"You need to pay attention to this," she tells him, determinedly pushing on with the delivery of apparently crucial information about the target. They have only two days in Manila before SHIELD send in the clean up team to purge what is left of the base. Their job is simple but crucial, destroy the lab, back-up the computer files and take out any lingering Hydra agents on site.
Clint, mid workout and more focused on meeting his sit-up target, acknowledges her statement with a vague "uh-huh."
He isn't listening though and she knows it. Natasha herself is finding it hard to think with that expanse of tanned skin, slick with sweat and golden from a recent long weekend of downtime, in front of her. It doesn't matter how many times she sees it, she's not immune to him. Not even close. "So I'll walk in, strip naked and then you can shoot the clown with the water canon ..."
"Mmhhmm," he responds, keeping his rhythm and exhaling at the top of each repetition. Two sit ups later he pauses, eyes flickering to her as a frown crosses his features. "Wait, what?"
"Clint, I am not going to repeat this to you while we're up to our asses in Hydra operatives. Pay attention!"
He lowers to the ground and then curls his torso up from the floor one final time, lowering his arms to prop himself up. He offers a quick flash of a grin and then adopts a serious expression. "I'm listening."
"Banner and Stark sent through the intel on the creatures they found during the last raid. The site that we're going to scope looks like it's the source so they thought we should know a bit about what we're up against. Their physiology is far from normal …"
"So now I have to sit through a biology lecture too?" he asks, exhaling an exaggerated sigh. "You guys do remember that I can shoot the wings off a fly when properly motivated, right?"
Natasha hasn't forgotten. The incident in question is one that frequently pops up in conversation and quickly made its way into SHIELD lore. She knows for a fact that there's a standing bet every year as to whether the story is true and that every year one of the junior agents will pluck up the courage to ask. She also knows that until the moment he did it, he had no idea that he could. Such was often the case with Clint's genius.
She raises the tablet in front of her to finish reading the information from the screen, and to avoid looking at her partner. She particularly wants to avoid following the drops of sweat that are running down his chest and stomach with her eyes, or worse still her tongue. "Do you want to know how best to kill these things or not?"
"An arrow through the eye won't get the job done?"
She allows him a fleeting smile. "An arrow through the heart would be more effective, but since they have two hearts …"
Clint surges up from the floor and flops down onto the less than comfortable sofa next to her. He leans his head back against the cushion and huffs out a breath. "Okay then, educate me."
So she does, she delivers the information exactly as it is on the screen, no shortcuts, no abbreviations. By the time she's reached the end of it, she has edged her way across the couch and is all but sitting in his lap, enjoying the heat thrown off from his body.
His hand snakes out and pulls her into him, her entire body landing in his lap. Natasha's hand comes to rest on his bare chest, her fingers dancing across the smooth skin, still warm against her fingertips. He's mostly dry now after his exertion and she knows that she has lost the upper hand when she's tempted to take the water bottle out of his hand and dribble some of it onto his skin. It might cool him down a little but it won't help her at all, quite the opposite in fact.
Clint's mouth finds hers, his kiss slow and deep and deliberately distracting. She groans her appreciation as his arms coil around her, shutting off her escape route and caging her in. As if she plans on going anywhere when his mouth is cutting off her ability to think.
"So let's see if I have this right," he drawls between kisses that scramble her thoughts. She's distracted by her body's response to him and he damn well knows it. "They're not normal dogs …"
"Clint!" she slaps him with her free hand. "Did you listen to anything I just said?"
His mouth latches on to that sensitive spot at the hollow of her jaw that makes her shudder, then trails lightly back up to her lips. Her fingers card their way into his damp hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. For a long moment, it's all about the slip and slide of their tongues against one another.
"Uhmm, canine physiology … preternatural speed … organ reversal … best shot through the heart … Did I miss anything?"
She rewards his correct answers by continuing where he leaves off, driving him slowly mad with the simple touch of her mouth against his. Her left hands drops the tablet to the cushions beside them and wraps around his shoulders. Lost in the spell of his kiss, she becomes aware of their bodies surging and ebbing in time with the movement of their tangled tongues. To wipe the self satisfied smile from his face, she grinds her pelvis against his erection, enjoying the sound that the movement elicits from him and the way that his arms tighten around her.
"So you can listen to the details …" she teases. "Maybe we should talk about biology more often."
He shifts her position slightly in his lap so that she can feel the full strength of his reaction to her and offers a devious little smile. "A man can learn anything with the right incentives Tasha, you know that."
"So if I bought a lab coat you might pass that biology class that you keep threatening to take?" she replies, shifting her hips in closer and playing him as his own game. He's been talking about taking classes for years; having spent his high school years with the circus, he wants to do it just to prove that he's not all trick shots and instinct.
Being closer to him, she lowers her face to his skin and breathes him in. He smells of fresh sweat, lingering aftershave and wood smoke. Natasha finds herself wondering how long it will take to get them both out of their clothes and down onto the floor.
Clint offers her a sudden grin and grabs her roughly up in his arms, lifting her clear out of his lap and throwing her over his shoulder. Surprised, she lets out a yelp which only makes him chuckle. They both know that she might pretend to hate it when he goes all caveman on her but it's far from the truth. Natasha doesn't mind being manhandled when it's him doing the manhandling. The short journey across the room speeds her pulse, his hand on her rear unnecessary but deliberate.
He drops her down onto the futon bed against the far wall of the one room safe house and kisses the feigned protest away before she can vocalise it, pushing her down into the mattress and pinning her there by straddling her legs.
She helps him as he pulls her shirt up and over her head, planting kisses against her skin as it is exposed, and lifts her hips to help him when he eases back down the bed and liberates her from her shorts. His palms glide over her skin, calloused fingers exploring the curve of her waist and tracing the ticklish spot at the back of her knee in that deliberate way of his. Kneeling over her his eyes sparkle, dark with want as he performs a lusty perusal of the offering she makes before him.
Arousal surges through her and she shifts provocatively against the bed, parting her thighs slightly and biting her lip. She knows how to communicate more than anyone can read into a single smouldering look, and she does so now, watching for his reaction, relishing the way that his nostrils flare and his eyes darken further. He's on her in a heartbeat, crawling up her body until he can plant bruising kisses across her chest, deft fingers already peeling her underwear down her thighs. She watches every flicker in the ropes of muscle that make up his torso, hungry for his strength and how he uses it to make her a very happy woman, arching into his touch as he claims her as his own.
His hand follows the curve of her arm as his mouth works its magic, fingers tangling with hers. She hooks her toes into the waistband of his basketball shorts and eases them down his thighs as he crawls further up the bed and lays claim to her mouth, each of them knowing exactly which touches will push the other past the point of rationality.
"Guess you like the idea of that lab coat, huh?" she jokes, voice a breathy whisper as he does something creative with his tongue and tests her readiness with his dominant hand. They both take a deep breath at the action.
He growls and in a coordinated surge brings his body into position over her own, guiding himself to her entrance and joining their bodies. She can't hold back the sound that she makes as he sinks deep, his hips coming to rest against her own. Clint purrs low in his throat, the sound all male and all pleasure.
The first movement of his hips he times to perfection with the slow movement of his tongue, pushing back inside of her body as he tugs at her lower lip with his teeth. He raises his gaze to hold hers, full of dark knowledge. He knows how to make her scream, how to make her beg, how to leave her hanging on the edge of implosion, desperate for just one last thrust, one more touch. The heat in his gaze burns her, makes her fingers dig into his ribs and her legs wrap around his, the soles of her feet stroking the back of his calves with every movement of his hips.
"Screw the lab coat," he growls. His words are a sweet vibration, a summoning within and below. He moves again, deliberately, slowly and a strangled cry escapes from her mouth to fill the space between them. "This is my kind of biology."