Natasha is always in control, she holds the pass cards to whatever they do, the small silent stares or gasps that leave her lips. Clint tells by her cues what she wants, doesn't want.
But he's blind; he can't tell by the tiny expressions that cross her face, so he waits on her touch and her sounds. Her thumb stops him falling off the precipice into oblivion. He hisses, blinks the water from his eyelashes but for that brief period his eyes lock on the ceiling, not on her, not looking down.
They're closed again within a second and it's, it's easy with her, to loose this, to loose control.
He trusts her. That's nothing anyone can take away from them. )
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Natasha is always in control, she holds the pass cards to whatever they do, the small silent stares or gasps that leave her lips. Clint tells by her cues what she wants, doesn't want.
But he's blind; he can't tell by the tiny expressions that cross her face, so he waits on her touch and her sounds. Her thumb stops him falling off the precipice into oblivion. He hisses, blinks the water from his eyelashes but for that brief period his eyes lock on the ceiling, not on her, not looking down.
They're closed again within a second and it's, it's easy with her, to loose this, to loose control.
He trusts her. That's nothing anyone can take away from them. )