Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.
Hey guys, sorry for the delay! Between exams, Christmas, and the New Year, I just didn't have the time to upload any new chapters! But enjoy this one for the time being and let me know what you think!
Clint awakened with a yawn, his bare chest inflating and deflating slightly with the movement. His bleary eyes took in the amber sunlight peaking in through the curtains, greeting them with the inviting rays of early morning. He rubbed a hand over one eye, blinking away the remnants of the warm haze that accompanied deep sleep. He was on his back, his head cushioned by a pillow that smelled distinctly of his partner.
Natasha.
His eyes shifted down to find her arm draped over his abdomen, her fingers curled loosely around his left side, barely brushing the pink scar that had remained of their night in Istanbul. She was on her belly with her face turned towards him, snuggled into his right side.
The blanket, that was supposed to be covering both of them, was hanging low, his left hip peeking out from underneath the sheets. He stopped himself pulling the covers back, knowing that it would wake her if he attempted to move.
He let his eyes roam over her bare shoulders and back, taking in the assortment of scars that dotted her pale skin. It was no surprise to him, however, as he had already become acquainted with her scars during a mission in Budapest, Hungary.
Some scars she had sustained during their partnership, others from her time in the Red Room.
He knew all too well that every scar had a story to tell, a lesson to be learned. They stand as an unsettling reminder that they are not invincible beings, not immune to bullets, poisons or any weapons that are so often inflicted upon them. Each close-call or life threatening wound is a stark warning that in their job, death is always lurking around the corner, ready to claim them. It had become second nature to them by now.
Leaning over, he brushed his lips against each scar gently. She began to stir in response, his feather-light caresses awakening her senses, sending goosebumps down her back. She cracked one eye open and sighed contentedly, her lips curving into a sleepy smile.
Clint turned onto his side, propping his head up with an elbow. "Morning," he whispered, his croaky voice rumbling deep in his throat.
"Morning," she answered with a muffled yawn. "Sleep well?"
"Yeah, better than I have in a while actually. I could get used to this," he waved a hand, gesturing to the bed beneath them. He shifted, reaching a hand behind to press against the dull ache in his back that had remained over his nights spent in New Mexico.
"My bed the only reason you slept well?" she asked, pressing a hand against his arm, coaxing him to roll over.
Clint threw a puzzled look out of the corner of his eye, wondering what she was doing. He obliged and rolled over anyway. "No, there are plenty of reasons why I slept well last night."
"Really?" Once she had him flat on his belly, she straddled his lower back and started kneading the taut muscles of his shoulders. Leaning down, she whispered into his ear, "Do tell."
"All that travelling sure takes a lot out of a guy."
That earned him a sharp tap on the back of his head and Clint couldn't stop himself letting out a soft chuckle.
She shimmied her hands over his skin slowly, her fingers finding his own array of scars that marred his skin. He could feel her digits trace them, her delicate fingers running over each one, slowly and precisely. With his back exposed to her touch and the cool air of the room, his skin began quiver involuntarily under her hands.
She felt him shiver beneath her and she stilled. "This okay?" she asked, continuing to knead his back with firm circular movements.
He let out an appreciative groan. "More than okay, Nat." He settled his head further into the pillow, graciously allowing her to continue the massage.
When she finished up, she clambered off him, unhooked her dressing gown from the door, and wrapped herself in the silky material. Lazily, Clint flipped over and manoeuvred himself into a seated position. He kept his gaze on her as she made her way around the room, picking up discarded clothes from the floor.
Feeling his eyes on her, she turned, her face puzzled. "What?"
Clint looked at her as though he had been caught red-handed. Even with her bed-fresh curls falling loosely over her shoulders and a simple robe around her, Natasha Romanoff was capable of making his jaw drop and his stomach quiver in delight.
He scrubbed a hand down his blushing face, closed his mouth, and shook his head. "Nothing."
Her eyes scanned him carefully and she noted the light stubble that was shading the lower half of his face. She extended a hand towards him and curled her finger coaxingly. "C'mon, Hawkeye, time for a wash. You're stinking up my place with that stench of yours."
"Stench?" He almost sounded insulted. "I don't remember you complaining of my 'stench' last night?" He threw her a waggling eyebrow and a wolfish grin.
"Get your bag. A shower and a shave are in order. It's starting to look like you're trying to emulate your favourite Iron-clad superhero."
"Ha, don't make me laugh," he scoffed as he pulled back the covers and made his way out of the bed. He picked up a towel and slung it over his shoulder.
Before reaching the bathroom, he spun around on his heel and threw her a suggestive expression. "Actually, now that you mention it, you could use a bit of a freshen up too."
She countered his cheeky grin with an arched eyebrow and an unimpressed look. "Get your ass moving, Barton, before I move it for you."
Defeated, he turned back around. "I'm going, I'm going, but don't say I didn't warn you," he teased melodically before closing the door.
Almost immediately, the rush of water became audible to Natasha's ears. She soon began to hear his melodic whistling filtering through the door. Her eyes landed on the door and she bit the inside of her gum absently for a moment before following him inside.
SHIELD HQ, 3 weeks later
"Good to see you back, Coulson." Clint swivelled around in his chair to greet the older agent as he entered the briefing room. His eyes were fixed on an arrowhead in his grip.
Coulson watched the young agent in amusement as he found his seat. "Thanks."
"After the whole Thor dealio, I'm surprised they didn't give you the rest of the year off." He continued to fiddle with the arrowhead, twisting it meticulously.
"Well things to do, people to see, Barton," the older agent responded nonchalantly, without looking up from his files.
The archer hummed in agreement. It was seldom that Coulson took time off work. Quality time, downtime, any kind of time. It was clear from the very moment Clint was recruited by SHIELD that the man put his life and soul into his job.
"Did you enjoy your lengthy vacation?" Coulson asked with a smile as he continued reading the papers in front of him.
"Lengthy?" Clint scoffed. "It was two weeks."
Coulson looked up and paused, considering his comment.
Clint met Coulson's gaze and he continued his ramblings. "I ran a few errands, had a few beers, you know the drill," he listed with a shrug of his shoulders. "Did you enjoy Portla—uh, I mean your time off, sir?"
Coulson glared at Clint, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. They rested on him for a long moment before flitting down to his files once again. "It was sufficient."
Clint cocked his head to the side, studying the older agent, awestruck that he hadn't admonished him for his outright cheekiness. After the whole New Mexico mess, maybe the guy had gone soft. Maybe the rumours about the agent's recent downtime were true—Coulson had started romancing a musician from Portland.
Coulson shook his wrist to get a look at his watch. "Romanoff on her way?"
"Yeah, she's coming. Don't get your tie in a knot."
"When's the last time you got a good nights sleep, huh?" Coulson quipped in response, obviously indicating to Clint's lack of sleep whilst in the company of a certain assassin.
Clint's mind flickered back to the conversation they shared after Thor's interrogation.
"When's the last time you got a good night's sleep, huh?"
"My sleeping regime is none of your concern, Barton."
He set the arrow on the table and echoed Coulson's words with a smirk. "My sleeping regime is none of your concern, Coulson."
"It is when you're out in the field with Agent Romanoff accompanying you. I need not remind you that it's expected that the two of you get the sufficient amount."
Clint resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Can we stow the 'birds and the bees' lecture for another day and just get on with that assignment?"
"Now that I've got your attention, can we focus?"
The door opened suddenly, breaking the tension, and Natasha entered. "Apologies, sir."
"Agent Romanoff," Coulson greeted with a sharp nod. "We ready to begin?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fire ahead." Clint nodded once Natasha was settled in her seat.
"Abidjan, Ivory Coast. A shit-storm has been brewing in the city for the past few weeks and we've been monitoring the movements of a local rebel group. Usual activities include gun-running, drug trafficking. This morning it's been confirmed that the group have been planning a city-wide riot in an attempt to overthrow the local government. We need the both of you to get in there and prevent any further escalation of the situation."
Natasha and Clint looked at each other, their faces determined, their heads in the game.
"Here are your files." Coulson slid the files towards the two agents. "Strike Team: Delta out in full force. Any questions?"
Both agents shook their heads.
"All right then. Get packed. Wheels up in 20 minutes."
End of Chapter 6
More soon :)