The warmth of his hand at the small of her back guides her through the foyer of the hotel. Casting her gaze around the room, Natasha counts the patrons that are moving through the lobby, ascertains that she doesn't know any of them and lets him steer her toward the stairwell so that they don't have to ride the elevator with the people who are already waiting.
He has just arrived back from a mission, liberating her from a STARK Industries christmas party with his usual perfect timing. The moment she caught sight of him on the terrace beyond the function room she knew how the night would end and welcomed it.
"I'm on the fourth floor," she whispers in his ear, lips so close that they brush against his earlobe.
He gets in close enough to growl gently against her ear and Natasha suppresses a shiver at the sensation, the warmth of his breath that seems to seep through her body and warm her. Heat floods her, adrenaline stirring in the midst of the carefully cultivated champagne dizziness.
Leaning into him, she tugs his arms around her waist and makes a small noise of agreement in the back of her throat. Four flights of stairs is nothing, not even in the shoes she is wearing, not when she knows that she'll have him all to herself when they reach their destination. She slows her pace so that his body presses into the back of hers, brushing her ass against his groin with every step to fuel the fire that is already burning inside them.
In good humour they climb the stairs, stopping now and then to press each other into the wall, wandering hands and whispered words helping to build the heat that is always there between them. Caught up in him, her hands move of their own accord, lingering a second too long at his belt as she tries to remember how far they've climbed and how far they still have to go.
"You're killing me Tasha," he growls, fingers playing with the neckline of her dress, his mouth hovering over hers, a breath away from contact.
Caught between the wall and his body, hard plaster at her back and firm muscle at her front, she raises her gaze to look him directly in the eye. With deliberate slowness she closes the distance between their mouths, never breaking eye contact until she can capture his lower lip between her teeth gently. His mouth claims hers almost immediately. At first the kiss is gentle, probing, but it doesn't stay that way for long, quickly deepening until her head spins and she is drunk on the taste of him.
"One more floor and then I'm all yours," she tells him, pressing a finger to his mouth to emphasise her words. It would be so easy to give in and let him bend her over the bannister, to throw caution to the wind, but she knows that the security in this particular hotel is better than most. What she has to show is for his eyes only tonight. His eyes are blown black with desire and she can feel the restraint singing through him as he grabs her hand and continues the climb.
He's on her the moment the door of her room closes behind them, pressing her face first to the wall while his hands slide up the outside of her thighs and beneath the skirt of her dress to grip her hips. Breathless with wanting, she spreads her feet and turns her face to look back over her shoulder at him. The press of Clint's body against her own tells her all that she needs to know about how much he wants her but he seems determined to draw out the encounter and makes no effort to remove her clothes.
Strong hands hold her in place as he kisses his way up the exposed skin of her spine and then across to that sensitive spot below her ear. The slight scrape of stubble is a secondary caress, heightening the sensations that he offers her until she finds herself tilting her throat to give him better access. Every breath escapes her on a shaky sigh.
His hands wander and as blunt fingernails whisper across her skin leaving trails of fire in their wake, he whispers something delightfully filthy in her ear. Her knees go weak and he chuckles darkly at the reaction, more than able to feel her body's response through the silk of her underwear.
"Fucks sakes Barton," she exhales as his fingers slip inside of the thin layer of fabric that stands between them. His touch is knowing, his fingers are talented, strong and intent on giving her pleasure. He lets out a strangled groan against her shoulder blade as his fingertips make contact with her heated flesh but recovers quickly.
His right hand pins hers to the wall, fingers looping over hers so that their hands are fully entwined while his left shows her exactly what she has been missing in his absence. Throwing her free hand out behind her, Natasha finds his belt and uses it to pull his body in tight against her own. Undulating against him, she swallows the urgency that she feels. If he wants to draw this out then she can, and will, give as good as she gets.
In her experience only three things make can lower a man's voice to a certain type of growl; violence, heavy exercise or sex, and when she hears his voice again, her lust soaked brain doesn't take much persuasion to run with the imagery he gives her. His touch makes her burn and she rocks her hips against his hand, enjoying the rough exhalation of his breathing as she grinds herself against him.
He drives her hard, his fingers increasing their pace, circling and swooping and driving her to the point of begging and then his mouth is up close to her ear, his whisper a shot of pleasure straight to her central nervous system. "I would very much like to be inside you right now," he informs her in the tone of a man who knows fine well that she won't deny him.
Unable to trust what might come out of her mouth, Natasha merely nods her permission and rolls her hips in response. Losing herself in every push and pull, floating and grounded at the same time she moves with him, working herself against his hand. She turns her face and catches his mouth with her own, drawing desperately on the connection as he brushes against that sweetest of spots inside of her with every advance and retreat. Then, just when she thinks that she can't take any more, he hits just the right spot, thumb and fingers working in perfect synchrony, and she flies apart, molecules scrambling and reforming as she tries to remember how to breathe properly.
When she comes back to her senses, chest pressed into the wall and with his arm wrapped around her waist to hold her steady, she straightens and turns, crashing her mouth against his. The rumble of laughter against her tongue is a sweet vibration and melts into him, more than willing to lose her clothing and go another round. Clint arches into her touch as she fumbles with his belt and eases his pants over his hips. She tears open the shirt that he is wearing, arching an eyebrow at the press stud fastenings but passing no comment, and then captures his mouth in another searing kiss.
After throwing him down onto the bed, she takes a moment to simply look at him, something she doesn't really do anywhere near often enough. He is what she sees when she closes her eyes, the lean muscularity of his frame, the strength of his arms and hands, the man who is as open and giving as a lover as he is a friend. She stands at the foot of the bed and looks down at him, holding his eyes and controlling the moment. Sex is as much about anticipation as it is completion after all.
"Nat …" he begins, his voice half question and half plea, is beautiful to her ears. She crawls up the mattress to place a fingertip against his lips, shushing him, and then follows the action with a brief kiss before climbing off him again.
Slowly she begins to remove the dress, tantalising him with a hint of creamy skin here and there beneath the dark shimmering fabric. His eyes are wide, devouring everything that she offers, his hand snaking lower until he can stroke his own length. There is a challenge in those eyes, a hint of defiance that makes her want to have him take her so hard she'll have rug burns for a month, but she doesn't cave. Not yet. She actually enjoys the view. She watches and she lets him see the heat in her eyes, lets her hands move more sensuously over her curves.
She sheds the dress carefully, turning away to shimmy out of the fabric, bending artfully at the waist to make sure that he sees what is on offer. She removes the shoes, raising one stiletto clad foot at a time to a chair at the foot of the bed, making a performance of it all, but doesn't make any attempt to remove the sheer underwear or the black bra. She leaves the lengthy silver necklace around her neck too, enjoying the way that the metal catches the light coming in through the window.
Once again she crawls up the mattress, this time planting kisses here and there as she moves, trailing the tip of her tongue along the length of his shaft from base to tip and then briefly taking the head of him into her mouth before taking as much of him as she can in a movement that makes him arch up off the bed in a most satisfying manner. The sound that escapes him is all animal and enough to reignite that familiar heat that coils in the pit of her belly. It's tempting to stay there a while longer and see what other sounds she can get out of him but she doesn't.
Lifting her head, she looks him straight in the eye and licks her lips, prowling up and over his body until she can sit astride his thighs. Grabbing a handful of hair, she pulls his head and upper body off the mattress until they are face to face and more intimate places are also aligned. His eyes when they meet her own are dark with pleasure and the fires of hunger.
"It's almost Christmas," she tells him, releasing her grip on him and allowing her fingernails to whisper ever so gently over the curve of his shoulder and muscles of his arms, "and I know I bought you that new compound bow you liked but …"
"But what?" he murmurs, tracing his lips up the column of her throat. Natasha tips her head back and undulates her hips slightly to get his attention, succeeding only in reminding herself of how close they are and exactly what is pressing into her belly.
"Well you also get this," she announces. He stops what he is doing to look at her, brain turning over the possibilities. She, gestures to the ribbons that hold the front of her bra together and guides his hand to those at the sides of her underwear, letting him rake his heated gaze over the curves of her body. His grin is predatory as he figures it out, lighting up his face in that way that makes her insides clench. "I'm yours, do what you want with me."
"Well no-one can ever accuse you of giving an unwanted gift," he chuckles, leaning down to pay some attention to her breast through the thin fabric of her bra. The hint of teeth makes her arch her back. Natasha purrs low in her throat, throwing her head back and leaning away from him, so that her hips come in close to his own once again.
Gently, he fingers the ribbons and then slowly, deliberately pulls one side of her underwear loose. The other follows a moment later so that the wisp of fabric falls away and nothing stands between them. He adjusts her position, supporting her weight so that he can hook one of her legs over his forearm.
The touch, and the anticipation of what will follow, give her butterflies that won't dissipate until his skin is slick against hers and she sees his head kick back as he gets close, until she witnesses that unguarded look that comes to his face as he spills himself inside her.
He walks his fingers up her throat until he can push a finger between her lips. She bites down on it, just hard enough to make the interest flare in his eyes then closes her eyes as he traces that finger down the front of her body and pulls the ribbons that hold her bra closed. The air is cool against her heated skin as she shrugs out of the straps and throws it into the darkness of the room to be found later. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and opens her eyes to look at him. "Merry Christmas Clint," she breathes softly.
His gaze locks with hers and for a few heartbeats neither of them move, lost in one another's eyes, caught in a moment that is deeper and more honest than the sex that will follow. A shift of his hips and a slight adjustment of her position lets him him push his way easily inside of her body. They both shudder at the sensation and Natasha savours the expression on his face, the way that he looks at her.
He gives her a moment and then sets his pace, exactly as she wants it, both of them familiar enough with each other to match each other's rhythm without thought. "Best…" he plants a kiss at the hollow of her throat, "... damned …" his left hand fans out across her back pulling her in tight and guiding her movement, "... Christmas present… " a sweep of tongue across her nipple, " ...ever."