Clint fucking loves it when you wear his clothes. (T for sensual content)

The days in Manhattan were only getting colder. November had come and gone and now December was here to play. The locals went from a few layers to a few more, and the tourists were stuck buying sweater after sweater in the largest stores they could find. The days were chilly enough, but when the night set in, it was like you needed ski gear to even dream of walking outside.

After a night on the town with your boyfriend, Clint, you both came home to a warm floor all to yourselves in Stark Towers. You walked out of the elevator, shimmying off your coats and tossing them to the coat rack. Both of you had pink cheeks, but only you had contracted the sniffles from the brutal cold.
“Don’t get sick now,” Clint warned, smiling at you and making you pout.

“I’m not going to get sick,” You assured him, going into your shared bedroom with Clint close behind. You were both pretty set for bed at this point, honestly. After a nice dinner and some dancing, it was about time you both got some sleep.

You stripped out of your jeans and long johns, pulling your several shirts over your head along with your scarf, gloves, and beanie. You sifted through your dresser, finding your favourite pair of soft, worn out leggings. You moved to a different drawer, grabbing an oversized blue sweater. Your bra came off and the sweater went on, and from there you casually slipped into bed. Clint had been watching you a little bit, though, and he slid on a black sweater to sleep in along with some pajama pants. Clint joined you in bed before noticing something a little out of the ordinary.

“Oh,” Clint said, causing you to say, “Oh?” Back, with slight confusion.

“This looks familiar,” Clint said, gently pulling at the ends of your sweater and eliciting an eruption of giggles from you.

“Stop it, I’m borrowing it for the night. Is that okay?”

“Oh, (y/n), how kind of you to ask,” He feigned annoyance and you just grinned.

“You’re just mad because I look better in this sweater than you do.”

You totally did, Clint wasn’t going to lie. But the curve ball that hit Clint was how much that idea turned him on. You in his clothes. His clothes were huge on you and it was the cutest damn thing in the world to him. Clint shrugged at you before leaning across you and placing a kiss on your lips. You parted, and after a second he was pressing his lips against yours again, but harder this time.

You parted after a second again, gasping, “Clint,” Before he kissed you again. He slid his hands down your arms, grabbing your hands and pinning them to the mattress while his lips trailed to your neck. You let out a soft moan of approval, gently biting down on your lower lip and rolling it between your teeth. Clint started to work on a hickey, and you gasped again.

He parted from your skin to say, “You in my clothes is just about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The second he finished the last syllable, his mouth was on your skin again. You whimpered under him, pleading and moaning his name again and again like a prayer. You would have kept going, but-

“Mister Barton. Mister Rogers would like to know where you put his boxing gloves.” JARVIS’s voice rang out.

Clint detached himself from your skin with a popping sound that made you shudder. He made a face.

“Tell him I’m in the middle of something,” Clint slid around his hand around your body to grab your ass, kneading it and making your toes curl and you grin.

“He’s requesting you to come down to the training floor.”

Clint groaned. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Thank you sir,” JARVIS said as he disconnected from the intercom. Clint kissed you quickly, pulling away from you.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Stay right there,” He told you.

You weren’t moving for anything.

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