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Natasha was 19 years old the first time she tried to seduce Clint. The face that had been all coy smiles and batting eyelashes went as cold as a Russian winter in a flash, and he found himself backed against a wall with a blade dangerously close to his jugular. He still wasn’t quite sure how she had kept it concealed under that impossibly tight skirt she was wearing. Given her rap sheet, he should have expected her to turn on a dime, but she was so much deadlier in person.
She wouldn’t go without a fight and left him with a broken nose before he got her pinned beneath his weight. There was something in that near feral gaze that gave him pause, something human and vulnerable that belied her deadly exterior. Perhaps it was something he recognized in himself. He too had been made into something else and more than once - a frightened child of an abusive, alcoholic father, exhibitionist carnie kid-turned-thief, and finally, highly trained government agent. There was a glimmer of something … familiar. What he had offered to that shred of humanity was exactly what had been offered to him - a second chance.
“What’s in it for me?” she asked, considering his words.
“Your life.”
Natasha raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow in amusement. “I think you mean yours.”
Clint only smirked and helped her up off the ground.
* * *
The deprogramming process had been a long, rough undertaking. What Clint had seen of it from behind a two-way mirror had unsettled him. He still sometimes heard the echoes of her screams at the hands of those S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in his nightmares. They flushed out what the Red Room had drilled into her and left her a raw, trembling thing forced to clawed out a new path for herself and create a mind of her own.
Natasha had sent him to the infirmary more than once during the subsequent combat training. Though they had undone her programming, the physical enhancements were permanent and were seen as an advantage to the agency. She moved with all the grace and ease of a dancer as she tossed him around the training room like a ragdoll. Though she was petite, her muscles were rock hard and her speed was hard to match. She took down every agent that Fury and Coulson could find. Clint would do his best to hide the smile when he saw the bruised ego on the faces of the cocky male agents as they limped off to the infirmary.
The safehouse in Siberia had no heat, paper-thin walls, and electricity that ran on a generator that looked like it pre-dated the Revolution. Howling winds moaned through the eaves of the house and sent the wooden beams creaking above their heads. Their pitiful fire did little to keep them warm that night, and Clint could hear Natasha’s teeth chattering above his own.
“C’mere,” he said to her, holding open his sleeping bag.
Natasha studied him before she made the move into his bag and huddled against his body. It shouldn’t have surprised him that the infamous Black Widow would be trembling in his arms, but it did. She was nothing if not resilient, coming out of situations that had even made Clint unsteady, and yet, he saw more of her humanity than ever before in this moment. She was susceptible to the elements just like everyone else; she could be weak. The combined body heat improved conditions immensely and soon, they were both comfortable despite the close quarters. They situated themselves into a tangle of limbs that would allow for sleep and Clint closed his eyes, grateful to be able to get some rest.
That was when he felt Natasha’s hands creeping up his back and her warm breath against his throat. He brushed it off at first - where else would her hands go? There wasn’t much room for them to sprawl out in the cramped sleeping bag. Her touch grew insistent against his skin and sought out more intimate places on his body. Clint felt an icy jolt of panic tear through him. She tilted her head up, her soft lips brushing against his own and he snatched her hands away.
“What are you doing?” he panted, heart pounding in his chest.
Natasha stared at him. “Isn’t this why you asked me to get in here with you?” she asked plainly.
“God, no. I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t freeze to death,” he explained and tentatively took her face between his hands. “Not every person wants something from you, Natasha.”
Though her reaction was subdued, Clint could see her slow realization at his words. Perhaps not every aspect of her training had been cleared out of her when she joined S.H.I.E.L.D.. Natasha exhaled, a quiet sound of relief, and tucked her head beneath his chin. She seemed so small then and Clint gave into the urge to envelope her in his arms, keeping her past away at least for one night. They slept peacefully as the Siberian gales cried outside of the window and through the cracks of the house.
For two people who preferred working alone, they took to each other quickly after that trust had been established. They read each other’s cues and used it to complete their missions with precision and efficiency. Of course, there were bad turns out in the field, that was inevitable in this line of work, but having someone to fall back on in the dead of night made it a little easier to handle. Clint found himself missing her at his side when they were on solo missions or partnered with other agents.
* * *
“Happy birthday, Tasha.”
They chewed away quietly on the room temperature, slightly mushy dessert and listened to the puttering of the motor. Birthdays were something of a novelty to Natasha. The Red Room hadn’t been the cake, ice cream, and presents type of facility. She talked of her distant memories of her childhood - a plump, smiling woman she remembered as her mother making pie and sharing it between the family members. Clint had tried to forget most of his birthdays with his family (if they could have been called that). The ones in the orphanage were laughable at best, only receiving a new set of clothing that had been passed down from other children and poorly patched up. Some of the circus members had given him small trinkets or tried to get him to drink or smoke with them.
“We’re quite a pair,” Natasha laughed, toying with the skewer.
He joined her with his own quiet chuckle. “You can say that again.”
Natasha leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss against his stubbled cheek. He looked at her, a little startled by the intimate gesture. There was nothing but sincere gratitude written across her face. She had changed so much in the past few years, it was like he was staring at a different person.
“Thank you for the birthday present.”
* * *
In order to infiltrate a private Russian corporation’s D.C. headquarters and root out who was selling nuclear weapons to the highest bidder, they had posed as unassuming workers in the building. Natasha took the role of the new secretary to Mikhail Bagrov, one of the bigwigs in the company, while Clint filled in for a mysteriously absent security guard. Although it wasn’t too hard for Clint to act like Natasha was attractive, they played up a flirtation whenever they passed each other and took their lunches together. By the end of the second work week, Natasha had discovered a window in which the office would be empty while Bagrov was away on business.
The building was empty save for security and one or two people on the third floor who wouldn’t be any trouble. Natasha used her copy of Bagrov’s keys to enter the office and immediately set to work hacking into his private server. Clint checked around for any physical evidence but only found very dry, very on the level paperwork and reports filed away. His eyes drifted over to Natasha who was lit by the small desk lamp and computer screen. Her black skirt had hitched up, exposing a generous amount of thigh and Clint had to start repeating World Series scores in his head to ignore his reaction to the sight.
Natasha’s furious typing stopped and she went still, staring at the door to the office. Flicking off the monitor, she dragged Clint over to her and demanded he undress as she hastily removed everything but her lacy black bra and red-bottomed leather heels. Before he could open his mouth to ask what the hell had gotten into her, she kissed him roughly and pushed him down onto the leather chair. His heart pounded against his ribcage so hard he thought it would break through. God, she felt amazing and tasted even better than he could have imagined. Her hands moved his into place over the curve of her ass and higher up her back, between her shoulder blades.
Not a moment later, another security guard who Clint knew as Mike entered the room and gave a surprised “oh!” at discovering what looked like Bagrov’s new secretary with his co-worker. Natasha’s performance was flawless, blushing and playing up the shy girl persona she had affected for the part. Mike apologized and told gave them the name of a no-tell motel just down the street before returning to his patrol.
Getting his upstairs brain back into the game was a little trickier than Clint had expected. On top of having to switch from anticipating a fight with Mike (and he really was a nice guy; Clint probably would have just knocked him out), he had to deal with a very naked Natasha still perched on his lap. Heated silk, that’s what her skin felt like against his own and his hands itched to explore more of that softness. Sweat sprang up at his hairline and he knew that things were about to get very embarrassing very quickly if she didn’t move.
“Barton, get a move on,” she barked, snapping her fingers in his face. “I’m not pretending to fuck you all night so we can fool the next guard.”
Natasha stood and Clint tried to look away before he saw too much, busying himself with dressing himself again while she finished her work at the computer. He moved out of her way and refused to look at her until she was ready to go. It was half out of respect for her and half not wanting to attempt to hide a boner as they made their escape. Glancing over his shoulder to see if she had finished yet, Clint caught an eyeful of her shapely backside and forced back a groan. Not like her suit left much to the imagination, but she was just so … naked.
“Got the files, let’s go,” Natasha announced.
“Are you going to put some clothes on?”
Clint could hear the smirk in her voice. “Are you sure you want me to, Barton?”
Groaning inwardly, Clint stepped outside of the office and waited for her to come out. Thankfully, she was dressed, artfully disheveled to maintain the look of someone who had just fucked a guy in her boss’ office. He followed behind her and did his best to keep her eyes off of her ass in that tight black skirt. They parted at the stairs, using their pre-planned escape routes and left a group of late night security guards with a hilarious story to tell with the morning crew. Clint met her around the corner after dumping his guard uniform behind a Chinese restaurant and sped off into the night toward New York.
“That lipstick color looks good on you, Barton,” she said, glancing out of the corner of her eye at him.
“I think you just came up with that plan to make out with me,” he quipped. “You could have just asked, Tasha.”
Natasha just grinned and turned onto the MD-295 headed north.
After that mission, Clint started spending more time in the gym and at the archery range to take out the frustration of being impossibly attracted to his partner. Natasha suspected that something was up with him and confronted him about it after a solid week of him keeping his distance. Pulling her long red curls back into a ponytail, she stepped between him and the target he was lining up with the head of his arrow.
“Christ, Tasha,” he exclaimed, dropping his bow to his side.
“Quit avoiding me, Barton.”
“I’m not-”
“And don’t give excuses, you’re a terrible liar.”
Clint sighed. “Fine, then I don’t want to talk about it.”
Not appearing to accept this answer, Natasha dragged him over to the mats and moved into a fighting stance. Clint shook his head and tried to walk away, but she was too fast for him and slammed him back down against the mat. Her knees kept his arms pinned to the floor as she stared down at him.
“Get off, I want to go shower,” he said, struggling beneath her. “I’ve got paperwork to catch up on.”
“Try again. You never do your paperwork.”
Using his legs, Clint bucked Natasha off of him and sent her with a heavy thud onto the mat beside him. He pulled himself upright, making yet another start toward the showers and she swung her leg to knock him back onto the ground. She secured her leg in a vice tight grip around his knees that kept him hobbled.
“Why do you care anyway? Drop it.” he snapped.
Though the hard look on her face remained, something flickered in her gaze. Her legs loosened around his, allowing him to stand. She pushed herself off the mat as she stared down at him, hands planted firmly on her hips.
“Fuck you, Barton,” she spat.
That thing that Clint saw behind her eyes, he realized, was hurt. Natasha collected herself and breezed past a group of new recruits on their way into the gym. Feeling like the biggest jerk in existence, Clint hit the showers and dragged his sorry ass home.
What he hadn’t expected to find in his Bed-Stuy apartment was Natasha, still clad in her workout gear, staring right at him. Clint nearly jumped out of his skin when he hit the lights and saw her waiting there on the couch. He gave serious thought to turning around and hitting the stairs, but she would only just catch him by taking the fire escape.
“I thought you were mad at me,” he said, still trying to recover. He tossed his keys on the coffee table.
“I am, but I want to know why you’ve been avoiding me,” Natasha told him in a careful, measured tone. He could hear the anger beneath those deliberately chosen words. “Not wise to raise the suspicions of a former Soviet spy, Barton.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Then why did you get so defensive over nothing?”
Clint rubbed at the back of his neck as he debated whether or not to tell the truth or just a version of it. Natasha folded her arms over her chest, waiting on his answer. He had about half a second to start talking or she would go into full interrogation mode.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind... I just need to get it sorted out.”
Natasha seemed to consider this. “You could have told me instead of acting all weird around me and leaving the room when I walk in,” she said. “If you want to work with someone else for a while, I’ll put in for temporary reassignment.”
“No!” he exclaimed, not expecting it to come out as loud as it had.
“Then what do you want me to do?” she interjected, a look of exasperation on her face. “Tell me what’s--”
“Goddammit, Tasha, I’m in love with you!” Clint blurted out.
The words made Natasha’s eyes go wide. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room, a deafening silence filling the space between them. Clint tried to will his admission back into his mouth, but the words were stuck in the air and refused to budge. He brushed past her, seeking out the safety of the fire escape. His fingers gripped the weathered metal, grounding him and he could breathe again.
“Clint?” she said softly behind him.
His heart gave a little jump at the sound of his name coming out of her mouth. It was always “Barton” - this was the first time he was ever “Clint” to her. Though he didn’t turn, Clint could feel her hand warm against his shoulder, soaking in through the material of his t-shirt, and he exhaled a shaky breath. Unlike the silence that had fallen after his admission, the quiet was comfortable now. Down on the street, a patrol car sprang to life and sped off around the corner. He listened to her steady breathing as she stood behind him, hand remained firm on his shoulder.
Clint reached up to take her hand, bringing it around his waist and placing it between both of his hands. Somehow he had never realized just how small her hands were until now. They were so powerful and he had seen first hand what they were capable of. Like this? They were so different, almost fragile looking with her porcelain skin.
Natasha edged her way closer until she crowded up behind him, pressing her body against his own. Neither of them moved, simply enjoying the newfound stillness. The knot that had been building in his stomach finally unraveled. There had been so many ways this could have gone and not one of them ever turned out like this in his imagination. Better than he expected, to say the least.
For the first time in a very long time, Clint Barton went to sleep that night with a smile on his face.
A small takeaway cup of coffee was sitting on Clint’s desk when he came back to work the following Monday. Beneath it was a note in Natasha’s neat script:
“Here’s that Cuban rocket fuel that you love so much. - N”
Clint grinned and swallowed down the strong, sugary drink, tossing the empty paper cup in the trash without even looking. He found Natasha as she was leaving Fury’s office. They fell into step, talking about her new assignment.
“Who’s going to bring me the coffee I like while you’re gone?”
“I’m not your coffee runner, Clint,” she replied, bumping him with her elbow.
“But you know where to find it!” he said.
She rolled her eyes and continued down the hallway with him.
* * *
“I resent that most of the bad guys in these movies are Russian,” Natasha announced during the third installment.
“We did kinda hate you and your pinko commie ways.”
Natasha flicked a bean sprout at him in retaliation.
“Communist attack! I knew it was coming!” he shrieked.
“I am defending the honor of Mother Russia, capitalist scum,” she said in her best worst Soviet villain accent, and tossed a shrimp at his head which Clint caught in his mouth.
“Once again, America defeats Russia,” he smirked around the mouth full of seafood.
Natasha swiped his sticky rice and custard dessert from the bag and popped the whole thing into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out, making her look like a chipmunk as she tried to chew down the dessert into smaller bites. Clint gaped at her in horror - he had been looking forward to that.
“You are dead to me, Romanoff.”
“Victory!” she cried around the half-eaten dessert.
At some point following the food fight, Natasha had gone quiet beside him. Clint glanced over and saw that she was fast asleep with her arm curled under her head. Being as quiet as he could, Clint cleaned up the mess of take out boxes that littered the table and switched off the TV. He found an extra blanket in his hall closet and took the extra pillow from his own bed into the living room. She stirred as he carefully tucked the pillow beneath her head, but didn’t wake.
“Night, Tasha,” he whispered and turned the lights off, padding back to his own bed.
* * *
Tonight was the last straw. Natasha strolled out of the bathroom in a curve-hugging red dress that showed off her ample cleavage. The makeup she had chosen made her features even more beautiful with an artful cascade of curls pinned just so to drape over one shoulder and frame her face. Just looking at her made him ache; she was absolutely stunning and he couldn’t have her.
Ever since his admission, they had been carrying on like normal, though he had noticed that she touched him more and spent extra time outside of work with him. Clint figured that she was just trying to make sure he was okay, to make sure he wouldn’t go all silent on her again. It couldn’t be what he secretly hoped. What would she want with a guy almost ten years older than her, anyway? Not as if their jobs afforded them the luxury of a personal life, let alone a normal love life.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had taken care of their invitations to the gala being held in the hotel’s opulent ballroom. Their target was a human trafficker who sold to wealthy Europeans and Americans. Not a single one of the guests noticed the young couple who had secreted him off through a service hallway. Clint looked the other way while Natasha roughed up the guy’s face before they let the other agents take him into custody.
The scuffle had torn the split in Natasha’s dress all the way up to her hip, exposing the black lace that was concealed beneath her gown as well as her strong, shapely leg. Clint forced his eyes on the digital display inside the elevator that counted their ascent floor by floor. Each number crawled past at a snail’s pace, making Clint a little cagey. Natasha was quiet and still at his side.
They went into clean-up mode as soon as they returned to the suite. Clint set about putting away the gear while Natasha tended to the cut on her lip from the fight. It gave him an opportunity to keep his thoughts away from her and her curves, but the relief was short-lived. Natasha strolled out of the bathroom in her strapless black bra and panties, stuffing the dress into a plastic bag and grumbling that she had liked it. She sat on the side of the bed closest to him, sorting through her bag for a change of clothes. Clint must have made a noise, because her eyes darted to his face a second later, watching him closely.
“C’mere,” she said quietly, drawing him in with her hand on the side of his face.
Heart pounding against his ribcage, Clint shifted closer to her until he was kneeling between her legs. He couldn’t look away from her this time, couldn’t distract his thoughts or try to chase away what he was feeling about her. Every nerve in his body felt charged, an electric current running between their bodies connected where her hand touched his cheek. Natasha’s lips were parted, her chest rising and falling with each breath, and she leaned down to close the distance between their mouths.
What started as a chaste kiss quickly evolved into a fight to get as close as possible to each other. The angle made it hard for them to press against each other and Natasha grunted in frustration. She slid off of the bed and into Clint’s lap without breaking the kiss. He groaned into her mouth when he felt the warmth between her legs against his half-hard cock. Even through layers of material he could feel her and knowing that he may have played a part in doing that to her caused his thoughts to blur even more. Her tongue slipped past his lips, soft like wet velvet against his own.
Natasha threw her whole body into the kiss, making it feel as though she were trying to consume him. He stroked the soft skin of her back, clinging to her and letting her take control. She whimpered against his mouth as she continued rocking against him. He felt her hands as they crept up beneath his jacket and worked the buttons loose on his dress shirt. Worry broke through the lust-induced haze and Clint snatched her wrists away, leaving her searching his face with a frustrated look.
“Tasha, wait,” he panted. “Are you sure?”
She let out an exasperated sound and brought both hands up to cradle his face. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m doing this because I want you, Clint,” she said plainly.
“But what about wor-”
Natasha silenced him with her impossibly soft lips. “Shut up, Clint,” she breathed against his mouth.
Relief flooded through Clint and he leaned back into the kiss. Their touches grew impatient again until Natasha was practically tearing the clothing off of his body. Clint drew her close once she had stripped him to the waist and placed her back onto the bed while he stood and removed the rest. Sitting up on her elbows, Natasha watched him with an interested grin. Her eyes raked over his newly revealed skin and he had to force the urge to squirm. He had no idea how she still had that effect on him.
Hooking his hands under the bend of her knees, Clint pulled Natasha closer to the edge of the bed and knelt between her parted thighs once more. Natasha sat upright fully and brought his hand to the clasp between her breasts, giving him a soft, trusting smile. Clint flicked it open easily enough and let the lacy material fall away from her body. Of course Natasha was naturally voluptuous, but even seeing her in her skin tight suit was nothing in comparison to seeing her like this. He looked up at her one final time, silently asking permission and the smile widened.
God, her skin was so smooth against his calloused hands. Natasha sighed and leaned into his touch, all but filling his palms with her ample breasts. Being a quick learner, Clint gauged her reactions until he knew exactly how she wanted him to caress her. He brought his mouth up and sucked one nipple between his lips, wringing another gasp from her mouth. Eager to keep that sound coming, Clint continued his ministrations on the other side until she was panting above him. Clutching a handful of his short hair, Natasha pulled him into another kiss and wrapped her legs around him.
Invited by the heady scent of her arousal, Clint moved down her body and pressed a kiss to her lace-clad mound. Natasha groaned as he lapped at her clit, tasting her through the flimsy material. Soon enough, the lace was discarded though Clint’s mouth remained between her thighs. Once again, his late night imaginings hadn’t come close to the real thing. She tasted like fire with something slightly sweet softening the edges, and so wet that her slick dripped out of her and down his chin.
Natasha’s groans grew increasingly louder with every pass of his tongue and fingers. She flattened herself against the bed, one hand gripping his hair, holding him against her as she rode his mouth. Clint was content spending the entire night drinking in her sweetness, but his cock ached for attention. Ignoring the constant throbbing between his legs, he buried himself in her pussy until she came with a throaty cry. Her inner walls fluttered around his fingers, drawing him into her heat and making him never want to leave.
After a short rest, Natasha moved off of the bed and back into Clint’s lap on the floor. She sucked the taste of herself from his tongue and pressed against his cock, spreading her slick all over him. Clint could barely contain himself, forcing his thoughts to mundane topics to keep from embarrassing himself. Natasha slid down onto his cock in one hot glide and he thought he was going to lose his mind.
A choked, desperate sound escaped Natasha and she brought her hands up to steady herself on his shoulders. He forced his eyes open, taking in the way her jaw had gone slack and her eyes were wild as she looked at him. She looked just like he felt, completely unraveled and in awe of the way they fit so perfectly together. They rocked together slowly at first, Clint revelling in the tight heat enveloping his cock and the quiet whimpers and moans that filled his ears.
“Thought about this for so long,” she purred, rolling her hips.
Her words all but undid him. Knowing that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her wiped the last coherent thought from his brain. She tilted his face up towards hers again in order to get at his mouth. Clint wasn’t sure how he had managed to go this long without knowing how soft her lips were or the addictive sweetness that lay behind them. He swallowed each little desperate sound with his own deeper groans. God, she was so fucking beautiful like this. Clint wanted to drown in her.
Wrapping his arms around her, Clint angled Natasha’s body against the bed. His hands moved to grip the mattress behind her, creating something that she could lean back against. She brought her legs up to encircle his hips and drew him even closer with a heated look. Natasha laid claim to his mouth, biting at his bottom lip until he groaned and then drew her velvet tongue across it.
“Better not be done, Barton,” she said with a wicked little grin. “Gonna have to take care of this myself if you are.”
“As much as I’d like to see that,” he replied, capturing her mouth once more, “I’m not done with you yet.”
This time Clint took her roughly, wringing a ragged gasp from Natasha that begged him for more. He was all too happy to indulge her and thrust up into that inviting heat again and again. Natasha’s hands grasped at his sweat-slick skin, fingers digging into the muscles. Her neatly manicured nails threatened to draw blood from his flesh, but Clint was too far gone to care. The strongly muscled legs that were wound around his body tightened their hold on him. A thousand filthy things followed each gasp that poured from her lips, drawing him closer to the edge.
“There.... there, oh fuck, that’s it,” she cried out, dropping her head back against the bed and arching into his body.
A bead of sweat traced a line down the glistening curve of her neck and Clint chased it with his tongue. He could feel the tightness around his dick grow even more vice-like as he thrust inside of her body. For the second time, Natasha came apart around him. That same fluttering sensation that he had felt around his fingers before felt even more intense around the sensitive skin of his cock.
“Oh god, baby,” he panted, bringing his forehead to rest against her shoulder.
Natasha’s hands stroked and petted at his skin. Her lips brushed against the shell of his ear as she said in a husky voice, “Want you to come inside me.”
He looked up at her. “What about-”
“Don’t worry about it,” she stopped him, holding his face between both hands and giving him a trusting smile.
As though her words weren’t enough, the look on her face shattered his resolve completely and Clint groaned, losing himself in the feel of Natasha’s body. He could barely hear her plaintive little moans as he gave those last few thrusts and buried his cock inside of her. Natasha wrapped her arms around him, enveloping Clint as they trembled weakly against each other.
After what felt like hours, they moved back up to the bed and tangled themselves up once more beneath the cool sheets. Much to Clint’s surprise, Natasha was a cuddler and tucked her head beneath his chin and pressing as much of her warm, smooth skin against his body. A few errant strands of hair matted against her forehead and he carefully smoothed them back, replacing them with a small kiss.
Something had fundamentally shifted between them, but it wasn’t quite as terrifying as Clint had imagined it would be. It felt like this is where they were meant to end up - the natural progression of their relationship. Of course, fraternizing was strictly against S.H.I.E.L.D. policy, but so was disobeying a direct order and that hadn’t stopped Clint from changing his mind about Natasha all those years ago. He would worry about Fury and Human Resources in the morning, he thought as he inhaled the clean scent of Natasha’s hair and closed his eyes.