Quick Authors Note - so sorry for the delay in updating, was evacuated due to wildfires in CO and just now getting back on track, I promise more fic and, less fire evacuations in the future. Thanks for being patient with me :) Now on to our story.

Mission Paramaters

AKA - That one time when Natasha arrived over-prepared.

Is this a date? No, this is just sex. What do you wear for just sex? No, what do you wear for therapy sex? It sounds like something you need terry cloth or yoga pants for… Clint frowns, he doesn't own yoga pants. But he does appreciate them, especially on Natasha.

Watching Natasha in yoga pants is something of an unofficially recognized pastime amongst the field agents. She never complained to the higher-ups, but someone else must have… Fury's solution was elegant. The next day, the director had a slingshot delivered to Clint's door. Now, agents are kept on their toes. Now, when someone is walking down the hall with a huge welt on their forehead, agents just smile; there's a price you pay for ogling Hawkeye's partner.

He glares at the closet accusingly, as if it's to blame for the fact that he's worrying about clothing like a fifteen-year-old girl.

There's a knock at the door. Crap, she's early. He looks down at his black t-shirt and draw-string pants; guess this is what you wear for it's-just-therapy-sex.

He opens the door and he notices she's similarly dressed. Grey t-shirt and loose black pants. Good. He accidentally dressed appropriately for therapy sex.

He gestures for her to come inside and she gracefully jumps onto the couch, throwing a small black gym bag to the floor. It hits the ground with a suspiciously loud thump. He tries not to wonder about what might be in there.

She raises an elegantly sculpted eyebrow, daring him to comment.

"So…" Has he ever felt this nervous prior to sex? Not since he was sixteen, that's for sure.

She smiles. "Okay, Barton. Let's do some intel."

He laughs and feels some of the tension ebb. "Seriously, Tash? You want to approach how to have non-mission sex as a mission?"

"It's how I work. Deal with it. So let's start with basic info." The smile turns into a slight leer. "When was the last time you had sex?"

Great. First question, and he's already in trouble. He looks at the carpet suddenly fascinated by the beige surface. "Um… December 14th."

A flash of something that might be hurt crosses her features. He knows why. He makes a point of spending every December 15th with her, declaring it their 'anniversary'. That he would have spent the previous night with another woman seems to have hit a nerve. He decides not to fix the mistaken assumption. Better a few hurt feelings than admitting...

A calculating look crosses her features. "Wait a minute…"

Damn.

"We were in Greenland freezing our asses off in a remote base last December 14th, so unless you bedded eighty-year-old Dr. Stan Meedely…"

Oh ugh, worst mental image of all time.

"Or wandered outside and found a friendly Yeti…"

Okay, second worst mental image of all time.

"There's no way you could have... Hold on… December of what year?"

Shit.

Busted.

This is where he may have to face the fact that he hasn't had sex since he brought her into SHIELD, three years ago. He hadn't felt the need hook up with the trainees and rookies who previously warmed his bed, another reason most of SHIELD assumed they'd been fucking since day one. Nat filled all of the emotional cracks and crevices of his scarred psyche. As for the physical... She obviously didn't want to be pursued, and he's got his right hand and the internet.

"What about you? When was the last time you had sex."

She rolls her eyes at the obvious ploy to avoid the question, but doesn't shy from answering it. "December 1st, honeypot mission to get intel from Turkey's Director of International Finance, a recluse who never left his boat. I came aboard as his daughter's new best friend from college."

"You slept with him?"

"Yes, but that wasn't the last time I had sex."

He raises an eyebrow.

"I was in his office, the next day, when she showed up. I didn't want her wondering what I was doing there, or why his computer was on, so I, um, distracted her."

His brain short circuits for a moment. Stop it Barton. Therapy guys do NOT get hard listening to their partners talk about missions.

"It was probably as close to voluntarily having sex as I ever got. I could have easily gotten her out of the room, or just tranq'ed her and escaped with the files… But she was such a conflicted, confused young woman… She was obviously terrified of her sexual attraction to women in general, and her attraction to her new best friend, specifically… She was afraid that I'd think she was sick. So I put on someone who could introduce her to her sexuality, and let her know it wasn't wrong to feel what she was feeling and how to enjoy it. Her father was a controlling, stuck-up bigot, so I also felt it karmically appropriate to seduce his daughter on his prized pre-Ottoman war desk. It also allowed me to stay through the week without blowing my cover."

Barton tries to keep his breathing even. Best mental image ever. Aw crap, stop it. That's not being 'therapy guy'. Stop imagining your partner kissing a Greek co-ed. Stop. Stop. Stop. He tries to find something to grab in the information that 'therapy guy' would care about. "So, it was still for the mission, and you still put on another persona, correct?"

She nods.

"Here's what I'm thinking." He takes a bottle of water from the fridge, trying to focus on being 'therapy guy'. "Mission Goals: get Agents Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov out of the celibate, sexually stunted mental place they are right now."

She bites back a laugh. "Agreed."

"I haven't had sex in a while."

Her eyebrow quirks up, silently mocking him for not admitting how long. He ignores it and plows ahead.

"And even when I did before, it was just scratching an itch, no emotions, just sex." He hopes he can get her to give him more, open up more if she's doing it to help his issues, not just her own. "Mission goal for Agent Barton: make sex about more than just the act."

"Agreed." She hops onto the counter and grabs a coffee mug, filling it with the coffee she knows he brewed just for her. "Mission goal for Agent Romanov: have sex as self, no artifice, no putting on another persona, no save-the-world stuff on the line."

"Agreed."

They clink drinks in agreement.

"So." Natasha takes a long pull from the steaming hot mug. "I've got oils, straps, handcuffs, lube, whips, liquid latex, vibrators, electro–"

She looks almost offended at his sudden outburst of laughter, but he can't help it.

"Well, some of us came prepared, Barton. I'll bet you didn't even think to grab a condom."

"I'll have you know I'm well stocked, but let's back up a sec." Suddenly being therapy guy isn't something he has to work at. He brushes a lock of hair behind her ear as she stares at the ground. "I know you've done all of these things, but which of them do you LIKE doing?"

She looks up at him, brows furrowed, confused. "They all provide very different types of pleasure…"

He sighs. "I'm not talking about pleasure. I'm talking about preference. Do you even know what you might WANT to do?"

She can't meet his eyes, frantically looking around. He can see her start to panic.

"Hey, it's okay." He takes her hand and they both focus on that connection. "Let's start at the VERY beginning. We can work our way up to whips and latex later. For right now, let's just work on the basics."

She nods, and he feels the despair radiating off his partner. She feels like she's failing at this before it's even begun.

He cups her cheek. Giving into a selfish impulse, he caresses the silk of her hair with his other hand as he lifts her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Let's just start at the beginning. A kiss."

He tries to keep his breathing measured as he lowers his lips to hers.

A soft, chaste touch of the lips, barest brush of flesh. He can do this, he can be therapy guy. He can keep it slow and –

And she parts her lips slightly, gasping in pleasure, she presses her half open lips to his again, entreating for more.

Therapy guy goes out the window.

He deepens the kiss without thinking, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip before crushing her against him. They crash together, tongues dueling for dominance, rough demanding kisses, neither of them wanting to let up long enough to take the next breath. Her hands claw desperately at his shoulders, pulling him closer, practically climbing him. He grabs her ass and helps, lifting her and slamming her against him. He begins to see spots, though he's not sure if it's from lack of breathing or her breasts crushed against his chest… He distantly wonders if there could be a better death than asphyxiation from kissing Natasha Romanov. If so, he certainly can't think of it right now.

Eventually, oxygen depravation forces them apart and he pulls back slightly. "Are you all right?"

He can see the fluttering pulse in her neck, matching the hammering in his own chest. She's breathing heavily. "Yes."

"Still you?"

She looks almost puzzled as she works to gather her thoughts. "Yes… I didn't even think about it. Perhaps it's because I've never had to put on someone else for you even in the earliest days… Because you never tried to… It's easier for me."

She's okay doing this because she thinks you're safe. He tries to ignore the bitterness of the thoughts. Focus on the positive ' therapy guy'. She's never been anyone else for you. That's something no one else on this stupid planet can say about Natasha Romanov.

Her eyes narrow as if she senses his turmoil. "What about you? Did you feel any emotional withdrawal?"

How could she possibly ask him that? Did she not feel him putting everything he had into that kiss? Pushing down the disappointment, he strengthens his resolve. He'll get through to her, it'll just take some more 'convincing'. He will categorize every sigh, gasp, and moan. Then spend the next few years making her gasp and scream his name until there's no space in her brain for a single thought of Captain fucking America.

He forces a smirk and puts a leer in his voice. "I think I could try again and see if we can get more of a connection."

A brief flicker of emotion passes across her face, but before he can identify it she's pulling him to her again.

…

The end - no not really, but for a little while.

Authors notes:

Sorry dear readers, I REALLY wanted to put these two in bed together, but they just wanted to talk, talk, talk, so we'll have to wait till the next chapter for some hard core action. Poor kids, they just have so many feels I need to stomp on.

As always, a thousand kudos to DJ Liopleurodon for inspiration and countless chats bouncing ideas and helping me find the right tone... and OddDoll for the most meticulous grammar beta the world has ever known, they (and everyone else who writes reviews/kudos etc,) keep me inspired to write more and more for this pairing. Guests, I couldn't pm you back, but thank you SO much for taking the time to leave feedback.