choo choo

The fabulous noblealice has outdone herself again, and wrote me (!!!! I'm so spoiled) another birthday fic this year. Trust me when I say this had me swooning in delight.

Title: never go to bed angry
Pairing: clint barton/natasha romanov; the avengers
Rating: r
wordcount: 2,000+

“Y’know Tasha, my mama had this rule ‘bout going to bed angry. Said it wasn’t healthy.”

Her hair had grown in some, long enough that he had to brush it to the side over her shoulder, leaving more skin for his hands to explore. “And I’m picking up some traces of anger here.”

He made a fist with one hand and kneaded a line down between her shoulder blades with his knuckles and her head tilted slightly forward, giving him the signal he needed to continue.

He began running his palms down her arms, expelling more tension with each pass, “Got me to wondering, if that’s how she felt about sleep, you can imagine how she’d feel about starting a highly dangerous mission when wanting to kill your partner.”

“That’s a bit extreme, Barton.” She twisted her chin to the side so he could see the beginnings of a smirk. “I don’t want to kill you. Perhaps maim you.”

In the course of this evening I've gone through the small journey of wondering how to say a few things in Russian, to believing I could totally learn the language through the intrepid use of wikipedia and google translate, to deciding that Russian is actually insane and probably just an elaborate practical joke the Russians are playing on the rest of the world. (They would.)

Basically; for those not in the know, I am in a massive spiral and it's not going anywhere yet. I would ask for help ...but I'm having too much fun.

(But honestly, there needs to be a Natasha Romanoff fic called the girl on fire. I would try to write it, but I keep getting distracted trying to understand Russian diminutives.

So let's pretend this is a fic amnesty thing, and here's what I got:

( She's been with SHIELD a week when she spars with Agent Barton in a training room. She isn't an agent herself yet, but a barely-tolerated liability, her every movement scrutinized and studied for the slightest slip in her loyalties. Let them scrutinize this, she thinks, and makes a jab for Barton's lower ribs. )

If anyone wants to make something of this jumble, go nuts!)

In the meantime, I think I feel a Doctor Zhivago* reread coming on. Maybe I've still got my notes on all the characters' BAJILLION DIFFERENT NAMES. Or I could just sneak off with my dad's copy of Russian folktales. I always liked the one with the little flying horse. It has pictures. ;D

*Fun fact! My copy of Doctor Zhivago smells like chocolate, thanks to the time in highschool that I forgot it in my bag with a melting fudgesicle. Moral of the story: irresponsible book care sometimes leads to awesome results!