Black Silk Stockings

It was, of course, raining in Prague when Clint realized they'd picked up a tail. Six months as partners, tentatively feeling the other person out and hoping that you wouldn't end up with your throat slit during the night, and now here he was strolling through the rain with the Black Widow after a stakeout. And what was probably two local goons following them.

The Widow leaned against his shoulder, looking for all the rest of the world like a slightly tipsy lover trying to stay dry under the umbrella. "The alley ahead," she murmured.

Clint's eyes had already picked out the darkened hollow between the buildings, even in the rain and gloom. "Do you want the umbrella or should I?" he whispered back, bending his head and letting his mouth drift suspiciously close to her ear. The two watching and following behind would think that they were just sharing pleasant nothings together.

She 'stumbled' a bit, making her heels drag on the wet pavement. "I can snap their necks with one hand, you're the one who needs a weapon."

He tightened an arm around her, pulling her in closer. "Whatever you say, darling," Clint smiled back. He could feel the coiled energy in her frame as he hugged her against his side. The Widow was all dressed up for a night on the town, just like him. Clint briefly wished for better shoes, these fancy Italian things might look the part, but they'd be a bitch for traction on the wet ground. She had to contend with heels, stockings and a skin-tight black dress that was cut down to there. Once again, Clint pondered the hardships of having a professional seductress as his partner. Particularly a jumpy and distrustful one. So far, he'd managed to ignore the blatant hotness of his new partner. He had a feeling that was driving her a little nuts, and at the same time, gaining him a little respect.

They were approaching the alley, and Natasha stumbled a little, letting loose a drunken giggle. She tugged on his arm, seemingly pulling him into the darkness with a glowing, crooked smile on her face. Clint leered at her and followed. She headed straight back to the end of the deadend alley, back where it was darkest. She sidled back and then put her back against the wall, pulling Clint close.

He had to mentally grit his teeth a little, after all, she was warm and soft and so sexy and he was pressed up against her. His face was buried in her damp neck and she was arching and rubbing up against him like a cat in heat. But Clint took steady breaths and concentrated on the quiet footsteps trying to sneak up behind them. The Widow was watching through her lashes, he knew, and he just hoped she'd give him a signal rather than let him get conked on the head like she did a few months ago in Singapore.

He felt her quick indrawn breath and took it as a sign. He whirled around, lashing out with the umbrella in one hand and his left foot as a quick followup. Bam! Big fucker behind him staggered back. Christ, he was big. What were they feeding these guys in Prague? The dude had to be pushing seven feet tall and probably two-fifty in muscle. Clint ducked and blocked a strike that was heavy enough to make him stagger a little before he swept the guy's feet out from under him and got him down with an arm locked around his windpipe. As he felt the big body go limp and pass out, he spared a glance for how his partner was doing with her own thug.

The Black Widow was just standing up, daintily brushing her hands off as the other guy lay sprawled on the ground. He hoped she hadn't actually killed him, that would bring just a little too much attention to their still-in-progress job. Clint raised an eyebrow in query at her.

She smiled, just a quirk at the corner of her lips. "Please," she said. "Don't you remember when you found me in Mumbai?"

Clint resisted the urge to roll his eyes. So he'd met her with five dead bodies around her feet. Fine. As he recalled, he also had an arrow pointed at her chest at the time, too. "Got anything we can lash them with?" he asked. "I didn't think to bring zipties to the opera."

"Why don't we just heave them in the river?" Natasha asked, poking at her thug with the toe of her still-pristine high-heeled shoe. "I usually prefer no loose ends."

"Yeah, but S.H.I.E.L.D.'s going to want to interrogate them first, and we really don't have the facilities to do it ourselves," he said, heading off the comment he could see behind her eyes. "So let's tie 'em up, call Coulson and get them picked up before some locals wander by."

He thought she muttered something in Russian, something that was probably uncomplimentary to him and his employers. He kinda liked that about her. "Fine," she sighed, and she reached down to the hem of her skirt.

Clint couldn't help it, his eyes widened just a bit, just a little bit, as she slid the hem of that snug black dress up until he could see the tops of her black stockings. Christ. She was wearing stockings and a garter belt. He was fighting to keep a straight, blank face as she slowly, rather excessively so, he thought thickly, unfastened the stockings and rolled them down, down those creamy legs. Her toes were painted a pale pink as she slipped them off.

She dangled one of the stockings from her fingertips. "Do you want the honors, or should I do that, too?" she asked sweetly. Her skirt was still a whole lot higher than Clint was comfortable with, considering his whole pretend-she's-got-no-sex-appeal program.

He mentally slapped himself around. "I was a carnie, sweetheart," he drawled, reaching out and snagging the slippery silk stocking. It was still warm from her skin. "I'm a pro at knots."

Hawkeye busied himself with lashing the hands and feet of each of the big men on the ground, while Natasha slipped her shoes back on and then pulled out her cell phone from her evening bag to call the incident in. Not bad, he thought, congratulating himself. He'd handled that reasonably cooly and calmly. Right? Right. He straightened up from his task just as she slipped the phone in her bag again.

"Coulson said to wander back out into the square and just keep an eye out until he gets here," she said, brushing now-wet hair back out of her eyes. Clint could feel the rain dripping down his collar as well.

"Right," he said, stepping around the bodies on the ground and holding out his arm for her. "Let's go, sweetheart."

She murmured something else, in Russian again, as they stumbled out of the alley. He caught her around the waist as they wandered rather aimlessly toward the rain-soaked square. "What was that?" he said softly.

"Может быть, это будет работать, в конце концов," she said. He waited a moment, but she didn't translate for him. He had a feeling he got the jist of it, anyway. Her body was relaxed, her face was calm, and her eyes were steady. She didn't hate his guts, and they'd handled the alleyway just fine.

"We make a good team, you know," he told her, giving her a little bump and twirl. Her wet red curls flipped water at him and he gave her a small smile. Somewhat to his shock, she smiled back. A small, but a real smile.

"Maybe," she said.

Next - Gray Flannel Shirt

AN - This is for KBAMilne, who was so kind as to leave me a few suggestions for one-shots. Anyone else, suggest a clothing/closet item in your review and I'll see what I can do!