Just a bit of Clintasha fluff. Hope you like!
His eyes are squinted shut from the long drive in the burning sunlight as he makes his way up the many steps to his apartment. He nearly slips on the third from the top but manages to catch himself before he falls flat on his face – he knew that somehow, somewhere, Natasha would have some kind of sixth sense and know he tripped, and make fun of him when she got back from whatever crazy mission she was on – and continued carefully, making sure not to drop any of the many bags in his hands.
He swiftly pulls a key out of his left pocket when he's inches away from the front door; it slides into the key slot with only the slightest scrap and the door swings open silently, banging lightly against the adjoining wall and Clint steps in, his footsteps barely echoing alone the tile floor of the small entry way. He reaches the kitchen within a few minutes – due to the fact that his apartment was kind of small, SHIELD didn't exactly give the highest salary, even though he was one of the organizations best assassins – and nearly threw the bags down on the floor and collapsed into one of the two, wooden backed chairs, placing his head into one palm.
Clint let out a barely audible sigh as one foot begins to tap against the tile. He suddenly feels a slight wave of heat and kicks off one shoe, then the other, and reaches out a hand to press the white button on the wall. The fan starts with a slight jump and begins to blow fresh air into the room, and Clint goes back into the chair.
Suddenly he hears a small cry and freezes; there shouldn't be anyone in his house, and he closed all the windows before he left, so that either means that his house has been broken into or…Natasha.
With a slight chuckle he stands up, pausing for a second when his elbow cracks against the marble, but after letting out a curse he continues, slipping into the dimly lit hallway and going a few feet before stopped at a door at the end of the hall, one of three. He grasps the handle firmly and pushes the door open.
A sliver of light runs into the room, falling upon the bed. Clint holds back a laugh when the light reveals red curls among the pillow. He makes his way towards the bed and slowly crawls on, slowly lowering his head on the pillow and slinking one arm around his partner's middle, pulling her closer to him and burying his head his her curls.
After a moment she stirs, then he feels her stiffen. But then she relaxes, pushes herself closer to him, and murmurs, "You know, I could have killed you for that."
He lets out a chuckle. "Nat," he says quietly, and that's all it takes before she moves slightly away – he feels the lost of body heat for a split second – and twists around, lifting up the covers. It's then he realizes that's she's dressed in short sweat pants and a tank top, and freezes for a second while she slides the blue and gray comforter over him, then curls up with her back to him.
It quiet for a moment, but then Clint speaks. "How'd you get into my apartment?"
"I broke in. How else?"
He groans, but then buries his nose deeper into her hair, breathing in her sweet, apple scent. When he speaks it's slightly muffled, but she can hear anyway; his lips are centimeters from her ear. "Does that mean I have to get Tasha-proof locks?"
He feels a sharp elbow in his stomach, but instead just grins and holds her tighter.
This story has been continued. If you are new, this message won't make any sense. Sorry.
