bakerstreet | (no subject)

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[warning] sex

(no subject)

Someone Is Sleeping in My Bed!

(Expanded Edition)

Sometimes people say fuck it, I'm tried. But that's okay. People sleep. Sometimes the bed is oh so cozy and you want to snuggle under a blanket and sleep forever. And sometimes you don't care if it's your bed or not. You're going to sleep. Like a boss.

Too bad someone doesn't agree.

Rules
Decide if you want to find the person asleep or the person that finds the sleeper. Note that in the subject line.

Decide you know this person! (Castmate, previous threadder.)
Go to Random and Roll.

Wake them up - You don't care how friendly you are to the person in your bed; they need to get up.
Happy awakening - Such a shame they're so deep asleep when you're in the mood. How about a nice wake up call? (if you don't like smut, keep this to cuddles, kisses, hugs, or reroll)
Prank! - Oh, this has just go to stop. They need to be punished. But how?
Can't beat 'em - Join them. Push 'em over and snuggle up. You're too tried to deal with this craziness right now. Or sleep on your couch.
Let them sleep - Whatever, it's noon. They're asleep and you got things to do. Regard them or disregard them.

Decide you have NO CLUE this person is! (People that haven't threaded with each other before, crossovers, castmates who haven't met.)
Go to Random and Roll.

Scream 'OMGWTFBBQ GET UP' - Really. Default action going on here.
Prank! - What a better way for you to remember this moment of meeting than by painting a mustachio on your new 'friend's' face? (Remember, it's your bed. Be wise on what you do.)
Gently wake them up - Oh, the poor dears! They must be exhausted but they can't stay here. Be nice, even if it isn't IC for your character. This is what you get for rolling. Shake them up quietly. Or reroll.
Get to know them NON-Biblically - Well, they're asleep. But they left their wallet, important work, or identification out (no matter how OOC it may be)! Let's see who's REALLY sleeping in your bed. (Use your own judgment on what you find. As a suggestion, have the most they find is the sleeper's name and maybe place of work.)
Tie 'em up - FUNCTIONAL tying up. Not kinky, no matter what the other party might think. Let them continue their blissful moment of rest. They'll answer questions later and you'll be safe and sound.

Decide - fuck the police. You heard. Fuck 'em.
You move forward and make your own fate!

Please make note if you want smut or not.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Natasha half wonders if she could lie. She knows she'd get away with it but she thinks it's too unfair. So she leans back against the kitchen unit and leaves an awkward pause for a moment.

"I thought I could reach out to you, thought that if I smothered him with myself that you'd take control." She shrugs, shifting weight from one foot to the other. "Then I realized that if he took the bait, that it was unfair to you. I'd be using your body." Her gaze is unfaltering, she's staring at him like they were having a conversation about the weather. "But he didn't bite, so I gave up on the notion."

It seems like a stupid idea anyway now she's actually said it out loud. And the first confirmation that the Widow had failed, not that her heart had been into it anyway.

I'd be using your body.

That doesn't actually sound so bad. Maybe for a woman to hear that, it'd get a pretty bad reaction but for Clint-- "I mean, yeah, no that's probably fine. I'm sure it'd be something I'd want to remember and if Will was bad at it, it might reflect pretty damned poorly on me. We'd be on a mission in a few months and you'd get distracted by how bad in bed I am and you'd never be able to do your--"

He clears his throat and thumbs his nose. He knows that Natasha still does quite a lot of seducing.

It doesn't bother him but he figures that he really shouldn't bring it up.

"Here, let me help with the pizza."

He's blabbering, she's smiling.

"I guess that was the reason I stopped, I'd want you to remember it. It would be a damn shame if you didn't." She half turns, ripping open boxes, reaching over to turn the oven on.

It's a testament. Natasha has, on occasion wondered if crossing that invisible line would be so horrific. They called it Fraternization, and it was frowned down upon like some disease. But for her the idea of taking their 'partnership' one step further had always been slightly enticing.

But then she wonders if that's her talking or Natalia, who has always been greedy and careless of the rules.

Maybe it was just both of them.

"I don't need you to help. I'm pretty sure you just sling them in the oven and keep an eye out in case they cremate."

Both of Clint's eyebrows shoot up and he files everything away for alone time in the shower. Which...is happening way more often than he's comfortable with. She's teasing him, just as she always has, but it seems so serious. Or maybe not serious at all. He can't read her. That's the point. She puts on masks and as much as he'd love to strip her--

Ah, God, he's killing himself. It's so much more terrible than it usually is. He usually can focus on something else, someone else but--

Not today.

Not since Will's taken over.

He wants to scream.

"Uh, Nat? I've seen you with things you just sling in the oven. No. Go sit down. Or get dressed or something. Let me do this." Yes. Get dressed. Stop teasing him so much!

Edited 2012-10-21 22:23 (UTC)

Okay it was a given Natasha was terrible at cooking, everyone knew, but she tried, that had to count for something.

She's looking down at her clothes, from the hem of his shirt hitting her mid-thigh to the bare legs, looking back up at him with a curious expression.

"Are bare legs causing a distraction or are you uncomfortable?" She's not sure what it is because she has blinders on and wears them with pride around him because hell, who'd want to ruin a good thing?

She's carefully conscious that she's an attractive woman, it's how she does her job so effortlessly when it's required. She's also conscious that she's not only tempted to cross that line but already has her toe edging towards it.

She does half of what she's told, moving herself back into the living room and curling up on the couch, straining the shirt so it fits snugly over her bared legs. That's sadly the best he's getting. Maybe she's just waiting for him to push her over the line, or for him to take the first step.

Or maybe it's because she knows Brandt is still there, and she's hoping to use herself as the distraction Clint needs, or as a focus.

He doesn't watch her leave. He just rereads the box and then sets the oven down a hundred degrees per the instructions. Not everything gets cooked at 450 after all. He wets his lips without looking at her and folds the box up to trash it. He's mindful of the broken window and curses slightly that he's letting Nat walk around without shoes on when he hasn't really cleaned up that well.

"You could never make me uncomfortable, Natasha," he explains. "Not even if you fan dance or decide that you want to be called Nathan from now on."

He's joking. The choice of subject matter of that joke, however, might not be appropriate considering Will's inclination or leaning.

"I just thought you'd be cold is all. It's cold in here and--" He finally glances out towards the living room and smiles. "And I still like taking care of you."

Natasha avoided the glass well, scoffed at his remark and faintly mocked his choice of 'Nathan'. She was more of a Nick kinda girl.

She takes that as a certain compliment, wraps arms around her legs and rests her chin on top for good measure. She catches his smile across the wide gap, she's worrying her lip with sharp teeth and words just come out. "It is cold. You should be the gentleman and help warm me up."

It happens, she moves on by reaching down to the small basket stacked with books for the phone book, lifting her head to rest it on bent knees, flicking through the pages.

"I'll need to call someone to fix those. In which case we become a married couple renting the property as an anniversary retreat." She didn't just choose that because of the conversation, she chose it because she'd already brought along a bunch of fake id cards just in case. Natasha liked to be prepared.

"That is, unless you already want a divorce, sweetheart." Yes Natasha is a teasing bitch most of the time, but it's all in good humor. Honestly.

Clint rubs a hand down his face with his back turned towards her and then stalks into the other end of the room, where he knows she can't see him to pantomime shoving his head into the wall again and again and again. He jumps around like and idiot, does two dozen push ups... And anything to get his mind off of her.

When he answers, it's slightly breathless. "We've pulled it off before, so that's fine, yeah." Fuck.

Clint glances over his shoulder, at the doorway, at the things he could do or say or...anything. He feels neutered here. And maybe it's time to say something, but if he does and things change, he isn't sure that he can live with himself. She's his world. Now that there is no Phil to clean him up after suicidal missions, he's got no one but her.

He's wreckage, and it's getting worse. He brings her a blanket a moment later. "Here. Keep warm, all right?"

Natasha ignores him anyway, too busy licking pads of fingers and rifling through the phone book to find a number she actually wants to call. His words go over her head, so does the breathless tone of his voice.

Then there's a blanket in her face and she's doing her best not to frown. Now she's the one that wants his touch, like a fucking drug she somehow craves it to feel content. So she snatches at the blanket and wraps it around herself until she has to fake a content feel with the itchy material, wrapped up in her own cocoon and focusing on the phone book.

"Y'know, I have the exact moments you do." She's not looking up, still going through the numbers. "After a pretty turbulent mission, after we've been sparring for too long. That's why I shower for so long afterwards." She's a world class spy, trained to pick up anything and everything. It's burnt into her brain, habits, patterns. She notices without showing she's noticed it.

"I'm surprised you've never heard me, because those are my happier memories." Now she's looking at him, head half tilted, she's picked a number belonging to a company with a stupid window pun as their name. She'll call them when she's finished watching him squirm.

Clint must have the most amusing look on his face right now. The only adjective for it is 'horrified.' He stares at her like she's got two heads -- or he's imagining which of her oils she uses and if she squats or props up a knee. His mouth is slightly open. His eyes are wider than usual with the lashes blond and nearly invisible around them, though so very long and lovely up close.

He stands there. And then shifts his weight. He crosses his arms over his chest. He moves from one foot to the other. He rests a hand on one hip and opens his mouth like a guppy.

Or like he's drowning. Actually, yeah. He's drowning.

Slowly, he moves to the table. He pushes away the paper work and sits on the edge of the table. "Listen. Tasha. I'm not--" He has to fix this before it goes to shit. Even if she's just playing with him, if they're stuck in this tiny house, it's got to stop. "I mean, haha. If I left a mess or something-- Man, I'm sorry, all right?"

Natasha is smiling in that pitying sort of way. The kind of smile she flashes to an incapacitated victim before they pass out. She's staring right at him before she's moving, standing and bundling the blanket up, dumping it on the couch.

"Okay, I'm not sure if you're playing stupid or if you are actually stupid. So I'll put this into easier terms you might understand." She holds the phone book open as if she's ready to hit him around the head, which isn't a bad idea but the book is heavy with a wide spine, so she gives it a miss.

"Instead of jerking off, going for a run, punching something or whatever it is you do try something new. Pin me to a wall, kiss me until I can't breath or simply, fuck the shit out of me." She's already moving towards the stairs, she's going to put real clothes on, ring someone to fix her glass and laugh to herself. Because this situation is ridiculous and she blames him.

She does pause on the stairs, turning her head over her shoulder to gaze back at him. "You get the message now? Or do I need to draw diagrams?" It's an empty question because she's already moving.

If the Cheshire Cat could see her now he'd be jealous.

Clint doesn't really...do that. He sort of sits back at bars -- he's not much of a drinker -- and waits for someone to take interest in him so that she can ride him in the back of the car. Yeah, he's just that classy. Taking what he wants is sort of this new concept to him and he's actually thinking more about getting the book slammed down on his head than anything else right now to really...

Well. To really think.

He's still there when she starts up the stairs, her footsteps so light he can't hear them, but he knows her gait and he knows how long it will take for her to reach every step. He could turn and fire off an arrow and pierce her in the eye without even really looking at her.

His left knee hops up and down. He feels...startled. Angry.

And when she's safely at the top, in her room, he spins around and goes to the bottom, leaning on the banister.

"Hey Nat? You know, I really don't-- I really-- Can't you save that bullshit for someone that isn't me? I get that my temporary split personality bothers you and you're hung up on the gay thing but-- Lay off me, all right? Jus'-- You're killin' me here." He drapes himself over the wooden railing and exhales in aggravation. "So jus' stop--"

God, he wants her. He wants to charge up those stairs and pull her down into bed and then it's over. He gets one chance and then he loses. And she has no idea that he can't compartmentalize. He's in love with her. Changing their dynamic will ruin it if she doesn't love him back.

She can hear him move around like a tornado of sound through the floorboards, he's talking even though she's in conversation with some guy who can't seem to be able to spell her false name correctly. She's half interested but she hears Clint's every word.

She hangs up after booking an appointment, pulls on a clean pair of sweat pants and a tank top before she makes her way back to the stares and he's still there at the bottom hanging over the banister.

Natasha has her arms crossed, she's already started down the steps slowly. "I'm telling you how much I want you and you tell me to stop? So we can what? Keep orbiting each other?" She's laughing and it sounds cruel even to her, but she pays no notice.

"If you think I'm playing some sick game here then you're way off. This also has nothing to do with Brandt's sexuality. Whatever he prefers is his business." She's three steps away from him by the time she's said all that, her arms are still crossed and she's still got that smile all over her face.

"The split personality thing does bother me, because I'm well aware how easily you could disappear from my life. Maybe I'm the one you're destroying. Or maybe I'm the one that's putting my cards on the table." She moves past him, careful not to touch him and makes her way to the sliding glass doors of the back porch.

"I'm split between wanting to mother you and wanting to rip your clothes off."

He shifts to the side so that he can watch her, head lifted and eyes focused forward, taking her in as she moves fluidly beneath too loose clothing.

He's going to pop and that's all right, SHIELD can live without him. She's their star. He's just a good shot. There are other good shots too. Other people that can fly planes and balance on tight ropes and not want to smell their partner's hair.

"And then what?"

He thinks that's pretty rational a question. It's the future he worries about. He can't see it like he can see the shots lining up. She cloaks it all. Black Widow. Her mates don't tend to survive. And if it means he's gone and she carried on... He doesn't want it. Orbiting is nice. But something has already been ruined. They'll never share a bottle of wine and nest together again now. Their easiness is gone.

Clint looks like he's mourning.

She pauses by the doors, watches him through the glass for a moment before she turns to face him and the look on his face almost kills her instantly.

She'd like to take it all back and call 'joke!' but she can't. She takes the steps to close the gap, reaches out to fist fingers in the front of his shirt.

"I stop sleeping with marks because it's easier to extract information. We sleep together to ward off the nightmares. We start doing joint missions more because solo missions don't work for us anymore. You make your nests and I continue to be the blanket. When the nightmares get too much and I feel myself slipping away I let you guide me back because you're the only one who knows how." She pauses, let's go of his shirt and takes a step back.

If this isn't what he wants then she'll force them back into their orbiting system, galaxies apart yet still drawn together because they're one of the same.

"If you think my proposition was just about sex then you're wrong. I hold you in higher regard than that. You became the center of my universe the minute you pulled me out of the dark, so don't you even entertain the thought of this just being for some shallow worship."

If she can't make him see it by spilling her darkest secrets then she never will. If indeed their habits are now broken she may as well go whole hog and put her queens on the table. If he has jacks then so be it. She'll lament the loss of their patterns, it may very well kill her or send her back to those who made her. It doesn't matter.

They've never kissed, not even in a role, not even when working undercover together. They've held hands, cuddled, watched bad television. She's taught him how to paint her toenails. He's zipped up her dresses. He's watched her work through windows while he's been up on the roof, glad to disconnect his mind from it while she undresses for another man just before he shoots an arrow through the open glass.

She's close and then far, doing this exotic sort of dance that reminds him of a fish darting through the corals. She hunts and pecks and pulls out information from people. That's her job. This here is her job.

So if she can say those things to him, then he can do his own sort of confessing, the kind pinned with all sorts of really terrible ideas. Puppy. He's followed her for so long he might as well be.

Clint's eyelids droop and he swallows back the bile rising up his throat.

"I love you," he replies, looking up again, eyebrows tangled on his forehead. "I'm in love with you, Nat."

Clint Barton may have been a lost puppy at one point in time. But since the moment he took her under his metaphorical wing she put a collar around his neck with a tag. He was no longer lost because she'd claimed him just like he'd once been an orphan yet she'd helped craft him a real home.

Still, to hear those words it comes as a mild shock, even though Natasha should have expected it.

She can't find the right words to say. 'Thanks' doesn't cut it, 'Great' seems stupid, I love you isn't right either because she's been created to not love, to stay away from it because love gives you something to hold onto, it makes you weak and stupid and Natasha is neither of those things.

It's not love she feels for him back, because Natasha can't force those words out right now, not without carefully considering the implications of her actions and even though she puts everything she is in his hands she can't climb over that barrier.

She's terrified to climb over that barrier.

What she does feel is something deeper, something beyond the ideals of love, something that can't be fallen in and out of, something that is bonded and won't fade. But she can't express that in words because she doesn't know how to phrase it.

She does know that she's on her tip toes and her lips find his and she pours everything she feels into that one kiss, because it's their first and actions between them have always spoken louder than words.

He is her universe, he is the reason she keeps spinning, the reason there's light in her eyes and the reason she stays away from the dark.

She wants that kiss to be his happiest memory, because everything about him is hers and that's what gets her through everything.

He doesn't expect it back because-- Let's face it. It's not her. And she might not feel it but to have her lie would be too much. He's not sure what to say any more. Her world looks shattered and he immediately tries to back peddle out of that situation when their lips touch.

The banister between them just makes Clint press harder into it. He slips his fingers into her hair as gently as he dares to and strokes downward to the nape of her neck, all while trying not to have a heart attack and die in some sort of blissfully happy puddle because--

Ah, damn. Ah...

He sweeps her up as he drops a step and spins her into his arms, just bodies now and now fear or thought or worry about anything else in the world.

Clint might be able to see the future when he's sniping but the archer could never have predicted this.

She's moving and it's hard to tell where with her eyes closed until they collide and their orbit is well and truly destroyed. She doesn't regret the loss even though a small part of her does.

This is the biggest secret of them all, because this would be frowned down upon and Natasha isn't sure she could exist if they were pulled apart. She'd tear at the seams and her stuffing would come tumbling apart. She'd have to be repaired with more tape until the roll was empty.

But then Clint would always be there with new rolls of tape, somehow, someway.

Natasha half wonders as arms loop around his neck for balance if Brandt is mirroring Natalia and starting a screaming match, because there's white noise in her ears like a badly tuned radio and she knows the other woman inside her head is kicking up a storm but she's passed caring. Too caught up in this new level of touch which is so far her favorite.

She's kissing him like she's trying to steal the air out of his lungs and her fingers are too busy weaving through his short hair, tugging here and there to remind her that he's real and this isn't some sick and twisted dream.

She can have his air. She can have his soul-- Oh, who's he kidding? she already does. Clint tugs her slightly, softly, back towards the sofa. He has no expectations. There's going to be no ripping off of clothing.

He's a gentleman. He might have been raised with animals, taught by animals, but you don't treat the love of your life like an animal when you've waited this long to taste her.

Clint's got scruples.

When the kiss breaks, they're seated in a mess of blankets. Nested. Their noses and foreheads are pressed together and Clint is smiling bright enough to shame the stars.

His smile is enough to convince her that pouring her heart into that first kiss had been the right thing to do.

It's habitual and none of it has to change and Natasha is determined to ensure that none of it does change. She likes his nests too much.

She's seated next to him, bundled up with the blanket at her back and him in front so she wraps herself around him like always, with legs over his lap and hands on his face stroking the lines with her fingers.

Natasha nudges his nose with hers, her lips stained with his kisses but she's fine with that, it's comfortable.

"See, wasn't that bad huh?" She's laughing softly because this is intimate and she's not an intimate kind of woman, but she figures she can change for Clint, only for Clint.

"Worst thing I've experienced in my life," Clint teases, stroking back her hair, thumb over the shell of her ear. He's smiling and it's one of those far too bright smiles, like the kind that really isn't suppose to exist but still does. He swallows and it's thick in his throat and wonderful everywhere else and he doesn't care because... Because it's her.

Shifting forward, he lays an arm along the back of the sofa and encourages Natasha to press more firmly into him.

No signs of Will. No one to bother them. Nothing to--

Beep beep beep.

Pizza. Clint's left laughing as he pulls away with another kiss. "Let me get it before you end up cursing me to cooking like you."

She mock frowns although it doesn't last for long because his smile is too infectious.

She of course does curl into him like flower towards the sun but then there's beeping and Natasha doesn't want to move, nor does she want him to move because she's too warm and this is all new and she's not ready for a break yet.

She's grumbling at his insistance, moves off of him so he can vacate their little nest and protests. "Hey. Stop mocking my cooking skills." She's eager for more contact even though he's only just parted from her, restless in the hole he left when he moved.

Deciding to 'help' she followed after him, at least she could get drinks, yeah, as an excuse for wanting to be near him, sure.

"Tash? Tasha, those aren't skills," he mocks playfully, already at the oven when she pads towards him, passed him, and stands on her toes for the cups. He can't actually seem to control his face, the smile just won't quite and that's something dangerous to worry about when he prides himself on being generally impossive.

He pulls the pizzas from the oven and lets them cool on the stove under the open window, thinks about lifting her up to get the cups like one does a child and immediately thinks better of it.

She's a ballerina. He's a dumb jock.

And they sit down for pizza and sodas like teenagers. It might just be the best day in his entire life.

Clint may be mocking her but Natasha isn't taking the bait, or maybe she is because she passes by him with a two-fingered jab to his ribs. A stern warning that his mocking is not appreciated.

If he'd have lifted her he'd have certainly recieved an elbow to the face.

Natasha is content, sitting across from him, stealing a slice of his pizza, sipping at her soda and enjoying the silence that is so far away from being awkward it's amazing.

That is until she breaks the silence. "So what you wanna do?" She's referring to the rest of the evening and the empty hours they have left.

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Oh god *squishes them together*

<33

*wibbles*

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Oh god squishes them together

wibbles