Title: Encounters

Rating: M, very M.

Summary: With each time they sleep together, there is a shift in their relationship. Clint/Natasha

AN: Well, this is the first movie I've ever felt compelled to write for, I'm more a TV kinda girl. But after seeing The Avengers five times on DVD with my seven-year-old, I realized there is just so much potential with these two. And the movie leaves so much said and so much unsaid all at the same time. So here you go, my take on these two (who Jeremy Renner and Scarlett Johansson play with great chemistry).

Reviews are love.

The wound heals but it never does
That's cause you're at war with love
You're at war with love, yeah

These battle scars, don't look like they're fading
Don't look like they're ever going away
They ain't never gonna change
These battle

Never let a wound ruin me
But I feel like ruin's wooing me
Arrow holes that never close from cupid on a shooting spree
Feeling stupid cause I know it ain't no you and me
But when you're trying to beat the odds up
Been trying to keep your nods up and you know that you should know
And let her go but the fear of the unknown
Holding another lover strong sends you back into the zone
With no Tom Hanks to bring you home
A lover not a fighter on the frontline with a poem
Trying to write yourself a rifle
Maybe sharpen up a song
To fight the tanks and drones of you being alone

Chapter One - Adrenaline

Austria – 3 Years Before

The first time they have sex it's because of the adrenaline.

It's after the incident in Budapest. They should have died, three times over and yet somehow they finished the mission objective (just barely), gotten out of the country and across to Austria alive if not entirely in one piece. Clint probably had cracked ribs and Natasha was sporting a wound that desperately needed stitches on her temple caused by a bullet that was off by just centimeters. They had ditched the car they stole to get out of Budapest at the border and walked into Gussing where there was a small inn that often took in SHIELD operatives who needed to lay low.

And oh boy, did they need to lay low.

After calling into Coulson they had been instructed to go to the inn and stay put until he called them back. Which meant the heat from the Budapest mission was probably close to creating an international incident and it wasn't safe to come get them. The innkeeper could get them medical attention if it wasn't serious, otherwise they would have to check into a local hospital under fake names.

They chose neither, electing to raid the innkeeper's first aid supplies and take care of the problem(s) themselves. After they were quietly ushered to the secluded third floor – which contained one room with a large king sized bed and its own bathroom - Gregor had reappeared with a large case containing everything they would need to patch themselves up before he disappeared again.

After washing off the blood on her temple Natasha realized the wound wasn't as bad as she thought, just bloody as hell, and had Clint apply anti-bacterial ointment, butterfly bandages then tape a piece of gauze to keep the whole thing covered. With any luck there would only be a light scar.

Then she turned her attention to Clint, who had ever so painfully pulled off his vest and was struggling to get his tank off.

Without speaking she walked over to him and gripped the edge of the material, pulling it up and over his head. The act was intimate and Clint would be lying if he said the feel of her fingers brushing his ribs didn't illicit a reaction from his body. Hey, he was human and male and still on an adrenaline high.

"Hold your breath," she said in that demanding way of hers; so he complied and she gently poked at the half dollar sized bruise on the left side of his chest, above his ribs.

Instead of pulling back and crying out as she would have expected if the rib was broken or cracked he merely twitched. One look into his eyes and she knew he wasn't trying to be strong (they hadn't bothered doing that in front of each other in a very long time) and nodded, satisfied.

"Bruised, not cracked."

He let out the breath he was holding, nodded and without prompting she helped him get the tank back on. But this time, instead of quickly pulling it down as she normally would have, she lingered, letting her fingers run across the sweat and dirt covered skin they found.

His eyes snapped to hers in surprise, but those deep greens gave nothing away.

After pulling a cold pack out and setting it aside, Clint disappeared to return the kit to Gregor.

On the way back up the stairs, his phone rang and he quickly answered, it was Coulson. The conversation was short, sweet and to the point and as he re-entered their room, closing the door, he relayed the conversation to Natasha.

"Fake passports, cash and credit cards are being mailed, should be here the day after tomorrow. We're leaving like regular ol' citizens."

When there was no reaction from the other person, Clint looked up from the phone to find her staring at him.

Like…staring. Just before it started to get really weird she stood and walked over to him, fire and seduction in her eyes.

Oh, no.

Then he was pushed back against the door and her lips were on his and it stoked the adrenaline in him again and despite the fact he knew this was a very bad idea, Clint couldn't seem to bring himself to stop her. Because behind the fire and seduction he had seen a woman who'd come centimeters from certain death and needed some kind of reassurance that she was still, indeed, alive. Hell, he needed the same reassurance.

So instead he kissed her back roughly, pressing his tongue into her mouth and she responded by doing the same. Then her hands made quick (though careful) work of his tank top again and her long fingers worked their way slowly back down his now-bare chest, over his abdomen and easily made work of his belt and Clint knew there was no going back.

But this would just be sex, nothing more, nothing less. A way to expend the last of the adrenaline coursing through their systems.

At least he hoped so.

Until she pulled away, fingers gripping his belt loops, and he couldn't help himself, he reached out and ever so gently touched the gauze on her forehead. A reminder to both of them how close they had come this time. Sure, there had been plenty of knife wounds, gun shots and burns between them for a lifetime, but a head shot? That would be the end.

Instead of holed up in an inn in Austria with her warm body pressed against his, Clint could be alone, her body left where it laid in Hungary.

And that's when he knew that he needed her, desperately, even if just for tonight. And since Clint Barton was good at pushing down feelings and emotions it was easy to delude himself into thinking that this was a one off deal, nothing. Just sex. But he knew in the back of his head that it was really so much more.

Her lips returned to his, gentler this time, moving slowly as if trying to memorize every detail about kissing him while her hands did the same to his body, sliding up and down his torso then across his arms, tracing the muscles of his biceps before linking her hands with his and pulling him backwards, toward the bed.

As they get closer he had a moment of clarity (or maybe stupidity) and he stopped, looking at her. "Natasha, are you-"

Before he could finish she placed one finger against his lips and stared into his eyes, maybe soul even, and he got the message.

Then he was back on her, hungry lips mapping her neck, shoulders, anything he could touch. Suddenly her shirt was off along with her bra and Clint restrained the moan that bubbled up in his throat.

Damn, she was more beautiful then he remembered. Then again, the last time he saw her topless, he was patching up a stab wound.

So he took advantage and explored more skin with lips and hands and then he was falling backward onto the bed, Natasha straddling him.

It isn't long before the rest of their clothes are on the floor and he's buried in her and she's moving up and down and rotating her hips and oh, if he wasn't a patient, patient, man this would have already been over. But he was and he sucked in a deep breath when her fingers dug into the flesh of his chest.

The moans and sighs coming from her were nearly silent, but he heard them anyway and his fingers gripped her hips tightly (probably too tightly, but she didn't complain) as she moved.

The near silent sounds rose in volume and started to buck against her, a hand sliding up her thigh. She anticipated his destination and pulled her hands away from his chest, instead leaning back and placing them on his thighs, opening herself up to him.

As she continued to ride him - her desperation starting to show - his hand found the juncture between her thighs and his fingers slowly rubbed against her, teasing, taunting.

A few swear words –in Russian – came forth as she somehow simultaneously fucked him while rubbing herself against his hand.

He could feel her tightening around him and the hand that was firmly on her clit sped its movements and pressed harder, sending her spiraling over the edge - calling out something that sounded like his name but was at least two syllables longer than it should have been.

He came right after her, his hands back on her hips as he did, panting and grunting.

Then she did something completely unexpected. Instead of getting up to clean herself, she fell forward onto him, lying so they are chest to chest, their hearts beating erratically. Her face was buried in his neck; he could feel her short breaths on his skin, hair tickling his nose. But it only lasted fifteen seconds or so before she pulled up and wordlessly disengaged from him, disappearing into the bathroom.

He watched her go with a tight feeling in his chest that Clint didn't want to explore.

Now that the energy was spent and the haze of desire had lifted, Clint realized what a very bad idea this had been and decided it absolutely could not happen again. It's too dangerous to get involved with your partner, especially when your partner is also your friend and closest confidant.

Could not. Happen. Again.

Except it does.

tbc…

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