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Fic: When the World Is Lit By Lightning
life begins - me
whiskyinmind wrote in fandomsbitca
Title: When the World Is Lit By Lightning
Author: WhiskyInMind
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff
Giftee: rumpledlinen as part of avengersfest 2012
Prompt: Dark, PWP, Budapest, exercise-turned-sex, d/s overtones, breathplay, Natasha topping
Notes: Thank you so much to telaryn and tortuousphoenix for the betaing and the cheerleading! I couldn't have done this without you guys!

here on AO3 or click on the cut


They've been partners for almost three years now, and about the only thing he absolutely knows for sure about her is that she hates not being in control.

Well, that's not entirely true. He also knows that she prefers Berettas to Glocks, that she can turn anything into a weapon, that she has a weakness for Jack Lemmon comedies, that if he bites down on her collarbone during sex she will scream his name. And he knows that when a mission goes to hell in a hand-basket like this one did then she needs some way to release all of that pent up tension.

They made it out of the Glass Room of the Művésztek Palotája seconds before the authorities arrived and had only stopped long enough to make sure the target – who, for once they'd been assigned to protect rather than eliminate – was secure before clearing out.

Twenty six minutes later and after taking circuitous (and separate) routes to the safe house, they were faced with the prospect that extraction would be delayed. Timeframe undetermined, but more likely to be counted in days than hours.

Clint figured there were worse things that could have happened – they were both alive, as was the target, so the mission wasn't a complete bust – but Nat had taken the news badly. He really shouldn't have been surprised, but the sheer ferocity of her reaction was a little unexpected. Luckily the last agent to use this safe house (such as it was) had left an intact punching bag hooked up in the corner. Nat had stopped only long enough to kick off her Manolo Blahniks before starting in on the defenceless canvas casing.

He smirked as he threw himself down onto the lumpy sofa that seemed to be the place's only concession towards comfort and settled in to watch the show. He would never tell her, but watching her fight – even fighting against a piece of training equipment – was like watching poetry in motion

He scrubbed his hand through his hair and winced a little as his fingers found shards of broken glass and the smell of cordite threatened to overwhelm him. A shower was incredibly tempting right now, but he knew right now he wouldn't move until he knew she was okay. And if he was enjoying the view in the meantime, then he was only human after all...

Nat lashed out with a powerful roundhouse and snarled in frustration as the chain snapped and the bag crashed to the floor. He didn't even try to hide his snort of amusement and wasn't at all surprised when she turned on him.
"This isn't a spectator sport, Barton," she snapped.
"That's a damn shame. You could make some real money if it was. 'Specially looking like that."
She glanced down at herself and seemed to register the dress which was hanging off her in tatters for the first time. For the space of all but a heartbeat she paused, and if he didn't know better he'd swear that was confusion on her face. And then she shook it off, squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Get over here."

This was what he'd been waiting for. Why he hadn't left her. (why he would never leave her.) She needed him. Even if all she needed him for was as someone to pummel into the ground, he was secure enough in his masculinity to accept the fact that the Black Widow could beat him down with both hands tied behind her back(hell, it wouldn't be the first time she'd done just that).

He stood and stretched, noting how her gaze tracked his movements with a little more than just tactical appraisal. Oh yes, there was more than one way to relieve the tension and he was cool with whichever way this ended up. But for now she was more interested in fighting something into submission than anything else, and he was happy to oblige.He folded his jacket and stepped onto the makeshift mat.

He was ready for her attack, knew that she would try to catch him off-guard and how, so when she reached for his shoulders as her foot swept round to knock him off balance he rocked back and ducked below her grasp. He spun, using her momentary shock to take her down. Of course before he could complete the move, she managed to turn that into a flip and end up withher pinning him to the ground.

Clint’s mouth was open, banter coming automatically to hand, when he saw how blown her pupils were. He frantically searched his memory of the night's clusterfuck for any time she could have picked up a concussion, but before he could finish she’d sprung to her feet and stalked away.
"Nat?" He picked himself up and slowly approached her. "What's going on?"

***
She feels as if electricity is coursing through her veins. She needs to let off steam, vent her anger, scream at the world for screwing with her head, lash out at the closest person. But she can't do any of that. She's Agent Romanoff, the Black Widow. Cool as a fucking cucumber and (so rumour has it) completely devoid of emotion.

And she's scared.

He comes close, approaching her like he would a wild animal, and his hand rests a little hesitantly on her shoulder. Grounding her. This is Clint, she doesn't need to keep her cool around him, he's seen her (accepted her) for exactly who she is – fears and all.

And she almost lost him tonight.

She pulls him close and drives her tongue into his mouth. There's a brief moment of shock from him but soon tongues and teeth are duelling and as she draws back a little she traps his lips between her teeth. A nip, not a bite, just enough to remind him that this isn't candy hearts and roses.

His fingers dig into the remnants of her dress, and he swears when the material refuses to tear and growls as she laughs at his efforts. She shifts a little, letting him tug the hem up to her waist. He's got his hands on her hips now, lifting her against the wall to get a better angle, she obliges by wrapping her legs around his waist and he almost staggers back. She responds by attacking his mouth again.

He's thrown. She can tell, they don't kiss as a rule - it's too intimate for them. But tonight, she needs this. When the mission blew up in their faces all she could focus on was him covering her back as the chandeliers came crashing down around them. She knows she almost compromised the mission for him, she was supposed to be watching out for the mark, not for her partner. And yet, somehow she can't bring herself to care. She lost control. Because of him.

She needs to get that control back – for her own sanity.

Natasha puts one foot down and uses the combination of their bodies to force him to the ground, legs straddling his hips and pinning him with her forearm at his throat. He gasps and she lets a smile cross her face as she feels him grow even harder underneath her. She uses her free hand to tug his belt free and loosen his fly. He groans as she wraps her fingers around his dick and strokes him slowly.She frowns and increases the pressure on his trachea until his pupils are blown and he gives her a tiny nod.

She could kill him without even thinking about it and they both know it. More important, though, is he trusts that she won't. Not now, not ever. This simple trust gives her everything she needs right now. Well, she thinks as she feels him strain not to thrust into her hand, almost everything.

She releases him for a moment and rifles his pockets for the condom she knows will be there – no one could every accuse Hawkeye of being unprepared – and rips open the foil packet with her teeth. She's tempted to use her mouth to slowly roll it on and prolong the moment a little, but the sheer need in his eyes changes her mind. Soon he's ready and she moves her arm from his throat so that she can rest her hands on his chest as she lowers herself onto him. This, she does take slowly, luxuriating in the feel of him filling her. Completing her.

He reaches for her, tries to drag her down into a kiss, but this isn't the time for that. She tightens around him just a little to remind him what's going on and rolls her hips and then he's moving. Thrusting slowly at first and then building up a faster rhythm which she matches almost automatically.

It's not gentle, neither of them wants it to be, this is fucking in a non-descript room in a no-name location and neither of them is under any illusions that it's anything more than that.

Right now it's so fucking good that Nat can almost believe that there could be something more. She's almost on the verge of wanting more when their rhythm becomes erratic, not a rhythm any more, just a desperate series of movements from both of them but still together in a way she's never known before.

She's close.

She pulls her head back a little, lets out a breathy moan she can't quite believe comes from her own mouth, and looks into his eyes.

He's staring right back and she can see from his face that he's closer than she is, but that he's trying to hold back. She takes his hand in hers and moves their linked fingers down to where their bodies are joined and bites her lip as she feels his calloused fingertip flick over her clit. She shudders a little and tenses, feels him deep inside her and suddenly knows that she's on the verge of losing that hard-won control again. He moves, thrusts almost lazily now and uses both his hand and hers to bring her up to speed but she stills her own movements and reaches down with one hand and strokes her fingers over his collarbone, the hollow at the base of his throat and finally wraps her hand over his windpipe once more. It's a caress and as he meets her eyes once more she tightens down on his cock at the same moment she tightens her hold on his throat, knowing that he trusts her control, even when she can't.

She's still staring into his eyes and sees the exact moment when he goes over the edge.

She's right there with him