So many people reviewed the last chapter than ever before! Thanks for the encouraging words you wonderful people.

Right, so the opportunity for Clint to be naked presented itself, and I make no apologies…

Enjoy!

She crashed into him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and Clint suddenly found himself locked in a fearsome kiss. He managed to push her away briefly.

"Wha-"

"Shut up" she captured his lips again.

"Bu-"

"Still shut up" she effectively enforced her command with another bruising kiss and a wiggle of her hips, eliciting a groan from her victim.

Keeping one arm around his neck so that he couldn't escape her kiss, she slid her hand down his chest in a most delicious fashion, easily finding all his sweet spots.

This was a bad idea. Very bad idea.

Man, she was good. She released him from her kiss and began to chase her hand's path with her mouth. A moan escaped his mouth without his consent.

Clint was having a difficult time thinking straight because…damn this woman had talented tongue! A tongue that was traveling lower…would it really be so bad it he let himself be ravaged by the beautiful and talented Black Widow?

No, bad Clint! Down boy! Hello! Back Widow? She's called that for a reason. Idiot!

"Stop" he managed to choke out, his voice wavering. She gave him sexy, enticing smile before placing a deliberate open mouthed kiss by his navel and reaching for his towel.

Aw hell

Gathering every ounce of self-control he had left, he set his jaw, grabbed her wrists and yanked her to her feet. Clearing his throat he managed a much more forceful "Stop." Holding her at arm's length, he gave her his best imitation of Coulson's I'm-serious-knock-this-shit-off-right-fucking-now face.

She didn't look very impressed by it. Instead she pulled out of his grasp and began to close the distance between then once again. This time she moved slowly toward him, sliding her hand up his arm and sending shivers down his spine. Her eyes never left his, trying to draw him in, a seductive smile on her swollen lips as she further invaded his space.

"Natasha, stop."

"Shhh." She placed a light finger against his lips, and then replaced it with her own trying to draw him into a soft, sweet kiss. It took all of his self-control not to respond her. She pulled back after a moment, smiling as if she was amused at his attempt to resist her. She guided his hand up the back her shirt and pressed closer to him. He swallowed audibly, causing her smile to widen.

She really was quite beautiful when she smiled. It was distracting. And those pretty blues eyes that held his gaze…he couldn't seem to look away. She kissed him softly on the lips once again, drawing back to gaze into his eyes once again. It was a soft look of a lover staring into the eyes of her one and only.

He smelled a rat.

Going purely one his gut, he knocked her hand away from him and heard something go clattering to the floor. Her look of pure adoration dissolved scarily fast into an angry scowl. Without hesitation he delivered a hard shove to her sternum, sending her back into the sink. She growled at him and aimed a kick at the place it would hurt; which he barely managed to block (whew!). She groped for something behind her, and hurled a ceramic soap bottle at his head, then dove to the ground for what she had dropped.

She came up wielding a scary looking syringe. Best case scenario, it was just something to knock him out with. Worst case scenario, it would kill him. He was leaning toward the former, because if she was trying to kill him, there were a lot easier ways. But he really didn't want to test that theory.

He body checked her into the door, causing every each in his body to reassert itself. He pinned her against the door with his body and immobilized her wrists. Face to face once again, she gave him a sultry little smile.

Uh oh

She wiggled her hips against him. He gritted his teeth.

Wicked little minx.

She wiggled a little more and hit towel hit the ground.

Great. Just great.

She grinned at him like a Cheshire cat and then somehow managed to get her legs around his waist and squeezed. Man, this woman sure knew how to use her every advantage. There would be time for embarrassment later. Growling in frustration, he squeezed hard on the pressure point in her wrist, causing her to drop the syringe. Then, because he couldn't think of anything else to do, he slammed his forehead into hers. Her head snapped back into the door with a loud crack, and her grip around his waist loosened.

He threw her face first onto the ground, scooped up the syringe and hopped onto her back. Without thinking, he plunged the needle into her arm. She snarled at him, and managed to dislodge him form her back. Pulling herself to her feet, she delivered a angry kick to his side, and a sock to the jaw.

He brought his arms up to guard himself, but the next blow never came. Looking up he found her leaning heavily against the sink, panting heavily and shaking her head to clear it. His body protesting, her leapt to his feet and moved to catch her. She lashed out at him, dragging her nails across his cheek and then passing out into his arms.

Holding her limp form, Clint leaned against the wall and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Checking for a pulse, he found a strong rhythm. Good. She wasn't trying to kill him. that gave him a bit of hope.

Twenty minutes later, he was fully dressed and armed with a hand gun he discovered. He had Natasha handcuffed to the bed, and for good measure, he tied her hands with makeshift rope made from a torn up shirt as well.

Her mood swings were giving him a headache. One moment they were trying to kill each other, the next they were helping each other, and then they were back at each other's throats. Well, she was at his at least.

He could understand her frustration; her employers seemed like a great bunch. He had a feeling that a fate worse than death awaited her if they managed to catch her. She was caught between a rock and a hard place, and she didn't think she could trust him. He was an enemy operative after all.

Clint, always a sucker for a hopeless cause, was actually inclined to help her out. Plus if he was honest he was also curious, her story intrigued him. So against his better judgment, he parked himself in a chair a good five feet out of reach from the bed, gun loaded and ready, and waited for her to wake. She wasn't going to be happy.

He almost laughed; they were right back where they started.

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