natasha/clint, rainy fall afternoon
Natasha looked up from her book as the door slammed behind Clint. He was dripping wet, and was obviously not pleased by that. She arched an eyebrow at him. “I told you it was going to rain,” she said, voice level, but she couldn’t help the upward quirk of her mouth.
“No, Tasha, what you said was,” he countered as he stripped out of his sopping jacket and shirt and toed off his boots, “‘Take a jacket.’ I took a jacket. It didn’t help.”
She shrugged. “Don’t leave your wet clothes on the floor, it’ll stain.”
He glared at her, but gathered up the wet bundle of cloth and carried it with him to the bathroom. She heard the shower sputter on, and returned to her book. Several pages later, Clint padded back into the living room, wearing a pair of SHIELD-issued sweat pants and a faded ‘From Russia with Love’ tee shirt she’d gotten him as a gag years ago. He lay down on the couch, and she lifted her arm so he could pillow his head on her lap.
“What are you reading?”
Natasha smiled and carded her fingers through his hair. “The Thief,” she said. They were both silent for a moment, then, “I can read it aloud, if you want.”
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Yeah, that would be nice.”
She flipped back to the first page, and cleared her throat. “‘I didn’t know how long I had been in the King’s prison...’”