A/N: Thanks for the follows! The little epilogue at the end of Ch. 1 was written before I planned a second chapter. This is what happens after Clint and Natasha leave the spa and meet at her apartment.
Finally Home
He felt like he did before a job, before a mission. There was excitement. There was anxiety. His vision was narrowing. He could do this. He just had to concentrate.
Then there was more anxiety. Hitting a target was completely different from pleasing a woman.
And 'pleasing a woman' barely covered what Clint wanted and needed to do, in order to feel that he'd done right by Natasha. It helped to know she wanted it just as much as he did. He'd seen the look in her eyes.
"I won't shower 'til you get there."
"You won't have to."
On the elevator, heading up to the floor where Natasha kept her permanent residence, Clint leaned against the back wall and smiled at the very recent memory. At least he could say she started it.
They'd both come a long way. Waiting, watching, transforming themselves into people that could look in the mirror at the end of the day and know that they'd done some good. Fury insisted that they were heroes, but Clint and Natasha remained unconvinced. They were simply trying their hardest. That wasn't always enough.
The elevator pinged softly, and Clint looked up at the digital display. He'd reached the top floor. End of the line. Hopefully it was the beginning of a new one.
Inside her apartment, Natasha tied the belt on a thick black robe and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her face was clean of make-up and her hair was tucked behind her ears, at least as many of her curls that would stay put. After years of costumes and make-believe, Natasha didn't find any of her fake personas sexy at all. It was easy to get dolled up and cause the average man to have a heart attack at the mere sight of her. The difficult, nigh impossible thing was to trust someone so deeply that she could bare her soul to them. Clint knew her for who she really was. He knew all her tricks and dirty secrets, and he still wanted her. She hoped she could live up to the expectation he had of her.
A knock at the door told her it was time. On bare feet she padded over the soft, dark carpet to answer. She opened the door and caught a glimpse of Clint's look of anticipation, right before his face was transformed by a smile. She'd always thought he was cute. He was even cuter when he showed how happy he was just to see her.
It was the first time in weeks she was seeing him with full sleeves covering up those incredible arms. The zipped up hoodie was sexy but she preferred a more...naked version of Clint.
"Hey." Natasha greeted him simply. It was her usual straight forward greeting, but something in her eyes made Clint smile. She was doing that thing she did, when her face wanted to smile but her mind supressed it. The fact that Nat could in any way be shy really amused him - especially since she was being shy around him.
"Hey." he replied. She could tell he was making fun of her, and it only made her smile more.
"Come in." she said, moving aside.
Clint took a few steps inside, making a quick visual sweep of her place. It was spacious, sparsely furnished and decorated in a modern style. There wasn't much personal stuff lying around. They didn't spend a lot of time living on their own. 'Home' had always been a relative concept, the word itself often followed by 'base'. Their whole lives revolved around their work, but now they finally had a chance to spend some free time, and to spend it together.
After a quick look around, Clint turned back to Natasha. She'd closed the door and she was watching him from a few steps away.
"I thought you weren't going to shower 'til I got here." he teased, gesturing toward her fluffy robe.
"I didn't." she said. The little smirk that wanted to be a smile kept tugging at her lips. "Not yet."
"Not yet." Clint echoed softly.
The robe was slightly too large on her, and her hands played with the ends of the sleeves.
"I wanted you to take a shower with me." she said.
Clint inhaled deeply. He too had to stop himself from grinning like it was Christmas morning. "I'm ready when you are." he said.
"Come over here and kiss me first."
Clint's eyes and smile widened in mock surprise. Your command is my wish, Little Miss Bossy.
"Take two, right?" he said as he took a step forward.
"Three." Natasha reminded him, smiling as he got closer. The third time would be the charm, now that there was no one lurking around the corner, ready to interrupt in some sheepish or oblivious way.
She lifted herself up on her toes, not content to let Clint do all the work. Her parted lips made an easy target, and it only took a moment for Clint to slip his tongue into her mouth, for Natasha to wrap her arms around his neck, and for Clint to wrap his arms around her waist. He lifted her from the floor and held her tight as they made out. It was quiet in her apartment. It really felt like it was just them this time. The world was paused and they could take all the time they needed.
Clint put her back down, slowly, and she held him close while the kissing continued.
"This is nice," Clint murmured against her mouth between soft, hungry kisses. "Not being interrupted every five seconds..."
"There will be no more interruptions." Natasha promised him, her tone dark and playfully dangerous.
"Which way to the shower?" Clint asked. She responded by kissing him and pulling down the zipper on his hoodie. She pushed the jacket from his shoulders, and he helped get it the rest of the way off, keeping their mouths fused together while Natasha nudged him carefully in the right direction.
Clint stumbled backward into the bathroom, naked from the waist up. His hoodie and t-shirt had been discarded along the way, allowing Natasha to run her hands along his arms, unimpeded by any fabric. His arms were one of his best features, the one she always noticed right after his eyes and his smile. He held her face in his hands, and he paid such good attention to kissing her. Until he felt her hands reaching for the waist of his jeans. She unbuttoned and unzipped him with her eyes closed, enjoying the things Clint was doing with his tongue. She had his jeans pushed just past his waist when he stopped kissing her.
"I think getting naked is the only race I don't like to win." he quipped, smirking at the sexy, dreamy-eyed face Nat was making. He reached for the belt tied around her waist, tugging the rope out of a loose knot. Before it was open he lifted her onto the counter, next to the clean white porcelain sink. It was all so pristine. Natasha was really never home to enjoy it.
If Clint's best feature - in terms of awe-inspiring power - was his arms, Natasha's had to be her thighs. Clint could spend an entire day going over why each and every one of her body parts could be admired as a masterpiece of human design, but he was particularly interested in her legs. Seeing her ride a Chitauri warrior - using a pair of daggers as a harness - had set Clint's mind to theorizing what those thighs would feel like when used for some other, more pleasant activity.
The robe fell open as Clint placed Natasha gently on the counter. She still had on a bra and a pair of underwear, both in standard black.
"Cheater." Clint said, a perfect view of her body put off for another few items of clothing. Still, he let his eyes wander, and he let his hands stroke the sides of her legs.
Then Clint noticed a jagged scar on her inner thigh. Natasha watched his expression change, from one of hunger to slight confusion and then to worry. He stared at it for a moment, her secret scar.
"I usually cover it up with makeup," she explained. "If it's going to be seen."
If I'm going to wear a short dress, she didn't add.
She hadn't covered it up for Clint. If they were going to be together, she wanted him to see it all. The real her.
A week after the toughest fight of their lives, there were no other marks or bruises on her body. The scar was too old and too permanent to be from that fight.
"I thought you healed faster than normal...?" Clint murmured, curious rather than accusatory.
"I do." said Nat. "That one was just...too deep, I guess."
Clint put his forefinger and middle finger next to the close end of the scar. It ran up the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to an artery and, even worse, close to a place no knife should ever go near. He touched her tenderly, as if he was afraid it might still hurt.
Natasha waited to see what he would do, if he would continue to touch her or stop to ask about it. He seemed mentally frozen, thinking about other things, about the past. So Natasha decided to take action and bring him back to the present. She reached for the hand that was suddenly afraid to touch her, and she placed it flat on her inner thigh. Clint didn't need any other hints. He squeezed her flesh, rubbing her bare leg with the one hand while the other reached for the back of her neck, to pull her into a kiss. He stood between her legs, and she arched her back to move her body closer to his. Her arms felt trapped by her loose robe so she shed it the rest of the way. She pulled at his waist, pulling him closer, feeling with the inside of her thighs where his loose jeans sat on his hips. Clint wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her deeply, all thoughts of past injuries shoved aside. He wanted to hug her, hold her, kiss her and touch her. She was the strongest, most beautiful woman in the world, and he loved her.
His hand snaked up her back, releasing the clasp on her bra with dexterous fingers. She felt the sudden lack of pressure on her torso and she arched her back. She wanted to be closer. She wanted to feel him everywhere at once. His lips were on her neck, his hands sweeping slowly across her shoulder blades, pushing the straps from her shoulders. She tilted her head back, and he pressed his tongue against her pulse. They took the bra off together, and once it was gone Clint wrapped his arm low around her waist, pulling her against him even tighter and licking her all over neck and collar bone. Her skin was salty. He was glad she waited. His other hand was in her hair and she moaned when he squeezed a soft fist, pulling gently so he could have more access to her body. His tongue found the nipple on her right breast and he licked and sucked at it without inhibition.
Natasha squeezed a much tighter fist in his hair. Her body moved in uneven, unplanned waves, until the back of her head touched the mirror behind her. The sounds he was making had her in a trance. She couldn't remember ever wanting anyone like this, anyone at all, except for Clint. She trusted him completely.
"You still want a shower?" he asked, breath hot on her body, voice ragged and filled with sex.
"Forget the shower." Natasha breathed. Clint made a hungry sound and pulled her close. With her legs around his waist, Clint lifted Natasha from the bathroom counter and carried her straight to bed.
Clint climbed on top of her, savoring the taste of her lips and the feel of her legs on the sides of his waist. It didn't occur to him that she was being submissive, or that he should be prepared for the tables to suddenly turn. With barely a thrust of her hips, Natasha used her leverage to flip Clint onto his back. She pressed her hands into the bed on either side of his head, and stretched her body until it was pressed against him. Clint smiled and laid there with his hands on her hips.
"So this is how it's gonna be?" he asked. Clearly, he did not mind.
Natasha placed a soft kiss on his lips, and then another. "You'll get your turn." she murmured.
But he already had some catching up to do. She was as strong as him, but she was still very light for his incredible arms. He lifted her up at her hips, all but tossing her onto the bed beside him. She smiled at him when he began to roll over. He stopped on his side so he could shove his jeans down his legs. He caught her glance downward.
"You'll get your turn." he teased. Natasha moved further on to the bed, toward the middle, and with his jeans finally gone Clint crawled after her. He knelt in front of her and slid her underwear down her legs, receiving a smirk as he laid down on his stomach with his head between her legs. Her amused expressions did nothing to hide her excitement at the idea of Clint going down on her. He hugged her thighs to the sides of his face and searched deeply with his tongue. He wanted her to open up to him, in many ways..
Natasha arched her back, pushing her hips toward his face, and moaned softly. She liked the sound of him kissing her, she didn't want to disrupt it. The small sounds were enough to drive him crazy, but he'd work harder to get more.
When Clint lifted his head and crawled the rest of the way up her body, he hovered over her and looked into her eyes, finding a drunken, lusty look there. Holding his gaze, Natasha reached down and pushed his boxer briefs down from his hips. The last article of clothing between them was tossed aside, and still they stared into each other's eyes. It felt like if he stared long enough he could get lost inside her mind, that she could end him, if she had any desire to do so. Clint felt her thighs on his waist again, and Natasha reaching down between their bodies, finding his hardness, guiding him into her. He filled her with one slow thrust and groaned with relief, even though her fingernails dug into his lower back. She moaned, overwhelmed in an amazing, temporary way. She arched her back again, the movement turning her head to the side and taking her eyes away from his just for a moment. With her body skewed, she turned her head back to look at him. His eyes penetrated her as much as any other part of him.
Natasha reached for him, lifting her body up to meet his and kiss him hard on the lips. He thrust into her again and tried to press her back down onto the bed, to devour her before she could do the same to him. She fought back; she couldn't get close enough, hug him tight enough, have him deep enough inside her. Natasha cried out as he filled her again and again, and Clint swallowed the sounds with his kisses. She pressed her thighs into his sides, hard enough to make him grunt with a mix of pleasure and pain.
"You're gonna kill me with those legs." he warned in a strained voice. Natasha's expression of anguished love and pleasure broke into a grin. It was such a rare and beautiful sight, Clint felt lucky to be able to see it so close. She relaxed her legs, which allowed Clint to thrust even deeper as he leaned in to kiss her lips. Her head fell back onto the bed, and her eyes were closed. It really did feel good to have him inside of her.
He could feel her arms around him, holding him. They were getting lost in it, and the sounds she made were involuntary, uncontrolled. It lulled him once again into a false sense of security. It was so intense, and in a flash, Clint found himself on his back with Natasha on top of him, barely able to figure out how it happened.
"My turn." she said. She leaned down to kiss him, and she moved her hips achingly slow. Clint pushed her red curls from her face and kissed back. He slowly sat up, so she was straddling his lap, and he thrust up into her, holding her tight so she wouldn't fly away. God, it felt good to have her so close, to look into her eyes and see her gazing back. Like their souls were touching.
When they weren't looking into each other's eyes, they were kissing, and when Clint wasn't kissing her lips he was kissing her neck, her collarbone and her breasts. He wanted to make up for everything that had happened, erase some of the pain with a lot of pleasure. He snuck his hand between them, between her legs, touching his thumb to her in a rhythm that matched the way they moved against each other. She ground her hips against him and squeezed her thighs together, as tight as before, and then tighter. The sound she made in her throat was worth it. It felt so good, without thinking, Clint reached up with his other hand and clenched a fist in her hair.
The feeling of restraining her caused an image to flash in his mind - Natasha with her head pulled back, a knife to her throat, struggling against the uncontrollable urge of a possessed man to end her life.
The image jolted him and, in the present, Clint forced that hand to relax. He straightened his fingers and took a breath. She could tell by the sudden lack of passion that he was distracted.
"It's okay." he heard Natasha say. She was breathless, undeterred by his action, her hips still rocking against him in a rhythm that bordered on desperate. He looked into her eyes. She gazed back at him. She wasn't afraid. Slowly, he raised his hand and let his fingers get tangled in the waves of red hair. He closed his fist, and she moaned. He felt the sound all through his own body. He squeezed harder, pulling on her hair. She sounds she made intensified, and she squeezed harder too, with her thighs, until Clint could barely catch his breath. She was coming, her head tilted back, her neck bared to him once again. He pulled her closer and licked her throat, sucking on her pulse, holding her tight until it was over. The muscles in her thighs finally relaxed, and he could breathe again. He laid back down on the bed, holding tight to her hips with strong hands. A part of him never wanted the moment to end, but he also couldn't wait, he needed to come now.
Natasha listened to him moan, felt his fingers dig into her hips as she rode him. His head pressed back into the mattress, eyes squeezed shut, but then he had to open his eyes and look at her. He had to see her. He'd dreamed of this for a long time. The urge to fill her up completely overwhelmed him, and he quickly twisted their bodies so Natasha was almost on her back, one of her legs wrapped around his waist and held tight in his hand. He thrust his hips hard, and they both called out in time to his harsh thrusts as he reached his intense climax inside of her.
His motions slowed. One of Natasha's arms was slung over his shoulder, the other bent so she could touch his face. His hand stroked her leg, and he moaned, thrusting into her one last time. They kissed, and smiled, and they touched each other while they caught their breath.
Not exhausted, but finally completely relaxed, Clint untangled himself so he could lay on his back. Natasha curled up on her side and watched him. He stared at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling slowly now that his heart rate had slowed back down. He was thinking, contemplating hard, his eyes focused on thoughts she couldn't see. Everything that had happened in the past few weeks - almost losing their lives, losing each other, losing everything. Now they were finally together, the way they really wanted.
"What are you thinking?" Natasha asked.
Clint laid a forearm over his forehead, took a deep breath. How did he explain this, what he was feeling? It went beyond relief.
"It was a cold, dark hell," he said aloud. "Thinking I wasn't going to see you again."
Something in Natasha's heart shifted. She thought she'd been the only one panicking at the thought of losing him. Saving each other had been a non-negotiable stipulation of the war they'd been fighting.
After a long moment, Clint turned his head and looked at her.
"I love you." he said, matter-of-factly, in case she wasn't already convinced. The bare, honest emotion made it so Natasha had to look away from him.
"I know." she reassured him.
Clint smiled, and looked up at the ceiling. "Wow." he said, chuckling, in disbelief yet amused. "I just got Han Solo'd."
Natasha felt her cheeks grow hot, a blush that remained invisible, and she smiled. She looked into his eyes again. He was looking at her sideways, smirking.
"I love you too." she said quietly.
His expression softened. He knew how difficult it was for her to even admit she had feelings like that, let alone express them. She was relieved too. Relieved to still have him in her life, and relieved that she was able to share her feelings out loud. It meant a lot to him.
"Is that better?" she asked, with a subtle hint of sarcasm, as if she were asking a child. He smiled at her teasing.
"Much." he said. "Now come here..."
Clint rolled on to his side and put his arm over her waist, pulling her to him. Natasha scooched closer, accepting his embrace and melting into it. He wrapped his arms around her, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Her apartment provided a living space, but nothing had ever felt more like home than being in his arms.