Respite (NC-17)
Title: Respite
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1201
Summary: Shower sex and secrets. ( this prompt at avengerkink)
The door to the shower isn't even all the way shut before he's stepping in. There's dual shower heads for this purpose, the hotel room luxurious because both can afford it, but he crowds her against the wall under hers anyway. Clint's large hands are gentle as they run over her shoulders, following the flow of water down her arms. She only sighs, a noise lost in the running water as he caresses.
They've survived another assignment from their joint employers that would have killed a lesser team. By all means, it probably should have injured them with more than superficial scratches at least but Natasha isn't one of the most feared freelance assassins without good cause. She smiles at the thought and the memory of bones snapping - it isn't a pretty look but Clint leans down to kiss her just the same. Natasha puts a hand on his arm and the other around his neck, drawing him closer to her.
It's the hint of a sound she can barely hear that makes her push the man back, breaking the kiss. Natasha's hand is reaching for the water controls to turn hers off as her other hand scrabbles uselessly to her thigh for a gun that isn't there. Her mind works speedily, judging the potential tools around her as Clint's hand captures her wrist.
“Room service,” he explains with a boyish grin. It makes the years disappear from his face and Natasha wishes she would see it more often. She glares up at him for the sake of it, raking her nails down his back in retaliation for not warning her. She hates any sort of secret and he knows it. Clint's grin only widens and she feels her lips quirk up in return.
“Only the best things in life,” the man murmurs, bending down to kiss her again. He tangles a hand in her hair, pulling Natasha's head back for a better angle. She kisses back hard, teeth nipping sharply at his bottom lip. Natasha can feel his hardness against her hip, the heated skin matching the throb that's growing between her legs. Clint draws back, tongue running over to soothe the sting and a smirk on his face.
Natasha nods once, because it is like that, for now. She tilts her head to leave a trail down his neck, teeth leaving imprints on his tanned skin. Clint hoists one leg up to his shoulder, hand wrapped around her shin as the water streams past them and she balances on the other leg. Natasha gasps low when he pushes into her with no warning, feeling the stretch and burn that quickly settles into familiarity.
Clint moves rapidly, building a rhythm and she wonders if the marksman has the same itch under his skin, the one that comes from success and the knowledge that you're the best. Natasha lets one of her hands play with the soft hair on the back of his neck, scratching at his scalp as he thrusts into her. The other slides between them, palm skating over hardened nipples and a flat stomach.
Natasha reaches down, rolling his balls in one hand. Clint's hips stutter and the hand on her leg grasps tighter. The woman grins victoriously up at him. Her head hits the tiled wall with the force of his next thrust as he switches to deeper, slower strokes that leave Natasha gasping. They orgasm at almost the same moment, heavy breathing and the sound of water running the only sounds for a long minute.
Natasha steps out of the shower stall on legs that only tremble slightly. She crosses over to the vanity right next to the door and it's when she's unwinding her hair from the towel that Natasha sees the man sitting silently in the armchair behind her.
“We have company!” she calls out loudly, fingers wrapping around the handle of a knife that's mixed in with her makeup brushes. The water shuts off as Natasha throws the projectile at the seated man dressed in a suit. She wonders why he didn't move first, seemingly mostly unprotected as they were in the shower - perhaps he likes to listen, and Natasha's lip curls. He cries out loudly when the blade buries itself in his left shoulder and then she's handing the other two knives to her partner, going for her gun. Natasha grins as she glances down to check that there is a bullet in the chamber, hearing the stranger scream again as the sound of impact reaches her ears.
She trains the gun on the man, noting the dagger in the palm of his hand pinning it to the arm of the chair as she advances slowly. She smirks at Clint's novel way to ensure the man wouldn't be reaching for a weapon.
“Who sent you?” Natasha questions. Her eyes narrow because he looks vaguely familiar but she can't remember where she would have seen this rather inconspicuous man. It
The man's answer is lost in his sobbing cries when Clint presses down on the knife and the assassin sighs loudly. “Amateurs.” He steps past her and started to pat down the man, pulling a business card from inside the suit jacket.
“Huh, this guy's from the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division.” Clint scoffs at the long-winded title, tucking the card back into the pocket. He bends down to stare the agent in the eyes, twirling the third knife in one hand. “That's a hell of a mouthful, don't you think?”
Natasha swallows a groan and rolls her eyes. Now she realizes that this guy has probably passed her in the hallway of Central HQ when she's gone to report to Nick Fury. Clint continues threatening the government agent with the same unassuming voice, as if he wasn't wearing only a towel around his waist; Natasha thinks about how to proceed. She shakes her head minutely when the stranger's eyes flick towards her. Her partner doesn't know about her occasional jobs for the US government and this certainly isn't the way to break the news.
“Hey, over here hotshot.” Clint chides, grasping the chin of the other man and tilting his head up. “Tell your agency we aren't interested in being lapdogs.” He pulls out the knife in the shoulder with a quick jerk, hand sliding up from the man's chin to muffle the scream. Natasha idly wonders if the agent will regain use of his hand when Clint removes the second blade but then dismisses the thought. It's not her concern.
“Huh, he passed out.” Clint says in a low tone. It's almost sulky and Natasha bites the inside of her cheek in an effort not to laugh. She takes the proffered knives, wiping the blood on the edge of the bathrobe she's wearing.
“Let's wrap up and go.” Natasha heads over to the room service cart in the corner - apparently Clint hadn't been lying - and grabs the skewers of fruit on their way out the door a half hour later, bags over their shoulders. She'll contact Fury later about the idiots he keeps under his thumb and his slipping hiring standards. It's not any way to woo a potential.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1201
Summary: Shower sex and secrets. ( this prompt at avengerkink)
The door to the shower isn't even all the way shut before he's stepping in. There's dual shower heads for this purpose, the hotel room luxurious because both can afford it, but he crowds her against the wall under hers anyway. Clint's large hands are gentle as they run over her shoulders, following the flow of water down her arms. She only sighs, a noise lost in the running water as he caresses.
They've survived another assignment from their joint employers that would have killed a lesser team. By all means, it probably should have injured them with more than superficial scratches at least but Natasha isn't one of the most feared freelance assassins without good cause. She smiles at the thought and the memory of bones snapping - it isn't a pretty look but Clint leans down to kiss her just the same. Natasha puts a hand on his arm and the other around his neck, drawing him closer to her.
It's the hint of a sound she can barely hear that makes her push the man back, breaking the kiss. Natasha's hand is reaching for the water controls to turn hers off as her other hand scrabbles uselessly to her thigh for a gun that isn't there. Her mind works speedily, judging the potential tools around her as Clint's hand captures her wrist.
“Room service,” he explains with a boyish grin. It makes the years disappear from his face and Natasha wishes she would see it more often. She glares up at him for the sake of it, raking her nails down his back in retaliation for not warning her. She hates any sort of secret and he knows it. Clint's grin only widens and she feels her lips quirk up in return.
“Only the best things in life,” the man murmurs, bending down to kiss her again. He tangles a hand in her hair, pulling Natasha's head back for a better angle. She kisses back hard, teeth nipping sharply at his bottom lip. Natasha can feel his hardness against her hip, the heated skin matching the throb that's growing between her legs. Clint draws back, tongue running over to soothe the sting and a smirk on his face.
Natasha nods once, because it is like that, for now. She tilts her head to leave a trail down his neck, teeth leaving imprints on his tanned skin. Clint hoists one leg up to his shoulder, hand wrapped around her shin as the water streams past them and she balances on the other leg. Natasha gasps low when he pushes into her with no warning, feeling the stretch and burn that quickly settles into familiarity.
Clint moves rapidly, building a rhythm and she wonders if the marksman has the same itch under his skin, the one that comes from success and the knowledge that you're the best. Natasha lets one of her hands play with the soft hair on the back of his neck, scratching at his scalp as he thrusts into her. The other slides between them, palm skating over hardened nipples and a flat stomach.
Natasha reaches down, rolling his balls in one hand. Clint's hips stutter and the hand on her leg grasps tighter. The woman grins victoriously up at him. Her head hits the tiled wall with the force of his next thrust as he switches to deeper, slower strokes that leave Natasha gasping. They orgasm at almost the same moment, heavy breathing and the sound of water running the only sounds for a long minute.
Natasha steps out of the shower stall on legs that only tremble slightly. She crosses over to the vanity right next to the door and it's when she's unwinding her hair from the towel that Natasha sees the man sitting silently in the armchair behind her.
“We have company!” she calls out loudly, fingers wrapping around the handle of a knife that's mixed in with her makeup brushes. The water shuts off as Natasha throws the projectile at the seated man dressed in a suit. She wonders why he didn't move first, seemingly mostly unprotected as they were in the shower - perhaps he likes to listen, and Natasha's lip curls. He cries out loudly when the blade buries itself in his left shoulder and then she's handing the other two knives to her partner, going for her gun. Natasha grins as she glances down to check that there is a bullet in the chamber, hearing the stranger scream again as the sound of impact reaches her ears.
She trains the gun on the man, noting the dagger in the palm of his hand pinning it to the arm of the chair as she advances slowly. She smirks at Clint's novel way to ensure the man wouldn't be reaching for a weapon.
“Who sent you?” Natasha questions. Her eyes narrow because he looks vaguely familiar but she can't remember where she would have seen this rather inconspicuous man. It
The man's answer is lost in his sobbing cries when Clint presses down on the knife and the assassin sighs loudly. “Amateurs.” He steps past her and started to pat down the man, pulling a business card from inside the suit jacket.
“Huh, this guy's from the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division.” Clint scoffs at the long-winded title, tucking the card back into the pocket. He bends down to stare the agent in the eyes, twirling the third knife in one hand. “That's a hell of a mouthful, don't you think?”
Natasha swallows a groan and rolls her eyes. Now she realizes that this guy has probably passed her in the hallway of Central HQ when she's gone to report to Nick Fury. Clint continues threatening the government agent with the same unassuming voice, as if he wasn't wearing only a towel around his waist; Natasha thinks about how to proceed. She shakes her head minutely when the stranger's eyes flick towards her. Her partner doesn't know about her occasional jobs for the US government and this certainly isn't the way to break the news.
“Hey, over here hotshot.” Clint chides, grasping the chin of the other man and tilting his head up. “Tell your agency we aren't interested in being lapdogs.” He pulls out the knife in the shoulder with a quick jerk, hand sliding up from the man's chin to muffle the scream. Natasha idly wonders if the agent will regain use of his hand when Clint removes the second blade but then dismisses the thought. It's not her concern.
“Huh, he passed out.” Clint says in a low tone. It's almost sulky and Natasha bites the inside of her cheek in an effort not to laugh. She takes the proffered knives, wiping the blood on the edge of the bathrobe she's wearing.
“Let's wrap up and go.” Natasha heads over to the room service cart in the corner - apparently Clint hadn't been lying - and grabs the skewers of fruit on their way out the door a half hour later, bags over their shoulders. She'll contact Fury later about the idiots he keeps under his thumb and his slipping hiring standards. It's not any way to woo a potential.