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

"I don't have anything!" Clint said, definitely some yelly punctuation in his words, although no real panic. He didn't think that Natasha thought that he had anything, they were just being careful. Nearly retrospectively careful. But to his credit, at least he'd thought to ask. That had to count for something.

"We're good," he soothed, kissing below her stomach and moving fingers - calloused, sure, but clever too because that was what Hawkeye worked with the most - to stroke between her thighs, feeling a little giddy at how obvious, how wet she was. If she hadn't said it'd been years, he might have just skipped this step altogether and just dicked right on in. Instead, he thumbed at her clit, playful, and pressed one finger into her opening and peeked up to watch her face. "You can keep it up. With the hair thing." If she needed something to do with her hands.