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Clint Barton knew he was in for a heap of trouble when Natasha Romanoff walked through the door of the speakeasy that night. She was dressed head to toe in black, befitting someone who had earned the title of “Black Widow” after a string of husbands all died mysteriously within a year of marrying the redheaded bombshell. The little jewels sewn into her gown and headband sparkled in the dim lighting as she moved through the crowd. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her - she painted quite the picture.
Natasha walked up to him, kohl-rimmed eyes sparkling like the stones that decorated her body. She leaned in close to make sure he could hear her over the band.
“Got a light?”