(I should note that this a continuation of a silly little club AU I posted EXACTLY one year ago, but you don't have to read that to know what's going on!)

It was easy to ignore the mess the night before, because there had been only a sliver of moonlight sliding between the curtains, and even less than that between their bodies as Natasha pressed Clint towards his bed. Darkness had disguised the laundry piles and overflowing trash can in shadows, and besides, he liked to think that--though he was out of practice--he was still doing an okay job of holding her attention.
Steve had sworn up and down that rebounding was horrible, but Clint, so far, had no complaints whatsoever. Of course, this might have been because he hadn’t realized this was a date until Natasha had tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, twisted her lipsticked smile into a flirtatious smirk, and murmured, “I’ve got to get out of these heels.”
And whether it was the way the OPEN sign had sizzled neon highlights into her red hair, or the tilted curve of her hip as she stood, or just the fact that it’d been a long time since he’d lingered with someone beautiful far past midnight, Clint had found it too easy to suggest that she stay with him instead of schlepping all the way back up to Little Ukraine. “Bed-Stuy is closer,” he’d reasoned, though it wasn’t, really, and she’d curled such thrilling frisson around her agreement that he shouldn’t have been surprised by the way she’d kissed him against the door and out of his clothes.
But now, now, golden light was seeping like honey into his loft, and everything that light touched was a cluttered jumble of chaos. There were cheese balls spilled across the couch next to a pile of underwear whose last date of wash was indiscernible, especially since his building’s washing machine was broken and so he’d recently been washing his clothes in the sink--except, well, he hadn’t had much motivation to do the dishes lately and so the sink was piled too high with greasy plates to do much laundry, anyway.
Normally, Clint enjoyed waking up early, especially when there was someone gorgeous curled against his chest, but he couldn’t just lie there and let himself get turned into a one night stand horror story, especially since he would prefer for whatever this was to last longer than one night. Natasha slept like ivy, her limbs twined around his like they belonged there, and it was the hardest thing in recent memory to trade her sleepy embrace for rubber gloves. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that having a clean apartment wasn’t going to change whether not not she’d see him again, but it created enough false hope to motivate him through taming the monster pile of plates, dusting all the orange residue off the couch, and, for lack of better solutions, hiding all the laundry in the bottom of his coat closet.
He was drying dishes and brewing coffee when Natasha appeared in the kitchen, sheets tied up under her arms like some kind of goddess. “I like your apartment,” she said, her fiery hair tumbling across her shoulders as she looked around. With a smile that he could only describe as wicked, she added, “It was a lot, mm, scarier last night, though. Nothing that bad,” she assured him with a glint in her eye, “Just stepped on an unexpected cheese ball or five in the bathroom.”
Clint slumped against the counter. It was one thing to be a general slob, but a disgusting bathroom, he knew, was the kiss of death. “I guess that means you don’t want to go for brunch,” he said, trying not to let defeat creep into his tone; this was, after all, his own damn fault.
For a moment, the only sound was the percolation of the coffee, and then Natasha laughed. “You idiot,” she said, pulling his face down to hers. “It means that tonight, we stay at my place.”

What a great fill for the prompt! Thank you!

I especially loved this line:

Natasha slept like ivy, her limbs twined around his like they belonged there, and it was the hardest thing in recent memory to trade her sleepy embrace for rubber gloves.

<3

Edited 2017-02-16 04:13 pm (UTC)

Yes, the ivy line was my favourite too! Poor Clint really needs a cleaning lady...

Love this! Loved the first club fic and adore this follow up. :)

He woke to the feel of a warm arm thrown across his waist and a soft breath tickling his neck.

His head was still muzzy, but slowly the events of the night before filtered through. The bar, the darts, the vodka. God, all that vodka. Nat had challenged him to a drinking contest after he'd won more rounds of darts than he could count, and afterwards…

What had happened afterwards? He vaguely remembered her hauling him into a cab and back to his apartment. When they'd gotten upstairs he had teased her, asking if she'd still respect him in the morning, which made her lips turn up in a small smile. He remembered staring at her lips, so full and red and kissable.

Had there been a kiss? Yes, there had been. She had kissed him, a small, chaste kiss, and then he'd ruined it by hauling her against him and --

Fuck.

He'd kissed her and she'd kissed him back and then they'd tumbled into bed together. What the hell had he been thinking? Dammit. Her friendship with her had been best thing to ever happen to him and he'd ruined it.

Groaning, he tried to move away before she could wake up, before she was confronted with her mistake face to face. But Nat had never been much of a deep sleeper and as soon as he moved the arm around his waist tightened. It was followed by a soft kiss pressed to his shoulder.

"Good morning," Natasha breathed against his back, her legs shifting to tangle with his. "I hope you weren't plotting a way to get out of this. I waited far too long to sleep with you for you to back out now."

Confused, he turned and she pressed a kiss to his lips before he had a chance to say a word.

His brow furrowed in confusion and she laughed at his expression. "You don't honestly think I would have let you fuck me if I hadn't wanted you to, do you?"

"No, not exactly," he mumbled, although that was almost exactly what he thought.

"That's exactly what you're thinking," she said, smiling widely as she read his mind.

With a little push, she had him on his back. Then she was tugging at the sheet so she could move to straddle his hips. She leaned down, giving him another small kiss.

"I want you, Clinton Barton. Last night was not a mistake. And if you give me a few minutes, maybe I can show you how much it wasn't a mistake?"

It was an offer he couldn't refuse.

I get the idea there's not much she could offer that he would refuse!

Nicely done! It's reminding me of a photoset that I've seen floating around tumblr the last few days -- I'll have to see if I can find it again.

<3

OH! I think I know the one! If I'm right, that was a smoking hot set and I would not mind seeing it again. *g*

Pretty sure we're thinking about the same one -- I just reblogged it on tumblr.