No, she certainly wasn’t making this easy, and Clint’s eyes slipped shut as she moved closer, her lips brushing his cheek.

Mind on the mission. Mind on the mission, he repeated in his head but it did little to help.

He should probably refuse her; Chris was a gentleman and she had been drinking, but Clint knew Natasha could hold her liquor and it was hard to even think of her as having had so much to drink that it would impair her judgement in the least.

“If you want,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “If you’re sure you want me to come in.”

There was no way he was going home at this point, even if he had to sneak back under the cover of night on his own two feet.