This chapter is out way sooner than I anticipated but it wouldn't leave me alone. Those of you stateside can consider it a present for MLK Day. As always, I hope that it makes you cry so much that people will think someone died and that it touches your heart so much that you feel compelled to name your first child Georgia. Just kidding, stupid spellcheck. I meant, as always, I hope you enjoy it.

…that was a bad joke. Anyway, ha, I hope you guys like it. Thank you Not. So. Typical. Girl., miller330, and Dasiygirl95. I'm thrilled you liked the last chapter and hope you like this one even more! Dasiygirl95, let me know if it lives up to your smutty standards! Also, miller330, I'm glad you liked his reaction; it was definitely fun to write!

November 29th, 2012

Georgia wasn't really sure what to think, much less say, when she came home from work Thursday afternoon to find Clint standing outside her apartment door. Nearly two weeks had passed since the Stark Industries gala and she hadn't heard so much as a single word from her ridiculously attractive holy-fuck-I'll-never-be-satisfied-again one night stand. She fumbled with the keys in her grasp as Clint straightened and rubbed the back of his head. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I, uh…I don't know what I'm doing here," he admitted softly.

"It's kind of cold out here. Whatta you say we go inside and you can figure it out there," Georgia suggested, gesturing her door. A half-smile ghosted over Clint's flawless, American boy features and he nodded, following her into the cozy apartment. His eyes swept over the vaguely familiar living room and kitchen, his gaze lingering intensely on the island counter top. Two weeks ago they were having sex on that counter top.

Clint fiercely shook his head, as if to shake away the memory. He cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly by the door. Georgia seemed to notice and shot him a warm smile. "Make yourself comfortable," she instructed as she dropped her purse and keys onto the counter. Stripping off her coat, her heart fluttered when she caught him watching her. She tried not to ruffle her hair too much as she took off her scarf as well. "Would you like something to drink? I've got Coke, milk, and…uh, water. I don't entertain much."

He declined her offer and licked his lips as she joined him by the door. She grinned at him curiously. "So…you were just in the neighborhood?"

Clint scratched his right eyebrow. "Actually, no. I was nowhere near the neighborhood and I don't know why I just said that out loud."

Snickering, Georgia bit her lip, "Oh."

"Yeah." Clint groaned, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't hav-"

"No, you're fine! I'm starving. I had a meeting today that ran through lunch so I haven't eaten. I was thinking about ordering Chinese. Do you like Chinese?" asked Georgia. She hoped she didn't sound too eager for him to agree and simultaneously hoped that it didn't sound like a date. They'd slept together twice and now she wanted a date? Wait, why did that sound so backwards in her head?

But Clint just smiled, this amazing sort of sideways smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed a darling pair of hidden dimples that she hadn't noticed before. "I love Chinese," he said softly, almost gratefully.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang and when Georgia answered, Clint refused to let her pay and she pouted deliciously as he tipped the Chinese delivery guy. "But I asked you to dinner…"

Clint shrugged, stopping himself from running his thumb over her pouted bottom lip. "It's a guy thing."

"It's a douchebag thing," she countered. "When you invite someone to dinner, you pay."

"Next time."

Georgia spoke as she took the brown paper bag from him. "And will there be a next time?"

Clint sent her an honest smile. "I don't know. Guess we'll have to wait and see."

They ate straight from the cartons, curled up on opposite ends of her couch, the TV playing softly in the background. They talked about nonsensical things: the quality of the food; the latest Black Keys song (Clint had never heard of the band but Georgia assured him he'd love them, or at least she thought he would); the advantages of being an experienced bull fighter; the best type of dog to own (Clint voted Labrador, Georgia opted for a German Sheppard). They spoke like a pair of old friends, their conversation flowing easily in spite of the fact that they knew virtually nothing about one another. And when their cartons were empty, Clint helped her carry the trash to the kitchen. "I can't remember the last time I had dinner alone with a woman who wasn't wearing a gun."

Georgia erupted with laughter. "That's right! You're some secret soldier badass, aren't you? An Avenger."

"No, that's Steve. I'm just a regular soldier with a not so regular talent."

"Okay, I'll bite. What's this amazing talent?"

"You're a chick so I'm assuming you've seen the Hunger Games?"

"Ignoring the obvious sexism of that question, yes I have. Proceed."

"That's basically what I do. You know, the whole bow and arrow thing. Except instead of shooting children trapped in a giant invisible bubble, I shoot terrorist and usually do so under heavy gunfire while cars explode in the background."

It didn't occur to Clint that he probably shouldn't be telling her these things until after he said them. Though he saw no immediate danger in what he was doing, there was a nagging voice in the back of his head that sounded oddly like Tasha, chiding him and vividly describing all the ways in which this could go wrong. But then, right when Clint began to pull away, Georgia bit her bottom lip and sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter for support as she murmured, "That probably shouldn't be as much of a turn-on as it is. You were literally talking about shooting children and all I can picture is you in Robin Hood tights kicking ass and taking names."

"Tights? There are no tights."

Her eyebrows rose suggestively. "Oh, trust me, there are tights."

Clint couldn't fight the smirk overtaking his lips. He grumbled to himself, running his hand over his head and squeezing the back of his neck. "You are something else, G."

"I know…" She smiled softly before lifting herself onto the counter. Her feet swinging slightly, she gazed at him. "Why did you come here, Clint?"

He mulled over her question, trying out the taste of it on his tongue, and found that he honestly couldn't scrounge up an answer. He made a disconcerting noise in the back of his throat and lifted his left shoulder in a casual shrug, fumbling to form a complete sentence. "I, uh…I don't know…just sorta happened, I guess."

"Okay. Well, how long are you in New York for?"

"'Til Monday afternoon."

"In that case, you've got four days to kill. Whatever will you do to pass the time, I wonder…?"

Clint's chest seized. Her long legs, hidden by a pair of dark leggings, dangled over the edge of the counter and he fought the itch to run his hands up her smooth thighs. He swallowed gruffly. "Well, I've got a few ideas."

She slid forward on the counter, slipping off the edge and stumbling forward into his arms. Smoothing the shoulders of his leather jacket, Georgia murmured, "I'm listening…"

"I coul-" Georgia leaned forward, sensually placing her lips over his own and effectively silencing his words. She grinned against his mouth; he tasted like teriyaki chicken. She drew away a hair and confessed, her breath hot on his lips, "Sorry, I wasn't really listening."

"I'm okay with that," he grumbled, grabbing her hips and pushing her against the counter. Her soft curves met his lean muscle mercilessly and Clint suppressed a growl as he began a tactical assault on her mouth. She hummed happily, pleased by his ministrations, and trailed her fingertips along his jawline, curling her hand around the back of his head. She stroked the short hair at the nape of his neck and fiercely held him to her.

"Think we'll make it to the bedroom this time?" she whispered, dragging her lips across his suntanned skin to nibble on his earlobe. She flicked her tongue out to taste his flesh and felt him tense beneath her touch, "Not if you keep doing that."

She laughed in his ear and Clint drug his hands down her back, firmly taking hold of her ass, and lifting her into his arms. She instinctively wrapped her legs around him, one hand resting on his chest between them, the other remaining entwined in his hair. "Where's your room?"

She pulled back. "You don't know? We didn't go in there at all last time? Huh. It's at the end of the hall. And don't judge me, there are most likely huge piles of clothing in the floor as I try on an average of three outfits a morning before picking one."

"No judging," he promised with a chuckle. Her room was bigger than he anticipated and not as feminine as he pictured. Not that he'd been picturing her bedroom. Or her in her bedroom. In her bed. Doing naughty things. Because he hadn't. There weren't as many personal touches in her private chambers as there were in the living room, or even the kitchen. Then again, as he carried her toward the bed he noticed a stack of card board boxes in the corner and reminded himself that she'd only moved in a few months before.

He placed her on the edge of the mattress and Georgia ran her hands down his chest. She popped open the buttons on his shirt, one after the other, kissing every inch of skin she exposed along the way until she was met with a belt buckle. Tilting her face toward his, she blinked innocently, her wide blue eyes shining beautifully with a live energy. She plastered on an exaggerated pout and tapped his belt. "Now that just won't do."

Clint's body steeled as she undid the buckle and pulled the belt free. "Much better," she murmured as she pulled down the zipper on his jeans. Cupping her face, he stroked his thumb across her cheek before pushing back and tangling his hand in her thick, dark hair. His grip tightened as she lowered his jeans, tugging them passed his hips until the material pooled around his ankles. As he stepped out of his pants, he pulled her upright and smashed his lips back onto hers. He was met with a throaty moan and felt his chest swell in pride. Damn right he'd made her moan. "You're wearing too many clothes," he rumbled, tearing his mouth from hers to pull her shirt over her head.

"Agreed," said Georgia breathlessly as she reached around to unclasp her bra. Her skirt and leggings shortly followed and soon they were naked and falling back onto her bed. Giggling, Georgia drew his mouth to hers, sucking in his lower lip, her tongue tracing the top one. Their hips met in an overwhelming frenzy of lust and desire, Georgia's back arching as he rubbed against her with a delectable friction. "Jesus, Clint."

"If I were a condom," murmured Clint as he bit his way down from her mouth and over her breasts. "…where would I be?"

"Right nightstand, top drawer. They're in an old jewelry box."

His body lifted from hers temporarily as he hunted for the ever elusive condom and Georgia shivered at the sudden lack of contact. "Whoa, hey, buddy. Hurry up, it's cold."

"I'm sorry," he scoffed. Propping up on his elbows, Clint hovered above her, one perfectly manicured yet somehow manly eyebrow raised. "We're literally naked in your bed and you're calling me buddy."

"Do you prefer pal?"

"I think I just prefer you moaning my name," he smirked.

Lifting off the pillows, Georgia pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. Then on his jaw. Then, finally, his lips, where she whispered, "If you want me moaning…you're gonna have to work for it."

Swiftly ripping open the wrapper, Clint freed the condom, slipping it on as he grinned, "I think I can handle that."

Challenge accepted.

"I can't feel anything below my ribs. This is ridiculous. I once ran a 10k in high school. Or, well, attempted to run a 10k. I passed out a mile from the finish line but even then I could still feel my legs. What have you done to me?"

"You're welcome," was Clint's only remark as he slumped into the fluffy couch. Georgia fell limply on top of him, their legs tangled, their bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. It was Saturday morning and they'd just had sex for the fourth, no fifth, time that weekend. Though he would never say it to her face, Clint was just as exhausted as she was. His entire body ached and it kind of hurt when he breathed too deeply.

"Um, when did the TV get turned on?"

Clint lazily rolled his head to the side and squinted at the flat screen mounted above the wall unit. Some Saturday morning cartoon was on and he felt his face contort in pain. "People actually let their kids watch this stuff?"

"Apparently. Where's the remote?"

They felt around the remote for ten minutes before finally standing and finding it wedged between the couch cushions. Clicking off the television, Georgia turned and disappeared into her bedroom. Clint couldn't help but gaze longingly after her retreating form. And what a lovely form it was. Already he felt himself stirring once again and, grinning like a little kid, he sunk back into the couch and buried his face in his hands. What was she doing to him?

When she emerged, she was dressing in a pair of jogging shorts and a black tank top carrying a bundle of clothes in her hand. His clothes. She tossed something pink at him and walked passed. He held up the fleece garment. They were pink pajama pants. Bright pink with little snowflakes on them. He shot her an incredulous look, "What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Wear them. I'm washing your clothes now and that's all I have that'll fit you. They have a drawstring, so, you know, adjust 'em."

"I am not wearing these. Thanks, though." He had a dignity to protect after all.

"Suit yourself." She returned from the laundry room a moment later and leaned against the couch, peering down at him with a silly smile. He was so naked and she kind of loved it. "You getting hungry yet?"

A cool stare raked over her body. Clint gave a wolfish, lopsided grin. "Starving."

Rolling her eyes, Georgia fought a giggle. "My God, you're insatiable. Allow me to rephrase: are you hungry for food? We ate the last of the pizza this morning. Or last night, depending on how you look at it." Sometime around three that morning, they'd woken up, grabbed the remaining slices of pizza, and watched a particularly hilarious rerun of The Big Bang Theory. Then, they'd had sex once more before falling back asleep.

"I could eat."

Georgia retrieved a handful of take-out menus from a drawer in the kitchen. She tossed them in his lap, the menus splaying across his groin like a fan. Smirking, she said, "Pick something. I'm going to jump in the shower."

He was tempted to join her but refrained. She was right. They'd been going at it like rabbits the last two days and their bodies could use a break. Clint flipped through the menus with a half-interest before tossing them onto the coffee table and standing to explore the room. This was the first time she'd really left him alone and as he inspected the photos lining the walls, he asked himself what he was doing here. Georgia was a nice, normal girl with a nice, normal life that held no place for him. Once again, he was reminded that what he was doing was wrong.

It wasn't that he was using her for sex; no, he was using her for something much more intimate. She represented everything he wanted out of life but couldn't have. She was the ultimate fantasy for someone like him. Guilt began clawing away at his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut, silencing that nagging voice. He would leave. When this was over, he would leave her and never look back. He would let her get on with her normal life, find some nice smuck with a house on Lake Tahoe and a timeshare in the Hamptons, and they would get married and have babies and Clint would continue on with his duties. Because that's just how the world worked.

"Hey, did you decided what you wanted?"

Clint stilled at the sound of her voice. That was the second time she'd been able to sneak up on him. He turned slowly and smiled at her. "Yeah, that deli sounds good. Markus' or Marco's, whatever it was called."

"It's Marcel's and it's fabulous. One of the office aids and I eat there every day during the week. They have this chicken bacon Panini that is to die for. I would literally sell a kidney on the black market to buy one of their sandwiches. I'm not even kidding."

Chuckling, Clint snatched up the menu and skimmed it. "Well, don't sell your kidney just yet. We've still got some cash. How's the tuna?"

"You like tuna?" She sounded repulsed by the very idea but Clint just shrugged, "We ate it a lot at basic training."

"You were in the army?"

Clint blinked, a little uncomfortable. "Uh, yeah. For four years. Three tours."

Georgia nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. You don't just jump straight to super secret agent. Everybody's got to start somewhere." She suddenly grinned. "My sister would be so jealous right. She has a serious hang-up for military men. Particularly army and marines."

"And you? Do you share her preference?"

Georgia shrugged, teasing him. "Eh. They're okay."

As they Georgia placed their order, the phone angled between elbow and ear, the menu firmly in her hands, Clint slipped up behind her. Arms snaking around her waist, he pulled her flush against him and began to gently suckle the curve of skin where neck met shoulder. She wiggled against him, swallowing her laughter, and swatted at him playfully. But he persisted and when she hung up the phone, she dropped the menu and turned in his arms. "So distracting," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Couldn't resist."

They fooled around until the food arrived and then ate on the terrace of her apartment. Clint was now fully clothed, Georgia fishing his jeans, shirt, and boxers from the dryer. Yet again, Clint had refused to let her pay for the meal, muttering something sarcastic about paying her back for room and board. "This tuna is wonderful," he managed to grumbled through a mouthful of sandwich. Scooping up a dollop of tuna onto his finger, he held it out to her. "Wanna try?"

"Get that away from me, you disgusting creature."

He barked a laugh. "Oh, come on. Just try it."

"No, thank you. That shit is nasty as hell. Please, get it away from me." Her nose scrunched in distaste as she shrunk away from him. "Clint! Eeeew! It touched me! You nasty ass. That's just…that's just gross. Ugh. I need another shower now."

Bursting with laughter, his body shook as Clint said, "You're missing out," before popping his finger in his mouth and licking it clean. His actions were deliberately slow. He made sure to take his time licking off the tuna, his gaze unwavering. Clint internally smirked when he saw her eyes narrow, her legs crossing. She gave his foot a light kick beneath the table, "Now you're just being mean."

He gave a low chuckle and sheepishly wiped his hand on his jeans. "Sorry."

"Hey! None of that. I just washed those, you Neanderthal. Use a napkin. Geez."

"You know, you're very insulting when your feathers are ruffled."

"I'm not the one with feathers, Hawk," she snickered. He'd told her his codename Thursday night and had only that morning gotten her to cease with the Big Bird jokes. Wincing, he scolded himself, "I walked into that one, didn't I?"

"You might as well have handed me a personalized invitation to mock you."

The pair polished off their sandwiches just as the sun was beginning to fall from the sky. Reclining in the patio chair, Clint told her, "I'm not the biggest fan of the city but I have to admit, you've got quite the view."

"Thanks. The apartment was a bribe so I would accept the transfer to the New York office. I loved Los Angeles but…I mean, it's New York. Who could say no? Where are you from, by the way? You don't live here but you must have a place somewhere."

"I have a house in Reno."

"Hey, Vegas! I'm going to be super brash right now and invite myself to your place sometime this summer. I've never been to Las Vegas but I feel like I'm perfect for it. I'll lose all of my money in five seconds flat and then spend the rest of the night trying pitifully to win and/or con it back. It'll be like the Hangover three."

"Be my guest," Clint grinned. "But you realize Reno is approximately seven hours from Vegas, right?"

"What? I thought Reno was in Vegas's backyard. Well, that's inconvenient. Looks like I won't be visiting the home front after all. "

"It's nice to know you only want me because of my property value."

Georgia sighed. "It's all about location, baby."

"Baby? You're giving me petnames now. I thought it was too soon, but I guess I'm ready for it. What'll call you?"

"Hmmm," Georgia pondered for a moment, then stood. She pushed the screen door open and stepped back into the apartment, hooking a thumb inside the waistband of her shorts. "How about you call me…dessert?"

Clint's lower stomach tightened. Dessert. Now, he liked the sound of that.

Thoughts?