"Well, you would look ravishing in a white dress..."
Clint quickly ducked his head before Natasha could decide to cut it off. A wedding would go a little far in terms of a harmless cover, admittedly. Still the idea made him grin.
"Aye, Ma'am. Clothes on or off?", he shot back, swaying his hips tentatively on the way back to the house. Fortunately Natasha couldn't see his stupid giggle or the way, his cheeks flushed.
He thought to hear Angelina's warm deep voice somewhere down the street, so that issue would be solved soon. He could just hope, his housekeeper wouldn't tell any embarrassing stories... He had had one or the other night of excessive drinking back then, when he had come here for a few days, to relax from that mission he still couldn't quite remember. He was pretty sure he hadn't done anything too stupid, since he hadn't ended up in the hospital with too much Grappa grog in his blood but...
Warming their pasta carefully on low heat and getting the salad ready distracted him from these worries quickly. He had the radio on again - he was firmly convinced that food tasted so much better with a pinch of his favorite bands in it - and soon found himself singing along again. A local station this time, playing mostly classic rock, and that was just about perfect. Def Leppard and him just sang passionately to love and hate colliding when he thought to hear the door, but he didn't stop, neither preparing his dressing nor his soulful performance. Natasha could always throw a book at his head if it was too bad.
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Clint quickly ducked his head before Natasha could decide to cut it off. A wedding would go a little far in terms of a harmless cover, admittedly. Still the idea made him grin.
"Aye, Ma'am. Clothes on or off?", he shot back, swaying his hips tentatively on the way back to the house. Fortunately Natasha couldn't see his stupid giggle or the way, his cheeks flushed.
He thought to hear Angelina's warm deep voice somewhere down the street, so that issue would be solved soon. He could just hope, his housekeeper wouldn't tell any embarrassing stories... He had had one or the other night of excessive drinking back then, when he had come here for a few days, to relax from that mission he still couldn't quite remember. He was pretty sure he hadn't done anything too stupid, since he hadn't ended up in the hospital with too much Grappa grog in his blood but...
Warming their pasta carefully on low heat and getting the salad ready distracted him from these worries quickly. He had the radio on again - he was firmly convinced that food tasted so much better with a pinch of his favorite bands in it - and soon found himself singing along again. A local station this time, playing mostly classic rock, and that was just about perfect. Def Leppard and him just sang passionately to love and hate colliding when he thought to hear the door, but he didn't stop, neither preparing his dressing nor his soulful performance. Natasha could always throw a book at his head if it was too bad.