She was throwing knives. She'd been throwing knives for the past hour, and before that she was beating up a sparring dummy on the other side of the room. She knew almost everything, and could do almost everything. Thanks to the Red Room for giving her one of those fancy super-serum operations, she was better at everything.
He was on the other side of the room sitting on a bench watching her throw the knives directly into the center of the target. For a second he thought it was unfair that everything came so easy to her, then he remember that she was a brain-washed, orphaned assassin by the time she was 29. Physically 29, anyway.
He saw the way the way the muscles in her arm bended as she released the knives one by one. He could see her breathing correspond with the release of the knives. He watched as she took a step forward, her legs stiffening as she waited for then knives to hit their destination. She was truly a piece of art. A beautiful, perfect sculpture that was chiseled by the most amazing artists in the world. He shook his head, he can't think of her like that. She would smack him if she knew he was thinking about her like that.
"Hey, Nat, want to come to my place to watch a movie with me?" he asked walking over her. She tuned and smirked. "As long as Kate isn't there. Last time I went over she was practically starring at me the whole time." He laughed as they walked to the bench where they had put there stuff. Stark had had locker rooms built into the tower, but Nat and Clint didn't use them. Why? They tell themselves it's because they want to annoy Stark, not using the multi-thousand dollar showers he installed, but it's really because they've caught every single one of the Avengers doing 'dirty' things with someone in those locker rooms, of coarse not Steve because he's, you know, Steve. "I just have to stop and change." said Natasha.
"Oh… Can I watch?" She punched him in the arm.
Once they had gotten to Clint's house Nat had wet, shower hair, and was in a tee shirt and pajama pants, while Clint's uniforms was practically stuck to him because of the dried sweat. He flicked on the TV. "Look for something on Netflix. I need to take a shower. Now." He walked through the bedroom, into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. After washing with soap three times and at least ten minutes of scrubbing, Clint was squeaky clean.
He ran out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and rolled onto the couch kicking Natasha in the ear. "Really, idiot, really?" She punched him in the foot, and he recoiled clutching to the already lightly bruised limb. "Ow, Nat. All I did was hit you in the ear, no need for cruel, hurtful punishment." He sat up next to her as he apologized for hitting her ear. She smirked at how sincere he sounded and said she was sorry his foot was so weak it could succumb to the pain delivered by a girl. "Okay, okay. Stop being mean. What did you pick out? I mean like the movie."
They watched Batman: The Dark Knight Rises for the umpteenth time and by the time it was over Nat was half asleep, so Clint carried her to his room and set her on the bed. He started walking out the door. "What you afraid that if you sleep in the same bed as me you'll catch my Russian?" Nat said groggily. He turned around. "No, I just thought, you know, you don't want the most attractive man in the world sleeping next to you because you wouldn't be able to handle your self." She scoffed and then shoved her head into the pillow as Clint walked over and laid beside her.
When she woke up she was practically lying on top of him. Her head was on his clavicle, and her one leg was shoved between his. She rolled off and stared up at the ceiling. It was Sunday, their day off. She turned and closed her eyes trying to fall back asleep. "Nat, you up?" "Ugh." was her response. They both flopped over so they were starring at each other. He looked in her eyes. And she looked into his. They had both known each other for years, and knew basically everything about the the other person. And Nat trusted him. Trusted every single part of him, even after Loki took his brains (he'd been having nightmares and flashbacks inevitably since then). But Nat still trusted him with her life. Thrusted him with everything. All though she would never speak those words to him. "Barton, I really want to kiss you right now." "What's stopping y-" Yea, if she let him finish it would to much of a boost to his 'romantical ego', so she didn't let him finish. Their kisses were sloppy, but sweet and hot. Welding them together. She returned to her position on top of him as his hands moved lazily up and down her back. The tiredness should be expected, it was still as only seven thirty and they had gone to bed at, like, three.
She wondered her hand under his shirt, moving the pads of her fingers as she as she went across his chest and downs his abdomen. "Should… we be doing… this?" Nat gasped. Clint was rather distracting her by grinding his hips up into hers. He stopped, "I don't know. I don't think so either, but I don't… see why that would stop us." he yawned. "Your right." And she leaned back down, kissing down his jaw bone and slowly lifting his shirt up.
She smirked as she had gotten the shirt all the way off his torso. "What are you smiling about?" Clint asked. "You're really hot." Clint flipped them over as he tried to undo the tie on his pants. "Whoa, calm down." She glided her hand down to his pants and started slipping them down his legs. "Not fair. You, to much clothes." Clint breathed. She giggle at that. "Oh, so now you're a caveman?" She slipped tiredly out of her shirt, watching Clint's eyes follow up her body. She'd taken her bra off the night before, there was no way in hell she was going to sleep in that thing. Clint grunted as he slip down her body to her breasts. He worked them in his mouth kissing, sucking, nipping anywhere that was apart of her chest.
She was making sounds he didn't even think were possible they were so arousing. She was slowly grinding up on him and he was going insane. Well as insane as he could be, just waking up and all. He dragged her pants down, but paused. He was in control right now, and he was never in control, and if he were more awake (and less turned on) he would take advantage of that. But he just continued pulling her pants downs, along with her underwear as she was nipping at his neck and clawing at his boxers.
"Who's the one who needs to calm down now?" he smiled. She pulled the boxers the rest of the distance down with her heels. She leaned into him, putting her mouth to his ear and whispered something. Whispered something so quiet he could barely hear it, "Fuck me, Barton." He fumbled over to the drawer and grabbed a little foil square. "I'm on birth control idiot." Tasha huffed. After that he basically jumped on top of her. She helped him enter her, so she wouldn't get hurt. He went slowly, tired, but Natasha grew restless, wrapping her legs around his waist, thrusting up to his pelvis.
She moaned him name over and over, lying openmouthed kisses along his shoulders and neck. He was kissing her cheeks and rubbing his hands over every space of her body. Nat reached in-between her legs. She started rubbing her clit. He could feel them both getting closer as both of their moans filled the room with the sound of sleepy lust. And as Clint came and Nat right after him they sat in the bed thinking about this thing they had just created.
The sun pooled through the window, as they were both cuddled together in bed. "Well, shit. I'm going back to sleep." said Natasha. And so they slept.