neveryourmuse | open roleplay post.

[ The nuances and microchanges of Natasha's expression are enough to create all new and exciting paranoiac tailspins, if only for the fact that Tony is not previously used to it. ]

Good, [ he says. ] 'Cause. That's why I got it.

[ Big guileless eyes challenge her to defy him on that one.

He comes to lean against the counter, arms folding a little guarded across his torso. The strange circling that had gone on in Berlin had been mostly forgotten with only the last few moments brought into severe relief, a scrap of stolen time at four in the morning. Here, cloud-diffused midday light and daytime radio chatter as opposed to static and numbers all feel very.

Exposing? Somehow. He is watching her as he studies her. ]

You look better. Are you out to pasture?

[ There is a lot going on in this kitchen in Italy. Natasha stares for another second at the tulip, which is freshly cut and butter yellow and beautiful and simple. It's not four in the morning anymore, and Natasha isn't sure how to communicate what she wants to communicate. To be kind, she stares at the flower rather than at Tony's face. There's still a smile across the curve of her mouth that she doesn't try and shutter away. ]

I slept another nine minutes.

[ Like a joke. Ha, ha. More to the point, she is sort of on a vacation right now, in so much as you can be on a vacation from a life of international war crimes. A breather, at least. Ostensibly, this means that Natasha chose to invite Tony on her vacation. There's only one Avenger that Secretary Ross would have called as back-up when the Raft got broken into, and Steve had told her it was as easy as anything. Security seemed a little lax.

So. Breather. The ends of her hair are a little rain-damp. Red, the color of old blood. Natasha waits for the kettle to boil and considers Tony.

More silence.

Then, ]

I'm going to say something. [ Like a signpost. Or a warning. Or both. ]

Sure.

[ He unfolds his arms, there, as if maybe her warning demands reconfiguration. Elbow to counter, hands clasped. A listening pose.

Her staring at the tulip meant, also, that he's pretty sure it was a mistake, one he is immediately internally defensive about. It's just a flower, not even a great flower, and only one flower. Don't overthink it.

But verbalising that all sounds more crazy than he feels like in this moment. ]

Okay, go ahead.

[ She has his attention. Which is good. This is about ripping the bandaid off, so Natasha turns when the jug clicks. Fills up each mug. Steam warms the right side of her face, and she's paying attention to the little floating teabags -- green tea, this time, the kind that comes in powdered mesh bags and aren't, objectively, too great -- and says, ]

It was ill-timed.

[ Because they kissed, and it was. Natasha pushes one of the mugs towards Tony. The ceramic bottom drags across the countertop, makes a solid but smooth scraping noise. ]

And I think we should have sex.

[ Her mouth does a funny thing. She's looking at him with something that might be amusement but is also bright, and more considering than she feels, as if she's coming up with the idea all-impromptu. ] Not right now, but soon.

[ And then she shrugs. Like it's not a big deal. ]

Your turn.

[ Tony couldn't be able to say for certain that Black Widow is capable of surprising him by virtue of the fact that she is notoriously difficult to predict in the first place. Even demonstrations of kindness and humour aren't a shock when those are the things that seemed built in already.

Anyway. He stops himself from asking if she can run that one by him one more time. Fingers fan out, rearrange back into their tangle. ]

Mhm.

[ His turn. ]

Well. I think you could be onto something, Romanoff.

[ He hooks a finger around the handle of the mug, drawing it closer. He's not not a tea guy, in the way that people who have been hard drinkers with occasional side ventures legal and less than legal stimulants might tend to embrace literally any mood stabilising alternative including weird leafy brews that taste like dirt tend to be. But he has other vices. ]

Not right now as in not right this second, or-- other small units of measurement. I mean, this is the first I've thought about it, so.

[ Natasha blows lightly across the surface of her tea. The warmth presses into her palm, and her shoulders are all slack; one knee is bent forward a little, bumping softly into the line of drawers. The counter's taking the weight of her elbows.

Relaxed. Casual. This is a relaxed and casual conversation. ]

Not this second. [ She considers how much she wants to refine that. Settles on, ] Probably not today.

[ Probably. There's room to adapt. ]

I can give you a minute. [ To think it over. She has an entire new sudoku book to work through, so. She can keep herself occupied probably.

Also, Natasha is fairly sure that Tony has thought about it before, in so much as it was several years ago, Tony was dying, and Natalie Rushman had been very specifically engineered to appeal to every corner of Tony's id. Modeled in Tokyo wearing nothing but lingerie on fur rugs levels of engineered. All Natasha really remembers is how itchy the lace had been. ]

[ Immediately; ] Well'm gonna need longer than a minute.

[ Then-- ]

Oh, to think about it, you mean?

[ Tony picks up his tea, brings it up to sip from, still watching her directly. She can probably sense the quiet agitation her proposal has created, despite his own adaptation. He'd thought about it several years ago and it was almost uncharacteristic how cool he'd run after that. Like getting close to Natasha after the Natalie veneer had come away was about as ill-advised as running headfirst into the dark.

With stairs. Less that now, but every now and then, he still braces for a lurch. ]

Is there something you need to get out of your system?

[ There is an ironic slant, there. But jokes can do multiple things. Test the waters. Natasha should know. ]

[ This time, she doesn't resist the urge to roll her eyes. It is, somehow, fond, and full of some level of contempt that is complicated and not really true contempt. So it's a look she shoots Tony with singular and specific regularity.

Used to. Used to shoot Tony with regularity, when compounds and living arrangements meant a closer orbit. ]

You're infuriating. [ She says, outloud, to underscore the point. She drinks her tea. Follows that up with: ] And I like you, as a person.

[ Which is one of her own, irritating qualities. It's also profoundly simplistic. Natasha doesn't say anything about the Accords, or how she's not angry at him, and she doesn't offer to apologize. Shoulders hitch into a small shrug. ]

I'm also a really cheap date.

[ He did bring her flowers. Flower. A flower. ]

[ It's a familiar exchange enough that it makes his heart do an unnecessary thing that he didn't ask it to, but also evokes a crooked half-smile, which is more cool and sardonic, so that can stay.

'As a person' feels like it has potential to be drilled into. ]

And crazy beautiful, [ he adds. If we're listing qualities. ] And tens attract tens, its natural. That part's.

[ Not actually that important. ]

Not worth cavorting around with war criminals for, [ is what he goes with. ] But I like you back. Took me a while to come back around.

[ But all she had to do was be in trouble. ]

[ There's a smile, then. It's shuttering and small and it contains a lot of expressions in a fleeting amount of time, like amusement and exasperation and something softer, more gentle. More pleased. A nebulous flicker that's easier to pull out into the light of day when it's quiet and still.

Maybe they should kiss again. Natasha wants to, she decides, though she's still mostly undecided about the sexual scheduling. Her glance catches sidelong at that burst of yellow among her grey and cream kitchen. ]

I don't like tulips.

[ Because, you know, it's honesty hour.

She lifts her eyebrows at him, which is a non-verbal invitation to. Share. Something. Or ask, if that's what he wants. The truth is an old dog Natasha hasn't always seen the point to make friends with, but when it comes to herself, sure. There are new tricks. ]

I don't like tea. You keep giving it to me.

[ 'Keep', like twice, once in a shitty Berlin apartment at 4 in the morning when he was lucky to get anything besides a blunted bullet scratching the paint job. And Tony goes ahead and sips tea, because it makes an excellent prop.

But the conversation stretches wide open before him. Mildly disorienting. ]

What do you like.

[ --feels like a waste of an open road, that question, but he wants to know. ]

[ Hot on the heels of his own Truth Fact, he is still sipping his tea. Natasha gives him a flat look but this is, sort of, a trust exercise in and of itself, so she doesn't comment.

She diverts eye contact by looking into her own tea. It's green and tastes like green things usually taste, if a little dulled by time. It's an annoyingly difficult question. Tea was a bad choice. ]

Ballet. Hot baths. [ They are frustratingly generic answers, so Natasha reconsiders. ] Clint's kids. [ Better. ] Sometimes I miss New York. [ Openly. She misses Iowa too, but none of these places have anything to do with the architecture there.

Her eyebrows lift again into another invitation. Hey, call and response, that's how this works now. ]

[ Just think, Natasha. You could be having sex instead.

When she lowers her gaze, Tony kind of tilts his head as if he could somehow see her eyes better and therefore read her mind. It's one of those questions that sounds easier than it is, probably, but is maybe even harder for certain types of people.

He listens to company he keeps in the hall of stuff Romanoff likes, and his study isn't sharp. He's not sure if they'll ever completely relax -- 'ever', as if 'they' as a unit have longevity -- but he's not looking for a gotcha moment.

So that's something. ]

Going fast, [ he says, picking up the cue. He could talk about how she's probably read the book on what Tony Stark likes, already, but. ] West coast during the day, east coast at night. Cheesesteak.

[ He's pushed to his feet as he lists these things, easing closer, that when he finds a landing, it's within her personal space again. Still holding the tea, though. In among the release of grassy herb, there's the trace scent of whatever range of masculine grooming and hair products he'd applied a morning ago. No cologne, in this outfit. ]

That little-- [ He points at her, then thinks better, gestures to himself, the eyebrow region. ] --thing your brow does when you're trying not to like me too much. I think that's it, anyway.

[ Lights off! Missionary! A half-assed orgasm after a frustratingly lackluster attempt at oral sex! It could have been such a wonderful world.

No dice. Instead, Tony steps closer. Those things sound different when he says them. Intent feels nice. More revealing, at least, than the things she picks up out of habit and necessity. More-- precious, too, because of it.

One hand is still, also, holding onto her mug. Lets go of it flat on the counter, giving room for most of her body language to pivot open, turn into him.

He smells good. There's a certain amount of telegraphing that happens when Natasha reaches for him, though her touch is light. Fingertips come to rest first at his chest, followed by the rest of her palm. Two solid beats of contact. Twin landings.

She looks up at Tony. Smiles true.

This time, when she kisses him, it's not cautious at all. Heated, a little, by a slow, sincere fuse. But it's firm and warm and the cold from the rain has faded away. Underneath her palm, she can almost feel his heart beat in real, solid time. ]

[ She comes in slow, but it still feels like going fast. Which he likes, purportedly. There is the solid click of earthenware being set down just after they make contact, where Tony has to duck his head some to receive her. That's nice, as is her hand resting where it is, and that her mouth is soft from the last smile she gave him.

His hands both find a place to rest on her waist and he kisses her back, matching pace, pressure, certainty. Very much a third kiss, the kind where maybe it's gonna kick something else off, and he sees nothing wrong in indulging in it while it lasts. If kissing in Berlin had been goodbye, this is more a.

Hello.

Tony has reeled her in a little more by the time it's done, but he doesn't let up out of her space, lingering in proximity. She can maybe almost sense it, his desire to encircle her in his arms. ]

So we got some'n in common, [ he utters, voice pitched quieter. ] Besides New York.

[ Third time's the charm. It's a good kiss. A hello kiss. An I see you, too kiss.

Her lashes jump a few times before her eyes completely open, lazy and slow for different reasons than Berlin. Natasha leaned into him when they kissed; readjusted her weight and tipped her chin up toward his face, narrowing the distance. Now, he lingers. So does she. Green eyes are bright when they lock on him.

She likes the way he looks like this. Natasha ignores the urge to interrogate the why. She just-- enjoys it. ]

Guess so.

[ Lowly, to match his. Her arms twine around his neck. A loose hold, and it enables her fingertips to brush against the hairs at the base of Tony's skull. Natasha's mouth pitches left, then hooks into a twist of faux-consideration. ]

You know, I have some other ideas.

[ Several. Only two of which have to do with actually getting naked, here. ]

[ Tony settles an arm around her waist, cozied in. You could trick yourself into thinking of her as delicate and dainty, right here, and it's knowing better that makes it fun. Nerves prickle under the faint touch of her fingers at his neck.

Fine with eye contact in proximity, there is a shared amusement and-- very likely, some amount of pleased-with-himself deciphered there. ]

Oh yeah?

[ The hand still settled at her flank idles with shirt fabric. ]

Hit me.

[ It's nice. The radio going, the rain pattering at the window, and the world's taking care of itself for a minute. ]

[ She angles in, again, as if about to kiss him. They almost do -- her top lip touches his top lip, hovering, and it might be awkward save for the fact it doesn't last long. A short exchange of heat, breath. She looks down at his mouth. Feels the pull. Resists it. ]

I'm going to make myself come in the next twenty minutes.

[ And, ]

You should help me with that.

[ She's revised her plan and settled on: sex sometime today would be good. ]

[ There is most definitely a split second of a short-circuiting where Tony blinks through her, turning that one over in his mind -- or not really needing to as it fires off ahead of him, wildly, abandoning him there in the kitchen with his arms around the object that inspired it. But it's just a moment.

He insists a step into her, taking advantage of things like height and balance to assert just enough for her hip to press against the counter. All gentle handling, still. ]

We could do that, [ he agrees, and does a mental highfive for his voice coming out normal. (Maybe she can detect just that little bit of strain, of his breathing altered from just a minute ago, and be flattered about it.) ] But we're gonna need to revise that list of things you like.

[ He ducks his head and grazes a kiss against her mouth, as if to itch the scratch that the prior teasing had caused. It's brief but heated, insistent, dirtier. ]

[ Weight shifts, and she leans back a little. The edge of the counter digs into her hip. She drags Tony with her, letting him lean into her space-- closer, now, fingers twining loosely in his hair. This is good. Anticipatory. Exciting. ]

Sure.

[ Just as agreeably.

Gaze then drifts a little, to think it over. Sex is easy, but Natasha doesn't have a lot of it with people she-- makes tea for, probably. Even without a charge of war crimes, working for SHIELD was a lot kinder to her personal life. Apart from the fact it wasn't really SHIELD there at the end.

So. ]

Don't pull my hair. [ Which is a soft ball, and maybe not really about what she likes. She returns the kiss anyway-- slowly, and a little lazily, syrupy-thorough. ] I like being on top. [ Better. ] I'll like it more if you use your fingers than your mouth.

[ Kiss ends but Tony remains in proximity, head ducking down in pursuit of the rain-scent still caught up in dark red hair, the appealing curve between shoulder and neck. Opportunistic, a little, in the gaps between of whatever game this kind of is. Each specification on her part feels like kindling tossed on low fire and he's not sure what that's about.

Analysis later. There'll be time. Right now, they're on the clock.

The hand resting up on her rubs travels downwards, then, smoothing along her belly, to the fastenings of her pants. He lifts his head as he undoes them, as he slides his fingers inside of them, the trap of fabric catching along his knuckles. ]

[ Eye contact. She likes that, too. Touch makes Natasha shift her stance so she can widen, tip the core of her hips into his hand. She makes a soft, low noise-- like an exhale, pressed into the narrow distance between his jaw and her mouth.

It feels good, and not frustrating, which is a change. A nice change.

She lets him work her over until satisfaction seems like a better feeling than urgency. Her hand's pressed at the back of his neck, pulling him close, closer, encouraging him to stay-- her other hand's curled at his elbow, grip tight. It skims down, loosely. Reaches his hand, where she fits her fingers into the dips of his knuckles and stills his touch.

It doesn't take much. She tips her hips, again, to chase out pressure against the heel of his hand in the way that she wants. Orgasm comes quietly; a jump to her lashes, pupils blown, lips parted around a noise that's too staggered to really sound like his name. ]

[ He watches her before and after; during it's a little blurrier, kept close, peripheral full of red hair and the overcast sunlight coming in through windows and his own eyelashes. That Tony doesn't say much could be characteristic or not, she can't know right this minute.

Watching her, mainly. The vulnerability innate in release, coupled with where his skin still tingles from the grip to his arm, where her fingers rest against knuckles. He holds his hand in place until she's still, and quiet again -- that last noise outta her raking over his own nerves -- and then slowly easing back.

Full of want, putting that out there like core heat. Still-- ]

You good? [ --sounds straight, until a quiet laugh chases compulsively after it. It's nowhere in the neighbourhood of mocking. Pleased, low key giddy. Moving his body until she is between him and countertop, a hand resting at the edge. ]

I'm good.

[ Breathing comes deeper, uneven still. She shares the shape of his smile. There's a softness in it, and a sweetness when she kisses him.

Sweat prickles the back of her neck. Everything feels just this side of too-hot, the kind of thick heat that comes with humidity and rain. The muzzy feeling fades quickly but she wants to keep touching him-- so she does, hand resting at the side of his throat, thumb sweeping back and forth along his pulsepoint. ]

You? [ Which could be a question as much as it is a check-in. The edge of the counter digs into the small of her back, so Natasha shifts up onto it. A knee hooks around Tony's hip -- keeps him from letting up any room, and her thighs flank his sides. She reaches for his waistband, thumbs at it. Doesn't quite slip under it just yet. ]

Good.

[ Automatic response, and it's true. He does feel good, because this is nice, everything from Natasha's big eyes focused on him and the delicate touch of her hand at his neck, to the evidence of her release still damp on his fingers and palm, and the enclosing space of her legs around him. This feels a little like going fast, but lazy and languid at the same time.

And then he realises what he just said, and amends-- ]

But, um. Could be better.

[ For sure. He lays an arm along her thigh, slipping a hand up beneath her shirt just for intimacy's sake, tracing his fingertip along the dips of her spine. From here, there's not a lot of adjustment he can do to convey desire, save to press in close. ]

open roleplay post.

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