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Summary: whoops this chapter ended up being PWP.
“You wanted to see me before I left, Director Fury?”
“Yeah, sit,” he ordered.
Fury took a moment to put away his papers and Natasha sat at the edge of her seat. She didn’t like to get comfortable when she was about to be yelled at, and he looked beyond pissed.
“What I’m about to say is so classified if it ever leaves this room I will hunt you down and personally put a bullet in your head, got it?”
“Crystal clear, sir.”
She’d never admit it out loud, but she loved ultra classified stuff. She knew all the secrets, and she loved it. She’d take them to her grave, you couldn’t get them out of her with years of torture.
“Natasha, I think of you like a daughter,” he sighed almost disdainfully.
“Excuse me, sir?” Well that was unexpected. Even she couldn’t hide the surprise from her face.
“An incredibly scary, vicious, pain in the ass daughter, but a daughter none the less. After the Milan mission and the subsequent unearthing of the Russian mole in our midst, I wanted to make sure that you’ve been taking safety precautions, moving and all that shit,” said the ever eloquent Fury.
“Yes or no, Romanoff.”
“Good. I want to install some extra security there.”
“Already done, sir.”
“What about live guards?”
“I have one, actually.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Natasha. I want to personally clear him myself.”
“Is Clint Barton cleared by you?”
His face briefly registered surprise, but was overtaken by extreme annoyance.
“Barton is your live in guard?”
“He’s the only person I trust with my life.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about this situation.”
“No offense, sir, but I’ve got it under control. Barton has my back and we—I’ve got the house completely fortified.”
“Mhmm,” he looked unimpressed still. “Fine, whatever. If you get gobbled up by the Russians cause Barton was too busy doing whatever weird shit that guy does, I am not coming to save your ass.”
“Fair enough, sir.”
As she left she mentally added his name to put on the Christmas card list. She and Clint purchased a house in the middle of 50 acres of land under the name Mr. Gavin and Lilith Dima. The old Victorian had been retrofitted with nearly as much security as she S.H.I.E.L.D. bases and helicarrier. Clint had installed his and hers weapons arsenals in the training room as a wedding gift to Natasha. She’d had the old workshop in the back outfitted with new equipment and stocked it with every kind of wood Clint could ever want as his gift. He’s been sketching out plans for furniture and bows he wants to make in his free time. It felt like home. It was cozy, quiet, and out of reach of prying eyes and ears. She couldn’t wait to go home tonight, finally back from a mission in Uruguay sans Clint. She hadn’t seen him in a few weeks. Hadn’t even heard his voice. She would surely break the speed limit all the way home.
If home is where the heart is, Clint Barton’s heart had been on a classified mission in the southern hemisphere for three weeks. He’d stayed in his workshop the whole time, sleeping in the loft he’d made in there. He’d carved her a statue of a spider, an ebony black widow with a bloodwood inlay for the marking. He’d also made them a kitchen table and some chairs and was currently working on a porch swing, even though neither were porch swing kind of people. The monitor in the corner let out an alarming cheep and a video of Natasha’s jeep popped up. She’d just turned onto the road leading to the hose.
He quick checked how he looked in the mirror; tired and unshaven. Whoops. He heard the car crunch on the gravel and turn off. He ran to meet her.
She was barely out of the car before Clint was lifting her up and kissing her and mumbling “I fucking missed you,” against her lips.
“I missed you too,” she said laughing as he spun her. “Okay, no more romance movies while I’m away.”
“Haven’t even left the shop,” he said kissing down her neck. His scruff was scraping and his lips were soothing, she loved it.
“I can tell, I like it.”
He grabbed her wrists and pushed her against the jeep, kissing her breathless. He wanted his wife, now.
“Bedroom?” she suggested as he began to unbutton her pants, he laughed like the thought hadn’t occurred to him and wrapped his arm around her waist and his other under her knees and carried her into the house. She protested, laughing and mock kicking, but she had an internal girl moment of loving it.
He broke the bedroom door kicking it open. Natasha laughed. He’d build a new one. He threw her on the bed and resumed working on her pants. Pulling the tight denim down and breathing in the scent of her. He didn’t bother to take off her panties. No, he just ripped the lacey thong off of her
“Hey!” She protested, “I liked those.”
He was kissing the inside of her thigh, nosing at her wetness, sucking her clit into his mouth; she let out a small moan.
“Ooh, I like that more, fuck.”
He slipped two fingers in her, curling them against her walls in a way that made her hips buck and her legs quiver. His stubble rubbed her raw in a way that just made her more wet. She pulled his short hair, “get the fuck in me, now!”
He grinned wickedly as he shucked his pants, taking in the view of her spread wide on the bed, panting and waiting for him. Now was not a time to be gentle. He thrust into her as he kissed her roughly, she gasped in his mouth and he smiled as she bit his lip.
He tore at her shirt, she flung off her bra. His hands and mouth roamed as he continued his brutal pace. Her fingers scraped under his shirt and tore it off too, she wanted to feel every inch of him.
It wasn’t long before they both came undone. They collapsed next to each other laughing off the high of orgasm. She sighed dreamily and said “I like it when you don’t shave.” Before rolling on top of him again.