one-shot collection [multi-fandom]

Budapest || Clintasha

45 missions.

The two of them had been on 45 missions together, but this one was definitely a first.

~0~

Location: Budapest.

Target: Juhász Krisztián, leader of the Fekete Gyémánt drug cartel.

Cover: Newlywed couple on their honeymoon.

Seemed simple enough; a couple on their honeymoon looking for something extra to make it a little more fun, flash around a little bit of cash and get a meeting with Juhász Krisztián, of which Natasha will distract the man while Clint slips an altered compound of dimethylmercury into the man's drink, they leave, and the poison will take a hold of the target within a few hours.

Simple enough.

~0~

"'Just slip the man the poison' they said, 'Nat will distract them' they said." Clint bitterly muttered to himself as he changed out of his jeans and into- were these speedos?

When Clint clambered out from behind the curtain, he was met with the giggles of both Krisztián and Nat, the former spectacularly drunk, the latter only pretending to be so. Maybe. A glance at the empty bottle of vodka on the table didn't help his doubts.

In nothing more than a purple pair of speedos, Clint swaggered over to the man they were trying to kill with more grace and poise than a man in his underpants should possess.

As the shorter man slid into the targets lap, placing his hands on the man's chest, one hand sliding up around the back of his neck, the other wrapping around the man's waist, sliding between the couch and his back, palm pressed firmly against the small of his back. Had it been anyone else in any other situation, the movement could only be described as tender.

As his hands finally came to rest, Krisztián's giggling trailed off until he was completely silent, the only sound in the room was a deep shuddering breath as the man between the assassins legs shifted uncomfortably. The only other person present had gone suspiciously quiet.

Without glancing away from where Clint was holding Krisztián's gaze, he reached out for the glass the target had been drinking from. Bringing the drink to his own lips, Clint took a minute sip. To Krisztián, it was daring and seductive, to Clint, he was convincing the target that the glass was okay to drink from.

Slowly Clint pulled his hand from where it had been wedged between the couch and the targets back, and reached forward with both hands, clasping the drink behind the Hungarian drug lords head. In response, the man sitting on the couch was what anyone could classify as entranced; his gaze refused to leave that of Clint's as he leant forward, eyes only flickering down to the shorter man's lips as his tongue darted out to moisten them before returning once more to lock with blue eyes.

At the back of his mind, Clint knew that Nat had gone suspiciously quiet and that he should be worried, but so focused on the man whose lap he was perched on, he figured he could address that later.

That was, until, a knock interrupted them.

Pulling away slightly, Clint took this moment to glance back over his shoulder at both Nat and the door. He did not expect to see his partner sprawled across the couch, dead asleep, chest slowly rising in sleep, glass of vodka still half full in her hand.

After shouting a quick phrase in rapid Hungarian to the man behind the door, the drug lords expression that had hardened softened as he noticed Clint's gaze lingering on the form of his "wife."

"Do not stress. I did not feel like having an audience, a simple sedative was laced on the inside of her glass. She will wake in the morning as if none of this ever happened."

Knowing he would now have to continue the assassination on his own, he slowly slid off the man's lap, padding over to Nat. In an effort to make her "comfortable," he removed the drink from her hand, placing it on the table, Krisztián's drink still in his other hand, as he slipped off her heels and adjusted her head on one of the couch cushions, disguising his movements as he slipped the poison into the glass still in his hand.

Noting the bed against the far wall, he continued on, glancing over his shoulder. "You coming?"

The grin on the Hungarian man's face spread until it appeared almost predatory. He stalked forward until he was looming over Clint. He may have been taller than Clint's 5'9 stature, but the half foot difference wasn't as intimidating when he was as skinny as a rake and pretty much all limbs.

Finally taking the glass from Clint's offered hand, he drained the rest of the glass before tossing it over his shoulder. The impact of the glass on the wall startled Clint, or so Krisztián thought, before he collapsed on the bed, pulling the taller man down with him.

A beat passed, then two, before silently, the Hungarian drug lords eyes widened before glazing over in a sudden bout of paralysis.

Caught off guard at the poison working significantly faster than expected, Clint quickly slid the man's eyes shut, so it appeared as if he were sleeping, before lightly jogging over to try and rouse his partner. By the time he had got there, she was already sitting up and had begun reaching for her shoes.

"Next time you pretend to drink, don't leave me on my own."

At the man's clipped comment, Natasha Romanoff merely smirked. "I had to get knocked out, I could smell the sedative on the glass. We couldn't jeopardise the mission."

Clint's scowl only deepened as he hurriedly dressed. The pair of them slipping out the door, Clint whispered to the guard that the man inside was sleeping, only to receive a smirk in response.

Shaking off the irritation he felt rising from the look he received, the two assassins linked fingers and strolled out the door, escorted by the same man which had begun to irritate Clint.

Finally stepping out into the streets, a final comment from the thug almost threw Clint over the edge. "Since clearly your husband is unable to satisfy you, call me any time." The man's Italian accent barely phased him as Nat wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Oh he satisfies me plenty."

And with that, Nat wrapped her arm up around Clint's neck, bringing his lips down to hers, meeting in a passionate dance, before softening into something tender. Finally pulling away, Nat smirked at the stunned Italian thug before sauntering off to the safe house the two master assassins were supposed to be at an hour ago.