When in Budapest

2: Love Was for Children

The front door slammed shut, Natasha leaned her back against it, prying the obnoxious golden heels from her feet.

"You hungry?" Clint asked from the doorway.

"I'm in the mood for steak." She suggested even though it was already well past midnight.

He sighed and they walked into the small kitchen of the apartment. "Of course you are."

Natasha sat on a stool in front of the counter, watching Clint as he took out the meat and spices, "And don't think I forgot that you stole my car."

"You can scold me for it tomorrow."

They made pointless small talk while Clint cooked steak in a pan on the stove.

He didn't know if he could take it much longer. They had been partners for five years now...and he hated to admit it, but he was in love with her. He knew she didn't feel the same, nor would she ever. Love was for children; that was how she always put it. But he also knew that if he didn't say something soon he would end up doing something stupid.

Why eventually though?

Why not now?

"Natasha."

"Hmm?" She looked up from the fingernail she was examining, sensing the urgency in his tone. Pulling out two plates and setting a steak on each, he handed one to her. That couldn't have been all he wanted. She knew him too well, the differences in his voice were simple to detect. He was strained right now, which meant he was debating a life or death topic in that mind of his. "What is it?" The sentence came out more demanding than an actual question.

Natasha took a bite of the savory steak.

He answered too quickly. "I'm about to do something very stupid."

Swallowing the food in her mouth, she joked, "It can't be worse than when you nearly got us killed in Chicago."

He sat on the stool next to her, "Probably will be, actually."

"I doubt tha--"

His lips were on hers before she could finish the sentence.

She slapped him, obviously, and he wasn't surprised. It could have been worse, she could have punched him, or kicked him in the balls, or paralyzed him, or killed him...the list was endless.

So they continued to eat, neither saying a word to the other. Clint didn't apologize because he knew it wouldn't mean anything to her; she would never forgive him. So he wallowed to himself.

When they were done, Natasha put the plates in the dishwasher and they went their separate ways.

Clint had been laying in his bed for a good ten minutes when he heard the door creak open. "Natasha?" He asked without lifting his head from the pillow. "Umph." She had straddled hid torso and was kissing his neck.

He did not object.

His hands grabbed her waist that hovered over him, crushing her impossibly closer so as to kiss her lips.

She attacked him with so much raw emotion that she never knew she had. She knew she loved him; knew he loved her. Though she was startled when he kissed her, she did not regret slapping him across the face earlier. Very few people could sneak up on her...but Clint had always been one of them. He always surprised her

Tonight was her turn to surprise him.

She pulled off his shirt. They had seen each other naked so many times--helping each other clean wounds--she wouldn't think that this would feel so different. It did, of course.

She admired every part of him, though she would never admit it. Natasha was so distracted by him that she barely noticed him pulling her skin tight tank top over her head.

Their lips pressed more firmly against each other. Clint rolled them over, hovering over her, staring for a brief moment before dipping down to kiss her neck.

Sighs and moans escaped from them as they carried on, loving each other in the only way they knew how to express, for neither were good with this type of thing. Neither were good at being in love.

Natasha woke up in Clint's bed...only he wasn't there. Throwing his t-shirt over her head, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. He was there flipping pancakes in only sweatpants. The scene was so domestic, so unlike everything she'd ever known.

"Morning," she greeted, startling him.
He said the same and handed her a mug of coffee.

"Apparently Stark convinced Fury to let us have a week off."

"Oh?" Here came yet another surprise. Since when had Tony cared for either of their well beings?

"According to Coulson he made a scene similar to the one last night."

Just the mere mention of the previous night forced her senses to heighten. She had never been treated like that--like she was so needed and cared for, loved even.

"So..." she trailed off, somehow not being able to find the right words to say. Which surely was a first for her.

"We can do anything you want today, tomorrow, this week. You name it." He was always this enthusiastic, but this time she could sense there hidden meaning of the words.

Natasha smirked, "I have a few ideas."

Clint stared at her and gulped.