God she wished it was a spell, she wished she could be indifferent, that she didn't care about him or feel for him. It would be easier, in the long run, for it to be some kind of enchantment, but it wasn't. It felt real. Right down to her toes, in her bones, in every pore and scar. Natasha had committed the cardinal sin and fell in love with the man who'd taken her away from the Union in the first place.

If her instructors and tormentors could see her now they'd be in a state of complete and utter rage.

Natasha didn't exactly help guide him, oh now, far too busy biting his lips between her teeth or winding fingers into his hair.

As they neared the correct room curled into him, forehead pressed against his shoulder, every footstep brought a wave through her body and when they finally reached the couch he went and, well, he went and tripped over.

It was a good job Natasha wasn't made out of glass, but the way he fell on top of her both made her want to gasp and laugh, so she sank teeth into his shoulder and whimpered into his skin.

"Jesus, you know how to make an entrance Clint..."