Title: Lullaby of Three Dancers

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: I don't own 'Tasha or Clint.

Summary: Assassins can get sleepy too. A progress of Natasha & Clint's sleeping moments together over time. Post movie. Fluffy.

Leave some encouragement at the bottom? SPEAKING of bottoms, doesn't this pairing have nice ones?

Her red curls covered the side of her sleeping face and it made him smirk. She seemed so human when she slept. Clint could almost forget how skillful she was with multiple weapons. He could almost forget the look of anger on her face during a long mission. He noted that anger and determination with Natasha could be intertwined. Falling asleep with her head sideways, mouth partially open, falling asleep on a couch in the meeting room of headquarters. It was so Natasha. Feeling insanely risky this evening, Clint used his best stealth methods to sneak up on the sleeping assassin. He paused a moment to think how dangerous that sounded.

"Oh, 'Tasha," he whispered in a sing-song voice. She didn't budge, so he slinked closer, his smirk growing thicker on his face. "My sweet Russian flame?" he waited for a mumble, a threat, anything really.

Clint felt proud of himself for being able to get so close to her, it wasn't an easy task (both physically and mentally). Maybe she really did let her superhero guard down around him. Maybe it wasn't a fluke. He raised a curious brow and brought his pointer finger about six inches from her face. Nothing happened. He inched closer to her.

"Don't you dare, Barton," she threatened, her eyes still fully closed. "I'll kick your ass from here to San Francisco if you touch me with that finger of yours."

He stood still, unmoving as a hearty laugh erupted from him.

"Barton. Seriously."

"Okay," he agreed still amused. "Romanoff, how did you know anyway? Is it the way my feet sound against this linoleum tile? Was it the smell of my shower gel that gave me away?" he wondered sarcastically.

"No," she began, "it was sound of your beating heart."

Clint stopped smiling and looked at her differently. His heart? She was good, but surely not that good. He couldn't hear hers at this moment.

"Didn't pick up on that in Budapest now did we?" he said it before he thought too much about it.

Her eyes snapped open, almost afraid. "I think I'm going to go to my quarters now. Goodnight, Agent Barton."

The gentle light of the morning crept through the window. Clint's eyes opened. He tried to stretch his left arm and suddenly grasped that someone was currently occupying it. Squinting, a blur of red came into view. He was so glad to see that red there. Mentally noting it was his favorite shade of red too.

Clint looked around his quarters and realized they had both fallen asleep watching the news last night. He grinned wonderfully.

"She didn't leave this time," he murmured it so quietly to himself. Usually she did, she would stand up from the couch, making a joke about burned popcorn or the lack of truth in the news, and then gently squeeze his shoulder or even wave and she'd be gone like a phantom. Sometimes Clint would simply stay in his spot on the couch after she had gone and think about how her presence was much more welcomed than he could gush to her. The TV would continue to go on trying to sell blenders and the like, but he'd be thinking about other things. Finally, Clint would get up and shut off the lights of the empty TV room and drag himself to bed.

Not last night. That talk show put them both out like a light.

He didn't want to startle a sleeping dragon, so he thought the best way to break it to her that she slept over was to break it to the slumbering redhead very gently.

"Hey, Natasha?" he looked over at the sleeping creature cuddling his left arm. Clint couldn't help but admire how alluring she looked there. His heart began to race and he wondered if she could hear it. He was a trained agent; he should be able to wake her up without worry. At least he told himself so as he watched her inhale and exhale so closely to him. Natasha's body was warm and belonging. Inching carefully nearer, he nuzzled his nose near her ear; he was close, but still far enough away for comfort. He permitted himself to cheat a few deep breaths. Her hair smelled somewhat foreign and beautiful. He wondered if it was a standard shampoo that she used, surely it was far too wonderful to be available to common people.

Suddenly she stirred, "Barton, I have to admit, I know I didn't before, but you make a comfortable pillow." Clint pulled back in time to see Natasha open her green eyes. She looked up through her eyelashes.

"I didn't mind too much. Your snoring was like white noise, made me more comfortable." He raised a corner of his mouth devilishly. She retorted with a stern look.

"Clint?" Natasha looked at the empty spot next to her on the bed. He was always there, every time she woke, Clint was there. Panic settled deep into her stomach and it irritated her. It wasn't like he was in danger; he just simply wasn't wrapped up in the comforter next to her. Either way, it made her anxious. She reached out and touched the pillow, it was cool. Clint had been up for a while. Flipping off the covers, she stood up and reached for an article of clothing. The last thing she needed was for Tony to stumble into Clint's quarters and see her trotting about in her best black panties. However, if she was being honest, the idea did humor her.

"Agent Barton? I demand to know where you flew off to." The words purred in her throat, she could play this morning if that's what this was.

She heard him before he probably realized she did. Clint's walk was unique, his scent, the way his heart would beat faster when she'd lie over his bare chest; it was all him. She decided to play it as she always did: the unknowing sleeper.

Clint's hands smoothly took hold of her shoulders from behind. His hands rolled down to greet hers. The thick and rough hands she learned to trust gently held hers, so slender compared to his.

"Do you want to play a game?" he asked coolly.

Natasha gave his rough hands a squeeze. "What kind of game is this?"

Clint got closer and hugged her back very closely, his nose tickling up her neck into her hair. His arms wrapped around her tiny waist.

"The one where you trust me…" he whispered dangerously into her ear. She felt a shiver shoot up her spine.

"I do. That wasn't very hard," she teased him.

He backed off and changed his tone. "Then, Miss Romanoff, allow me to be your master marksman." Clint chuckled warmly as he moved his hands onto her shoulders again. "I am going to be your sight."

Natasha caught herself smiling and she abruptly wondered if she should be.

Clint gently cupped his hands over her eyes and a faint scent of vanilla and chocolate chips hung on them. Experiencing it the first time in her life, she felt nearly normal. Here and now, she wasn't the Black Widow, or a once Russian spy; with Clint she was Natasha. That was it.

"You know, Clint?"

"What do I know, 'Tasha?"

She bit her lip, feeling on the spot. "Never mind, proceed, master marksman."

He led her carefully into the kitchen area, her eyes still covered.

"Hey, you know if you made a mess in here…"

"Nice try, Nat," he cautioned. It seemed like she might have ruined a moment.

She winced slightly, "I was just saying."

He pulled her into the kitchen area (at least she determined so by the change in flooring and the overwhelming scent of pancakes), and he released her to see.

Natasha grinned; he knew they were her favorite.

I'm not going to say too much, but would it be too fluffy to have a little one wedged into their sleeping habits?

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