Wherein the rating kicks in.
4.
Natasha was whimpering, and it was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on him. He had been dreaming of pleasant things, red hair and pie and arrows, but the moment he heard her moan, he was wide awake.
She was curled up in a fetal position on the bed beside him, her mouth twisted in a rictus of pain, and he reached out to her.
"What's going on? What's happening? Is it the baby?" They weren't so far from her due date that labor was out of the question.
She shook her head though and grabbed at her calf. "My leg," she ground out between gritted teeth. She'd been having this trouble more and more frequently lately, and he wondered if it had something to do with her drastically decreased mobility; he'd been meaning to ask the obstetrician about it. She was accustomed to a several mile run as an early morning warm-up, had continued with it well into her pregnancy, and even though she was walking a lot now, it wasn't the same.
He gently tugged her hands away from her calf, replacing them with his own.
"Try to relax your leg," he mumbled, firmly applying pressure to the seizing muscle. She was still whimpering and jerking on the bed, getting louder as she tried to straighten her leg. He kept the pressure up, rubbing up and down along the muscle, forcing it to unclench.
"That's it. Come on, sweetheart." It was a sign of how much pain she was in that she didn't balk at the pet name, just buried her face against his shoulder. Finally, after a few false starts, the muscle relaxed, and her breathing slowly returned to normal. He kept up the massaging action, trying to prevent any more muscle pain in the morning than necessary.
He pressed firmly up and down along her calf, then moved up around her knee, trying to relax her, calm her back to sleep. But then her breath hitched in her throat, and she began to nuzzle against his shoulder.
This side effect of her pregnancy was definitely one of the unexpected perks, something that had never even crossed his mind before all of this – it took very, very little to arouse her these days. Sometimes, it seemed like all he had to do was glance in her direction and he would find himself pushed into a storage closet or a bathroom or, on one memorable occasion, the break room on the Helicarrier.
She twisted her hand in his shirt, pulled him toward her until he slanted his mouth over hers. She moaned wickedly against his lips as her hand wandered to the waistband of his boxers, and without any other prelude, she reached inside to grab him. He was still half-soft, but she pumped him to full attention quickly, aided by the sounds she was making as she kissed the breath out of him. Natasha had never been shy in bed, but she definitely went right for what she wanted these days.
Not that he was complaining, mind you.
Her belly was too large now for them to successfully maneuver face to face, it had been for a while, so he helped her turn onto her side and positioned himself behind her. He worried her neck with his mouth, rubbing his day old stubble against her as he slowly hiked the fabric of her nightgown up over her hips. She pushed back against him when he dipped a finger inside of her, arched her back and practically purred.
"Stop teasing," she ordered, reaching back to grab his thigh, rolling her hips with frustration. He loved her like this, mindless and out of control, without even a trace of hesitation. He found himself so turned on by it, so acutely hard that he didn't bother to take off his clothes, just shoved his boxers down far enough that he sprung free and pulled her panties to one side, entering her in one smooth motion.
"Fuck," she hissed, and he could feel the first tremors of her orgasm flutter around him as he echoed her sentiment. She'd always been eager for his touch, but her pregnancy had increased her sensitivity, making a mockery of what it had been before. She moaned as he thrust into her, and before he knew it (far, far too soon for him), she was crying out, sobbing her release into the pillow. She cursed again, this time in Russian, then rolled over onto her back to look at him.
"I think you've broken me," she said, deadpan, and Clint tried not to analyze how hot he found her statement. He was still hard, still wanted her, and when he was horny, he found pretty much everything about Natasha enticing. But she was tired, she was always tired these days, and he didn't want to bother her with something as silly as his erection. Trying not to think about his dick, he laid back on his pillow, catching a quirk of her eyebrow that he did his best to ignore. Damn sexy eyebrow.
She snuggled up to him, draped her arm over him, and he willed himself not to notice the softness of her breasts where they pressed against him. When she started rubbing circles low on his stomach, he exhaled sharply and hoped to hell that she didn't notice the way he helplessly leaned into her, his body seeking her touch even when his brain was telling him to back off.
But then she chuckled, pressed lower, and griped him firmly in her hand, and he realized what she'd been after all along.
"Tash?" he asked, not quite daring to hope.
She shushed him. "Just relax," she whispered and leaned in to kiss him.
It was almost too much, the combination of her hand around him, her mouth pressed against his, and the crush of her body tucked into his side. Her hands were everywhere, greedy, grabbing things, and he could barely keep a thought in his head that didn't revolve around the woman in his arms.
She licked and bit as she explored his body, paying attention to all the little spots that he liked – behind his ear, under his chin, the hollow of his throat, all the while keeping up a steady cadence with her palm. He watched her work, aroused all the more by the sight of her hand jerking him off rather than his own.
"Dammit, Nat, gonna come . . ." he managed to grind out, feeling his orgasm twist up inside of him. His hips rose up off the mattress, meeting her thrust for thrust, and he twisted his head, pressed his face into her hair. "Tasha . . ."
"That's right, baby," she encouraged. "Come for me."
She moved in earnest now, brought her other hand down to massage his testicles even as he felt them tighten up, and he leaned into her, clasped her to him. He erupted in one glorious burst of ecstasy, calling out as he spurted into her warm hands.
When he could think again, he peeled open his eyes and found her staring, a smug look on her face.
"Better?" she asked, wiping her hands on the edge of the sheet.
Too frazzled to express himself properly, Clint took her face in his hands and kissed her sweetly, almost chastely. She smiled back against his lips, then snuggled down in the crook of his arm.
As he drifted back to sleep, all Clint could think was that maybe this whole being a family thing was going to work out even better than he thought.