A/N: References IM2, Thor, Incredible Hulk and Fury's Big Week
After her debriefing, she was free to go back to Chicago to rest and write up a very, very thorough report on Banner, General Ross, the incident at Culver, and the bigger incident at Harlem. This report was also to include a better reason for shooting Dr Sterns in the knee instead than her 'I wanted to hinder his escape and stop him monologuing,' which Natasha was confident she'd think up as soon as she'd had a decent night's sleep.
After all, her answer in debriefing was already better than her actual motivation, which had just been to get him to shut the fuck up.
Asshole.
Then again, she'd been dealing with too many assholes this week. Too many assholes, too many monsters, too many mistakes, and too many aliases; she was feeling unsettled in her skin, uncertain of which part she was supposed to play, ragged with unruly emotions.
'Is there anything real about you at all?' Stark had snapped at her, as if he knew all there was about her.
'Whatever the evil men took from you, whatever your heart desires, it will be yours,' Sterns had crooned, as if she weren't capable of getting what she wanted herself.
Fuck the pair of you, Natasha thought, and booked a flight for San Diego instead.
– –
“Hi,” she said, brightly, as Clint opened his front door. She had healing cuts on her face and hands, she was favouring her right leg, and she was pretty sure that when she grinned at him, she flashed too many teeth.
“You look like you had fun,” Clint said drily, eyes sharp and expression concerned. She concentrated on walking normally through the door, and didn't dignify him with a verbal response.
But as soon as he'd turned back to face her, she was up in his personal space, hands framing his face as she kissed him, hard and desperate as was normal for her post-mission greeting. He kissed her back, one of his hands cradling the back of her head.
“You okay, 'Tasha?” Clint asked at last, pulling back to study her face. That was not normal.
“It's been a long week,” Natasha replied, after a considered pause. “I had to deal with Stark. And Banner. A couple buildings fell on me. Fury won't let me electrocute Ross for his sheer incompetence, so I'm going to devote my spare time to ruining his career instead. Fuck me, please?”
“...Fury's career?”
She gave him a long look. “Ross's,” she said, holding off on the 'duh' because she was thirty-three and had far more self-control than that.
“When was last time you ate?” he asked, finally, expression somewhere between amused and concerned.
“Don't recall. Anyway. Hi.”
“Hi,” he said. “Chinese or pizza?”
“Pizza.”
“...before or after sex?”
“After.” Most definitely after.
“I can work with that,” and then Clint was kissing her again, burying his fingers into her hair and sliding his other hand gently down her body. She did not, particularly, want gentle – she wanted hard and fast and for her world to be nothing but him – but she was mindful of her body enough that she wasn't going to protest.
Natasha hooked her arm around his neck and he picked her up, carrying her easily to his bedroom. He was a good friend like that, a good friend with really nice arms, and give her half a minute, and she was going to show him exactly how much she appreciated them.
“-How many buildings?” Clint asked once they were on his bed, pulling her blouse off.
“Just two,” she said, and tried not to wince as she twisted her arms behind her to unhook her bra.
“Ah-huh,” and he paused, looking dubious, so she put her hands on his chest and shoved him back against the mattress before sliding over him. Clint was still being careful about where he moved his hands, and even as she kissed him, she could feel her body start to relax against his.
Clint was safe.
He was safe, and he was familiar, and he was warm, and he was a balm against her long, awful week, and of course she had her eyes closed, she was kissing him.
FIC: to have and to hold (PG-13) 1/2
After her debriefing, she was free to go back to Chicago to rest and write up a very, very thorough report on Banner, General Ross, the incident at Culver, and the bigger incident at Harlem. This report was also to include a better reason for shooting Dr Sterns in the knee instead than her 'I wanted to hinder his escape and stop him monologuing,' which Natasha was confident she'd think up as soon as she'd had a decent night's sleep.
After all, her answer in debriefing was already better than her actual motivation, which had just been to get him to shut the fuck up.
Asshole.
Then again, she'd been dealing with too many assholes this week. Too many assholes, too many monsters, too many mistakes, and too many aliases; she was feeling unsettled in her skin, uncertain of which part she was supposed to play, ragged with unruly emotions.
'Is there anything real about you at all?' Stark had snapped at her, as if he knew all there was about her.
'Whatever the evil men took from you, whatever your heart desires, it will be yours,' Sterns had crooned, as if she weren't capable of getting what she wanted herself.
Fuck the pair of you, Natasha thought, and booked a flight for San Diego instead.
– –
“Hi,” she said, brightly, as Clint opened his front door. She had healing cuts on her face and hands, she was favouring her right leg, and she was pretty sure that when she grinned at him, she flashed too many teeth.
“You look like you had fun,” Clint said drily, eyes sharp and expression concerned. She concentrated on walking normally through the door, and didn't dignify him with a verbal response.
But as soon as he'd turned back to face her, she was up in his personal space, hands framing his face as she kissed him, hard and desperate as was normal for her post-mission greeting. He kissed her back, one of his hands cradling the back of her head.
“You okay, 'Tasha?” Clint asked at last, pulling back to study her face. That was not normal.
“It's been a long week,” Natasha replied, after a considered pause. “I had to deal with Stark. And Banner. A couple buildings fell on me. Fury won't let me electrocute Ross for his sheer incompetence, so I'm going to devote my spare time to ruining his career instead. Fuck me, please?”
“...Fury's career?”
She gave him a long look. “Ross's,” she said, holding off on the 'duh' because she was thirty-three and had far more self-control than that.
“When was last time you ate?” he asked, finally, expression somewhere between amused and concerned.
“Don't recall. Anyway. Hi.”
“Hi,” he said. “Chinese or pizza?”
“Pizza.”
“...before or after sex?”
“After.” Most definitely after.
“I can work with that,” and then Clint was kissing her again, burying his fingers into her hair and sliding his other hand gently down her body. She did not, particularly, want gentle – she wanted hard and fast and for her world to be nothing but him – but she was mindful of her body enough that she wasn't going to protest.
Natasha hooked her arm around his neck and he picked her up, carrying her easily to his bedroom. He was a good friend like that, a good friend with really nice arms, and give her half a minute, and she was going to show him exactly how much she appreciated them.
“-How many buildings?” Clint asked once they were on his bed, pulling her blouse off.
“Just two,” she said, and tried not to wince as she twisted her arms behind her to unhook her bra.
“Ah-huh,” and he paused, looking dubious, so she put her hands on his chest and shoved him back against the mattress before sliding over him. Clint was still being careful about where he moved his hands, and even as she kissed him, she could feel her body start to relax against his.
Clint was safe.
He was safe, and he was familiar, and he was warm, and he was a balm against her long, awful week, and of course she had her eyes closed, she was kissing him.
She was just so tired...