A/N: It's pretty much smut masquerading as a story with some semblance of a plot. If you don't like it, feel free to leave.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the Frosted Flakes or anything else.
Natasha has taken to wearing as little clothes as possible around the Avengers' mansion and everyone has noticed. Everyone that is, except for Clint.
The first time she does it, it's in the morning and the guys are in the kitchen eating breakfast and talking amongst themselves. They've all been living together for a couple months now, and have all grown comfortable with one another. They've well past bonded even, and had accepted the ease of familiarity that comes with cohabitation. If asked, Natasha would even say they were becoming a family.
So while the guys are huddled over their bowls of cereal and cups of coffee, unenthusiastically chatting and trying to remain awake, Natasha enters the kitchen in her shortest pajama shorts and her laciest bra and nothing else.
Poor Steve nearly has a heart-attack when he sees her. His face immediately turns the colour of a ripe tomato and he chokes on the mound of cereal he was just about to swallow. His hacking draws attention to what caused it and Natasha sees Tony, Thor and Bruce look up at her in shock. Thor, in utter surprise, crushes the mug he had been holding, spraying coffee everywhere, though no one notices. Bruce turns pale and starts breathing deeply, attempting to keep his heart-rate down. Tony just smirks leeringly at her over the rim of his mug. He's not surprised. While he can appreciate an attractive woman, Natasha is an evil ninja and she fucking terrifies him. He also knows that she wouldn't even hesitate to kill him if he commented on her state of undress.
Natasha, on her part, keeps her face as impassive as ever and sits down between Steve, who is still coughing, and Thor. She pours herself a glass of orange juice and when she's done she looks up to see that the seat across from her is now empty. Clint, who hadn't even looked up from his bowl of Frosted Flakes, is gone.
The second time she does it is when they're all in the gym training. Thor and Steve are sparring on the mat, well away from everyone else because, well, when Thor and Steve spar it can get pretty dangerous. Bruce is off in a corner on the elliptical because any exercise besides cardio could get him too excited and no one wants the other guy to show up mid-set. Clint is on the other side of the gym, shooting arrows at blindingly fast moving targets. Tony and Natasha are lifting weights over by the big mirrored wall.
All of a sudden and without any warning, Natasha drops her bar and peels off her shirt so she is standing in front of the mirror in nothing but her sports bra, skin-tight spandex booty shorts and sneakers.
Tony, bless him, in the middle of a particularly heavy back squat, merely gives her a long and low whistle and an appreciative glance in the mirror without pause. His whistle draws the attention of Steve, who looks up from where he has Thor pinned and sees Natasha standing scantily clad in the mirror. He freezes, staring openly at her in innocent confusion. He's so distracted that he barely notices when Thor practically flings him across the room. The sound of him crashing into one of the many punching bags scattered around the gym causes Bruce to glance over, wondering what all the commotion is about. He sees Natasha, does a double take, and then trips over the elliptical. He lands face-first on the floor with a groan.
Like Tony, Natasha ignores the chaos she just created and continues on with her set. In the mirror though, she can see that Clint was again the only one who was unaffected by her actions, having managed to hit every target dead-centre. She didn't show it, but Natasha was getting frustrated.
This went on for a while. Natasha found more and more reasons to wear as little clothing as possible, though she only did it when she was sure Clint would be around. That meant that she would show up to Wednesday Movie Night is skimpy little nighties and walked around the mansion in various stages of undress, much to Steve's distress. The others hardly minded it, but whenever she showed up they seemed to have a lot of trouble focusing on whatever they had been doing previously. While Natasha knew she was having quite the affect on the majority of her teammates, the one whose attention she really wanted seemed oblivious to her actions.
One night, when Natasha is out on a solo S.H.I.E.L.D mission, Tony leaves his lab and calls the guys together for an emergency meeting in kitchen. Tony is a genius and therefore he'd figured out Natasha's plan after the first Gym Fiasco. He also knew that Steve was having issues with Natasha walking around the way she was since he was so old-fashioned, and while Tony certainly didn't have a problem with it, he knew that it had to end. The guys were getting distracted and though it was fun to watch, it wasn't helping anything.
Fuck, Tony thought, when did I become a responsible adult?
Tony didn't plan on spilling Natasha's plan to his thick-skulled buffoon team members, but he figured a few hints in the right direction would go a long way.
"Right," he says when they've all gathered around the table, "I'm not one for beating around the bush so here it is. Romanoff seems have a penchant for public stripping, you dickwads can't cope with it, and as much as it kills me to say this, we've got to put an end to it. Any ideas? Let's start with you, Cap, since I know it's bothering you the most."
Steve blushes a brilliant red and coughs awkwardly into his fist. He keeps his eyes on the table as he says, "Well, I just don't think it's proper for a dame like that to go around showing so much of herself. She's um, well, she's obviously beautiful, and, um, I just...I just don't think it is respectful for her to be doing this. Respectful to her, I mean."
"I do agree with the esteemed Captain!" Thor proclaims. "My sweet Jane would never act in such a way that would undermine her integrity! The Lady Natasha is an intelligent and fierce warrior and I do not understand why she is degrading herself in such base acts of unrestricted nudity!"
"Mmhmm, yeah," Tony agrees, "perhaps it's a desperate cry for attention? Care to elaborate, Barton?"
Clint looks up from the fork he had been fiddling with. "You called a meeting to discuss this?" he asks, clearly bored. "I honestly don't get what the problem is here. In fact, I've hardly noticed it."
Tony looks peeved for a second, but his face changes back to casual concern as he explains, "Well, it might not be a problem for you, and it is certainly not a problem for me, but it's the other bozos that can't control themselves. If she keeps this up Cap might just burst a blood vessel, Thor will crush a wall and Bruce will invite everyone's favourite green guy to the party."
Bruce, Steve and Thor at least have the decency to look sheepish. Steve's face is still red.
"Clint, you know Natasha the best, or at least, you've known her the longest. Maybe you could talk to her about this?" Steve suggests.
"You're the one who's bothered by it, why don't you go talk to her?" Clint retorts dryly.
If it's possible, Steve blushes even more.
Tony can see that this is getting them nowhere. If Clint is going to be an ass, then Tony can be one too. No one can out-ass Tony Stark. He fixes Clint with his best sneer, the one he reserves for annoying investors and politicians, and says, "Well someone has to do something about this and I nominate Barton." He raises his hand. "All in favour?"
Bruce, Steve and Thor all raise their hands as well.
"Great," Tony smirks at Clint, "That settles it then. Barton will stage a stripping intervention for Romanoff." He gets up to leave and pats Clint on the shoulder when he passes him. "Have fun, pal."
Thor and Steve follow Tony out of the kitchen. Bruce gets up too, and gives Clint a sympathetic smile before he walks out.
Clint is left alone at the kitchen table with a fork still in his hand, wondering what the fuck just happened.
When Natasha gets home, it's late. No one hears her come in since she's a spy and silence is what she does, so she goes up to her room without running into anyone and flops down on her bed. She is exhausted. The mission was tough, but nothing she couldn't handle on her own.
She's too tired to get up and find her pajamas so she just stays in the clothes she wore on her mission, letting her mind wonder. Of course, her thoughts go immediately to Clint. It's been three weeks since she's started her little plan and he hasn't once looked in her direction. She doesn't get it. Natasha is used to men wanting her. What frustrates her though is that the one man she wants to fall under her spell won't even give her a second glance. Natasha can seduce a man at forty paces and kill one at eighty, but she can't even get Clint to really look at her when she's standing half-naked in front of him.
She doesn't remember a time when she didn't feel this way about him. It probably has to do with the fact that he rescued her from her old life, but Natasha doesn't care what her subconscious' reasoning is. She's fucked up enough as it is without deliberately psychoanalyzing herself.
It's just that Clint is so capable and calculatingly powerful and Natasha can't help wanting him. He's strong, but not as strong as Thor. He's good looking, though not as conventionally handsome as Steve. He's sort of an asshole, though nowhere near Tony's level. And he's brooding, though not the silent, self-depreciating type Bruce is. He's just Clint, take it or leave it, and Natasha loves him for it.
Plus, Natasha respects him more than any of the other guys because Clint doesn't have any special superpowers or a high-tech suit and he sure as hell isn't a god, but he is still out there fighting with them. It's his vulnerability that Natasha loves the most, the fact that he's the most human out of all of them. Though maybe he isn't fully human since he's the only man she has ever met that has been able to resist her for so long.
The next morning Natasha wakes up late. She blindly stumbles down to the kitchen to get some coffee, hoping some caffeine in her system will wake her up. She's still dressed in the clothes she was wearing when she came home last night, a simple pair of grey slacks and a loose, pale pink blouse. She knows her makeup is beyond smeared and that she has a mad case of bedhead, but she doesn't care. Judging from the clock on the microwave it's way past breakfast time anyway and the guys should all be off doing their own things by now.
Once her coffee is done and she's poured some into her favourite blue mug, Natasha turns around intending to go back to her room to clean up. She stops though when she sees Clint leaning against the granite counter across from her, arms crossed. He's staring at her.
"What, no free show at this hour?" he asks, smirk securely in place.
She didn't know how he snuck up on her like that, because no one can sneak up on Natasha, but she hides her surprise and arranges her face into its usual blank mask.
"Sorry. I don't know what you're referring to," she tells him and with that she attempts to escape to her room.
Only she doesn't get very far because before she's taken three steps Clint's grabbed her arm, setting her mug on the counter and forcing her to look up at him.
"Don't play dumb, Tasha. It's not a good look on you," he says.
Natasha just stands there in his grip, meeting his gaze but refusing to respond. She feels her pulse speed up at the intimate contact, but she ignores it.
Clint, on the other hand, sees that Natasha isn't going to respond, and he sighs.
"Look Romanoff, some of the guys are uncomfortable with you walking around half-naked all the time and they've asked me to talk to you about it. So I am talking to you about it."
"Do I make you feel uncomfortable?" Natasha all but purrs and takes advantage of how close he is to her by ghosting her fingers over his chest.
Clint, for his part, remains impassive. "No, you don't."
Pouting slightly, Natasha eases out of Clint's grip and backs away from him so she is standing a few feet away. She widens her eyes and puts on her most innocent expression, her hands coming up to the top button of her blouse. "Are you sure?" she whispers.
She doesn't give him time to respond because she slowly, ever so slowly, begins to undo the buttons of her crinkled blouse, one by one, keeping her eyes on Clint the whole time. She watches his face, searching it, but Clint keeps his expressions blank and it's impossible for her to get a read on him.
Fine, she thinks, have it your way.
When every button is undone and Clint still hasn't responded, Natasha sighs and lets her blouse slip off her. It slides to the floor in a crumpled heap and she stands before him, exposed. She forgot she wasn't wearing a bra.
"Oops," she says, never breaking eye contact. She walks past him, leaving her shirt on the floor. Reaching for her mug of now-cold coffee on the counter, she makes sure her chest grazes his forearm lightly as she stretches across him to grab it. Straightening, she takes a sip from her mug and turns away from him. She is about to walk away when his hand darts out, fast and unexpected like his arrows, and grabs her wrist.
Natasha smirks, her face hidden from his. Finally.
Clint spins her around so she is facing him again. She calmly puts her mug back down and gazes up at him, her smirk still on her face. "Did you need something?" she asks innocently.
Even though his face is still unreadable, Clint growls at her and grabs her other wrist, pulling her flush against his broad chest. "Fuck, Tasha," he groans and his lips come crashing down on hers.
The kiss is hard and hungry and hides nothing. Clint turns them so Natasha is against the counter and he pushes her into it, deepening the kiss, his hands releasing her wrists and grabbing her waist instead. Normally, Natasha would hate for a man to physically dominate her in any situation, but this is Clint and she has wanted this for a long, long time.
Clint breaks the kiss suddenly, moving his head back and breathing heavily. Natasha uses this pause to press her lips against his neck, sucking and licking and nipping at the skin there. Her hands find their way to the hem of his t-shirt and she slips them under it, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen flex. Clint moans.
"Fuck, Tasha, fuck. You don't know what you do to me," he pants out as Natasha plays with his nipples, feeling them harden under her fingertips. "This whole time has been torture, watching you walk around like that. I was going crazy."
Natasha hums against his collar bone and manages to get his shirt over his head. She presses herself into him, and Clint moans again when he feels her breasts on his chest.
"Stop talking," she instructs, "we can do that after."
In response, Clint brings his hands up to Natasha's breasts and squeezes, drawing a deep and throaty moan out of her. He brings his head down to her left nipple, taking it in his mouth and beings to suck while rolling her right one between his fingers. "Clint," Natasha pants, "Stop fooling around!" As she says this, her hands are already making quick work of his fly, shoving both his jeans and boxers down together.
Clint's erection, hard and already slick, presses into her stomach. He gets the message fast, and leaves her breasts alone in favour of undoing the fly of her grey slacks. Soon, both of them have their pants around their knees and Clint hoists Natasha up on the counter so he's standing between her knees.
"Fuck, Tasha," Clint grunts as he thrusts into her, hard and fast, causing Natasha to cry out in pleasure. "I'm going to fuck you so hard; I've wanted to do this for so long."
"Well quit talking about it," Natasha manages to get out between thrusts, "and show me!"
Clint growls into the hollow of her neck and Natasha can feel the vibrations all the way to her toes. He thrusts harder, angling upwards to hit that sweet, sweet spot. His hand comes down between her legs, rubbing and stroking while he grinds her into the kitchen counter.
Natasha's vision is splotchy and she's howling out a string of profanities in Russian as she comes around Clint. She sees white, white heat and her muscles clench and it's only a few more thrusts before Clint follows her over the edge, his hands digging into her waist and crying out her name.
They stay there for a few moments, Natasha perched on the counter and Clint's face pressed into her neck, desperately trying to catch their breaths. When they've relaxed and released each other, Natasha looks up at Clint's flushed face and asks, "What took you so long?"
Much to Steve's relief, Natasha stops walking around in various states of undress without a word to any of them. He thinks, prematurely, that everything has gone back to normal. A week later he regrets this thought when he walks into the gym one afternoon to destroy a couple punching bags and finds Natasha and Clint tangled on the sparring mat, definitely not sparring.
Tony sighs when Steve tells him this, thinking to himself that he's going to have to be the fucking responsible adult again and call another meeting.