STRIKE TEAM DELTA AU ↣ first mission together: infiltrate a building, damage the bad guys’ servers. Except it turns out that someone has to jump down the ventilation shaft to get there, right past the giant spinning blades of death. Mission control has decided it’s going to be Clint, citing ‘You’re HAWKeye right? Fly there or something. You’ll figure it out~’
“Why me?” Clint utters into the hot flesh on her neck. The disbelief in his voice and the quiver in his touch almost burns her.
“What do you mean?” Natasha pulls back and his hooded gaze already answers the question she just asked.
“I’m not- you’re so- gosh, Nat, I mean-” he stutters and shuts his eyes to catch his breath, “I mean…I’m me. And you’re, you’re you.” And heck, if their lips weren’t swollen from sucking face and his gloved hand halfway up her tac suit, you’d think him to be a blushing virgin.
Natasha’s brows crease and she quirks her lips the way she does when she gets what she wants from interrogation. Clint knows he screwed this one up. World’s most amazing and beautiful (literally) woman is sitting in his lap in his quarters kissing the life out of him and he wants to question why a girl like her is with a guy like him. Genius.
“Well geez, Clint if I wanted a pretty boy to make out with, I’d have Steve Rogers in my bed weeks ago,” she doesn’t miss how he flinches when she compares him to Steve, “I mean, is that how you see me? Belonging to some tall blonde hunk?”
“I dunno, Tasha. Just someone better than me, I guess,” Clint shrugs like a child in front of a disappointed adult.
At this, Natasha tosses her head back, red curls dancing like leaves in the fall breeze and god, Clint is so gone for her. He just can’t fathom how he got to be so fortunate to even know a woman like Natasha Romanoff. To have someone he could call his best friend, his partner, his confidant, and now almost-lover before he opened his stupid mouth. He just couldn’t be so fortunate to have someone in this world who would be so loyal and trusting and strong for him and to him. It wasn’t in the cards for a man like Clinton Francis Barton.
“Barton you idiot,” Natasha’s laughter is punctuated by the calm mirth in her voice. Her lethal hands grip his face and yeah, she could snap his neck or nick his carotid artery with her nail and Clint could care less because she’s so breathtaking he might as well be dead already.
“There is no one better than you, Clint,” her face is angled centimeters from his, “You’re the best man I know. The only person I trust with this,” she motions between their hearts, “And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re pretty sexy to me.”
She pulls the rest of the zipper to her suit down and watches Clint’s jaw hit the floor.