Thanks again to all the wonderful people for reading and reviewing and favoriting and just generally being awesome. Thanks so much!
One more chapter and an epilogue to go!
She could get used to this.
What had started innocuously enough as cuddling and a brush of her lips against his had turned into something a lot more interesting now that she was in his lap and he was trying to catalog the contours of her skin with his tongue.
He'd already tasted her lips, had moved along her jaw, and now he was working his way down her neck. She could hardly catch her breath, and she didn't think it was because of her ribs.
"Tell me this is real," he muttered against her throat, the silken rumble of his words traveling down her body, settling deep in her gut and making her squirm. She knew how he felt, needed the same reassurance that the firm heat of his body between her legs wasn't going to slip away. He wasn't going to leave her alone in her bed in the middle of the night, gasping awake with his name on her lips in the dark.
She tugged on his hair, pulled his head backward until he met her eyes, and they were close enough that she could see her outline reflected in his irises.
"This better be fucking real," she said. "Because I'm tired of masturbating to thoughts of you."
His pupils widened alongside his gasp for air, and he practically growled at her, flipping her suddenly onto her back and kissing her so deeply she thought she might meld with him.
"Christ, woman," he ground out against her throat. "I'm going to make you come so hard you forget your name."
She thought that she should be amused by his words; she was no blushing virgin, and what he'd just said was trite. Or, it should be, and she should be stifling her laughter or disbelieving him at the very least, but she was already so wet for him, so eager to have him hot and heavy between her thighs that she couldn't think straight. She bit her lip and whimpered by way of reply, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and grinding up against his core.
"Do you know how long I've wanted you?" he asked, and it had to be rhetorical because there never was a time when she didn't want him. "Do you know how much I want you?"
She'd heard those words too, a hundred times from a hundred men, but none of them were Clint, none of them looked at her like she was a person, none of them knew a damn thing about her beyond her pseudonym and that she filled out a dress well.
But Clint? Well, fuck. Clint knew everything about her. He knew how many people she'd killed, knew that she thought rifles were clumsy, and that pesto and sausage were among her least favorite foods, but she would eat both anyway. He knew that her right hook was weaker than her left, and he'd helped her stop telegraphing when she was about to go for the former. He'd carried her out of a burning building, he'd sewed her skin closed in a dozen safehouses, and more to the point, he'd accepted all of the same from her without so much as a blink.
She'd never been anything but an equal in his eyes, she'd never been just the girl who looked good in a dress, and so when he stared up at her, met her eyes as he inched her t-shirt up over her stomach, she wasn't thinking about how idiotic he sounded or that he was feeding her a line just to see if he could get her naked. He wasn't. He meant it, all of it, and she knew it.
This was Clint, and she'd been thinking about doing this ever since she'd met him, and now that the moment was upon her, she wanted to swim in the heady sensation of finally, finally getting to act on her desires.
"Please," she said at last, whispering as if afraid to break whatever spell had fallen over them. She lifted herself off the bed, sat up and came to her knees to help him pull her shirt off, and the carnal promise in his eyes when he caught sight of her in the plain, sturdy bra she'd picked out earlier, never intending for something like this to happen - that fire in his eyes made her sure that she'd made the right decision, that this was the best idea she'd had in years. Maybe ever.
He cupped her breasts through the plain fabric, looking for all the world like a kid in a candy store, boyish and young and maybe love was for children, but whatever she was feeling right now wasn't too far removed.
His fingers drifted along her sides, swept around her back, twin firebrands on her flesh, and when he hesitated at the clasp of her bra, she turned her face upward.
"Can I?" he asked haltingly, and she grinned at the incongruity of Clint stopping to ask permission with his hands hot on her back as she panted.
"I'd be really fucking upset if you didn't," she said.
He returned her grin, smiling at her so openly and candidly that her breath caught in her throat. She felt herself heat up under his gaze, could feel her face burning from the force of her words. He leaned forward, pulling her into his lap, and he kissed the bridge of her nose.
"You're beautiful," he said, and did all the air suddenly escape the room?
Her bra slackened, then it was gone, and he bent to draw one aroused tip into his mouth.
"Fuck everything," she gasped, her voice a foreign, rough thing. He chuckled against her.
"Just you, I hope," he said, and then he went back to work, sliding his hands down her sides, along her waist as he sucked on her skin, leaving a strange, dotted pattern of red marks alongside her bruises that she'd be hard pressed to explain away.
Without warning, he fell backward, taking her with him, and she should feel awkward, sprawled across her partner's body, kissing him like this after they've been colleagues and friends for so long, but instead she was just tingling all over, a pleasant buzz overriding her better judgment.
She let that feeling overwhelm her, let it turn her brain off, and she just operated on raw emotion, on want and desire, and she ran her hands up his arms, grasping at him through his button down, trying to feel the ropes of muscles she knew lay beneath.
"Wanna touch you," she said in between nips, and her hands moved to his chest, fumbling with the buttons there. "Need to get this off."
"Well," he said, breaking their kiss. "All you had to do was ask."
He brushed her hands away, taking over her task, but he grew quickly frustrated. He tugged the shirt open at last, and she heard the telltale pinging of the plastic buttons as they struck the floor. They struggled together then, making short work of the cuffs and tossing the shirt away, and then she tugged his undershirt off over his head and he was bare from the waist up, the same as she.
Fulfilling a long-standing fantasy, she ran her hands over his abdomen, up his chest, across his pectorals and shoulders, clutching at him, touching him, and growing wetter by the second. She was so distracted by the sight below her that she barely even noticed that he'd shifted, only coming back to herself when he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, biting down lightly and sending a jolt of pleasure through her body.
"Yes," she moaned, drawing the syllable out and clawing at him. He bucked up against her, thrusting his pelvis against hers, and he was hard enough that she could feel what could only be his cock through the fabric of his jeans.
He rolled her once more, pushing her down on her back, but he kept up the gentle suction on her breast, reaching up with his left hand to tease her other peak to attention.
"What are you doing to me?" she moaned rhetorically, not really expecting a reply, but neither wholly surprised when he let her fall from his mouth and looked up at her.
"Making you come, remember?" he asked, and then he was pushing her down onto her back and sliding down her body, licking a trail between her breasts, across the plane of her abdomen and lower. He ran his nose lightly across her belly, licking at her navel to distract her as he undid the button on her jeans.
"Lift up," he ordered, smacking at her hips, and the light sting was enough to snap her back to reality, however briefly. She raised her hips, and he stripped her, shucking the skin tight denim and the soaked scrap of lace that dared call itself underwear in one fell swoop.
He leaned back in, dropping his forehead to her stomach and groaning, and for a moment, she thought something was wrong, that she'd forgotten something or somehow missed a nonverbal cue, but then he said, "I can fucking smell you, woman."
He growled the words, and the rough timbre to his voice spoke to how aroused he was, how turned on he was at that moment, and it was the sole warning she got before he sprang into action, shoving her thighs wide apart and going straight for her pussy.
She shrieked as he dragged his mouth along the length of her slit, lathing her flesh with the dual roughness of his tongue and the day's growth of stubble on his chin. When he might have pushed back, might have interpreted her noise as something it most definitely was not, she grabbed his head, threading her fingers through the short tufts of his hair to hold him against her, to encourage him to keep it up.
She felt him grin as he got the message, and then his mouth found her clit and she forgot how to think. He sucked on her, swirling his tongue impossibly over the surface of the sensitive nub, and if she thought she had been close to orgasm before, it was nothing compared to when he slipped two fingers into her and started pumping.
She rode his face, fucking herself on his talented mouth, and had she known he was capable of this, she would have accosted him long ago. He snaked the hand that wasn't buried in her cunt up her body to grab at her tit, rolling her nipple between his fingers, and fuck it all if he wasn't making good on that promise about making her forget her name.
He made a humming noise against her at last, adding another finger and stretching her wider, and then he drew his teeth lightly over her clit and she was lost, exploding, shattering into a thousand pieces, a puddle beneath his fingers.
She looked down her body when she came back to herself, finding him grinning widely up at her from between her legs, her moisture glistening all over his mouth.
She must have said something, must have shouted something when she came because there was no way that he'd be grinning that widely otherwise.
He confirmed as much when he said, "No, not God. Just Clint."
She swatted at him, then changed the gesture, grabbing at his shoulders to tug him up the bed and closer to her. "C'mere, you asshole," she said, pulling him in for a kiss.
The taste of her pussy on his tongue was strangely arousing, making her want him with a sudden fierceness. She sucked all the traces of herself from his mouth, loving the way they tasted together and wanting more, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, rubbing herself against him, arching her back and squeezing him with her thighs. She could feel his arousal better now, more clearly that they only had his jeans between them, but she wanted more still, wanted him.
"I need you to fuck me," she said, her voice dangerously close to pleading. "Please fuck me now."
His eyes darkened in response, his pupils dilating as he kissed her again, keeping his eyes open to stare at her up close. The gesture should have been awkward, and, realistically, was awkward, but she couldn't tear herself away, couldn't bring herself to break that tenuous connection between them.
She dropped her legs open, releasing him from the embrace so she could get her hands between them, so she could work at his belt. He sucked in his breath harshly with her success, when she reached into his pants to free him, when she cupped his cock in her hands.
Putting all his weight on one elbow, he reached down to stop her sure movements.
"I don't think you want to do that right now, darlin'," he said, his stupid pet name not seeming quite as awful as it usually did. "Fucking you with my tongue got me dangerously close to losing it."
She grinned at his rueful confession, feeling powerful at the obvious control she had over the situation despite their positions.
"If you're that close," she said from beneath hooded eyes, "then I guess we'd better not put off the main event."
He closed his eyes for a moment, turning his head away from her, and she could see the vein in his neck strain as he struggled for control. Feeling feisty, she pushed up on her elbows to get closer to him, and then she licked the side of his neck, bit his earlobe.
"Goddamn it, Tash," he cursed. "You drive me insane. I think I could come just from that."
The need that caused his voice to hitch overrode her senses, and she all she wanted was to hear that sound again, to make him lose control on top of her. Reaching back between their bodies, unwilling to take no for an answer, she briefly dipped her hand between her legs for lubrication, then grabbed his cock again, pumping him firmly in her grip.
"That's the idea," she said, fluttering her lashes delicately. He put up a modicum of resistance, trying to pull her hand away, but she'd just gripped tighter around him, reached her other hand down to cup his balls, and when she ran the pad of her foot up the length of his leg, he gave up pretending, just thrust into her palms, let her jerk him off.
He let out of low moan eventually, a strangled sound that she'd never heard from him, and the snap of his hips became erratic, uneven and harsh, and then his hand clamped down over hers so tightly she thought he might sprain her wrist. His forehead dropped down to her shoulder, he cried out, half-laying on her as he shook. He came in hot spurts across her belly, the thick threads of his come splattering up her torso and onto her tits, and fuck, he was gorgeous when he came.
He rolled onto his back beside her, breathing deeply with one arm draped over his eyes, and it took several minutes before he managed, "Jesus Christ, Natasha. I think you broke me."
Swiping a stray sock from where it lay on the bed, she carefully wiped herself clean before curling into his side. Even if he was broken, her skin was still humming, and she wanted him desperately. She wondered how much it would take to get him ready again, wondered what she would need to do to incite his interest.
So she asked him.
"How long will it take for you to be ready for another round?" she asked, her voice hoarse in the still air of the apartment.
Turning his head, he peered at her with one eye, raking his gaze down her body. She saw him stir out of the corner of her eye.
"With you sitting there, looking like that," he said, "Not very long at all."
Feeling strangely shy, she glanced downward to where his cock lay against his thigh. "You mind if I . . .?" she asked, tilting her head toward his pelvis.
He laughed. "You can do whatever the hell you want," he said.
She laughed back, liking the change in the mood, liking the laughter and levity between them, liking the way that this felt so natural, that when she took him gently in her palm and licked him clean that it didn't feel weird or artificial, that she didn't have to rely on any of the training she'd undergone in Russia, that she could just do the things she wanted to do and it would be enough.
He was already half-hard by the time she was done, and the interested gleam was back in his eye, so when he put his hands on her and ordered her onto her hands and knees, she went willingly enough. She rested her weight carefully forward onto her palms, trying not to trigger the pain in her ribs. Strangely, it seemed to work.
He knelt behind her, caressing her ass, and she'd wondered what he was doing until she felt him part her ass cheeks. He stroked her pussy once, twice, and again, waiting until she was mewling to thrust his thumb inside of her.
"You're so fucking wet, Natasha," he said, practically growling at her, and she pushed back against him, wanting more than just his thumb, wanting his cock instead, wanting him to stretch her wide and fuck her in half.
"Wet for you," she said, and his hand was in her hair, pulling her upright until her shoulders rested against him, and then she felt him against her ass, felt his cock rejoin the party.
"I'm gonna fuck you raw, baby," he said, and she was hot enough, ready enough that she didn't mind the name, and her hands flew to his forearm where it was latched firmly across her abdomen.
She could feel him positioning himself, jostling her into position, rubbing his cock against the mouth of her pussy, teasing her clit with its head. She felt him at her entrance, felt his fingers guiding him in, and he was right there, and oh God, she wanted him so badly. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't wanted him and she was so wet and so ready and fucking Christ, why the fuck wasn't he inside of her?
"Shit, shit, shit!" he exclaimed, stilling his movements. She clawed at him, his arms, reaching between her legs for his cock, too far gone at this moment to think of anything but wedging that beautiful thing inside of her.
Through the haze of her arousal, she dimly heard him ask her something, but she couldn't focus at first, didn't understand his words until he repeated them.
"Please tell me you have a condom," he said.
Oh.
"You don't need . . ." she sputtered, then tried again. "You're clean, right?" she asked, even though she knew the answer. She'd read his file, the same as she knew he'd read hers, and there wasn't a whole hell of a lot she didn't know about her partner. As of his last medical checkup, he was as clean as she was, and SHIELD didn't really take chances with its members.
"Yes," he said. His voice was choked, almost as if he didn't believe the conversation that they were having, as if he didn't believe they were really contemplating what they were about to do.
"Then you don't need one," she said, and she felt him still.
"You sure?"
She swallowed, overcome with the important of the moment, and she lost her voice, forgot how to speak. She nodded, bobbing her head against his shoulder. He tilted her forward and then, oh, then, he was inside of her, skin against skin, hot and thick and twitching and fuck.
If she'd entertained the notion that she was going to get out of this without shouting herself hoarse, that was banished the moment that he began to move. He filled her so perfectly, so fully, and the stretch was tight around the edges because no matter how much she played the femme fatale, she didn't really get out that much, didn't find the need to connect with other humans in that way. She was a loner, like Clint, and that seemed to make this all the more meaningful.
She'd never felt this before, the intense heat, the irrational, animalistic hunger that burned between them, and as he sank his teeth down into her neck, marking her, she knew that he was riding the same wavelength she was.
His hands were everywhere as he pounded into her, grasping her breasts, slipping down to her clit, ghosting over her stomach and pressing into the crease of her thighs. He was an assault on her senses, taking over every part of her, rewriting her, and she liked it.
She pushed away from him at that thought, upset at herself, but not so upset that she didn't shove him down onto his back and mount him, sliding down onto his cock with nearly no resistance. It was better this way, too, the new angle hitting her differently, and when he planted his feet and thrust upward, she swore she could feel him hitting the backs of her teeth.
"Oh, fuck!" she shouted, past the point of caring that she sounded like an imbecile because really, who would he tell? He used his hands to lift her off him, almost to the point that he fell out of her, and then he dropped her back down, impaling her on him, and she could feel herself start to coil up, to twist and tighten in that low place next to her spine.
"Tell me what you want," he said, gritting the words out from behind clenched teeth. He clearly had as tenuous a grip on reality as she.
She braced her hands on his arms, his glorious fucking beautiful arms, squeezing them as he repeated his earlier action, delighting in the way the muscles flexed underneath her hands.
She'd never been loud before, not like this, but she couldn't hold herself back, and it took a few tries before she managed to say, "Fuck me harder, baby."
It wasn't until she noticed the curious grin on his face, that cocksure one he wore whenever he'd made an impossible shot or completed a job ahead of schedule, that she realized what she'd called him. By then it didn't matter, though, because he'd flipped her onto her back, hooked one of her knees up over his elbow, and he was thrusting into her with all of his considerable strength, trusting her enough to know her own limits as he pounded her down into the mattress.
She grew tighter and hotter with each sure stroke, his pelvis smacking against hers as she tensed. She'd never been so turned on, never had wanted someone to fuck her like this, and now that she'd had it, she was sure that anything, anyone else would pale in comparison.
"Let me feel you come," he said, his face red with the strain of keeping up his pace without erupting inside of her, and she really liked that she could drive him to this, that she could make him sweat and strain a second time, that he still wanted her after he'd already had her.
She reached her hand between them to finger herself, and she was off at the first touch, pulsing around him, gushing as she came.
"Oh, fuck, yes," he moaned, losing his rhythm. "I love that you're so wet for me."
She reached up and pulled on his shoulder, readjusting her leg so he could fall flush against her, and she kissed him, crashed her open mouth to his, swallowing his curses and his cries as he rocked into her, holding nothing back.
At last, she swiveled her hips, ground against him, and it was enough. She felt him come, felt the curious rippling sensation of his orgasm, and she bit down lightly on the crook of his neck, dragging her teeth over him, marking him as hers.
That thought gave her pause as they lay together, their bodies cooling. Hers? She wasn't sure where her brain was going with that notion. She wasn't his.
. . . Right?
They were quiet for a long time, and she wondered if he was thinking the same things she was, if he was wondering what the hell he'd just gotten himself into because she sure as hell didn't have the first clue.
At length, he said, "Can I just say that I really hope this wasn't a one time thing?"
She grinned. Well, they were in agreement about that at the very least. She rolled over, draped herself across his torso and turned her smile on him.
"Anytime, anywhere," she said.