#flame-haired-avenger

[abowandarrowtype-blog]

Vodka on the Rocks | Natasha

Clint slipped into the darkened apartment silently, closing the door behind him with the softest of clicks. Natasha had seemingly told JARVIS to let him in whenever he pleased. He beamed a little internally at the thought, this was trust on a level he wasn't sure Natasha was capable of sometimes - she probably had a bunch of secrets from him, but giving him access to her space when  she wasn't around was a big thing for both of them.

He flipped the nearest light switch and glanced around. It was sparsely decorated, like most places that Natasha lived in for a while, though there were hints of her presence everywhere, little pieces of her that she left behind almost like a trail of clues for those who knew where to look.

Maybe the most obvious was the bottle of vodka in the top drawer of her freezer, which Clint pulled out, humming the tune to a song he'd long forgotten the words to. 

He grabbed glasses and ice for the both of them, then settled in to wait, perching on her couch in view of the door so he could see when she arrived back.

She'd been away for a long time, over a month now, and he was excited to see her, to see if she'd changed any while being away, if she'd started letting her hair grow out or if she still smiled the same way or if she still laughed at his jokes when she thought no one was watching. He'd missed her more than he cared to admit, more than was healthy for either of them, but she didn't need to know that.

[abowandarrowtype-blog]

[text] Sure am. Was going to head out to my apartment for a couple of days next week now that security's been tightened up. You need to see me?

[abowandarrowtype-blog]

Tourists | Natasha & Clint

(Continuation of Duck Soup) He woke slowly, his sleep-heavy eyelids cracking just a fraction against the sunlight slanting in through the hotel room's windows. His awareness came back slowly, and the slide of silk sheets against his bare chest roused more than a few memories of the night before. He rolled onto his back, pulling the sheets with him, and rubbed his hands against his face roughly, a gruff noise escaping his lips as he stretched his legs out. Oh, that was almost painful. His muscles twinged ever so slightly at the stretch, but not enough to actually impede his movement. The memories of last night came back in a haze and Clint grinned against his palms. There was a reason that Clint had wanted this particular mission so badly, and the reason was a certain redhead who he never got to see enough of when the two of them were stuck living at the Tower, despite the fact that they only lived a couple of floors away from each other. Back in the tower there always seemed to be someone else around or something to get done, and neither Clint nor Natasha were keen on letting the other Avengers know about the exact nature of their relationship. He rolled out of bed, still scrubbing his hands over his face, and went in search of clothes, hoping no unfortunately timed window cleaners or room service decided to make an appearance. Today was going to be the first day of initial recon, which meant the two of them got to spend the morning at the beach looking for suspicious activity and the evening at one of the island's biggest casinos. All in all it wasn't a bad job, Clint mused as he finally found a pair of sweats to cover himself up with. With his decency intact, he wandered over to his case and began checking over his equipment, sitting cross legged on the floor and running his hands over the selection of weaponry he'd brought with him. It was going to be a good day.

[abowandarrowtype-blog]

[text] Of course she did. I'm good, I just haven't had a vacation since before New Mexico, and even that was cut short. Maybe just a week away where I don't have to worry about killing someone at the end of it would be nice. 

[tokisswithcontrol]

Minding the Office | Rogue and Natasha

Okay, you can totally do this.  You can answer phones and man the office.  Nothing terrible is going to happen. With it being her second day on the job, Rogue was naturally nervous about being in the office on her own.  She had some paperwork to type, some emails to answer and what not.  There was enough work while Pepper was at lunch. 

A short while later, she'd kicked off her heels, peeled off her gloves and sat cross legged in her chair, chewing on her bottom lip.  This just wasn't sounding right.  Without looking away from the screen, she grabbed her tea and sipped at her.  Moments later her fingers were flying over the keys, making more progress now that she figured out what wording was sounding off. 

She heard someone coming and she straightened up and pulled on her gloves.  Glancing up, she saw Natasha and smile.  "Hey. How are you doing?" Of course, she wasn't there to see her.  "Pepper's not in right now."

[abowandarrowtype-blog]

Clubbing: Pursuit of Happiness | Natasha

The place was dark and crowded, a throng of people swarmed around him, trying to get served at the bar or making their way across the dance floor, bodies swaying in time to the overwhelmingly loud music. The press of bodies around him was a little close and warm to be comfortable, but he liked it. He liked the noise and the beat and the way everything seemed just a little more vibrant in the strobing green and blue lights. 

And maybe he'd had a few drinks, but who was counting?

He swirled the remains of a beer and surveyed the dance floor. The club was pretty big and he'd managed to lose sight of the others pretty quickly as everyone settled into the VIP area and then slowly filtered onto the dance floor or the bar.

He'd have to be blind not to spot her, though. Even in the dark of the club, the few loose strands of her hair bounced around her face and caught the lights, her hips swayed in time to the beat, covered by that thin, lace dress and she wore a perfectly polished smile for the crowds, all teeth no soul. Sometimes, he figured, she could be a perfect stranger, the best actress he had ever seen.

But she looked like she was having fun, and if she could play pretend; shake her body at some unsuspecting strangers and get a few drinks out of it, then he could play a part as well.

He finished his beer and made his way towards her, weaving through the crowds, ignoring the looks he was getting, some appreciative, some most definitely not. He decided that it didn't matter as he sidled up behind her, not close enough for her to take alarm or offence, but close enough that she would know he was there. He wasn't exactly a fantastic dancer, but he could move to a beat and Natasha had given him a few lessons over the years in spare moments. 

He leant in closer to her and spoke loudly so he would be heard over the music, "Hey, you look fantastic in that dress, think I could buy you a drink?" There was just the right amount of mischief in his voice that she would guess what he was up to and he grinned up at the dozens of other men looking at her longingly. Most of the time he didn't feel possessive of her in any way, but right at that moment? He felt pretty proud of the fact that he'd had what none of them ever would.

[i-am-laufeyson]

And who are humans to determine what is right and wrong? Who are humans to decide what is kind and what is not? Such perceptions are fluid.

[abowandarrowtype-blog]

Running Games | Natasha

It had been three days since he'd heard from Natasha. They'd gone longer without contact of course, weeks and even months without seeing or hearing from each other. Deep undercover ops in foreign countries where the people spoke in dialects; where they slipped so far under the radar that even SHIELD lost track of them for a while. It was safer that way really. This was different, though. This had his subconscious nagging at him and Fury's stubborn silence on the topic was making him antsy. Not to mention she'd left him a message: a book laid out on her bed, the sheets made like she hadn't ever been there and a single dollar bill slotted inside the well-thumbed pages. She wasn't one for eccentrics or flair except when the situation demanded it and even he could understand what she had meant by it.

I need some time to think, Clint.

He got it. He really did. He got it in ways he suspected he wasn't really supposed to, in ways that no one else could. She needed space like he needed freedom. It's why extended ops with her never ended well for either party. When they were tucked into each other's pockets like that tempers tended to flare. Suddenly he was rubbing her the wrong way and she was snapping at him and he was shouting like he hadn't in years... But this note unsettled him and he couldn't quite pinpoint why.

He was overreacting. He was overreacting. He was-

Fuck it. Fuck radio silence. Fuck her 'space'. Something was wrong and he knew it. If that wasn't reason enough to send her a message then nothing was.

It's been three days. If you're compromised I want to know.