Chapter 8: Defining the Relationship
At about 1800, they finally woke up to the sound of Natasha's phone ringing in her pocket. Making Clint jump since her ringtone volume was maxed out, Natasha put a calming hand on the center of his chest as she reached for her cell. 'Agent C' flashed across the screen.
"Hello," she said groggily, stretching her spare arm. Clint got up to start the microwave for her.
On the other end of the line, Coulson asked, "Hey Romanoff, are you taking it easy? Fury asked me to check in on you."
Natasha rolled her eyes and replied, "Well I'm trying to nap, but you woke me up." The Black Widow did not like being unnecessarily woken up.
"Oh, sorry... Where are you, anyways," Coulson gently prodded.
Clint came up next to Natasha and took the phone from her. "Great, Coulson, you managed to piss her off. Now I gotta deal with the fallout. She's with me, we're fine," he responded indignantly. Slightly unnerved by Fury supposedly asking for a welfare check, he decided to hang up the phone.
"That was weird," Natasha remarked, and Clint couldn't help but agree. He turned on his computer sitting on the kitchen counter to display his multitude of security cameras, quickly flipping through them. When no sign of danger was found, he brought Natasha her plate of food and set it on a TV tray in front of her.
"It was. Don't worry, if anyone approaches the building, we'll know," Barton reassured her, pointing to his computer screen.
"Thanks for the meal," she said as she inhaled the pleasant fumes of the chicken, pilaf, and roasted veggies in front of her. She took a minute to observe her surroundings while waiting for the food to stop steaming.
The front door led to the kitchen, a coat closet on the right side as you entered, and double doors to the left. Natasha hadn't been in there yet. The kitchen had black granite countertops that sparkled. Top of the line chrome appliances lined the outer wall, and a large island with a sink sat in the middle. Four bar stools sat tucked under the outermost edge of the island. The light fixtures throughout the space were made of white-tinged glass, in a wavy design that was very unique. The cabinets pulled it all together in an off-white, the handles a swirling gray. Everything in there seemed to have its place, and nothing was cluttering the room. The computer screen was a bit strangely placed next to the refrigerator in the corner, but Natasha could look past that.
Then she looked around the small living room she was currently sitting in. The sofa was luxuriously cushiony, but the fabric was a little coarse. It was black and simplistic, something that could fit well in nearly any room you place it in. An ivory throw blanket sat draped over the side, close to a floor to ceiling window. They must be at least on the 12th floor, because she could see the entire city from where she was sitting. That was so like Clint, to be high up and observing everything. The TV that was directly in front of the couch was about 42", and sat on a black TV stand. 'Everything certainly matches in this house,' she thought. And then she looked at the two canvas paintings hung on the wall. One, above the couch behind her head, depicted two finches flying around each other, in light gray, lavender, and baby blue tones. It was very large, probably 4x4 feet (1.25x1.25 m). The other was smaller and oblong, hung across from the kitchen. Three pastel green hummingbirds with orange beaks flew around a patch of cactus with yellow blossoms. It was beautiful, but not as strikingly simple as the finches. Those took Natasha's breath away.
"Wow, Clint, I love these paintings. They're beautiful and ironic, bird boy," she laughed as he sat down next to her with a smile. She carved at her chicken and took a taste. "And this chicken is amazing!"
"I'm glad you like it. I got these paintings as part of a three piece set, I'm sure you saw the third one in the bedroom there," he pointed at his bedroom door, perched between the hummingbirds and the TV. "And I marinated the chicken in Italian dressing. Simple, but delicious," Clint beamed from her compliments. Earlier, he had been nervous she would hate the way he lived. Simple, organized, and up high.
"I didn't look at the one in the bedroom yet, you'll have to show me after I eat," she hardly even took a breath to say, absolutely famished from living off of an IV and a granola bar for the last 36 hours.
"I also have to show you the den, over there by the front door. You'll like that room," he hinted. Natasha nodded between her large bites of food.
He figured he would let her eat, and decided to put something on the TV as a distraction. He found Wheel of Fortune just starting, and they watched as a Matt Damon look-alike went bankrupt, a lady won a new car, and the other guy won $1,000. It was nice to have some quiet time with each other, and they often watched Wheel of Fortune on their down time during missions.
When Natasha's plate had been cleaned, she set it to the side, and stood with her crutches. "Alright, let's see this third painting. But I doubt it can top the finches," she reasoned. She clammored to her feet and crutched her way into the doorway.
Taking in the room for the first time, she realized how large it was. There was so much floor space, he could probably fit another twin bed comfortably. The cherry wood furniture was all intricately carved with matching swirling designs. At the center, a traditional queen size bed sat with a bench at the foot. It looked like it had storage on the inside too, for blankets or extra pillows maybe. The bedspread was slightly plush and cross-hatched in an earthy brown, with gold stitching. The dresser and mirror were off to the far left, and Natasha turned toward french doors that opened onto a balcony. That's when she saw it. On the wall opposite of the bed, to her immediate left, was a huge painting of a red, brown, and golden hawk. It was fierce and you could see every detail, from the talons to the rivets in the feathers. The gold was very selective, adorning its eyes, talons, and the outline of the wings, but flowed amazingly. You could see emotion in the stationary eyes, which looked like they may blink at any second.
"Way to make a statement, Hawk," she joked, sitting on the bench to take it all in. Clint sat with her, bumping shoulders in the process.
"I fell in love with this painting nearly 8 years ago now, and I've since collected all my furniture to work around this masterpiece. I may be tooting my own horn, but I couldn't walk away from it," he admitted, enjoying the look of wonder on Natasha's face. While she was lost in the painting, he was lost in her beauty. "Natasha," Clint breathed.
"Yeah," she innocently answered, unaware that Clint was preoccupied until she turned toward him. Gently, he scooped her hand up into his.
"Are we only co-workers, partners, and teammates," he asked quietly, hoping she would refute it immediately.
"What do you mean," she puzzled. Then it hit her that he was referring to the meeting. That was the phrasing she had used to silence the sexist guy earlier. "Oh... Clint, I... I definitely think we're more than that. I just don't know... how much more?" The fact that her tone turned into a question sounded somewhat promising, but the fact of the matter is they both weren't sure. Natasha saw the emotion behind his eyes, and froze as her breathing quickened slightly.
Seizing the opportunity, Clint leaned in to kiss Natasha, and she freed her hand to lace her arms around his neck. Their lips met more fervently than the first time they had kissed, because this was no longer exploratory. This was experimental.
Clint felt her fingers twirl into his hair as he pulled her in by the waist. A light nip at his bottom lip signaled Natasha wanting to deepen their kiss, and Clint was happy to accomodate. Natasha moaned when he pulled her on top of his lap. Her dress rode up to the tops of her thighs, but she didn't mind. The air in the room had become thick with the building passion between them. Clint's muscles flexing under his shirt made Natasha's hands want to explore more of what she had seen in only glimpses before.
"Take me to the bed, Clint," she blurted when he started kissing his way down her neck.
"You got it, baby," he vowed, effortlessly lifting her as she clung to his body.
He sat Natasha down on the bed and took a step back to yank off his t-shirt. "If you've got a gun on you, now would be a good time to-" His sentence was cut off as she unzipped the back of her dress, stood, and let it fall to the floor. Her slender and toned form immediately made his brain go to mush, and he loved that she was wearing matching lingerie. Clint added, "Nevermind," and stripped down to his boxers. The archer's body was in peak condition, and tanned to absolute perfection.
Annoyed with the amount of time they hadn't been touching, Natasha pulled Clint onto the bed and climbed on top of him. "Careful with my back, okay," she requested, then crashed back into his mouth. He moaned 'mhm' into her as he pawed at her smooth, long legs. She discarded her bra, then ran her hands all over his chest, shoulders and arms. At the same time, Barton ran his hands up her sides and groped each breast tenderly. Rolling his hips up into her for a brief moment, Natasha felt the heat and intensity within grow as his bulge pressed against her.
"Can I lay you on your back, Tash... or would that hurt too much," Clint sighed as she bit and nipped at his neck.
"Go ahead," she whispered into his ear, sending chills up his spine.
He flipped her over and left a trail of kisses up and down her neck and torso. Focused, he honed in on her breasts, using his mouth on one and his hand on the other. She groaned as he worked his magic. What Natasha didn't register was Clint's free hand making its way down to the space between her legs. The slightest bump of his thumb on her thigh was the only warning she had before he started touching her through the last layer of clothing.
"Mmm... k-keep doing that," Natasha stuttered, her facial expressions showing nothing but pleasure and surrender. As he continued his massaging, her eyes shut tightly. She reveled in his touch, gladly accepting every wave of heat that shot through her abdomen. When he suddenly stopped, her eyes shot open, but she soon realized it would be worth her while. He pulled her panties down her creamy legs in one swift motion, and discarded his own boxers thereafter.
Clint briefly reached for the side table, but Natasha caught his arm. "We don't need extra protection, if that's alright. I'm on birth control," she explained. It was a little white lie, but she definitely couldn't get pregnant. 'Being forced into sterilization is probably a topic for another time,' she reasoned.
"Works for me," Clint declared, completely lost in her gorgeous body. He lined himself up, ready to take the plunge. Natasha laid back and gripped the sheets as he thrust into her. Moans, ohs, and ahs escaped them both as they rocked the evening away.
~ One hour later ~
"Damn... that was fun," Natasha laughed breathily as Clint's chest heaved next to her. Sweaty and flushed, Clint nodded and pulled her close. Natasha felt a slight stinging in her back, but figured it was just from all the 'activities' earlier. She put it out of her mind.
"That was fuckin' amazing," he said after catching his breath. Clint ran his hand through her fiery hair as she snuggled into his right side, her fingertips dancing along his jawline and collar bone.
"You realize we can never, ever tell anyone about this," Natasha blurted. Clint looked at her with a smirk.
"I'm sorry, tell anyone about what, Agent Romanoff," he giggled. Turning over to face her, he caressed her thigh. "So we're graduated to fuck buddies? Partners with benefits? Co-workers during the week, couple on the weekends?"
She grabbed both his shoulders, and said, "Let's not put a label on it. When we feel like being together, great. When we're at work, this never happened. And when we're in public, this absolutely never happened. The good thing is we can share a bed, change in front of each other, and shower together on missions now." She raised her eyebrows on that last part. Clint smiled at her and kissed her again, before getting up to get dressed.
"No worries, I won't tell anybody. You're my dirty little secret. If you want some clothes to wear, help yourself in the top drawer for shirts, bottom drawer for basketball shorts," he instructed, winking at her as her closed the door to the bathroom.
Ignoring the worsening stinging along her spine, she hobbled over to the dresser, noticing the multitude of hickeys Clint had left on her shoulders and chest in the mirror. Since it was only a literal hop and skip from the bed, she didn't bother with the crutches, instead leaning on the wooden surface for support. A black t-shirt and gray basketball shorts is what she came up with, and hopped back onto the bed to get dressed.
Suddenly, in the middle of putting the shirt on, she felt a ripping sensation down her back. The pain hit immediately and she cried out, "Clint!" Her voice broke, and it was obvious something was very wrong.
He came running, bursting through the door with a clack, as tears streamed down her face and one of her series of stitches had torn loose. Blood gushed from the reopened wound. Her arms froze in place as every further movement sent jolts of pain through her spine.
"I got you, let me get my supplies, baby," he ran to the den and grabbed his medical equipment. 'Thank fucking god I took that field medic course,' Clint recalled as he ran back with a case with a red cross on it. He gloved up, handed Natasha two of her muscle relaxers, and went to work closing the wound.
~ 10 Minutes Later ~
"Thank you," she cooed, sleepy from the medication. He held her in his arms as she had cried for a while after he finished the stitches. Now, she was getting more comfortable and lethargic.
"Of course, I'll always be here to help you," he reassured, and watched as her lids floated shut. "I'm sorry we couldn't go to the hospital, Nat, there was no time," he sputtered, feeling guilty.
"Its okay, I trust you," she replied, falling asleep in his arms. She looked so at peace now, but Clint couldn't help but feel he had pushed her too quickly, asked too much of her. The night was long for him, as he kept waking up to compulsively check on his partner, lover, secret girlfriend, whatever she was. But if there was nothing else positive he could take away from this, at least Natasha trusted him to take care of her.