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Clint flinched slightly with surprise when Natasha claimed his lips with blistering urgency. The kiss was desperate, voracious, intoxicating. When his mind caught up with what was happening, all the tension that had accumulated in his body during their argument dissipated. He moved his hands, snaking them round her back, and pressed her against him, crushing their bodies together. His bounding pulse filtered into his consciousness, pumping hard in his ears.
Natasha smoothed her hands across his chest, feeling the heat of his flesh radiating from underneath his clothing. His arms enveloped her, holding her securely against his body. She began lightly pushing him back towards the door, their lips still crushing together in time, and stopped once she felt his body press against the solid frame.
The kiss deepened with raucous ferocity causing gasps to escape their aching lips, filling the air as they both fought for dominance. Clint settled his grip in her blazing curls and Natasha moved her hands towards his lower abdomen, letting them rest just above the waist band of his jeans. An involuntary hiss escaped his lips when she accidentally brushed against his still-healing bullet wound. Her eyes snapped open upon hearing his groan and she began to back away.
"No, no, don't stop.." Clint pleaded breathily, feeling her pull away from his lips. He ignored his body's protest and moved forward to recapture her lips again.
Natasha kept her distance, placing a hand flat on his chest to separate them. She swallowed, trying to catch her breath. "Clint, you're not fully healed yet. I don't want to be the reason you end up in the infirmary again."
"Hold on, you beat me up every day and now you're suddenly worried about me?"
"I only beat you up when you deserve it."
"I deserved it in Kosovo, in Budapest, in Moscow?" He wiggled an eyebrow at the last one, knowing exactly what reaction he'd get from her.
"Moscow!? You were trying to kill me!" She scowled and pressed against his chest again, shoving him slightly in annoyance.
Clint gave her a cheeky smirk. "Hey, I made a different call, remember?"
She inched forward to kiss him once again, moving her lips inch by inch towards his jaw and down his neck. "Yeah, you did.." A sultry undertone invaded her voice as she continued her trail of kisses. She inhaled a deep breath and lastly placed a soft kiss against his Adam's apple.
Clint almost collapsed right there and then, feeling his knees go weak. "Nat, please—"
"No, Clint.." she scolded with a shake of her head.
Clint wrinkled his nose in response as she moved away. "You know, you can kill a man with all that teasing. Worse than torture, if you ask me."
"Really, Barton? And why do you still live to tell the tale then?" she asked with a smirk, moving over to the bed. She grabbed her duffel bag and began to unpack her things.
"Because I'm immune to your tactics, Widow," he teased, knowing full well that he was entranced by them and had, long ago, succumbed to them.
Natasha cocked her head and slowly began to make her way over to him again. "Is that so? Well, we'll have to change that, won't we?" she rasped seductively against his lips. Clint gulped audibly and then flashed a wide smile.
He had his spider back. His partner. His Natasha. It took everything in him to suppress the urge to lift her up in into his arms and recapture her lips once again. The only thing stopping him was the burning ache in his side that refused to ebb.
Damn bullet wound.
"Once I'm fully fit, up to your standards anyway, we can get back to...y'know..." he grinned flirtatiously.
"That can be arranged," she responded with an equally flirtatious grin, one eyebrow arching suggestively. She turned around and studied the pile of clothes that had escaped her duffel. She considered tending to them first but ultimately decided her stomach was more in need of attention. She snatched her phone off the bed and pushed past him as she made her way out onto the corridor.
Clint followed and inched his head out of the room, looking around to see if there were any eavesdropping bystanders nearby. Satisfied that they were alone, he whispered harshly, "And for the record, you kissed me while we were in Prague!"
Natasha kept her back to him, flipping him the bird, as she continued her walk down the corridor. A faint smile ghosted Clint's face as he watched her saunter away, her hips swaying seductively.
Keep it together, Clint.
He made his way out, letting Natasha's bedroom door slide close with an audible click.
"Romanoff, you're wanted in Fury's office," Coulson addressed Natasha as he walked past their table in the mess hall. Clint had just settled into his seat after returning from his mandatory post-mission medial assessment.
Natasha pulled her eyes away from her meal, raising her eyebrows curiously. "Just me?"
Clint narrowed his eyes at Coulson, wondering if he knew more than what he was letting on. He and Natasha were usually always called in to Fury's office together if there was a mission on the table.
Coulson stopped and turned, feeling Clint's cool glare on him. "Just Agent Romanoff," he addressed the two agents, ignoring Clint's stare. "An assignment for you." He inclined his head towards Natasha before continuing his trek out of the hall.
Natasha nodded at the older agent and swallowed another mouthful of pasta. She refocused on Clint's suspicious features. "You think they know something?"
"We've been careful. I don't see how they could have figured it out."
"There's not much that gets past Coulson, Clint. Or Fury for that matter."
They both knew it was just a matter of time before the Director would find out about them.
"Let's just hope that if Coulson did have his suspicions, he would keep it to himself. I would rather go through weeks of anti-interrogation training than be at Fury's mercy if he found out about us."
"Thanks, that makes me feel a whole lot better about our meeting this morning," she quipped sarcastically, sending him a cool glare.
"Ah, you'll be fine. Remember if he pounces, go for the eye. He's only got the one left." Clint winked childishly and settled his eyes on her food. He quickly averted his gaze when a wave of nausea tinged his stomach.
"I'll keep that in mind." She wiped a napkin over her mouth and rose from her seat. "You eating?"
"Nah, not up to it," he shrugged and sat back in his seat, unperturbed.
With alarm bells ringing, Natasha stopped and studied him carefully, suddenly noticing his colourless appearance. She immediately sat back down and gave him a concerned look. "What's up?"
"I'm fine."
"Clint."
"Okay..okay.." he rolled his eyes, giving in to her warning tone. He seriously thought she was going to pounce on him if he didn't tell her the truth. "Infection.."
Natasha let out the breath she had been holding and examined him with concerned eyes. "What did Briggs say?"
"Just that I've got an infection. No biggie."
Natasha closed her eyes, weary of his nonchalant demeanour. She knew he was as stubborn as a mule when it came to his own welfare. He had been like that since the day she met him and clearly there was no sign in sight that he was losing that innate quality.
"He has me on some pretty strong antibiotics so that's why I'm not really in the 'stuff my face with food' mood right now." He swallowed thickly, willing the nausea to dissipate, and offered her a weak smile.
"Try something later and see how you feel then," she advised and brushed her fingers lightly over his knuckles. "I'll be back soon."
"Catch you later," Clint nodded and watched her leave.
"Agent Romanoff," Fury addressed the red-head as she walked into his office. He was sitting on the edge of the desk, bracing his hands on the glass surface.
"Director." She nodded before sitting down in the chair beside him.
"An assignment for you," he continued, placing a folder in front of her. "Avengers Initiative" was emblazoned across the front page.
She raised her head and drew confused eyes to his stony face, realising what this meeting was really about. "Sir, I don't understand, you said this was years away."
"Well that time has come, Agent. We need to get ready."
Natasha narrowed her eyes at that statement. There was always something Fury was holding back, always something hidden behind his sharp eye. He always knew more than he let on and was always withholding some sort of end game. Strictly need-to-know was clearly his motto.
"We need you to assess someone for the roster."
"Assess?" she asked, eyebrows rising slightly with intrigue. "Who's being considered?"
"Tony Stark," he revealed, tone calm and direct, his good eye unflinching.
"You gotta be kidding," she blurted out before she could stop herself.
End of Chapter 2
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