As promised, Clint and Georgia have some festive adult time, aka Santa smut. Happy New Year, everyone! Best of luck in 2017!

December 10th, 2015

After a long day of work and an hour of Christmas shopping, Georgia was ready to pass out. Twisting the key in the lock, she slipped quietly into her apartment, entered the code to disarm the security system, and dropped all of her bags by the front door. "Babe, I'm home!"

"Hello, Georgia." Clint's voice was low, sultry, and it made Georgia's lips twitch into a grin. Turning, she couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. Clint was reclined back in the living room chair, long legs spread out before him, a beer in hand, and a bright red Santa Claus hat on his head. Georgia bit her lip, stifling further laughter. "Hey, baby. Or should I say Santa Baby?"

Clint gave a wolfish grin. He took a long sip of his beer before setting it down on the coffee table and pinning Georgia with a stare so hot and intense that her knees actually quaked. "I have it on good authority..." Her husband's pale blue eyes raked over her body, dangerously slow. "-that you've been a very naughty girl."

Georgia smirked, shrugging off her winter coat and dropping her keys in the dish by the door. "Have I now?" She kicked off her shoes as the archer nodded languidly in confirmation. Clint patted his thigh twice, beckoning her over. "Why don't you come sit on Santa's lap and tell me all about it? ...take off those tights, first."

Georgia did as she was told, rolling down her dark tights until her legs—the legs he loved so dearly—were bare to him. She crossed the apartment and gently settled herself on her husband's lap. Sitting sideways over his thighs, Georgia dangled her feet over the side of the chair and wrapped her arms around Clint's neck, her fingertips lightly stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. She teased the fluffy white rim of the Santa hat with her nose and Clint nipped at her neck lightly with his teeth. "Now-" His breath was hot and heavy on her throat, his left arm wrapping around her waist just as his right hand cupped her knee. Giving her knee a squeeze, Clint spread his fingers over her smooth skin and began to slide his hand ever so slowly down the inside of her leg. When he reached her inner thigh, his thumb brushing the silky material of her thong just so, it was all Georgia could do not to clamp her legs shut from the thrilling tingle that coursed through her. She hummed low in her throat, arms tightening around her husband's neck, and Clint drawled, "-tell Santa what you've done."

"I think I've..." Her words trailed off as Clint began to mouth the side of her neck, his fingers lightly stroking her thigh. "I've been a bad girl... I think I've made the naughty list."

"Mhmm," Clint murmured. His calloused fingers continued to work and tease between her legs. With each brush of his fingers, he grew closer and closer to the part of her which craved his touch most, his pace tantalizingly slow. Nosing her cheek, Clint kissed his way across her jaw to nibble on the fleshy part of her ear. "What...naughty things have you done?"

Her heart was already beating erratically, her skin already flushed. God, she wanted him to just touch her already. But Clint wasn't having it. She was going to have to play along. "When you wanted to go to that Black Keys concert..." Georgia moaned when he traced her swollen lips through her thong. Her hips bucked forward desperately, her fingernails digging into Clint's shoulders. "I-I lied. I didn't have to work late, I just didn't want to go."

Judging by the low rumble of laughter, this was old news to Clint. Still, the archer smirked and tisked. "You naughty girl..."

"And last week, Tasha and I went to the Cheesecake Factory without you." Georgia rambled in a dazed, erotic sort of confession, rattling off each of her secret, naughty deeds. With each professed sin, Clint's touch inched closer and closer, until he was pushing her panties aside to sink two fingers inside her, his thumb brushing and teasing and thumping. After a long, stressful day, Georgia's pleasure was quick to build, and she was soon breathless in her husband's arms. He worked his fingers in and out of her, twisting and curling the long digits in all of the ways he knew she loved. He brought her to the brink of orgasm, all the while muttering dirtily in her ear until Georgia finally confessed her greatest transgression. "And...fuck-" Her thighs were quivering, her toes curling, her hips arching into his touch. "-this summer I... oh, God, I watched the Game of Thrones season finale without you."

Clint gave an indignant scoff, his fingers immediately halting their work inside her. "What? Georgia, you've been so naughty."

Suddenly, his hand was gone and Georgia whimpered pitifully. Not fair. "Clint. No, come back. Please?"

"I'm afraid I can't." Clint grinned, eyebrows raised. "You've just been too bad this year, G."

Her core still tingling, Georgia resorted to pouting. "Please, Santa, isn't there anything I can do to get back on the nice list?" she purred, nails scraping the back of Clint's neck, her lips tickling his jaw. "I'll do anything."

Taking the lead, Georgia slid out of Clint's lap, her fingernails raking down his denim-clad thighs, until she was kneeling before him. Her eyes never leaving his, Georgia reached up and worked his belt free, undoing the zipper on his jeans, and began to tug his pants downward. Clint lifted his hips, making it easier for Georgia to wrestle his jeans off, his chest puffing wildly with each labored breath. He was already painfully hard and the sight of his wife on her knees before him only caused him to tighten further. Taking him in her hand, Georgia licked her lips and murmured sweetly, despite the deep and obvious lust in her voice, "Will this help?"

Her thumbnail brushed over his leaky tip, and Clint threw his head back with a curse. "I definitely think its a good start," he said breathlessly. His hands curling into fists, he fought to maintain control as his wife took him in her mouth. Fuck, her mouth was so hot and wet and all-consuming. She worked him with her lips and teeth rather skillfully, knowing just where to bite and how to lick and suck. After all these years, Georgia was a certified expert when it came to Clint Barton's sexual appetite.

She had him coming within minutes.

"Alright," he rasped with a shit-eating grin. Still reeling from the intensity of his orgasm, Clint declared, "You are officially off the naughty list."

Georgia smirked. "Does that mean I get to tell Santa what I want for Christmas?"

He nodded lazily, the Santa hat bobbing precariously as he did so, and patted his now-bare thigh. Georgia climbed back into her husband's lap, her soaked panties grinding sinfully against his stomach. His strong hands came up to grasp the back of her ass firmly, securing her right where he wanted. Georgia pressed her lips to his ear. "I would really, really like for you to fuck me now."

Clint made a thoughtful noise and toyed with the fluffy white ball on the tip of the Santa hat. Teasing it deftly between his fingers, he eventually consented. "I think that can be arranged." And without further ado, the archer scooped up his wife and carried her off to their bedroom, determined to have his way with her until they were both spent and breathless.

May 28th, 2016

Fun Fact: Georgia can fight.

The lovely brunette had spent the day with America's favorite hero, the good old Captain himself. She and Steve had just left the Mets game at Citi Field. Wandering the streets of Queens, the duo were engaged in a little friendly shit talking—Georgia's home team the LA Dodgers had just destroyed Steve's beloved Mets 9-1 in the second game of a three-game series. As they hunted down a good hot dog cart, Steve groaned on about his team dropping the ball. Literally. "I can't believe Rivera missed that ball. Gonzalez should have never made it across the plate."

Georgia snorted. "You can't blame Rivera. It was Soup that really let the team down. In his defense, though, you guys were down by eight. It was over the moment my boy Utley made that grand slam in the seventh. Face it, the Dodgers crushed it tonight."

"Woah now," Steve raised his eyebrows, a half-smile tugging at the Captain's lip. "Alright, let's not forget that the Mets brought it home last night."

They stopped at a food truck on the corner of the block. Steve ordered a scrambled dog with everything on it, Georgia bought a plate of nachos and a hot dog with relish and mustard. Grabbing them a couple of waters, Steve paid for their food as Georgia conceded that the Mets had brought their top game last night. "Yeah, Granderson's game-winning home run was pretty sick."

The Captain's lips lifted into a full-blown grin. "That's right. Now, we just have to see what tomorrow's tie-breaking game brings."

"Another ass kicking for the Mets, I'm sure." Georgia smirked, taking a huge bite of her hot dog. "Go Dodgers."

Clint and Natasha were currently away on a mission. The deadly duo had been gone for nearly a month—off fighting bad guys in some obscure corner of the globe—, and Georgia missed them dearly. So, Steve had invited Georgia to join him and some of his friends for drinks after the game. The pair gradually made their way to the bar in Brooklyn and had just exited the subway two blocks down from the Irish pub when Georgia was suddenly being yanked into an alleyway.

"Shit!" Georgia hissed as her back collided with the brick wall, completely winding her. Before she could catch her breath, Steve was there, shoving her attacker away and striking him clear across the jaw. The punch dropped Georgia's attacker—he passed out instantly. Steve turned to Georgia, eyes alert and wide with concern. "Are you-?"

Georgia shook her head sharply. "Steve," she breathed, looking passed him. Steve felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he turned and found himself staring down the barrel of a handgun. The young man at the other end bore a grim look of determination. "Empty ya pockets. Tell the lady t'do the same and hand over 'er jewelry. Do it fast and do it now."

Lifting his hands slowly in a non-threatening manner, Steve sighed. "You don't want to do this, son. Trust me."

The guy snorted. "I really, really do. Now, empty ya fucking pockets, or I'm gonna empty a clip in ya chest."

"You are a fucking idiot." The words were snarled over Steve's shoulder, and he sputtered as Georgia stepped up beside him, barking, "Do you know who this is?"

"No." Their assailant scoffed. "Should I?"

"He's Captain America!"

"Georgia, please," said Steve hastily, sliding his body between his friend and the gun. "Look, I-"

"No shit! You really Captain America? Ya don't look too much like him." The stranger eyed him thoughtfully. "Maybe s'cause you ain't got the costume on, ya know? Anyway, ya money, please, Capt'n."

"Ugh." Georgia stepped around Steve. It all happened surprisingly fast. Like an old pro, Georgia grabbed their mugger by the wrist, twisted, and wrangled the gun from his grip. Pointing the weapon at the ground, Georgia engaged the safety and emptied the clip before she shouted furiously, "You cannot mug Captain America! Seriously, what is wrong with you?"

Steve didn't think it was physically possible for him to have a heart attack. But if there was ever a moment for him to find out, this was it. "Georgia, please!" Taking the gun from his feisty friend, Steve apprehended the mugger and pinned him to the asphalt beneath them. They waited on sight until the local PD arrived to arrest their attacker, and as soon as the squad car pulled away from the curb, Steve turned on Georgia with a flabbergasted expression. "Are you out of your mind? Georgia, what the hell was that? You could have been shot! How did you even do that? What ha-"

"Steve, relax." Georgia held up her hands in mock surrender. "I'm sorry. I just...I saw him pointing the gun at you—at Captain Steve Rogers, my friend who has sacrificed more for this country than Abe Lincoln himself—and I, admittedly, lost control for a moment... I didn't mean to scare you. I am sorry."

Bucky's face popped into his thoughts. Steve understood more than most the urge to protect your friends, but Georgia could have gotten herself seriously injured. "G...I appreciate what you did. I do, but honey, you could have gotten yourself killed. You should have let me handle it."

Remorse flickered across Georgia's gaze and she had the decency to look abashed. "I know. I'm sorry... Please don't tell Clint."

Steve groaned. He hadn't even thought about the Hawk. God, Clint was going to murder him. "How about I won't volunteer information, but...if he asks..."

Georgia sighed. "That's fair." She consulted her watch. "We should get going. We're late for drinks."

Steve's friends Sam Wilson and Sharon Carter were waiting for them at the bar. They ordered drinks and found a table, Steve muttering apologies for their tardiness. "We, uh-" He faltered. Taking a sip from his beer, he cast a side glance at Georgia, and she frowned and mumbled, "We got mugged."

Sam let out a barking laugh. "I'm sorry, what? Someone tried to mug Captain America?"

"That's what I said," Georgia quipped. Sharon leaned forward, highly amused, "What happened?"

"Well, Georgia..." And so Steve recounted, still slightly bewildered, how Georgia—a civilian—had confronted and disarmed their attacker. When Steve's little story concluded, Sam let out a low whistle and Sharon smirked in approval. "Nice."

The good Captain groaned. "Please don't encourage her behavior."

"Why not? She obviously handled herself well." It was no secret that Sharon, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, greatly looked up to Clint and Tasha. She threw a wink Georgia's way and tipped her beer towards the brunette. "If you ever feel like sparring, let me know."

Georgia blushed, already warming from her beer and still a little high on adrenaline from their near-mugging. "I'm not sure Nat would like me stepping out on her like that."

A brilliant grin twisted Sharon's lips. "Fair enough... I guess being the wife and best friend of the world's greatest spies, you start to pick up on a few things."

Georgia laughed and murmured, "You have no idea." She rolled her eyes in good humor. "When Clint and I got engaged, Natasha told me about all of the terrorist and intelligence agencies that have grudges against S.H.I.E.L.D., and against Clint personally—Hizb al Shahid. Mossad. MI6. Hizballah. Hell, even the CIA.—you name it. And, of course, there's all of the intergalactic enemies they've acquired over the last few years."

Steve winced and nursed his beer. "Like Loki."

"Especially Loki." Georgia snapped. "So when I signed on to be Mrs. Barton, Clint knew I had to be able to defend myself. He taught me to shoot. Not like him, of course. But no one can shoot like he can." The others murmured in agreement. "He also taught me to watch. How to observe people and monitor behavior for potential tells."

She glanced at Steve. "-and you know Natasha has been teaching me and Pepper kick boxing. Well, once Pepper leaves, it turns into something more like SEALs training. I swear, she enjoys making me cry with those workouts... She also taught me how to survey a room—a building, a situation, whatever—for escape. We'll go to a restaurant or a store, and she'll make me count the entrances and devise various exit strategies."

A wistful look fell over Sharon's face. She looked at Sam in amazement. "Can you imagine being trained by the Widow and Hawkeye...?" The young agent fixed Georgia with an impressed stare. "That's every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's wet dream."

"Yeah, well, when you're a civilian, it's not so great." Georgia sighed. "I can't believe I'm about to tell you this. See, one night, Nat and I were at a club in Midtown..."

July 24th, 2014

The room was pulsing, the hip-hop music so loud that Georgia could practically feel it in her veins. Natasha was twirling for all that she was worth, the ringlets of her red hair bouncing lively. She captured Georgia's hand in her own, spinning her friend with a light laugh. The dance floor was packed with sweaty, gyrating bodies, bodies that brushed against them as they shimmied and swayed to the music, tossing their hair back and throwing their hands in the air. God, it felt good to let loose.

When the song changed, Natasha yelled over the roar of the music that she was going to find the bathroom. "Order us some more drinks, and I'll come find you!" The redhead disappeared in the crowd, and Georgia made her way to the bar. She bought another round of shots and ordered some cocktails, dropping onto a stool to re-apply her lipstick. They had been out for a few hours now, club hopping and enjoying a care-free night out. It had been too long since they'd had a girls' night.

"Hi there. Buy you a drink?" The question was shouted over the music. Swiveling in her seat, Georgia was met with a blinding grin, brilliant green eyes, and a strong jaw. He was gorgeous. Her eyes travel downward, taking in his broad shoulders and long torso. He was tall—easily taller than Clint by several inches—and young. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five, and Georgia felt overwhelmingly flattered. She was a decade his senior and he wanted to buy her a drink. The club lights casting a pink shadow over her face, she couldn't help but grin. "Thank you, really, but no."

The stranger's grin only widened. He titled his chin toward her half-empty glass. "You sure? My treat. No strings—you don't even have to pretend to be interested."

Georgia laughed genuinely. He really was cute, but as she gazed at his too-perfect smile, she found herself thinking of the way Clint's top lip thinned out when he grinned, and Georgia realized she wasn't even the slightest bit interested in the attractive stranger. "If I were ten years younger-" She held up her left hand, proudly displaying her wedding ring. "-and not married, I would certainly be interested, no pretending necessary."

"Ah." His head hung in defeat jokingly. "He's a lucky man."

"He is," Georgia agreed. "So am I. Well, a lucky woman, but you-"

"-get what you mean." He nodded with a laugh. "I do. Still, please let me buy you a drink for your time, and I'll walk away." The charming stranger was flagging down the bartender before she could properly protest. As he ordered her another cocktail, she caught a chill—a bad feeling settled in her stomach. Instinctively, Georgia turned and surveyed the room. Her stomach plummeted. There was a man by the front entrance watching her, and another by the DJ booth. In fact, there were several men with eyes trained on her throughout the club. A quick head-count told her there were at least five men, all wearing dark, indistinguishable clothing and blank, menacing expressions. Georgia recognized their focused, emotionless looks. These men were dangerous. These men were spies.

Her first impulse was to scream for Natasha, but it would be pointless in such a noisy environment. She was on her own. She tried to focus, to think, to remember what Natasha and Clint had taught her for situations just like this. How many times had they practiced and prepared for this? What were her husband and friend always saying? God, she was so buzzed, too tipsy to think.

Panic began to itch at her skin, and she frantically looked around for all the exits. There were only two ways of escape—the front door and the fire exit behind the DJ booth. The fire exit was closer, but to get to it, she would have to go through Menacing Man #2. She didn't know what to do. She was having trouble thinking, the music louder than her liquor-addled thoughts.

Georgia was so shocked and paralyzed with fear that she couldn't move—until one of them started moving towards her.

"Fuck." She bolted through the crowd. The moment she did, the men descended. Two of them closed in. Georgia was able to evade the first because a drunk woman snatched onto him and tried to dance, but the second man had her by the wrist before she reached the door. Her heart thumping wildly, she didn't hesitate to stomp her heel onto the man's foot, tossing her head back into his nose. He cursed loudly, and his grip slackened just enough for Georgia to twist out of his hold.

The fire alarm began to blare the second she threw open the emergency exit door to the alleyway.

Georgia broke into a dead run toward the busy street, but she skidded to a stop before she reached it. A black SUV was parked at the mouth of the alley. There was a man leaning against the door, waiting. It took a very panic-stricken Georgia nearly fifteen seconds to realize that the man was her husband. She took in Clint's casual posture, the smirk on his lips, and struggled to breathe. "You son of a bitch!"

"You let them herd you, G," Clint murmured, tisking sarcastically. "You let them lead you directly to me. If I had wanted to kill you, you'd be dead now."

The sound of thundering footsteps echoed in the alley behind her as three of the assailants burst out of the club, Natasha trailing behind them deviously—an accomplice, then. Georgia was now trapped.

Clint smirked wider.

May 28th, 2016

"No way. No way." Sam slammed his beer down on the table in disbelief when Georgia finished her tale. "That's insane! And you're still married to this guy?"

"Oh, come on, Sam," Sharon muttered. "You know how important in-the-field training is. Those exercises are invaluable."

"Yeah, well, the second time they ran one of their little 'exercises,' I was in LA visiting my family. That was a fun day, trying to explain that shit to my sister—who, by the way, has no clue what Clint really does for a living."

Sam winced. "Ouch."

Georgia finished her beer, smiling despite herself. "Anyway...we do these drills every so often now, and every time I get a little better. It's enough to appease Natasha, but Clint still worries."

"He loves you very much," said Steve softly. Sharon rolled her eyes at the Captain's sentimentality. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "So, what kind of gun did Barton teach you to shoot with? He's a long-range guy, so I'm thinking sniper rifle. Frankly though, that's not very practical on the day-to-day, so I'm also guessing he taught you to fire a handgun. Wait..." A sly grin spread her lips. "Did he teach you to shoot a bow?"

Georgia shrugged casually. "A lady never shoots and tells."

June 13th, 2017

They had finally done it. They had finally moved into a new place, even though it kind of broke Georgia's heart a little. She had loved her apartment. She and Clint had made a lot of memories in that apartment over the last five years. The truth was they should have moved years ago. The apartment had been provided by Stark Industries as part of Georgia's transfer to the New York office and was really only big enough for one person. Over the years, they had never had room for guests and most of Clint's things had to kept in a storage unit in the Bowery, but Georgia simply hadn't been able to let her beloved apartment go.

Much to Tony and Pepper's delight, the new apartment was only a block away from Stark Tower. It had an open floor plan on the bottom floor, built in a loft style, with the two bedrooms and master bathroom upstairs. Natasha had all but demanded the second bedroom. That was a requirement—no matter where they lived that they had to have a room for her. Allie had wholeheartedly agreed on the inclusion of a guest room. "I'm so tired of sleeping on the couch every time I come to the city to visit."

Clint and Georgia had apartment-hunted for months. Stark knew people in Manhattan real estate, so Pepper set the couple up with their contacts. After visiting dozens of lofts, condos, and penthouses, it became obvious to Clint that his wife was simply incapable of making a decision. Every potential apartment they visited had flaws.

"The master bath doesn't have a bath tub. If I'm going to go through the trouble of moving, I might as well get a bath tub and a shower."

"I don't want hardwood floors in the bedroom, Clint. It'll be too cold on my feet in the winter, and you know I hate wearing socks."

"There isn't a balcony. We need an apartment with a balcony and access to the roof. Can't have my Hawk feeling cooped up."

Their new apartment had met all of Georgia's requirements, Natasha's demand for a second bedroom, and Clint's only condition—the building security was top notch. But as Clint stood in the apartment's foyer, arms spread wide and eyebrows raised as if to say, 'What do you think?' Georgia fixed him and the realtor with an apologetic frown. "No, I don't think it's right for us."

"Oh, come on, G!" Clint exclaimed. He took her hands in his, pleading. He was done with apartment-hunting. "Georgia, it's perfect. It has everything we want, it's in a great area, and thanks to Stark, we're getting it at a steal of a price. Baby, what's wrong with it?"

His wife sputtered out some lame excuse about it being too far away from their old neighborhood, which Clint immediately called her out on. "So? We'll find new take-out places, G. I promise." Facing the realtor, Clint ignored his wife's protestations and declared promptly, "We'll take it."

Once moving day arrived, Steve and Natasha volunteered to help with the move. After a long day of hauling and heavy lifting, their friends had left the Hawk and his wife to break in their new apartment not long after dark.

All of the furniture had already been brought up, but Clint was still lugging in the last couple of boxes from the van down the block. Exhausted herself, Georgia was amazed that Clint still had energy to move. God, my arms feel like dead-weight. Wishing desperately for some coffee, she dug around the mess of boxes and suitcases in search of Clint's Nikon. She began filming with a sigh, trying to ignore how much she already missed her old apartment. Narrating as she navigated the now-cluttered space, the brunette highlighted her favorite features and amenities of the new apartment. "And here's the claw-foot tub and the double vanity... Isn't the closet huge? I love the double doors. I just hope Clint knows he's only going to get one shelf... This is the breakfast nook. It's lovely. Clint's going to build a a bench seat beneath the window..."

Clint was coming in the door, yet another box in hand, just as she finished her tour of the downstairs. Georgia trained the camera on her husband. "Say 'hey,' babe."

Clint grunted under the weight of the box and kicked the front door shut behind him. "Hey, babe," he quipped, dumping the box on the dining room table. "That's the last of 'em."

Georgia felt her stomach drop. She closed the Nikon and set it atop a stack of boxes. "So, that's it then. It's official."

Clint frowned. "Don't look so heartbroken, G. This is what we've wanted for months, sweetheart."

"I'm fine. I just..." She shrugged, glancing out the large living room window. "I'm fine." Weaving through the maze of end-tables and dressers, boxes and storage bins, she made her way to the sliding door that led to the balcony and slipped outside without another word. She braced herself on the railing and breathed deeply, the wind cool on her cheeks. The view here was so different from their last home. This apartment was significantly higher up and offered a stunning scene of the New York skyline. Or at least the part that wasn't blocked from her view by the behemoth that was Stark Tower. This part of the city was much busier than her old, cozy neighborhood. It was louder, too. Closing her eyes, Georgia fought to remain positive against the waves of longing. She had to make this new place work. She had to do this for Clint.

The archer had followed her onto the terrace. He walked up behind his wife, laying his hands on her shoulders and encouraging her to lean against him. His hands slid down her arms to her hands, taking them from the railing and hugging both to her waist. She fell into him with a small, contented sigh, her head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. Georgia locked their fingers together, holding their joined hands against her stomach.

"I know you loved that apartment...I loved that apartment," he murmured in his wife's ear, his hot breath tickling her skin. Georgia shivered against him, squeezing his hand tighter, "It was good to us."

"This place'll be good to us, too."

Bringing her hand to his lips, Clint placed a feather-soft kiss across the backs of Georgia's knuckles. He nudged her, turning her around to face him. Her free hand came up to rest against his chest and she smoothed her fingers across his soft, cotton shirt. She could feel the steady, familiar pulse of Clint's heart beat and it did wonders to soothe her. Standing in her husband's arms in their new apartment amid boxes and misplaced furniture, Georgia closed her eyes and finally relaxed. This apartment could be home. This apartment was their home.

They remained locked in that embrace for what felt like an eternity. Then, Clint felt her hand flex. Georgia scraped his chest lightly with her fingernails in gentle, teasing strokes. She peered up at him impishly, bringing her other hand up to cup his cheek. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. It seemed like an invitation, so Clint dipped his head and captured her lips with his own.

"What do you say we break this place in properly?"

His voice was deep, husky, and it sent a familiar tingle through her. One that went straight down to pool low in her belly. Biting her bottom lip, Georgia nodded coyly. She nipped at his jaw with her teeth, the day's worth of scruff tickling her cheek and lips. "Now, we're talking."

A wolfish grin came over Clint's face. Stepping back, he captured her hands in his own and started off towards the stairs, then hesitated. Their mattress and box springs were propped up against the fireplace, Clint's dresser blocking them in. Clint frowned. Even if he moved the dresser, there wasn't enough room to lay the mattress on the floor. "Mhmph."

Georgia wrapped her arms around Clint, snuggling into his side and peering over his shoulder. "S'okay...the first time we had sex in the old apartment we never even made it to the bedroom, much less the mattress."

Clint smirked, fondly remembering the night of the Stark Industries Gala. She had a point. "Kitchen counter?"

"Kitchen counter."

I figured it was time we got back to what this story is all about—Hawkeye smut.