sherlockians we have a job for you
deduce the shit out of this
my not-so-secret headcanon for this moment goes a little like this:
“He’s pretty like this, with the gag keeping him quiet,” Natasha whispers to him in Russian. She pulls away and raises an eyebrow at him. “Not as pretty as you’d be, though.”
Clint smiles, a shiver of anticipation racing its way up his spine, and suppresses the urge to step a little closer to her.
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