Clint/Natasha
Title: Free Fall
Author: finding_jay
Pairing: Clinton Barton/Natasha Romanoff
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-explicit sex scene
Summary: Clint doesn't go by urges in battle, but afterwards he has trouble settling.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters herein.
Notes: Written for avengers_tables Kink Table prompt 'in public'.
He was falling through the sky, his back to the ground and eyes to the clouds above. He loved this feeling, of gravity rushing up to him. Some people described it as weightlessness, but he found it to be the exact opposite; his limbs were heavy and sluggish, as though a lead weight were tied to each one. It took some training to get used to moving, to being able to reorientate himself, not just because he was falling at roughly a hundred and twenty miles an hour, but because he relished the feeling of it, of the air whipping at his skin, the tears stinging his eyes, helpless as the ground rushed up to him. It was why he loved the circus, skydiving, falling off buildings needlessly.
It was an easy secret to hide. Who willingly rushed off thirty-storey buildings just to get their wank on? Besides, it wasn't something Clint did everyday. It was only something he did during training exercises. During battle he was focused, leaping off towers or from planes when he had no other choice. He wasn't an idiot, and didn't think with his dick when he and his team were being shot at. No, he normally only fell when they were back at base, practicing new tactics and the like. It was safer then, too. If he landed badly then he had a spotter, someone to take him to the infirmary. Still, he sometimes found himself, edgy and restless, crawling up the ropes and indoor climbing equipment and leaping once he reached the roof. He always had his trick arrows with him, utilising the grappling hooks at the last minute and then swinging and lurching around, feet skimming the floor.
He was only caught once. It had just gone three AM, and he was cagey, restless. The battle had gone well, all things considered. Sure, they all came out with their own fair share of bruises and scratches. Bruce had lost another pair of pants (though Tony had promised he was working on a pair that wouldn't completely fall apart at the seams), Steve had wound up being hit over the head with his own shield (though Tony said it was a complete accident), Thor had discovered a waffle place towards the end of the battle and ordered a cup of coffee (though Tony couldn't fault him) and Natasha had finally got fed up and wound up kicking the metaphorical ass of the jellyfish-like creatures on her own (though Tony announced that had been the plan all along anyway). Clint, meanwhile, had fallen nearly half a mile off the top of the building. He had managed to cut the fall with his grappling arrow, and had barely taken a minute to calm himself before rushing back into battle, but now the memory was haunting him.
It hadn't been the longest of falls, or the most dangerous, or even the most exciting. But there had been a moment when Tash had spun around from her perch on a ledge and they'd made eye contact. His bow was already notched, string pulled back, and he had hesitated. It was just a split second, and he had shaken it off, but the memory of Natasha watching him, just checking to make sure he was okay, had made it different. So now he was in the gym, clambering up the indoor rock climbing equipment and repeatedly falling onto the mats below. It wasn't a long enough fall to really be effective, but he didn't want to go any higher without someone keeping an eye on him. The gym was quiet this time of night, most good little S.H.I.E.L.D. agents tucked away in bed, and yet there he was, climbing up the rock wall, forearms and shoulders starting to twinge.
Natasha stepped into the corner of his eye as he fell for what would have been the seventh time. He lay on the mat, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his upper lip. His cock was stirring, half-hard in his sweats. Natasha crossed her arms of her chest. She was wearing what he knew to be her pyjamas, although she still looked neat, impeccable, ready to take someone down and grievously harm them if they snuck into her quarters. Nobody would be able to tell. The corners of her mouth were pinched, giving her lips the impression of a pout. Clint didn't need to ask what she was looking at in particular; she would have already figured some of it out, if not the whole thing. Instead, he rolled to the side and pushed himself up. He wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, or much of it anyway.
Grabbing the mat, he dragged it over to the highest wall. Snatching his bow from where he had left it, he looped it over his shoulder and set the grappling arrow between his teeth. He slipped the harness on and secured the rope in place. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tasha stepping closer, her arms no longer crossed. He felt her eyes on his back as he scaled up the wall, the faux-rock protrusions rough on his hands and bare feet. He pushed himself up, ignoring the strain in his arms and legs. His blood was pumping hard, the thrill of the fall already running through his mind. The climbing wall started to incline towards the roof, and he dug his feet in harder, well aware that Tash was still watching him, quietly ensuring his safety. He was near horizontal now, gravity pulling at him. Tipping his head back, he measured the fall in his head- some six storeys, not enough but it would do. The location of the mat, of Natasha. The spotted a good hold for his grappling hook, the one most of the agents used in training, and quickly ran through the sums and trajectory in his head.
He let go, immediately swinging the bow over his shoulder. Time seemed to stand still for just a moment. Gravity sucked at him, his stomach spinning, his flesh tingling, prickling, as though it were on fire. His dick twitched in his loose sweatpants, and for a moment he lost focus. Narrowing his eyes, he counted back. Ten, nine, eight, seven, strung the bow, six, five, fourthreetwo, let it go. Smack on one, the grappling hook on the arrow head latched onto the hold in the ceiling. His free fall stopped with a jolt, and he swung wildly, one arm clutching the rope that was securing him to the ceiling. He was still a good three feet off the ground, spinning slowly in a circle. Natasha walked up to him and grabbed his leg, stilling him. Her nose was to his belly. She stared at him, green eyes piercing as they raked over his body. He could hear his pounding heart in his ears, his dick fully hard now, straining against the cotton of his slacks. His eyes were locked on Natasha's, his chest heaving, sweat trickling down the back of his neck.
Her hand was warm as she palmed his erection through his slacks. It was difficult to feel all her ministrations, but he could definitely feel the weight of her hand as she cupped his balls, her other hand stoking him though the heavy cotton. It was rough, but his skin was hot and stretched taught, and Natasha was unrelenting, dragging each shudder and shake from him. He came with a whimper, his body still reeling as though he were in free fall. His hands scratched down the cord, no doubt leaving a rope burn . Natasha's hand was still wrapped around his cock, milking him, dragging his orgasm out, while she undid his harness with her other hand. She caught him as he slipped out and held his weight until he could stand on his own. Clint leant over to kiss her, but she turned her head, his lips grazing her cheek instead.
The moment stretched out between them, Clint leaning into Natasha, and Natasha's hand still groping his dick though his sweats. Very slowly, she pulled her hand away, and then took a step back. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown, and her lips parted. His pants were sticky, his cock still half-hard. His bow fell down his arm as she turned and left, the gym door clicking behind her as she exited. He picked up after himself, shoving the mat into a corner, the harness back on its hook relooping the rope and tucking it into the supply cupboard. Around four AM he finally collapsed in bed, hand around himself as he jacked himself to sleep, mind running over the conflicted memories of falling, and of dangling above the floor as Tash brought him to orgasm though his sweats.
Author: finding_jay
Pairing: Clinton Barton/Natasha Romanoff
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-explicit sex scene
Summary: Clint doesn't go by urges in battle, but afterwards he has trouble settling.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters herein.
Notes: Written for avengers_tables Kink Table prompt 'in public'.
He was falling through the sky, his back to the ground and eyes to the clouds above. He loved this feeling, of gravity rushing up to him. Some people described it as weightlessness, but he found it to be the exact opposite; his limbs were heavy and sluggish, as though a lead weight were tied to each one. It took some training to get used to moving, to being able to reorientate himself, not just because he was falling at roughly a hundred and twenty miles an hour, but because he relished the feeling of it, of the air whipping at his skin, the tears stinging his eyes, helpless as the ground rushed up to him. It was why he loved the circus, skydiving, falling off buildings needlessly.
It was an easy secret to hide. Who willingly rushed off thirty-storey buildings just to get their wank on? Besides, it wasn't something Clint did everyday. It was only something he did during training exercises. During battle he was focused, leaping off towers or from planes when he had no other choice. He wasn't an idiot, and didn't think with his dick when he and his team were being shot at. No, he normally only fell when they were back at base, practicing new tactics and the like. It was safer then, too. If he landed badly then he had a spotter, someone to take him to the infirmary. Still, he sometimes found himself, edgy and restless, crawling up the ropes and indoor climbing equipment and leaping once he reached the roof. He always had his trick arrows with him, utilising the grappling hooks at the last minute and then swinging and lurching around, feet skimming the floor.
He was only caught once. It had just gone three AM, and he was cagey, restless. The battle had gone well, all things considered. Sure, they all came out with their own fair share of bruises and scratches. Bruce had lost another pair of pants (though Tony had promised he was working on a pair that wouldn't completely fall apart at the seams), Steve had wound up being hit over the head with his own shield (though Tony said it was a complete accident), Thor had discovered a waffle place towards the end of the battle and ordered a cup of coffee (though Tony couldn't fault him) and Natasha had finally got fed up and wound up kicking the metaphorical ass of the jellyfish-like creatures on her own (though Tony announced that had been the plan all along anyway). Clint, meanwhile, had fallen nearly half a mile off the top of the building. He had managed to cut the fall with his grappling arrow, and had barely taken a minute to calm himself before rushing back into battle, but now the memory was haunting him.
It hadn't been the longest of falls, or the most dangerous, or even the most exciting. But there had been a moment when Tash had spun around from her perch on a ledge and they'd made eye contact. His bow was already notched, string pulled back, and he had hesitated. It was just a split second, and he had shaken it off, but the memory of Natasha watching him, just checking to make sure he was okay, had made it different. So now he was in the gym, clambering up the indoor rock climbing equipment and repeatedly falling onto the mats below. It wasn't a long enough fall to really be effective, but he didn't want to go any higher without someone keeping an eye on him. The gym was quiet this time of night, most good little S.H.I.E.L.D. agents tucked away in bed, and yet there he was, climbing up the rock wall, forearms and shoulders starting to twinge.
Natasha stepped into the corner of his eye as he fell for what would have been the seventh time. He lay on the mat, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his upper lip. His cock was stirring, half-hard in his sweats. Natasha crossed her arms of her chest. She was wearing what he knew to be her pyjamas, although she still looked neat, impeccable, ready to take someone down and grievously harm them if they snuck into her quarters. Nobody would be able to tell. The corners of her mouth were pinched, giving her lips the impression of a pout. Clint didn't need to ask what she was looking at in particular; she would have already figured some of it out, if not the whole thing. Instead, he rolled to the side and pushed himself up. He wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, or much of it anyway.
Grabbing the mat, he dragged it over to the highest wall. Snatching his bow from where he had left it, he looped it over his shoulder and set the grappling arrow between his teeth. He slipped the harness on and secured the rope in place. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tasha stepping closer, her arms no longer crossed. He felt her eyes on his back as he scaled up the wall, the faux-rock protrusions rough on his hands and bare feet. He pushed himself up, ignoring the strain in his arms and legs. His blood was pumping hard, the thrill of the fall already running through his mind. The climbing wall started to incline towards the roof, and he dug his feet in harder, well aware that Tash was still watching him, quietly ensuring his safety. He was near horizontal now, gravity pulling at him. Tipping his head back, he measured the fall in his head- some six storeys, not enough but it would do. The location of the mat, of Natasha. The spotted a good hold for his grappling hook, the one most of the agents used in training, and quickly ran through the sums and trajectory in his head.
He let go, immediately swinging the bow over his shoulder. Time seemed to stand still for just a moment. Gravity sucked at him, his stomach spinning, his flesh tingling, prickling, as though it were on fire. His dick twitched in his loose sweatpants, and for a moment he lost focus. Narrowing his eyes, he counted back. Ten, nine, eight, seven, strung the bow, six, five, fourthreetwo, let it go. Smack on one, the grappling hook on the arrow head latched onto the hold in the ceiling. His free fall stopped with a jolt, and he swung wildly, one arm clutching the rope that was securing him to the ceiling. He was still a good three feet off the ground, spinning slowly in a circle. Natasha walked up to him and grabbed his leg, stilling him. Her nose was to his belly. She stared at him, green eyes piercing as they raked over his body. He could hear his pounding heart in his ears, his dick fully hard now, straining against the cotton of his slacks. His eyes were locked on Natasha's, his chest heaving, sweat trickling down the back of his neck.
Her hand was warm as she palmed his erection through his slacks. It was difficult to feel all her ministrations, but he could definitely feel the weight of her hand as she cupped his balls, her other hand stoking him though the heavy cotton. It was rough, but his skin was hot and stretched taught, and Natasha was unrelenting, dragging each shudder and shake from him. He came with a whimper, his body still reeling as though he were in free fall. His hands scratched down the cord, no doubt leaving a rope burn . Natasha's hand was still wrapped around his cock, milking him, dragging his orgasm out, while she undid his harness with her other hand. She caught him as he slipped out and held his weight until he could stand on his own. Clint leant over to kiss her, but she turned her head, his lips grazing her cheek instead.
The moment stretched out between them, Clint leaning into Natasha, and Natasha's hand still groping his dick though his sweats. Very slowly, she pulled her hand away, and then took a step back. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown, and her lips parted. His pants were sticky, his cock still half-hard. His bow fell down his arm as she turned and left, the gym door clicking behind her as she exited. He picked up after himself, shoving the mat into a corner, the harness back on its hook relooping the rope and tucking it into the supply cupboard. Around four AM he finally collapsed in bed, hand around himself as he jacked himself to sleep, mind running over the conflicted memories of falling, and of dangling above the floor as Tash brought him to orgasm though his sweats.