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Clint Barton is going back to bed. (today_sucks) wrote in snapthread,

Clint didn't know if it was a stockpile -- he was simply the sort of person who had a lot to give when he felt like there was someone worth giving it to. This wasn't going to be a one time deal by any means, not even when the awe of being able to do it wore off. If it ever did wear off. It was hard to know.

The point was, Clint was eager and aimed to please.

He grinned, soppy and a little stupid over her reply, which was just -- so in the moment but also wonderful and something he was going to try his hardest to commit to memory because he wasn't sure anyone had ever talked to him like this before - not another version of her, not Bobbi, not anyone else.

And it was probably bad to giggle, but he did it anyway because he was giddy with it. "Yeah. Okay. I can -- let's do that," he suggested, scooting back in order to undo the button of his jeans, to shimmy them off in a way that was no sexy so much as awkward and a little unbalanced but it didn't matter because the end result was the same and both of them being naked was a win. His penis thanked him for it on brand new levels. Freedom was amazing. God bless America.

Now that he wasn't quite directly on top of her anymore, he let himself look her over, fingers grazing over the scar at her stomach -- and he didn't look worried so much as curious, before moving on -- hips, thighs, that spot behind her knees before he leaned down to kiss at her lower stomach, inching downward. "Starklandia doesn't have a drug store. Or vending machines," he pointed out, because he was a goddamned twenty first century gentleman, okay. Even if he hadn't always been the most faithful or lovers, he was still into getting permission. "I don't really have, y'know. Protection."