Hello again!

This chapter is rated M for some light smut at the end.

Yay.

"Now tell me where it is," Brandt commanded.

Z spat blood at Brandt's feet, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Brandt yanked his arm back, fingers twitching into a fist, waiting to tackle Z's face until it looked like lunch meat when he was interrupted, "Will, we have to go," Agent Rasher boarded the van, ripping he skirt on the door. Walsh followed closely behind.

"What about George?" Brandt questioned, not willing to leave a teammate behind, an old habit he picked up from god knows where.

"No time, lets go," Brandt hesitated. He glanced down at the crazy maybe-Scottish man tied to a chair. Rasher hissed, "Now, Brandt"

"I don't understand why wescant wait for George, I'm not about to leave behind a comrade without seriously great reason," Brandt spoke into his mic, "George can you hear me? Get back to the van, now,"

It was too late, two shots fired, one hitting the glass window on the side of the van, one hitting the tire. The team went into defensive offense, Walsh stayed in the van with Z while Brandt and Rasher went on the attack. The two stepped out of the van, into the parking lot behind the building. Their footsteps were inaudible as they move around. They heard Walsh tell Hanish to stay where he was. City sounds lit up the background.

A sudden electric shock knocked Rasher off her feet. She lay on her side, teeth clenched, curled in a ball. Brandt ran to her kneeling down to see what had happened. His concern blocked his rational, he forgot what was around him. He couldn't take loosing a teammate. He couldn't do it. He couldn't protect her the first time and now... Brandt didn't know. He heard a soft click behind him.

Brandt sprung to his feet, gun pointed at the person behind him.

"Brandt," the corner of her lipsticked mouth curved up slightly. Brandt's arms lowered just slightly. He knew this woman facing him, red hair, green eyes. God, she looked great. She wore a tight red dress, cutting down low on her cleavage. What he wouldn't give to peel it off her. His gaze found it's way to her arm, a gauntlet sat there, out of place from her dress but it reminded him of what was happening. He raised his gun again. "I need Z," she said.

"You're who S.H.E.I.L.D sent, huh?" Brandt mocked.

The woman giggled, bittersweet, a tantalizing sound. "All I need is Z, Brandt."

"You're not getting him," Brandt snarled.

"I don't want to hurt you, Brandt."

"You'll have to if you want Z"

They stood there, air frozen between the two agents, a standoff. A strange sense of deja vu settled in the bottom of Brandt's stomach. the woman slowly raised the arm without the gauntlet to her mouth, "Coulson we have an issue," She never once took her gaze off Brandt. She lowered her arm, "We don't have time for this Brandt. Step out of the way,"

Somehow Brant couldn't help but bitterly chuckle, "Make me."

The woman launched herself at Brandt, lunging for his head. Brandt managed to dodge and throw a punch at her side. The woman acted like she didn't even notice the hit. Brandt heard the woman swear, "you made me." Brandt pointed his gun at her she shook her head, he couldn't tell if she was angry or sad. The machine on her wrist flared up. And electric current ran through Brandt's body, head to toe. It tingled through his finger tips but fried his insides.

"I'm sorry, Clint," The woman whispered in the most familiar way. Brandt's eyes shut, his mind left to fold in on itself.

A soft light drifted through the window, highlighting the scene of two agents laying in bed, practically naked. "Stop squirming, Tasha," Natasha Romanoff's hair tickled Clint Barton's neck as she snuggled into his chest. His calloused hand stroked back Natasha's hair. "I liked it long," He joked.

Natasha placed a gentle kiss on Clint's chin. "It was getting in the way," Clint of feel her smile on his skin. Her lips traced his collarbone, down his sternum, down, down, until she reached his boxer shorts. Her hand slid the fabric down just a little bit, her lips following the exposed skin.

"Wait Nat," Barton tried to argue but lost his voice as she gave his boxers another yank. "Natasha," He pushed her up as he sat on the bed. the look in her eyes for a split second crushed him, hurt and rejected. "Nat, I don't want..." He paused waiting for the right words to form in his mouth. "I don't think this," No that wasn't the right phrasing either, "I just don't want-"

"Me?" Natasha whispered, looking down at the bed sheets, fingers shaking.

Clint's hands embraced Natasha's face, pulling her eyes level to his. She looked sad, in a way in which there were no there words to describe it. She looked like a little girl who had her red balloon swept away by the wind. "No, no, don't you ever think that. I don't want this sex thing," Clint let out a breath, those weren't the right words either. "I want to be with you, but not as fuck buddies."

Natasha wasn't satisfied with that answer. She sat there eyes questioning her lover, confused.

"Nat, I don't just want to be that guy you sleep with. I want to be the person you go home to. I want to be your best friend. I want to be the first person you turn to. I want to be the only person who sees your sleeping face, and to wake you up in the mornings. I want to be your..."

"Boyfriend," A grin had broken out on Natasha's face. "It's so cheesy," the two agents broke out into laughter, a mutual understanding, acceptance on both ends.

"Thank god," Clint pulled Natasha's arm, yanking her back on top of him as they tumbled back into bed. A new sense of closeness drove the two. Natasha's lips crashed into Clint's, a soft action in comparison to how hard she was gripping his shoulders. Clint's hands moved to her already bare breasts, he rubbed softly not wanting to go as fast as last time. Natasha, however, had an entirely different agenda. She sent her hand to find the archer's deadliest weapon. Her hand slipped down under his boxers. She smiled into his lips, he was already hard.

Clint rolled over on top of Natasha, pulling her hand from his underwear. He kissed her neck moving down towards her breast. He was soft, a gentle loving touch, something the Black Widow wasn't used to. Their other "sessions" were hungry animal-like clawing at each other. This was different. As Clint moved towards Natasha's nether regions she couldn't help but think about how different this felt, how good it felt. A soft moan escaped her lips. There was something about the rhythmic way Clint tongue was swirling around that was much more sensual than all the sex in her life had felt before. As her hips shuttered, back arcing she cried out, "Clint, Clint," her hands grabbed the sheets around her, "Clint" this time her cries were met with her lover's lips.

"I'm here, Tasha, I'll always be here."

Brandt's eye's flew open. He flung himself from the bed in which he was resting. He felt around the minuscule room for a weapon, finding none he clung to the wall, inspecting this unknown habitat.

"You're finally awake, I was getting worried, " there was a light hint of humor in the woman's voice.

"Where am I?" Brandt hissed "Who are you?"

The woman's face drooped, "You don't remember?" She hovered by the door.

"Where am I? Who are you?" Brandt insisted.

"One hint, Budapest," The woman gave him a sad smile and slipped out of the room, locking it shut behind her.

Okay now really, who is William Brandt and what does he have to do with Clint Barton? What happened in Budapest?

Hurray for smut! I'll write a more in depth one later but here's your first little taste. ;)

Please review and tell me how I did or any suggestions or just anything I love feedback

Thank you for reading