Chapter 3 is finally here! I had such a hard time with pacing myself on this one :3 It gets a lil' steamy, I hope you like! There IS a lemon attached to this, I'm just going to be posting it separately since it isn't exactly crucial to the plot and some people might want to skip over it. (I do not understand these people, but I can respect them. Kind of. lol) Thanks for reading!
Natasha was pleased to find a first aid kit sitting on the small table by the bed. Pepper Potts really did think of everything. Considering how much practice she got dealing with the unimaginable by wrangling Tony Stark over the years, it wasn't too surprising.
Clint shrugged off his flak vest and yanked his black sleeveless t-shirt over his head. Natasha drank in the sight of his chiseled frame, biting her lower lip unconsciously. Streaks of blood and dirt stained his tanned skin, the fresh wounds of the day's battle overlaying old scars. The spy mentally checked herself and forced her attention back to the medical kit, sorting out what supplies she needed to clean and tend Clint's injuries.
Barton sank heavily onto the edge of the mattress. He bent down to unlace his boots, immediately regretting the action as a lightning bolt of pain hit his cracked ribs and branched out across his torso and up his spine.
"Your new friends sure know how to party." Clint commented dryly as he sat up, grinning at the cool look Natasha shot him. The redhead knelt behind him on the bed, laying out her medical items methodically in a line to her left. Everything Natasha Romanoff did was calculated and efficient, traits ingrained in her as a youth in the Red Room. It was partly because of this that the Widow worked well with so few agents; and so well with one agent in particular. Hawkeye's precision marksmanship and sharp analytical mind made him deadly perfection from a distance the way she was up close.
Natasha began carefully extracting bloody shards from Clint's flesh. He stared blankly ahead as she worked, concentrating on the bite of the glass, the sting of the antiseptic. It was easier to focus on physical pain than to try and wade through the quagmire of his guilt over recent events and the uncertainty of his future. Director Fury had given Barton a long leash so far purely out of necessity. Now that the world was no longer in imminent danger of being destroyed, could he really expect to just go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. and pick up his duties like he hadn't ever been compromised? Having Agent Romanoff's backing would help his case, but nothing was ever simple in that organization.
"You won't be held responsible for anything that happened, Clint. Nick Fury won't let the Council touch you. He trusts you." Natasha spoke as if she could read Barton's thoughts scrolling over his head.
Clint couldn't help the wry chuckle that escaped his chest. "Of course he trusts me, I shot him." He retorted.
"Coulson showed me the recovered security footage. You shot Fury in the chest. We both know that man practically sleeps in a vest, and there was no risk that you would miss a headshot. Even compromised by an alien force, you were still fighting every second." Natasha finished cleaning his wounds and began gathering up the bloody gauze pads she used. "Besides, I took a shot at Fury once too. I'm pretty sure it's some kind of rite of passage."
Clint smiled and turned to face the woman, snatching her wrist when she picked up the bottle of disinfectant. "Hold it, I need that." He gave her a warning look not to argue with him, and Natasha relented with a small sigh.
"I'm fine." She scoffed. Barton quirked his eyebrows in a dismissive gesture and gently brushed her flaming tresses back to inspect a long cut at her hairline. With a deft hand he cleaned her wound and applied a dab of liquid bandage to keep it from reopening again. Clint's face was close enough to hers that Natasha could see the light brown stubble of a few days without shaving on his chin. He finished his work, slate blue eyes refocusing on hers. Clint didn't pull away, but he didn't close the distance between them either. Barton was letting her decide, and she hated him for it.
Natasha knew it would be better for both of them if she put an end to this childish fantasy. There was no room in their line of work for vulnerability, and agent Romanoff knew better than most that giving in to emotion made one vulnerable. It would be so much easier to write off their kiss earlier as a moment of weakness and put it behind them.
But Natasha didn't want easy. She wasn't particularly happy to discover that even the cold, deadly Black Widow had a weakness. Her weakness was Clint, he always had been. It had just taken a vengeance-crazed demi god, a blue cube with limitless power and an alien invasion to force her to admit it. "Clint, I…" Natasha murmured, unable to find the right words to convey how she felt. Instead she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He returned the kiss deeply, slowly, giving measure to her frantic, desperate motions. Clint swept his hand into her hair and pulled her closer, growling in his throat when she straddled his lap, jarring his injuries. Pain quickly took a backseat however as Natasha's nails skidded down his bare chest and he squared her hips with his, making both of them shudder with want.
Hawkeye was a world-class sniper, and so had an unmatched eye for detail and nearly unlimited patience. He picked up on each little jolt and intake of breath as his hands roamed over Natasha's body, filing away her responses for later. He couldn't count how many times had he pictured this in his mind, but still no fantasy compared to finally having this exquisite woman in his arms. Clint's fingers slipped between their bodies and unzipped her skintight body suit, exposing the creamy skin between her breasts to his hungry mouth. Natasha gasped and rocked her hips against his, yanking her arms out of her suit so he could strip it off her torso.
Natasha slid backwards off his lap and stood before him, smiling as she offered Clint her leg. He pulled one boot off and then the other, then drew her closer and tugged her suit down over her shapely hips. He stripped her down to her black cotton bra and panties, playfully biting her hipbone as he peeled the tight fabric down her legs. It wasn't exactly poetry to get this suit off, but the redhead wasn't overly concerned with finesse at the moment. All she cared about was getting as much skin to skin contact with the man sitting in front of her as possible.
Clint gripped her hips, looking up and down her gorgeous figure. Her flesh was marred here and there with scrapes and bruises from the battle, but most pronounced were the deep purple marks painted across her taut abdomen. Barton winced as he recalled checking her with a knee to her stomach when they fought on the Hellicarrier. There were fingerprints on her arms and neck he was sure belonged to him as well.
"Clint. It's over now. I'm here, and I'm all right." Natasha reiterated when she saw his eyes cloud with darkness. She climbed back onto his lap, cupping his face in her hands.
"Nat… I'm sorry I hurt you." Barton murmured.
"You didn't hurt me. But you can make me feel better." The spy retorted with a guileful smile. Hawkeye chuckled and leaned forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss.
