Natasha smiled as Clint threw himself down on the bed, wet towel and all, and yawned though he tried to hide it. Throwing her own towel into a nearby hamper, she let her hair down out of the messy bun she’d tied it up in before slipping between the sheets beside him.

“Younger men are overrated,” she said, rolling to her side to face him and tucking one hand under her pillow. She tried to keep her face neutral but there was a spark of amusement in her eyes. “More often than not they have stamina, but are completely lacking in technique.”

In all honesty she rarely even thought about the age difference between her and Clint unless he brought it up. Age was just a number, but Clint was Clint no matter what, and he never seemed to have any trouble keeping up with her, whether in the field or the bedroom.