Clint woke up to a loud crash in the kitchen. Ever since they had returned from their brief vacation in Switzerland, Natasha had been restless at night and tired during the day. Clint was worried, but then again, he did little else lately. He sat up, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he neared the kitchen, he could hear her singing. He stopped for a moment. She was a really, really good singer. He couldn't quite make out the words. Wait, it wasn't English. Russian, probably. Sounded like a lullaby. The melody reached the end, and the room was quiet again.
"Tasha?"
She turned around and smiled."Good look on you." She reached up and ruffled his hair. Clint looked down. He was wearing a wrinkled undershirt and a pair of plaid purple boxers. One black ankle sock covered his right foot, and blonde stubble covered his face.
"You were singing."
"I couldn't sleep. I really wanted some papayas, but we don't have any."
"Papayas? Why the hell would we buy papayas?"
"I can't stop thinking about them."
"Oh my god, Nat. You're getting cravings." Clint grinned. "Isn't it a bit early for that?"
"I dunno."
"Christ, you're adorable." And she was. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wore one of Clint's Def Leppard shirts that came down to her mid-thigh.
"You're one to talk."
"Is there something else I can make for you? Something normal?"
"Pancakes."
"Pancakes. Yes. That's normal. Uh, flour. And butter. And sugar."
"Can you even cook?"
"No. Not in the least." Clint grinned like a little kid about to teach his younger brother how to steal cookies from the top shelf. Mischievous and exuberant. "It'll be fun."
"Cookbook." Natasha handed him a thick blue volume.
"Where'd I get a cookbook?" Clint stared at it.
"You tell me, it's your place."
"Our place, Tash."
"Our place." Natasha tasted the words. "I like that." She kissed him, and he couldn't resist her warmth. He placed a hand on her hip, and she smiled through the kiss. Her hand traced the elastic rim of his boxers, and he moaned before pushing her gently away.
"Natasha. You know I'm not going to-"
"Please? It'll make me feel better."
"When we go back for your follow-up, you can ask Dr. Whatever-"
"-Dr. Lynn Jacobson-"
"-Dr. Whatever if it's safe then."
"No, I have an idea. I'll call her now."
"It's not office hours, Tash, and just because you're horny-"
"I have her cell. She works for a hospital owned by one of Tony's subsidiaries."
"Natasha," Clint sighed. "You can't just blackmail people into doing the things you want because they work for Stark."
"Watch me." Natasha took her cell phone from where it was plugged into the wall outlet, and dialed some numbers.
"Seriously, Tasha..."
"She's the only thing standing in between me and your body. So I am going to blackmail her." The phone connected. Clint rubbed his temples.
"Fine."
"Hi, Dr. Jacobson? This is Natasha Romanoff. I'm one of your patients. Yes, I realize it is two thirty in the morning. Yes, I am good friends with Mr. Stark. I saved his life a few times. No, not recently, before I was pregnant." Natasha rolled her eyes at Clint. "I'm going to put Mr. Romanoff on now. He wont let himself fuck me until you tell him it's safe." Clint turned red as Natasha handed him the phone.
"Look, Doctor Jacobs-"
"Jacobson," whispered Natasha.
"Jacobson, I'm really sorry about all this-"
"Clint, you can fuck your girlfriend. Goodnight. Good morning, rather." Dr. Jacobson hung up the phone.
"Well?" Natasha crossed her arms. "What did she say?"
Clint didn't bother to answer. He picked up Natasha, ignoring her squeals of protest, and laid her in bed.
"She said yes."
"Good." Natasha looked up at him through her eyebrows seductively.
"I'm going to be gentle, though," he warned.
"Fine," sighed Natasha dramatically. "Just get on with it."
He did. Gently, he pulled his shirt off, and began to kiss her neck, trying to go slow, but felt his resolve fade away when Natasha growled possessiveness and bit his ear. He allowed her to take over, and soon he was on his back, watching Natasha, on top of him, remove her shirt-for Christ's sake that's hot- and finally her underwear, tossing them to the side of the bed before pulling off Clint's boxers. Now the only clothing left was Clint's one black sock. He needed her, needed her body, her warmth, her soul-
"Uhhhnnn." He groaned, throwing his head back as Natasha straddled him. She clung to his hips as she pushed him inside of her. Clint reached one hand around her waist, and the other grabbed a fistful of the cotton sheets. Natasha began to move herself up and down. She moaned in pleasure every time her body collided with Clint's and he gasped as the sensation filled his senses. Unable to contain himself, he sat up and crawled on top of her, entering her again. Natasha's eyes, pupils wide and unfocused, looked absolutely feral. She screamed as she came, digging her fingernails into Clint's back. The noise pushed him over the edge, and he clung to her desperately as he rode out his climax.
"It's been too long."
"It's been like a month, Tasha." Clint allowed himself to be guided under the covers.
"Too long."
"How the hell do you ever survive a long mission, then?"
"I use my hands." Clint could feel himself blushing in the dark.
"That was a rhetorical question." He wove his arms around her back. She kissed his chest.
"Hey, Clint?"
"Yeah?"
"In the morning, can we go buy some papayas?"
