"Thank you."

Clint's eyes fluttered close and his body went a lot more pliant under Natasha's hands. They were both grown up people, master killers, for fuck's sake, they sure as hell didn't need the other's permission for their ways to handle their demons. But knowing that Natasha didn't judge him, wasn't disgusted by his weakness, made it so much easier to melt into her touch.

He felt a lot better already in fact (though he would agree to cook her a five course meal in an instant if she wanted to go over his back just one more time). When her hands were close enough, he lifted his head to kiss her fingers, one after the other, ignoring the faint layer of oil. His hand wandered from her thigh up to her back to caress her in soft circles. Better, definitely.

His right biceps would be pouting for another few days but he knew his body well enough to be sure, nothing had torn, and being able to move again just felt amazing. Slowly, piece by piece, he could feel balance slip back into his body and mind. By now he really enjoyed Natasha's warm, skilled hands treating him with the soft warm oil. He made a mental note to use it next time when he gave her a massage. When she was touching him too lightly or brushed over sensitive places, he shivered a little, another sign of his vitals coming back to life.

He still felt drained but that was probably more to not exactly having eaten much in the last few days. And his stomach was still on holidays, but a small bite for diner wouldn't hurt anyway.

But first he wanted to hold Natasha in his arms for a while. They had allowed themselves too little of that in the past days.

"Come here?", he whispered softly, raising his hand to her face, his thumb gently brushing her lower lip.