bakerstreet | The Compulsive Truth Telling Meme.

Clint wasn’t expecting it when Natasha suddenly flipped them over so that she was now on bottom, her leg wrapped around his waist. It was a pleasant surprise and he smiled against her lips, opening his eyes briefly to look at her. She was impatient, yearning, and the way she squirmed against him definitely had a very physical and obvious effect on him. It wasn’t all physical, though; where before he had been worried about starting down this path, now he didn’t know why they had waited so long. It felt so good, so right, and it was only the beginning.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied to her order, secretly delighting in her tone of voice. It had been amazing enough hearing her admit to wanting him, but to actually see the proof, to feel it, was another thing entirely.

Sliding his hands around her back he pulled her up with him to his knees as he sat back on his heels, her leg around him locking her in place. Pulling his shirt off over his head he tossed it carelessly aside, grinning roguishly at her. “See something you like, Romanoff?” It was a cheesy line, but he just couldn’t help it.

The sudden influx of feelings washed over her as if none of this was real. What to believe. Her whole life had been constructed from careful lies leading her to believe everything. The she'd been in love with a man and married him, that he'd died and she fucking grieved. Then to find him alive and trying to kill her, only to take him down and destroy him. Others came and went, building the tower that Clint had practically blew up. Natalia was still there in the back of her mind ready to strike out claws and scream for the blood lust she'd been lacking thanks to Natasha carefully locking her away, pushing her out.

She felt herself be pulled up, wrapping her other leg around him to keep the balance, but it was like she was locked in limbo, a fantasy fit for the storybooks she'd filled her head with when she'd became a better person.

Gaze followed the shirt, shifting back to meet his eyes before slipping down to take in the same old sight she'd saw a million times before in a whole new light. Every scar, every mark, every hidden muscle which she saw shifting under his skin. Natasha started slow, trailing a finger along one ragged scar, finding another and another. A familiar one under her fingers, one Natalia had caused so many years ago back when she'd clawed her way into Natasha's body and mind and taken her under.

At the time she'd apologized so much through ragged breath and mouthfuls of vomit. Now she almost cast a crooked smile but instead lent it, tongue tracing the slow path her finger had taken. She paused at the question, meeting his eyes, "You know I do Barton, always appreciated the view, even when I made some of these myself" She tapped against the scars, intrigued by them as if she hadn't witnessed a scar this close but hell they both knew that wasn't true considering her own body was riddled with them. "How many? Don't think I've ever asked."

His muscles flexed under her gentle touch, and while she was focused on his chest his eyes never left her face, watching the subtle change in her expression as she inspected each scar she found, some familiar and others not. He knew which one she paused on, he remembered all too well the fear he’d felt at the time, and the helplessness afterwards when she tried to deal with it. The scar itself still tingled under her touch, the skin beneath it never fully regaining the feeling, forever numb. It was a strange sensation when she ran her tongue along it, causing him to suck in his breath.

“You branded me long ago,” his eyes on her face again, his movements having stilled under her exploration, his hands at her lower back just to hold her up.

“I... I’m not sure,” he admitted, looking down at his own scars. “Lost count somewhere between ‘a few’ and ‘a few too many’.”

Having someone watch her was nothing new, it wasn't as if she shied away from peoples eyes, probably because Natalia had always been an exhibitionist in every craft she'd mastered.

Yet having it be Clint's gaze was something new and foreign, being desired was good fun but having the guts to desire someone in return was a nice change, reveling in it almost, this new feeling or wanting something and not just for a fraction of a second either, but for something more.

She held his gaze, merely tilting her head slightly. "Could have killed you, She was begging for it. To spill your blood, take you apart, leave you while you died" Everything was nonchalant, nothing touched her eyes mainly because it was old history. It hadn't been her, not Natasha, not really. Natasha had simply been a passenger in that car wreck and she'd dealt with the repercussions years ago, couldn't look him in the eyes, couldn't be around him for that nagging fear that She'd be back to finish the job. "It suits you". The contrast between the silver line and his tanned skin was like staring at a masterpiece. Natalia may have been subdued but her misdeeds had branded Natasha.

She knew about that, had tried to count her own but got lost after thirty and had shocked herself too much to re-count. Her fingers retracted, reaching to tug the zipper of her suit down slightly until the knot of scar tissue along one collar bone was fully revealed, his own brand. "Yours was a lot cleaner then mine huh?" Natasha managed a slow smile, pressing a finger to her scar. "I always liked this one. It was clean, efficient, but not a killing blow, just a harsh warning huh?" Her hand dropped, reaching back out to glide fingers down the center of his chest.

Sometimes it bothered him how detached she sounded when she spoke of ‘Natalia’, but he quickly reminded himself that she had already run the gambit of guilt and self-hatred and had come out on the other side. She had been brainwashed, experimented on, and he couldn’t blame her for anything she had done before she had been able to overcome what had been done to her. It was good that she could look back on it now as another life, another person; if she had chosen to dwell on it she would have become a liability that SHIELD wouldn’t have been able to afford.

“And I could have killed you when Loki had me playing his minion,” Clint replied softly. He hadn’t reached that point yet, the point where he could view his actions as someone else, completely out of his control. He still felt guilt for all the damage he had caused, all the lives that had been lost, and like Natasha there would always be a lingering fear that someday, somehow, the darkness would take him over again. “I figure that makes us pretty even.”

Smirking slightly, his eyes were drawn down as she started to unzip her suit, smooth flesh slowly being revealed but stopping far too soon. She certainly had the least revealing ‘superhero’ costume he had ever seen on a woman which normally was a good thing, the fact that it was skin tight was distracting enough in the field, but at this moment it was frustrating as hell.

“A strong warning,” Clint agreed, reaching up to pull aside the collar of her uniform, giving him better access. Mimicking her earlier actions, he bent his head and flicked his tongue over the scar before placing a soft kiss to the damaged skin. They had both left marks on each other, but only some of them were visible.

"Intimately?" The question was immediate, reflecting on what Loki had said, she hadn't understood it, not fully contemplating his words because intimacy had been something she'd always lacked. Natalia had reared her ugly head at those words, had left behind a stain that scared her more then the promises Loki made. "We're not even. You barely scratched the surface. Imagine it being years instead of a few short days, imagine living with countless other people you believed you were at one point in your life." Every word held no emotion, nothing moved, she'd been done repenting for her sins long ago, repenting to gods she didn't believe in.

"Just another chance for you to get rid of me. Just another time you chose the other way out" Breathing came hard, long drawled breaths as his tongue worked along the scar, skin burning, heat pooling in the pit of her stomach. She refrained from making any noise, just tipped her head back and bit into her lip.

Hips rolled softly into his, hands bracing on his shoulders as she finally got a hold of herself and managed to stare down at him. "Jesus Clint, the things you do to me"

Clint gave her a strange look at the question, the single word. After she had evaded his question the first time he’d never tried to pose it again so he never had discovered what Loki had done to her. In the weeks that followed she had been more focused on helping Clint deal with his guilt and his fears; it had just never come up again, and now certainly wasn’t the time to get into it. Maybe some day he would ask her again, someday when he thought he could handle it. He was doing much better as time pressed on, but it was still a difficult subject, one he’d rather avoid than delve into.

So he said nothing, just like he didn’t try to argue when she played up her debt to him. He knew they would never be even in her eyes and he knew what he had gone through couldn’t even begin to compare to what had been done to her, but that didn’t mean he felt it any less. Someone always had it worse in life, but that didn’t make your own trials and tribulations any harder to deal with.

“If by ‘chose’ you mean ‘got some sense knocked into me’ then sure,” he said, choosing the lighter path of conversation. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by seriously pointed out that he hadn’t killed her because she had stopped him any more than he wanted to risk making it too much at once by admitting he’d be lost without her. Instead he focused on her body moving against his and the change in her breathing.

Gently lowering her onto her back again he grazed the scar with his teeth before smiling against her skin. “I’m only just getting started,” he said, voice low and full of promise. They still had a couple of hours until extraction and with this new development he'd given up all thought of sleep. Slowly lowering the zipper on her suit he followed with his lips, trailing kisses down her body with each new inch of skin that was revealed.

Tasha caught his look, noted she'd probably gone to far but her reasoning was valid. How far did you push in a situation like this? When you had no grasp on what you were feeling, when you didn't understand what it all meant, how it meant to fall in love or be in love. She lent, pressing lips to his softly in an apology, hand trailing softly up his neck, running along his jaw.

Finding her vantage point had changed again, on her back where it felt familiar to both her and Natalia except this time Natasha was in charge of everything. She trusted him, it was evident with how compliant she was and to admit that was to give up her control and power, which is why she didn't say that word, but just watched him, hands in his hair, smoothing it down and ruffling it back up over and over.

Her back arched slowly at how rough his voice sounded and those words, it hit her like a train and she couldn't help the soft groan that slipped out as his lips pressed against her skin with every notch of the zipper. Slithers of Russian followed, never fully vocalized, just half words from her jumbled mind. She couldn't remember a time when someone treated her like she was something rare and fragile, only remembered hot kisses and tangled sheets, this was something else that was new and different. Natalia remembered times gone by, but those were Her memories and Natasha didn't want to know the details, wanted this to be the first time, wanted to remember this for her own benefit.

"Clint" His name came out more whiny then she wanted it to be, felt foolish afterwards, tugging on his hair softly. "Need more, this.. I'm not going to break"

How she arched her back, the groan, the broken Russian that he couldn’t understand... it all just egged him on. Victory had never tasted so sweet, he totally got that quote now, but as he told her this was just the beginning.

Unclasping her belt when it obstructed his path, he didn’t let it slow him down, only stopping his descent when the zipper hit its end, the last kiss landing just below her navel. He raised his head then just enough to look up the length of her body at her.

“Is that so...” Clint said, grinning devilishly at her. Crawling back up her body he captured her lips once more, keeping his weight off of her with one hand while the other slipped inside her suit, pushing it down off one shoulder. “What do you need?” he murmured between kisses, only subconsciously thinking about the curse she was still under. If there was ever a time to exploit it this was it.

She pulled herself together, managed to remove hands from his hair long enough to plant elbows on the bed, pushing herself up to watch him with heavy, dilated eyes.

Her skin was on fire, his lips cooling the nerves that made her muscles tremble until she felt frustrated almost at how slow and careful he was being.

She whined, low in her throat, let him swallow them back as his lips finally found hers and she arched up further giving him room to manipulate that damn suit. A question she was scared to answer, more scared then anything because she felt on fire, felt needy and helpless to his actions. The Widow, helpless, that deserved a laugh.

"You. I need you, all of you. Want you on me, in me, suffocating me, steal my breath, make me forget, just, make me feel" Words were mumbled, clumsy and whimpered against his lips, legs sliding around his waist desperate for any kind of friction. "Want to be wrapped around you. Fuck I've been holding back for so long because I thought it was the right thing to do, but it wasn't because if it was then this wouldn't feel so good".

The words were frantic, jumbled, and they spoke to his very core. He wanted to worship her body, show her what it was really like to feel good, to feel loved, but his own need increased with every word that fell from her lips. He just wanted to bury himself inside her until they were both screaming, and that need was starting to outweigh everything else.

“God, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted, tugging almost desperately at her suit, trying to free her arms. “Jesus, how do you even get into this thing?”

It looked good on her, he couldn’t deny that, but it was a pain in the ass to try to get off and frustrating as all get out at the moment. He couldn’t even take the time to admire what he had already uncovered.

"Jesus fucking Christ Barton get off of me" Voice had dropped to a growl, bending a leg to plant a foot on his chest, pushing him off softly until she could sit up, dragging arms out of the upper part of her suit. "A lot of wriggling and pulling. A cold shower helps." Finally dragging her other arm lose, peeling it away from her sides and down to her hips.

She moved quickly onto her front, crawling closer, closing the short gap. Lips catching his, hands skimming down his chest, over his stomach and fighting with his belt, pulling it lose with a crack that almost echoed around the room. She was back to rolling the suit down her legs carefully, conscious that it was a bitch to turn the right way, hence the rolling. Finally she managed to tug it lose, dropping ti carelessly onto the floor beside the cot, sitting up to stare at him. "Well? We're not going to get very far with your pants on Barton" The desperate pace suited her, thinking back she never expected a slow encounter if one ever came along, then again every time she'd thought about them together it had always been hot, desperate and fast. Now she was regretting the casual choice of underwear, then again even managing to fit any type of underwear under that suit deserved an award.

Rolling over onto his back when Natasha pushed him off of her, Clint propped himself up on his elbows and watched her strip off the damn suit that had been thwarting him. He quickly forgot his frustration with it the more skin she revealed. A moment later her hands were everywhere, his chest, his stomach, and when she removed his belt with a snap his eyes widened comically. It wasn’t long before she had completely shed her suit and was looking at him expectantly, her face flushed and her hair a mess and her voice as impatient as hell.

“You are so fucking hot right now,” he said, just staring at her a moment longer. She was watching him expectantly, though, and he wasn’t about to cause anymore unnecessary delays. Undoing the front of his pants he pushed back on his shoulders to lift his body off the bed long enough to shed the clothing and add it to the ever growing pile on the floor. “Now get back over here, you’re too far away.”

It was the first time since they had started down this road that some part of them wasn’t touching and it was just too much distance. Her kiss, her skin, the way she moved, her incoherent mutterings... it was addictive.

"I know" She shrugged, rolled her shoulders in a slow movement that screamed every seductive tactic she'd ever known. Smirk spreading over her lips, teeth biting her lip at his words, demanding and low and god she wanted to just pounce on him but she refrained because she was too dominant for such notions.

She stared across the space, meeting his eyes as she dipped slowly into a crawl across the space, all slow movements with a practiced grace. Hands found his bare legs, running nails along the skin, up past his knee, trailing along his thighs and the material of his boxers, skirting higher above his hips until she planted them either side of him and dipped low enough to press lips softly to his stomach, staring up at him through lashes and hazy eyes.

"So demanding Clint, wondering if you're all talk though, don't think you can dominate me, can't fight me on the mat, can you fight me now? Can you make me submissive?" She tilted head, pressing her cheek against his stomach, still staring at him through widened almost innocent eyes until she grew tired and crawled closer, lips working their way up the center of his chest, stopping at ever scar to take the silver lines between her teeth, marking him with imprints.

Her voice was like honey... honey laced with cyanide; smooth, sweet, delicious, but with an edge to it that got under his skin, drove him wild. She stalked him like a predator stalked its prey and it became painfully obvious that he’d lost the upper hand and she was in complete control now. For a long moment he Clint just watched her, transfixed. The tables turned and she was soon working her way up his body much like he had worked down hers, all lips and tongue and teeth. Cursing under his breath as she left her mark on each spot she touched, he let his head fall back to the bed.

“Why would I want to?” he breathed. “You’re submissive to no one.”

As much as he’d enjoyed making her squirm, as much as he’d love to tease her until she begged him to finish it, there was another part of him that wanted her to just take control and dominate the fuck out of him.

“What do you want?” he asked after a moment, raising his head to look at her again. They had already covered what she needed, but want was something entirely different.

She had him completely pliable under her fingertips, she could tell it in his eyes, with every muttered word, every time she shifted and took on the task of almost worshiping the next scar. She stilled her movement, keeping eye contact and smiling, a wolfish grin with a coy look in her blackened eyes. "Because you want to know if I'd play submissive for you. You follow my commands like a lost puppy Clint. Whenever we work together you're always in the shadows, in the wind. This is the one chance you'd get to exert your male dominance. And you'd be the only man I'd let dominate me completely." She pushed herself more, setting herself in his lap with a roll of her hips, leaning to skirt lips over his jaw. "I've always been in control, you've seen it, always felt you through the scopes, watching me turn the worst of men to nothing. You're telling me you don't want to give it a go?"

Her eyebrow raised, lips moving to ghost over his. Too many questions again and yet still different, what did she want? "I don't know" For the first time she'd answered with something impartial because the two things she wanted couldn't be separated in her mind. "I want to come apart under your hands, want to feel you for days, relish the bruises. Then again I want to take you apart, show you how much I've wanted this, prove to myself that even with Her gone I still have it, that I can break any man down."

Natasha pressed lips to his, a chaste kiss, a contrast against the sordid conversation, rocking her hips against him in slow strokes.

She had it on the money. He had watched her so many times from the shadows, meager backup while she did her job, and he could never decide whether hated it or found it sickly fascinating. He knew nothing she did on assignment ever meant anything to her, but he hated how she had to pretend that it did, how she used her body to catch their interest and bend them to her will. She was right, he wanted to dominate her if only to prove that he could, that it was possible to make the infamous Black Widow submit to him, and the more she talked about it the more he wanted it.

“You gotta admit, I was doing pretty good a few minutes ago,” Clint said with a grin. He could be serious, and he would be when he had to, but the fact that this was actually happening left him almost giddy when he took a moment to think about it... something that was becoming increasingly hard to do when Natasha started grinding against him through the little clothing they were left wearing. “Jesus, Tasha,” he groaned, his eyes rolling back slightly.

Grabbing her tightly, without warning he rolled them over again and pressed her back into the mattress, one knee between her legs to keep them parted and pushing up hard against her, and kissed her forcefully. At this rate they would tear each other apart in every painfully pleasurable way they could.

Natasha was too far gone to take his amusing words, couldn't shift that predatory smile from her lips, couldn't crack into a smile. She tried hard to remind herself that he wasn't a target, this wasn't a mission. She didn't need to batter eyelashes and turn on the charm, didn't need to seduce or play coy. Just needed to be Natasha.

Her breath caught in her throat, eyes staring down into his. "Jesus isn't going to help you Clint." She let his name roll off her tongue, both sweet and sour and then his hands were on her arms, rough fingers digging into her skin and she was beneath him, hands moved to claw nails down his back, hips rising against his strategically placed leg desperate for something.

Nails bit into his skin, could practically feel the skin break under the pads of her fingers, struggling still for that give of domination. Only because it added to the effect and it was naturally her way. Even if she would eventually fall submissive because she wanted to, not a lie for his own ego, because she trusted him not to destroy her. Lips pressed back, back arching to push herself higher into him, part of her counting this truth telling as a small blessing.

Her nails dug into his skin and he felt both pain and pleasure at once. They didn’t have to hold back with each other; they could go hard and rough, they could leave marks and they didn’t have to worry about either of them really getting hurt.

One hand moving down to cup her breast, he broke the kiss and trailed his lips over to her ear. Catching the lobe between his teeth, he bit down just enough to leave a light indent. “How bad do you want me?” he breathed in her ear, voice rough with desire. He pushed his leg harder against her, feeling her wet against his skin.

Her back arched further, pushing herself into him, relishing in the contact she'd wanted for too long. And then he was speaking and she whimpered at his words, a heavy shudder rolling along every inch of her body, clamping teeth into her lip until she had to answer. "So bad, so fucking bad it hurts".

She twisted her head, teeth finding his bicep and biting roughly into the skin. Senses in overdrive. She couldn't remember the last time she wanted something so badly, especially not sex, not something she was used to by now considering her job role. She wasn't just there as a seduction technique, wasn't there to use her body but it came easy when faced with a situation that meant a bullet in her body or screwing someone she hated, and truth be told it rarely reached that point anyway through a heavy dose of drugs and foreplay. This was worlds apart.

Tasha tasted blood in her mouth, unsure if it was coming from her newly bust lip or his arm, pulling back to stare at the deep teeth marks and realizing it was a bit of both. "Need more, need you to break me" She wasn't going to beg but that look in her eyes should have said enough, more than her words ever could convey.

Clint winced slightly when Natasha sunk her teeth into him and his eyes quickly darted to her face, pupils dilating. She was watching him, her eyes full of need, full of so many emotions, and practically begging him to take her. He kissed her again tasting blood on her lips and it was strangely erotic, though at this point pretty much anything would have been.

He moved his leg from between hers, reaching down between them to pull at her panties, pushing them down her legs so that all that remained between them was his boxers. He wanted to feel her, to taste her, but there would be time for exploration later. They both needed the release now more than anything. Grabbing her ankle he drew her leg back up around him as he positioned himself between her legs. “Will you scream for me?” he whispered, mouth trailing down to the hollow of her collarbone.

Nothing had ever come close to this, Tasha literally felt like she couldn't breath, every gasp for breath was a burn deep in her lungs. Everything seemed too much, even lifting her hips up enough to aid him seemed like a big deal with her constantly shuddering body.

Feeling him against her with only that one damn barrier left was like bracing herself for a backhand from a foe, she knew it was coming but she wasn't sure when and if she'd be prepared. Locking her leg around his waist, almost sobbing at his question as she tried to breath. "Yes, only for you" Her words were definitively a sob, hands moving to run fingers up his arms, threading up his neck, through his hair, everywhere she could reach, lapsing into broken Russian with every ragged breath.

Her voice when she spoke just about undid him. It was a bit of a struggle to remove the last bit of clothing in his current position, but he kept her distracted with lips and tongue and teeth, murmuring soft words here and there that were barely audible, barely intelligible.

Free of the final restriction Clint asked no more questions and gave up all notions of making her beg. He could feel her falling apart against him and that was enough, it was more than enough. They had both been waiting far too long, not just tonight but for years. It was long enough.

Without further preamble and in one swift stroke he entered her, filled her, buried himself as deep as he could.

Everything was so right with the situation. A long time overdue, she'd waited patiently like the good girl she could be and finally, finally thanks to a stroke of bad luck she'd got what she wanted.

Finally he'd got rid of his boxers and seeing the determination written over his face was enough to give her time to brace herself. Then again bracing herself was difficult, as soon as his hips moved she was shuddering, almost convulsing against him, hands had slipped from his hair to grasp at the blanket, curling her fingers into the material and struggling to take in a breath.

Bringing her other leg up to latch around his wait, hand untangling to move down, pressing fingers against his hip, holding him still while she twitched and shifted to adjust. "Fucking, Jesus, fuck" It appeared she'd lost the ability formulating an actual sentence.

For a long moment he didn’t move, just held her close as she shuddered against him, shifted to adjust to him. She tossed her head back on the pillow, her hands digging into the blankets and it was about the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She was a goddess, a temptress, and even if only for this moment she was his.

Lowering his head he kissed her, but it wasn’t rough and desperate as before. This time it was gentle, slow, full of meaning he couldn’t express with words even if he thought he could talk right then. He started to move, slow and deep, fingers digging into her hip, his other hand curling in the fiery red hair he loved so much.

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