They’d been holed up in a busted surveillance van for almost seven hours, watching an abandoned warehouse that couldn’t be more lifeless if it tried. No guards, no shipments, nothing but a big, fat bust of a day. Even a guy like him, whose whole skill set was built around waiting, was struggling to stay awake.
Half-slumped in the driver’s seat, Clint let out a long sigh. His gaze drifted to Natasha, who lounged in the passenger seat with her feet propped on the dash. She was leisurely flipping through a magazine titled BAKE (an under-the-seat rental freebie) that boasted a treasure trove of delectable desserts. Not that any of those recipes were likely to ever grace Natasha’s plate. She was a bit of a health nut.
Which did not help the situation at all. Apart from making Clint hungry on top of everything else.
So bored, restless, and mildly delirious from lack of activity, he decided to stir the pot.
"If you had to kill me, how would you do it?"
Natasha didn’t even bother looking up from her magazine. She merely flipped the page from The Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookie Collection to Gourmet Muffins: How To Elevate Your Breakfast Game.
"Tash," Clint prodded. "You’re not seriously reading that, are you? Humor me."
With one precisely raised eyebrow, Natasha glanced over. "By hypothesizing how I’d kill you?"
“Come on. It’s either that or I start counting the dust particles in the air.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Natasha set the magazine aside and gave him a measured once-over. “I’d slit your throat and let you bleed out in the footwell. You’d be dead in under a minute.”
Clint blinked in mock shock. “Jesus.”
Natasha simply shrugged, picked the magazine back up, and added, "You asked."
“Well, yeah, but damn.”
Another page turn. This time it was Perfect Scone Pairings. And, almost in afterthought, “Why? Would you prefer something else?”
“I’d prefer you not to be so casual about my hypothetical murder.”
“You brought it up,” Natasha said. “I’m just answering.”
Clint drummed his fingers on the wheel, then decided that counting dust was not even such a bad idea. Or maybe the bad guys could finally show up, thank you very much.
But five minutes later, he couldn’t help himself from blurting out: “I’d snipe you, obviously.”
Natasha’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she turned another page, this time glancing at a recipe for blueberry glaze. She looked up then, studying him a smugness that was just shy of arrogant, the way someone who’s holding four aces looks at their opponent still trying to figure out if they should fold.
Then she turned back to the blueberries in the glossy print, wrinkling her nose.
“Assuming I’m just standing there like an idiot and letting you get a clean shot. How lazy. That’s a coward’s kill.”
Clint placed a dramatic hand over his chest. "Good to know what you think of my specialization."
Natasha didn’t even dignify him with a glance. “I just expected more from you.”
Clint scoffed. “Like what, something cinematic? A rooftop standoff? A long, drawn-out chase through the streets?”
“You’d trip over your own bow trying to make it dramatic.”
“Oh, and you’d be any better?” he shot back. “I bet you’d pull the seduction card.”
That marked the end for BAKE. Natasha’s mouth fell open slightly. She took her feet off the dash. “Wow,” she said, affronted. "You really jumped ahead to that one.”
Clint leaned back smirking. “What? You wouldn’t kill me in bed?”
Natasha shut the magazine, tossed it aside, and folded her hands primly in her lap, like she was about to lecture a child.
“I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it,” she admitted. “But now I am, thanks.” She tilted her head, considering. A little too seriously. Then, finally, she shook it. "No. It'd be too easy."
Clint frowned, now insulted. “It wouldn’t be.”
“It would.”
To prove her point, she leaned in, just slightly. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to test him. Clint did not react. At least, not noticeably. Mostly.
“I’d make you think you're safe first,” Natasha said. “Let you relax. Let you think you had me where you wanted.”
Clint grinned. “I would have you where I wanted.”
She hummed, noncommittal. Then she went in for a kiss, the real deep type, and Clint's brain all but short-circuited as all available resources were rerouted to, well, lower levels. Natasha let him have it for a few more moments before pulling away, slowly, with relish.
Then she mimed a quick, clean motion, dragging her finger across the delicate skin of his throat.
Clint grimaced. “That’s rude.”
“Deadly,” she corrected, leaning back into the seat, supremely pleased with herself.
Clint shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Gonna kill me in a damn van, unbelievable…”
Natasha just smiled and leaned back, stretching her arms behind her head. “What can I say? I’m efficient. Now, are we blowing off this op, or what?”
FILL: 50 Ways To Leave Your Partner (Dead) [T, no warnings]
They’d been holed up in a busted surveillance van for almost seven hours, watching an abandoned warehouse that couldn’t be more lifeless if it tried. No guards, no shipments, nothing but a big, fat bust of a day. Even a guy like him, whose whole skill set was built around waiting, was struggling to stay awake.
Half-slumped in the driver’s seat, Clint let out a long sigh. His gaze drifted to Natasha, who lounged in the passenger seat with her feet propped on the dash. She was leisurely flipping through a magazine titled BAKE (an under-the-seat rental freebie) that boasted a treasure trove of delectable desserts. Not that any of those recipes were likely to ever grace Natasha’s plate. She was a bit of a health nut.
Which did not help the situation at all. Apart from making Clint hungry on top of everything else.
So bored, restless, and mildly delirious from lack of activity, he decided to stir the pot.
"If you had to kill me, how would you do it?"
Natasha didn’t even bother looking up from her magazine. She merely flipped the page from The Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookie Collection to Gourmet Muffins: How To Elevate Your Breakfast Game.
"Tash," Clint prodded. "You’re not seriously reading that, are you? Humor me."
With one precisely raised eyebrow, Natasha glanced over. "By hypothesizing how I’d kill you?"
“Come on. It’s either that or I start counting the dust particles in the air.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Natasha set the magazine aside and gave him a measured once-over. “I’d slit your throat and let you bleed out in the footwell. You’d be dead in under a minute.”
Clint blinked in mock shock. “Jesus.”
Natasha simply shrugged, picked the magazine back up, and added, "You asked."
“Well, yeah, but damn.”
Another page turn. This time it was Perfect Scone Pairings. And, almost in afterthought, “Why? Would you prefer something else?”
“I’d prefer you not to be so casual about my hypothetical murder.”
“You brought it up,” Natasha said. “I’m just answering.”
Clint drummed his fingers on the wheel, then decided that counting dust was not even such a bad idea. Or maybe the bad guys could finally show up, thank you very much.
But five minutes later, he couldn’t help himself from blurting out: “I’d snipe you, obviously.”
Natasha’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she turned another page, this time glancing at a recipe for blueberry glaze. She looked up then, studying him a smugness that was just shy of arrogant, the way someone who’s holding four aces looks at their opponent still trying to figure out if they should fold.
Then she turned back to the blueberries in the glossy print, wrinkling her nose.
“Assuming I’m just standing there like an idiot and letting you get a clean shot. How lazy. That’s a coward’s kill.”
Clint placed a dramatic hand over his chest. "Good to know what you think of my specialization."
Natasha didn’t even dignify him with a glance. “I just expected more from you.”
Clint scoffed. “Like what, something cinematic? A rooftop standoff? A long, drawn-out chase through the streets?”
“You’d trip over your own bow trying to make it dramatic.”
“Oh, and you’d be any better?” he shot back. “I bet you’d pull the seduction card.”
That marked the end for BAKE. Natasha’s mouth fell open slightly. She took her feet off the dash. “Wow,” she said, affronted. "You really jumped ahead to that one.”
Clint leaned back smirking. “What? You wouldn’t kill me in bed?”
Natasha shut the magazine, tossed it aside, and folded her hands primly in her lap, like she was about to lecture a child.
“I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it,” she admitted. “But now I am, thanks.” She tilted her head, considering. A little too seriously. Then, finally, she shook it. "No. It'd be too easy."
Clint frowned, now insulted. “It wouldn’t be.”
“It would.”
To prove her point, she leaned in, just slightly. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to test him. Clint did not react. At least, not noticeably. Mostly.
“I’d make you think you're safe first,” Natasha said. “Let you relax. Let you think you had me where you wanted.”
Clint grinned. “I would have you where I wanted.”
She hummed, noncommittal. Then she went in for a kiss, the real deep type, and Clint's brain all but short-circuited as all available resources were rerouted to, well, lower levels. Natasha let him have it for a few more moments before pulling away, slowly, with relish.
Then she mimed a quick, clean motion, dragging her finger across the delicate skin of his throat.
Clint grimaced. “That’s rude.”
“Deadly,” she corrected, leaning back into the seat, supremely pleased with herself.
Clint shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Gonna kill me in a damn van, unbelievable…”
Natasha just smiled and leaned back, stretching her arms behind her head. “What can I say? I’m efficient. Now, are we blowing off this op, or what?”