bakerstreet | The Morning After Meme

The morning light through the open window slowly tried to force wakefulness on her but Natasha defied it, squeezing her eyes tightly closed and turning her face away to bury it in the pillow. That small action, though, was enough to point out that almost her entire body ached. Some of it was a good ache and the corner of her mouth turned up into the faintest of smiles as her mind ran through the events that had led to that, while others not so much thought they didn’t banish her smile.

Sucking her lower lip between her teeth she tasted blood from the cut she’d received the night before. Slowly turning her head just enough that only one side of her face was visible past the pillow she cracked open one eye to look at the other side of the bed and was greeted with the sight of two naked feet.

Her smile grew just the slightest bit wider.

Reaching out, she dragged one nail lightly down the sole of the nearest foot.

He was actually snuggled up to her legs, or one of them, anyway, since he knew better than to hobble her completely, even in his sleep. Whatever they'd done the night before must have been fun, given the state of the room, and the fact that he had a still-clean swath of gauze bandage around one thigh and around one arm, both of them covering what he was fairly sure were bullet wounds, the arm just a graze, though it had needed stitches, and the thigh had actually needed the bullet dug out of it.

He was still in the comfortable half-asleep state that he liked to bask in as long as possible, when he was allowed. His whole leg jerked away from the tickle, which in turn sent him rolling right off the side of the bed in a heap on the floor. It was a few moments before he managed a quiet, disgruntled: "Ow."

Natasha had been prepared to block a reflexive kick; she had not expected Clint to throw himself clear out of the bed. Wincing at the dull thud he made when he hit, she further grimaced when she rolled over onto her stomach. She had a few bruises ribs, one ankle was swollen, and the was a bandage taped over her left shoulder blade from a knife wound. Clint had taken the bullets while her injuries had been sustained in a little closer quarters.

“I suppose it’s too early to ask how you’re feeling,” she said, peering over the edge of the bed at him.

"M'good." He replied, though he made no move as of yet to actually pull himself off the floor, though mostly that was because he was still taking stock, working out just what he could remember of the night before, not at all surprised to find that he actually remembered most of it.

He rolled over completely onto his back to blink up at her, both brows lifting in something close to concern, "You?" After all, she'd been the one who took their target on face to face, he'd been three blocks and four stories away for most of it.

The longer he laid there, not moving and only mumbling few words, the more amused Natasha felt. She knew he was okay, or he certainly had been last she remembered of last night, so concern didn’t really factor in. By the time he rolled over and looked up at her she had a half smile on her lips, her chin resting on her hand on the edge of the bed.

“Alive,” she said simply. There were no serious injuries, nothing they hadn’t been able to patch up for one another, and all the pain she felt just made her feel alive. These moments, waking up like this with that realisation, were some of her favourites.

He smiled crookedly at that, stretching again, just making sure everything was still in working order, and that he wasn't going to rip his stitches if he moved again, "Good. Me too."

He nodded again, turning his head to arch both brows up at her, "So, we're alive. What's next?"

She watched him stretch, her eyes traveling over him, openly admiring as muscles pulled taut beneath bruised skin. She knew she had caused more than a few of those bruises and it gave her a strange sense of satisfaction to have marked him so.

“I may need you to put a fresh bandage on my shoulder,” Natasha said. The tape had come loose at one corner and the bandage had balled up on one side. “I think it got a bit out of place during round two.” It probably wouldn’t hurt to do a more thorough examination of each other either as they were bound to find a few more minor things that they had either missed or that hadn’t been there earlier last night.

There were always going to be more minor things that they'd missed, that was the nature of minor injuries. He nodded at the statement however, "Easy enough. I didn't try to put any stitches in you while I was impaired, did I?"

One round of drunken sewing each other up had been more than enough, and something they'd both vowed never to repeat.

Tilting her head to the side, Natasha raised her eyebrows at him. “Should I feel insulted that you don’t remember?” she teased him. She always had been better at holding her liquor than Clint, and she certainly never drank enough to lose her memories; they had been tampered with enough by other people and she would not risk impairing them herself. “You put the stitches in before you were too far gone, don’t worry,” she reassured him. “How is the leg?”

"Don't give me that look." He replied, arching both brows at her in turn, "We might have decided to make it into a drinking game. Again. Because, you know, it wasn't a total disaster the first time."

He shrugged at the question, fingers dipping to knead lightly against the bandage, "Aches, but nothing new there. Nothing too bad."

“What look?” Natasha replied, her expression suddenly one of pure innocence. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Honestly, something not being a total disaster was just enough for them to decide to try it again some day. They had been through enough complete disasters so why limit themselves?

“Good,” she said. Pushing herself up to sit she winced only slightly at the pain in her ribs. “I know a long, hot bath later is going to feel wonderful.”

He grinned at the innocent look, and the statement that went with it, shaking his head and stretching again as well, finding that he was actually fairly comfortable where he was. Plush carpets were good for that kind of thing.

"I'll wash your hair, if you want." Oddly enough: it was something he liked doing, if only because fingers against her scalp tended to turn her into a happy housecat.

Rolling her neck and her shoulders, Natasha brushed her hair back from her face but only managed to catch her fingers in the many knots that had accumulated. She would probably need some serious conditioning to get them out painlessly.

Closing her eyes she rubbed the back of her neck, a smile curling her lips at Clint’s offer.

“Mmm, that sounds good,” she murmured her acceptance. It sounded more than good, actually. She loved having her head massaged and Clint was excellent at it. He always put the right amount of pressure in all the right places until she was pretty much just putty in his hands.

"Thought you might like that idea." He replied, levering himself up into a sitting position finally, though he leaned forward to rest folded arms on the edge of the bed, "How long until we're supposed to check in?"

Because if they had a while, he intended on making the most of it. Really, he'd make the most of it even if they didn't have a while.

She did like that idea, very much. Opening her eyes again at his question, she pursed her lips and looked around the room. At one point there had probably been an alarm clock on the bedside table but the table had been swiped clear, the lamp dangling precariously over the front of it by the cord that was still plugged into the wall. Looking at the window instead she tried to judge by the light filtering in.

“I would say at least a couple of hours,” she ventured before reaching out across the bed and peering over the other side in search of the missing clock.

It was probably there somewhere, under one of the pillows that had also been kicked to the floor. Who needed that many pillows anyway? Seriously.

Clint, for his part, just smiled as he watched her move, given as how he had a good vantage point for it where he was right then, "Plenty of time."

Natasha only managed to remove the pillow that had gotten stuffed down between the bed and the table to check under it before giving the clock up as a lost cause. Any further searching would require further stretching, or actually getting out of the bed, which she wasn’t prepared to do yet unless it was to hit the shower.

Hugging the pillow to her chest as she abandoned her search, she threw a look back over her shoulder at Clint. “Plenty of time for what, Barton?”

He shrugged, the movement exaggerated half on purpose and half just due to his current position leaning against the edge of the bed, "For whatever we want to use it for, I guess. Could start a game of Monopoly or something, don't look at me. I suck at this."

Mostly he was still just smiling crookedly, because he couldn't help it, it wasn't often that they got to actually relax after a job.

It was a rarity to see him this relaxed and she had to admit that it looked good on him, though the tousled hair and crooked smile helped. She had always thought him an attractive man, even when they had been strictly partners, but never more so than mornings like this.

“I don’t have the patience for Monopoly,” Natasha replied, tossing the pillow at his head. “I would suggest strip poker, but...” she trailed off with a smirk of her own; they didn’t really have anything else to take off. “Though I am surprised you would admit to having no ideas of what we could do to fill the time. I thought you were more creative than that.”

"Oh I can think of plenty of things." He said, "Just not things that wouldn't take all day." Another shrug followed before hoisting himself back up onto the bed, "Besides, I already promised to wash your hair. That's going to take most of the head-start we've got if I'm going to do it right."

“I will keep that in mind the next time we get an entire day off,” Natasha replied, not that that seemed to happen very often.

Sitting up again as he pulled himself up onto the bed beside her, she let her eyes travel over his body, lingering on the bandage around his thigh. Luckily the bullet hadn’t caught the femoral artery and he had been able to walk away fairly easily.

“That long? You certainly have my attention,” she said, running her fingers lightly over the scratches on his chest that were a perfect fit for her nails. “We better not waste any more time then.” Leaning down she just grazed her lips along his jaw.

He shifted forward into her touch just a little, not entirely catlike, but comfortably so, just nodding at the almost-incredulous statement, "If I'm going to do it right, yeah."

The fleeting kiss to his jaw just made him smile, fingers sliding up her arm, the touch only just firm enough not to tickle, "Definitely. Might already have wasted too much time."

“Oh, well...” Natasha spoke against his skin. Trailing lazy kisses down his neck, her hand also slid down over his stomach. “In that case...” she dragged her teeth over his collar bone, her fingers trailing down what she had seen referred to as his ‘treasure trail’, a term that never ceased to amuse her. “We should probably start with that, then.”

In the blink of an eye she had pulled away and was already sliding toward the edge of the bed until her feet touched the floor. “Then we can see how much time we have left for... other things.” Her wicked grin was more than apparent in her voice.

He grumbled contentedly at the touch, shifting closer to her once more, and really he should have known that if he was going to react like a cat she was going to treat him like one.

He sighed heavily when she slipped away, even going so far as to pout after her, but it didn't last long, simply due to the fact that he was too amused to let it. He rolled off the side of the bed after her, stretching carefully once more when he was upright. He felt tired, and bruised, but nothing terribly detrimental.

With her back to him Natasha missed the pout but she did hear the heavy sigh and gave a satisfied smirk.

Her movements were slow and deliberate and she was barely on her feet before Clint was beside her, amused and stretching. “Alright, Barton,” she said, heading for the adjoined bathroom. “How do you want me?” The words were completely innocent, of course...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject