Thanks to hazellazer for the cheerleading and getting this thing off the ground, and Pamela for taking a look at my last draft. 3!
Caveat lector: I wrote this. I write a lot of smutty things. Oh, and it fulfills the cottoncandy-bingo prompt "Day Off". Mostly.
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She found him waiting for her when she walked through the door, slumped on her couch with his feet propped on her coffee table. He'd obviously been asleep, and he snorted a little and wiped the drool from the edge of his mouth. Sleep-mussed, he smiled at her.
His voice was a rasp in his throat, but it sent little shivers down her spine to hear it. She hadn't seen him, not in person anyway, in a while, and even staring at him across the room was already starting to do strange things to her body.
Not letting on that his mere presence was enough to get her aroused, she smiled back, kicked off her heels, and dropped her purse by the door.
"When did you get in?" she asked, pulling of her jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. She repressed a wince at the timbre of her voice, cleared her throat, and tried again. "Didn't think Fury was going to give you any time off before the next big assignment."
He rubbed one hand over his eyes and stretched, revealing a bare patch of skin below his navel. "Time off for good behavior, I guess."
She tore her eyes away from the thin trail of hair leading down below his waistband and sat down beside him on the couch, bumping her shoulder into his. "Good behavior, my ass. I know what you get to up to at night."
"And what's that, exactly?" he asked, crossing his arms and looking affronted. "I'll have you know I'm the very picture of propriety and clean living."
Natasha snorted at that. "Yeah, sure, as long as 'clean living' has anything to do with cleaning your pipes." She laced the words with innuendo, watched as he perked up with interest.
"You offering?" he asked, leering at her, and she crossed her legs to hide the squirm of anticipation that rippled through her.
Enjoying the banter enough to draw it out for just a little longer, she rolled her eyes and smacked his thigh. "Feet off the table, Barton."
It wasn't that she really cared about things like coffee tables and scuff marks, but Natalie Rushman certainly did. Let it never be said that she didn't embrace a role. Besides, it gave her an excuse to touch his thigh.
He pouted, but did as she asked, and he resumed the thread of their conversation. "I'm back in New Mexico after this. Fury wants me to keep an eye on that blue cube thing." He sighed. "It's going to be boring as shit."
She laughed, leaned against him. "Yeah, but you're good at boring things."
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him, dropping a quick kiss on top of her head. "I'll show you boring," he said, giving up the pretense and turning her in his arms.
She giggled, pretended to struggle against him, but they both knew that she could get away if she really wanted to. She let herself fall into him, let him pull her into his lap, and she helped him settle her comfortably against his rapidly growing erection. Her skirt hiked up high around her hips, she shifted back and forth experimentally, enjoying the pressure against her center.
"Oh!" she said in mock surprise, eyebrows raised. "Is that for me?"
"What can I say? It's been a while, and you're hot." He shrugged, then slid his palm up her leg, over her skirt, and squeezed her ass firmly.
She moaned breathily, then braced her arm on the back of the couch behind Clint's head. Leaning in close, she ran her hand across his chest, taking a fistful of the fabric in the center and tugging. "Your shirt is kind of chafing me. Maybe you should take it off."
He chuckled, a rumble low in his throat, and he let her pull the shirt off over his head, hissing when she ghosted her lips across the newly bared flesh. She flicked her tongue out, swept it quickly across one of his nipples, and repressed a laugh at his resultant groan.
"Dammit, Nat," he said, threading his fingers through her hair.
"What?" she asked innocently, sliding off his lap to the floor, coming to rest between his legs. She pressed a kiss low on his belly and fiddled with his belt buckle. "You know, pants are a vestigial organ, and, uh, yours look infected."
"Maybe you should … " He made a choked noise, half laugh, half gasp as she brushed her chin over the bulge in his pants. "Maybe you should remove them," he managed at last.
She undid his belt buckle quickly, divesting him of his pants and underwear in one sure movement, and her mouth watered at the sight of his fully erect cock, bobbing back and forth in front of her face, its tip glistening with precome.
Starting at his knees, she ran her hands up his legs, nuzzling his inner thigh gently with the tip of her nose, then the side of her face, and she wrapped her fingers around his cock, pumping a few times and feeling gratified as he bucked into her touch.
Without warning, she took him in her mouth, looking up at him as he moaned, and she felt a sudden surge of wetness grow between her legs at the sight. He had one arm crooked behind his head, even as he leaned back, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth wide as he panted. She felt rather than saw him fist his free hand in her hair, guiding her motions as she worked him.
"Fuck, yes, like that," he groaned, arching his back as she swirled her tongue around the head, continuing the pumping motion with her hand. She reached up with her other hand, massaged his abdomen, then swept higher, reaching for his nipples, knowing precisely how sensitive he was there.
She started to hum a mindless tune then, feeling him grow impossibly harder in her mouth and palm, and, fuck, there was nothing hotter than watching Clint Barton, a man possessed of infinite patience and self control, start to lose it as she sucked his cock. And fuck it all if she wasn't getting turned on more and more by the second, listening to the little helpless noises he was making as she worked, feeling him respond to her touches and quake beneath her.
She stopped worrying his nipples then, slipped her hand between her legs, and feeling only a slight twinge of regret at his mewl of loss, she pressed two firm fingers against her throbbing clit, rubbing herself through her soaked hose and panties. Goddamn it, she missed this; she missed him.
She saw him look down at her, meeting her gaze with lust and an emotion that looked suspiciously like something else floating around the edges, so she increased the pace of her tongue, the rhythm of her hand, and she watched as he closed his eyes in the struggle to maintain control.
He let out a wordless cry at one particularly determined suck, then tugged back gently on her hair, trying to pull her away. "Shit, baby, this is great," he choked out. "But I really want to fuck your pussy, and that just isn't going to happen if I come in your mouth."
She should hate that he talked to her like that, that he said things to her that would make her leave the average man bleeding and broken, but instead, all she felt was more turned on, hotter, damper, needier. She wanted him desperately now, wanted him to hold her down and fuck her until she couldn't remember her name, much less her alias or how Tony Stark took his coffee.
She let go of him with a pop, the taste of him still thick in her mouth, and he crushed her against him, dragging his mouth down to hers and running his tongue all over her lips, her teeth, and nipping at her full lips.
"God, I want you to fuck me," she moaned. His hands flew over her body, stripping her bare in a matter of seconds, and she was so far gone she didn't even bat an eyelash at the sounds of fabric ripping in his haste.
He slid to the floor then, not breaking his kiss and cradling her head in one hand to guide her away from the sharp edge of the coffee table. When she was finally down, her back pressed into the cheap carpet, he tugged her legs up around his waist and sunk down into her in one sure stroke.
"Fuck, you're tight," he hissed against her shoulder.
She locked her ankles around his waist in response, holding him still while she stretched to accommodate him.
"It's been a while for me, too," she whispered, relishing the little quivers of pleasure that rippled through her as she expanded.
She'd always loved this moment, after he'd entered her but before they got swept away, when her body adjusted and she could feel him hard and thick inside of her, twitching and pulsing even as his back muscles shook with restraint. She relaxed her legs a little, shifted her hips, and let herself enjoy the extra stimulation.
He started to move then, thrusting into her with long strokes, and she could feel an orgasm start to build deep inside her, somewhere low, beneath her belly, warm and thick and full of desire and lust and a thousand other emotions that were still too raw to name.
She wasn't surprised, not really, to see how quickly he brought her to this point, how quickly he had her tense and breathless; she'd never wanted a man before she'd met him, not really, not in the way that all those others had wanted her, and once she'd realized what the twisting in her gut meant, the unease she felt whenever she looked at him … Well, once she'd figured out how badly she wanted him, how badly he wanted her in return, there really had been no turning back, not for either of them.
He reached down between them, one archery roughened finger drawing patterns against her clit, and she gasped his name into the air, and whether it was a curse or a prayer, she didn't know. Her world narrowed to the weight of him pressing her flush against the floor, the feel of him between her thighs, hitting somewhere deep inside of her, and then she came apart with a shout, digging her nails into his back and running her feet uselessly down the backs of his legs.
"Fucking hell, Clint," she moaned as she came back down, and, to her surprise, she found him still hard inside of her.
He was looking down at her with a half-crazed, lust-filled gaze, and she could tell that he needed to be in control of this just as much as she needed him to be right now. It had been too long since they'd fucked, really fucked, for real, in the flesh without the barrier of a thousand miles and computer screens stretching between them. It had been too long since she was herself, Natasha, and not Natalie Rushman from legal. And it had been too goddamned long since he held her down and had his way with her.
She was practically shaking with anticipation.
He dragged her up to her feet then, but they didn't make it more than a few steps toward the bedroom before he had her bent over the back of the couch, her hands digging into the fabric, clutching for purchase in vain. She gave up when she felt his hand travel up her back to her neck, the other spreading her pussy, and then he was inside of her and thrusting and the noises she was making were perilously close to sobs.
Just as she felt herself start to come apart again, right when she was on the edge, he smacked her hard across her ass, the sting jarring her away from her orgasm.
"No," he ordered. "You don't get to come until I say you can." She felt a surge of wetness answer the heat in his voice, and she buried her face in the couch cushions in an effort to control her body.
She'd started to rein herself in when he pulled out, backed away from her, and she made an incoherent noise in protest.
He laughed, more desire than mirth in the sound, and without really understanding how, she was over his shoulder and looking at his ass as he walked purposefully through her apartment.
"Where do you keep the bedroom in this fucking place?" he muttered, but then they were inside the room, and he tossed her forcefully onto the bed, and goddamn it all, she liked it when he was rough with her.
She leaned up, reached for him then, wanting to pull him down and back inside of her where he belonged, but he shook his head and crossed his arms under his chest.
Later, she might find it odd that he wanted to watch her like this, that he wanted to see her finger herself after subsisting on nothing but for so long, but that didn't matter now to her, not when he had that look in his eyes and she could see his dick twitch in her direction.
She dragged her fingers through her folds, cupping the swell of her breast and pinching her nipple with her free hand, imagining that it was him, all the more turned on because it could be, it should be, but it wasn't.
She resisted turning the gaze on him that had brought so many men before him to his knees; they'd promised long ago never to bring that part of her work into the bedroom, and it probably wouldn't work on him anyway. He was far from immune to her charms, but he hated almost as much as she did when she pretended, when she used her training to get what she wanted.
So she asked instead.
He leaned in, all ears. "Please what?"
"Please put your big cock in me and make me come."
He was between her legs in a second, kneeling and dragging her ass up onto his thighs even as he entered her. He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging almost painfully into her flesh, and she could feel herself rocket toward completion, felt him start to do the same.
"Wait for me," he ground out between gritted teeth, then bent low over her, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. She shouted as he clamped down, already knew that he was going to leave a bruise, but it was a good pain, so fucking good, and it reminded her keenly that he was here, this was real, and she wasn't going to suddenly wake up with a pair of wet panties and a lapful of disappointment.
She felt the moment that he started to come, heard it echoed in his cry of completion, and the moment he fell over the edge, she did, too, coming harder and faster than she thought was possible.
They lay together for a long time, catching their breath and skimming their hands over bare flesh as if to remind themselves that they really were together right then, and that none of this was a dream. A minute or an hour later, she noticed him stirring against her leg.
"You realize it's my turn, now," she said.
He returned her smile, grinning just as wickedly. "Yes, ma'am."
She slid her leg over his waist and pushed him down as she climbed on top of him.
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