Chapter Text
"Christ, you're sexy when you talk all foreign," Clint says, only half teasing. Natasha smirks, watching the boys flirt. She can tell what this team is headed for, and she doesn't mind a bit. They're taking their time, and she likes that, too.
Tony laughs, and suddenly says… something, and Natasha is gone.
Tony has been showing off his polyglot talents, and deflects Clint's compliment with, "Down, girl!" in Latin. Clint catches the gist and laughs, and then suddenly he's got a lap full of Natasha. This has happened before, but not with an audience, and she's never been so pliant and cuddly. He blinks at her, and then lets out a soft moan before he can stop it as she runs the pointed tip of her tongue around the rim of his ear exactly the way he likes it, damn her.
"T-tasha!" Clint would hesitate to say that he squawks, but sometimes a little denial is all that keeps him going. Not that that will be a problem right now, with Natasha purring happily into his ear and sneaking one deadly little hand up his shirt, rolling the pad of her thumb over his nipple and making him squirm.
"Damn, I guess I am sexy when I talk all foreign-like. Should I leave you two alone?"
"No," Natasha says in a strange, sweet voice, and she finishes it up with a girlish giggle that makes the hair on the back of Clint's neck stand up. "Clint's my favorite, but you're pretty, too."
"Uh, thanks?" Tony cocks his head, starting to look concerned. "Jarvis, can you do a bioscan on Natasha?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tasha, you're acting weird."
"But I want to please you," she coos, sounding perplexed and naïve. It shouldn't be hot. Clint grits his teeth and tries to shift her off of his trapped cock. It backfires horribly when she just settles herself more firmly and wiggles. Clint does his best not to whimper.
"Agent Romanov is under the influence of no detectable drug, poison, or pathogen, sir, but her brain waves have altered from baseline."
"Shit. Compare to that time Clint said that one command word in his sleep?"
Clint still feels bad about that, but it had been a terrifying nightmare, and he has Natasha's permission to use what he has dubbed her 'Terminator word' when the going gets sufficiently horrible.
"It does show a similar degree of deviation, sir." Jarvis throws them up on hard light projection as Clint struggles to keep Natasha's hands out of his pants.
"'Down girl' in Latin activates the sexbot mode? That is fucked up."
"The guys who did this shit are dead," Clint says, wrestling with an increasingly distressed Natasha, "sometimes it's the only thing that lets me sleep at night."
"Cliiiinnnt," Natasha whines, "let me touch your cock! You know you like the way I do it."
"I'll bet he does," Tony murmurs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Hey, Bruce? Yeah, I need enough sedative for however many pounds of assassin Natasha is. Really? Muscle's heavier than it looks, and she's got that nice ass on her… You're right, this is an emergency, sorry."
"Stark," Clint growls, fending Natasha off as she pouts and starts to cry, making him feel like he's fallen down a rabbit hole or taken Morpheus's goddamn red pill, "you are such an asshole!"
"Look, I trust you. Now get up here with it before she rapes herself on Clint. Yes, I'll explain that later." He hangs up and goes to try and pull her off, only for her to turn in his arms and glom onto him like an octopus, sniffling into his shoulder about Clint being mean and not letting her make him feel good, practically humping his belly as she does. He can't help getting both hands on dat ass, halfway between instinct and legitimately trying to keep her from falling off (she probably doesn't need the help, but old habits die hard) but she's acting so unlike herself that he's only like, twenty percent turned on at most.
Mercifully, Bruce comes in just then. Natasha gets a look at him over Tony's shoulder and whimpers like a hungry puppy. Bruce's eyes go huge and green, but nothing else does and he scurries over and jabs her in the thigh. She lets out a high-pitched little cry, giving Bruce a faintly reproachful look, the very picture of the coy masochist. He swallows hard, and then helps Tony lower her to the floor when she becomes dead weight. "Jesus," he says, voice husky.
"Yeah," Clint agrees, and he doesn't sound much better.
Fortunately, SHIELD has a protocol for shit like this, and soon enough they're sitting in a meeting room with Fury, watching him pace. He finally stops, and glares at all of them (even Coulson, who he's been creepily nice to since his resurrection) and says, "Any one of you takes advantage of what I am about to tell you, know that his SHIELD clearance and genitals will be revoked."
"Yes, sir." Steve sounds grimmer than grim, and has only looked more and more miserable as the situation has been more fully explained.
"I'm honestly kind of appalled that you think you need to worry about that, Fury," Tony says, folding his arms over his chest.
"My shield-brother speaks truly. It is unseemly for a warrior to be enthralled, and only honorless dogs would make use of such a thing!" Thor is nearly as upset as Steve, who had been physically ill at the first situation report, and puts a comforting arm around each of the others. Tony pretends to ignore it but leans into him, and Steve doesn't bother to pretend, looking about six years old and full of deep upsettedness. Clint is hanging back and observing, and Bruce is taking deep, silent breaths. Coulson sighs, stretching his legs and then setting his feet back on the rests of his wheelchair. "Sir, you know how I feel."
Fury softens a little. "I do. I guess I trust you motherfuckers, but so help me…"
"We understand, sir," Steve says. "Thank you."
Natasha hangs around Medical for a few days, and Clint doesn't visit after crawling through some nearby vents and finding a red pen cap, one of her signals for wanting to be left alone. He figures she's embarrassed, and he can see why. But eventually she comes sauntering back in, full of the I meant to do that, and did it perfectly of a cat that has just fallen off of something high.
"Hey, Romanov!" Tony calls, only a little more manic than usual. "Just fixing my first drink of the day, you want one?"
"Only your first? You usually don't wait for four pm."
"Just woke up. Wodka?"
"What are you having?"
"Scotch on the rocks."
"I like that well enough. Don't bother getting something else out."