InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "You are a beautiful person."

. (hourglasss) wrote in snapthread,
@ 2019-05-03 13:30:00

Entry tags:

clint barton (616), natasha romanoff (mcu)

Who: Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff
What: Sleepover, complete with nail-painting.
When: Night-time, post emotioning.
Where: Clint's nest lol get it that's a bird joke.
Rating: ~~Probably starting mild, will updated if need be!~~ Updated to "need be". Also WARNINGS FOR ENDGAME SPOILERS, againsies.

Natasha didn't know where along the line she'd started to think of peaceful moments as something she needed to claw out. Using the verb "claw out" in reference to "peaceful moment" was probably anathema to the entire concept of peace itself. Still: in an epic understatement, it had been a lot. James's fury when combined with the news that he remembered her was so much in and of itself; she couldn't get it out of her head, the look on his face, the way his voice had broken over the words. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference: she'd lost him more than once anyway, with the Snap being the most final out of those, and it had been five years ago. If he had told her before it happened, maybe it would have only made the situation worse. Maybe it wouldn't have. None of that mattered as much as the place it came back to, which was that today, she had finally learned, and even after all this time - after decades and other lives and countless things that filled the times between, her reaction to hearing it, seeing it, touching it was so powerfully visceral that it was shocking.

So there was that. There was still that whole death thing to deal with, and the Tony of it all, and the fact that she hadn't told Steve, and she needed things in her brain to feel - quiet. To still, just a little. She needed to feel safe.

And here she was. Because this was Clint, one of the people in the world she had always felt safest around, and this was a Clint who was so much the same in so many ways, but without quite the same level of baggage her cliff-dive was bringing to the rest of the people she loved. It was Clint without the last miserable few years. It was a Clint who made her feel almost guilty for how much she liked him this way, like it was a disservice to her own, but really - they were the same enough that it came out in the wash, right? His apartment was eons away from a farmhouse, and something in her chest had unlocked the moment she'd asked if she could come and he had said yes. A sleepover. In a giant nest of blankets and in the enormous zip-front hoodie that Jan had somehow managed to procure for her at her request - it would have fit Steve comfortably, which meant it was the perfect size for her to sleep in. It was quiet, now that it was night, and everything in his apartment still smelled a little like coffee. He hadn't been lying about the Avengers-as-mermaids art on the walls.

He hadn't been lying about the nail polish, either, the smile that had lit her face when he'd shown her that had probably been stupid. She had no idea how he'd gone and done that, but he had.

She had one of his hands cradled in her lap, fingers against her leg and spread apart because it was easier to get close enough for precision work than it would have been on a table. (It would have been just as easy. Natasha wanted him to touch her, though, and she didn't know how to say that she wanted him to touch her, so: this.) She dipped the brush back into the bottle and turned it on its side to thin it out a little, carefully tracing the shape of an arrow onto his middle finger. "I think we were right," she said, head bent in concentration, stray wisps of hair curling out of her braid. "I do think this is going to look excellent when we finish. Maybe this should be my calling here."

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today_sucks
2019-05-11 10:37 pm UTC (link)

Maybe it was too fast. That was Clint's MO anyway -- he never really knew how to tell himself to slow down once he'd decided he was invested. But this was Natasha and they knew each other, had for years and years now and it didn't count as rushing ahead, right? Because they weren't new. They were just -- them.

Plus he'd made her laugh and god, nothing got better than that. It just didn't. There was no stopping now.

And also probably because she slipped the hoodie off and was in his lap wearing nothing but panties and that little golden arrow around her throat. "God," he said, well aware that he sounded a little dazed, and that probably took a lot away from his joke wrapped up in bravado only a second ago.

He pressed his thumb against that little arrow again, even though there were most certainly other places his hands could be just now. "How 'bout I just show you," he said, and it wasn't even really a question so much as an awed statement. He pulled her closer, lips and then teeth grazing against her collar bone.

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hourglasss
2019-05-12 09:01 am UTC (link)

That was the difference, wasn't it? It was all the difference; Natasha always knew how to slow herself down, to step back. Take a break, slip some space between, walk it down to somewhere they could have both found a measure of control. And her ability to do that had shattered like a plate on the floor. She didn't want control. She wanted it to be like this, exactly like this, as though the brake lines on the car had been cut. So fucking what if they should have slowed down, so what if it was too fast. It was Clint and the reaction he gave her when she was down to a necklace and underwear - not even a particularly attractive pair of them, either - was something that had already burned itself into her brain. She wasn't giving this moment back.

No one was taking this away from her. Not even herself. Not now.

Dazed. He sounded dazed, even though none of it was new to him and it set her hips to rocking once, an involuntarily push down against him, a writhe and a wriggle that made it clear what he'd already done. She blushed - even if it was faint, Jesus, she was Natasha Romanoff, her call sign was the Black Widow, she had stared down sights that would have left plenty of others in ruination and here she was, red starting at her collarbone before it flushed its way up her neck, to her cheeks, so obviously pleased with it.

"Show me," she told him, her voice hitching and a little raspy and the want in it so brazen. The slight shake of it, that was what gave her away: Natasha in this moment, wholly herself, no cover she was pulling on to separate herself from Clint and his hand son her body. "Show me everything, it's not - it's not going to take very much." Her breasts brushed the front of his shirt, and that was too much, entirely, his had to get out of the way, too, and so she slipped her hands beneath it, trying to work it up, off, out of her way, thank you, all the while trying not to disturb the skim of his mouth just under her necklace, or his thumb. "I'll keep it on," she told him, suddenly - he may have anticipated, but she wanted him to know, wanted him to hear it from her, that it would stay on tonight, that he would see it there every time his eyes strayed.

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today_sucks
2019-05-14 03:46 am UTC (link)

It wasn't like Clint had ever been bad or lacking at this type of situation - not even remotely, and it wasn't like he didn't have plenty of experience under his belt (and that wasn't bragging, it was just the truth) but he'd be the first to admit there just hadn't been a lot of moments like these.

Natasha was so damned eager, so into it that he was just -- well. He got a lot from it, in ways he couldn't fully describe. Like, sure obvious erection was obvious even through his jeans what with how she was rocking against him, but also like -- a little emotionally? He probably could not have described it even if he tried.

Clint pulled away just enough to get his shirt off completely, tossing purple to the side before shifting again, practically picking Natasha up (and that was fun, really, particularly since he knew there weren't a lot of time he could do that without the threat of bodily harm) only to put her down again in the mess of blankets and pillows.

"Keep it on," he agreed, because fuck he loved her in that necklace. He proved it by leaning down and kissing right below it one more time. Everything was probably pushing it today, but Clint would give it a go. He cupped her breasts, the pads of his thumbs tracing over her nips, his touch calloused but gentle, like he was learning it all too -- taking the time to figure her out.

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hourglasss
2019-05-14 09:40 am UTC (link)

Her whole body arched up.

As though he'd hit - a button, or something, found some sort of string to tug that had wrapped around her spine and pulled her into an arch. Automatic and entirely out of her control, it was her body's natural response and if it had been anyone else, anyone but Clint, she would have been something close to embarrassed by the jolt that rolled through her, the obvious display of it. But there was no room for that here, it was just - joyful, and easy, and of course that was what happened: Clint Barton put his mouth to her collarbone and his hands to her breasts at the same time, and her body bowed up into his as though she was some perfect shot he'd lined up and loosed.

It made her laugh, and for a second, she didn't recognize herself. He'd picked her up, he'd laid her on her back, hot mouth and calloused hands and God, she would have known that touch anywhere, and suddenly she was laughing because the joy in it was too much to hold in her chest without some of it leaking out. She worked her hands between them, snapping the button on his jeans and pushing them down his hips, just enough that he'd be able to wiggle them out of the way, but it wasn't enough to touch his hips, his chest, his shoulders, her hands had to cradle his face again, stroke along the sides of his jaw.

"Use your mouth on them, a little, I love that," she told him. "While you can. Soon I'll need to kiss you until I can't fucking breathe, you're - perfect." His favorite word, and she hadn't understood it until now, but she did, she did.

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today_sucks
2019-05-16 08:49 pm UTC (link)

That laugh was what really did it for him, if Clint was being honest. Not that he wasn't into it before (because jesus christ he was and his jeans were currently the worst things in the world even if that wasn't even remotely his focus right now) but there was just something undoingly sexy about Natasha letting out a little laugh of obvious delight.

It just got to him on, like, a heart and dick level. It was good.

And really, he didn't waste any time in giving her exactly what she asked for (why would he?), kissing his way down her collar bone and sternum until he could nuzzle his face against her breasts in a way that he rather hoped was more sexy than was weird before putting his mouth to better use, licking, sucking and teasing his teeth along her skin. Frankly, he just wanted another one of those jolty moments. Although, it[d probably be best his teeth weren't happening when that did.

And yeah. Perfect. It was definitely a thing. He was glad that Natasha was jumping on board with that one.There was simply no better way to get things trending than the pass it along method.

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hourglasss
2019-05-17 08:10 am UTC (link)

All sexy, none of it weird. Not even slightly; she was on some other plane now, where she was pretty sure that even if something was weird, it would have been too late for it to register as anything but sexy anyway. Her hands were in his hair, nails dragging lightly along his scalp, the back of his neck, and when his teeth grazed an unexpectedly sensitive patch of skin - when his tongue dragged along afterwards, she rocketed up again and this time she moaned and it didn't occur to her to apologize for it, the way she had that first gasp.

She had died. She had died, but now she was in this warm pile of blankets and Clint was busying himself at her breasts without a second of hesitation in him. Touching her without urgency, as though they could take all the time they liked, but with a want that matched her own, and that was the thing that was setting off small explosions inside her chest - that it was matched. This so objectively obvious fact that he wanted her as as badly as she wanted him and for the first time in entirely too many years, she remembered what it was to think the word heady, to think I'm drowning and I would kill the person that tried to pull me out.

When he lifted his head, a quick pause from the way he was nuzzling at her, she wrapped both her legs around his waist and flipped them on the strength of her thighs, a fluid moment that kept them perfectly tangled in those blankets but let her splay out on top of him, now, press herself against him with her hair falling into her eyes until she impatiently pushed it out of the way. It was blocking the view, and she wanted this view. She wanted this view exactly the way she had it, with his erection nestled against the inside of her thigh and his mouth just a little wet and his hair a mess from her hands. She needed a moment to freeze him in her mind.

She had never let herself imagine it, not to this degree. And even if she had, anything she ever could have imagined would have been pale next to this. She'd forgotten. She had, she'd forgotten that this was how it could feel, with this much joy in it, the heat, the give and the take.

Natasha Romanoff, she was smiling at Clint Barton in a way that felt like her face would crack with the force of it, shining with the enormous luck she felt. It was there in her body and her noises and the way she was currently melting all over him, but she kissed him, too, hungry and radiant, and she rolled them back to where they'd begun, to pull his weight back on top of her. "Just rip them off, if they're in your way, I don't mind," she said, wriggling her hips a little beneath him so she would know he meant her underwear. "God - you're beautiful, Clint, you're making me crazy - " How had any version of herself, in any world, ever been able to let something this electric go once she'd known what it was like? More for her, now, but still.

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today_sucks
2019-05-19 04:49 pm UTC (link)

He'd always liked that about Natasha -- the fact that she could so easily take the upper hand. Sure, she could so easily kick his ass most days, but it was more special that she could move them with hardly any effort at all until she was on top of him and looking down. And the way she just looked, like she was studying something wonderful and almost foreign was --

Clint didn't know what to do with it, not really. Because he didn't get looks like that, like he was something important and precious. But he loved it, like he loved her. And when she kissed him he couldn't possibly do anything but kiss back like he meant it, like he'd never been more sincere about anything in his entire fucked up life. Maybe he hadn't, either. This felt big.

And then they were back to where they'd started with zero warning and Clint let out a laugh too, breathless and stupid and only laughed harder when she said he ought to just tear her panties off like some kind of man on a mission.

Obviously, he wasn't going to do that. Instead he shifted, kissing his way down her stomach until he was low enough to hook his fingers in the fabric and slide them down, not really slow because he didn't care to make a show of it but not so fast that it seemed like he was just racing to some unseen finish line either. "Tell me what you want," he implored, looking up and away toward her face, expression wanting, but curiously earnest as well.

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hourglasss
2019-05-20 08:14 am UTC (link)

It stilled her, for a moment. That look. That look and the way his voice sounded, something like - longing, in it, that was what struck her; that he looked like he wanted her, and that he wanted her words along with it. He wanted to learn, but he wanted her - openness, too, open in a way he knew Natasha enough to know that she wasn't, usually, or at least she had never used to be, and her fingers were shaking, just a little, as she reached out to stroke his face again, tenderness written in the gesture that she couldn't have concealed if she wanted to. If she'd known his thoughts, she would have echoed them: it did feel big.

Bigger than she had expected, because if it was chemistry and hormones and a lot of other things that had carried them this far, here in this moment, it was only - them. The way they both kept laughing. This ridiculous reverence in both of them, that felt like it wasn't intentional but kept spilling over. It did not feel the way it would've if it was only fueled by bodies wanting things they'd been missing. Maybe Clint had saved up his love as long as she had, hoarded it, because this was how it felt to her: all these years she had stockpiled it and now she was finally allowed to spend it on him.

It shouldn't have felt so right. It shouldn't have been so easy for them to decide I don't care if you're from some other universe, you're still mine, but that was such a hallmark of how it had been with them: it was easy, it didn't bear overthinking, it was what happened when something was just - the right fit. Like a key had turned in a lock.

"I was right," she told him, her chest ached with it, in a good way, the best way. "I was so right when I told you I still loved you, Clint. Here and now and like this, I was right. I want you to make me come. And I want you to know you're the first person I've wanted to make me do that in - actual years. I want you to watch it happen and when it does, I want that to drive you out of your goddamn mind knowing that nobody's gotten to watch it but you in ages. And I want to see you fall apart on top of me. I want you to show me how we'll fit and how we'll keep on fitting now that we've learned. I want to hear you laugh like this all the time."

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today_sucks
2019-05-25 09:21 pm UTC (link)

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."

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hourglasss
2019-05-27 02:54 am UTC (link)

That laugh was going to be the end of her. Well - the laugh, and how good he looked when his jeans were off, because the way Natasha's eyes traveled over him...nothing to call that but frank, straightforward appreciation and admiration. She liked the view and there was no reason to be shy about showing it. When his fingertips traveled along her scar, her legs, her whole body, she lifted her own hands to glide them along his chest, his stomach. She worked with a literal god. She worked with a supersoldier who had been designed to be the peak of human perfection.

No one could have ever held a candle to the very breakable, mortal man in front of her. A couple bruises and scrapes and scars, maybe, but that added character. The cut of his stomach, his hips, his thighs - for a moment, her mouth watered. Actually watered, like a character in a cartoon. She had to press her thighs together in a wave of arousal, though moments later, his mouth was trailing over her stomach in a way that meant it was impossible to keep them that way.

She buried her hands in his hair, gentler this time, stroking his scalp, scratching a little, curling strands around her fingers and releasing. "Isn't that such a you move, work me up this hard, get me this wet, and then start pressing the brakes," she teased, but there was a laugh in her voice while she said it, nothing but fondness for him. "I don't have any STDs," she said, her straightforward Natasha way. "If you do, we can walk this back and hold off until we find protection through the doors. Though I'd still like to at least jerk you off tonight, if you'd let me."

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today_sucks
2019-05-30 12:53 am UTC (link)

"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.

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hourglasss
2019-06-01 04:58 am UTC (link)

Natasha grinned, a ridiculously fond grin because he was so stupidly charming, especially with that added little burst of indignation. It made her want to tease him in that same fond way, to let him know she'd liked that he'd asked, that she appreciated it - she loved it so much that they kept laughing through this, it was rapidly becoming her favorite thing about it. How much delight they were both taking in each other, in the act itself.

She opened her mouth, right on the verge of some silly, teasing response - and then he drove the words out of her brain altogether with the work of his hands. Obvious, yes, that was one word for it, they both knew where this had been heading, this was the point. It should not have been a surprise to be touched like this, it was so - small, it was just leadup, wasn't it, just foreplay and fairly straightforward. Still. It was enough to shut her up, entirely, enough to make her hips pitch up and it was - God, one touch and it was so clear how much she got from it.

The noise she made when he dragged his thumb was something guttural and wordless and so embarrassing that she let go of his hair to cover her face with both hands, a move that got her laughing, again, mostly at herself, her own reaction, before she lowered them again to look at him, openly delighted, a little bit amazed. "I'm pretty into this, in case it wasn't - patently obvious that you're doing great," she said, slightly breathless, lowering her hands back into his hair, the way he'd requested.

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