[fic] Too Hot to Sleep
Title: Too Hot to Sleep
Fandom: Avengers
Rating: PG
Warnings: One swear word, nudity.
Pairings: Natasha/Clint
Word Count: 549
Summary: A prompt given to me by _samalander - Too hot to sleep.
Author’s Note: Egads, Frea wrote fluff. Everybody run.
She might be Russian by birth, but Natasha did not prefer the cold. It wasn’t a deep-seated pathological thing: she just found it annoying. She liked warm, she liked not having to layer clothing because it left her movements freer for what Clint liked to call the Thighs of Instant Death, she liked flirty, airy clothing like sundresses and tops that showed just the right amount of cleavage (it was always fun to make the world’s greatest marksman go just a little glassy in the eyes, admittedly). And hey, if she liked skinny dipping, that was between her and Clint.
But this, this was too warm.
They’d been in Bolivia for two days, waiting for a storm to break so they could use it for cover to sneak into Yosef Montalban’s compound. The air outside was like hot soup, the waiting was horrible, and thanks to the fact that the window unit had sputtered and died six hours before, the air inside wasn’t much better. They’d stripped to the skin, but Natasha still tossed and turned, every point of contact with the sheets or Clint burning.
Finally, she heard his sigh. She was keeping him awake. Clint could sleep through anything-and often had. Sometimes she found him stretched out on the floor of their quarters, wrapped around the butt of his rifle.
The man was insane, but that was okay with her. She was in good company.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand.
Natasha shook her head. “You?”
“Too damned hot.”
Natasha fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Why thank you, Mr. Barton.”
Clint’s gaze was lascivious as it roamed over her body. “That goes without saying.”
She poked him. “It’s too hot for sex.”
“It’s never too hot for sex.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow. Clint kept the look on his face for approximately three seconds before he fell back with a groan. “Okay, you’re right. It’s way too hot for sex. We’d set this place on fire.”
“Or drown in our own sweat.”
Clint wrinkled his nose at the imagery. Then, abruptly, he rolled out of bed. “C’mon. Get dressed. Not that I want you to, but they probably have public obscenity laws or something and if we get arrested, Hill’s going to breathe fire at us for messing with her op.”
Natasha let him pull her out of the bed. “Where are we going?”
“The cantina. There’s a cold beer with my name on it.” Clint pulled on cargo shorts as she grabbed the first dress she could find. “I could even be convinced to spring for TWO beers.”
“My hero,” Natasha said, but they shared a grin over it. The cantina wasn’t much cooler and the beer wasn’t as cold as she hoped, but she hardly cared. She tugged him on the dance floor and they laughed all the way through a dance to some old hit from the fifties that she barely recognized. It could have been freezing or hailing or in the middle of a hurricane, and it wouldn’t have changed: she was with Clint, and that was pretty much all she needed these days.
Fandom: Avengers
Rating: PG
Warnings: One swear word, nudity.
Pairings: Natasha/Clint
Word Count: 549
Summary: A prompt given to me by _samalander - Too hot to sleep.
Author’s Note: Egads, Frea wrote fluff. Everybody run.
She might be Russian by birth, but Natasha did not prefer the cold. It wasn’t a deep-seated pathological thing: she just found it annoying. She liked warm, she liked not having to layer clothing because it left her movements freer for what Clint liked to call the Thighs of Instant Death, she liked flirty, airy clothing like sundresses and tops that showed just the right amount of cleavage (it was always fun to make the world’s greatest marksman go just a little glassy in the eyes, admittedly). And hey, if she liked skinny dipping, that was between her and Clint.
But this, this was too warm.
They’d been in Bolivia for two days, waiting for a storm to break so they could use it for cover to sneak into Yosef Montalban’s compound. The air outside was like hot soup, the waiting was horrible, and thanks to the fact that the window unit had sputtered and died six hours before, the air inside wasn’t much better. They’d stripped to the skin, but Natasha still tossed and turned, every point of contact with the sheets or Clint burning.
Finally, she heard his sigh. She was keeping him awake. Clint could sleep through anything-and often had. Sometimes she found him stretched out on the floor of their quarters, wrapped around the butt of his rifle.
The man was insane, but that was okay with her. She was in good company.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand.
Natasha shook her head. “You?”
“Too damned hot.”
Natasha fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Why thank you, Mr. Barton.”
Clint’s gaze was lascivious as it roamed over her body. “That goes without saying.”
She poked him. “It’s too hot for sex.”
“It’s never too hot for sex.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow. Clint kept the look on his face for approximately three seconds before he fell back with a groan. “Okay, you’re right. It’s way too hot for sex. We’d set this place on fire.”
“Or drown in our own sweat.”
Clint wrinkled his nose at the imagery. Then, abruptly, he rolled out of bed. “C’mon. Get dressed. Not that I want you to, but they probably have public obscenity laws or something and if we get arrested, Hill’s going to breathe fire at us for messing with her op.”
Natasha let him pull her out of the bed. “Where are we going?”
“The cantina. There’s a cold beer with my name on it.” Clint pulled on cargo shorts as she grabbed the first dress she could find. “I could even be convinced to spring for TWO beers.”
“My hero,” Natasha said, but they shared a grin over it. The cantina wasn’t much cooler and the beer wasn’t as cold as she hoped, but she hardly cared. She tugged him on the dance floor and they laughed all the way through a dance to some old hit from the fifties that she barely recognized. It could have been freezing or hailing or in the middle of a hurricane, and it wouldn’t have changed: she was with Clint, and that was pretty much all she needed these days.