A/N:

Since I've seen Avengers: Endgame I can't stop myself from reading Clint/Natasha stories. I never wrote or published any story, but suddenly this idea formed in my head and I couldn't rest until I wrote it down. English is not my mother tongue, please excuse any mistakes (and also, feel free to point them out.) Maybe somebody will read this and maybe somebody will even like it. If you do, letting me know will make me happy. Enjoy.

-Watu

Disclaimer:

I own nothing.

This time the safehouse was one of Natasha's. A simple wooden cabin on a sandy beach somewhere on the west coast. Despite it being autumn the water was still tepid and Clint was standing up to waist in the ocean. He didn't want to soak his upper body having two not quite healed yet cuts there. One on his right side and a smaller one on his upper arm. Natasha has promised to pull out the stiches tonight.

He was mindlessly dangling his hands around in the water, looking back on the beach where Natasha was sitting in the sand. She had his dark green jumper on and was reading a thick book. Some Russian classic. The evening sun was making her deep red hair slightly paler, her skin was golden and immersed in the book she suddenly looked very young.

Clint couldn't help staring. She was beautiful. Beautiful and young and sharp-witted and full of life and...

"Natasha?"

"Yeah?" she lifted her head from the book with an open face. She looked so genuine, smiling slightly. Looking at her now he would never tell she could be as deadly as only few people in the world can.

"Do you..." he stopped himself. Do you date? That is a stupid question. Not even he is that dumb.

"Do I what?"

"Do you want me to make dinner tonight?" Smooth Barton, real smooth. Natasha knew he wanted to ask something else. He knew she knew. And she knew he knew she knew.

"Sure," that's all she said instead.

Clint was sitting in a chair at the table. There was evidence of a dinner all over the table – used plates and cutlery, an empty saucepan, glasses and a pitcher half full of water. Natasha was standing over him, concentrated on his upper arm. Pair of tweezers in hand, she was methodically pulling stich by stich out.

"My god I almost forgot!" Clint exclaimed all of a sudden. "I got you something from Italy!" he started to stand up.

"Don't move, Barton," Natasha said threateningly and pulled him resolutely back in his seat. "Whatever it is, it'll wait."

"You're no fun," Clint complained and Natasha smiled to herself. She pulled out the last two stiches, disinfected the partially healed cut and said, "All done."

Clint jumped out of the chair in search for his bag. He was back in a minute, a silver necklace dangling from his fingers. "I bought it from an old man in Rome, every day he had his booth in the same place. I saw him from the roof where I had settled my watch."

Natasha took it carefully from his fingers and traced the little arrow with her index finger, an unreadable expression on her face.

"I don't know, I saw it and liked it," Clint shrugged. "Me wearing it seemed a little too egoistic, not to mention it's more of a feminine necklace."

Natasha was still silent, looking at the silver between her fingers.

"You don't have to wear it, you know," Clint suggested carefully. "It's just a..."

"I want to," she cut him off and turned her back to him, holding the necklace expectantly.

Clint took it, clasped it around her neck and turned her around. "Perfect," he smiled looking at the little arrow.

Natasha lifted herself on her toes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you," she said softly, turned around and started to clean the table.

She was standing by the sink and Clint was watching her from behind, his cheek still hot. It would be so easy to hug her from behind now, sneak his hands around her waist, kiss her neck and whisper in her hair. Oh, how he wanted to. She looked so soft, warm and pliant. Ugh, he needed to clear his head outside.

They were sitting on the stairs leading to the porch, beer in hand and looking into the dark. The waves were lightly hitting the shore and the only light was coming from the oil lamp sitting on the banister. Clint leaned on his side of the railing and faced Natasha. The silver arrow between Natasha's collarbones gleamed a little and caught Clint's eye.

"Looks good," he gestured to the neckless.

Natasha looked thoughtful. "What did you wanted to ask before?"

"When?"

"Don't play dumb. You know when."

Clint sighed. "Well, nothing important really," he paused. "I was just wondering if you...date," he added honestly but felt a little uneasy and actually idiotic.

Natasha laughed. "If I date? Who did you think I was dating, Clint?"

"I don't know…it's not like we spend every minute together. Sometimes we don't see each other for weeks, months even."

Natasha gave it some thought. "Well, do you?"

"Date?" Clint paused. "No, not really. I haven't been on a date for a while now actually."

"Why?" Natasha asked.

"How is this suddenly about me? I thought I asked you first," Clint pouted.

Natasha gave him a piercing look. "Fine," said Clint. "We both know that if you answer, it won't be before I do anyway, so I might just as well start."

She smiled with satisfaction and took a swig from her bottle.

"I used to date a little bit in my early days in SHIELD," Clint started slowly. "Mostly fellow agents. A dinner here a movie there, nothing serious, I was a bit cocky back then," he laughed a little. "I learned quite quickly that our lifestyle isn't really shaped for relationships, not that I was looking for one, so soon the dates transformed into one-night stands. And lately not even a one-night stand is worth the hassle that comes with it I guess."

"The hassle?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah, sometimes the girl wanted something more and I've never been prepared for that."

Clint looked at Natasha. She seemed deep in thoughts, looking at nothing in particular. She was silent for a few more minutes and then said, "I've been taught to use sex as a weapon. It's never been pleasant for me. I had no idea why it's such a big deal, why people want it. But my seduction techniques have been working and I didn't question it further." Natasha paused. "With time and more experience, I learned how to make it for myself as comfortable as possible. At one point I mastered seduction to that extent that I never had to sleep with the mark again. So that's that," Natasha finished.

"You've never felt the desire? The feeling of attraction? That you want someone so badly that you can't think about anything else?" Clint couldn't stop himself.

"Well...this one time, I must have been probably 20, this mark, a boy really, made me feel…something. He was very handsome, dark hair, deep eyes, so young and so attractive," she smiled at the memory. "And for the first time I felt like I wanted something more, it was desire perhaps. But I don't go looking for dates with the knowledge how easily affection can manipulate you."

"Wow, it makes sense actually. Perfect sense. I never thought about it that way, but really I should have known," Clint answered, feeling a little embarrassed. He really should have guessed, he's so stupid sometimes.

They finished their beers in silence and Natasha went to bed wishing Clint a good night. He stayed for a while longer on the porch, thinking about relationships, physical attraction, desire and... well Natasha.

There was a knock on her door in the middle of the night and the door opened slowly. "Nat? Natasha? You asleep?"

"Ugh," Natasha groaned. "What is it? What's wrong?" she asked a little annoyed. She couldn't fall asleep and now that she almost has, Clint walked barefoot into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Umm. Nothing's wrong. I just can't get this one question out of my head."

"Well then, ask if you must," Natasha huffed.

"Is it possible, that you've never been seduced?"

"Why? Are you offering?" she answered sarcastically.

Clint looked into her eyes in the darkness, searching for something, looking too serious for her liking.

"That was a joke, Clint," Natasha said carefully. What is going on with him?

"Was it?" He was looking very intently now.

"Clint." That was a warning.

He lifted his hand and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear slowly. "I just think it's high time someone made you feel good about yourself, appreciated your body, cherished you the way you deserve," made love to you, he thought.

Natasha didn't say anything. She was looking at him with a strange expression, almost gaping and blinked several times.

Clint's hand was still behind her ear and his thumb moved slowly across her lips, caressing them slightly.

"Stop."

"Why?"

"I'm...I'm tired. My head is...dizzy and there is something wrong with my stomach." Natasha was breathing deeply, trying to calm herself.

"You don't know this feeling, do you?"

"Feeling?"

Clint moved his lips next to her ear and whispered, "It's called lust, Tasha." And then lightly, oh so lightly kissed the skin bellow her earlobe.

Natasha placed her palm on his chest and pushed back a little. "God, Clint, no," she breathed out.

Clint's hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck. "No?"

"No."

"Unbelievably stubborn," Clint mumbled. "Fine," he huffed as he leaned back, "but I'm staying. This is a double bed and I'm tired of the couch." He slipped under the covers next to Natasha.

"You never complained before."

"Well, I'm starting now."

Natasha rubbed her face with her palms. "Turn around."

"I hate you," Clint said sulkily as he turned his back to her.

Natasha moved closer to his body, faced his back and threw one arm around his torso. "I know," she smiled.

Clint tried not to gasp when her hand slipped under his shirt and stroked his skin there softly.

When Natasha woke up, Clint was nowhere in sight. That was a good thing, she decided. Her dreams were filled with gasps and kisses on the neck and Clint's calloused hands and she couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed. She decided a shower will help. Her hair was still damp when she stepped into the kitchen. She didn't see Clint anywhere, so she went on the porch. There on the little table were two cups of coffee, one almost empty and a bowl with diced fruit. She sat on the stairs, the warm cup in hand and looked on the beach. In was still early, the air was cool and fresh, and the ocean shimmered in the morning sun.

A wet, bare-chested Clint was walking down the beach, smiling at her from a distance. He gave her a searching look, "Good morning."

"Good morning," she avoided his eyes.

"Sleep well?"

She did actually feel well-rested. "Yeah."

"Good, the water's lovely," and he vanished inside. Great. She will have to resolve this strange embarrassment somehow.

She was watching him carefully the whole day, trying to figure out what is going on with her. She was noticing the smallest details about him, how his muscles flexed under his shirt, his unruly hair, the stormy greyish colour of his eyes, how he meticulously fixed his arrows. It was afternoon when Clint approached her.

"Nat. I can see it in your eyes."

"Excuse me?"

"You want me," he said plainly, "the same way I want you."

"What?" Natasha's eyes widened.

"There's no point in hiding it. There is nothing wrong with wanting someone, you know," he stepped closer. He was so calm; how could he be so calm about it? "It can be a bit scary, I know, but it's a natural thing. And a great feeling once you give in." He was only a step away now. He lifted his hand and traced her jaw with his fingers. She shivered under his touch. Clint placed his palm under her chin and lifted her mouth towards his. "Let me, Tasha," he whispered against her lips and then very slowly covered her mouth with his. It was a soft, sweet kiss. She didn't fight back so Clint boldly pressed harder against her lips. His hand was still under her chin and the other went around her waist pushing her against his body. She tangled one of her hands in his hair and placed the other on his chest, caressing his muscles there unconsciously. When he opened his mouth more, tasting her fully without restraint a moan escaped from her throat and suddenly she jumped away from his arms, eyes wide with panic.

He opened his eyes quizzically and saw the fear and horror in her face. He closed his arms around her quickly, hugging her before she could run away. "It's okay, Tasha. Don't worry, there's no rush. I'll wait." But she slipped from his embrace easily once again and before he could do or say anything else, she was gone.

It's been three days since The Kiss and Natasha was still avoiding him. She barely talked to him and spend most of her time outside, running or reading on the beach. He decided it was a mistake. She may want him, but clearly, she didn't want to want him. For the sake of their friendship he had to apologize. Even though he would gladly kiss her senseless if she let him, he wanted his best friend back. And not even a little bit of lust was worth more than their friendship.

He stepped out of the cabin and went to the beach. He found her walking barefoot in the sand, once again wearing his dark green jumper. He went to meet her halfway and when she registered him, she stopped, and let Clint come to her. He pushed his hands into his jeans self-consciously and examined her. She looked calm. The silver arrow necklace was hanging around her neck. She didn't take it off. That must be a good sign, right?

"I wanted to apologize," Clint started. "I shouldn't have pushed you. You said no and I didn't listen. You are my best friend, Nat, hell you might be my only friend and I want your friendship more. There is no-one I trust the same way I trust you. Will you accept my apology?"

Natasha looked into his blue-grey eyes. "You are too good, Clint. I don't think I've met another man with a heart like yours." Clint smiled shyly. "Close your eyes," Natasha continued softly.

Clint narrowed his eyes, "Why?"

"You just said there is no-one else you trust more."

"There isn't, but that doesn't mean I trust you one hundred percent."

"Just do it, I promise nothing bad will happen to you."

"Fine," Clint said still not trusting her fully.

Natasha looked at his face, lifted her hand and started to trace his features with her finger. Eyebrows, eyes, lashes, nose, lips. Clint sighed contentedly. Then her hand moved to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape. She moved her head and placed a light kiss on his jaw. Clint stepped back but his eyes remained closed. "What are you doing?" he said cautiously.

"Would you just stand still?" Natasha placed another kiss on his jaw and then one on the corner of his mouth. When she finally kissed his lips, Clint gasped and said a little breathlessly, "You know I can only control myself for certain amount of time."

"Good," Natasha whispered against his lips, "cause I don't want you to."