Someone hammered on the door of the motel room with a heavy hand. They tried to ignore it - "Seriously, we're not making that much noise... are we?" - but the pounding continued, and with a muttered curse, Clint rolled onto his back and lay there panting for a few moments. The knocking had stopped, and he grinned and was about to reach for Tasha again when it resumed, accompanied by a verbal demand to "open the ******* door!" Clint groaned and got up, grabbing the nearest thing to wrap around his hips as he went to answer the door.

When he opened it, he found the desk clerk waiting, an expression on his face that suggested that they'd been making a lot more noise than they'd realized. "Both of you out!" the angry little man snarled.

Clint gave him a skeptical look. "Is there a problem?"

"A problem? I've had multiple complaints about the noise. People at the other end of the building can hear you..." The clerk's eyes focused on whatever it was that Clint had wrapped around himself. "Is that...?" He looked over at the window, which no longer had curtains.

Realizing what he was looking at, Clint said, "Hey, that was an accident. Seriously, that curtain rod wasn't as strong as it looked, but..." Without intending to, he took a couple of steps forward, causing the clerk to back into the hallway. Clint noticed for the first time that other guests were out there - an angry looking man in briefs and a t-shirt, and further down, a red-faced woman, trying to shepherd a small child back into a room. At the sight of Clint wearing only a flimsy curtain, she grabbed the child and put her hand over its eyes, finally hustling the youngster out of sight.

"You're paying for the damage to that curtain rod," the clerk told Clint, as he tried to maneuver him out of the hallway. His gaze traveled back to the room. "And to the bed... seriously, how did you even do that...?"

Clint grinned. "You really want me to describe it?"

The clerk flushed dark red. "Never mind - but you're paying for it! And I want you both out of here in five minutes." He turned and scurried away towards reception, apparently afraid that he was going to hear sordid details that might leave mental scars.

Clint sighed and went back into the room. Tasha was sitting up in bed now, with a wicked little smirk on her face. "My place?" she suggested.

He grinned. "Looks like we've got no choice. Wonder how much he's going to fleece us for the damages."

As Tasha got out of bed and began to search for her clothes, she chuckled. "At least he didn't see the shower head and the towel rail..." she murmured.

It took them longer than five minutes to get dressed - Clint finally found his boxers, along with Tasha's bra, between the wardrobe and the wall - and they left the room. Walking down the hall towards reception, they saw one of the other guests peering around the door of a room. Clint nodded politely, and the man quickly vanished. They could hear him locking and bolting the door hastily.

At reception, Clint haggled for a few minutes over the amount the clerk wanted for the damage to the room. Eventually, though, he paid up – partly because he just wanted to get out of here and get to Tasha's apartment, but also because Tasha was starting to get that look on her face that would lead to more damages and an even higher bill.

Finally, they were on their way, taking the quickest route which led them through a distinctly seedy area of the city.

Steve Rogers was doing his regular stint with a charity organization, handing out food and warm clothing to the homeless on the streets of New York City. He found that it helped him feel more in touch, and just a little less lost in this modern world, to be around those who had grown up in it but were still lost.

Coming out of a dingy little laneway, he spotted a familiar flash of vivid red hair. Surely, that was Natasha Romanoff? The man she was with was partly hidden by his hoodie, but when they stopped at the lights the man turned towards her, and Romanoff pushed the hood back off his head, to run her fingers through his hair, then pull him in for a kiss. That kiss, intense and prolonged, made Steve look away, feeling uncomfortable. He still wasn't accustomed to the idea that such displays of raw desire could take place in public, and not cause outrage and outcry.

The couple broke apart, and Steve realized that the man with her was Barton, her fellow agent. He'd known the two were close, but hadn't realized that they were romantically involved. So was this something new for them, or had he just been oblivious to it when they'd been working as a team the previous year? And was this sort of relationship even allowed within S.H.I.E.L.D.? Should he be reporting them to Fury?

At this point the pair of them moved in for another kiss, and this time their hands were on each others' bodies, intimate groping that made Steve blush at the thought of having to describe what he was seeing to Fury. He turned quickly away, telling himself that it was none of his business, and probably Fury was already aware that the two agents were a couple.

To his relief, next time Steve looked up, the lights had changed, and Barton and Romanoff were on the other side of the street, still engrossed in each other, but moving steadily away from him. He decided that since they hadn't realized he was there, he would say nothing, and with a small sigh of relief, he turned his attention back to his real reason for being out here at this hour.

By the time Clint and Natasha made it to her apartment, they were more than ready to continue what had begun in the motel room. Natasha barely got the locks fastened, before Clint pulled her into his arms. They were gasping for breath when they finally pulled apart. Clint fumbled with the buttons on Tasha's blouse for a few minutes, before giving up and jerking it open, sending the buttons flying. Her hands were on his belt, unbuckling it at the same time as she was pulling him towards the bedroom. There was a slight crash as they stumbled into a chair.

"Your neighbors likely to complain?" Clint asked. Not that it was going to change anything, but it was useful to know if they were likely to be interrupted again by irate hammering on the door.

She smiled. "They wouldn't dare!" He grinned as he followed her into the bedroom.

Much later, lying exhausted side by side in the disheveled bed, Tasha remarked, "We should keep this under wraps for now."

Clint turned on his side to look at her. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?" he said teasingly.

Tasha snorted. "If I was the type to get embarrassed, I'd have drawn the blinds!" she said. "No – S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't forbid agents being involved with each other, but it's not exactly encouraged. But mostly it's just none of their damn business."

He nodded, shifting closer. "Right. Someone like Stark would never stop with the wisecracks if he knew. And Rogers..."

Tasha chuckled. "Poor guy would never stop blushing if he knew we were going to..." She moved closer and whispered something in his ear.

A grin began to spread on Clint's face. "Is that even physically possible?" he asked.

Tasha smirked. "You're about to find out!" she promised.

A/N: This was originally going to be part of a much longer story, but the tone of the rest will be a lot darker, so I decided to leave this as a story in its own right, and create a separate story for the continuation.