#clintashasmut

-

Clint likes training the cadets. It’s a lot easier once they get past the awe phase, which, to be fair, doesn’t last as long with him as it does with Natasha. He gets about twenty five minutes at best, and then it’s fifteen minutes of incessant questions about the Avengers, then it’s like he’s any other trainer. They do listen to him a lot closer than he remembers listening to his trainers, which makes him feel kind of guilty. Not guilty enough to call Phil and apologise, but still.

“You’re not throwing your weight around enough,” he tells one trainee. The man nods, and Clint demonstrates a move to him. As the trainee moves back to the mats, Clint hears the commlink in his ear crackle to life.

It’s something he and Natasha have been playing with. Technically it’s an augmentation to an existing prosthesis, so it’s not against regulations. They could just text, of course. But where’s the fun in that?

“He looks obedient,” Natasha says, in his ear. Clint doesn’t respond. The cadets are in earshot. He doesn’t know where she’s watching from, so he just rolls his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.” Somewhere in front of him, then. She can see him, but he can’t see her. He’s powerless to stop what’s coming next.

“It’s Lawrence, right?” she asks. He can hear the faint sound of her flipping through sheets of paper. “Ooh, he speaks Russian.”

No, he signs, very subtly.

“Yes,” she counters. “He’s the tallest, too. Strong. Can you imagine what he’d look like naked?”

Clint turns his gaze to the observation windows, but he can’t see her. Maybe the rafters? He realises he’s not paying attention, and someone has just asked him a question. It’s Lawrence. Fuck.

“Sorry,” he says, and jogs over to the mats. “What was that?”

“The footwork,” Lawrence repeats. “What’s the sequence?”

“Left there, right there, right back to the point on the edge there-”

“I would fuck you both in a heartbeat,” Natasha murmurs in his ear. Clint almost chokes, but motions for the cadets to continue sparring.

Stop, he signs.

“Imagine him underneath me and you on top. Or you underneath - you do like being bottom now and then. Maybe you and him could-”

He coughs loudly to cover whatever it is she’s suggesting, and dismisses the cadets before he gets himself into an embarrassing situation. He steadfastly avoids Lawrence’s gaze as the man files past him.

-

They’re in a debriefing when she nudges his ankle with her foot. He doesn’t think anything of it until she leans over to whisper in his ear. He assumes it’s to do with the team, or the mission, so he leans into it.

“I’m gonna suck you dry later.”

He curls a fist on the table. Why here? Why does she like to torture him so much? Consummate professional, he doesn’t turn around to face her. Hill is eagle-eyed when it comes to Clint not paying attention in briefings. Natasha is still whispering.

“…pin you down and swallow your-”

He shuffles his chair back, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. Hill shoots a glance in his direction, and then returns her attention to her files. Natasha seems to have given up, so he relaxes a little.

“How about I ride your face?” she breathes. Clint almost rips the sheet of paper he’s holding. He can almost hear Natasha grinning. She’s fucking deadly.

“I just want your tongue inside me. You do it so well, Barton, you know just how I like it.”

His throat has closed up and his mouth is dry. Maria asks if he’s listening. He makes a croaky affirmative noise. Natasha is sitting innocently in her chair when the team turn to look at him. He manages to avoid further questioning, but gets up and leaves as soon as he’s allowed.

-

“What about her?”

“Nat,” he hisses. The delegate from China looks from Clint to Phil and back again. Clint clears his throat, and deliberately doesn’t look at the incredibly attractive attaché standing to the left of the ambassador.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t think about it,” she says. “Come on. You can see the lacy bra through her shirt. Wouldn’t you love to rip it open and bury your face in her chest?”

Clint sets his face, determined not to let her get to him this time.

“Then she strips off that skirt, lies back on the desk, you’d push those thighs apart…”

A flush creeps onto his cheeks. He has self control, but not enough for something like this.

“Can you imagine the sound she makes when she comes?”

“Excuse me,” he says, smooth and professional. He gets an annoyed glance from Phil, but makes it out of the room before he scrabbles for his earpiece.

“I’m gonna kill you,” he growls.

“I have something else in mind,” she says, and he can hear the grin again.

-

It is months later when he gets his chance. They are on a secure channel. No one else can hear them. She is dancing with a mark, and she can’t reply. He can’t resist the temptation.

“You look so perfect,” he murmurs. She knows better than to take this as a compliment, and he sees her eyes narrow ever so slightly across the dance floor. He is protected by the noise of the music and the voices all around them. No one can hear him, only her.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he grins. “It’s my turn.”

He watches her for a few moments, her mark’s lips inching towards her neck. She always pulls away at the last second, teasing him.

“He wants you so badly,” Clint says, leaning back in his seat. “He wants to take you upstairs, rip that dress off you, and fuck you.”

He smiles. “He wouldn’t do it right, though. He doesn’t know you like I know you. I know how you like to undress yourself, because you want to tease me, how you like to watch me get hard for you.”

She doesn’t react, but he’s not even half done yet. “He wouldn’t even make you come once. You know I can give you one after another without even using my fingers. I know exactly how you like to be teased. I’ve done it a thousand times. Imagine the feeling of my tongue inside you, Tasha. He won’t give you that. He won’t make you come so hard you rip the sheets.”

She’s blushing now. The guy she’s with barely notices.

“Look at him, staring at your chest. He doesn’t know how sensitive you are, how you love teeth on your nipples. Not too much, just gentle, just a little, enough pain to make the pleasure even better. He hasn’t practiced like I have.”

She shoots him a look. Unprofessional. Dangerous. He’s not about to stop.

“When you’re finished with him,” he purrs, “if you want to be fucked as well as you deserve to be, come find me. You know where I’ll be.”

He closes the link. She’s never bugged a mark so fast in her career. Upstairs, in a room decked out in surveillance equipment, Clint turns as the door opens.

She smiles.

She enters.

-

Clint is sitting on the sofa, a comfortable assassin in his lap. Natasha is draped over him, head on his shoulder, and he finds the spot completely by accident. It has never occurred to him that Natasha would be ticklish, but his fingertips graze over a spot on her neck and she gasps, contorting in his lap.

“What was that?” he grins. She twists to glare at him, but his fingers are already back on that spot, dancing over her warm skin. Natasha twitches away from him, trying hard to look intimidating. It’s not an effective look when her hair is tousled and her top is hanging off one shoulder.

“Fuck off,” she laughs, slapping his hand away lightly. His fingers trail down her arm, then skitter over the exposed skin of her side. Natasha jerks away from his touch, flopping onto the floor, and Clint laughs.

“You’re dead,” she grins, and leaps back onto him. Her thighs pin him to the couch, and her fingers quest for sensitive spots. When Clint doesn’t react, she pulls back, annoyed, and he takes the opportunity to attack her midriff with light fingertips again. She squawks, and he seizes the chance to flip her. She is on her back now, and he has her pinned. She makes a noise of protest, but before she can retaliate, he ducks down and presses his lips to the sensitive spot on her neck.

She gasps again, but this time, she doesn’t draw away.

Natasha lets her head fall back, encouraging him with a soft noise of assent. Clint grazes his lips over her neck, and he feels her hips press up against his, her hands grabbing his ass.

“That’s not fair,” he murmurs, and she moves her hands to his hair, pulling him more firmly into the kiss. There’s no urgency to this, it’s gentle, and loving. He pulls away, stands up, offers her his hand.

In the bedroom, they undress each other with practiced hands, and she pulls him down into the bed. He covers them, keeping her warm, and he slides down between her legs, kissing her thighs, letting her pace him. She spreads her legs and tangles her fingers in his hair, and he lets himself be guided until his mouth is on her. He makes it slow the first time, licking and teasing until she’s right on the cusp of her first orgasm. He lets her have it, because he has never been able to deny her anything that might make her happy. When she’s done and her grip on his hair relaxes, he licks his lips and crawls up her body, planting soft kisses everywhere.

“I love you,” she murmurs.

“I love you too,” he murmurs back. “So much.”

He kisses her, and they stay like that for a while, suspended in the warm cocoon of their bed, naked and pressed up against each other. But soon she wants more, and Clint is more than happy to provide. He slides inside her, and she wraps her arms around him. His movements are small, and slow. He knows how to make it last for her. Part of this is just feeling a connection, being as close to her as is humanly possible. He loves her more than he can express, so he does his best to show her.

Soon enough, her soft noises become gasps and moans, and her grip on him is tight, and he feels her muscles coiling like springs. Clint times it perfectly, pleasure rushing through him just as he feels her come again, and he propels them through it, until both of them are panting and gasping and kissing ever so softly.

-

Don’t worry, girl. It only hurts the first time.

Liars. Fucking liars, all of them. She knew it would hurt, not just because she’d never done it before, but because the brute lying on top of her had never thought to treat a woman as anything other than a hole for hire. After a dozen painful thrusts and a gust of bad breath, he was done, and he slumped onto his back. Natalia lay there, wondering if she was supposed to feel violated. All she felt was a mild sense of irritation that with all the surgeries, everything they’d done to ensure that she could take this route of seduction without there being issues, they couldn’t have figured out some way to make it hurt less. Not that they ever cared about the girls being in pain, but it wasn’t exactly adding to her efficiency as she slid out of bed and hobbled over to the purse she’d dropped at the door. The butterfly knife twirled in her fingers, and in thirty seconds the sleeping man’s heart was pumping his lifeblood out through the gash across his neck. Natalia wiped the blade on the sheets, and tucked it into her purse. She pulled her dress back on, zipped it up, and slipped out the door. It was going to be her sixteenth birthday tomorrow, and if she was lucky, they might allow her to watch the older widows sparring.

-

So many missions ended this way. Natalia was at least of age now, and had done this enough times to expect the rough treatment. She knew there were ways she could train herself so it would be less painful, but she didn’t mind it hurting so much anymore. It reminded her why she was doing it. For all this man had gushed over her beautiful face, he sure didn’t want to see any of it. He had his hand on the back of her head, forcing her face into the pillows as he thrust away behind her. He was clumsy, and muttering under his breath, presumably to keep his focus so his drunken body wouldn’t betray him and deny him the bragging rights. She wished she was here to kill him, but when he finished and fell asleep on top of her, she rolled out from under him, quietly robbed him and left without a backwards glance.

-

No matter how many times you do this, they told her, there will always be firsts.

That was true, of course, and it was that advice that was bouncing around her head as she gazed at her first female target. She was beautiful, and not much older than Natalia herself. They fell into bed, and though she knew that it wasn’t real, it was the first time she hadn’t had to fake orgasm to hurry along the foreplay. Acting was easy with the woman between her legs, and when it was her turn, she found her training had prepared her well. Pleased at being a passable lover, she was smiling slightly as she screwed the silencer onto her pistol and shot the woman through the back of the head as she lay sleeping. One more first under her belt. She hummed as she left the room.

-

There was always one who thought he could get away with touching the girls. He got the drop on Natalia before she had a chance to defend herself, and she found herself pressed against a wall in a dark closet, as a trainer thrust shakily into her from behind, crooning about what a good girl she was. A part of her felt sick. Of all the times she’d had sex, she’d never once been forced. She’d acted like she wasn’t in control, sure, but this… this was different. When he was done, he kissed her hard. She went to the silent ghost with the metal arm, the man they weren’t supposed to speak to, and she told him what the trainer had done. He said nothing, and she was sentenced to confinement for breaking the rules, but a week later the trainer turned up dead. His neck had been violently broken, and he had been thrown off the roof of the compound into the snow.

-

Freedom. It wasn’t a word she’d ever thought she would be able to apply to herself. Natalia- no, Natasha, now- was free. Free to do whatever work she saw fit to take. And yet somehow, she found herself back in the same hotel room, with the same faceless man grunting over her, on her first assignment of her self-given freedom. Fucking the information out of a target. Again. This time, she was glad he wanted her face in the pillows. That way, he couldn’t see the anguish on her face at the thought that this was all she was good for, and all she would ever be good at. Had she amounted to nothing but a degrading sex act in an anonymous hotel room with a dead man walking? This time, when she shot him, she felt no sense of accomplishment. Just a heavy weight settling in her stomach. This was the life she had chosen. She wondered for a moment, as she walked out of the room, if she shouldn’t just go back and throw herself on the mercy of the Red Room. At least there, when she wound up in bed with someone, it was under orders and not of her own free will.

-

“Tasha?”

She snapped out of her reverie. Clint’s face was hovering above her. She blinked.

“Is everything okay?” he asked softly. “Are you not feeling like-”

“Sorry,” she murmured, trailing her fingers over his cheek. “I was just thinking.”

“Do I want to know?”

She chuckled, and Clint slid off her, landing on his side. He pulled her in so she was resting against him.

“Wondering if you’re ever going to get sick of me,” she admitted. It was Clint’s turn to laugh.

“People get sick of each other,” he shrugged. “I won’t promise I’ll be around forever, because we’re in a line of work that doesn’t really come with a retirement plan, and last I checked, I’m about the most likely to die in a stupid accident. Cap gets hit by a bus, he’s probably going to be fine. Me… not so much.”

“But-”

“But nothing. I love you.”

There it was. It wasn’t that he hadn’t said it before. She’d even said it to him a couple of times, and meant it, which was huge for her. But it was so annoying when he used it to win arguments, especially because she had no response to it.

“I love you too,” she conceded.

Clint kissed her jaw, and moved his lips down her neck. Natasha closed her eyes. She loved it when he was soft like this. He actually liked kissing her, which was weird, in her experience.

When she was ready, he moved between her legs. He never liked for her to be facing away from him; he always insisted that she lie back, so he could kiss her while they fucked. It had taken some getting used to, but she had never disliked it. Feeling loved during sex was still sometimes foreign. Love and sex had always been opposite ends of a convoluted spectrum, and yet for Clint they were inextricably linked. It was so simple for him. He loved her, so he wanted her to feel good. The first time he’d stopped midway through a session because she’d changed her mind had been staggering to her. That someone could care enough to put their own needs aside for her… it was unthinkable.

When a soft climax washed over her, and Clint finished, she felt that now familiar warmth settle over her. It was something she’d only ever felt with Clint, and he described it as ‘afterglow’, something that normal people apparently felt all the time.

“Love… you,” Clint mumbled into her hair, wrapping himself around her and pulling the covers up so they would be warm.

-

It had taken them four years to get this far, but Clint was glad that he had been patient. Natasha had come out of her shell, well and truly by this point. Her life had turned completely on its head, and she was happier for it. Especially with him.

But there was one frontier they had yet to cross. Clint was wary of making the first move - historically, that hadn’t gone too well. He had to wait for her to decide she was ready.

They were sitting on Clint’s bed, watching a movie. Natasha was nestled between Clint’s legs, her back resting on his chest and his arms loosely draped around her. He was as comfortable as he had ever been.

When the movie finished, Clint turned off the TV and kissed Natasha’s neck. “Tired?” he asked. Natasha shook her head, and rolled slightly so she was facing him. She kissed him, and without her saying it aloud, Clint knew that something had changed. There was something different in the way she was moving; more purpose, more deliberate poise than there had been before.

“I’m ready,” she murmured. It was clichéd as hell, but Clint couldn’t have cared less. He wrapped an arm around her and lowered her onto the pillows before he kissed her. He hovered above her for a few moments, worried that she might change her mind, but she just grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged him closer, a sly grin on her lips. It was unlike anything Clint had ever seen before.

She kissed him, working him over from underneath until he was entirely under her spell. He slid his hand down onto her stomach, walking his fingers across the jut of her hip and down across her thigh. She shuddered, and he watched with satisfaction as her eyes fluttered shut. She pressed up against him, looking up at him adoringly through her lashes.

Clint hesitated. It seemed... odd. Natasha wasn’t acting like herself. He kept moving, and found that she was mirroring his movements. He pulled back a little, and she frowned.

“What is it?” she whispered, her voice sultry. She could have been straight out of a movie with her hair tousled like that and her top hanging off one perfect shoulder. Clint shrugged, and kissed her again. He was being ridiculous. His mind went elsewhere as she stripped off her clothes and then his own.

A few minutes later though, he was beginning to falter again. He kept moving down her neck, kissing and nipping, and she would move away, focusing on running her hands over him. He slid his hands over her breasts, cupping them gently and kissing them, but this did not seem to be what Natasha wanted. She took his hand with her own and shoved it roughly between her legs.

“Natasha!” Clint yelped, pulling back. She glared at him, and propped herself up on one elbow.

“Don’t you want this, Clint?” she huffed.

“Do you want this?” Clint asked. “I’m trying... I’m trying to do this right, but...”

She watched him as he trailed off, and he didn’t know how to explain himself. She wasn’t Natasha. She was someone else, someone he didn’t know, or like- He blinked. “Tasha,” he murmured. “Have you ever... have you ever done this with someone just because you wanted to?”

She cocked her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Have you...” he hesitated. “Have you had sex with a man without the Red Room telling you to?” It was as blunt as he could make it.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Of course not.”

It all made sense. Natasha had never chosen to be intimate with a man, and had thus never discovered herself in that way. She had done as she was told. If a target liked leather, so did she. If he wanted to be on top, then she had to want to be underneath.

“Natasha,” he said gently. “You know that this- between us, it’s not just about me.”

She looked bewildered by that, and he took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I want to do what you want to do,” he murmured. “I want it to be good for you.”

“Good for me?” she repeated. “I don’t...”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll show you. But you have to promise me something.”

Natasha nodded, and he smiled. “You have to tell me if you like what I’m doing, or you don’t like it. You have to tell me to keep going, or to stop. Alright?”

“Are you sure?” she asked. Her voice was so insecure in its confusion that Clint wound his arms around her and kissed her before he replied.

“This is about you,” he said. He eased her onto her back, and kissed her again. He moved down her neck once more, kissing here, sucking there. He came across a spot just above her collarbone, and when he nipped the skin there she shivered. He looked up.

“Good?” he coaxed.

“Good,” she replied, nodding. He concentrated on that spot for a while, and was pleased to see her quivering slightly. He moved on, and she made a small disappointed noise. He smiled as he moved, and quickly found more interesting territory to explore.

He strongly suspected that no one had ever paid much attention to her breasts - a crime, in his opinion. He kissed all over, and then concentrated on one nipple, suckling gently. Natasha gave a tiny moan, and he felt her fingers creep onto his shoulder. He stopped, and looked up at her, expectant.

“Good,” she mumbled, her cheeks flushed. He could see her shyness in that blush, and he felt his chest fill with the love he felt for her in that moment. He returned his attention to her breasts, kissing and nibbling until she was squirming underneath him.

He moved down over her navel and settled between her legs. He kissed up and down the silky skin of her inner thighs, and thought that he could listen to her gasping and sighing forever and die a happy man.

“Good,” she whimpered. “Good- go- oh- good.”

The small part of Clint that was not fully focused on her pleasure felt a twinge that no one had ever paid this much attention to her during sex. She was truly a wondrous thing to behold; disheveled, panting and blushing. Beautiful.

When Clint’s tongue finally delved into the folds between her legs, she sat bolt upright, her chest heaving. Clint pulled back, concerned.

“Wh... what are you doing?” she mumbled, looking down at him. Clint arched an eyebrow, and then it hit him. No one had ever done this for her.

“Natasha, trust me,” he murmured. She kept gazing down at him, confused. “Trust me,” he repeated. She nodded, and slowly settled back onto the pillows.

Clint began to lick and suck, his face now firmly between her legs. He felt every twitch of her thighs on either side of his head, and his hands held her hips in a warm, gentle grip. He fully intended to make this last as long as he could for her, and he liked to think he was fairly talented in this field.

His tongue made quick work of her the first time round. When he found her clit, she jerked up so hard in a sudden orgasm that he almost got thrown onto the bed. He hooked his arms around her thighs as she panted and moaned, bucking underneath his expert ministrations. Eventually, when he had given her time to settle, he went straight back in, licking her clean and sucking gently on her sensitive flesh.

Within minutes, she was moaning again, her hands clenched in the sheets beside her as Clint worked her up to a second climax. She cried out, and her back arched. If Clint hadn’t been ready for it this time, she might have snapped his neck. Her thighs came together, and it was only Clint’s arms around them that stopped them from crushing his head. He kept her on that plateau as long as he could, and when she was spent he let her go, crawling up to kiss her.

“Good?” he asked. She just stared back glassily, a hazy smile on her lips. He gave her time to catch her breath and recover, and she rolled over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Ready?” he murmured. She nodded, but there was still another question to ask. “Do you want to be on top, or underneath?”

She considered it for a moment. “Top,” she murmured. He nodded, and slid in underneath her as she straddled his hips. He reached for the nightstand drawer, and clumsily put on a condom. When he was ready, he was treated to the sight of Natasha smiling down at him. She positioned herself, and slowly sank down, eliciting a groan from Clint.

She stopped when she was resting on his hips, and then started to rock forward slightly. The sensation was immediate, and incredible. Clint reached up and took hold of her hips, moving a little under her. Natasha’s brow was creased slightly, and he squeezed her.

“You okay?” he murmured. She looked down.

“Sit up,” she said softly. He sat, so she was essentially sitting in his lap, and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into his chest and smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Good,” she whispered.

She started to move again, and Clint felt himself moving with her. It felt good - ridiculously good, criminally good, and the best part was hearing Natasha’s little gasps and whimpers, and knowing that she was feeling just as incredible as he was.

He slid a hand between them and slowly circled her clit with his fingers. Soon she was pushing into his hand, bouncing slightly as his other arm held her close. They were a glorious tangle of limbs, a mess of skin and sweat and heat. Clint could feel his climax nearing, but he wasn’t finishing before Natasha. She was grinding into his fingers, moaning low in her throat as he sucked on her neck.

Abruptly, she let her head fall back and her body tensed. Clint took the hint and moved his hand as she began to quake. She cried out, and arched her back as she came. The sudden tightness was too much, and Clint followed suit, burying his face in her shoulder. She gripped him tight enough to bruise, and held her against his chest, gasping as he came down off his high.

When they were both spent, he lay back and brought her with him. He fought his way out of the dizzying haze of pleasure to look down at Natasha. He had been going to ask if she enjoyed herself, but she was already dozing on his chest. Clint watched her sleep for a while, one hand on her lower back.

Her red curls were splayed across his skin like veins. She was in his blood, coursing through his heart with all the heat and wonder of love, and he could not have stopped her if he had wanted to.

-

They do this occasionally. She’ll slink into his room, maybe they’ll have been drinking – but it always leads to the same thing. They want it – of course they do. It’s conveniently desirable, and they’re both up for it, so why not?

Natasha is in Clint’s bed, wrapped around him as he kisses her. They are slowly shedding their clothes, bit by bit, hands roaming all over the place. She loves the feel of his hard muscles under her fingers as she slides a hand beneath his shirt. His groans are telling enough, and soon he is pressed up against her, both of them naked.

“Good to go?” he grins. She just grins back, sprawled beneath him in all her glory. She likes to be on top now and then, but sometimes it’s nice to let him do all the work.

“C’mon, don’t keep a girl waiting,” she teases. He grins again, and lines up, pushing slowly into her. She sighs, happy enough to be under him again.

He’s always quite good, and tonight is no exception. He begins to thrust, and his hand slips down between her legs to caress her. Soon she is moaning into his hair as he kisses her neck – wait, is he kissing her neck?

She opens her eyes and yes, his lips are pressing against her neck. Odd, he doesn’t usually do that. She shrugs inwardly and lets him go for it. Whatever feels good.

Soon she becomes aware of something else. Where he usually shifts onto his knees, he is still pressed against her, lying on top of her really. One hand grips her thigh, holding her leg around his waist, and the other is rolling her breast in his fingers. It’s pleasurable, that’s for sure, but it’s just odd... he’s never usually this affectionate. That combined with the neck kissing... it’s almost like he’s holding her to him.

It strikes her all at once. He’s not fucking her – not as per their arrangement. Clint’s making love to her. Just as she thinks this, he raises his head and kisses her deeply. She can feel the affection in the kiss, and she closes her eyes.

She doesn’t want this, does she? Does this mean Clint has feelings for her?

He slides his fingers back between her legs and suddenly she no longer cares what he’s doing, only that he doesn’t stop.

Hours later, when he’s fallen asleep, she lies with her head on his chest, thinking. Maybe it would be for the best if they stopped, just went back to being partners as usual.

Then he wraps his arms around her in his sleep and murmurs her name, and Natasha knows that there’s no escaping this.