Clint caught the cracker between his lips with ease and peered at Natasha from the corner of his eyes, enjoying every single second of her laugh. It had been long since he had heard that sound so often on one weekend.
"I have full trust in your skills", he answered, grinning, before he went back to his job at hand, with pleasure.
He knew Natasha's body pretty well, of course, but they had never taken much time for tenderness, for slow, thorough touching and exploring, and he quickly found himself addicted to it. That he couldn't quite see what he was doing with the blanket covering them just helped it. He was feeling every inch of her soft skin under his hands, every ripple of strong muscles against the shifting pressure of his thumbs and and palms, the delicately defined outline of her bones. Right there, that was that little uneven spot he knew, where she had had her metatarsal bone crushed once. The sound of the bones of the guy who had been responsible, breaking under Clint's fist, still was a very pleasuring memory. Around this area, Natasha's muscles felt especially tense from too much constant adjustment. He worked them gently, with just his fingertips, his eyes half closed to feel every twitch, hear every of her breath, to make sure he wasn't hurting her.
Soon he actually found himself relaxing from their adventure and the heavy talk afterwards, melting back against the back rest with his head leaned back and a quiet toneless hum on his lips.
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"I have full trust in your skills", he answered, grinning, before he went back to his job at hand, with pleasure.
He knew Natasha's body pretty well, of course, but they had never taken much time for tenderness, for slow, thorough touching and exploring, and he quickly found himself addicted to it. That he couldn't quite see what he was doing with the blanket covering them just helped it.
He was feeling every inch of her soft skin under his hands, every ripple of strong muscles against the shifting pressure of his thumbs and and palms, the delicately defined outline of her bones.
Right there, that was that little uneven spot he knew, where she had had her metatarsal bone crushed once. The sound of the bones of the guy who had been responsible, breaking under Clint's fist, still was a very pleasuring memory. Around this area, Natasha's muscles felt especially tense from too much constant adjustment.
He worked them gently, with just his fingertips, his eyes half closed to feel every twitch, hear every of her breath, to make sure he wasn't hurting her.
Soon he actually found himself relaxing from their adventure and the heavy talk afterwards, melting back against the back rest with his head leaned back and a quiet toneless hum on his lips.