russianchildatprayer | What's left of us (for broken

What's left of us (for broken_arrow)

The fire is spreading fast. The gamemaker wastes no time blowing up his arena, now that the winner stands.

She should be in the elevator already. The heat is unbearable, scorching the small hair of her arms where her uniform has torn, and stinging in countless ulcerous open wounds.

This one will scar.

There is no reason to linger. The other four are dead, she’s made very sure of that. Some put up a fight and suffered more than she would have wanted. But by now they all made it. They’re all relieved off what Dreykov still politely likes to call life.

All but one.

She could still end it. Her guns have drowned in that acid pool on the first day already and her last knife is stuck to the hilt in his liver. She can’t near him again if she doesn’t want to end up like him after all. But there’s enough rocks around. Worst case, she’ll burn her fingers while smashing his skull, before he has to suffer much worse pain.

The thick iron of the artificial walls, the faded layers of grass bred miles under the surface, just for this one purpose of yet another natural selection for Dreykov’s likes… All is glowing with the flames closing in around her. She can feel the hairs on her neck rise, smoking from the heat.

Still she keeps the door of the elevator open with her good arm, refusing to let it carry her to safety, to care, to the proud shimmer in Dreykov’s eyes and another nightmare to come by.

She shortly wonders if she should try take him with her. Maybe they’ll show mercy for once. He’s stood against her until the very last minute, after all. And even in that last fight she’s been nothing but lucky. It could be her bleeding out on the ground just a few meters away now.

She could try but the girl who’s been trained since before she even had been able to understood why and for what, knows better. The elevator won’t move if she drags him along with her. The doors won’t even close.

Only the strongest survive.

She’s been praying that he’ll pass out in these terrible few seconds of uncertainty, of trying to make a decision that’s long been made for her. She should know better. If a God exists, he has never taken particular interest in her life.

He turns to her, and she can see his eyelids are on fire. His lips form words that she can’t hear with one eardrum ruptured since day 3 and the rising noise of trees falling, barrels exploding, rocks crashing.

Maybe she’ll be able to tell herself for a while that he wants her to run.

But the part of her that turns away and takes the elevator to safety because there’s never been another way for her, knows better.

His last words were that he’ll find her.

She wishes, he could. Probably that’s why she left him alive. For the smallest chance that he’ll come for her, this time without making a stupid mistake. That he’ll be the one to finally put an end to it.

Only there’s no way he’ll make it out of there. There is no way out. They have made sure.

She won’t sleep better with that knowledge on her mind but that isn’t the point. Nightmares of seeing her lover burn to death is the easiest punishment she can wish for.

***************

Nightmares were hardly a rarity since Washington, but this was the first time Natasha awoke screaming. Still caught up in too bright, too detailed pictures burning behind her closed eyes, she realized too late that she was far too close to the edge of the bed. Before her instincts could kick in, she went to the floor, tangled in sweat stained sheets and landed on the very same shoulder that desperately needed a timeout anyway.

And that had been the last fucking time to take painkillers before going to sleep.

After she could breathe without wincing out in pain again, she left the bedroom to put together some kind of breakfast and a new load of meds. A postcard in her mailbox immediately made her forget about patching up that shoulder new. She couldn’t help but wonder how Steve had found her. It seemed, she had taught him better than she had realized.

Sam and him hadn’t found anything yet, that amateurishly coded card said. He wanted to know if she was okay. Saying they could use a hand. Sure they could.

He was stubborn, she had to give him that. She wondered if he’d still be once he found out the rest about her, all the stuff that was openly out in the world after Washington. And he would. Once they found Barnes and he would go back to a normal life… Steve would get to know the whole truth about her, sooner or later. There probably wouldn’t be postcards with smileys on them then anymore.

Time for another relocation, it seemed. She had waited for weeks, something that was far too dangerous anyway, and by now all hope was gone that at least a message of Clint might eventually catch up with her here. Hell, there was no telling if he was even still alive. Maybe the buzz out there had at least died down enough by now to try and find out that. The nightmares wouldn't go away from sitting and lying around in apathy much longer, that was for sure.

Ignoring her slightly dizzy condition, due to a few days without enough food, as much as the new warm, wet spots staining the bandage under her shirt, Natasha went back to the bedroom to pack her things. If Steve had found out where she was, chances were too big that someone else would too, to linger much longer.

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Clint settled himself carefully on the sofa. His leg wasn’t feeling too poorly at the moment, especially considering the time he had just spent standing, though he had made sure to keep most of his weight on his other foot. It actually felt like it was on the mend, though he still made sure to take a few pills with the meal just to keep the pain and inflammation away. He could relax now with Natasha here and take the meds he had denied himself before.

The table between them luckily did a decent job of hiding Natasha’s long legs and everything else from his view so Clint was able to concentrate on his food. They ate in comfortable silence with only a look or two thrown either way throughout. The last woman Clint had dated for any length of time had had the habit of filling every little silence with inane chatter and it had quickly gotten on his nerves. It was nice to be able to sit with someone and just enjoy their presence and not feel the need to talk.

He had always been a fast eater, and by the time Natasha pushed her plate aside and settled back in her seat he had already finished his and was just lounging comfortable.

“Steel trap,” he replied, tapping the side of his head and grinning back at her.

"Obviously. But what a pretty one."

Natasha chuckled and washed the last of the delicious taste away with her water, without taking her eyes from Clint for even a second.

Something about this, sitting here with him, eating something he had cooked, with no need to make plans for anything, no need to even put on clothes for the moment... This wasn't them, it had never been, but right now it was.

It seemed abstract, confusing to her that she was sitting here joking around with him, with her foot playfully teasing along his leg under the table, after she had just watched the world burn a few weeks ago. And how she didn't give a damn. Couldn't give a damn, not right now, not while they were both healing and trying to put together their lives. Together. The two of them.

That was the only thing that counted right now, that they had still each other. The world would have to wait until its heroes had regathered. Maybe that was this strange feeling that she couldn't place, really... The sudden realization that she was ready to go back to her job, eventually, while in the last weeks she hadn't seen a clear path into anything at all.

Clint had become the light to orientate herself once more. Just like when he had freed her from her last cage. He didn't even really have to do much, save for being his own scruffy, sarcastic, caring, funny, good-hearted self. The one thing she would always have even if everything else failed, if she actually allowed herself to finally let this into her thick head.

"I love you too, you know", she said quietly before even realizing she was about to speak.

Well, that hadn't been so hard, had it?

Clint chuckled at the reply. “You’re lucky I’m confident in my masculinity,” he said. Hell, if Natasha wanted to call him pretty he’d take it. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t take from her.

Slouching back against the sofa and only wincing slightly from his injuries, he just watched her across the table, an easy smile on his face. Her teasing foot was mostly innocent, or maybe he was just feeling rather lazy now that he had a full stomach, but he couldn’t help noting how nice this felt. How strangely normal despite being so unlike them. Was this what normal couples did every day? Cook together, relax together, and fuck each other’s brains out, not necessarily in that order? Because if that was normal... well, he thought he could get used to a little more normal in his life.

When she spoke again, her voice so quiet he almost missed it, Clint was entirely unprepared. He had almost forgotten his ill-timed confession from earlier, and had been unsure what would really come of it. He had half expected her to just pretend he’d never said it, while another part of him had thought she would needle him about it a little and want to talk about it. Somehow the last thing he had expected was for her to say it back out of the blue like that.

For a long moment he just stared at her with wide eyes. He shouldn’t be so surprised, she even broke her ‘no jewellery’ rule to wear something that reminded her of him, but whether she felt it or not he had sort of expected that she would never admit it aloud. But now she had and his heart was hammering in his chest and he didn’t know how to respond.

“I know... I mean, I guess I shoulda known, I just never really...” realising he was rambling he forced himself to stop and take a breath. “Thanks. And it wasn’t just the amazing sex. I really meant it.”

It was somehow adorable how Clint was searching for words. Natasha hadn't doubted the sincerity of his statement earlier even for one second but she found it was good to hear it confirmed anyway.

Suddenly she needed to touch him, really, not this lazy teasing, and she couldn't get up fast enough to sit down next to him and kiss the hell out of him. This was probably love too, this urge to be close, to be in his arms as often as possible, just as they had plenty experienced ever since she had arrived here.

Careful to not hold him too tightly she snuggled her body close and captured his lips with hers, softly at first, then with gently probing until she could taste the last of their meal on him. Her hand was buried in the mess of his hair while she fused her mouth against his as if that was the only way to breathe. Maybe, in a way she had never allowed herself to realize, in certain moments it was.

Why couldn’t he just say what he was thinking? What he was feeling? Whether it was his shitty childhood or his lack of schooling words had never come easy to Clint, especially when it came to expressing his feelings. Such a thing had never really been welcomed when he was growing up and that had stuck with him.

Luckily Natasha was amazing and knew him better than anyone and she understood what he was really trying to say. She didn’t bother to reply, at least not with words, and body language was something he was definitely better at so when she rounded the table to join him on the sofa he welcomed her with open arms. She wasted no time in kissing him, and what had started off gentle soon deepened to near desperation, as if she needed his breath to live.

He kissed her back just as good, his hand splayed over her back to hold her close. In all their time apart he had let himself miss her, let himself want her, but only now that he had her back did he realise how much he needed her. SHIELD had been a turning point for him, and had practically saved his life, but even with it gone now he still had Natasha. She had become his constant, his lifeline. He needed her.

“I love you,” he said again as he gasped in a much needed breath. It was easy to say when she was so close, so receptive; it was easy to say it when he didn’t have to think about it and could just let the words out.

It was still a little strange hearing it, but in the best way possible. Natasha felt her cheeks turning pink and chuckled, a little embarrassed, but didn't try to hide it. She just kept on tenderly caressing Clint's cheek and enjoy that excited, happy look on his face. She was happy too, in spite of this whole mess that their lives had become, she felt happy. That was all she needed to know for the moment.

"I like the sound of that", she murmured, still blushing a little, her thumb ever so softly caressing Clint's lower lip as if she could make him say it again that way.

Of course there had been people telling her these words in the past, and one or two of them might actually have been serious about it. And she might have said it back even.

But that hadn't been her true self, she hadn't had a real heart to give to anyone. Whatever she had believed to be and feel back then, had been a different person, a figure in someone else's nightmare, created and directed by anyone but herself.

It was Clint who had helped her become a real person, capable of actually feeling anything but hate and revenge. It was only fitting that he was the first person she felt love for again, and this time unconditionally, without any doubt.

Now she did have to rest her head against his shoulder, hide her face in the soft fabric of his sweater and enjoy that faint, comforting smell that was all him. She didn't want him to see that she was crying a little. Not when it was really just good tears.

She was blushing; Natasha Romanoff was actually blushing. She was blushing and smiling happily and touching him like he was something precious and it was almost too much.

“Better watch out,” he said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips and brushing over her thumb. “I might just keep saying it until you’re sick of hearing it.”

It wasn’t likely to happen, wasn’t likely to be something he said every day, just in moments like these when it really mattered, moments when she needed to hear it or he just felt so overwhelmed with love that the had to say it. But it was still good to know she would be receptive to it no matter what.

Wrapping his arms comfortably around her as she lay her head against his shoulder, he settled them back against the sofa to relax, just enjoying the feel of her in his arms.

"Won't happen anytime soon", Natasha answered softly. "There weren't many people telling me that and actually meaning it, you know."

It felt so goddamn good, just having him hold her like that, breathing against him, breathing and feeling him and nothing else for a change. It didn't matter where they were or where they might move to in a few weeks, she knew that now. They could pull through this whole mess together.

She wiped her cheeks inconspicuously on the fabric of his sweater and rested her head closer to his neck to place a few gentle kisses there and drown even more in the feeling and scent of his skin, so familiar, so calming.

He could hear the hint of emotion in her voice, and while her tears weren’t quite enough to soak through his sweater so that he could feel it, he suspected she was a little more overcome than she was showing. He didn’t mention it, though.

“Well I do,” he said, though he knew he didn’t need to assure her. She knew it was the truth, knew he would never say those words if he didn’t mean it. “Every time I say it I’m gonna mean it just as much.” Maybe even more.

Her breath was warm against his skin and Clint closed his eyes, one hand running soothingly up and down her back.

Natasha just nodded softly against his neck. There was no reason to doubt this promise. Clint had been trained just like her to contain and hide his emotions in the line of work, but when they were together, when there was no one to watch and the work didn't count for once... It was so easy to see it in his face, whenever he looked at her, that his confession earlier really hadn't come much as a surprise. It wasn't so much that she had never seen it... just not allowed herself, to not make things complicated.

And now? Things had never seemed so natural and easy between them. She wasn't quite used to yet to being in his arm like that, to kiss and cuddle just for the sake of it, and to have time to do exactly that. But she thought that was a pretty good thing to get used to, unless most of the other shit going on around them right now.

As if to confirm that to herself she drew her legs to her side on the sofa to sit more comfortable and sneaked her hand under Clint's sweater to run it up and down his back, in warm, flat circles. A little, content sigh, close to a purr, came from her lips when she rested her head back against his shoulder. It was a nice shoulder to lean against, there was enough of it there for sure.

She searched for something to say, but there really didn't seem to be anything that needed talking right now. Well, of course there was plenty if you looked, but nothing that couldn't wait until they both had healed both in body and mind. And this, right now, was definitely a step in the right direction.

It was lucky his confession hadn’t been all that surprising considering the position they had been in at the time. Things could have gotten real awkward real fast, but Natasha had taken it all in stride, putting off the conversation until a more appropriate time. Just another reason to love this woman.

Clint has thought they would probably clean up the mess fairly quickly so they wouldn’t have it to worry about later, but when Natasha settled in more comfortably against him he certainly wasn’t going to argue. He too came up blank on something to say, but right now they didn’t need any words. He didn’t want to talk about the serious things that were looming over them, not now, not after what they had just confessed.

So he settled into the sofa and the embrace and closed his eyes, a deep, content sigh escaping his lips. So this was what normal felt like, a normal dinner followed by some normal snuggling on the sofa with the woman he loved.

He could get used to this.

For a long time, they didn't talk, just sat in silence enjoyed it together. The hour grew late and Natasha found herself dozing a little in Clint's arms every few minutes. Not really sleeping, just drifting in that comfortable thoughtless state of feeling completely boneless and empty in a most comfortable position.

From time to time her hand would slide a little lower on his back and play along the edge of his pants, nothing but harmless, tender appreciation of his body and the promise for more to come later. She couldn't remember when last she had felt so safe, so relaxed in someone's arms. If it hadn't been for the last complaints of their bodies, it would have been perfect.

When it was growing dark outside, she probably would have fallen asleep after all, but an annoying little shiver down her bare legs reminded her that they had no automatic heating system here. Very reluctantly she freed herself from Clint's arms and grimaced a little when her shoulder let her know next that she had forgotten of it.

She took a second to down her pills with the rest of the water and got up then to put new wood in the fireplace. She was vaguely aware that she was Clint giving a free show again when she bent down for the bricks but couldn't really bring herself too care, too lazy to even put on a pair of pants after the last hours of doing nothing. She was in serious doubt that he would complain anytime soon.

"You know, we never made it to desert", she couldn't resist on remarking, though, grinning to herself while she worked.

Clint had definitely drifted off a few times, and probably a little deeper than Natasha. He didn’t reach the blackout, drool inducing depth of sleep, but it was probably more ‘sleep’ a few times than just resting. It was never for a long time, though, and he was always brought back to the here and now by Natasha’s gentle touch, warm body, and gentle breaths against him.

Time had no meaning and passed unnoticed until the last tendrils of natural light faded leaving them with just the smoldering fire to light the room. When Natasha shivered against him before extracting herself from his embrace, Clint inwardly kicked himself for somehow managing to forget the fact that she was half naked and not immune to the cold. He didn’t protest or offer to tend the fire for her, figuring she would be better off drawing nearer to it to stoke it up again. Instead he gathered up the dishes and carried them to the kitchen. Piling them all in the sink and filling it with enough water for them to soak in, he turned to Natasha when she spoke and was instantly distracted by the picture she presented outlined by the fire with her fine ass on clear display.

“Never too late for desert,” he said, joining her by the fireplace but hanging back a few steps to watch her a while longer.

"Hmm, I could try make something with fruits and yogurt", Natasha mused, playing oblivious. Nothing as effective for teasing Clint as threatening him with her trying to cook again. "I think there's still cacao in the pantry too, for making a pudding or something... I've read somewhere in a magazine how to do that..."

She shifted her stance a little and bent down deeper to stir the fire with the poker and pretended not to notice that of course Clint's sweater went even higher up her body in the process. Or how he was obviously ogling her from the distance, so hard that she thought to feel the heat of his glance right at these shamelessly exposed intimate spots.

Clint grimaced at the offer. The meal had almost been a complete disaster in her hands, and he didn’t relish the idea of her attempting to make pudding from scratch, especially with only her memory of a recipe to guide her. He might have trusted her to make the boxed kind but they didn’t have any of those.

Thankfully for him she was only teasing and wasn’t one of those women that saw herself as a top chef when she really had no culinary skills.

“I think we’re good,” he said, letting out a low grunt when she bent over further, practically presenting herself to him to take. It was so tempting to fall to his knees behind her, to spread her wide and drive his tongue deep inside her. He took a step closer. “Got my eye on something else.”

"Hm... Wonder what that would be..."

This time it was a much warmer shiver running down Natasha's back, so hard that she was certain Clint had to see it even from the distance. There was something rough, almost predatory in his voice, like he was only waiting to attack his prey, and in this case she would gladly play the victim.

Leaning down for another brick, she spread her legs a little wider to broaden her stance, without even turning around, keeping on playing innocent. The fire was back burning high and warm enough, but that trail of sweat tickling her forehead definitely didn't come from that...

There was no ‘practically’ about it anymore; she was definitely putting herself on full display and the obvious invitation wasn’t the only thing that was open.

Muttering an appreciative curse under his breath he stalked forward and carefully lowered himself to his knees behind her. The painkillers were doing their job and he barely felt any discomfort, not that it would have made any difference. The pain would have been worth it.

At first he just breathed against her, teasing breaths playing across her heated skin, before his hand found her ankles and started their slow trek up her beautiful, long legs. Pausing to brush his thumbs over the backs of her knees, he leaned his forehead against one perfectly rounded ass cheek and breathed her in, his eyes closing momentarily. “I’ve missed your taste,” he muttered, his lips just barely brushing over her.

Fortunately Clint didn't need any more hints. Not when she showed him so clearly what that little teasing already did to her, the bare skin between her legs heated and glistening with a first hint of slick already. Just from his hungry looks and the ever-sparkling air between them did.

Still she could only really relax when Clint knelt on the thick fur by the fireplace without any signs of pain in his breathing or voice. As much as she wanted to feel his mouth on her right now, she certainly didn't want him in pain.

As soon as he had his hands on her legs, this big, skilled hands sending more shivers right to her heated center, stopping him became the last thing on her mind. A heavy sigh came on her lips and she put the poker away to lean on the solid cupboard over the fireplace instead, since her legs never held out long when Clint set out to drive her crazy.

She flinched lightly when he made move to tickle her but forgot of that quickly when he was finally close enough to where she needed to feel him. It took all her self-restraint to not push hips down against his teasing lips. She couldn't stop a small, needy whimper though, or the way her thigh muscles tensed in anticipation.

"Please..."

She was already getting wet just from their teasing and the promise of what was to come, and Christ if that didn’t do something to him.

He hadn’t meant to tease her, hadn’t meant to keep her waiting; he had just wanted to worship her, to savour every sight and smell before he allowed himself that first taste, but that single whimpered plea undid him. Natasha Romanoff didn’t ask for much, didn’t need for much, and she sure as hell didn’t beg, so hearing that word on her lips in that tone, hearing how badly she wanted him, needed him, caused an almost primal groan to escape Clint’s lips before he pressed them to her wet and heated skin in heavy, open mouthed kisses.

She tasted amazing and he let out a moan against her as he set his tongue to work, sliding through the full length of her folds before gently probing her entrance. Bringing his hands up to the juncture of her legs he used his thumbs to gently open her further.

That small whimper on Natasha's lips quickly turned into a moan at the first real touch. Now she really had to try and plant her feet firmly to stop herself from moving against that perfectly skilled mouth.

Clint was just too fucking good at that, turning her own with just a few playful strokes already, leaving her trembling and wanting more. Having his tongue between her legs was a memory held very dear to her heart in all these past lonely nights, and he certainly still lived up to all these fantasies.

She could feel herself grow wetter quickly, especially when he used these strong hands on her again to handle her however he wanted it, making use of a privilege certainly only he owned. She spread her legs further for him without even thinking about it and rested her head heavily on her folded arms, panting into them as her hips trembled and jerked under his ministrations.

"So good..."

She startled a little at how hoarse and close to desperate her voice really sounded. Yep, definitely been too long.

"More, Clint, please..."

That tone in her voice was so fucking hot that Clint could feel his own arousal growing, tenting the loose jogging pants he wore. She opened herself so wide for him, her legs trembling in his hands, he couldn’t hold back another moan. It was only the hold he had on her that kept him from touching himself to stave off some of the pressure.

“Fuck, you taste good,” his voice rumbled, vibrating against her, before he finally plunged his tongue inside of her. He drove it deep, curled it and extracted before driving in again and again. Meanwhile one thumb slipped higher, locating her clit and teasing around it with a gentle pressure, spreading her natural lubrication.

It had been far too long since he’d had her in this position, and he wanted to touch her everywhere at once, wanted to run his tongue along every bit of skin from her mons to her little puckered hole. He wanted to taste her, to devour her, and make her tremble so hard she could barely stand.

Definitely been too long indeed.

Clint certainly didn't make her wait for more, doing exactly what she had hoped he would do. Now only the cover of her arms muffled an embarrassing keening sound from her lips. The things this man did with his tongue were probably forbidden in more than one country. Her muscles tightened up around the intrusion when it hit just the right spot, a hard shudder going through her, and again she was glad that he was holding her so tightly.

She tried to hold back, to let him play at his speed, but as soon as he put his hand on her, slicking her up with her own juices, that idea went out of the window. Soon enough she was circling her hips against his thumb and mouth, moaning in time with his perfectly aimed stimulations.

The heat from the fire only intensified what was already crawling under her skin, sweat glistening all the way down from her neck to her lower body. Her breasts swayed heavily with every fast breath, her nipples hard and sensitive just from how fucking much Clint turned her own.

She wanted to tell him, let him know how good he was with this and how crazy he was making her, but her speech was reduced to mostly his name and noises of pleasure by now. She thought the wetness answering his administrations was a pretty good indicator, though.

Much too fast she was much too turned on, shoved head first towards another orgasm this night, and unable to decide if she wanted it or rather had his mouth on her for a while longer. It wasn't like her body left her a say in it, not while Clint was working his magic on her. Already she could feel herself clenching hard around him and leaned her head back with a cry of pleasure, hips jerking helplessly from the pooling heat inside just waiting for a last push.

At first she seemed content to let him do all the work, something Clint would have been perfectly fine with, but before long she was moving with him, telling him exactly how she needed to be touched without saying a word, other than the incoherent moans, of course.

The fire was hot, but not as hot as the inferno burning inside of her. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and he could feel more running down his back and chest, but he didn’t let up, didn’t even pause to wipe any of it away. His erection was at full attention, driven by her movements and her moans and how wet she was for him, but he continued to ignore it. She was his top priority, his only priority. He planned to make her knees buckle, to make her scream and gush.

He felt muscles clench around his tongue and knew he almost had her, her pleasured cry confirming it. He didn’t dare move the hand that was helping to hold her up so he increased the pressure and friction against her clit while pressing his tongue deeper, curling it inside of her and letting out a low hum, the sound vibrating against her.

A very colorful Russian curse came from Natasha's lips when Clint intensified his administrations, proving his famous surefire sense of knowing exactly when she was close enough, and every attempt to draw this out for a little longer became futile.

Her hands grabbed that board so hard that her knuckles turned white and the faintest throb of protest went through her shoulder, a sensation that was completely drowned by the heat exploding in her core. The needy whimpers on her lips turned into an embarrassingly loud wail of lust. Once more she was very thankful that Clint held her up so tightly because she couldn't rely on her knees to hold her anymore.

Her thigh muscles were rock hard, spasming from the tension running through her and trying not to thrust her hips down too hard, but Clint really left her no choice in this with his perfectly aimed and timed stimulations. His wicked tongue was working her just as expertly as he could do it with his hand, hitting just that right spot inside, and when he made these evil little sounds against her, the tension sprang loose at once.

She knew he had to feel her come around him, her muscles clenching violently, a new gush of wetness proving just how fucking perfect he was at this, and she shivered and moaned helplessly against him. Her head rolled from one side to the other, tilted back so hard it nearly hurt, as she held on to that damn board for dear life, moaning his name.

He hadn’t expected such a loud scream of pleasure as she clenched and gushed over him, and his lips curled up in a delighted smile even as he continued to carry her through her climax. He slackened off the assault on her clit, moving his hand so he had both to hold her up with, but his tongue kept moving, slow and gentle, and he continued that low hum against her.

The scream faded to quieter moans, and whenever they contained his name he gave her just a little more; a higher vibration, the flick of his tongue across her clit. His face was soaked with her lust but he kept lapping at her until she was clean and he initial aftershocks had worn down. Hearing her let go like that really did things to him, that unrestrained wail and his name sounding so dirty in that tone, Clint tried to ignore his ever growing desire but it was getting almost painful, his cock hard and begging to be touched. His strong hands never moved, though, even when he pulled back and nuzzled against her fine ass. “Wanna come down here with me?” he asked. He would help her down to the floor if she wanted and give them both a rest.

What's left of us (for broken_arrow)

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