[ She takes the clothes, puts them on. Gives him a quick Look through the thick of her red hair when she's shimmying back into her underwear of the Don't say anything variety. There's a small face as she shifts her legs. The realities of gravity after sex are, you know, substantially less fun, so she zips up her jeans and says mildly, ]
Me too.
[ The 4am of Berlin: notoriously ill-timed. Something a little tender still flares in her chest when she looks at him. It's better, now that she knows what to do with it -- she doesn't reach for him, hands pressed behind her at the countertop's edge, but she looks at him openly.
Natasha does that now. Because she likes him, as a person. ]
We should do it again sometime.
[ She says it a little like it's funny, because it sort of is. It feels rote. Natasha says it anyway, because the benefit of intimacy is, occasionally, saying things that are true for the sake of meaning them. ]
no subject
Me too.
[ The 4am of Berlin: notoriously ill-timed. Something a little tender still flares in her chest when she looks at him. It's better, now that she knows what to do with it -- she doesn't reach for him, hands pressed behind her at the countertop's edge, but she looks at him openly.
Natasha does that now. Because she likes him, as a person. ]
We should do it again sometime.
[ She says it a little like it's funny, because it sort of is. It feels rote. Natasha says it anyway, because the benefit of intimacy is, occasionally, saying things that are true for the sake of meaning them. ]