bakerstreet | The Mistletoe Meme

Clint caught the look she gave him, but it was gone again so fast he couldn’t be quite sure it had been there at all, let alone what it really meant. Every once in a while he wondered if she was just playing with him, but he never truly believed it, refused to let himself. She wouldn’t do that to him, not to him, not on purpose. He just kept telling himself that.

Tonight he didn’t dwell on it, though. Tonight he didn’t want to complicate things, he just wanted to feel her touch, to run his hands and his tongue over every inch of her and reacquaint himself with the body he loved so much.

“I, um...” Chris stuttered, eyes widening, clearly not sure how to respond. “It’s a bit cold for that...”

What an idiot.

Helping Natasha to and into the cab, Clint climbed in beside her, and after she’d given her address to the driver he settled back in his seat. “I’m on the right track, then,” he said, smiling at her. Christ, he wanted to jump her right then and there. “Was it the helpful part or the talk of my, um, working out?”

Was it possible for Natasha to play with him? The man she'd grown to trust and care about, the man who saved her when she was so lost, who pulled her from the dark and into the light? Could she play him like a fiddle? Like she'd done to so many men and women over her life time?

Of course she could, but what she could do and what she would do were two separate things. Natasha wouldn't do that, not to him.

She laughed, another melodic chime and shuffled instantly closer to his body once they were seated in the cab and moving.

"It was both, just a shame about the cold." She flashed him a teasing smile, hand moving to rest itself on his knee. "So do I really need to invite you in for coffee?"

Even despite the cold her hand felt warm on his knee and Clint felt his mask slipping. They were away from their coworkers, surely they didn’t need to keep up appearances anymore, right? He really wanted to believe that, but this wasn’t exactly a big city and for all they knew this cabbie played softball with Daniel or drove Joan’s drunk ass home from the bar every Saturday night. Word got around, and until they were safe behind closed and locked doors they had to keep up appearances.

“Well, it would... it would help with the cold,” he said. “And, I mean, I gotta walk you to your door anyway to make sure you get in alright.”

And he would be lying if he said it wouldn’t be tempting to push her up against that door the second they got inside and have his way with her right then and there.

She saw him start to blend back into Clint and it couldn't happen, because this cabbie could know someone from their office and Natasha was certain she couldn't talk her way out of something that big. So she squeezed his knee, lent in closer and let her lips brush the side of his face.

Okay so she wasn't making it easy, but honestly she was having a hard time too.

"Can't let you go home without being the perfect hostess, plus you're right, it would warm you up, or there are other ways if the coffee doesn't work." Whispered words against his ear.

No, she was evil, dangling herself like a carrot in front of him.

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.

Natasha would have apologised but it seemed she was just as geared up as he was. Funny how being separated did that and she shouldn't let it happen. She shouldn't have gotten this close to the point where being apart from him did strange things to her. She shouldn't miss him, it was dangerous territory.

"If I wasn't sure I wouldn't have instigated..." She smiled, pulling back enough just so he could see it, coy and innocent. "I'm blaming it on the wine though, if anyone asks." And they were bound to.

Even if that was an excuse, Natasha certainly wasn't drunk, just an excuse for a lapse of Natalie's judgement when people questioned her at the water cooler.

"Plus my house is warm, so it may be a opportunity to see if this warehouse work has really paid off."

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it definitely made a lot of other things grow too. Despite his preference to not actually get involved in spy work often, Clint had been happy to get the call to back Natasha up on this mission. They had already been apart for longer than his liking, and even though he knew she could handle herself he never felt quite right when he wasn’t there to have her back.

He had missed her, and he was very much looking forward to the opportunity to show her just how much.

“As long as it’s not really the wine,” Chris said, looking worried that it might be.

He swore this was the longest cab ride ever. Maybe the cabbie was a pervert and was taking them on detours in hopes he’d have something to watch, but more likely it just felt like it was taking forever since Clint was highly anticipating it being over.

“It has. You can see for yourself. I’ll show you,” he said rather quickly, his eyes dropping to her lips so tantalizingly close to his.

Not the wine. Heavens no, but for the sake of playing up the game it was, completely and totally. She lent closer and squeezed his knee again, eyebrow curling with a smile. "I don't know if it's the wine or the gentlemanly demeanour. Either way, you've got me Chris."

Her eyes darted towards the windows, checking their surroundings as yes, they were on the right track, not long before they reached the fake home she'd been forced into. It was nothing like her style.

"Well Chris I look forward to giving you a check up." Eyes moved back to his face, taking in the lines and look and god, she really had missed him.

It was hard to play the perfect gentleman and turn Natalie down like Chris probably should have, especially since Clint knew it was all an act. And really, what man in his position would really say no to such an offer? She was still speaking coherently and her motor skills were fine. Maybe Chris was a gentleman, but he was no saint.

“Maybe a mix,” he said, as if that made it able for him to accept, able to continue without feeling he was taking advantage.

So far he’d been very careful about not touching her, but it was too much and he couldn’t resist anymore. Lifting one hand he ran it back through her hair, the fiery red strands just as silky as he remembered. “How close are we?” he asked, impatient and almost breathless just from her proximity. He was still putting on a decent front, but when he met her eyes again the desire and longing in them was all Clint.

"A good mix, a very good mix meaning this is a very good idea. Chris, stop questioning this," Honestly, She could appreciate good values and morals but here she was, practically throwing herself at Chris in the comfort of a cab and he was still questioning it. Underneath Natasha knew Clint wanted this more than anything right now, all he had to do was let his socially awkward persona go with it.

And there it was, the push. Her head tilted slightly into his hand, a breath slipped past her lips along with a laugh at his question. "Not close enough.." Her eyebrows wiggled, eyes slipping to the window, "Not far. Couple more streets."

“Right, a good idea,” he said, nodding. “A very good idea.” He certainly couldn’t think of a better idea at the moment. In fact, he was pretty sure this was one of the best ideas ever. Sure, they would probably have some explaining to do to Fury if they became the talk of the rumour mill instead of the barely acquaintances that they were supposed to be, but Clint didn’t give a damn about that right now.

Licking his lips, his free hand moved to her thigh, squeezing just slightly through the smooth material of her dress. He had been trying to hold off until they were inside, away from prying eyes and able to drop all pretenses, but she was sitting so close and looking so sexy and smelling so good he felt himself being drawn in like a magnet until his lips were just a hair’s breadth from hers. “Not close enough,” he echoed before crushing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss.

Fury could bite her. Natasha had no loyalties to that man, not to him and not to SHIELD. Not really. Her loyalties lay with Clint considering he was the one who spared her. If word got around then so what? They were two grown assed adults and as long as they got the job done what did it matter if they were caught making out in the back of a cab?

Her eyes dropped to the hand on her thigh, raising them slowly just as he'd lent in closer and she could practically feel the air between them move. Electricity. They'd both somehow riled each other up, Natasha had been the obvious antagonist but Clint and his coy, shy persona had done something strange to her.

She kissed him back with a neutral ferocity, her hand reaching up to tug the collar of his jacket until she was pressed against him and just as her other hand found his on her leg the cabbie coughed and halted. Worst timing ever.

She broke away, lips swollen and a giggle leaving her lips in way of apology, fumbling with her purse produced from her coat pocket and stuffing bills through the hole in the window.

It could jeopardize the mission, making themselves the centre of attention and putting their relationship on display, but Clint didn’t care about that right now. They could deal with it tomorrow, spin it positively, but right now he couldn’t even think about it. Right now all he could think about was her body pressed against his, her mouth hot and welcoming.

When they were interrupted he let out a loud groan, his head dropping back on the seat behind him. He tried to find the words to protest against her being the one to pay, even fumbled for his wallet, but she already had the bills out before he could find his. “I can get that,” he still said a little late, pulling out his wallet needlessly. “Or, I guess, I can... breakfast. I’ll spring for breakfast.”

It could jeopardise more than the mission, it could jeopardise their relationship, their dynamic. It could single them out, it could ruin them but Natasha couldn't care less. He's right here, on her mission. Natasha trusts him with everything, she wants him so badly it terrifies her. Fuck everyone else and fuck what they think. It's taken her years to get to this point and she doesn't want to waste a second.

Life is too short.

She climbs out of the cab and sighs, waving him off and saying her thanks to the cabbie. "Breakfast is certainly on you Chris, somewhere nice too, with good coffee." She throws a smile over her shoulder, fumbles for her keys in her pocket and finally gets the front door of her fake home unlocked.

It's spare and unwelcoming but it's Natasha's style, she could leave here if their were her own possessions scattered around, instead Natalie has made it hostile and bland. Either way she pads into the hallway, drops her coat to the floor and works at the zipper of her dress until that pools into a puddle at her feet. Her heels remain on and she's left standing there in a matching set which is all black lace, definitely Natasha.

Clint wasn’t thinking about how dangerous this could be for them, wasn’t letting himself think beyond the immediate repercussions. He had lost himself to her long ago, and there was no point trying to deny it. He would take whatever she was willing to give him, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to deny her tonight.

As the cab drove off Clint didn’t bother to reply; there was nobody left to keep up pretenses for. Following Natasha up the walkway, he stepped into the house behind her and turned to close and lock the door. The click of the lock was loud in the otherwise silent house, and he let out a breath as he was finally able to fully drop the persona he had been wearing for the past few weeks.

“That had to be the longest cab ride...” he started to say, turning as he spoke, but the words died on his lips when he caught sight of Natasha again, confidence, black lace and fuck-me-pumps. “Christ, I’ve missed you,” he breathed, letting his eyes travel over every inch of her. All these years and she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Silences she loved it. Sometimes it got lonely but then Natalie had plenty of interests to keep her satisfied. The easel in the dining room, the expanse of books and the kitchen fully equipped with baking supplies. Natalie was apparently one of those women who brought cakes in to the office on Fridays.

Her eyebrow cocked as she rested a hand on her hip, one knee bent, shifting weight in her heels while she stared at his across the gap. Sexy and confident. Wrapped up for him in red, black and white. She was danger personified.

"Have you? And yet you're gawking like a fish." She turns slowly, giving him a show, letting him see every inch of her. Pale skin in sharp contrast to black underwear, thumbs running over the band of the lace panties, "I missed you too."

Natasha knew exactly how to stand, how to hold herself, to best show off her assets, and Clint felt his mouth go dry just looking at her.

“Not gawking, just... appreciating,” he said as she pivoted in place, making sure to show off every angle. It was her words, though, that had him moving forward, dropping his coat as he went. Closing the distance between them, he grabbed her hips to pull her flush against him as his kissed her, deep and hungrily; a kiss that spoke of countless lonely nights.

She had missed him too.

"Appreciate if you must, I'd rather you show me instead of just looking though.." Not that Clint needed any prompting. Natasha's eyes followed the discarded coat and all ready she was imaging those arms wrapped around her. If she had one weakness it was Clint Barton's arms.

Not that she'd ever admit that to anyone.

Standing together flush like this made her realise just how damn much she'd missed him. She'd spent lonely nights wrapped up in nothing but her sheets missing his comfortable weight and she shouldn't have let it happen. She sank too deep, got too far into something she swore she'd never do again.

She couldn't afford to feel, feeling made you weak, it cost you your life.

But it felt good, it made her feel real, human. Why shut off from something that made her feel whole?

Her hands moved to his neck, fingers carding through the hair at his nape, kissing him back with the same ferocity he displayed, lifting a leg to wrap it around his waist, heel of her shoe gently scraping the back of his calve and this was dangerous and toeing so many lines.

What the hell, Natasha was never one for playing by the rule book.

She kissed him back with passion and need that equaled his own and Clint was lost. He could taste her, breathe her in, feel her skin under his fingers still cool from the winter air outside. He was drowning in her and he didn’t want to be saved.

Moving his hands down to cup her ass, he lifted her up as if she weighed nothing, holding her there as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He took one step forward but didn’t know which way to go so he turned to press her back against the wall instead, press himself hard against her.

His lips never left hers.

He might be lost but Natasha was sure as hell that she'd find him every time. Like now, her kisses read that she's in this with him, that this is more than just affection or reaffirmation. Natasha knows, she just doesn't want to believe that someone could love her nor that she could love someone back.

She knows she trusts him with her life, she knows she'll protect him and in return he'll protect her too, she knows there's no one else on this earth that means this much to her.

If that's love then she's just as lost as he feels.

She felt the corded muscle in his arms flex as he lifted her and she did immediately wrap her long legs around his waist, legs that have killed more men than any other weapon. Her deft fingers work at the buttons on his shirt, popping them open one by one until her hands found his skin and she slowly glided her hands over every inch.

A groan into his mouth as her back hits the wall, one hand presses onto the nearest surface, scattering oddities that only make sense in Natalie's life. A lamp hits the floor and glass smashes but it's insignificant to the feel of his lips and the muscle working under her hand.

It’s more than distance and time apart; when she kissed him he felt weeks worth of unspoken words and emotions... maybe even years. This wasn’t just an itch to scratch, not even just about having missed each other. There was so much more in her kiss, more than he could let himself believe or hope for in that moment.

Her hands on his skin felt like fire and he leaned into their warmth, savouring every second. He doesn’t just hear her groan but he can feel it, and it made him push harder against her, his growing need more than obvious at this point. Only when the lamp his the floor did the intensity of the situation shatter along with it causing him to chuckle against her lips. Setting her on the edge of the small table where the lamp had previously sat, he took the opportunity to toss his shirt aside, but his arms weren’t gone from around her for long. He only managed to draw his lips away from hers so he could kiss a trail down her throat. “I wanna fuck you on every surface in this house, but we’d probably end up destroying the place,” he said in a gruff tone, smiling against her skin. His hands slid up to fondle her breast through the thin, lacy material.

But maybe the distance and time apart did her some good. The lines weren't so blurred, things seemed to be slipping into place, like how when he kissed her her stomach flipped, like when she knew he was in danger her heart raced. It was a scary thought, one she couldn't afford to act on. Love. Natasha wasn't wired to love, she was wired to kill, destroy, seduce. But love?

She became the ornament to replace the lamp, eyes flickering to the shattered remains with a sigh. Oh well, not like SHIELD couldn't afford replacement lamps. Eyes moved back to him when the shirt disappeared and her smile widened, kicking her legs softly from her position. Head tilted back, letting his lips work as she sighed, hand coming up to tangle in his hair. A chuckle, gripping his hair tighter and pulling his head up so she could lock eyes with him, "I didn't just bail on a party for us to play vanilla. Every surface sounds like a challenge, I want to know if you're up for it."

Of course she had to go and lean in, teeth finding his lip, biting it hard enough to leave little indents.

Moving to stand between her knees, Clint worked his way down her neck, over her collarbone, before she sharply pulled his head back to meet his eyes. The movement was rough, and something flashed in his eyes as he held her steady gaze, the air between them once again electric. Then she was moving in and he let out a small grunt when she bit his lip.

Good thing they had left their fake personas at the door. Clint had had enough of playing the shy guy, and he certainly had played the gentleman enough for one night. Grabbing Natasha’s hips he pulled her forward to the edge of the table, pressing her hard against him. “Honey, I am up for pretty much anything,” he said, his voice low and rough, before capturing her lips in another bruising kiss.

That's what she wanted, that flash in his eyes, give her something more. After dealing with idiots the entire time she'd been undercover Natasha really wasn't looking for something normal and boring, didn't want to end the night making a mess of. Natalie's sheets, but the thought of destroying pieces of this house well, it wasn't like it was either of the twos personal place, so fuck it.

She laughed, the table rocked at his roughness, slipping her legs around his waist again, hands sliding back down his chest to his belt, snapping it open with a perked eyebrow. She was about to respond, about to bite at the endearment but instead pushed herself into the kiss, nails biting into his bare hips.

Damn, he was catching on.

Clint would have been content just taking this to the bedroom, but by the time they had gotten into the house and she had stripped down right there in the entranceway all thoughts of trying to make it that far vanished. Now she had upped the stakes and he was more than willing to comply.

Sliding one hand up her back to unclasp her bra, he felt the bite of her nails into his skin and groaned. It took him a second to realise that it wasn’t actually him but the table beneath her that was groaning, the whole structure shifting sideways, clearly not built to sustain such abuse.

“Maybe not every surface,” he muttered into the kiss, hands moving to grab her ass and lift her up again. “Wall’s a surface, though, right?” He was already turning to press her back against the wall once more.

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