Author's note: I present to you, Clint and Natasha the FASI version: A royally fucked up relationship! ^^"

Warnings for implied non-con of minor, and something that might be read as dub-con between minors and later adults.

"So.. Have you had any luck recruiting?" Clint asked absentmindedly from his spot on the bed. Natasha leaned against his shoulder, allowing herself to just enjoy the sense of warmth and protection touching her archer gave.

"I might," she mumbled vaguely, distracted as she was by watching Clint skillfully disassembling his bow to clean it.

Clint smiled and shook his head, "Directness, Nat".

It was a standard warning, really, one common in their interactions. Either she was being too vague or too direct. Natasha sighed, snaking a hand around Clint's back, and slowly trailing up his spine.
"How long is Steve gone for?" She asked, as she reached his hair, where she let her hand rest.

"..At least an hour," Clint answered, voice calm.

Natasha knew she wasn't being fair, even as she shifted in bed, and moved over to sit behind him, slowly caressing his blonde hair. She could feel him tense ever so slightly against her, but he didn't comment, and kept working.

"So who might you have recruited?" he asked instead, voice as calm as ever.

Natasha placed her free arm over his shoulder, so she could press herself more firmly against his back.

"Well.. Pepper Potts, I believe," she said and kept petting his hair.

"You two seem to get along?" Clint suggested, and Natasha could hear the smile in his voice. She still froze for a moment, with a feeling as if she'd been caught doing something naughty.

"Yeah.. So to say, yes: I believe we do," she answered, feeling suddenly insecure.

"It's good that you're making friends, Nat," Clint said casually and continued his work on the bow. Natasha felt an irrational rush of relief at his words, then moved her hand from his shoulder to his stomach, rubbing in soft circles.

They sat like that for a while as Clint composed himself. It was part of the game, really.

"So, any others? As Clint talked again, there was a slight strain to his voice.

"Well, not yet," Natasha said, knowing she was going too far even as she breathed the last words hotly against his exposed neck "I have plans."

"Natasha.." He said, voice still calm, but they both knew it for the warning it was.

"Steve might be a possibility," she said after a while, and stopped her hand's movement.

"True, though he might be busy with football practice?" Clint asked, clearly glad that the conversation was back on track. Natasha wasn't about to give him a break though, and retreated both hands to his shoulders, and began massaging.

"Hm, maybe.." She mused. "But Thor does manage.."

"Yeah," Clint groaned, finally giving in and leaning back against her. The instant flash of pure fear-no-no-why-please-no was enough to make her stiffen, breath caught in her throat.

Clint very slowly withdrew himself, as he deliberately worked on the bow as if nothing had happened.For a while Natasha was frozen, desperately trying to compose herself. Finally she managed to release the death-grip on her friend's shoulders.

"Nat – I'm sorry, I –" Clint began, but Natasha gently shook her head.

"Niet," her voice was purposefully soft. "I took it too far. I shouldn't test you so.." but she wasn't sure if her voice didn't still shake with the repressed emotion of betrayal.

Clint wasn't convinced.

"Natasha, listen. I am sorry. It's a reflex! You know I don't.. That I would never.." he said desperately.

Natasha shook her head furiously, and let go of his shoulders as if she'd been scalded. Suddenly the room, which seemed to have been looming over her for a while, seemed to reach out for her and try to crumble her. She backed up against the wall, breath shallow, and eyes desperately scanning the room.

It was pressing down on her, and she felt as if she shouldn't be able to breathe, but she could, and Clint was there, her Clint – Her Archer, the boy. That boy. The boy. Her savior.

He was turning around now, slowly. She desperately wanted not to be afraid of him, but every movement made registered as a threat, and she fought hard not to flinch until he finally settled down, facing her.

His hands were awkwardly in front of him, and Natasha knew he wanted to comfort her. She also knew experience had taught him not to, not like that.

That wasn't how it worked!

She would come to him for intimacy, yes, but it was always be her who did the touching. A strange game, where the most affectionate thing Clint could do, was act as if she weren't touching him at all.

Natasha knew she was being unreasonable. Oh boy, did she know. That didn't stop her from violently flinching, as she registered some insignificant movement in the other. She protectively wrapped her arms around her knees, and continued to scan the room.

Clint wanted to fucking slap himself. It was simple, really. All he had to do was Stay. The. Fuck. Composed! It had all started out so simple, so innocent, at least on his part. Back in the days, Natasha's more or less sexual advances had had little to no effect on Clint. He just figured, "okay", and "if that's what she needs," and quickly learned that reacting in any way was not really a good idea.

Sure, he could walk away, or tell her no, but the dark guilt on her face the times he did call her on it – Clint would rather not reflect on those times. So it was their silent agreement. One he could never speak of, for fear that the spell of habits would break – And he would lose another of the few ways he knew how to comfort his friend.

Things had been so much simpler before they both fully hit puberty.

Natasha turning from a pretty little thing into a devastatingly beautiful creature, with bodily proportions many could only dream of, didn't actually help Clint's hormonal-increased libido.

But it didn't excuse him occasionally breaking their silent truce either.

"I'm sorry," he said again, feeling dumb.

"You are a man," Natasha said darkly, and Clint flinched. When Natasha said it like that, it was both an excuse and an accusation.

"You can't really blame men," she drilled on, and suddenly all Clint could see was that little girl with the hard, hard eyes – And any unwanted ounce of arousal left in him disappeared.

"Natasha, no." He said, feeling angry at himself and the world. "It's clearly the man who needs to control his fucking libido, so he's at fault, right? We spoke about this.." He tried not to sound exasperated. Natasha was usually very composed and extremely rational, but when she got like this, Clint wasn't ever quite sure how to handle her.

"I would NEVER lose to a foe as small as my fucking prick," he continued, hoping to illicit a more Natasha-reaction. "Tell you what; I'll shoot an arrow through it, if it tries anything funny!"

Natasha looked slightly scandalized, and a little bit amused, and Clint thought he deserved some kind of medal as he witnessed her slowly pulling herself back from whatever memory she'd been caught in.

She shook her head slightly, and looked around the room as if she was registering it properly for the first time in a while. Finally her eyes settled on Clint's, and Clint tried not to focus too hard on the regret and guilt to be read in her eyes, lest it would break his heart.

She seemed as if about to say something a few times before she actually spoke. The words were rushed, and spoken in an angry tone Clint could only guess was directed towards herself.

"Fuck, Clint.. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go so far. It's just.. Sometimes it's like your calmness hurts more. It's like I do want you to react to me. To love me, to be turned on by me, to fuck me. And I keep pushing, like an idiot, because you're a fucking saint.. but then when you do react, I run and hide like a traumatized baby. I'm so sorry I can't just be either or.. I should really stop these childish games.."

Clint moved uneasily as he listened to his friend's confession. It had changed somewhat in nature, but on the whole he'd heard similar words since they were ten years old.

The answer remained the same, though the nature of his own love might have changed and grown throughout the year – But Natasha didn't have to know that.

"Nat, it's okay, I don't have to have sex to know that I love you, but I do, and I have for a long time. If you ever truly want me to act, stop pushing, just tell me, okay? Because until you give me the most green light possible at this level of existence.. I'm going to do my best to stay as calm as a fat, neutralized ex-tomcat!"

Natasha smiled a little weakly.

"My neutralized ex-tomcat Archer," she said, and her smile grew wider as she tentatively grabbed one of his hands in hers.

"..You may hold my hand." She continued, and a feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with arousal spread in Clint's stomach as he closed his larger hand on top of hers.

Theirs was an awkward dance, he thought to himself as Natasha crawled into his lap, and led his hand up to carefully pet her hair.

One step back, and two steps forward today. But no one over really knew what the morning would bring.

End note:

Hope you enjoyed this awkward little dance ;) Next up for tango is Tony and Steve :D