loaded. When Clint chooses his handgun over his bow, things are serious.
"Barton," she snaps, "Calm down."
He huffs and mumbles something that she can't quite hear, but the sound of him putting the safety on his gun is reassuring.
Bond glances at Natasha's earpiece and chuckles.
"I haven't seen you since Calcutta." His drawl is tempting and Natasha's eyes slide closed, her memory going back ten years ago.
"It has been a while, hasn't it?" She smiles coyly and looks up at him through her eyelashes.
His fingers trail slowly up and down her side and she remembers that one night when—
"If you have some free time..." His lips quirk up again, his left eyebrow raised suggestively.
Clint's breathing is getting harsher and Natasha knows he's trying to keep himself in check, but there's a sharp inhalation that results in coughing when Bond's hand slides across her back where the cloth dips down in a V that ends at the top of her ass.
"Clint," she warns again.
She can feel James half-hard against her thigh and she's so, so, tempted; he'd always been one of her best. One of her favorites. Had she time and less regard for Clint's feelings, Natasha would tease him, flirt with Bond for the rest of the evening. Maybe even do some heavy petting in a closet. But she knows Clint is still insecure about them and she cares too much about him, so she shakes her head apologetically.
"I've got to finish this mission by 11."
His smile and nod are understanding and he winks when he says, "Clint is a lucky man."
Natasha doesn't ask how he's guessed because James has always been good at figuring people out, but she pushes up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
"Jusqu'à la fois suivante, mon amour," she whispers in his ear, eliciting a groan.
It's okay, she thinks, to have said that, because it's a saying that is nothing but a habit anymore—a joke between old friends.
She glides out of Bond's arms and melds into the crowd, all the while feeling his eyes on her.
Clint is cussing in her ear so she tells him to shut up. Tells him how much she loves him and what she's planning on doing to him back at the hotel. The other end grows silent.
"You could have at least told me you've fucked James Bond," he mutters a moment later.
"Don't be so crude," she scoffs.
"It's James fucking Bond. 007!" Clint exclaims.
Natasha doesn't respond as she knocks into their target, distracting him with her cleavage and a heart stopping smile long enough to drop a capsule into his drink.
As she saunters away towards the doors, she sighs.
"It wasn't just sex, if it's so important to you. We were married for a month."
The sound of Clint's gun hitting the ground is followed by his cursing and Natasha has to refrain from laughing as she slips out of the ballroom and heads towards the building's exit.
A/N: Please, please, please correct the French if it's incorrect because it's so embarrassing when that happens.
Does this count as a crossover?
Thanks for reading!