He couldn't avoid leaning into it; as much as it'd give a point, prove a vulnerability, he couldn't not crave that. A groan rumbled free from his chest as he instinctively bucked his hips towards her, hand tightening at her hip. "God, Nat," he could play the game if that was what she wanted.
They tended to turn everything into a challenge at least anyway; sex was no different. Clint didn't even really need to shift, not as he caught her forearm in his hand, slowly dragging his hand down to the deceptively delicate line of her wrist where his thumb very lightly brushed back and forth over Natasha's inner wrist.
He made a point of increasing the pressure randomly on each pass, using a accidentally found piece of information against her.