Homecoming
November, 2009
He really hated flying commercial. The amount of shit he had to put up with to get security clearance and through security without blowing one of his covers was ridiculous, but since his comm had been destroyed, he didn't have a choice. He couldn’t call S.H.I.E.L.D. from an unsecured line, there really wasn’t any other option. He had to just convince the TSA that he wasn’t a threat to national security. It took hours, but finally he was through and on his way home, although nobody knew it. Nobody had known where he was for the last three and a half days, and he was going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.
The plane landed at 1:45am. He grabbed his carry on, deplaned and immediately made his way out of the building. Clint hailed a cab and gave the cabbie an address twelve blocks away from headquarters, a safe house. He dropped his bag in the foyer beside the door and briefly considered flopping down in the bed and sleeping until noon. Surely Coulson could wait until then. But Clint had better work ethic than that, and he knew Natasha would kill him if he made her worry while he slept, so he changed into the clothes he had grabbed at some fancy, overpriced shop in London, threw the clothes he had just changed out of back into his bag, got into the car in the safe house’s garage and took off to HQ. He felt stupid in these clothes, and they chafed. But they were the type of clothes Natasha would like, and maybe that's why he had bought them instead of something cheaper and more comfortable. Hell if he knew.
He wished he didn't have to see Coulson. He wished he could go straight to Natasha's apartment, curl into bed around her and....no. No, no, best not go there, or he'd have to take a detour to his apartment after all. Not that she didn't drive him to do that a lot.
He got in through the garage with his retinal scan, wondering for a flash of a second if the fact that his eyes were so red made any difference. The door whooshed open and he headed to the nearest phone to call Coulson.
"Yeah."
"It's Barton. I'm back."
"I know, I was alerted. I'm on my way down to my office, meet me there in five minutes.” Clint was too tired to be surprised that Coulson would know he was back, and he shouldn't have been anyway. The man knew everything.
Clint was standing beside the door of Coulson's office when he got there. Coulson pressed some numbers on a keypad then put his thumb to a pad. The door clicked. "Come on in." Clint followed. "We'll keep this brief, I know you're exhausted and not fully prepared. Did you get it done?"
"Yes. Smythe was neutralized."
"What happened to your comm?"
"All of it was destroyed, sir."
Coulson blinked. "All of it?"
"Yes, sir. They followed me to the safe house and blew it up. All I had on my person were my bow, quiver, and two glocks."
“Yet you still accomplished the mission?"
Clint gave him a cocky grin. "Of course I did, sir."
Coulson returned the smile. "Go. You can debrief later today. Four o'clock, back here."
Clint raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty tired, Coulson, but I don't need thirteen hours of sleep."
Coulson just smiled. "Just go to your apartment and take a break. That's an order. See you at four."
~*~
Clint was bemused, not really knowing what to think. He didn't particularly want to go back to his apartment, he wanted to go to Natasha's. He knew she would be worried about him and he wanted to let her know he was back. He supposed he could call her, but that was impersonal, and they weren't an impersonal...wow, he had almost thought "couple". Damn. Get a hold of yourself, Barton. Why the hell had Coulson made going to his apartment an order? It finally occurred to him that if he went to his place for a few minutes, maybe got a drink or something, he could take off for Nat's and be following orders but doing what he felt like, too. The best of both worlds. That's the way to go.
He opened his apartment door to find flickering blue light and sounds coming from his living room. He drew his glock and crept in. Turning the corner, he took in the scene and lowered his weapon.
Natasha lay asleep on his couch. Her red hair was fanned out across his favorite pillow. She was wearing his Iowa Hawkeyes tshirt that was worn almost threadbare and was three sizes two big for her, and she had pulled the quilt off of his bed, snuggled into it. There were Chinese containers on the coffee table: the General Tso's she preferred was gone, but the moo goo gai pan he always ordered was sitting there, waiting on him. There was bottle of Jim Beam with about two fingers missing sitting there. He found the missing whiskey, it was sitting virtually untouched on the side table beside where she slept. "Coming To America," one of their favorite movies, was playing on the TV. Eddie Murphy yelled, "Yes! Yes! Fuck you, too!"
Even in the dark, even in sleep, he could tell she had been crying.
She had surrounded herself with him. All of these things were things that they shared, or that reminded her of him. Oh, God, had she missed him that much? Could she possibly care that much?
He put his gun down, grabbed the remote, muted the TV. "Natasha?"
She stirred and blinked, then started and leapt to her feet in attack position. Clint opened his stance just a bit in case she did attack, but recognition dawned on her face and a hundred emotions crossed it at once. Suddenly, her face crumpled and she jumped on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.
"Oh God, Clint, I thought I'd lost you. I thought you were gone forever.” She clutched him tightly, as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling into an abyss she could never escape from.
Clint, beaming, wrapped one arm around her back and put another under her ass for support. He nuzzled her as he shushed her. "I'm home, sweetheart, I'm fine. I'm so sorry I scared you."
"Please don't ever do that again. Please."
"I won't. I'll try."
"Don't try, Clint. Don't do it. Please don't leave me."
"Shhh, sweetheart.” He couldn’t stop smiling. He just couldn’t. The fact that she had missed him so much made him happier than he ever thought possible. “It's okay, I'm home. I came home to you."
She pulled her head back to look at him, her fingers still in his hair. "You came home… to me?"
Oh Christ, did I fuck this up? He thought hard, but fast. Might as well go for broke. He smiled. "I did."
She was kissing him, and he had never been kissed like this. Her mouth opened on his and her tongue pressed into his mouth insistently, as if meaning to stake its claim. Perhaps it was. He kissed her back with all the hunger of the man who had been starving for her for the past three years, definitely intending to stake a claim. Their lips twisted and tongues danced in the culmination of years of desire, need, and passion...one kiss that threatened to catch everything around them on fire.
Clint turned them around and backed awkwardly, sitting on the couch, still kissing her, her legs and arms still wrapped around him. He pulled his mouth away and grinned, "my hands need a little freedom." She may have smiled, he didn't know - he ducked his head, pressing his lips where her neck met her chin nipping and suckling her there. Natasha whimpered a little at his touch and rotated her hips on his lap, grinding herself on him, feeling him growing even harder where she was getting wetter. With every press of her body against his erection he moaned a little against her neck, causing her to rotate and grind her hips more.
Clint's hands took advantage of the freedom they'd been granted: one hand slid under her shirt and up her back while the other rubbed large ellipses on her thigh, digging his fingertips in just a little when he pulled back as if to pull her even closer to him. Natasha acquiesced, bringing her hips down against his as close as she could until he was gripping double handfuls of her ass, pulling her hard against him one time before going back to tracing her leg. She leaned her head back to give him easier access to her neck and moaned softly as he trailed soft, slow little kisses down to the collar of the tshirt.
He brought his hand up from her leg and ran his fingertip along the worn cotton. "You're going to have to wear this more often. I like seeing you in my shirt."
She lowered her head and caught his earlobe between her teeth. "More than you like seeing me out of your shirt?"
"Well, let's see about that." He put his hand on her cheek, pulling her face out away from his neck so he could look at her. "My God, Tasha. You are so beautiful." Clint brought her face down to him, sweeping her mouth with his tongue. Her fingers laced into the back of his hair, holding his face to hers and his arm tightened around her back, as if each were willing the other to stay with them. Neither of them had any thought of leaving.
Natasha let go of his hair and broke the kiss, leaning back a bit. Clint was confused until he saw what she was doing. "I want to touch you," she said simply, working on his buttons. He laughed and she leaned back over to kiss him while her hands stayed busy. Clint's hands skated up her thighs to her tshirt, and he broke the kiss momentarily to whip it off of her. She had apparently foregone her bra, and he took in the sight of her, absolutely stunned. He had seen her nude a handful of times, but never up close and never for him. Now, though, she was in his lap. Straddling his lap. Naked, pressing her perfect breasts into her face. Sweet Bleeding Christ.
"Natasha."
"Hmm?" She was still working on his buttons. Clint grabbed her hands and pulled them together in front of him to still them and get her attention. It served the double purpose of keeping his hands occupied until he could get the answer he needed.
"Are you sure this is what you want? Do you -"
Natasha leaned over, cupped his face and kissed him quiet. "I've wanted you since Jamaica. Maybe longer. But I want you." She kissed him again before he could make any reply.
He growled low, pushed her hands that were back to working on his buttons out of the way and bent to take one nipple in his mouth, his right hand going up to squeeze and tweak her other breast and his left arm pulling as close to him as he could get her.
Natasha let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a squeak and arched her back, rolling her hips against the hardness she felt pressing against her thigh, straining to get inside her. She ran her hands all over his shoulders, his neck and in his hair, relishing the fact that she could touch him at her will, dying to touch him everywhere, praying he wouldn’t stop. She spread her legs wider and mimicked the act they both wanted, spurred on by Clint's licking and sucking, and he groaned around her nipple. She didn't know whether it was from her grinding or his suckling of her, and she didn't care.
His hands roamed her, his mouth leaving her breast to lick and kiss his way back to her mouth, claiming it finally while clutching her to him, as tightly and desperately as she had clung to him. She whimpered, and he pulled back instantly. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
She kissed him, rolling her hips, making him groan and dig his fingers into her hips. "I'm fine. Except..." She rolled and in one fluid motion, she was on her back on the couch, Clint between her legs. "I like this better."
He chuckled as she wound one leg around his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close and caresses his lips with hers, opening to him above and below, their tongues passing and re-passing each other in a mad fiery buildup to a crescendo they were both dying for and desperate to put off. They ground into each other, moaning and sighing, working up a delicious friction until they were both panting and a little frenzied. Natasha went back to work on his buttons, confident that he wouldn't stop her this time. One hand was busy being attached to the elbow that was propping him up, and the other was lightly - so, so lightly - running up and down the back of her thigh. Every time it got close to her ass she arched away from it, grinding against him, causing him to draw a shuddering breath.
Natasha gave up trying to be nice and ripped his shirt open, sending the last few buttons flying.
"Hey, I just bought that."
"It was in my way."
He smirked and kissed her deeply, moving his hand to slip into her panties to touch her, the very core of her. She was wet, so fucking slick, and she gasped as he slipped one finger in and sought out her clit with his thumb. When he found it, she cried out against his mouth and bucked against his hand. He put in another finger and moved his mouth to her neck: he wanted to hear her when she came apart. Clint dared to hope she'd call his name in that moment.
For now, though, she was all moans and whimpers, occasionally pleading with him for more, for him to please never stop. He whispered a mix of sweet nothings and filthy talk against her neck and ear, telling her what he was going to do to her while nipping her neck and sucking on her earlobe while he fucked her with his fingers in her and rubbed circles on her clit. She gave up on English and cried out in Russian, words he hoped were declarations of pleasure. Clint figured if she was that mindless, it was time to go in for the kill. He tightened the circle the pad of his thumb and bent his fingers inside her.
Natasha cried out, arching and bucking, shuddering and exclaiming, begging and swearing, clutching and grasping at him. He watched her, sucking hard on her nipple, taking her as far as she could go before he let her come down. She lay there, breathing heavily and looking at him under lidded eyes, thoroughly sated. He gave her a cocky grin, then climbed off of her.
She sat up quickly, confused. "Clint? What are you -"
"Shhhh." He bent over and kissed her, scooping her up into his arms bridal-style and carried her away from the couch. "Not here. Not on the couch. You deserve better than that." He stopped, claiming her mouth again, exploring her mouth with his tongue and clutching her to him tightly like he simply couldn't help himself. After a moment, he broke the kiss, panting slightly, and put his forehead to hers. "You deserve penthouse suites and silk sheets and champagne, but, dammit, I can't wait another fucking minute.”
~*~
Clint laid her in the center of his bed with great care like she were a precious thing, shrugging out of his ruined shirt hurriedly and trying not to break their kiss. It was a futile endeavor and he made the sacrifice to stand up quickly, pulling off his shoes, socks and pants. Natasha watched hungrily as more of him was revealed, impatient to see all of him. She slid over to the side of the bed, slipping her fingers in the waistband of her boxers.
Clint brought up his hands to stop her. "Don't. Please."
"What?"
"Please don't."
"Why?"
He put his mouth to hers, chasing her back up the bed with kisses and easing her down. He came down beside her, one hand rubbing all over her, his palm and fingers taking in the satin of her skin. He pressed his lips to her occasionally, watching her body react to his touch and his kiss. Natasha watched him as he did this, bemused and aroused, until it occurred to her what he was doing. He was worshipful in his touch of her. He was cherishing her.
After a while, Clint spoke. "I've wanted this night for so long, Nat. So very long. Later, if you want to, we can do anything you want. I'll fulfill every fantasy you've ever had, I swear it. We'll play by your rules. But tonight...tonight I just need to be as close to you as humanly possible. Please, Natasha." His voice cracked. "Please let me make love to you." He kissed her bare shoulder, then took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. "Please, sweetheart."
Natasha was stunned into silence. Clint had bowed his head until his forehead was touching her cheek. She felt her eyes prickling.
"Clint?"
He looked up, blue eyes spearing the green. Hope, passion, desire, longing, need, and other emotions left unspoken swirled between the two of them, and in that moment they communicated everything that ever needed to be said from blue to green and from green to blue.
“Please make love to me, Clint."
He attacked her mouth, kissing her almost violently, putting one hand just behind her ear to hold her there as she wrapped her arms around his torso for the same purpose.
She realized she was still in her panties and started wriggling to get them off. Clint saw what she was about and yanked them off unceremoniously, then rolled back on top of her. "I can't believe this is real. I can't believe you're real."
"I can't believe it either." She raised one leg, wrapping her thigh around his waist, positioning his cock right where she wanted it. She undulated her hips and his cock parted the lips of her pussy, hitting her clit perfectly, and they both moaned at the contact. Natasha kept grinding herself against him, feeling the friction, hearing his breath quicken against her shoulder.
"God, Clint, I want you. Please."
He groaned against her neck, rolling his hips against hers before he froze. "Shit. Wait."
Natasha was nonplussed. "What?"
Clint was reaching across her to his bedside table. "Condom."
She pulled him back. "Don't need it."
"No?" She shook her head. "It's just as well. Damned things are probably dust by now anyway."
She giggled a second, but was cut off by his mouth on hers. She wrapped one leg lazily around his upper thigh in a silent invitation, and was delighted when she realized their bodies had shifted and this lined them up perfectly again. She slipped her arms around his back and rolled her hips forward at the same time he did, felt his shaft pressing for entrance. His mouth was against hers, her name on his lips. Natasha raised her hips and he pressed forward, sank a little deeper. Natasha gasped: she hadn’t expected him to be so big, for it to be such a tight fit. He pressed forward again, burying his cock deeper into her warmth, and she moaned.
Clint stopped, fighting all of his instincts that were screaming at him to bury himself as deep as possible and never let this woman go. "Are you okay?"
Natasha bucked her hips against him, trying to pull him deeper into her slick heat. "Please, Clint. I need you."
"God, yes." He plundered her mouth as he pulled out a little and sank even deeper. She gasped Into his mouth when he bottomed out, then moaned his name.
"Christ, Nat, you feel so fucking good. I can't..." He drew a ragged breath and thrust again.
She spread her legs wider, silently pleading for more. He leaned down on his elbows, lying his forearms down by her sides and gripping her shoulders from behind, giving himself the leverage to pull her down onto him. Clint buried his face in her neck biting, reveling in how she cried out his name and begged him, his thrusts rhythmic now. Natasha began to whimper as he got faster and deeper. "Clint, please..." She had no idea, only that she wanted - needed - something, and only he could give it. She clung to him desperately, hanging on to his back and clenching around him as he rocked her, sure she was going to leave nail marks, not caring at the moment. It was his fault for making her this hot. She felt sure that she was going to explode at any given moment. She felt as if someone were holding a match to all of her nerve endings, and they were lit like a fuse on a stick of dynamite. The only question was when she was going to blow, and was she going to be able to stand it. She wasn't sure she was going to survive how Clint was making her feel, but at the same time, she had never felt more alive.
Clint was clinging on to control for dear life. He wasn't going to go over the edge without her, but if she kept making those mewling sounds there just might not be any help for it. He was close, and he needed her to come. He slipped his hand between the two of them, and she exploded in a firestorm of pleading, Russian he didn't understand, clawing at his ass and back, and his name, over and over again. Clint. Clint. Clint.
When she called out his name, he whispered her name in turn - a benediction on his lips - then let go and surrendered the last battle of the war. He was a defeated man, and couldn't be more pleased about it.