Author: hulucthulhu PM
Natasha and Clint play a weekly game of strip poker, but this time Clint ends up baring more then he intended too. Lots of angst, and some sexy things. Decided to make this into a series instead of a one shot! Relationship trials, missions, drama, angst, hurt, redemption, family. Budapest chap 7 and Avengers events from 10-14.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Angst - Hawkeye/Clint B. & Black Widow/Natasha R. - Chapters: 27 - Words: 55,136 - Reviews: 150 - Favs: 156 - Follows: 193 - Updated: 09-01-12 - Published: 06-08-12 - id: 8195488
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Authors Note: This was supposed to be just a little short drabble convo, and then two and a half hours 2700+ words later whoops I clintasha'd again. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but depending on the reviews, I might write more. Though I know I'm a little too adult, and with the recent crack down, an invite to archive of our own would be really appreciated. Can't wait to hear what you think, enjoy!
She didn't let Clint play poker with anyone else. He had a gambling problem, and she wasn't bailing his ass out from under loan sharks again anytime soon. To his credit, he never touched his emergency stash, which was more than most people make in their entire lives. But still, she hated that he'd rather go hungry and play cards than be stable. Instead she played with him once a week, strip poker. The only thing they could lose there was clothes, and they'd been naked around each other plenty of times and neither had qualms about nudity. He smirked as she pulled her blue t-shirt over her head. She was losing, and he wasn't going to let her forget it. He hated losing, because he always had less clothes on then her anyways. They were both barefoot already, and now sans shirts. They both had unbeatable poker faces, so it was more about psyching the other one out to cover their bluffs. It was more of a thrill than he ever got in illegal casinos.
They never really said much during their games, she drank her vodka. Delicate sips. A lot of delicate sips. and he just drank his whiskey straight from the bottle. Just sitting at an old table in Clint's apartment. It was a large studio apartment with a good view of the city and not much furniture besides an old table and a couple chairs. A large bed. A wall of weapons, and practice targets at the other end of the room. He'd paid well to have to wall sound proofed. It was quiet, and calm. Much like Clint. Natasha liked it here.
She threw her hand down, Clint dropped his. Fuck him, seriously. He had good luck tonight.
"Pants off, Romanoff."
"You've been waiting years to say that, haven't you?" She stood up and wiggled her hips out of her skinny jeans.
They'd never slept together, well they had, but they'd never had sex. He had feelings for her, but he wasn't going to admit it. She was his partner, and he didn't want to replace her so scaring her off was not an option. Smart, funny, and damn did those curves make his mouth water. He took a large swig out of his bottle.
She sat back down, she spread her legs wide in attempts to distract him. Now is when things usually got ridiculous between them. He'd seen all of her before, and vice versa. But they never got bored of trying to ruffle each others feathers. There had been attempts at seduction, pranked bottles, even random sparing matches mid game, just to throw the other off their card game. They always ended up even.
He spotted a bruise on her hipbone, dipping just below the lacy waistband of her boy shorts. It wasn't a battle bruise, he could see that even in the dim light, he was hawkeye after all. No it had the particular round shape and petechiae of a hickey. Now that was something he'd never seen on her before and before he could even stop himself he blurted out,
"How many men have you been with?"
it registered as soon as he finished the sentence, and he immediately braced to be hit. He was met with silence though, he looked up. She still had her poker face on.
"Four," she said, and looked back at her cards.
"Shut the fuck up. The infamous seductress Natasha Romanoff has only been with four men?"
"Two were women," she said almost annoyed. His brain short circuited as he pictured her lips on the thighs of another woman. He was glad he was wearing jeans. "And being a good seductress means you don't have to sleep with them to get what you want. I don't even kiss most marks."
okay, she had made a good point. He couldn't help but be a little jealous at the four people.
"So who were they?"
She flashed her cards, and damn, she'd beat him. He took off his watch.
"It doesn't but I dont feel like sparring over rules tonight."
"So who were they," he inquired again as he shuffled.
"Well, in the Room we were taught how to seduce, both men and women. We were all paired with a boy and a girl our own age and yeah."
"Jesus, how old were you?" He'd heard things about her training in the Red Room in Russia, but this was new.
"When we got to that part, 14."
"Who were the other two?"
She rolled her eyes at him, she knew he'd keep asking until she told him.
"Murdock, and Hill."
"Hill? andDaredevil Seriously?"
"Hill and I weren't an item, and that's all I'm saying."
"Murdock and I were together for a while, if you didn't notice."
"I did," he growled. He never liked Matt Murdock. He always knew he was just using Natasha to get over that Elektra bitch. He remembers finding Natasha surrounded by empty bottles and using a picture of him as practice target the night they broke up. He actually saw her cry. But it had been a a couple years since then.
"So who's that from?"
"Keep your eyes to yourself."
"Couldn't help it," he winked. She glared. "Was it Hill?"
"My last mission was in San Francisco."
"Jesus fuck, Tash! Are you fucking kidding me?" He threw his cards down and stood up and walked away from the table to the fridge to grab another bottle. Anger, jealousy, rage flowed over him. He was just going to hurt her again. She didn't deserve that. She deserved someone loyal.
She smirked and layed her cards on the table.
"Pants off, Clint."
Now they were going to have a problem. He was half hard, somewhere between imagining the firey redhead in bed, and he sudden rage he'd gotten a little worked up. and its not like she wouldn't notice when he was down to just his boxer briefs.
"I dont want to play this stupid fucking game anymore," he said leaning on the closed fridge, not facing her. He wasn't sure what game he was even talking about.
"The rules are we play till someone loses their underwear."
"I know what the fucking rules are, Natasha." okay, that'd come out a little rough.
"What the fuck is your problem, Barton?"
He just shook his head.
"Is it Matt that's your problem? Or all four of them?" She stood up from the rable and stepped towards him, "how many people has Clint Barton slept with? He never misses what he aims for after all."
He mumbled something at the fridge.
"Speak the fuck up, Clint."
"Oh for fucksake," she turned and walked back to her pile of clothes. "You have a problem with my relationship, and you've fucked 43 women? You have no right to fucking talk."
his body snapped around, "You're not with him anymore!" he screamed. She was right, he didn't have a right to judge how many people she'd slept with. it could have been 1000, he didn't care about that. He cared about her getting hurt. His series of flings had racked up a number, but he didn't care about any of them. He never saw them again. He saw Natasha every day. He cared about her. When he heard Murdock's name he could only think of her with tears running down her face, a gun in one hand and a bottle in the other. He also couldn't help but think of the way he'd kissed her that night. He shouldn't have. She was drunk, and upset. He couldn't stop himself. He'd just wanted to stop her hurting. He remembered the taste of vodka and salt from her tears on her lips. They'd never talked about it. It was like it had never happened. But it had, and every day since then he knew he couldn't live without her by his side in any capacity.
"Everyone has needs," she said pulling her jeans up. "Clearly you take care of yours, why shouldn't I take care of mine?" There was venom in her voice. They'd gotten in arguments before, but never a fight like this.
"I'd never hurt you like that," he said quietly.
She'd stopped. She still looked furious, but she was just watching him. His jaw was grinding and his hands were clenched. His eyes were locked on hers. There was no backing down now. He wasn't going to do this half way.
"I would never use you, Nat. and I can't see you so...broken up..again. I can't handle that. It's like watching the most tenacious, beautiful thing just sit down and die. I didn't have a fucking heart to break before I met you Romanoff. Now I can't stop thinking about you. Getting jealous of goddamn marks. Worrying about you. and I will put an arrow in the eye of anyone who dares hurt you like that again."
Her face had slowly turned from furious to a murky confusion and frustrated combination. He feared whatever was about to leave her mouth.
"I'm not your responsibility," she said tightly.
"You're more than my best friend, you're more than a lover, you're my partner, Nat. You are entirely my responsibility. Would you be playing strip poker with me if I wasn't yours?"
She looked away, they both knew the answer to that. She'd never say it out loud though. She just looked at the floor, he refused to take his eyes off of her. He could see the tears well up in her eyes out of frustration. Way to fucking go, Barton, he thought. He took a couple steps towards her.
She back handed him hard. He saw white for a moment. his face stung and his jaw hurt. He'd deserved that. They watched each others eyes, it was back to playing poker. Except this time neither of them were hiding anything. Her blues were running over with anger and fear. His steely eyes were filled with sorrow and longing. He closed the distance between him, taking her face in his hands, calloused thumbs brushing away her tears.
"I'm sorry, Nat. I'm so sorry," he said softly. He kissed her forehead gently. "I'm need you, I-I don't know what to do without you. I'm sorry. Please don't cry," he kissed her forehead again. He tilted her face up, and kissed her softly. She tasted like vodka and tears. He wasn't going to run away this time. to his surprise, she pressed into the kiss back. He felt like there was lightening in her lips, it was perfect. She pulled away and stepped back. She looked conflicted. "Don't go, not tonight. Please."
She bit her lip. She'd never expected any of this. Not that she hadn't wanted it, she did. She just never thought it'd actually happened, pushed it back to her mind. But here she was, in her partners apartment, half naked, crying, and wishing he'd just pick her up and kiss her again.
"Okay," she said so quietly he could barely hear her. He stepped forward again, his hands reached her waist, and his lips took her mouth. This time he didn't hold back. All the passion and longing between them went into it. Neither of them had been kissed like that before in their lives. He bit at her bottom lip, and her tongue teased at his. Her arms were around his neck. His hands slid under her round ass and he lifted her as her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. She kissed down his neck and he carried her to the bed. He set her down gently, leaning over and kissing down her neck, her shoulders, between her breasts down to her stomach. he pulled off her jeans, and stood up to look at the sight.
The infamous Natasha Romanoff laid on his bed, almost naked, propped up on her elbows, with nothing but need and want in her eyes. He'd never seen a more beautiful sight.
"You're so gorgeous, babe."
She blushed a little, it wasn't the first time she'd heard that. but it felt like it. she Sat up and pulled him down to her, kissing him while she unclasped her bra. She tossed it to the side. His strong hands moved her panties down her hips and legs and discarded them. her hand gripped his neck, her nails pressing into the skin. He kissed sloppily down her neck, letting his stubble scrape as he went. She shivered a little every time. He made it to her breasts. They looked like a work of art to him. He laved a tongue over a nipple, and let his teeth gently nip at it. her breath hitched. he sealed his mouth around it and sucked and rolled his tongue over it. His other hand cupping the other breast, thumb swirling around the peak of it. She gently bucked her hips wanting more. He kissed down her body once more. He got to her hips, and he came upon the mark. Another man's mark. He stopped. Her brow furrowed in confusion.
"I don't want you sleeping with anyone else," he said sternly.
"If you don't, I wont."
He kissed her hard. She guided his hand on her hip to her center, "please," she mumbled against his lips. this he could definitely oblige. his fingers ran over her slit. She was wet already, but he wanted more. his fingers delved into her, brushing over her clit. She sighed when he did, so he did it again. rubbing tight circles over the hard nub until her legs quivered.
she moaned out a russian curse and kissed him harder, nails biting into his neck, as her teeth caught on her lip. he removed his hand and scooted her up the bed, reaching into his nightstand for a condom.
"are you clean?"
"Don't bother with that, I want to feel only you."
"I have an IUD, don't worry about it."
He shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder. He leaned back, unzipping his tight pants, pulling them and his underwear down to his knees.
She whistled and winked at him, "Hello, Mr. Barton."
He smiled and slided into her. Her eye lids fluttered, and her hands gripped the sheets. No one he'd ever fucked compared to this. This was more, this was so much more than a quick fuck.
They quickly found rhythm, no one knew each others body better then they did.
"Tash, I-I never imagined anything so good, shit." He gave her a heated kiss, before rolling them over in a smooth move so she was on top. She looked like a goddess; the way her hair had messed up in the sexiest way, her mouth slightly open as she panted, the blush that had spread from her cheeks to her chest. His hands running over her perfect curves as their bodies met in the middle. "I've wanted this for so long." She rolled her hips and gasped. She found the perfect spot, and they found a new rhythm.
"Fuck, Clint. I'm so-fuck," her head dropped back. He sat up and embraced her. Tight thrusts hitting a spot deep in her, making her gasp into his kiss. They'd needed this, so badly. She felt her orgasm pooling in her abdomen. Suddenly, like a rubber band snapping, she came. She saw white, and she bit into his shoulder to stop herself from moaning too loud, she tastes the salt of his sweat and coppery blood from breaking skin. She road out her orgasm, it rocked her body. She shook and clenched, and the sum of it all drove him over the edge. He climaxed too, he couldn't stop himself from moaning out her name.
She rolled off of him and collapsed next to him. they were panting, sweat cooling on their skin. She rolled into his arms, resting one on his chest. She felt his heartbeat gradually slow. He smiled at her, the corner of his eyes crinkling. She kissed him, tired and sated and so very happy.
"So that was phenomenal," she said dreamily.
"Because it was meant to happen."
"Since when do you believe in fate, Clint Barton?" She laughed gently and pressed smiling kisses on his chest.
"Since I found you."