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Natasha loved hot showers. The water washed away the tension that inevitably resulted from playing spy for days or weeks on end, and half the time, playing spy meant no hot showers for the duration of the mission. S.H.I.E.L.D. quarters weren't the most luxurious in the world, but the hot water was pretty much unlimited.
She liked that.
Strike Team Delta had been stuck in the middle of the jungle in Colombia for the last month, and she was very, very glad to be home. Home had hot water and shampoo and soap that smelled nice. Colombia had rain, mosquitos, and a particularly nasty drug cartel. Home was much better.
She turned on the water as hot as she could stand it and got into the tub, groaning as the spray soaked into her sore muscles. It felt ridiculously good to rinse off the jungle grime and sweat; it had been a fast and dangerous extraction, so they had no chance to clean up in Bogotá. The second they rolled into HQ, she made a beeline for her quarters without looking back.
Over the sound of the water, she heard the quiet click of the bathroom door closing, and a moment later, the shower curtain rustled behind her.
"Who said you could get in my shower?" she said without opening her eyes.
Clint's arms slid around her waist, and he pressed his solid body against her back. "I heard there was a hot redhead that needed sexing up," he said, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. "That sounds like a job for Clint Barton."
Huffing with laughter, she leaned back against him. "You're dirty," she said, tipping her head back to rest on his shoulder. "I don't have sex with dirty men."
"That's not what you said in Colombia," he retorted, squeezing her in a hug. "Let me see if I can remember exactly what you said... 'Barton, I want to fuck you until you can't feel your legs.' Does that ring a bell?"
"Hmm, sounds kind of familiar. I think I was distracted when I said that."
"Distracted by the thought of doing dirty things to my gorgeous body, you mean."
His hands slipped up to cup her breasts, and she grinned at the shower wall. "No sex until I'm clean," she said. "And you're clean."
"Luckily," he murmured against her ear, "We're in a shower. Cleanliness can happen here. I've seen it before."
"Then stop groping and start washing."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, his tongue darting out to lap at her earlobe.
Natasha suppressed a shiver and wiggled out of his grasp, turning to reach around him for the shampoo. Before she could grab the bottle, though, Clint caught her face in his hands and pulled her into a kiss that made her toes curl. "Let me do that," he said softly.
She smiled and bit her lip, nodding. This had become something like a ritual for them in the last five years, even when she wasn't hurt or having a bad day or whatever. He liked to do it, and she liked letting him doing it. Six years ago, she never would have believed that she would actually welcome the intimacy with him.
Now, she wasn't sure what she would do with herself if he wasn't with her, if he didn't wash her hair and tease her and make love to her and bring her coffee on crappy mornings. It was comforting, comfortable.
His hands sank into her wet hair, gently lathering the shampoo before massaging her scalp, and she felt tension melt away, leaving her a little wobbly and boneless against him. "Mmm, that feels good," she murmured, reaching out to brace herself against the wall.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" he replied, reaching past her for the shower head.
"Too long," she said softly and tipped her head back so he could rinse her hair.
When her hair was clean, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of her neck, and her sigh was nearly lost in the sound of the water. He crowded her, stepping in as close as he could, stroking his hands down her sides, fingers splaying across the flat of her belly.
"Aren't you supposed to be getting clean?" she said with a lazy grin, and he chuckled in her ear.
"Sorry," he mumbled, nuzzling the sensitive spot below her ear. "This hot redhead keeps distracting me."
He worked conditioner into her hair, and she couldn't resist the urge to turn around in his arms and press herself against him. Smiling at her, he ran his fingers through her hair before tugging her into a kiss. "Okay, who's distracted now?" he said against her lips, and she smirked at him.
When she leaned around him to grab the shampoo, he gave her a curious look that turned into a delighted grin when she squirted some into her hand and started rubbing it into his short, spiky hair. "It's my turn?" he said, resting his hands on her hips.
She pressed her lips together to hide her grin, lightly scritching her nails over his scalp as she lathered up his hair. He groaned, his eyes slipping shut, and she could understand why he liked washing her hair for her. It was quiet and intimate, and she liked that she could turn him into putty in her hands.
With a grin, she slicked his hair into a mohawk and leaned in to steal a kiss before steering him under the spray. The soapy water sluiced down his body, and she fought the temptation to follow the water's path with her mouth.
Plucking her pouf from its hook, she tossed it at his face, laughing when he sputtered in surprise, his fast reflexes kicking in to catch it after it bounced off of his nose. "Hey!" he said.
"I'm waiting for the getting clean to happen," she said with a smirk.
Clint waggled his eyebrows at her lasciviously. "Does this mean I get to soap you up?"
She didn't answer, just kept smirking, and he squeezed past her, making sure to rub his whole body against hers on his way to get the body wash. He squirted way too much on the pouf, but then his hands were all over her, slipping over her skin and making her squirm.
They were both panting by the time he'd soaped her up all the way, but she stopped him from pressing her up against the wall, taking the pouf out of his hands and rubbing it against his chest. "Oh man," he complained teasingly. "I'm going to smell like... whatever that is."
"Vanilla amber," she replied. "Stop whining or I won't put my hands all over you."
He made a lip zipping motion and closed his eyes with a sigh when she slicked her soapy hand across his stomach. "Turn around," she whispered, and he shuffled to turn his back to her.
Natasha ended up dropping the pouf because it was much nicer to soap him up by rubbing up against him, and Clint had to brace his hands against the shower wall. "You have a really great ass, Barton," she purred, sliding her hands down between their bodies to squeeze his backside.
He made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. "Nice of you to notice," he said, going a little breathless halfway through when she gripped his hips and rubbed her breasts against his back.
By that point, they were as clean as they were going to get, because Natasha didn't think she could drag out the teasing any longer without losing her mind. She pulled him under the shower spray, their lips meeting in a heated kiss, and the soap had barely rinsed off of their bodies before he had her up against the wall.
The cool tile against her back made her suck in a startled breath, but his body was hot and solid against her front, and his kiss made liquid heat surge low in her body. He slid his fingers into her wet hair, tilting her head so he could kiss her even more deeply, and she held onto the strong muscles in his back, bracing herself against him so she could wrap one leg around his hip.
He was hard against her stomach, thrusting against her skin, and she wanted more than to just rub against him like this. Moving her arms to his shoulders, she climbed his body, locking both legs around his waist, and his hands dropped to grip her ass. A little maneuvering and he sank into her with a lush moan. Her head tipped back against the wall, gasping at the exquisite feel of his cock stretching her open.
"Tasha," he breathed, pressing his lips to the pulse in her throat. "Oh god, Tasha..."
It was fast and intense; it had been far too long since they'd had a chance to be together like this, and emotion was running too high to take it slow. There would be time to savor each other's bodies later. Right then, she knew they both needed the desperate, headlong rush to completion.
"I want you to say my name when you come," he rumbled against her ear, and the sound of his voice alone was nearly enough to push her over the edge.
She rocked against his thrusts, circling her hips, and the feel of his teeth worrying at the tender skin of her neck was what did push her over that edge. Gripping his shoulders hard and squeezing her thighs around his waist, she writhed against his body, his name echoing off of the tile walls.
His thrusts faltered, and he pushed in deep, pulsing inside of her, burying his face in the curve of her neck and moaning her name.
She carefully unwound her legs from his waist when she thought they would hold her upright, and he groaned when she slipped off of his softening cock. "I missed this," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her lips to his chest, just above the thump of his heartbeat.
Stroking her hair back from her face, he lifted her chin and gave her a sweet kiss. "Me too, darlin'," he said, the little grin on his face making her heart thump in time with his. "We have a week off, right?"
"Let me guess," she said, a little smile curving her lips too. "We should spend the whole week in bed?"
"It's like you're reading my mind, Tasha," he said, stroking her cheek. "It's kinda creepy."
Hours later, twilight settled over her bedroom, and she woke up with Clint's arm draped across her waist, his head on her shoulder, and his body snuggled up against her side. When she stretched out her legs, he blinked blearily at her, his fingers grasping at her ribs. "'s not morning, is it?" he mumbled, burying his face in her neck.
She chuckled, nuzzling the top of his head. "No," she answered. "I think the sun just set."
"Mmph. We should clean our guns," he said, his voice muffled against her skin.
"I thought I already cleaned your gun, Clint," she deadpanned, grinning when his body twitched with a silent laugh.
"Well, I meant my P30, but if you want to clean my other gun again, be my guest."
He lifted his face and gave her his cheesiest seductive grin. She responded by sticking her finger in his ear and laughing when he squeaked. "That was manly," she teased.
His response was to roll on top of her, squishing her into the mattress, which led to her exploiting the ticklish spots on his flanks, and that led to another bout of breathless sex that ended with her shuddering in his lap while he groaned and rocked up into her.
"I'm hungry," she announced, flopping onto her back.
The easy smile on Clint's face made her feel good, and it made her feel even better when he lay down beside her and pulled her on top of him. "We could order Chinese," he said, wrapping his arms around her.
"Mmm. Chinese food and gun oil. Two of my favorite things."
Leaning over to snag his pants off of the floor, she handed him his phone and he ordered a ridiculous amount of food from their favorite Chinese place, trying to ignore her as she sucked on his earlobe. "Come on," he complained, dropping his phone on the bed beside them and rolling her onto her back. "Mrs. Wong probably thought there was something wrong with me. Stop distracting me, woman."
Crawling off of her, he staggered off of the bed and went to turn the lights on while she ducked into the bathroom to clean up.
He pulled on a pair of boxers that he kept stashed in her dresser, and she pulled on an old t-shirt of his that she'd stolen from his suitcase a couple of years ago. Sitting at the tiny table in her kitchen, she watched him pick through the sweet and sour chicken with his chopsticks until he found a chunk of pineapple. He popped it into his mouth and went back to cleaning his handgun.
She wondered if this was what normal people felt like, people who weren't spies or assassins. Did a regular woman look at her lover while they're folding clothes or doing the dishes and feel this surge of warmth? Was her reaction as complex as Natasha's, comfort at being with him and intimidation at what she felt for him all muddled up together?
The first time she slept with Clint, it had been out of curiosity and attraction and that sudden, unfamiliar sense of intimacy and affection she'd felt between them. What that intimacy and affection had grown into in the past five years was something she couldn't even really put a name to. She cared about him, and she wanted him with her as often as they could make it happen.
She didn't like the idea of relying on someone else, but what she had with Clint wasn't some kind of codependency. It was... complementary. Symbiosis. They both benefited from this arrangement.
It made her happy. She didn't question that -- just enjoyed it.