Natasha chuckled, the sound reverberating low and deep in the walls of the tub. An easy smile settling on her lips she relaxed back against him again. He had promised to behave so it was only fair she did the same. Returning her hand to his leg to trace lazy circles on his skin again, she turned her head slightly to the side as his lips travelled over her shoulder but otherwise she remained relatively still, letting him continue the task he seemed to determined to complete.
“Mm, so I’ve heard,” she replied, resisting the urge to show him just how hot she could be. Instead she did as he silently instructed, bending her knees and drawing them up to her chest so he could reach her legs better. Jumping and letting out something akin to a short squeak when he tickled her knee, she threw him what was supposed to be a warning glare, but she couldn’t even fake one properly when she felt this good, this... happy. “Watch it.” It was a secret only Clint knew; who else would believe that the Black Widow actually had a spot or two where she was ticklish?
She was just settling back against him again when he had to say those words, and although she tried not to let it a small amount of tension returned to her body. Perfect, that was what so many thought. They saw her face, her body, her beauty; they heard her sultry whispers, her lies, and they saw perfection. Perfect, it was what she was trained to be, perfect until she drove a syringe into their necks or put a bullet in their brains. Even after that she was still perfect to those who trained her, perfectly efficient, perfectly deadly, and perfectly devoid of emotions. That was how they had trained her to be, but they didn’t know that she had never truly been perfect.
Clint knew her crimes, her past, her ghosts. He knew all he had read about her, as well as all the things she had admitted over the years. He knew the blood on her hands, the shadow on her soul. He knew that she was a perfect shell around a complete mess of scars and crimes and nightmares. Her perfection was a lie. A perfect lie.
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Date: 2013-09-07 11:17 pm (UTC)From:“Mm, so I’ve heard,” she replied, resisting the urge to show him just how hot she could be. Instead she did as he silently instructed, bending her knees and drawing them up to her chest so he could reach her legs better. Jumping and letting out something akin to a short squeak when he tickled her knee, she threw him what was supposed to be a warning glare, but she couldn’t even fake one properly when she felt this good, this... happy. “Watch it.” It was a secret only Clint knew; who else would believe that the Black Widow actually had a spot or two where she was ticklish?
She was just settling back against him again when he had to say those words, and although she tried not to let it a small amount of tension returned to her body. Perfect, that was what so many thought. They saw her face, her body, her beauty; they heard her sultry whispers, her lies, and they saw perfection. Perfect, it was what she was trained to be, perfect until she drove a syringe into their necks or put a bullet in their brains. Even after that she was still perfect to those who trained her, perfectly efficient, perfectly deadly, and perfectly devoid of emotions. That was how they had trained her to be, but they didn’t know that she had never truly been perfect.
Clint knew her crimes, her past, her ghosts. He knew all he had read about her, as well as all the things she had admitted over the years. He knew the blood on her hands, the shadow on her soul. He knew that she was a perfect shell around a complete mess of scars and crimes and nightmares. Her perfection was a lie. A perfect lie.
“You always did have terrible taste.”