|Natalia Romanova (redledgerkiller) wrote in avengers_logs,
@ 2018-08-11 08:50:00
|-complete, -rating: red, clint barton, natasha romanoff
Who: Nat and Clint
What: Lots of confessions
When: After this
It wasn’t something Nat was expecting to do. In truth, it was the farthest thing from her mind, but there she was in the rose garden kissing Clint. The very same Clint who was still mourning the loss of his entire family during the dusting. In a sense, Nat felt as if she had taken advantage of him, what kind of friend does that? Still, she suggested the two head back to the apartment and figure things out.
It was almost instant, once inside that apartment, how clear it was that the two couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Maybe it was some rational reason behind this? They’d just talked about the dusting, something they both experienced at the same time in different locations. That had to be the reason for this, sudden outburst of affection. Because, Nat was certain Clint couldn’t feel the same way she did…. Could he?
He’d kept a hand—so lightly, barely there, shaken off more easily than kept—in the small of her back or the crook of her elbow the whole way there; unable not to be touching her, to stay grounded or not to break, to serve, the electricity flowing between them.
He’d also wondered if he’d have second thoughts by the time they reached their apartment. But all she had to do was look up and he’d pulled her to him and kissed her again.
It as always easy with Clint, the two of them were alike on a lot of levels an in truth, balanced each other out nicely. It’s one of the main reason Fury partnered them together. So, when Nat came to look up at Clint, it was easy for her to take a step into his pull, and lean up as his lips pressed against hers.
She’d half thought he would have second-guessed himself. Thinking this whole thing was just a mistake, a heat of the moment type of thing. She could understand that. That Nat’s done herself, not often but once in a while, she’d let the moment take over. But that felt different from now, now she was aware of what she was doing.
Her hands came up into his hair as she gripped, not too tight but not too soft either. Just enough to send a mixture of pain and pleasure at the tug, as she found herself moaning into that kiss.
His moan mingled with hers, and he followed the pull on his hair from her lips to her throat, kissing her there, his hands sliding up her back and around her sides.
They’d played at this. Once or twice. When they had to. For work. He wasn’t playing now.
This was a role they’d done, a dance they’d perfected in the past. But always for work, this didn't work anymore, it was a private moment between best-friends. Hearing his moan returned only fueled her more, so when his lips came to her neck, she caught her breathe for the moment. They had to think rationally right now… Didn’t they?
“...Clint…” His name rolled off her tongue easily as she brought her hands under his shirt to pull it off.
He leaned back and raised his arms to help. Then was immediately against her again, bare-chested, and whispered back, “Tasha…” before his mouth returned to very important work with hers.
She couldn’t help herself, and she knew it. The minute his shirt came off, her hands were pressing against his chest, fingers feeling at each scar he had and how toned his frame still was. Hearing her name roll off his lips was a weakness, and she knew it. But in this very private moment, she didn’t care.
Still, she needed to make sure this is what he wanted to do. With her hands pressing into his chest she pushed him back slightly, but not enough where he was too far from her. “.. Clint...Are you sure about this?” She had to make sure because once that line was crossed, it would change certain aspects of their relationship.
He exhaled a laugh. “I know… I know this is crazy… or selfish or… I don’t know what. Nat, I just want to feel something good. With you.” He didn’t try to close the space between them but reached out slowly to brush a fingertip to her hair. “And I always thought, ‘in another world’… I always have.”
A simple nod of her head was made as she came to grip at her shirt, already removing it and tossing to the floor with his. “Let’s go to the room.” She said in a hushed whisper, almost like she didn’t want anyone to hear what they were saying to each other, at this moment.
The flat of his palm again found the small of her back, smoothed gently up, mapping her scars as she had his; and he kissed her even as he began to back them both into the bedroom. He gripped the doorframe in passing, blindly. All his senses were filled with her.
Nat had been at the apartment a few weeks but she knew the layout, so it was easy to map out every corner, to ensure they made it into the bedroom with ease. Once inside, her hands pressed to his chest as she shoved him down onto the bed.
He fell back, unresisting, muscles looser than they’d been since he arrived. He watched her with eyes darkened by dilation.
Emerald eyes watched him closely before she came to remove her shoes and soon her jeans. Since it was just them, it was easy to let her guard down. “You've no idea how long I've wanted to do this.. with you,” she said as her jeans tossed to the side.
Only in her panties, she came to slowly crawl over his frame as her lips pressed to his neck, as she nipped and sucked at his skin.
That pulled out of him a low groan, as his hands came up and fingers combed under her hair, not holding her head in place, more following where she led.
He almost said I’ve an idea— but he hadn’t. He knew how long he’d wanted to be like this with her but hadn’t dared to imagine the feelings were reciprocal.
Since words failed him, he communicated by kissing whatever part of her came into range: the top of her head, the side of her face, until her mouth made him throw back his head exposing the pulse in his throat, and his hands traveled down the curve of her spine, following her every movement, the miraculous topography of her back. And came, at last, to skim where waistband met skin.
As his head tilted for her to gain more access, she let her hands travel down to his pants. Tugging at his jeans, signaling for him to take them off.
The feel of her teeth against his neck was soon felt as Nat came to undo his pants, to help him take them off. That way they were both in just their underwears for the moment.
His muscles rippled as he arched to pull the now damnably tight jeans off, kicking off his shoes and pulling off socks in the same movements. Momentarily suspended up, he kept his eyes locked on hers as he slowly laid himself back. Words were quickly leaving the realm of access but his body language and face were clear. Do whatever you want with me.
I want you. I trust you.
Just the look he gave her, the complete trust in his eyes. It was a trust they had to build over the years. In knowing the other will always have the others back. He trusted her, an ex KGB assassin with his life, and in truth, she trusted Clint just as much.
That look was all she needed to see as she leaned down between his legs and brought her lips to press against his instantly as her hands came over his chest, fingers trailing over his scars once more.
He arched up against her, hands again finding her face, her fiery hair, every scar, every sinew, every line of her. But they paused again at the waistband of her panties, and he found her eyes, brow raised in question.
Looking to where his hands had come, to the hem of her panties, she glanced down, but soon emerald eyes looked to Clint, “Take them off….” Is all she said as she brought her lips back to his neck, leaving those visible red marks along his neck and jawline.
He disobeyed. …At first. One hand cupped along her jaw to bring her mouth back to his. His other arm wrapped itself tightly around her. He kissed her deeply and turned them both onto their sides.
The arm trapped beneath her stayed there contently. The other hand moved down from her jaw, tracing her neck, her clavicles, lingering on a breast, then moved on; found where she radiated and touched it reverently through the thin fabric of her panties. And only then, at last, slipped itself between the fabric and her skin, as he ducked his head to kiss her breast, and slid them off.