A Gift From: kiss_me_cassie
Title: In Vino Veritas
A Gift For: paperairplanesopenwindows
Rating: Hard M
Warnings/Choose Not To Warn: no warnings apply
Summary/Prompt Used: Clint and Natasha have been friends with benefits for awhile, but oh no! Now there's feelings! Now the two most emotionally awkward people ever must negotiate a relationship. AND “we drunk-kissed but you forgot about it and i don’t know how to act around you anymore wtf”
Author's Note: My beta is a GODDESS and looked this over with a zero-hour turnaround.


In Vino Veritas
Five Times Liquor Lowered Clint and Natasha's Inhibitions and One Time It Didn't Need To

1.
"This is gonna sting," Clint warned as he spilled vodka into the open wound on Natasha's thigh. He had to give her credit, she barely even flinched, just grimaced a little as the burning liquid hit it. "I'll try to make this as quick as I can, ok?"

She gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement but otherwise didn't say a word.

"Here. You should drink some, too. It'll help take the edge off," he said, holding the bottle out to her.

She grabbed it and took a hefty slug then gestured for him to get on with sewing up the knife wound.

He got to work, trying to go as quickly as possible, glancing up at her face every once and a while to make sure she was all right.

"You are a good man, Clint Barton," she said quietly, the first thing she'd said since he'd dragged her into the safe house and cut open her catsuit so he could get to her wound.

When he looked up at her next, she was studying him pensively. The vodka bottle was still held loosely in her grasp, but while it had still been half-full when he'd handed it to her, it was almost empty now.

"Hey, hey," he said softly, as he pried it out of her hand. "I meant you should have a swig or two to take the edge off, not finish the bottle."

She snorted. "This isn't my first experience with vodka, you know. I am Russian, after all."

"Yeah, well, Russian or not, I don't need you passing out on me before evac. I'm ok as a field medic in a pinch, but I'm not confident I could get you out of here in one piece if you pass out cold."

"I won't pass out," Natasha assured him. She closed her eyes and was quiet for so long that he worried maybe she really had passed out, despite her bold assurance. But then she opened her eyes again and said softly, "They gave us vodka, you know. Vodka, cigarettes. One time, they even gave us cocaine. It was part of the training, just like everything else. Like sending us to Sakha with minimal supplies…"

Her voice trailed off and Clint could only imagine what horrors she was thinking about.

"Natasha…"

Her eyes flashed angrily. "I don't need your pity."

"And you're not getting it," he said, taking her hands between his. "But I promise you this. I will never, ever do anything that you don't willingly consent to."

Her lips tilted up in the barest hint of a smile. "Like I said, you're a good man, Clint Barton."

2.
"Why don't you ever get drunk?" Natasha asked curiously as she tossed back another shot of bourbon. "I rarely see you drink. And even when you do, you barely drink half of it."

"I'm drinking right now," he said, offering her a crooked smile as he pointed to the mostly full glass in front of him.

"Two sips," she said, then tipped what was left in the bottle into her own glass and took another sip. "So what's the story?"

He studied her for a moment wondering where she was going with this and how much he was willing to share. "Who's asking? Natalia Romanova, the spy, or Natasha Romanoff, my friend?"

"Who do you want to be asking?" she countered, setting her nearly empty glass down on the table.

"Honestly?" he said with a snort. "I'd almost prefer Natalia."

He could view it as an interrogation instead of a confession if it was Natalia.

"Трусливый," she murmured.

"Coward? Really? That's what you're going with?" he chuckled. Although she wasn't wrong. Not exactly. But a small part of him was a coward and didn't want to confess to her all his family's sins. And she knew it

"Tell me," she coaxed, finishing off the last of the bourbon in her glass.

Clint sighed. She'd just keep hounding him if he didn't. If not tonight, then the next time SHIELD had a party. Or the next time they found themselves alone, decompressing after a hard mission and she decided to drown her feelings in liquor. He'd make a show of joining her, but mostly he'd sulk quietly until she eventually wormed it out of him.

Clint snorted and got up to take her empty glass to the sink. It would be easier to say if his back was to her. "Let's just say my family's history with alcohol isn't a very good one. My dad was a drunk. The night he and my mom died, he was so fucked up, he wrapped their car around a telephone pole."

Natasha cursed under her breath. "Мудак."

"Yeah, he was, but it was a long time ago and I've made my peace with it." Or as much peace as he could.

He felt rather than heard Natasha get up and he turned to find her inches away.

"He was a bastard, but that's not who or what you are," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing up close against him, so close that he could smell the bourbon on her breath. "You're not at all like him and you never could be."

She brushed her lips across his and he let himself sink into her kiss, until she moved her hands from his neck to his waist and her fingertips slid into the waistband of his jeans. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and removed her hands.

"Natasha, no. Stop. I don't need a pity fuck."

She tilted her head and looked up at him curiously. "Who said it would be a pity fuck?"

"I did. And no matter how you want to spin it, you know it would be, too." With a gentle nudge, he steered her toward his apartment's door. "Go home, Natasha."

She shot him another curious look, but gathered up her jacket and bag. "I'll check in with you tomorrow."

"Yeah," he said, watching pensively as she left.

Frowning, he turned back to the sink and dumped what was left of the liquor in his glass down the drain.

3.
Barbados turned out to be better than expected when it came to enjoying some post-mission R&R. Especially with a tipsy Natasha.

Clint picked up the small paper umbrella that had fallen to the table and tucked it back into Natasha's red curls.

"You're a cute drunk," he observed with a little half smile.

"I'm not a cute anything," she said, swirling the fruit in her drink around and around. "But it's nice of you to think so."

She leaned forward and gave him a wet, sloppy kiss. Chaste, by most standards, but given the feelings Clint had for her, not chaste enough. He needed to put a stop to this before it got any further.

"You're going to regret that tomorrow morning so I'm getting you back to your room and tucking you in and then most definitely not staying the night," he said, standing up and pulling her to her feet.

She ran a hand up and down his bicep and raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure about that?"

Gently removing her hand from his arm, Clint forced out a small laugh. "Only about 90%."

"Oh, so I have a 10% chance of getting you to stay? Lucky me," she said, swaying against him and kissing him again. "What can I do to convince you to give into that 10%?"

"Not enough," he said, gently pushing her away again. "C'mon. Before the gentleman in me forgets you're my best friend and that taking advantage of you in this state would be a huge mistake."

Natasha frowned, suddenly looking and sounding much more sober than she had moments before.

"I don't… you aren't… I wouldn't regret it," she said, confusion clear in her eyes.

He almost - almost - gave in to her then and there.

"But I would," he said softly, giving her a light kiss on the forehead.

4.
The problem with falling for your partner was that it was hard to resist them, especially when you were both still flying high after an Avengers win against AIM.

Which is why Clint wound up making out with Natasha on his couch like a horny teenager one night, despite his best intentions.

"Is it ok if I stay over?" Natasha asked, planting small kisses along his jaw.

He should say no, stop this before it went any further. "Nat… we really shouldn't."

"Why shouldn't we?" she asked, sitting up and pulling her shirt up over her head.

Clint swallowed hard. It was one thing to resist her when she was fully clothed, but quite another when she was clad only in a lacy black bra, lips kiss swollen and eyes full of want.

"It's the party. You had more to drink -"

"I had one glass of wine," she said, shaking her head and smiling at him before leaning forward and kissing him again, long and deep. "This isn't some drunken whim. I've wanted this for a while now."

"Define a while," he said hoarsely.

"I wasn't going to pity fuck you when you told me about your family history. And I wouldn't have regretted it if we'd gone further in Barbados." She reached behind her and snapped open the fastening of her bra, then slid the straps down her arms and tossed it to the side. "And I most definitely do want to sleep with you now."

And God help him, but Clint didn't have the willpower to keep saying no. With a sigh of resignation, he let her pull him from the couch and lead him to the bedroom and his fate.

5.
The great thing about sleeping with your best friend was that, well, you got to sleep with them. The bad thing was, it got harder and harder to hide your feelings and things started getting complicated.

But Clint wasn't going to think about that while Natasha was on her knees before him and giving him the most amazing blow job he'd ever had.

"Jesus, Natasha. You're gonna have to stop if you wanna get anything out of this tonight," he moaned.

She chuckled and the vibration shot right through him, making him groan again, but then she let go of him and rose fluidly to her feet.

Reaching behind her, she untied the satin bow holding her halter dress up and then let it slither to her feet, leaving her in nothing but a tiny g-string.

God, she was fucking gorgeous.

"You care about these at all?" he asked, reaching out and snapping the strap at her hip against her skin.

"Not particularly."

"Good." With a predatory grin, Clint lowered her to the bed, kissing his way down her body until he reached the tiny triangle of her panties. Then he took them between his teeth and ripped them from her body.

Natasha laughed. "How long have you been waiting to do something like that?"

"Too long," he said, his voice muffled as he nudged her legs apart and licked into her.

"You plan on spending a lot of time down there?"

Clint peered up at her with hooded eyes. "You got me all revved up - turnabout is fair play. Why? Are you impatient?"

"Maybe," she breathed, tunneling her fingers through his hair and giving a tug. "C'mere."

Chuckling, he kissed his way back up her stomach before kissing her hard on the mouth and settling between her legs. "This better?"

She wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him closer. "Much. But it could be better."

"Oh yeah? How?" he teased, his mouth sucking a bruise into the side of her neck.

"You could be inside me and fucking my brains out," she quipped.

He full out laughed at that but let her guide him into her warm, wet folds. She murmured something in Russian that he couldn't quite make out and then canted her hips up at him so he could slide deeper inside.

"Fuck, Natasha," he groaned. "You're gonna kill me."

She smiled. "But what a way to go."

He kissed her then, long and hard, and began to move inside her. She was so tight and wet and felt so damned good.

"God, I love you so much," Natasha whispered.

He froze, but then she tightened her legs around him and her hot wetness contracted around his length and he was gone, losing himself in her like he had so many other times.

+1
The next morning, Clint managed to enjoy one moment of watching Natasha sleep peacefully beside him before everything from the night before came rushing back. She'd said she loved him. And as much as Clint wanted that to be true, there was no way she had meant it. It had been the heat of the moment, nothing else. But fuck, how was he going to keeping on doing this, loving her as he did, when she didn't feel the same?

He tried to ease away from her warm, inviting body without waking her, but luck wasn't with him this morning and she stirred at his movement.

"Good morning," she said, a soft smile on her face as she blinked open her eyes.

"Morning," he echoed hollowly, his voice gruff. He threw off the blankets and sat up on the edge of the mattress, his back to her.

God dammit, why did she have to say what she'd said last night? They'd slept together more times than he could count at this point. But not once in all those times had they discussed their feelings, although he was shit at hiding things from her. There was no way she hadn't figured out he'd fallen in love with her.

So why had she said what she'd said?

"Clint?"

He frowned. She sounded worried. And why wouldn't she be? This wasn't how their morning afters usually went. This wasn't how he wanted this particular morning after to go. "Yeah?"

"What's wrong?" she asked, sliding her hand up over his shoulder.

He sighed, and hung his head in his hands. Time to get this over with.

"Listen, about last night… I know it was dumb of me to fall in love with you. That isn't what this is, who we are. But you didn't need to… You don't have to lie to me, ok? I can handle myself and my feelings."

There was a moment of silence and then he felt the bed dip behind him as she sat up.

"Have you ever known me to lie to you, Barton?" she asked, and he could hear the earnestness in her voice.

"Lie? No," he admitted with a wry smile as he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. She was watching him warily. "Avoid, prevaricate, obfuscate? Yes."

With catlike grace, she maneuvered around him until she was straddling his lap. Taking his chin in her hand, she lifted his face to hers so that she could look him fully in the eyes.

"It wasn't a lie and I'm not going to backtrack what I said now that it's morning," she said, her voice low and steady. "I meant what I said."

Something in the way she said that and in the way she held his face cupped in her hands had him reevaluating everything he had assumed he knew about their relationship. God, he was such a fool sometimes.

"You did, did you?"

She nodded. "I love you, Clint Barton, and if that hasn't been absurdly clear these past several months - hell, these past several years - you're dumber than I thought."

"Well, no one ever accused me of being exceptionally smart," he said, a small smile beginning to form on his lips. "But maybe I can be taught."

"Probably not," Natasha said grinning. "But I'm willing to try."

She leaned down and kissed him, soft and slow, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "And for the record? I love you, too, Nat."