study_in_scarlet | Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

"Yeah, like you could find someone who keeps up with you. And flies your pretty ass out of the field every time you need a ride. Or charters you a boat. Really, it's a miracle you come home every time we're on separate missions."

There were back to teasing, and it was just as nice as the romantic afterglow before. It helped Clint clear his head a bit. They'd be back to adrenaline sooner or later anyway but they didn't need to spend the whole weekend with it. He just wanted to make use of the time with Natasha as long as it was possible, do what they so seldom had the chance for. Laugh, talk, fool around. Just be with her.

Well, and if he was a little bold, lowering his head to her shoulder to give her a most playful, gentle, loving bite, she could always use her elbow on him to pull his heads out of the clouds.

“Why should I bother to put the effort in when I know you’ll do it for me?” she replied, squeezing his hand. “But you do have a point. I guess I will have to keep you.”

Like she would ever even consider anyone else. It had been hard enough letting Clint in, and he had been very persistent about tearing down her walls, making her realise she didn’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length. It was a little easier now letting down her guard around others, being friendly and joking, but she never let anyone else truly see the real her. Nobody else would have fought for her, nobody else would have put up with her for so long, but it wasn’t a case of staying with Clint because there was no one else; it was because she didn’t want anyone else. He had said that the were made for each other, and she liked to believe that that was true.

“Hey,” she scolded. Bringing his hand up to her mouth she gave his knuckle a nip in the same manner. “Behave.” Back to the same playful admonishment as before.

"Yep, you're stuck with me. Might as well accept that sad fate."

Chuckling to himself, Clint brought his hand back to her shoulder and closed his eyes again, pushing from his mind that he didn't mind at all having Natasha's teeth on him. From time to time. Not tonight anymore.

Right now he was completely content with just feeling her. His hand half and half slipped under the loose, soft hem of the sweater just to hold her even closer, skin to skin.
His fingertips traced idle circles on her shoulder and arm, admiring the smooth softness of and finding the few places where it wasn't, where too flat, sensitive tissue met his rough pads.

Stories, mistakes, compromises. Reminders. Belonging to her just like her stunning appearance, the sexiness of her voice and her stunning smile. The proof of her strength, her survival, and he knew nearly all of them.

Budapast on the back of her arm, right below her armpit. Latvia, three fainting lines of claws around her blade bone.

And of course the aggressive scraggy circle right below her collarbone from his own arrow. That was where his fingers lingered, gently covering her shoulder while he breathed another kiss onto her neck.

Partners, yes, for more than ten years, and he gladly hauled her sweet ass out of every grave situation, ever since he had had to pin her to the floor to save her life. Not one of his best memories. The less he had to worry about her, the better.

Maybe they could ask Nick to assign them on a few more missions together than in the last years. But Clint knew that he couldn't always be there, and one day he wouldn't be when he needed too. That thought kept him awake too often to just joke the subject aside.

"I could give you a few lessons, though, if that's okay with you. It can be really helpful to get a plane in the air by yourself."

His hand was warm against her skin and Natasha let out a sigh of complete and utter contentment. Even with the warmth of his skin against hers, though, she shivered when his calloused fingers brushed over her various scars, the tissue never having fully regained all feeling. She remembered every one of them, just like she knew he did, and the ones he hadn’t been present for he had learned the story of later and committed to memory. No matter how many scars she gained, though, he always went back to the one he had given her.

She wore her scars like badges, never self conscious nor embarrassed of a single one of them, but that one was her favourite, it was the one that had changed her life.

“You want to teach me to fly?” she asked, a bit surprised by the offer. “But what can I offer in return? Russian lessons, maybe?”

"You've got plenty of co-pilot-experience. Won't be that much to learn. Flying is mostly... about feeling. And I'm holding the living proof how well you can do that."

He dipped his head to her neck again, nibbling on her skin gently to take the emotional edge of his words, though he didn't mean them any less. There had been enough serious talk for the night.
For the same reason he didn't try to tell her that being with him shouldn't be about a bargain in any way for her. That was not how he lived his life but it had long been a great part of hers, and some things needed time to be forgotten.

"It's fine, red. You know I love spending time with you. We can refreshen our occasional Russian conversations, though, if you need something to laugh. I'm afraid my pronunciation is still unworthy."

She knew he was treading on something deeper, knew there was more to this offer than there appeared to be on the surface, but he was deflecting and she let him. She liked the playful air that had fallen over them and was happy to continue that a while longer.

“Well, if my flying is as good as my driving you should be in for a wild ride,” she replied, squirming slightly when he nibbled at her neck.

The Russian thing had mostly been a joke, though Natasha did still live her life according to bargains and compromises. She liked to barter, to trade services; she didn’t like being left feeling like she owed any debts. She knew sometimes people just did things because they wanted to, because it made them feel good to help, but that was not how she was raised and it was not an easy lesson to get over.

“You’ll never get better if you don’t practice,” she said. “Though I kind of enjoy your pronunciation.” Mostly because, yes, it was that bad.

Clint was about to answer, if she thought his pronunciation was bad, she should try teach Phil a few lessons in her mother tongue. Then he remembered Phil was dead and shut his mouth, a painful shiver running all the way down his arms, and he could just hope she wasn't looking there right now. He didn't want to ruin the playful mood with his tiresome issues.

"Didn't really need to speak it much lately", he said instead, pretending a harmless shrug. "But hey, we can always mix pleasure with use and ask for an assignment in Russia. Like, some observation detail in a snowy village with no communication."

That sounded better than his discipline should allow it, Clint found, with a quiet sigh. No communication, no report, no therapy, no evaluations. He would probably never leave this magical place again.

Natasha didn’t see him shiver, but she felt it and pressed her body back against his in silent reply. She didn’t know what had caused it and she didn’t ask. She had never been one to press unless it was really serious and she felt the situation demanded it; otherwise she trusted him to tell her if he needed to talk. Perhaps not the best approach, but one she felt most comfortable with when their roles were reversed.

She had to admit that the idea of hiding away in Russia, cut off from the world for a while and under the guise of work, wasn’t entirely unappealing. They could set up cameras and detection equipment, run surveillance and record the data from a cozy cabin in the middle of nowhere, or infiltrate a small town as a young couple just trying to escape the hustle and bustle of city life for a while.

It was rather tempting.

“Why Agent Barton, are you asking me to run away with you?” she teased, turning her head and trying to catch a glimpse of his face over her shoulder.

"Don't tempt me", Clint murmured, still too caught up in his dark thoughts to really mind his words and then it was too late. So much for not ruining the mood.

Thankfully, he responded to her body pressing against his even closer and tried to hide his face in her hair until he could shake this damn melancholy off.

In a way, this embrace was even better, even closer than what they had done before. Even with Natasha's mostly nude, stunning body pressing most intimately into him, his mind didn't try to channel all his energy into sex again. It had always been about so much more for him with her.

Natasha was the one who had known him through from the start, and after she had learned to trust him had always understood him, accepted him the way he was. She was the one who had not given up on him when everyone else had thought him lost. It was for her, he was here now, and she was the one to hold his ice cold, trembling body at night and turn her face away until his tears had dried.

He didn't need to play any kind of role for and that was why he gave it up hiding after a few seconds, shrugging, sighing. She would know anyway.

"Just a little weary lately, I guess. It will pass."

As much as she didn’t want to lose this blissful feeling, Natasha was glad that Clint didn’t try to hide whatever was going on with him, that he didn’t try to put on a happy face for her. They were long past that, to a place where they could be honest about everything, and although it wasn’t always easy she never wanted to go back to how it had been before.

“Clint,” she said his name softly. “If you need some time away, we can do that.”

There was no hesitance in her offer, and no question that she truly meant it when she said ‘we’. She knew how hard everything had been on him, she had been the one who had picked up the pieces, and she wasn’t about to give up on him now. If he needed a vacation then she would go with him; if he needed a distraction she would provide it. Whatever he needed, she would do whatever she could to give it to him. “We both have some vacation time saved up, so why don’t we use it?.”

Reaching behind her she threaded her fingers through his hair, fingertips pressing gently against his scalp. She thought of rolling onto her back so she could see him, but that would put distance between them and she thought he might need the closeness. “We could go to Spain, or Iceland, or... we could just stay here, in this apartment.”

"Too close to superhero business", Clint murmured, answering to the last of her offers.

A lazy weekend at home with Natasha right now was about the best thing in the world, but if they were seriously talking about leaving for a while... When had that happened and when had the frustration of the last months suddenly turned into an up-flow? Anyway, if this had really been a thing, he'd have wanted to be out. Out of everything, as much as possible with employers who never let you off their radar for even 24 hours.

Well, Clint did know a few places where they could at least piss Fury off in having to search for them thoroughly to check on their doings.

"I've got a place in a little village in Sicily. It's... off. Out of sight."
He sighed again, getting a little lost in the vision of clear blue water, a sinfully delicious cuisine and clean, lonely beaches. A tuneful, lively language colored with the lust for life. It had been a while.

It was a nice idea but there were a few things that would stand in the way and he forced himself to tear his thoughts away before he could get too delusional. Nice dreams weren't exactly his business for quite a time now. The waking up was too harsh.

"Not exactly your kind of weather though, is it?"
He softly nudged her hair aside with his nose to have better access to her neck, thank her for her understanding and good intentions with a series of tender kisses.

"And I'm not sure..."
He hesitated with coloring this conversation even darker than he already had, his arm tightening around her chest, as if she was about to turn and leave anytime soon. Not that soon but even beautiful weekends like this would end eventually and then it was back to office work, the shooting range, rookie training and observation detail in between therapy sessions. Better to get this talk over with and forget about what was to come day after tomorrow.
"I don't think they'll let me go, Tash'."

Right, of course. Staying here they were too close, too easily reachable, and while it would work for a weekend it wouldn’t be long before someone came knocking. Away it was, then.

She listened to him talk, let him suggest his own piece of paradise, noted how he sighed almost dreamily and decided right then that she would make it happen. Closing her own eyes again as he kissed her neck, she continued to stroke her fingers soothingly through his hair. “I don’t know, it sounds nice for a change. And I could use a tan.” In the end she would go wherever he wanted, just like she knew he would do the same for her. Cold and snow weren’t exactly ‘his kind of weather’, but he would go in a heartbeat if she asked.

Apparently that wasn’t the problem, though, and she tried to keep her breathing steady even as he hesitated to finish his statement. Perhaps she should have expected his answer, but somehow she hadn’t.

“I can persuade them.” Maybe they would release him into her custody. She could send them updates on his progress, she knew how to cheat the system so they couldn’t track her location. Maybe that would be enough.

Suddenly things sounded so easy.

Clint got up on his elbow just enough to get a better look at Natasha, without moving away from her. His body slowly began to remember how to move again, filled with a strange kind of restlessness.

Away. Out. Holiday. When had he last had that? Before S.H.I.E.L.D., probably, and the last try had ended in New Mexico, to welcome a god on Earth, one day in.
Since then he had not allowed himself to even think of it anymore. Especially not since New York, since every day was nothing but proving himself, proving he was alright, keep it low and avoid attracting the wrong attention.

Natasha suddenly made it sound so easy getting away from all this for a while and maybe it was. Maybe it had just been her to point it out. To give him a reason to leave everything behind for a while. Playing his part as best as he could sure hadn't gotten him everywhere so far.

"They won't like it." He nudged his chin and cheek gently against her head, breathing in the soft smell of her hair, and went back to spoil her neck with gentle kisses, light occasional nibbles. "But I think I've reached the point of not giving shit."

Turning her head to look up at him, Natasha studied his features, a hint of an encouraging smile on her face. She didn’t waver, not once, practically radiating confidence that this would work. The truth of the matter was that it wasn’t confidence she held but determination. She would make this happen, no matter what.

“Good,” she said, letting her eyes close again and her smile widen when he shifted all his attention back to her neck. “Because I don’t give a shit either if they like it or not, we will be taking the vacation we are entitled to. Legally they can’t stop us.”

Monday morning they would submit the leave like any normal day and if it was denied... well, that’s when things would get ugly.

"I'd love to see you pull a Natalie Rushman on Nick."

Clint chuckled, trying to lift the mood.
Again he got a little lost in the vision of such an upcoming time for just the two of them. Natasha could probably do it, he thought, and if not, if that would be an unfriendly scene in Nick's office on Monday... Well, maybe it was time to re-think his job situation anyway. The only thing that had kept him from that so far, he just held in his arms, and since Natasha obviously didn't mind giving their employers a piece of mind...
Maybe he was a little too shy with changes lately.

"We'll need lots of suncream. And I'm afraid I'll have to keep you really busy at night. You know, this whole sex-as-workout-thing? Italian pasta makes you gain 10 pounds just by looking at it."

He said it with pleasure, a hint of anticipation in his voice. He could swear he could smell tuna and cream for a moment. Yeah, definitely been too long.

Natasha just smiled at Clint’s reply. She wouldn’t be pulling anything on Fury, she would simply be telling him like it is, calmly and coldly. Either he honour their right to vacation or she would make the following few hours of his life miserable while she quoted every relevant line of their contracts and the labour code, and if that didn’t work she wasn’t above resorting to a little friendly blackmail.

Shifting so that she lay on her back and could more easily look up at him, Natasha’s smile grew soft and affectionate. Just seeing how happy this idea made him convince her that it was the right thing for him, maybe for both of them. Time heals all wounds, they say, but she knew how much of a struggle the past few months had been for Clint, and maybe time wasn’t enough. He clearly needed this, and she was going to make damn sure to give him everything he needed.

“So we’ll be eating lots of pasta, then?” she replied. Running her hand up to cup the back of his head, she pulled him down for a lingering kiss before reluctantly pulling away. “Hold that thought,” she said, squirming out of his arms. As much as she didn’t want to move, some things can’t be ignored.

Hissing when her bare feet hit the cold floor, Natasha pushed herself up to her feet and awkwardly made her way to the bathroom. Her knees still felt weak, and she was certainly strained and tender in other places, so there was no sexy strut this time even though she was sure he was watching her.

"Not going anywhere. Thanks to you, I can't move my legs anyway", Clint chuckled, watching her leave.

He didn't want to get up any more than her, but if she was being a good example, it was up to him to care for the rest of the necessary.

Sighing, he pushed himself off the sofa, amused how very wobbly he still felt on his legs, and got a big towel from the bedroom to quickly wipe the worst mess off the sofa. Then he spread two more blankets there to lie on so it wouldn't be uncomfortable, with what would indeed need a good cleaning sometime in the upcoming days.

By now it had gotten really chilly in the apartment and he was glad to change into a new pair of trousers after quickly cleaning himself up as good as possible with another towel, and a sweater not like the one Natasha wore, with a faded Springsteen tour date list on the backside. Old, comfortable stuff felt just about right now. Dressing up for the job was annoying enough.

Until Natasha returned, he had them some more water and a plate with chocolate covered crackers ready, supposing she could need a little energy just like him.

Natasha practically collapsed onto the toilet when she reached it, all the muscles in her body feeling overworked, and her legs in particular. It wasn’t an entirely bad feeling, not with the memory of why she felt this way still fresh in her mind.

Once she’d finished she took her time washing up, cleaning the oils and both of their fluids from her skin. Toweling off, she took a moment to look at her reflection and smiled at the disheveled image staring back. She had never thought she could feel this way, never thought she could trust someone and love them so much that she was willing to do anything for them, willing to put her own life on the line to protect them. Some days she had her doubts about S.H.I.E.L.D. but she didn’t want to walk away; if it came down to it, though, and she had to choose between her career and Clint there simply wasn’t any question. If he wanted to leave she would follow; she would follow him anywhere, and she knew he would do the same for her.

Shaking herself, she finished up in the bathroom and stole away to his bedroom to rifle through his bureau, coming up with an old pair of sweatpants that she had to roll the waist and cuffs on. Pulling the sleeves of the sweater down over her hands and the hood up over her head (not that she was particularly cold, but it was cozy), she moved back to the living room to find Clint waiting with food and water at the ready.

“You know, we could always move to the bedroom,” she said, noting how he’d actually made to cover the sofa this time. Not that she wasn’t enjoying how close they had to lay to both fit on the couch, nor the smell that still lingered from their recent escapades. Even so she approached and took a seat beside him on the couch, drawing her feet up under her to keep them warm and reaching for the water, taking a few long gulps.

"I think, this thing has become my favorite piece of furniture."

Clint patted the armrest, grinning, and reached for a cracker, relieved that the dampened mood from before had passed. Probably they would talk again about these things, in their holiday maybe, and maybe he should. Natasha had let him inside her life so much... It wasn't fair excluding her from his problems. But right now he wanted to relax with her.

"I could get you a pair of socks, though."
He watched her curl in her feet with an amused grin. Natasha had no problem with being in the cold and often enough mocked his aversion against anything below freezing temperature. But God forbid if her feet were cold. He reached for the blanket again, spreading it over both their legs and couldn't resist reaching out for her to tickle her bare sole.
"Or I'll just keep 'em warm myself. Bet you haven't had a proper massage in months."

Smiling, Natasha shook her head at his reply. “It certainly has some memories attached to it,” she said, setting her glass back on the coffee table and taking a cracker to nibble on.

Yes, they still had some talking to do, but it could wait until he was ready, she didn’t want to overwhelm him. Besides, it would probably be easier once they were away somewhere and could truly relax. She wanted to know what was going on inside his head, but she didn’t want to push; he had never pushed her and she intended to return the favour.

“That’s okay, I’m - hey!” she protested when Clint tried to tickle her foot. Luckily her few ticklish spots were not so obvious, but she still gave him a mock warning look... a look that melted at the mention of a massage.

“A long, hot bath; a foot massage... you’re spoiling me,” Natasha said, bumping her shoulder against his and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “You better be careful, I might get used to such treatment and start expecting it all the time.”

"No objections. You know, all you have to do is ask, M'lady..."

Clint winked at her, only half mocking. Making Natasha feel good, whether it was with a little chocolate, a long massage or just holding her when she needed it, was one of his favorite things in life, actually. It was her smile that made the everyday work of blood and lies more bearable, and he always liked to find new creative ways to get it from her.

Also, it wasn't like he needed an excuse for wanting to get his hands on her.

"Come, relax, red."

He moved away to the other end of the sofa, reluctantly, and lifted the cover a bit so she could lay down again if she wanted to, with her feet resting on his thighs.

"I promise, I'll try not to tickle."

Natasha rolled her eyes and gave Clint a nudge in the ribs with her elbow. The truth was that she was pretty sure he wasn’t entirely joking, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She knew Clint would do anything for her, and if she wanted to she could walk all over him and he would lay down and take it. It was a bit of an unpleasant thought, and one she pushed away quickly. That wasn’t her anymore, she wouldn’t use him to get what she wanted.

All she needed to take out of this was that he would treat her like a queen, better than anyone else had ever treated her in her life, better than she deserved to be treated.

She pouted at him when he moved away and purposely stayed right where she was. “That sounds really nice...” she conceded, speaking slowly, “but it means you have to be way over there.” Turning to face him she stretched out one leg and poked him in the thigh with her toes. “Besides, you need to get that energy back up.” She emphasized this point by tossing him a cracker.

"Who says, one goes without the other? We'll make this teamwork."

Clint just grinned and caught her foot in a swift movement, playing just a bit with the strength of his arms to tease her. But his fingers on her sensitive skin were gentle, carefully caressing her, with just the lightest bit of pressure in the right places.

"I'll make you purr a little..." His hand wandered further down her ankle, thumb slowly pressing into the sensitive areas of her sole, the steeled muscles that carried so many of her graceful fighting moves.
"...and you help me out with the crackers." He opened his mouth playfully and leaned his head back, determined to make her laugh with his little bird imitation.

Natasha made a very half-hearted attempt to pull her foot away before heaving a mock sigh in defeat. It was all worth it to see him smile like that.

Her eyelids dropped until she was looking at him through her lashes when he started pressing and caressing her feet, and if she had been inclined to refuse she certainly lost all will to do so now. He was just far too good with his hands, no matter what the application.

“You’re lucky you’re not the only one with good aim,” Natasha replied with a light laugh. Taking up the plate of crackers she tossed one toward Clint’s open mouth before popping one into her own.

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.

Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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