***BLOG ON HIATUS*** AVENGERS. Clintasha. Also Steve/Tony, Science Bros, pretty much anything you can think of, I've probably shipped it at some point and can write a decent enough little fic just for you.
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Clintasha (Blackhawk) fic
Natasha downs another shot as Clint husks the words to American Pie into the microphone. He drops a wink in her direction and she laughs as several women in the bar whistle.
Tony presses yet another shot into her hand, intent on getting her drunk enough to sing.
“I’m not doing it, Stark,” she shouts over the noise. He shakes his head.
“Not an option, Romanoff,” he retorts. She downs the shot and grimaces.
Clint finishes singing and makes his way back to the bar, followed by applause and several wolf-whistles. Natasha laughs, because what else would she do? Clint’s attractive, he can sing, why wouldn’t women be interested in him? Not that she is, of course.
“Come on,” Tony whines, “Just sing, Romanoff.”
Clint’s eyes light up. “Natasha’s going to sing?”
“Yeah,” Tony grins.
“I’m not!” Natasha protests.
“Oh, go on, Nat,” Clint pleads, his eyes wide. “I’ve never heard you sing!”
Steve overhears and joins in the chorus of begging, until Natasha slams her glass down.
“Fine!” she shouts, to several cheers.
She goes to the guy manning the microphone and whispers in his ear. The man grins and passes her the microphone. At the press of a button, the track to a slow jazz song starts up. Natasha shakes her head, her magnificent hair spilling over her shoulders and falling in her eyes. Clint notes that the light hits her creamy skin in a way that accents her short black dress with the plunging neckline.
She starts to sing, and the whistling begins, along with the catcalls, drunken offers of sex or money, or both. She wards it all off, singing huskily, gazing at Clint the entire time. By the end of the song, he is itching to get off the barstool and grab her, but when she goes offstage she breezes right past him and out of the bar. He follows her, ignoring the jibes from Tony.
He finds her leaning against the wall outside, and before she can say a word his lips are on hers and he is pressing her against the bricks. Then her hands are on his back, his neck, in his hair, and she is kissing him back, grinning as if in triumph-
“Get a room,” Tony complains. They break apart to find the billionaire and Steve both grinning at them.
“No, you,” Natasha retorts evenly, and yanks Clint back into a kiss.
Tony and Steve wait for a solid five minutes before giving up and heading home without the assassins.