Natasha's hand strokes over the back of his head as he leans into her shoulder, holding the quiet as she lets him have that moment to think. Her fingers curl into his hair when he starts to speak, and she listens with a sad half smile on her lips. Even if she can't help the quiet chuckle that escapes when he references what he'd meant in the kitchen. Even that shows her that he can get where he wants to be with enough time and space to get there - the fact that he can suddenly voice it when he'd shied away from it earlier. But she knows that needing the time and space is part of what's frustrating. There's no guarantees of when for any of it.
There's not a lot she can offer to help, but there is at least one thing.
"Look at it this way," she says after a moment, "you know you like those things. There's other things that you can remember doing. You've done them before. Which means you'll be able to do them again. But this is the first time you've had so many opportunities to make choices. You'll get to the things you want to do when you're ready."
"Sometimes I think we should really just tear each others clothes on and get it on with..." he chuckles against her shoulder but makes no move to suggest that he's actually going to make a move on her. His head is still on her shoulder and he drapes an arm around her waist, fingers sliding against her side slowly over her shirt.
"What was it you said I called it the first time, muddling? How'd we make it past that bit, was my dick just really hard?" He huffs out a laugh obviously joking about the last bit.
His comment is met with a snort of laughter, her fingers giving his hair a gentle, playful tug. "Muddling like teenagers on prom night," she elaborates as the corner of her mouth twitches into a little smile. Even though she's teasing him, there's a hint of fondness in her voice. It's a good memory. Even if the events that led up to that night in the hotel room weren't exactly good themselves.
She's quiet and thoughtful for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his hand moving along her side as she strokes the back of his neck. Even though he'd been joking, she doesn't mind finding an answer.
"It was the first time I was with someone that knew who I was. And you talked about how you could think of things you'd like to do, but you couldn't remember doing them." There's a pause, and it's obvious by her tone that she's smirking when she continues. "I think it helped too that we'd been undercover in a strip club. You really liked watching me dance."
He lifts his head and looks her in the eyes. His eyes are squinting like he's looking for some sort of of memory that's hiding in his brain. Working for it trying to picture her dancing in a strip club but instead he just shakes his head.
"Did you murder someone with your hairpins, Natasha?" He asks curiously, wondering if that was the actual mission that he was thinking of. A shiver runs down his spine as the thinking about it. He knows she's the best Widow that ever was made out of the red room, but there's still something terrifying about the ruthlessness of that level of killing.
And hot, something very very hot about it. He moves to straddle her as he waits for a response.
Natasha meets his gaze patiently as she watches him try to find a corresponding memory. There's maybe a hint of amusement there, an upward tick at the corner of her mouth. That expression is strangely familiar to her. That sense that he knows something is there if he can just turn over the right stone. A few times she'd woken him up after a mission, after his handlers wiped him, she'd seen that exact face as he began to recognize her.
It's why she can never be mad at him for forgetting her. She always surfaces again in the end.
His question doesn't surprise her, but her head tips a little, her eyes skimming his expression. She shifts back onto her back as he moves over her. It's an interesting response - maybe a little bit afraid. Maybe a little bit into it.
"Yes."
There's no point in lying to him about it. There never has been. "He was helping to butcher the women at the club. Dreykov sent me on that mission to prove that he could still make me vicious." A better person would have seen the club owners arrested and put away forever with the evidence they'd gathered. Every day, she tries to be a better person. For all the red in her ledger, from that night, what she regrets most is that she proved Dreykov right.
He frowns as he settles back on his knees, sitting on her thighs. The idea of cannibalism that was just discussed throwing him off even more cocking his head to the side. He's turning over more things in his brain, trying to unlock things that may stay there. He might not get anymore of this, but it's a win to at least remember any of that night together. It seems like it was important.
"Is it bad that I find it kind of attractive?" he asks curiously, it's not about what was going on at the club, but her viciousness that he's referring to.
"You giving men what they deserve, making them pay for their crimes, I mean?" It's a half question, half statement that he sounds confused about even as he asks it. He reaches out both hands to run down her upper arms stroking them affectionately though, trying to reassure himself and ground him while he does so.
Natasha can't help but chuckle a little at the question he finally lands on, though it sounds more like she's surprised by the question than anything. And that she's more charmed than genuinely amused. "No." One shoulder lifts in a shrug to punctuate her response, and she watches him as he explains it. She can tell he's easing a foot out onto shaky ground.
"You asked me a few times in the Red Room if your metal arm bothered me. And it doesn't because it's just a part of you. Violence has been a part of both of our lives for a long time. And it can even be attractive. It's nice to know the person you're with can handle themselves and anything the world throws at them." As she talks, she shifts her own arms so she can return the gesture, her hands running over the backs of his arms as his trail over her upper arms.
Given how often the world decides to throw things, well. She can't say he's the only one who finds that sort of righteous violence appealing.
He's torn between leaning back into her hands, and exploring more. It feels nice when Natasha touches him, the kind of touches that slowly pull every bit of tension from him. Of course, they wind up his stomach in an entirely different way, but he decides to push past it and lean down to give her another long, slow kiss.
There were some promises about making out for a long time, so maybe this was the way to start. He brings one hand up from her shoulder to her cheek and cups it gently as he kisses her long and slow until they're both breathless because it's been going on for so long. What is time anyways?
Her chin tips up so she can meet him for the kiss. She lets herself enjoy it as it lingers, her fingertips stroking slowly down the length of his back and up again. It's a nice opportunity to enjoy the warmth of his body and the closeness between them. There's something almost nostalgic about it, a reminder of their stolen moments caught up in dark corners and empty rooms. It's hard to think they might actually have time now. But no surprise that her feelings haven't changed over the years.
Her cheeks are a little pink as the kiss winds down, and she bumps her nose against his playfully as she takes a breath. Her eyes study his for a moment as she considers her answer and how to phrase it.
He can't help but flush a little more at that response shaking his head. He didn't mean to suggest she wasn't her at all, he hadn't been even thinking it in that sort of way. His eyes are soft though, as he watches her shaking his head slowly.
"Natalia, I didn't mean to suggest you could actually belong to anyone..." he murmurs softly. It's a funny comment, they had both previously belonged to the Red Room, many years ago. Yet, even in those times, he has an idea that Natasha could never truly belong to anyone.
"I just meant, more..." he brings up a hand to stroke his fingers along the side of his cheek, "How am I the guy that's lucky enough that you wanna do this stuff with."
It's strangely charming, the way he blushes when he asks questions like this. There's an intimacy to them that's somehow even more vulnerable than making out in bed. The corner of her mouth lifts in a little smile as she moves her arm around him to run her fingers down his back.
"You were the only one that ever saw me." Not just the things that she can do, or how efficient she is, though that's certainly a part of it too. They both have all these layers. All this pain. All this great capacity for violence. And at the end of the day, the only place she wants to be is right there with him. "You make me better. And I think I make you better too."
He nods, that seems reasonable to him. He wishes he could force more memories, know him better. He has to trust the process though so he leans in and gives her forehead a kiss in agreement.
"I'm sure you make me better," he reassures her, "I don't have those memories, but I can feel it deep down somehow. Instinct or something?"
He doesn't know how to explain it so that will have to do. This desire to fold her up in his arms and keep her close to him. To protect her more then anything, it's all too much so instead he just dips down to give her another kiss.
"Anyone who couldn't see you is an idiot, you're right here, perfect."
His handlers always had a hard time erasing her completely. It wouldn't surprise her if there were more memories buried somewhere deep, underneath the layers of electricity and ice. But she was in no rush for him to try to get to them. Like she'd said before, she'd take him anyway he came. "We can call it instinct," she agrees with a smile. It's a nice way of phrasing it. Her hand shifts so she can run her fingers back through his hair as she returns the kiss.
Even if his follow up comment makes her chuckle a little. "I don't make it easy for people," she points out. So many years of her life had been spent on the run, never settling in one place or telling enough of the truth to let people close. But he always saw through it. Right to the heart of her. Not perfect in the traditional sense of the world, but perfect exactly as she is.
It's hard not to get lost in the nostalgia, in what it means for her to have him back in her life at all. Any time they have together is more time than she ever thought they'd get to have. Her smile looks a little fond as she runs her finger down the bridge of his nose. "How about we don't worry about the past today? It'll come back when it's ready. What do you want to do?"
He wants to argue with her, and protest that surely she can't make it that hard for people. Something in him deep down wants to defend her but he doesn't actually know anything to do that, it's just his gut. Some deep hidden feelings for the woman who lay under him as he leans down to press more kisses to her lips.
That's his answer really, distracting himself from the past while kissing her. It's easy to be like this, to be touching and carefree and when he pulls back form the kiss he blushes.
"I wanna do you," he murmurs against her lips before ducking his head down to kiss her neck so he doesn't have to watch for her reaction.
It's a good thing that he immediately buried his face in her neck, because the look on her face is a mixture of fondness and something that seems to say this man is absolutely absurd. And maybe a hint of recognition that she's also absurd for being into it. There's a momentary pause as her hand curls around the back of his neck, and then she can't help but let out a little laugh. It's a warm laugh, at least - a sorry, I'm not laughing at you one. She squeezes the back of his neck gently and then runs her hand down between his shoulder blades.
"That may be the sweetest proposition I've ever heard," she informs him, her voice pitched low and full of affectionate humor. She lets her hand rub over his back, tipping her head as she gives herself a moment to think. "How about you get back up here and kiss me again and you can feel me up?" she suggests. She's fairly confident that he's not really ready for sex, but she's pretty sure he'll enjoy letting his hands wander.
He's probably not ready, if he's honest with himself. But right now Natasha is under him, laughing gently, touching him and it makes him feel on top of the world. It's very easy to get distracted as he presses kisses to her neck affectionately. It's easy to pretend you're less embarrassed when you're giving kisses and trying to find all her sensitive spots.
He pulls back to give her a smile when she offers the kisses and trip to second base.
"Is it even sweeter then telling you were were muddlin'?" He asks teasingly and leans in to press a few long lazy kisses to her lips. His hands wander over her stomach across her shirt, like he's not quite ready to get up under them yet. He's planning on it, but he's taking his time.
"You know, it might just edge out the muddlin'," Natasha answers, sounding amused even as she says it. It's not like you really can compare moments like that. Especially when she's the only one holding a lot of their shared memories at the moment. But she thinks that letting it be more than something he can remember might be a good place to start. Give him the opportunity to build some new shared memories.
Even though she typically likes to be in charge in the bedroom, she doesn't mind ceding that sense of control to him. She returns the kisses he leans in for, lazy and lingering. Her hands trace slow, idle paths up and down the length of his back. Though her mouth does quirk in a little smile as she feels his hands moving over her shit. In response, she slides her hands down to give his ass a quick, playful squeeze.
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There's not a lot she can offer to help, but there is at least one thing.
"Look at it this way," she says after a moment, "you know you like those things. There's other things that you can remember doing. You've done them before. Which means you'll be able to do them again. But this is the first time you've had so many opportunities to make choices. You'll get to the things you want to do when you're ready."
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"What was it you said I called it the first time, muddling? How'd we make it past that bit, was my dick just really hard?" He huffs out a laugh obviously joking about the last bit.
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She's quiet and thoughtful for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his hand moving along her side as she strokes the back of his neck. Even though he'd been joking, she doesn't mind finding an answer.
"It was the first time I was with someone that knew who I was. And you talked about how you could think of things you'd like to do, but you couldn't remember doing them." There's a pause, and it's obvious by her tone that she's smirking when she continues. "I think it helped too that we'd been undercover in a strip club. You really liked watching me dance."
no subject
"Did you murder someone with your hairpins, Natasha?" He asks curiously, wondering if that was the actual mission that he was thinking of. A shiver runs down his spine as the thinking about it. He knows she's the best Widow that ever was made out of the red room, but there's still something terrifying about the ruthlessness of that level of killing.
And hot, something very very hot about it. He moves to straddle her as he waits for a response.
no subject
It's why she can never be mad at him for forgetting her. She always surfaces again in the end.
His question doesn't surprise her, but her head tips a little, her eyes skimming his expression. She shifts back onto her back as he moves over her. It's an interesting response - maybe a little bit afraid. Maybe a little bit into it.
"Yes."
There's no point in lying to him about it. There never has been. "He was helping to butcher the women at the club. Dreykov sent me on that mission to prove that he could still make me vicious." A better person would have seen the club owners arrested and put away forever with the evidence they'd gathered. Every day, she tries to be a better person. For all the red in her ledger, from that night, what she regrets most is that she proved Dreykov right.
no subject
"Is it bad that I find it kind of attractive?" he asks curiously, it's not about what was going on at the club, but her viciousness that he's referring to.
"You giving men what they deserve, making them pay for their crimes, I mean?" It's a half question, half statement that he sounds confused about even as he asks it. He reaches out both hands to run down her upper arms stroking them affectionately though, trying to reassure himself and ground him while he does so.
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"You asked me a few times in the Red Room if your metal arm bothered me. And it doesn't because it's just a part of you. Violence has been a part of both of our lives for a long time. And it can even be attractive. It's nice to know the person you're with can handle themselves and anything the world throws at them." As she talks, she shifts her own arms so she can return the gesture, her hands running over the backs of his arms as his trail over her upper arms.
Given how often the world decides to throw things, well. She can't say he's the only one who finds that sort of righteous violence appealing.
no subject
There were some promises about making out for a long time, so maybe this was the way to start. He brings one hand up from her shoulder to her cheek and cups it gently as he kisses her long and slow until they're both breathless because it's been going on for so long. What is time anyways?
"Are you really mine?"
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Her cheeks are a little pink as the kiss winds down, and she bumps her nose against his playfully as she takes a breath. Her eyes study his for a moment as she considers her answer and how to phrase it.
"I'm my own. But I've always been yours too."
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"Natalia, I didn't mean to suggest you could actually belong to anyone..." he murmurs softly. It's a funny comment, they had both previously belonged to the Red Room, many years ago. Yet, even in those times, he has an idea that Natasha could never truly belong to anyone.
"I just meant, more..." he brings up a hand to stroke his fingers along the side of his cheek, "How am I the guy that's lucky enough that you wanna do this stuff with."
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"You were the only one that ever saw me." Not just the things that she can do, or how efficient she is, though that's certainly a part of it too. They both have all these layers. All this pain. All this great capacity for violence. And at the end of the day, the only place she wants to be is right there with him. "You make me better. And I think I make you better too."
Even when he's not sure who she is.
no subject
"I'm sure you make me better," he reassures her, "I don't have those memories, but I can feel it deep down somehow. Instinct or something?"
He doesn't know how to explain it so that will have to do. This desire to fold her up in his arms and keep her close to him. To protect her more then anything, it's all too much so instead he just dips down to give her another kiss.
"Anyone who couldn't see you is an idiot, you're right here, perfect."
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Even if his follow up comment makes her chuckle a little. "I don't make it easy for people," she points out. So many years of her life had been spent on the run, never settling in one place or telling enough of the truth to let people close. But he always saw through it. Right to the heart of her. Not perfect in the traditional sense of the world, but perfect exactly as she is.
It's hard not to get lost in the nostalgia, in what it means for her to have him back in her life at all. Any time they have together is more time than she ever thought they'd get to have. Her smile looks a little fond as she runs her finger down the bridge of his nose. "How about we don't worry about the past today? It'll come back when it's ready. What do you want to do?"
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That's his answer really, distracting himself from the past while kissing her. It's easy to be like this, to be touching and carefree and when he pulls back form the kiss he blushes.
"I wanna do you," he murmurs against her lips before ducking his head down to kiss her neck so he doesn't have to watch for her reaction.
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"That may be the sweetest proposition I've ever heard," she informs him, her voice pitched low and full of affectionate humor. She lets her hand rub over his back, tipping her head as she gives herself a moment to think. "How about you get back up here and kiss me again and you can feel me up?" she suggests. She's fairly confident that he's not really ready for sex, but she's pretty sure he'll enjoy letting his hands wander.
no subject
He pulls back to give her a smile when she offers the kisses and trip to second base.
"Is it even sweeter then telling you were were muddlin'?" He asks teasingly and leans in to press a few long lazy kisses to her lips. His hands wander over her stomach across her shirt, like he's not quite ready to get up under them yet. He's planning on it, but he's taking his time.
no subject
Even though she typically likes to be in charge in the bedroom, she doesn't mind ceding that sense of control to him. She returns the kisses he leans in for, lazy and lingering. Her hands trace slow, idle paths up and down the length of his back. Though her mouth does quirk in a little smile as she feels his hands moving over her shit. In response, she slides her hands down to give his ass a quick, playful squeeze.