clint/natasha, squirrel
The fall afternoon was cool, but not yet cold, though there was a tinge of snow in the air. Squirrels chased one another up and down the trees that surrounded the cabin, chattering loudly as they stocked up for winter, and high in the trees, birds chirped and sang.
Natasha tensed as soft footsteps sounded behind her. She looked up to see Clint holding two mugs in his hands. "Cider?" he asked, before setting the porch swing into motion as he settled down next to her.
She took the mug and thanked him, cradling it in her hands to warm them. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he took a long drink; only then did she sip at hers. Clint didn't take offense, instead he smirked and leaned in to press a soft kiss to her hair. "You know if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't use poison," he said.
Natasha took another drink, letting the sweet, spiced liquid fill her senses. "I thought I taught you better than that," she countered after she swallowed. "Use any advantage your opponent allows you."
"This is why you're my favorite, Nat," he laughed, and flung his arm over the back of the swing, close to her opposite shoulder, but giving her enough space that she didn't feel trapped.
She felt a hint of blush color her cheeks, and smiled to herself.