"You'd think a flying espionage base would have better laundry facilities," Clint muttered, tossing a pair of sweatpants into the dryer. He wasn't sure if the pants were his, or stolen from him and currently one of Nat's possessions.
"Is that yours or mine?" she asked, nodding her head at said article of clothing.
"Not sure," Clint shrugged.
Natasha waved him off lightly. "Doesn't matter," she said, brushing a lock of red hair behind her ear. Clint felt something flutter in his chest. Whatever it was—and he had too much manly pride to call it "butterflies"—happened more and more often while he was around his ridiculously attractive partner.
"So, how was the Kosovo mission?" Natasha asked, digging her hands into their laundry bag, and coming back out with a fistful of Clint's training t-shirts.
"Boring," he replied, checking for space within the dryer. There was only a small corner that was unfilled. He reached into the laundry bag again.
The laundry facilities on the hellicarrier were shit, just like the food and the beds. They were always in use or broken, so Clint and Natasha washed their clothes together. It was beneficial for them both. Clint pulled his hands back and found his fingers clenching lingerie.
"Gah," he winced, "Panties."
Natasha rolled her eyes at him as he gingerly held the cause for his discomfort. He'd seen his partner's underwear before, hell, he'd seen her only in her underwear multiple times. But this was not her usual choice. The offending garment was a silky blue thing with lace around the edges. Clint glanced at his partner, speculatively.
"What?" she hissed.
"What does this cover?" he asked, holding it up to her hips, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a wolfish grin.
"Essentially nothing," she said in earnest.
"Is it…like, uncomfortable?"
"I don't buy Victoria's Secret panties with intentions to keep them on for very long," she answered, without even the hint of a playful grin.
"Is that a suggestion or an insult to the company?" he asked, voice hoarse.
"I'll leave that one to you," she said, smiling. She tossed something beige at him. By the way the strap caught methodically on the back of his head, he guessed it wasn't just an innocent t-shirt.
"Add that to the dryer too, please," she requested sweetly.
Fuck, he thought at her seductive, half-smile, does she know what she does to me?
He lifted the thing off of his face and found himself staring at a beige, lace bra. He glanced down at it, and then back up to his partner's breasts, straining against the grey fabric of her shirt. His mouth watered just a little bit.
"Are you picturing me in it or without it?" she asked, sounding honestly curious.
"I'm picturing myself tearing it off of you, actually," he said.
"Well, why don't you then?" she said.
"Haven't had the pleasure of knowing when you were wearing it."
"Oh," she said, and stepped closer so that her forehead was pressed against his, "Well, if that's all…then once this load is out of the dryer, I'll put it on and come to your room at midnight."
His mind went completely blank at that. She leaned in close to breathe his air.
"See you later, agent," she whispered and brushed past him, shutting the dryer door as she went.