It's all hard kisses and desperate touches as he pulls her into his lap, the only sound to make it past her lips being the breathy little moans that make up his name. Even knowing that she should have her head in the game, she can't pull herself away from this moment and what it represents.
It isn't their usual routine to take time out mid mission to 'reconnect' in their own way but locked up as they are there is little else that can distract her from their situation. Prison cells and torture chambers might not get everyone in the mood but right now she can't bring herself to care about normal.
His fingers are hard, unforgiving, as they pull her closer; Natasha gasps into his mouth, more than ready to finish what they've started.
"Cameras," Clint reminds her, his mouth right up against her. He doesn't pull away but he doesn't make any move to remove her clothing either.
Pulling back she nods to show that she hears him. They've been under surveillance the whole time they've been locked up together, no doubt so that Hydra can glean some details of their operation and their plans. It's becoming increasingly clear that their captors have little understanding of who and what they are dealing with. She casts a glance at the camera that sits in a small cage in the corner of the room, small red light blinking to show that it is in operation, and then looks back at Clint. A smile plays across her features and she shifts closer in his lap.
"Then let's give them something to look at," she chuckles throatily.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah," she replies with a casual shrug of her shoulder, "maybe we can teach them a thing or two."
Five rounds of interrogation have left them both a little worse for wear, a little bruised and sore, but none of the injuries are severe enough to curb the beat in her blood. Exhibitionism is one of her kinks; Clint is well aware of it. They've had sex with an audience before, they'll most likely do it again, assuming they survive this incarceration.
Clint grins, more than a little intrigued by what she has thrown out onto the air between them. Natasha feels it then, the slow rumble of desire that courses through him, the slight change in his hold on her thigh that makes her body sing.
The look that he gives her tells her that he's on board with the plan. "You seriously think I want these guys to see you naked?" he asks.
Working her hands between them, she gropes for the fly of his trousers. "Who said anything about getting naked?" she replies. "I don't care what you take off me or what you choose to keep on, all I want is for you to be inside me right now."
Pushing up on the bunched muscles of her thighs, she kisses him hard. He grunts in surprise but doesn't push her away, and when she nips at his lower lip and coaxes him into opening his mouth to her the fight ebbs out of him. Natasha molds her body to his as his hand falls to the small of her back and pulls her in close.
With one hand on his throat and the other fumbling with his pants, she breathes his name against his mouth. His restraint evaporates and he growls, low in his throat, "we need to get you a suit that's easier to get out of."
Humming in agreement, she pulls back far enough to help him in his task. Leather pools around her waist and all that separates her upper half from the full view of the camera in the corner is the black bra she wears beneath.
Supporting her weight easily, he stands and turns to set her down on the bench where he has been sitting. Natasha arches her spine and lifts her hips to help him as he peels the leather away, rolling it down her legs. He strips her with deliberate care, shielding her body from the camera with his own until she wears only the simple black underwear that she favours for missions.
Mouths and hands travel over skin, teeth scraping against bruises and fingers moving with impatience. Heat builds between them and then he's up and lifting her in his arms, moving easily across the room. "Sure you want to do this?" he asks.
She knows the vibrations in his voice, the different tones that speak of his emotions. Natasha knows the way his voice sounds when he breathes her name and the rumble of his appreciation when he is between her thighs. She can read his mood through nothing more than the inflections in his words. He doesn't want her to reconsider, he just needs to know that she's sure.
"Stop now and you and I are going to have a falling out," she informs him breathily, positioning her mouth beside his right ear.
His reply is succinct, "fair enough."
Her back slams against the wall and she moans, arching against him. Her touch is knowing as she shoves his pants down over his ass to free his erection while his mouth roams freely over the skin of her throat, nipping at that sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder meet. She can feel his desire spiralling outward, spilling out of him as heat overtakes them both.
Shoulders against the stone wall, she helps him to move her underwear aside and then tightens her thighs against his hips. She holds his gaze as he pushes inside her, the feeling of fullness stealing her breath the way it always does. He settles his weight more solidly against her as he seats himself fully and Natasha moans into his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair.
She loves it like this, half dressed, primal and wild, the knowledge that someone is most likely watching them making her burn. The way that he dominates her, an ungodly force in the heat of his desire, makes her fierce in her pursuit of pleasure, chasing the endorphin rush that comes at the end of the journey.
Rolling her hips, she moves in time with him, biting back the cries that seem to somersault from deep within her. She turns her face toward the camera, gasps his name, rakes her nails over the back of his leather clad shoulder knowing that her skin will contrast nicely with the black. One benefit of working with night vision on a regular basis is that she knows how things will look on camera.
Unable to form a complete thought much less a coherent sentence, she surrenders to his attentions while he skilfully plunders her body. She breathes his name and brings her mouth back to his, her tongue duelling with his own. Hips surging they become a single entity, bodies moving as one in a mindless pursuit of the high that they can give one another.
Clint jerks her hips away from the wall at her back, giving him more control over her body, altering the angle of his stroke to hit that sweet spot inside her of her. Natasha mewls with pleasure and grips his shoulders, using whatever leverage she can to lever herself up and down on his length. Sweat blooms on their skin, a fever overtaking them, calling to the exact type of hellfire that has the power to scorch them inside and out.
"Floor," she gasps, "now."
He obeys without question, lowering them both to the floor, putting his back to the ground and bracing his feet against the concrete. Still on top of him, she takes control, planting hands against his pecs so that she can ride him with deliberate care. His hands move over the taut muscles of her stomach, pinching her nipples through the fabric of her bra.
They are masters of this art, they know how to make one another come undone. The fire begins in her lower stomach, spreading outward in waves of warmth, shooting through her veins like liquid lightning. She forces her gaze up to his, meeting eyes blown black as midnight as he strains within her.
His fingers move between their bodies, giving her the extra push that she needs to tip her over the edge. Open mouthed, panting, she throws back her head and arches her back as she comes apart, the grip of his hand on her upper thigh trapping him beneath her. All the better to play into the imaginations of their voyeuristic audience.
His thrusts get harder, deeper, so deep that she can feel them high up inside her, the pressure making her muscles tight enough to snap as her orgasm explodes over her.
"Godammit woman," he groans, his words emerging as a guttural growl that makes the waves of her pleasure so much deeper, so much more consuming. Head kicking back, he shatters with a gasp of her name, slamming her down on him one last time as he comes.
The comedown is slow, awareness of her surroundings gradually coming back to her and she finds herself laughing at the absurdity of their situation.
As usual Clint is the one to break the silence. "Think we taught them anything?" he asks and the broken edges of his voice make her consider going another round, cameras be damned.
"Well the rumours about us have probably been put to bed," she replies, leaning forward and planting a brief kiss on his mouth. She shuffles around on his lap, easing herself off him but maintaining his modesty by blocking him from the camera. "Let's hope it doesn't end up on the internet."
Clint grimaces slightly as he tucks himself back into his pants and her concern is immediate.
"Friction burn from your underwear," he explains. He doesn't sound too upset about it though and when she sees the heat that lingers in his eyes she wonders whether the sensation might be one he finds more interesting than unpleasant. "The things I do to preserve your modesty."
They dress in silence, pulling uniforms back over pleasure flushed skin and settling in to see what happens next. The camera light continues to blink in the gloom, a reminder that they most likely aren't alone.
Minutes pass. Nothing happens.
"So, fun as it's been, there's no need to sit here any longer. If they had anything worth knowing, they'd have come at us with it already." Her voice is soft, her lips barely moving to prevent anyone who might be watching from reading her lips.
"You're not wrong," he concurs, stretching his arms out in preparation for busting out of their apparent prison. Since she can see at least three ways to break out, she can only assume that he can see more. "Time to blow this joint."
"We're going to destroy the hard drive on the way out right?" she asks calmly. They are sitting side by side, knees casually touching in a manner that she finds only mildly distracting.
Clint snorts with laughter, his head tilted back to rest against the wall. "Definitely," he replies easily, "the world already knows too much about us for my liking. Sometimes a little bit of mystery should be maintained."
"And we wouldn't want Stark to see your ass," she laughs. "Or mine."
Clint's amusement is genuine. "Yeah that too. He'd be unbearable if he knew that he was right about us all this time."