Fic: I wanna read you (like a good book, baby)
Title: I wanna read you (like a good book, baby)
Fandom: The Avengers 2012
Pairing: Clint/Natasha (established); pre movie
Rating: explicit
Warnings: explicit content suited for adults, language
Prompt: "sunshine"
Author's notes: written quickly, in attempt to cheer myself up and do something nice for the lovely ashen_key. The prompt was hers, too. I hope you like it, sweetie! A special shout out to inkvoices because I shamelessly referenced her fic The Child Takers; which was one of first fics I read in Avengers fandom (see end notes!). Read it if you haven't, it's gorgeous.
Summary: Clint takes all of her in, from head to toe, and feels a bit like he's standing in sunshine. Not the blistering kind. Nice evening glow that's just warm enough to settle into.
(Aka, Clint comes home tired and goes to bed, but doesn't sleep.)
*
There's just one thing he really wants. Well, he wants two things, a hot shower and his bed, but they're close connected in his mind and melt into one single immediate desire, along with longing for some company.
Clint isn't sure which part of today was worse, the mundane paperwork chores or training with greener -than- spring- leaves newbies who, unfortunately managed to grate at his every nerve. Maybe he's just getting too old for this shit, he thinks wearily as he shrugs off his jacket and toes off his shoes, loudly greeting what appears to be an empty apartment.
Well. There go his hopes for the rest of the day. He sighs when he meets no reply. He knows that Natasha has several days off and he hoped she would be here when he returned. He reconciles with the fact that he'll be spending his afternoon and possibly evening alone, while Natasha is out, walking, enjoying nice weather and probably looking for more books. He's got one bookshelf and it's full. Her books on everything ever written are spilling over, slowly conquering other free surfaces in his small apartment. Ever since he brought her in (ever since she came after him, actually), ever since she gotten rid of the claws that kept her, she was reading. Reading, reading, reading; finally getting to know all those books she could talk about, but had never held in her hands.
Clint rubs his face and tries not to think how both of them are still trying to catch up with a world of knowledge and experiences and things most people wouldn't give a second thought. (You read War and peace once and that's enough, right?)
Maybe, he thinks.
He walks into his bedroom, unthoughtful and distracted enough to stop in his tracks when he realizes someone is in his bed. Well, it's not someone unknown. He is well acquainted with Natasha's pair of legs, half covered with silky fabric of her robe. She's holding a book, but she's not dressed for reading. As far as he can tell, she's mostly not dressed at all. His dick barely twitches and something in his chest shifts and he wonders if her really is that tired.
She looks at him over the pages, like she's asking what he's waiting for.
“Hi there,” she says.
“Nat,” he replies, scratching the back of his head. His heart picks up the rhythm a little bit. He knows what she wants - it's just that he's so.... something he can't even describe.
“Fun day?” she asks, propping the book on her breasts, and his mouth waters just slightly.
“Absolutely hilarious,” he says and she nods knowingly, like she can read his mind, like she knows just how frustratingly pointless it's been. She sets her book aside and gets up. Clint takes all of her in, from head to toe, and feels a bit like he's standing in sunshine. Not the blistering kind. Nice evening glow that's just warm enough to settle into. She comes close and slides her palms up his chest and gives him a certain look that promises all kinds of delicious, naughty things.
“How about you tell me about your hilarious day -,” she starts and trails off, hooking her fingers in the collar of his shirt, looking at the skin she's exposing, “- after I tell you about mine?”
His body turns to her, an imitation of a branch seeking out sunlight. Her hand strokes the side of his face and he leans into it, torn by the simultaneous desire to rip that robe off her and collapse in a heap near her feet.
“I am kind of beat up, Nat,” he says. She gives him an amused look, obviously not willing to let him go that easily. “Not sure about epically long conversations,” he says even as her thumb ghosts across his lower lip.
“I shall put you to bed, then,” she says thoughtfully as her hands part the taunting robe. “Better yet, I'll join you.”
He swallows tightly. The underwear she's wearing is stuff of dreams, all creamy lace she probably got with him on her mind. He inches closer and thumbs her breast without preamble and she grins.
“Interesting sleepingwear,” he comments, completely absorbed in the sight of rosy nipples and pale skin taunting him him through the fine lace.
“Not really comfortable to sleep in,” she says, stroking with her thumbs along his collarbone. She looks at him, first into his eyes and then deliberately lowers her gaze to his lips. He realizes that the longer she does this, less tired he's feeling. “I'd like to get out of it, if you know what I mean.”
He gives her a slow, feral grin. Yes, he knows what she means.
Some books are too good not to be reread, he thinks distantly when she kisses him, slow and hot. Some chapters stick to your fingers and burn a mark on your mind, and you come back for more. Always come back for more.
“Not sure what you have in mind,” he says, pulling her closer, sliding his hands behind her back. She makes a throaty sound and presses her lower half against his; soft stomach and transparent panties against his jeans. She grins in return when she feels just how hard he already is.
“I can explain,” she says, reaching for his belt and where his shirt is tucked into his jeans, then begins to pull it out. “I can be very helpful, you see,” she adds as fabric and her fingers slide along his sides and he lifts his hands to let her strip his shirt. She tosses it unceremoniously, attention focused at his arms and chest.
“Oh I bet you can,” he says, straightening in front of her in his semi nakedness.
He's aware that she has a thing for his upper body, just like he has a thing for lace and her breasts and every bit of her nakedness, but this is more about how she goes about her fascination. The way she touches along his arms and across his chest, the way she licks an old, faint scar stretching across his chest; and that look she gives him, like he's good enough to eat and then even better. He's pretty sure this alone can make her wet. Her caressing makes him impatient, so he pulls her closer, pressing hard against her. It's a pretty straightforward indication of what he would like to do, and he's aware that there's no chance in hell he'd last long.
“See, there's just this one thing,” she says when his hands go back to her breasts. “I've been awfully bored today,” she says through a whimper when he replaces his hand with his mouth.
“Oh?” he asks against her, sucking her through the lace.
“Yes,” she breathes, her hands settling on his head and keeping him exactly where he is. He can feel her panting and chest rapidly rising as he plays with her. “I've been thinking,” she says.
“About what?” he asks, enjoying her obvious predictability and where this is going. She shrugs off her robe and reaches behind her back. The fabric of her bra gives and within a moment his hands come in contact with gloriously naked skin. Mouth too. She arches into him, cries out against his tongue when he rolls her nipple.
“All the ways I could put you to bed, obviously,” she manages to say. Then she obviously decides to take the matters into her own hands again, pushing against his chest just enough to create space between them. She is flushed and gorgeous and he will go for just about anything right now, so when she tugs at his belt he follows and climbs into bed after her, welcomed by her spread legs. “But I want something first,” she says.
“Do you now?” he says even as he hooks his fingers in the lace and puts his mouth on her, and he can taste her through the thin material. Oh, she's been anticipating this long before he walked through the door.
“I have things to offer in return,” she says, as she lifts her hips and allows him to undress her. “Pretty awesome things,” she's watching intently as he spreads her wide.
“I'm sure,” is all he says before he opens his mouth against her.
There's a keening cry when he drags his tongue against her, and her hips buck. He grins and holds her in place, tongue moving in knowing pattern, like finding well read pages he knows by heart. He drags moans from her throat, pries his name from her lips as he fucks her with his mouth. The thing about this is how she reacts and can't hide at all, clearly written like ink on paper, and his to read. He enjoys the teasing, the occasional act she puts up just to amuse them both, but this is what he loves. Knowing just how wild he can make her, and like this there's no way for her to hide anything.
Best bit, and his favorite bit? It's the fact that she doesn't want to.
And it's just so fucking hot, doing this to her. He looks and sees how she's looking, open and raw and hungry about what he's doing to her. She's propped on her elbows, breasts rising visibly as he licks and tastes her. He finds a rhythm, soft and not too fast, but still intense and intimate. She starts moaning and all her determination to watch him is melting away. He holds her close because she's writhing at every touch. She crashes against the pillows when he pushes two fingers into her, tight and hot. She's gorgeous, bare skin and pink nipples, arms gripping the pillow under her head as he does this. She rises like a wave with each thrust of his hand, rocking into his touch and praying dirty, dirty things to the ceiling. Her release is a sudden cry and arch of her back, and he stays on her until the storm between her thighs calms down. Then he drags himself up along her body, kissing the path from her navel to her throat and ending his journey with a filthy kiss to her mouth.
“Hi,” he says and she just grins, looking content and flushed and absolutely well fucked.
“Hi yourself,” she says naughtily, still breathing hard.
“You were going to tell me about your day?” he asks between more kissing, when her hands wander down his chest and find his belt.
“Really dying to do it,” she says. He's naked in the matter of moments, and she gleefuly flips them over and straddles his hips. “It's quite a story, you see,” she says and then he's sliding into her and she's lowering herself on him, and oh God.
Fuck yeah, he thinks.
It's his turn to moan and buck his hips and make absolutely undignified sounds as she rides him. He could do hard and fast and it would feel good, but she gives him slow and soulful instead. She writes pages on her devotion with every movement of her hips, her breasts pressing words of desire against his chest. She makes him moan litanies against her shoulder as he holds her tight when he gets really close and starts pushing harder. Then he comes and it's like he's drowning in her with all of his senses and all the words in every language he knows, and his arms full of soft skin.
Minutes later they untangle, but just barely. She pulls the covers over them, and he brushes his fingers through her hair moments before sleep claims him.
*
PS - I need to say that pretty much this entire story is, in a way, a dedication to The Child Takers, written by inkvoices, which influenced my own characterization of Natasha and the way I write her from the very beginning. This line in particular: She can talk about films and art that she has never seen, books that she has never read, places where she has killed but never taken the time to truly look or explore. She is required to know and that is all.
*bows down*
Fandom: The Avengers 2012
Pairing: Clint/Natasha (established); pre movie
Rating: explicit
Warnings: explicit content suited for adults, language
Prompt: "sunshine"
Author's notes: written quickly, in attempt to cheer myself up and do something nice for the lovely ashen_key. The prompt was hers, too. I hope you like it, sweetie! A special shout out to inkvoices because I shamelessly referenced her fic The Child Takers; which was one of first fics I read in Avengers fandom (see end notes!). Read it if you haven't, it's gorgeous.
Summary: Clint takes all of her in, from head to toe, and feels a bit like he's standing in sunshine. Not the blistering kind. Nice evening glow that's just warm enough to settle into.
(Aka, Clint comes home tired and goes to bed, but doesn't sleep.)
*
There's just one thing he really wants. Well, he wants two things, a hot shower and his bed, but they're close connected in his mind and melt into one single immediate desire, along with longing for some company.
Clint isn't sure which part of today was worse, the mundane paperwork chores or training with greener -than- spring- leaves newbies who, unfortunately managed to grate at his every nerve. Maybe he's just getting too old for this shit, he thinks wearily as he shrugs off his jacket and toes off his shoes, loudly greeting what appears to be an empty apartment.
Well. There go his hopes for the rest of the day. He sighs when he meets no reply. He knows that Natasha has several days off and he hoped she would be here when he returned. He reconciles with the fact that he'll be spending his afternoon and possibly evening alone, while Natasha is out, walking, enjoying nice weather and probably looking for more books. He's got one bookshelf and it's full. Her books on everything ever written are spilling over, slowly conquering other free surfaces in his small apartment. Ever since he brought her in (ever since she came after him, actually), ever since she gotten rid of the claws that kept her, she was reading. Reading, reading, reading; finally getting to know all those books she could talk about, but had never held in her hands.
Clint rubs his face and tries not to think how both of them are still trying to catch up with a world of knowledge and experiences and things most people wouldn't give a second thought. (You read War and peace once and that's enough, right?)
Maybe, he thinks.
He walks into his bedroom, unthoughtful and distracted enough to stop in his tracks when he realizes someone is in his bed. Well, it's not someone unknown. He is well acquainted with Natasha's pair of legs, half covered with silky fabric of her robe. She's holding a book, but she's not dressed for reading. As far as he can tell, she's mostly not dressed at all. His dick barely twitches and something in his chest shifts and he wonders if her really is that tired.
She looks at him over the pages, like she's asking what he's waiting for.
“Hi there,” she says.
“Nat,” he replies, scratching the back of his head. His heart picks up the rhythm a little bit. He knows what she wants - it's just that he's so.... something he can't even describe.
“Fun day?” she asks, propping the book on her breasts, and his mouth waters just slightly.
“Absolutely hilarious,” he says and she nods knowingly, like she can read his mind, like she knows just how frustratingly pointless it's been. She sets her book aside and gets up. Clint takes all of her in, from head to toe, and feels a bit like he's standing in sunshine. Not the blistering kind. Nice evening glow that's just warm enough to settle into. She comes close and slides her palms up his chest and gives him a certain look that promises all kinds of delicious, naughty things.
“How about you tell me about your hilarious day -,” she starts and trails off, hooking her fingers in the collar of his shirt, looking at the skin she's exposing, “- after I tell you about mine?”
His body turns to her, an imitation of a branch seeking out sunlight. Her hand strokes the side of his face and he leans into it, torn by the simultaneous desire to rip that robe off her and collapse in a heap near her feet.
“I am kind of beat up, Nat,” he says. She gives him an amused look, obviously not willing to let him go that easily. “Not sure about epically long conversations,” he says even as her thumb ghosts across his lower lip.
“I shall put you to bed, then,” she says thoughtfully as her hands part the taunting robe. “Better yet, I'll join you.”
He swallows tightly. The underwear she's wearing is stuff of dreams, all creamy lace she probably got with him on her mind. He inches closer and thumbs her breast without preamble and she grins.
“Interesting sleepingwear,” he comments, completely absorbed in the sight of rosy nipples and pale skin taunting him him through the fine lace.
“Not really comfortable to sleep in,” she says, stroking with her thumbs along his collarbone. She looks at him, first into his eyes and then deliberately lowers her gaze to his lips. He realizes that the longer she does this, less tired he's feeling. “I'd like to get out of it, if you know what I mean.”
He gives her a slow, feral grin. Yes, he knows what she means.
Some books are too good not to be reread, he thinks distantly when she kisses him, slow and hot. Some chapters stick to your fingers and burn a mark on your mind, and you come back for more. Always come back for more.
“Not sure what you have in mind,” he says, pulling her closer, sliding his hands behind her back. She makes a throaty sound and presses her lower half against his; soft stomach and transparent panties against his jeans. She grins in return when she feels just how hard he already is.
“I can explain,” she says, reaching for his belt and where his shirt is tucked into his jeans, then begins to pull it out. “I can be very helpful, you see,” she adds as fabric and her fingers slide along his sides and he lifts his hands to let her strip his shirt. She tosses it unceremoniously, attention focused at his arms and chest.
“Oh I bet you can,” he says, straightening in front of her in his semi nakedness.
He's aware that she has a thing for his upper body, just like he has a thing for lace and her breasts and every bit of her nakedness, but this is more about how she goes about her fascination. The way she touches along his arms and across his chest, the way she licks an old, faint scar stretching across his chest; and that look she gives him, like he's good enough to eat and then even better. He's pretty sure this alone can make her wet. Her caressing makes him impatient, so he pulls her closer, pressing hard against her. It's a pretty straightforward indication of what he would like to do, and he's aware that there's no chance in hell he'd last long.
“See, there's just this one thing,” she says when his hands go back to her breasts. “I've been awfully bored today,” she says through a whimper when he replaces his hand with his mouth.
“Oh?” he asks against her, sucking her through the lace.
“Yes,” she breathes, her hands settling on his head and keeping him exactly where he is. He can feel her panting and chest rapidly rising as he plays with her. “I've been thinking,” she says.
“About what?” he asks, enjoying her obvious predictability and where this is going. She shrugs off her robe and reaches behind her back. The fabric of her bra gives and within a moment his hands come in contact with gloriously naked skin. Mouth too. She arches into him, cries out against his tongue when he rolls her nipple.
“All the ways I could put you to bed, obviously,” she manages to say. Then she obviously decides to take the matters into her own hands again, pushing against his chest just enough to create space between them. She is flushed and gorgeous and he will go for just about anything right now, so when she tugs at his belt he follows and climbs into bed after her, welcomed by her spread legs. “But I want something first,” she says.
“Do you now?” he says even as he hooks his fingers in the lace and puts his mouth on her, and he can taste her through the thin material. Oh, she's been anticipating this long before he walked through the door.
“I have things to offer in return,” she says, as she lifts her hips and allows him to undress her. “Pretty awesome things,” she's watching intently as he spreads her wide.
“I'm sure,” is all he says before he opens his mouth against her.
There's a keening cry when he drags his tongue against her, and her hips buck. He grins and holds her in place, tongue moving in knowing pattern, like finding well read pages he knows by heart. He drags moans from her throat, pries his name from her lips as he fucks her with his mouth. The thing about this is how she reacts and can't hide at all, clearly written like ink on paper, and his to read. He enjoys the teasing, the occasional act she puts up just to amuse them both, but this is what he loves. Knowing just how wild he can make her, and like this there's no way for her to hide anything.
Best bit, and his favorite bit? It's the fact that she doesn't want to.
And it's just so fucking hot, doing this to her. He looks and sees how she's looking, open and raw and hungry about what he's doing to her. She's propped on her elbows, breasts rising visibly as he licks and tastes her. He finds a rhythm, soft and not too fast, but still intense and intimate. She starts moaning and all her determination to watch him is melting away. He holds her close because she's writhing at every touch. She crashes against the pillows when he pushes two fingers into her, tight and hot. She's gorgeous, bare skin and pink nipples, arms gripping the pillow under her head as he does this. She rises like a wave with each thrust of his hand, rocking into his touch and praying dirty, dirty things to the ceiling. Her release is a sudden cry and arch of her back, and he stays on her until the storm between her thighs calms down. Then he drags himself up along her body, kissing the path from her navel to her throat and ending his journey with a filthy kiss to her mouth.
“Hi,” he says and she just grins, looking content and flushed and absolutely well fucked.
“Hi yourself,” she says naughtily, still breathing hard.
“You were going to tell me about your day?” he asks between more kissing, when her hands wander down his chest and find his belt.
“Really dying to do it,” she says. He's naked in the matter of moments, and she gleefuly flips them over and straddles his hips. “It's quite a story, you see,” she says and then he's sliding into her and she's lowering herself on him, and oh God.
Fuck yeah, he thinks.
It's his turn to moan and buck his hips and make absolutely undignified sounds as she rides him. He could do hard and fast and it would feel good, but she gives him slow and soulful instead. She writes pages on her devotion with every movement of her hips, her breasts pressing words of desire against his chest. She makes him moan litanies against her shoulder as he holds her tight when he gets really close and starts pushing harder. Then he comes and it's like he's drowning in her with all of his senses and all the words in every language he knows, and his arms full of soft skin.
Minutes later they untangle, but just barely. She pulls the covers over them, and he brushes his fingers through her hair moments before sleep claims him.
*
PS - I need to say that pretty much this entire story is, in a way, a dedication to The Child Takers, written by inkvoices, which influenced my own characterization of Natasha and the way I write her from the very beginning. This line in particular: She can talk about films and art that she has never seen, books that she has never read, places where she has killed but never taken the time to truly look or explore. She is required to know and that is all.
*bows down*