Post-Canon: New Zealand, with Clint - Vacation

[redintheledger]

Natasha has a beach cottage, a damn comfortable couch, and a book (Japanese, all magical realism and folklore). There is also a glass of wine on the coffee table, a cushion underneath her head, and a Russian metal a cappella band on the stereo.

She is feeling decadent.

Moderately decadent, anyway; it's not as if she and Clint have pulled one of their 'let's book out the honeymoon suite' stunts. This is a perfectly nice, perfectly modest little cottage they've rented, and she's feeling relaxed enough that she only has a knife strapped to her shin underneath her jeans.

All she is really missing is a Clint, but she's not going to actively worry about him unless he doesn't turn up in the next hour.

Comments

[redintheledger]

"Oh, that's not fair."

[hasthehighground]

"I've got almost two hours!" Clint says, offended. "How is that not fair?"

The menu is showing basically nothing good so far.

[redintheledger]

"It just...is," she says, sinking further into the couch in an apparent sulk.

An apparent sulk that ends up wit her shifting everything so she can sulk while resting her head against his arm.




"Is anything on at four in New Zealand?"

[hasthehighground]

"Not sure," he says, thoughtful. "We did come here because it's boring."

Beautiful, has awesome places to hike/explore some caves, maybe sail. But boring, for their lives. (Boring is nice.)

"Oh, hey," he says, "Die Hard?"

[redintheledger]

She had been thinking about seducing, curling her hand over his inner thigh and whispering things they could do to pass the time until the remote comes into her control, but her hands pauses on his knee.

Explosions.

Violence.

No mind-control.

"Excellent suggestion."

[hasthehighground]

Well, it's Die Hard.

The movie itself is watched in fairly complete silence (except for some mocking of the terrorists and the guy who tries very poorly to negotiate with them) because, unlike G.I. Joe, it is in fact a fantastic movie.

[redintheledger]

And as the credits roll, Natasha applauds.

"That is how you do a good movie," she announces to the room at large.

[hasthehighground]

"I'll never win out against Alan Rickman, will I?" he asks, turning to face her seriously.

[redintheledger]

"He's Alan Rickman, Clint. So. Yeah, you're not going to. Ever."

She may pat him on the head.

[hasthehighground]

He doesn't say the joke that immediately pops to mind (that he, at least, isn't a morally shady character who habitually gets killed at the end of movies). So instead he says, head ducked so he's talking low and in her ear "Remind me to track Rickman's location."

Because otherwise Rickman would be the one running brushing his right hand over her waist and kissing her. And that would be sad.

(It's 6:15.)

[redintheledger]

"I wouldn't stop you," she says, kissing him back.

He's a good kisser. She's always thought this, always appreciated it.

She's also going to lean into the kiss, lean into him, and lean over to grab the remote.

[hasthehighground]

Clint shifts with her movement, deeping the kiss; he appears to lose his balance slightly, knocking the remote control off the sofa.

He totally doesn't kick it under the coffee table. That was strategic repositioning of his foot to aid balance.

[redintheledger]

...!

This calls for a rapid rethinking of tactics. The agent's solution?

Start to pull him to her, so she can slide down onto the couch with him on to top of her, which'll nicely give her a better angle to fumble underneath the coffee table for the remote.

This new tactic cannot possibly fail.

[hasthehighground]

... yeah there's not much left Clint can do to keep her away from it, other than to resist the pulling slightly so she is lightly pinned against the seam of the couch.

He draws her lower lip into his mouth, nipping at it lightly. Engage: distraction tactics!

[redintheledger]

Mission: Obtain Remote has run briefly into yet another obstacle, as the enemy's distraction tactics appear to work!

For a moment, her hands are just roaming his body, pulling him closer, enjoying it all because oh, yes, she does lov-

Right.

Yes.

Mission: Obtain Remote is now fully operational, because the channel changes to some very exited people talking about rhododendrons.

[hasthehighground]

...damn.

Clint eyes her for a moment, then understanding his cause to be Lost, kisses her and sits up, left arm still curved around her lower back.

[redintheledger]

Just for being a gracious loser, he gets another, very thorough kiss.

And now, the remote is hers!





Of course, now she has to find something decent to watch. Iron Chef isn't going to start for another hour.

Problem.

[hasthehighground]

"Maybe I should go pick up take-out," Clint says, thoughtfully. The Iron Chef isn't actually that bad, though it loses his attention a lot faster than Nat's. Random gardening programs, on the other hand...

[redintheledger]

"It's an idea! Do you...feel like anything in particular?"

Channel flicking; game-show, news, gardening, soap-opera, lots of muscled men running around with a ball and tackling each other while wearing very short shorts...

She might pause her finger on this channel for a moment.

[hasthehighground]

...

Clint is laughing silently, chest rattling with it. "How about I grab Thai, and you commune with the eyecandy."

[redintheledger]

"What excellent ideas you have, darling," she says, cheerful as any overly sweet housewife in a commercial.

Mmm, rugby players.

"Red Thai curry for me."

[hasthehighground]

"Sure thing," he says, standing up and headed out, grabbing his wallet off the side table.

"Enjoy yourself."

[redintheledger]

"Oh, I will," she says, and leans back against the couch to enjoy the spectacle.

(She'll have changed the TV to something else by the time he gets back, because eyecandy does get boring fairly quickly.)

[hasthehighground]

Clint's back in thirty minutes because, even though he called the restaurant on his way there (one medium beef red thai, and a mild chicken & eggplant sautee), they were well-prepared for speedy takeout orders.

He sets the order on the table, and sits on the arm of the couch. "Why," he asks, after a moment, "is America's Funniest Home Videos even a thing, here?"

[redintheledger]

Fooood. She arises, like Aphrodite from the water (or, possibly, like a zombie from the grave) and drifts over to the table.

She appears to drift.

She's very good at appearing.

"I," she says, taking the containers out of the bag, "haven't got the faintest idea."