"Damn it," Clint muttered. Screwdriver and arrowhead dropped to the floor with a clatter and Natasha growled.
She usually didn't mind Clint hanging around, but he'd spent the entire morning swearing and dropping things and groaning.
"It was peaceful in here," she told him pointedly. The calm serenity she tried to force into the words fell flat, leaving only the biting annoyance. Ah well. She should probably give it up and go shoot something instead.
She spread her legs a bit and watched upside-down Clint stick his index finger in his mouth and suck. The coffee table was scattered with arrow shafts and arrowheads and fletching and little tools, a project that belonged in Tony's lab and not in her impromptu yoga studio.
"I was here first," she added, a childish argument, but that's how most of their arguments ended up.
"I need the light," he countered.
Sparring wasn't for another hour, but she wasn't above fighting him for the floor-to-ceiling windows and the bright morning view of Manhattan the common floor offered. She straightened up, abandoning downward facing dog without any of the recommended inhaling or exhaling or mindful thoughts about the warmth of the sun on her face.
"The entire Tower's wired for electricity, genius."
Clint stuck his tongue out.
"Go do your stupid yoga on your own stupid floor," he said, a sullen pout to the words. "I've gotta get these done."
Oh.
She knew that tone. She was distracting him. That was entirely different.
She met his eyes over her shoulder, gave him a slow grin, then turned her focus back to the city view and resumed downward facing dog. The ass wiggle she threw in was decidedly not part of the pose.
"Come over here and make me."