Fic: Unwrapped (Avengers, Clint/Natasha)
Title: Unwrapped
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
Rating: M (explicit, explicit, very explicit). No plot. Just... action *cheesy grin*
A/N + summary: this is for cybermathwitch - FOR ALL THE REASONS. Also, written very quickly. No beta reader.
Disclaimer: not mine! Damn.
Natasha's been on a mission. It lasted ten days. Clint missed her. A lot.
*
Sleeping with him was a monumentally bad idea. Except it was great and now she can't seem to stop repeating her mistake.
The mission was easy enough but they haven't seen each other for ten days. The moment she enters his New York apartment she's pressed against the door and he's against her, hands on her hips, and lips against her neck.
“About damn time,” he says, kissing her, and this really isn't a good idea. Her head falls against the door as his lips claim inches of her neck.
“Impatient, Agent Barton?” she grins, but the boldness of her voice is completely fake when she looks into his eyes. Clint might be the best damn agent she'd ever seen, a guy who'd play you so well and convince you he doesn't really get what's going on while he's planning ten steps ahead and manipulating outcomes in his favor. When he's with her, he wears his heart on the sleeve, upside down, inside out, she knows this, and he probably knows that she knows it, and still. Anyone else? They'd run away and they'd be wise for it.
He doesn't.
She isn't sure that's smart on his part. She just knows that she can't look away when he's looking at her like this.
He strokes sides of her face with his thumbs, almost rough touch in the corner of her mouth.
“You have no idea,” he says, and the tone of his voice hits her square in the chest and coils deep in her stomach. He kisses her, open mouth, tongue and teeth and she gets weak in her knees. His body is hard against hers, his kisses soft and sharp in turn. She likes them best when they're almost bites, and still doesn't know what to do with those that make her breathless. He pulls her against him, strong fingers digging into her ass.
“You're ruining my skirt,” she teases as he maneuvers them around, and she looses one high heeled shoe on the floor.
“I'll rip it away,” he says, and the way he says it, like a promise, makes her so tight and wet between her legs.
They keep kissing and he walks her backwards, deeper into his apartment. She doesn't even care where, she just lets him. She ends up against his dining table. Her toes can barely touch the floor when he props her against it and breaks the kiss to look at her.
“Tash,” he breathes and presses his face against her neck. “Oh, God, Tash.” It's a sudden contrast to frenzied kissing just a moment ago. She spreads her legs, as much as her skirt allows and pulls him closer. He melts against her, into her, as he breathes her in. She runs her fingers up along her back and through his hair, and oh God, ten days. She's been without this for ten days.
She never felt like this, about anyone, and she doesn't know what that means. She doesn't even know what this is.
He moves to kiss her, slowly this time, as if he knows this is exactly what she's craving; the slow and deep kisses that burn down her throat. He moves his hands along her sides, pulls her tailored shirt out of her skirt and starts with the lowest button while still kissing her. Natasha gasps and his kisses become even more deliberate, deep and hard and thorough. His hands are unrelenting, loosening one button after another. She breaks the kiss to look at his hands, the way they reveal her body, until her shirt falls open and he gently touches her abdomen. There's something about being undressed by him, the fact that it's okay, that she can let him do this. Nobody else gets to do that, ever. She never had this kind of reciprocity with anyone, had someone who trusted her in a way Clint does, and the feeling is mutual. The way he looks at her - nobody looks at her like this, so honest and raw and with so much desire. Her. Not Natalie Rushman, not some other young woman she borrows her face to; Clint sees her. It doesn't matter how many masks she wears.
“Gorgeous,” he whispers as he kisses her collarbone. Her eyes roll back and she closes her eyes, hands still in his hair.
She hears half words spoken against her skin, things like missed you and God and so much. The front clasp of her bra gives in under his fingers and he removes the lace from her breasts.
She can't do anything but watch and feel as his mouth claims one breast, and then the other. He has the intimate knowledge by now, knows exactly how to kiss her, what to do to her to make her moan and grip the edge of the table. His hands glide up her thighs and under her skirt and she shifts, trying to feel more of him. Her skirt goes up, his fingers find the edge of tight, transparent pantyhose. He hooks his fingers into the material and pulls it down, along with her panties. His hand returns between her legs, thumb sliding easily inside of her and she moans.
He strokes her slowly and she feels like she's going to dissolve under his touch, feeling like a present that was unwrapped halfway, and God, when he slants his open mouth against hers and groans into the kiss, it's like he doesn't have the patience to deal with the wrapping. He moves to kiss the edge of her jaw and the spot behind her ear, drags his tongue down her throat and makes his way between her breasts. Her focus is shattered, torn between his mouth and his fingers steadily pushing into her, and if he keeps it up for just a little bit longer -
Suddenly he stops and moves, and she opens her eyes. He's looking at her like he's asking for an allowance as he parts her knees and looks down her body.
“Clint?” she asks, realizing they barely exchanged few words, and yet she feels they shared so much.
“Can I go down on you?”
She swallows and her mouth goes dry. That's something they haven't done yet, it's something she hasn't allowed anyone, and if he somehow figured it out, she wouldn't be surprised at all. Somehow he knows her, completely, he knows things without her needing to tell them. His thumbs brush soft inside of her thighs, and she gets lost in his eyes. Then she nods and he licks his lips, and her body tightens with anticipation.
He moves between her legs and pulls her forward and she pulls up her skirt. She wants to see this, see what he's doing to her, but the moment his lips are on her, she can't. She has to close her eyes, and just hold on, hold onto something, the table, his hair, his hand, something. It's gentle and warm and mind shattering, completely overwhelming. Every touch, so close, right there, but not nearly enough. She pulls him even closer, tightens her legs around him, whimpers when he pushes his fingers inside of her.
Right now he's closer to her than anyone ever was.
His mouth is on her and his fingers are inside and her hips jerk without any control left. The pressure builds and she rides the feeling, yes, yes, more, just like that, eyes shut and mouth dropping open and her voice free to call his name when she comes. The orgasm wrecks her in powerful waves, it goes on and on and on until she's spent and broken in pieces. His mouth meets hers, and she learns from him how she tastes. The kiss is sloppy, lacking grace but it's beautiful. She gasps when he enters her and she lets him have her, hard and fast against the table, her hands wrapped around his shoulders.
He comes long and hard and holds onto her like he might lose himself somewhere if he doesn't.
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
Rating: M (explicit, explicit, very explicit). No plot. Just... action *cheesy grin*
A/N + summary: this is for cybermathwitch - FOR ALL THE REASONS. Also, written very quickly. No beta reader.
Disclaimer: not mine! Damn.
Natasha's been on a mission. It lasted ten days. Clint missed her. A lot.
*
Sleeping with him was a monumentally bad idea. Except it was great and now she can't seem to stop repeating her mistake.
The mission was easy enough but they haven't seen each other for ten days. The moment she enters his New York apartment she's pressed against the door and he's against her, hands on her hips, and lips against her neck.
“About damn time,” he says, kissing her, and this really isn't a good idea. Her head falls against the door as his lips claim inches of her neck.
“Impatient, Agent Barton?” she grins, but the boldness of her voice is completely fake when she looks into his eyes. Clint might be the best damn agent she'd ever seen, a guy who'd play you so well and convince you he doesn't really get what's going on while he's planning ten steps ahead and manipulating outcomes in his favor. When he's with her, he wears his heart on the sleeve, upside down, inside out, she knows this, and he probably knows that she knows it, and still. Anyone else? They'd run away and they'd be wise for it.
He doesn't.
She isn't sure that's smart on his part. She just knows that she can't look away when he's looking at her like this.
He strokes sides of her face with his thumbs, almost rough touch in the corner of her mouth.
“You have no idea,” he says, and the tone of his voice hits her square in the chest and coils deep in her stomach. He kisses her, open mouth, tongue and teeth and she gets weak in her knees. His body is hard against hers, his kisses soft and sharp in turn. She likes them best when they're almost bites, and still doesn't know what to do with those that make her breathless. He pulls her against him, strong fingers digging into her ass.
“You're ruining my skirt,” she teases as he maneuvers them around, and she looses one high heeled shoe on the floor.
“I'll rip it away,” he says, and the way he says it, like a promise, makes her so tight and wet between her legs.
They keep kissing and he walks her backwards, deeper into his apartment. She doesn't even care where, she just lets him. She ends up against his dining table. Her toes can barely touch the floor when he props her against it and breaks the kiss to look at her.
“Tash,” he breathes and presses his face against her neck. “Oh, God, Tash.” It's a sudden contrast to frenzied kissing just a moment ago. She spreads her legs, as much as her skirt allows and pulls him closer. He melts against her, into her, as he breathes her in. She runs her fingers up along her back and through his hair, and oh God, ten days. She's been without this for ten days.
She never felt like this, about anyone, and she doesn't know what that means. She doesn't even know what this is.
He moves to kiss her, slowly this time, as if he knows this is exactly what she's craving; the slow and deep kisses that burn down her throat. He moves his hands along her sides, pulls her tailored shirt out of her skirt and starts with the lowest button while still kissing her. Natasha gasps and his kisses become even more deliberate, deep and hard and thorough. His hands are unrelenting, loosening one button after another. She breaks the kiss to look at his hands, the way they reveal her body, until her shirt falls open and he gently touches her abdomen. There's something about being undressed by him, the fact that it's okay, that she can let him do this. Nobody else gets to do that, ever. She never had this kind of reciprocity with anyone, had someone who trusted her in a way Clint does, and the feeling is mutual. The way he looks at her - nobody looks at her like this, so honest and raw and with so much desire. Her. Not Natalie Rushman, not some other young woman she borrows her face to; Clint sees her. It doesn't matter how many masks she wears.
“Gorgeous,” he whispers as he kisses her collarbone. Her eyes roll back and she closes her eyes, hands still in his hair.
She hears half words spoken against her skin, things like missed you and God and so much. The front clasp of her bra gives in under his fingers and he removes the lace from her breasts.
She can't do anything but watch and feel as his mouth claims one breast, and then the other. He has the intimate knowledge by now, knows exactly how to kiss her, what to do to her to make her moan and grip the edge of the table. His hands glide up her thighs and under her skirt and she shifts, trying to feel more of him. Her skirt goes up, his fingers find the edge of tight, transparent pantyhose. He hooks his fingers into the material and pulls it down, along with her panties. His hand returns between her legs, thumb sliding easily inside of her and she moans.
He strokes her slowly and she feels like she's going to dissolve under his touch, feeling like a present that was unwrapped halfway, and God, when he slants his open mouth against hers and groans into the kiss, it's like he doesn't have the patience to deal with the wrapping. He moves to kiss the edge of her jaw and the spot behind her ear, drags his tongue down her throat and makes his way between her breasts. Her focus is shattered, torn between his mouth and his fingers steadily pushing into her, and if he keeps it up for just a little bit longer -
Suddenly he stops and moves, and she opens her eyes. He's looking at her like he's asking for an allowance as he parts her knees and looks down her body.
“Clint?” she asks, realizing they barely exchanged few words, and yet she feels they shared so much.
“Can I go down on you?”
She swallows and her mouth goes dry. That's something they haven't done yet, it's something she hasn't allowed anyone, and if he somehow figured it out, she wouldn't be surprised at all. Somehow he knows her, completely, he knows things without her needing to tell them. His thumbs brush soft inside of her thighs, and she gets lost in his eyes. Then she nods and he licks his lips, and her body tightens with anticipation.
He moves between her legs and pulls her forward and she pulls up her skirt. She wants to see this, see what he's doing to her, but the moment his lips are on her, she can't. She has to close her eyes, and just hold on, hold onto something, the table, his hair, his hand, something. It's gentle and warm and mind shattering, completely overwhelming. Every touch, so close, right there, but not nearly enough. She pulls him even closer, tightens her legs around him, whimpers when he pushes his fingers inside of her.
Right now he's closer to her than anyone ever was.
His mouth is on her and his fingers are inside and her hips jerk without any control left. The pressure builds and she rides the feeling, yes, yes, more, just like that, eyes shut and mouth dropping open and her voice free to call his name when she comes. The orgasm wrecks her in powerful waves, it goes on and on and on until she's spent and broken in pieces. His mouth meets hers, and she learns from him how she tastes. The kiss is sloppy, lacking grace but it's beautiful. She gasps when he enters her and she lets him have her, hard and fast against the table, her hands wrapped around his shoulders.
He comes long and hard and holds onto her like he might lose himself somewhere if he doesn't.