study_in_scarlet | Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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.

“Mm, speaking of skills...” she purred playfully in reply. She unconsciously flinched when he touched that old injury but soon relaxed again at his gentle caresses, letting out a slow breath.

Tossing Clint another cracker, Natasha set the plate aside and laid back again across the sofa, a content sigh escaping her lips. This whole day had been filled with so many different types of intimacies, so many of them simple to most people but new to Natasha, and at the moment she was having a hard time recalling she had avoided them for so long.

She was happy. Completely content and unquestionably happy, and she owed so much of it to Clint. Propping her head up on the arm of the sofa, she watched him through half lidded eyes, the faintest, softest smile on her lips.

"Well, you still don't know half the things I can do with my hands."
Clint raised his chin a little with feigned pride but couldn't keep a straight face for long. He rather busied himself with pulling Natasha's other leg onto his lap too, so she could comfortably stretch out.

And there it was again, that smile he wanted to drown in. In a way it was even more beautiful than just joking around and making her laugh, and so much more honest and intimate than the polite expression she had in store for strangers.

He watched her closely from the corner of his eyes while he caressed and massaged her, with the same care on every movement he needed when handling a charge or a filigree weapon. And if maybe one of his hands softly caressed her shin from time to time or flickered over her knee, it was just to add to her relaxation.

“Is that so?” Natasha replied, chuckling at his antics. “Well then I very much look forward to finding out.”

They would have plenty of opportunity to explore this, explore everything, when they were away on vacation, just the two of them. It would be a revelation, she could already tell, and the thought was both exciting and a bit frightening. They both had secrets, both had things they had difficulty talking about and sharing with other people, but maybe it was time to let some of those go. Natasha wasn’t sure she could ever be truly honest about everything in her past; some of it she didn’t want to think about let alone discuss, and there were other things even she wasn’t sure she remembered correctly. There were transgressions in her past that even she wasn’t aware of, but of those she knew she could at least try to be honest; she couldn’t expect Clint to be the only one to open up.

There were so many intimacies they could explore if they only had the time to do so.

For a long while they were silent, and while Natasha could feel Clint watching her she let her own eyes drift closed though that soft smile remained. She didn’t sleep, but she was somewhere damn close to it, her entire body relaxed and even her mind mostly at ease. She tried not to think of anything, to just focus on his touch. It turned out to be a rather easy task.

Though Clint still wasn't in a mood to get up, get out from this most comfortable, private situation... When Natasha seemed to drift into a light kind of sleep after all, he decided to make use of the few minutes for necessary duties.

Very carefully, to not disturb her, he squirmed out from under her and pulled the blanket all over her body. He leaned down for a soft kiss on her forehead to let her know he wasn't going anywhere far and quickly scurried over to the door and downstairs.

The air in the stairway was uncomfortably chilly and he cursed himself for not having brought a jacket, but at least the generator in the cellar had mercy with him. It came back to life after two newly adjusted screws and a hard hit on the roof. It wouldn't last forever but it would do for a while.

When he went back upstairs, he was trembling and was quick to close the door behind him, hoping the radiators would soon come back to life.

He didn't want to go back to touching Natasha with cold hands and stayed at the window for a few long moments, lights still out because that candle thing was actually kind of comforting. He counted the number of other lights the storm had taken out in the neighborhood.

A few fires were burning in the distance, and the sensitive sensors of his hearing aids caught horns on the street. Good thing it was still raining.

He hadn't realized how tired he had really grown of this look outside, into the crazy killing mess his hometown had become, until he heard himself sigh, felt his hands resting heavily on the window sill. It would have been easy thinking these were just fire service horns down there. Scum always came out at night, especially when the lights were out.
And many people were much more afraid, especially afraid to ask for help from the authorities, since the battle of New York.

Nearly a year, and really nothing had gotten much better.

Natasha felt him move, and while it was tempting to pin him down and prevent him from getting up, she figured he would only move if necessary and feigned sleep instead. The corners of her lips curled up a little more at the kiss and she curled up on her side, snuggling into the blanket to await his return. She was surprised when it wasn’t the bathroom door she heard but the front door. Rolling over to look at it with a furrowed brow, after a moment she settled back down to wait.

Minutes passed, but it wasn’t long before she heard the door open again and the soft click of the latch when Clint closed it behind him as quietly as possible. Closing her eyes again, she waited to feel the sofa move when he reclaimed his seat but she heard him move across the room instead and cracked her lids open just enough to see him. When she saw his back was to her, his form silhouetted in the window, she opened her eyes fully to study him. He was clearly cold, that much was obvious, but it was the heavy set of his shoulders and the soft sigh that hit her right in the heart. As much as they tried to keep everything fun and light it was clear he was carrying around a lot of darkness in his soul, and he needed more than just distractions and cheeriness.

Getting silently to her feet, Natasha draped the blanket around her shoulders and quietly approached Clint, not stopping until she could wrap her arms around him from behind, blanket and all. She didn’t say anything, not wanting to either brush off what he might be feeling nor push him if he wasn’t ready, instead just pressing her face against his back, placing a kiss there even through the thick sweater, and holding him tightly.

He saw her get up in the reflection and tried to show her a smile, show her it was okay. And it was, sort of. He had been worse, right... after. But things weren't still fully alright and not letting her know that would be simply unfair. For her, he didn't need to make a happy face all the time.

He pulled the sleeves over his sweater over his hands to not shock freeze her before he placed them on her arms, gently, thankfully caressing over them and leaning into her touch.
"I used to like it here", he sighed, feeling he owned her an explanation, even if it was just melancholy coming up at the worst point of time. "It's high and far from the fancy places. Calm. Now it seems, no fucking roof in this hole city can be high enough to escape all this bullshit. It's everywhere I turn."

She knew how much he had once loves this place, how he had been almost proud to call it his, this little piece of the city where he was just Clint, where he could take people in and help them out. It hurt to hear him sounding so disillusioned about it now, about everything.

“After everything we saw and everything we went through, it’s hard to just go back to normal,” she said, turning her head to the side so her cheek lay against his back and she could hold him even closer. They had fought aliens, Clint had been brainwashed by a god, and now they were just supposed to live their lives like before? It was hard enough to see the beauty in the world when they only had the one to worry about, but now that there were multiple worlds...

“It’s not everywhere...” she said softly.

"Good thing, we don't do too normal anyway, huh?"

With a deep sigh, Clint turned away from the window to lock out these useless heavy thoughts and put his arms around Natasha instead which evidently helped much better. She was warm and life against this freezing body, touching him like a good part of all that destruction out there wouldn't be his fault, and he knew, without her by his side, he wouldn't be standing here now. She had become his anchor in a time when even standing up in the morning had felt like a unbearable burden. If he'd already loved her before, the last year had only steeled this deep emotional foundation.

He shouldn't be thanking her in letting himself drown in useless melancholy, the moment she wasn't looking.

"Didn't want to wake you", he murmured into her hair, fingertips gently caressing up and down her back. "Wanna get some rest?"

When Clint turned to face her Natasha kept her arms around him, the blanket surrounding them both. Even through her sweater she could feel how cold his hands were and made sure to shift the blanket up further around him.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t really asleep,” she replied. She wanted him to know he could talk to her, that he had every right to these moods and that he didn’t have to deal with them alone, but she couldn’t quite find the words to say that. She was used to manipulating people for information, or interrogating. To simply offer an ear should he need it sounded simple but it was harder than either of these other methods.

“Mm, we probably should. You wore me out,” she said with a smile in her voice. “And you need some warming up.”

"Hm-hm. Don't wait for an apology for that."
He grinned, but he made sure to lean down for a quick kiss, showing her how thankful he was to have her around especially in such moments of weakness, to ground him, tear his mind away from the dark places.

"Just need one or two human minutes. Make yourself comfortable."
He pointed shortly at the bedroom door and left for the bathroom after another tender kiss on her hair.

He felt a little fresher, clearer after cleaning up better than he had it done before, when Natasha had been in the bathroom. His eyes were caught by several certain marks from their game before on his skin, and now smiling was easier. There would be evenings for bad memories again, but this wasn't one of them.

Though the heaters had finally started to work again, he wrapped himself back in the track pants and his sweater before he went to the bedroom. Natasha would probably laughing at him, and with good reason, but he just always needed a while longer for his body temperature to regulate, when he had just been freezing his balls off.

He was quiet, in case she was already asleep and stopped for a moment at the door, with still that half of a smile on his lips.

She hadn’t meant to distract him from his troubles, hadn’t intended to lighten the mood this time. She wanted him to know that she was there if he wanted to talk, and the last thing she wanted was for him to think she wanted him to put on a happy face. She hoped he knew, she hoped he didn’t feel that he always had to change the subject. She wanted to be there for him in any way he needed, but she didn’t know how to express that. This was all still just far too new to her.

When Clint disappeared into the washroom, Natasha blew out the candle and picked her way easily through the dark to the bedroom. Shedding her clothes she folded them and set them aside before crawling into bed and pulling the covers right up to her chin. The sheets were rough, she was sure Clint had never heard of fabric softener, but she liked the roughness against her skin, there was something comforting about it that she wouldn’t change for the world.

She heard him moving about, no matter how quiet he tried to be, and when he seemed content to linger in the doorway she raised her head to look at him, enjoying the partial smile he wore. “You better get in here before you freeze,” she said, keeping herself, and her state of undress, fully covered.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a wuss. It's a sign of getting old, I guess. It's gotten worse with time."

More relieved than he liked to admit, Clint fled from the still chilly air under the covers with her, but didn't reach out for her, not yet, not before his hands had warmed up. It was pretty much since he had spent a full year in the middle of the desert that he took low temperatures even worse than before. P.E.G.A.S.U.S. had left a mark in more than one way.

He ignored the humorless little chuckle inside his head, telling him, he knew exactly that it wasn't the sudden withdrawal from the Mojave dune right into the middle of bloody mess in New York, that had taken its toll. It was not this waking him up in the middle of the night, trembling all over his body.

He had already decided he didn't want to mope any more tonight. And certainly not about details of his captivity that had not even made it into the medical file.

He preferred to look at Natasha to channel his thoughts into a better direction, burying both his hands under the pillow for now to get rid of the last effects of useless mind games.

“Perhaps,” Natasha said, watching him settle in on the other side of the bed. “But you’re still pretty spry for an old man.”

Rolling onto her side to face him, she tucked her hands under her own pillow a moment, mimicking his position as she searched his face. She knew he had never really liked the cold, he always complained when they got sent somewhere snowy, preferring more tropical destinations, but it had gotten worse, but then his tolerance for a lot of things had gone downhill as clearly evidenced by his feelings about the home he used to love.

She was pretty sure she could see in his eyes that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but the heavy stuff kept coming up tonight, so maybe it wasn’t a matter of ‘want’ so much as ‘need’.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk, about anything, I’m here,” she offered simply, her voice soft and sincere.

"As long as I still win every single wheelchait race against the other Sunday afternoon chess guys..."

The smile had a hard time staying on his lips. Now that Natasha had started mentioning it, it became even harder clearing his mind from stuff that he didn't want there anymore.

"It's okay."

He reached out for her hand under her pillow, holding it right there to keep them both warm. Still there was no way to prevent that hard shudder down his back, when he tried to drop this as quick and clean as possible.

"I've promised myself that this poor excuse of a tin God isn't worth even thinking about him. He won't have that triumph."

His hand was cold but she didn’t mind, she just squeezed it back.

“If only it was that easy,” she said. How many things had she promised herself weren’t worth thinking about since she couldn’t change them? How often did that keep her from thinking about them anyway? But she had said her piece, he knew that she was there for him when he needed her, that he could talk to her whenever he wanted, that she wanted him to open up to her whenever he was ready, and that was enough. “There’s no expiry date on that offer. Just keep it in mind.” If not tonight then maybe tomorrow, or next week, or month, or year. It didn’t matter; whenever he was ready then so was she.

“You did such a good job of warming me up earlier...” Shifting closer to him, she wound one arm around his back. “So now it’s my turn.” She would be content to just hold him through the rest of the night, to share her body heat and ward off the cold and the nightmares that only made it worse.

He could have answered with another witty remark but preferred to just pull her close, one hand still under the pillow, the other softly caught in her hair. It was worst in his hands and he didn't want her to freeze more than necessary.

The softness of her body close to his helped shut his eyes, breathe slowly through the quickest, easiest of meditation. To channel his thought on this one positive anchor inside, the way he had learned it from his first supervising officer back then.

In this case it was Natasha's beloved clear scent engulfing him, along with her warmth, the associations of their passionate game before tied to it until his body responded with the weak memory of arousal. Just a little quickening of his pulse really, and a deep, content sigh.

It was simply physically impossible to think of any torture bullshit with his partner's body pressed close to his.

"Maybe I should just start calling you every time this happens", he murmured, hand just softly tightening in her hair to caress the sensitive skin of her neck.

The clothes had been far too bulky for her to be comfortable sleeping in, and she knew she would have only woken up later too hot, but in removing them she had removed that protective layer, and it didn’t skip her notice that Clint was careful to not touch her skin with his cold hands. Forever thoughtful, that was Clint Barton, especially when it came to her.

She could feel him relaxing, hear his breathing becoming more even, so she pressed herself closer, sliding her hand up his back and tucking her head under his chin, her cheek laying against his chest.

She wasn’t sure if he was joking or being serious; the words were said so quietly it was impossible to tell, so she took them as the latter. Pausing only a moment to consider it she nodded against him. “Okay.” If that was what he needed then she would do it.

She didn't exactly sound enthusiastic, and for a moment he thought about forcing a chuckle, telling her, he wasn't planning on playing the obsessive boyfriend, giving her a call every other night because he couldn't stand being without her. But truth was, it touched his heart in a very special way how much she just wanted to be there for him, just like it was the other way round, and he didn't want to play that down.

So he just murmured a quiet "Thanks" into her hair, his voice on the edge of choked, and relaxed back against the bed so she could rest on top of him, the way they both seemed to enjoy it so much.
"I'll try not to be a pain. Though you do make a good therapist."
He stretched out a little, sighing with relief when he felt finally comfortable again.

His simple ‘thanks’ was just the right reply to her equally simple ‘okay’. It was really all that needed to be said. If he needed her she would be there, no questions asked, as she knew he would be for her if the situations were reversed, and while she might not sound enthusiastic she was sincere. She wanted to be the one he called when he needed help, or just someone to talk to, someone to keep him grounded. She wanted to be the one.

Moving with him when he rolled on his his back, Natasha settled herself on his chest and adjusted the blanket over her shoulders. “Funny, because most people probably think I need a therapist,” she said, nuzzling against him and placing a soft kiss at his throat. “I meant what I said, the offer is always open. Any time.”

"Well, I do like to think, that's my job."

When he felt like he wouldn't shock-freze her anymore, Clint caressed softly from her neck down, fingertips drawing the beautiful thin line of her back inch by inch before he rested his hand on her hip. Gently holding her against him, he took her other hand in his again, moving it against his chest. Softly, without any pressure, just to let her feel she was just as safe with him as he felt with her and could still back out anytime she needed more distance.

"I'm just a simple carnie and all, so I can't give any of these intellectual speeches they feed you in these mental eveluations."

He grimaced shortly, violently pushed aside the new unpleasant memory. Not about him now.

"But I'm the guy who will always be there when you need it. That works both ways."

His hands were still slightly cool but they felt good against her skin and Natasha let out a content sigh.

Why had she been so scared of this for so long? For as much as she’d tried to deny it a good part of her resistance had been fear. Everyone she had ever loved she had lost, so it had seemed better to never love again. Love was a weakness that could be used against her, it made people act irrationally and that was something she had never been able to afford. After Alexei she had sworn she would never love again, that there was no place for such emotion in her life. Then Clint had come along and changed that, had changed her, had changed everything. Love didn’t have to be a weakness, and right now she felt strong, whole.

Pressing her hand to his chest, just over his heart, she didn’t comment on the minute reaction to his own words, letting him push them aside. She knew how difficult the mental evaluations were, she had been through her fair share when he had first brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D., and she knew they weren’t something she ever wanted to discuss either.

Raising her head so she could meet his eyes in the darkness, for a long moment she just studied him. “I know you will,” she said softly. He always had been, right from the start. There had been setbacks in the beginning but he had never given up on her, and while part of his stubbornness might have been to save face for his decision to spare her, she felt that he also truly believed in her, truly believed he had made the right choice.

Kissing him softly, gently, on the lips, when she leaned back again it was with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. “I really do love you, Clint Barton.”

His arms around her tightened for a long moment, a silent, thankful acknowledgment and an answer he didn't need to give her. Not the whole time, not when she knew it, had known it for years.

He focused and anchored his mind on that beautiful smile of hers, the way she looked at him now, tonight, sometimes when she had thought he would not see, before today. And from now on more often hopefully.
Things were alright, he just had to hold on to that security.

She was here, with him, he had not hurt her when he had been asked to. These things were over, if there was anything he thankfully took with him from these fucking evaluation bullshit and therapy appointments, it was that. The people with S.H.I.E.L.D. still didn't really trust him but Natasha did, and that was he needed most to move on.
New York... was over and he sure as hell wouldn't be silly enough to get himself into another situations like this ever again.

She would be safe with him. Nothing to worry about.

But when he closed his eyes, trying to relax his still stiff muscles, he was faced with the ghostly image of a cruel smile right before his eyes, the faint blue glowing around it threatening to ice cold radiate through his body again, and he sighed, frustrated. It wasn't fear of the future still weighing on his mind, it was the past that just wouldn't fucking shut up.

"Think I'll just stay awake for a while longer."

Of course he didn’t need to say it, she didn’t have even the slightest doubt that he loved her, but she realised it would have been nice to hear it. Was that how he felt every time she hadn’t replied in kind when he’d said it? No, it was different for him, because until tonight she wasn’t certain he had known at all how deeply her feelings for him ran. He had needed to hear it, and she was glad to have finally gained the courage to say it. They would not be one of those couples who said it every day or at the end of every conversation until the words lost all meaning. They knew, they both knew now, and that was enough.

When Clint closed his eyes, Natasha settled her head on his shoulder and did the same, but she could feel the tension in his body and his frustrated sigh had her looking at him again. Did he go through this every night when she wasn’t here? Or was tonight just particularly bad?

Placing a soft kiss against his jaw, she trailed kisses down his neck before settling at the hollow of his throat, just above the seam of his sweater. “Need me to wear you out a little more?” she purred against his skin. If he didn’t want to talk about it she could always offer comfort and distraction through other means.

"Like you don't know what that sound does to me."
He laughed quietly and bent down for a long kiss, still chaste, tongue just brushing her still slightly swollen lower lip. That wouldn't the only place sore after their encounter before. He found his heart battling with that immediate heat rising inside, from both her touch and just that certain sound in her voice, from her breath against his skin.

Gently, he brushed her hair from her face, trying to show her with his smile and the slight flush of his cheeks, how much he appreciated her offer. Great, this would be awkward again. Why couldn't he just try and be happy for one fucking weekend?

"Don't want to hurt you", he finally mumbled. "I mean... We've been in quite a wrestle on that sofa before, and..."
He paused, blushing even a little more.
"I mean, it's not like... Like I don't want to. Being so close to you... is just wonderful."
His arm tightened a little around her waist again, slipping little lower, fingertips brushing over her bare butt, the backside of her thigh. Whom was he kidding? This was something that made him happy. He just didn't like to sound like a shallow sex junkey or give her the feeling, she had to serve as a distraction.

So he went on explaining himself, no matter how silly it might sound.

"When we do that, especially when you're over me, when I can look at you and be inside you... Just that, just feeling you and seeing... Then I know, things are alright. That you trust me and enjoy being with me... that you're happy. I want you to make you happy, Tash', because you deserve it and because I'm happy with you. Guess that's why I'm such a mother hen about all this. I..."

That's where he paused again because it was the hardest part, because he had sworn himself not to tell her, not tonight. But the way the evening was going he would be awaking later anyway, trembling violently in the sheets, and there was no way she would miss it. He could as well tell her now.

"I still dream about hurting you. It's like that nightmare he gave me doesn't want to go away."

His voice broke with the last words and he leaned his head back against the pillow with tightly shut eyes, trying to chase that horrifying image of blood off.

Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject