Usually The Perfect Roommate
Natasha was usually the perfect roommate. She always cleaned up the kitchen after use, kept her mountains of beauty products to her side of the bathroom sink, religiously kept the freezer stocked with ice cream, and (almost) never hogged the Xbox on weekends. If he asked, she would wing-woman for him at bars, drive him to class, or just about anything really if he gave her the right puppy-dog face. It was almost like being married to his best friend, but without all the romantic emotional attachment and fear of alimony. As such, Clint usually enjoyed sharing an apartment with her. However, there were nights when this was not the case. Specifically, nights she brought home guys. Even more specifically, nights she brought home Bond.
He knew it was one of those nights the minute he walked through the door after getting home from a late archery meet. The two of them had a very unique sense of foreplay that was, even though he didn’t begin to understand the details, very unique to say the least. Pants were strewn across the kitchen counter. Shirts were flung over the television. For God’s sake, her bra was hanging from the ceiling fan. Again. The door to Nat’s room was closed with a blue tie wrapped around the handle, but Clint could still clearly hear the ebbing tones of classical symphony music rattling the walls. Well, maybe that really wasn’t the music.
Clint groaned and trudged over to the fridge to grab some cold pizza. He knew it was none of his damn business who Natasha slept with, that she was an adult capable of making her own decisions, and he had no right to tell her otherwise. But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about her choice of fuck buddies. This was the sixth time in the last two years that she had brought James back to the apartment for a late night (and she didn’t bother to tell him how many nights she spent at his place), yet he still couldn’t bring himself to like him. Even if he had a history with Natasha that she hadn’t fully disclosed to Clint yet, the older guy was still so sleek and slimy that his first instinct was to treat him like a snake. He bounced from one conquest to another like they were nothing but toys, not discriminating on age, gender, or relationship status. Yes, Clint knew that Natasha was aware and unbothered by it, but in his eyes it seemed disrespectful. Like he was cheapening Natasha as a person. He wanted to see her treated like a goddess, not a plaything.
He was still on the couch playing Call of Duty and eating pizza when the pair finally emerged, Nat wearing her black satin bathrobe and James with nothing but a bath towel wrapped around his hips.
“Hey, Clint, I thought you were staying out for the night,” she said casually and ran a hand through her distractingly mussed hair.
“Nope, that’s tomorrow night I’m staying out,” he replied, trying to keep his eyes on the game and off Bond’s hand that was resting possessively on the small of Natasha’s back. “Just an archery meet today.”
“Any pizza left?”
“Not anymore.”
“Asshole.”
Clint was about to reply with a counter playful insult, but before he could get anything out James took her by the hand and gracefully twirled her into his arms, causing her to let out a little giggle. Natasha never giggled.
“If you’re hungry, I can take you out somewhere nice,” he offered with his lips against her neck.
She rewarded him with another little laugh. Clint wanted to puke. She was adorable. Natasha was many things in his eyes: strong, beautiful, powerful, determined, a boss ass bitch capable of killing a man with her thighs. But never adorable.
“Why don’t you just order some takeout? I’m going to jump in the shower.”
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a little wave in Clint’s direction before heading off to the bathroom. He had to resist the urge to throw the controller at her head. She knew he hated James. Leaving them alone together was just cruel. He had to think of some clever way to repay the favor. In the midst of the tense silence, he had plenty of time to come up with ideas. Though he was still deep in concentration focused on his game, Clint could feel Bond standing over his shoulder, analyzing him judgmentally.
“You do a very good job of hiding your territoriality,” James commented out of the blue.
“Natasha’s my roommate, not my girlfriend,” he stated bluntly without looking up.
“I never said that she was, but you’re still defensive of her.”
This made Clint turn around.
“Shut your whore mouth before I do it for you,” he growled.
“Admirable,” James continued, ignoring the threat. “I usually find women who are spoken for to be more attractive. For the most part I thought Natasha was the exception to the rule, but maybe not so much as I first anticipated. You’re a very loyal friend, Barton.”
It was then that Clint jumped over the back of the couch and punched James square in face.