(MCU) Trigger
April 9th, 2014 00:05![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Trigger
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Natasha/Clint
Rating: PG-13
Words: 271
Notes: Gunplay. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comicdrabbles, prompt "barrel of a gun".
Clint’s knelt on the ground at her feet. Stripped to the waist, hands crossed behind the small of his back. Natasha watches the flex of his shoulders, the bunch of his muscles as he fidgets, because Clint can be still for hours when he’s waiting for a target, bow drawn taut, but beyond that he’s a ball of restless energy, always moving, always touching, always playing.
But he stays on his knees for her, and when she draws her gun he goes noticeably still. Not even breathing, and she strokes a hand through his short hair until his chest starts to rise and fall once again.
They both know this is stupid and reckless. But stupid and reckless is pretty much their life at this point. Natasha’s as careful as it’s possible to be, and Clint trusts her with that, but when they bring firearms into the bedroom, there’s always going to be a risk.
But they like that risk, they fucking love it, and Natasha draws the barrel of the gun along the underside of Clint’s chin. Tilting his head back with it, and he grins up at her, eyes glinting with excitement, and she feels that familiar heat stir in her belly, between her legs.
So good, he’s so good for her like this, and Natasha smiles down at him, sharp and knowing. Pressing the gun to his cheek, and he leans into it. Turns his head and kisses the metal, eyes never leaving hers, and she doesn’t know if it’s the danger that gets to her or seeing him so obedient, but Natasha’s already addicted to the rush.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Natasha/Clint
Rating: PG-13
Words: 271
Notes: Gunplay. For
comicdrabbles, prompt "barrel of a gun".Clint’s knelt on the ground at her feet. Stripped to the waist, hands crossed behind the small of his back. Natasha watches the flex of his shoulders, the bunch of his muscles as he fidgets, because Clint can be still for hours when he’s waiting for a target, bow drawn taut, but beyond that he’s a ball of restless energy, always moving, always touching, always playing.
But he stays on his knees for her, and when she draws her gun he goes noticeably still. Not even breathing, and she strokes a hand through his short hair until his chest starts to rise and fall once again.
They both know this is stupid and reckless. But stupid and reckless is pretty much their life at this point. Natasha’s as careful as it’s possible to be, and Clint trusts her with that, but when they bring firearms into the bedroom, there’s always going to be a risk.
But they like that risk, they fucking love it, and Natasha draws the barrel of the gun along the underside of Clint’s chin. Tilting his head back with it, and he grins up at her, eyes glinting with excitement, and she feels that familiar heat stir in her belly, between her legs.
So good, he’s so good for her like this, and Natasha smiles down at him, sharp and knowing. Pressing the gun to his cheek, and he leans into it. Turns his head and kisses the metal, eyes never leaving hers, and she doesn’t know if it’s the danger that gets to her or seeing him so obedient, but Natasha’s already addicted to the rush.
