bakerstreet | The Mistletoe Meme

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.

The bedroom. They spent too much time in bedrooms and Natasha was, well, not bored by it. Clint didn't bore her, not in the least but tonight after weeks of playing another person she wanted more than some roll around in the sheets. Maybe later.

The table groaned and creaked and she laughed, shaking her head. Not the first time. They come together like waves on rocks. It's messy and dangerous, they celebrate life by destroying each other, knowing they can take it.

She brushes her bra away, hangs it by its strap on the coat rack, making a sound in the back of her throat as her legs returned back around his waist. "Walls are definitely surfaces Barton."

Leaning her weight back on the wall, using it for leverage as hips rolled against his, hands on his shoulders. "You have no idea how many times I've thought of this moment since the job started."

It was so good to hear her laughter, her real laughter, not the fake kind she put on as Natalie. It was definitely one of Clint’s most favourite sounds in the world, especially when he had any hand in making it happen. Another of his favourite sounds was the one she had just made when he’d pushed her back into the wall again. So fucking hot.

“Good, good, ‘cause it’s gonna have to do,” he muttered, pressing himself harder against her. Running his hands over her hips, his fingers traced the hem of the little, lacy panties she wore. Damn, he really should had gotten rid of them before saving the table from total decimation. He was just wondering how partial she was to them when she arched back against the wall and ground against him.

“Why don’t you tell me,” he replied, ducking his head to her breasts and closing his lips over one hardened peak. He had definitely thought about this too. He didn’t get to see her at work often, but when he did catch a glimpse of her in those formal skirts and blouses he’d wanted nothing more than to drag her into a closet somewhere and fuck her senseless.

Well, being with Clint was the first time she'd ever had a reason to actually laugh and mean it. So many years spent flitting between one persona to the next, too much time wasting false laughter on ears of men who were going to die by her hand. And Clint? Well, he gave her a real reason to laugh.

Her fingers rested on his jaw, stroking the soft stubble while he slowly unravelled her steel and broke down the walls Natalie had been forced to out up. Another huff of laughter, "don't even think about ripping these.."

Her fingers closed softly around his neck, pushing his head back enough so he could see just how he was affecting her, eyes glassy, chest heaving, hips grinding against him. "From the minute I got here. Imagined you bending me over the dining room table, riding you on the couch," she lent forward, lips coming to his ear and smiling slowly against his skin, "pressing me up against the shower wall, it's huge by the way."

When she seemed to read his mind Clint pouted against her but he couldn’t keep it up for long, couldn’t hold it when she was laughing. He couldn’t not smile when she laughed.

Suckling at her skin, he dragged his teeth lightly over her nipple before she pushed his head back, urging him to look up at her with her hands around his neck. What he was was pure and utter lust, but it was more than that. She wasn’t just horny and looking for a good lay; this was for him, it was all for him, and it was he who had turned her on so much that he could feel her pressing hot against him. She was beautiful, breathtaking, and fuck if her words weren’t just turning him on more. Her breath against his ear made him shiver and he pressed his lips to her shoulder, trying to take a deep breath.

“Mmm, sounds good. Let’s do them all,” he said, reaching one hand down between them to open his button and zipper, trying to rid himself of his pants. There was still far too much clothing between them.

Clint wasn't like any other guy she'd been with, for one he didn't make her skin crawl and for two it was Clint. They had a bond after all. There was no Barton without Romanoff.

Her hand slipped down, batting his away and working at his pants until they were loose enough for him to shuck them off, not that Natasha had any kind of patience, too many nights spent alone, as she slipped a hand down the waistband of his boxers and stroked him softly. "Oh please, hopefully you're well rested, don't want your batteries running out on me."

Clint chuckled when Natasha impatiently swatted his hand away to get at him herself. Moving his hand instead to her ass and adjusting her position, his fingers dug into her soft flesh. She had the most perfect body he had ever seen; she was slim but not skinny, toned but not too muscular; her breasts were amazing, her skin soft and smooth, and she was just so confident and sure that she carried it all in a way that he couldn’t help but stop and marvel at her sometimes. How he had ever got so lucky to end up like this with here he’d never know, but he wasn’t about to question it.

Letting his pants drop down around his ankles, he groaned at the first touch of her hand, involuntarily pushing against her. “Not a chance,” he breathed against her neck. “I’m good to go all night.” Though he was ready to skip all the foreplay for this first round and get right to it. It had been far too long.

The question was more to do with how she'd got so lucky. Reality was Clint had been her saving grace and that debt still hung in the air between them. She still owed him for taking her out of one life and helping her live another.

She teased him, wanting nothing more than to sink down on her knees and use her mouth rather than her hand, but they had all night and tomorrow morning before they had to return back to normality, back to Chris and. Natalie.

She wiggled out of his grasp, setting herself on the floor, slipping her panties down her legs and kicking them off a heeled foot. "I want you to fuck me now Clint.." She looked at him through her lashes, teeth worrying her lip as if she was shy to ask even though it was less of a question and more of a demand.

Clint preferred not to think about the debt, because if he let himself think about it then his mind would start to wander and he would start asking himself if that was all this was, her way of repaying him what she felt she owed him. The very idea made his stomach twist so it was best not to think about it at all.

Fortunately Natasha was very good at distracting him.

He murmured some nonsensical protests as she wriggled free from his arms, but they quickly died on his lips when she was suddenly standing there before him in all her naked glory, wearing a pair of fuck me pumps and nothing else. Then she had to go and say those words and he felt himself twitch in anticipation.

“Yes ma’am!” Clint replied, quickly ridding himself of the remainder of his own clothing before moving in again, his hands grasping her waist to lift her almost effortlessly so she could wrap her legs around him again.

Maybe at the beginning, maybe at the very start that debt weighed heavily on her mind and had some sway, but that was at the very start. Now what they were, what they had become had nothing to do with debts or ledgers and if he was to bring it up Natasha would simply tell him he was being beyond stupid.

She laughed at his eagerness, wrapping her legs back around his waist, arms braced on his shoulders, "You've upgraded to a D, let's see if you can persuade me to give you an A Barton." Nails raked over his skin, one hand trailing down his chest. Damn she really, really missed this, being here like this with him, just having him around, a steady presence.

Every time she laughed his heart soared, and he didn’t care how ridiculously cheesy that sounded. Maybe he would never admit it aloud, but still; it didn’t change how he felt.

For a brief moment he’d completely forgotten about the whole game earlier regarding grades, but he chuckled when he remembered. The chuckle turned into a hiss as she raked her nails over his skin, and when he pressed her back agains the wall again it was none too gently. After her order earlier he wasted no time in aligning himself at her entrance and burying himself deep inside of her with one swift thrust.

And his grade was about to rise again when he finally fell over that threshold. Natasha didn't so much as scream, instead his name slipped past her lips buried in a whine and a growl, her legs tightening around his waist to keep him there, just for a moment while she surveyed the situation.

Evidently it didn't matter how many times she told herself that Love didn't exist for women like her, that Love was all a game, a trap. That feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with Clint suddenly being inside of her nor pressed so close. It was something more, deeper and a long time coming.

Her lips sought his, kissing him softly, nipping at his bottom lip, hands slipped up to thread fingers in his hair. This was Love. Didn't matter how many times she tried to tell herself it wasn't.

Clint buried his face against her shoulder, grunting in pleasure when she locked him in place, his name on her lips sounding heavenly and oh so filthy at the same time. He felt complete again for the first time in weeks, any stress and anxiety that had built up in him fading.

He didn’t move, just let her hold him still as she adjusted to him, his breath huffing sharply across her skin until her lips found his. The kiss wasn’t rough, or fast, or desperate, and it was more than an expression of how hot she was for him. She kissed him softly, tenderly, and Clint instantly melted into the kiss, taking his time to explore but never deepening it. His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t recall a time she had ever kissed him quite like this, so full of affection. It was all he had been longing for for months, and otherwise he didn’t move, afraid it would end.

Complete wasn't the word, something to that effect but deeper. Natasha could honestly say she'd never felt like this with anyone else, never felt so connected as she does with Clint. It's a dangerous trait to have given somebody control over your emotions and it's even more dangerous that she considers him her right hand rather than an insignificant pawn.

Her breathing stuttered against his lips, trying to steady herself and bring things back to reality and quickly. He'd read things she wasn't ready to divulge, he'd read things she couldn't afford to spill. She chased that from his mind by sinking teeth into his bottom lip softly, her hips chanting against his until she broke the kiss to out enough distance between their mouths, "Couch..." Just one simple word as an instruction.

He was just letting himself believe it, just letting himself hope when she broke the spell. He couldn’t be too disappointed, not when she was moving against him like that, and while he would let his mind scour over it later for now he was quick to obey and let it go.

One word was enough, who really needed words anyway? Wrapping his arms around her to hold her tight, Clint turned away from the wall. To his left was one door and he could see a hint of tiled floor, and to the right a larger door which he banked on as the living room and headed toward. His assumption, thankfully, turned out correct and he proceeded to carry her across the room, his lips working on her shoulder as he peered over it to at least have an idea of where he was going. When he reached the couch, though, and tried to squeeze in between it and the coffee table he lost his footing and ended up falling onto the plush surface with Natasha beneath him.

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..."

Every step had been a mix between pleasure and pain, and his ungraceful fall certainly didn’t buck that trend, especially when Natasha sank her teeth into his skin. Yelping and cursing against her neck, Clint tried to catch his breath and reorient himself. That had been far from one of his smoothest moves nor his best ideas, but at least they’d ended up in the right place.

“Yeah, well, I was well trained,” he muttered against her skin before placing a soft kiss against her neck. “You okay?” he asked with genuine concern. Sometimes they got more than a little rough, but if he ever actually hurt her it would be hard to forgive himself.

The Mistletoe Meme

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