bakerstreet | The Morning After Meme

He was just teasing her with his agonizingly slow and gentle attention, but god he was good at it. She thought of goading him, throwing some comment out in an attempt to push him, but before she could think of any words he increased the pressure and the tempo and all she managed was a moan before her head fell back to the pillows.

It took all of her willpower not to squirm, to keep her hands to herself and just let him work, but even so it wasn’t like he couldn’t tell how turned on she was. She was breathing a little more rapidly now, and she could feel herself grow wet under his hands.

He really did enjoy being able to pull those reactions from her, the totally honest, reflexive ones, and he couldn't help but smile a little further when she was the one who broke eye contact. Another upward stroke of his fingers before he switched tactics, just rocking the backs of his first and second knuckle of his first two fingers gently back and forth, her clit squarely between them.

In contrast to the petting, it was a movement that only lasted briefly before he was turning his hand over to slip those two fingers into her, thumb taking over circling against her clit.

Her hips jerked unconsciously when he switched up his style, but it didn’t last long before he finally slid his fingers inside her, though that didn’t mean he let up on his other ministrations. Her muscles tightened around him a moment before relaxing again, and she had to bite back another noise of pleasure, not willing to let him win that easy, even though she was pretty sure he already had.

No loss would ever be as sweet.

Still, she had to at least try to hold off, and while she couldn’t touch him, couldn’t try to guide him or hurry him along in any way, that didn’t mean she couldn’t try to at least throw him off, if even a little. Running one hand over her stomach, she slid it slowly up her body and over one breast, teasing herself as she did; the moan she let out this time was very deliberate. She knew it took a lot to distract Hawkeye and throw him off his game, but it was worth a shot. Just laying back and letting someone pay her all the attention, to attentively give her pleasure instead of pushing for it for himself, wasn’t something Natasha was used to, and it was difficult for her to just accept it and give up control.

"Oh now who's the tease?" He said, voice little more than a murmur. Honestly he was amused by the tactic, since it meant that she was more effected than she let on, and while that should have made him just a little cocky, it didn't, not as such.

It was obvious that he wasn't unaffected by her, but he enjoyed what he was doing, and that was enough for the time being. He turned his head to press a kiss against her thigh, because he could and because it was right there. He sighed then, shaking his head, "God you're gorgeous." His fingers hadn't stopped moving, not exactly pumping into her, and not exactly petting, but somewhere between the two, thumb still sweeping almost idly back and forth.

The tactic hadn’t been completely counterproductive, but it still seemed to be having more of an effect on her than on him and she gave up with a frustrated sigh, dropping her hands back to her sides. The motions of his fingers were driving her crazy; hard and fast and deep enough to leave her panting and just short of writhing beneath him, but not quite hard enough or fast enough or deep enough to push her over the edge. She wanted to grind herself into his hand, to thread her fingers into his hair and pull it, and she was so close to giving up the challenge and doing just that.

His quiet words then gave her pause and for a moment the need to make it rough and fast waned. Many men had said the same words to her in her life and she certainly knew the effect her looks had on people. It wasn’t a compliment she often enjoyed, but coming from Clint’s lips it was different somehow, different because he knew her, knew the ugliness of her past and how it had shaped her soul.

Raising her head from the pillow again so she could look down at him she couldn’t seem to say what she probably should have said in this moment. Her voice was throaty with desire and arousal when she spoke, saying instead “Well, you are looking at me from my best side.”

He wouldn't ever claim to know everything about her, but he knew enough -the same as she did about him- and he accepted it. Of course, he also knew that she didn't tend to like compliments, especially ones about her looks, which was why he was happy enough to turn the comment over into a joke at her response.

He just grinned, "Is that what it is? Mm, I'll have to remember that next time you're kicking my ass on the mat." Not that she did, often, but there were reasons he was the only one who would willingly spar with her any more.

His fingers hadn't stopped moving, and he could practically see the tension in her belly and her thighs, which was all part of the fun as far as he was concerned. Whatever could be said of guitarists and strong hands was equally true of archers, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn't stopped moving yet and had only slowed down again when she'd relaxed once more.

Reading each other, knowing the tells and what made the other uncomfortable, was something they had started learning fairly early on in their partnership, something they still found themselves learning even now. Natasha didn’t have to accept the compliment graciously and Clint didn’t push it; it just existed, a truth she knew but appreciated more from him than anyone, and something he felt the need to say once in a while when he really felt it. It was how they worked and she wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Mm, well, it’s harder to see with my thighs wrapped around your head,” she replied, her eyes closing as she fell back to the pillow again. She didn’t use her thigh hold on him often, had to keep a few moves seldom used so he didn’t learn all her tricks, though there were times she tried it that she had the feeling he could have avoided it if he’d wanted to.

Bending her knee she moved her hips just subtly against him. It was getting too damn hard to just lay there and not participate, no matter how much she was enjoying herself.

"That's a very good point." He agreed, voice having dipped to a comfortable, almost lazy murmur. He enjoyed those subtle little movements, they were the best proof that he was doing what he'd set out to do.

He smiled, pressing another gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh, above her knee, before resting his head there a moment later, slowly ramping up the speed of his movements again, mostly just to see how she reacted. Sure, it was an exercise in patience, but that didn't mean things had to be boring. And besides, he thoroughly enjoyed watching her reactions.

“Mmm,” was the only answer he got. In moments like these, when she felt her pulse pounding and her body starting to tremble, even his voice when he spoke so low sent a thrill up her spine.

The kiss made her shiver, but when he started to work her faster again all determination to ‘win’ this round went right out the window. The decision wasn’t conscious and it seemed like her back arched of its own accord, her hand sliding down to bury fingers in his hair. She certainly hadn’t meant to let his name slip from her lips when she opened them.

It was really difficult not to let things like that go right to his ego, but sometimes he managed. Sometimes.

He tilted his head up into her fingers, just a little, an easy angle as he debated for a moment if he wanted to change tactics. Which he did shortly thereafter, shifting his weight again so that he could lean forward, tongue taking over where his thumb had been, the pressure not quite as steady, but the change in friction likely made up the difference.

Natasha smiled a little when he leaned into her touch, something so simple considering what he was doing to her at the moment, but somehow very endearing. Drawing her bottom lip in between her teeth, she pressed her shoulders back into the mattress while trying to keep from pushing her hips up against him again.

She was practically panting now and when he removed his thumb she almost vocally protested but somehow managed to hold back. With her head thrown back on the pillow and her eyes closed she couldn’t see what he was doing though she felt him move; even so she was still unprepared when she felt his tongue, warm and wet, right where she was most sensitive. That was all it took and she lost all semblance of control as her hand tightened, pulling his hair, and her muscles clenched around his fingers.

That was perfect, she was perfect, and Clint? Clint was just glad that he got to enjoy the ride. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, easy and content. He was propping himself up on one hand, lips closed over the peak of her mound as his tongue continued those firm little back and forth flicks, fingers curling against her each time, intent on drawing it out for as long as she'd let him, or until his supporting arm gave out, either way.

Her thighs pressed against the sides of his head as she hit her climax, her sounds of pleasure muted but certainly not inaudible. Her whole body shook and trembled with her release but he wasn’t through with her, his attention still firm and steady until she wasn’t sure anymore if what she was experiencing was one long, drawn out orgasm or if he had already pushed her to a second one.

“Clint...” she practically whimpered his name, a fact she would deny with every fibre of her being. Her fingers tightened in his hair again but her muscles didn’t seem to want to respond even if she could decide whether to pull him away or press him to her harder. Probably better to do the former if she was going to return the favour before they had to get out of here, not to mention regain the ability to move at all.

Even despite the pull at his hair, it was another few moments before he finally lifted his head, trying his damnedest not to grin, both brows arching even as he withdrew his fingers, settling back to an even, gentle stroking along her folds, "Yes? Did you need something?"

He wasn't about to call her out in the whimper, for one thing he'd only barely heard it himself, and he definitely wasn't complaining about that.

By the time he finally finished she lay relaxed and boneless, though her body still trembled. He returned to the gentle petting from before and, god, there was just no way to describe how good she felt in that moment. Even when she raised her head to attempt to glare at him for his words she could seem to quite manage it; a glare isn’t very effective when accompanied by a lazy, satisfied smile.

“I think you’ve taken care of my needs pretty well,” Natasha replied, her voice unintentionally husky. “So, has my patience level rating gone up?”

Stroking her fingers softly through his hair, she scratched her nails just lightly over his scalp before giving his hair just the slightest tug, silently urging him to move up and join her against the pillows.

He grumbled contentedly at the nails and at the tug of his hair, tilting his head up into it again, just like he had the first time. He did stretch out beside her, though, and pressed a kiss to the slope of her shoulder before propping his head up on one hand, "Mm, I'd say so," He agreed with a nod and another crooked smile, "I mean, you didn't knock me on my back to take over yourself once."

He shrugged, fingers tracing an idle, looping pattern along her side, "I mean, I wouldn't have objected if you did, but that's beside the point." He enjoyed these moments, knowing that he was one of a very small handful of people who got to see her relax like this.

Natasha smiled warmly at him when he laid down beside her, her expression uncommonly warm and affectionate. It was hard not to feel that way right now, and she continued to run her fingers through his hair, amused at how he leaned into her like a pet.

“Of course you wouldn’t have objected,” she said. “It would have proven you right.”

Grinning at him, it took a turn for the wicked just before she tackled him over onto his back and stretched out along his body, a movement that took a little more effort than it should have, but her body wasn’t quite yet ready to listen to her again. Dropping a kiss to his chest, she folded her hands over his heart and rested her chin on them.

“But you know, since I had permission...” And since she had already proven her point, sort of, then this was totally acceptable.

He just laughed, letting himself be tumbled, not quite boneless, but close enough, relaxed and at ease. He folded one hand behind his head, propping himself up at just enough of an angle so that he could actually focus on her face even as his other hand swept through her hair, sweeping it all together, "Not the only reason I wouldn't have objected, but pretty close to the top, sure."

His brows both arched, "Comfortable?" He didn't figure he was the best pillow, but she'd never really complained before except for once, but that had been forced close quarters and his elbow had been pinned between them, uncomfortable for both of them.

Her hair was still damp, the pillow she had just left sodden, but considering the state the room was in, not to mention the sheets themselves, a wet pillow was far from anyone’s concern. “Only close to the top?” she replied, raising one eyebrow at him. “And what, exactly, was reason number one?”

Clint was solid, though not without a few endearing soft spots, but he still made a pretty decent pillow. More than anything it was his warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing that Natasha enjoyed most in this position, and she would have been content to stay just like that for a while if not for his question. He was asking for it, really.

“Hmm, not quite,” she said before squirming against him, making sure to put the pressure and friction in just the right places. Ducking her head again, she flicked her tongue over one of his nipples before raising her eyes to meet his again. “How about you?” 

He just snorted at the first question, unable to keep from smiling as he replied: "You ask that like you don't already know." The smile just spread further at the squirming, shifting and settling himself a little more solidly as she moved, because it was obvious that he liked that, on top of the fact that he'd thoroughly enjoyed making her come apart the same as he always did.

"Could be more comfortable." He said, giving an easy shrug-and-stretch, "But I'm not complaining."

Natasha put on her most innocent expression, which was actually quite impressive in its believability considering their current positions. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. The expression didn’t last long before a wicked spark returned to her eyes. It was his smile that did it, the reminder that sex could be fun and relaxed, not just a way to scratch an itch. She loved it hard and fast and rough like the night before, but she secretly enjoyed moments like the current on just as much. They made her feel good, and more than just physically.

“More comfortable?” she repeated, rubbing against him again. She could feel his hardness pressing against her stomach, and she had to marvel that he could be clearly aroused yet in no hurry to take care of that. No other man she had ever encountered had that kind of patience. “How so?”

Considering the level of patience he had for practically everything else, patience at a time like this shouldn't have been much of a surprise. His smile just spread at that familiar impish gleam in her eyes, a contented grumble curling free from his throat as she rocked against him again, "Oh, you know, dry pillow would be nice. But this one's good too, it's nice and cool."

The high-energy, room-wrecking, adrenaline-fueled sex had its time and place, really, and that was when they were both still on the tail end of an adrenaline kick and weren't too beat up to enjoy it. But times like this, the playful, even lazy times really were his favorite.

When he smiled like that it was absolutely infectious, and Natasha had to duck her head, pressing her lips to his chest, to hide her own. For a moment she just lay there, listening to the beat of his heart and grateful that they had beat the odds again, that their skills had proved true and that no unforeseen circumstances had popped up, no devastating consequences.

She kissed his chest again, right over his heart, a little softer this time before shaking off the darkness.

“What, you don’t like being wet?” she asked, flattening her tongue against his chest and dragging it upward over his neck and chin, stopping just at his lips. Grinning down at Clint she stole a kiss, and there was something very erotic about the fact that she could taste herself on his tongue.

He'd been about to answer that question, and likely with his usual sarcasm, except for the fact that he was still smiling, when she went and teased him again.

And then there was more kissing, and he definitely wasn't going to argue that, practically purring as he returned it, one hand sliding up along her side, not petting, really, but something similar, just because he couldn't not touch her right then, wanting to keep her close, wanting to make this last. Though, he knew that even his patience would wear thin sooner or later.

Natasha smiled into the kiss as he made a noise very akin to purring. On one hand she wondered why they didn’t do this more often, but on the other she knew they rarely had time for such indulgences. But no, that wasn’t quite right, was it? They could make time more often than they did but it wasn’t something they tended to do. Was it because it would be less special if it happened more often? Or because they were afraid of what it would mean if it did?

She didn’t linger on those thoughts, lowering herself to lay against his chest again, her body only slightly higher than his now. He liked to tease that she had no patience, and that was mostly true, but when she was in control she had a lot more than normal, and it was tempting to see if he was really as relaxed and unhurried as he appeared to be.

Settling down to press her hips flush to his, she lifted slowly, sliding her slit along the length of his erection and making a purring sound of her own as she did so.

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