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This wasn’t the strangest predicament Natasha had ever found Clint in, though it did top the list at most amusing. She did little to hide her laughter as she strode over to him. Clint was naked as the day he was born and bound by the ankles and wrists to an ornate wrought iron bed that belonged to the head of an international crime syndicate who they had just taken down – or rather, who she had taken down while Clint served as the… distraction, so to speak. While she had taken out the mark, Clint was supposedly keeping his girlfriend occupied.
“Don’t laugh,” he said, completely not amused by the situation, “just get me out of these things and find my pants.”
“Be lucky I’m not taking pictures, Barton,” she replied, very amused by the situation, “How did you not slip these?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, she was armed when you busted down the doors. Can’t really defend myself with a decorative pillow.”
Natasha got him loose and found his dress pants, tossing them over to him. The rest of the team was already in the mansion, sweeping the other rooms for anyone who may have hidden when the bullets started flying. Aside from Clint’s little mishap, everything had gone pretty smoothly. Once he had dressed, she walked out of the bedroom with him.
“Maybe when we get back, I can help teach you how to slip a set of restraints,” Natasha said with a smirk and Clint steadied himself against the bannister.