blackhourglass | Open Post

"We can work on it slowly. I think you'll catch on. You seem to have a knack, since you're doing so well with English. I know that hasn't been an easy study." It was obvious that his teaching wasn't formal, and however he's learned, be it picking it up from Hydra -- which was unlikely, or on his own devices. He's got a pretty good hold on comprehension. Natasha doesn't pare down what she says unless asked to explain, and while she has absolutely no trouble doing that-- he hasn't asked about much.

"We weren't given much choice in the Red Room we had to learn English right away, and learn to speak it like a native. Then I spent three years here as a young child. I was a spy, but it helped, going to schools and interacting with other children."

It's nice to sit and talk like this, slowly letting go of the steam it takes to balance all her plates at once. Feeling his head on her shoulder allows her to know that he's trusting her as well. Not that she didn't already feel some of that during the massage. "There's not a lot of room in my life for being open, not when I have to be so careful. If I care about someone they become collateral that can be used against me, along with a lot of other reasons." Yes, she's been hurt, but she doesn't open easily either.

"Then we will see what comes up and what's available for now. Most of the places we'll be looking at will have some sort of exclusive rights to a beach of some sort, so I doubt we'll be very bothered." She tipped her head back with a small smile.

"It was less difficult than you might think. Our father he sold... Ah, what is the word. DVDs of old sitcoms, but they were not made properly by the companies that owned them?"

Because of course he did not know the word bootleg. He was going to learn it though, right now if he had a chance.

"We had many of them. What he did not sell we watched each night, taking turns to pick. It helped us learn conversational English. Wanda and I learned more as we grew up in the orphanage, through whatever methods we could."

So that was not quite the normal method of learning, and learning to write it was far harder. Which made sense for children like them. What he felt worse about was what Natasha had been through. Though he knew he did not need to offer her pity. It would get neither of them anywhere.

"I do not think you need to worry about me being used as collateral, should you come to care. Anyone who tried would need to face my sister, and that would be very scary indeed. As for location, I will trust you to choose something that is comfortable to you."

It takes Natasha a few moments to put together what Pietro means when he says that they were not made properly. At first she thinks that they must have had flaws in them, but then she hits on what he's saying and she laughs softly and shakes her head. "He sold bootleg copies, I see. You grew up watching the classics. That's a good way to learn a language. Whenever I go somewhere new, if they have a TV, I always turn it on and listen to the local shows to try and pick up something of the language. That's smart."

She turned her face upward and ran her fingers along the curve of his jaw. He'd struggled through a lot with his sister. An orphanage in their country could not have been the best place to grow up, but he made it out the other side and still carried such a positive outlook. One of the few. It made her smile softly.

"You've come a long way from the orphanage, and still have heart. It's a strength not a lot carry, and no, I won't worry about you being collateral. You are also formidable on your own, Pietro. Should we come to care, I'm sure it will be a thing we can talk about then."

"Bootleg. Yes. That term sounds familiar. We learned every night. I dream of Genie. Bewitched. Leave it to Beaver. If it was American sitcom, we watched it together."

And since his parents had more English than they did, they would speak English at home and their parents would explain what words meant when it was needed. It had been very effective.

When her fingers brush over his skin he tilts his head to look at her, sparing a smile. A soft one, but nervous. This is still new to consider. Flirting with women? Easy. Vulnerability and honesty? Hard.

"That heart was almost blackened. It is hard to see what I did and feel good about it. People hold it against us, Wanda and I. Perhaps my powers make me formidable, but my heart is soft. It is difficult to adjust to not hating, to not being angry."

And she is a good rolemodel for that he thinks.

"But I can try. To talk. To be strong."

"I remember watching I Dream of Genie and Bewitched. They were cute. They would be good for learning English. Every now and then the girls and I would hack into these old TV stations and watch the black and white shows that were playing. They let us now and then because it showed we were learning how to hack. We didn't get to do it for long." It wasn't long after that she was sent to the States to live with a family, and spy in a real school. It was a strange life.

Looking up into his eyes, she could feel the hesitation. There was plenty of her own. Natasha wasn't known for being very open or vulnerable in her own right. Laying around getting to know someone while snuggled up against them was not a thing that she did. A little fling might have been fun, but this had blossomed into something beyond that and it interested her as much as it set tight knots about in her stomach.

The thing that resonated was what he touched on. It was that shared thing that they could speak on. She didn't think that he'd judge her for the way she lived. The part of her that was a killer. The part of her that knew she would probably always be one. Inhaling she nodded in understanding.

"I can understand that. I thought I'd lost mine. I thought for sure I was irredeemable. I don't think I'll ever escape all the guilt. People can and will forgive eventually. It will take time, but if they forgave me, then they can forgive you too. I'm sorry for my part in the destruction of your homeland. If I could make it better... " She knows that she's not responsible for it, that it was Ultron and his forces that truly brought it all about. Still, they couldn't fix it. They did their best, but they couldn't save anything. It hurts.

"I think that's all we can do, and if you can do it, then perhaps so can I. I'm not very good at it either."

"You did nothing to hurt Sokovia," Pietro insists, his voice soft, firm. "You tried to save it. It was not your choices that led to what happened."

So it was not on her to make it better. No, it was on him and Wanda. It would always be upon them. They were the downfall of their home, along with Hydra. The Avengers did not do wrong in trying to stop evil.

"Perhaps we can help each other in our journey."

"It was our job to save it, and we couldn't stop it. Tony and Bruce..." She shakes her head. If she understood more about the computer intelligence of it all, maybe she could have helped, but she didn't. At least somewhere in the end, lives were saved and that was positive. She sighs against him and leans in to touch her lips to his collar gently.

All decisions have consequences, even the best of them do. Natasha knows that as well as anyone else. She fights on what she considers to be the right side and yet still takes lives, her decisions still create waves of implications-- every single one of them.

"I think you are probably right." Moving around, she slides her arms around his neck and pulls him down so that she can press her lips against his softly. After all they've shared, she can't help but want to know what it's like to feel this type of closeness, this gentle touch of his mouth against hers. She gives him all the room needed to pull away if he wishes, never wanting to force anything upon anyone-- but curious and soft at first, all the same.

"Tony and Bruce could not have saved it," Pietro counters. He's certain of that now.

Just as certain of that as he is certain he doesn't know how to react to a beautiful, and deadly, woman giving him even the hint of a kiss like that. All his charm tends to be toward buttering people up, to giving gifts. Something like this is new.

"You thin-"

Except he's even less prepared for a real kiss. Not to his shoulder in a faint brush that from another person might be an accident. No, this is her pulling him in. At least this he knows what he is doing when presented with. Which includes quickly scooping the laptop aside and wrapping an arm around her waist to help keep her close. Why, after all, would he turn this away? Better to press into it, and see where things go.

They'd been flirting toward being closer and closer ever since he put his arm around her and then she wiggled in closer and once they really started opening up about their lives beyond the simple things it felt far more intimate. It was close enough that Natasha didn't worry about having him around on a vacation that she'd normally take alone any longer.

She was comforted up against him, and saw in his gaze things that she recognized and felt in return about life and the way she'd been raised. They'd come from different places, and been through very different circumstances, but there were wavelengths that could be understood she thought. That's why she wanted to see what it was like, what it could be like if things moved forward.

With the computer gone, Natasha rolled around toward him slowly shifted so that she could let the kiss deepen on its own level, lips parting to let tongues tease and tangle. Her arms slid around him, one around his neck and then other back into his hair.

This was more where he had expected the evening to go, but never with this level of warmth behind it. Hooking up with a fellow Avenger? Yes. His heart soaring as his fingers curled into her hair to keep her close for the kiss? No.

It's nice, though. The closeness of another person. The way their bodies fit together. The taste of her and the weight of her body in his lap. All of it is as magical as the glide of tongues and the pleasure that trembles through his body.

Climbing into his lap had been a secondary thought. It wasn't her first intention at all. Nat had started with the thought of merely kissing him, but it had become so much more so easily. He'd lit a passion in her that came from a place that had sat dormant for longer than she could remember. It made her heart pound as she slid her fingers down along his back.

There was strength there, the curve of muscle and the way it dipped when he moved. Natasha instinctively rolled against him, and sighed out softly. Breaking the kiss to breathe, she touched her lips to the corners of his mouth, and then along his chin, nudging it upward so she could lick and suck over his neck.

It does not take much nudging from her for him to lift his chin, to close his eyes and let himself focus on breathing and not reacting too much as she kisses down his neck. He doesn't know what to do with himself in the moment. Other than to hold on and let the older, more experienced woman guide him.

Letting her fingers stray to the hemline of his shirt, she slips them under it and begins to trace out the patterns of his muscles. He's toned and firm under her touch. Her thumbs slide along his hips and then upward. Pulling back a little, she glances at him and bites her lip. "I want to take off your shirt. Is that okay, or is this too much?" She asks, carefully trying to gauge his reaction to everything that is happening between them right now. She'd never want to take advantage of what they have between them now. He's precious to her, and she wouldn't want to harm that in any way, but she does crave him-- and while she knows that it's dangerous to the large walls she's erected around her to keep her safe, she can't help herself.

Well now that is a question. The good news is that Pietro absolutely knows how to answer that. Why waste time with her taking off his shirt? He peels it off in a flash of speed and flings it off to some corner to be forgotten.

"Is that acceptable? I hope you were not too eager to do it yourself. Seemed more efficient. May I ask the same of you?"

Would she be self conscious? He wonders. She might be scarred, and it seemed likely. But he wants to have his hands on her skin as well.

In the space of one good blink, his shirt is gone. There's a small giggle that erupts. "That's more than acceptable, efficient too." Natasha's hands and fingers smooth upward from his stomach to his pectorals, fanning upward to his shoulders and then back down again. Her thumbs circle around his nipples, one and then the other. "mmmn."

She takes her time in answering, smile wide and a little devilish. "Yes, you may do the same. You can also take my bra as well. I am yours tonight." She finishes, in case he had any doubt where this was going. There were scars on her body, but she had no shame about them. They were the tales of her trade, and lessons learned. She had knife marks here and there, one nasty one that swiped along her shoulder and another along her kidney. Then there was a single bullet wound that was distinctly shown on her side-- it had obviously gone straight through.

Efficient for her. Still the normal amount of effort for him. Well, a bit more work because extra energy to go fast, but he's okay with that. Which is something that needs not to be pointed out. Better to just let himself shiver to enjoy the pleasure of her touch.

"And if I think your bra is pretty to leave on for a bit?" he teases. And the thing is, he does not take her shirt off nearly so fast. No, he runs his hands under the cloth and slowly pushes it up, letting his hands explore her skin. She does not have quite the same friction resistance his body does. He could hurt her easily by moving his hands too fast. Better to be careful. And his hands definitely rove over scars. Not that he sees any point to avoiding them or lingering. They are as much part of her as anything else, and so taken in stride.

The further up his hands traveled, he'd discover that while the lingerie she wore this evening weren't her most luxurious by far, they were hardly ugly. Natasha had a fondness for such things and found herself splurging on them. They were something she could buy solely for herself now that she had the funds. It was something hidden that no one knew about but her, and obviously now Pietro.

"You can leave anything on you want to. As long as you don't mind me undressing you. It would be difficult to feel all of you against me with so many clothes still on." She pressed the words against his collarbone, seconds before her lips sealed themselves against it in several spots, sitting back up as he moved to pull her shirt over her head. His fingers were softer than she figured they might be, and she enjoyed the way they lingered over her scars. Most men were afraid of them, but he didn't hesitate. It turned her on in a way she didn't realize it would.

"By all means, you are quite welcome to undress me," he promises her even as his fingers run over the material of her bra. It felt nice under his fingers, and he was certain that when he saw it it would be beautiful on her.

And then there her shirt went, leaving him with the truly wonderful sight. Dark patterns over beautiful skin, the way her scars just accented her beautiful skin and the strength of her body and will, it's all wonderful.

"You are like art. Beautiful and strong. And with little flaws," he says as his thumb brushes over one of the scars. "They say that only gods can make things that are perfect, that other things must have flaws to have true beauty. That is what you are."

Right this moment, Natasha was keen on enjoying what he was doing and on the ability she had to touch his chest, and to taste him. There was a lot to be said for tasting another person. It was a level of intimacy that Nat never took with other people. Yet here she was, deeply yearning to lick, suck and even draw her teeth across Pietro's skin. It was a little difficult to do from this angle in his lap, but she figured they could move soon.

Feeling his hands move reverently over her body made her feel appreciated and even sexy in a way she hadn't in a long time. Most men grabbed and took, they didn't care about the beauty-- they didn't even bother to take off her shirt half the time, and she liked it that way. After this connection, Nat knew she wouldn't be doing that sort of work any more. This was who she wanted to give her body to, someone who could appreciate it and enjoy her completely.

Leaning in, she shook her head. "I've never known anyone that thought like you. You flatter me and make me feel special, and yet here you are with pale beautiful skin, and these muscles that you never show. Your body is its own artwork. I want to taste you. All of you, maybe we should move this to the bedroom, so I can better reach your skin."

"You have not known men who properly appreciate the people around them I suppose," he suggests. Because, of course he had grown up knowing to respect and appreciate those of the feminine persuasion. Why should there not be appreciation?

"I think the picture you paint is flattering more than I deserve. But I would not mind a more comfortable spot with more space. You will guide me?"

"Something like that." It's a whole lot of that, and she hasn't exactly cultivated any relationships where she's allowed herself to be in a position where a man has been allowed to enjoy her body as slowly or relish her in such detail as she's given Pietro. Although, she highly doubts that anyone would have compared her scars and imperfections to beauty in the way he did.

It won't be a thing that she forgets any time soon. "I like my painting." She whispers against his lips, and then with a small groan slides off his lap. With clothes left behind she takes him by the hand and leads him back to her bedroom and her large kingsized bed. Turning, she leans against it and brings him in close so that she can begin to undo the buttons on his pants, slowly undoing the zipper as well. At another time, she might have rushed things-- but this is more, and she doesn't feel the need to rush through any of it.

He could appreciate being compared to art actually. He likes the idea. And likes being pulled along behind her. Mostly, though, he likes the slow way she treats this when they get to the bed. The care and pace she uses. People might assume he would want to go fast. But there are uses to speed, and this is not one of them.

This is a time for care and thoroughness.

"Artists can appreciate art I suppose."

"I guess we are our own manner of artists." She leans in and begins to kiss his bare torso, lipstick marks left fading as it wears from her mouth across his body.

His pants pull down from his legs, as does whatever he wears beneath. Natasha settles on her knees before him and slides her hands up and down his thighs, caressing the power within them. They are used to move him with a quickness very few can fathom. She only has hints because she's been around powered people.

Her mouth kisses and licks along them, moving upward to the junction of his legs. She pauses to bite and suck up a small mark in the fleshy part of his thigh, leaving a testimony of their actions here. The whole while, her thumb rubs along his sac and backwards, stroking his perineum.

"Yeah," he agrees as her lips explore his skin. Kisses pressed against his skin, the subtle paint that would be worn off in the next shower. But brushed against his skin with feeling. How could he not think it was artistic?

But god, when her hands are on his legs he trembles. Anticipation and desire are a good way to work his system up even if he wished it wouldn't. Staying in the moment is important, because it would be bad if he got so fast that time fell away and he was accidentally edging himself with her touch.

"Do not worry about marks. I do not mind them."

There's a small curl at her lips when he says he doesn't mind the marks. That is good, because she'd left the ones on his thighs on purpose. They were for her to see, and for him to recall her touches by. Unfamiliar with the way he healed-- they might stay, or they might not, but it was good enough for now. They'd be a reminder pressed into the skin and memorized for time to come.

Running her fingers forward, she eventually strokes them up along his cock. It has her gazing at it with a slow lick across her lips. She is hungry for the taste of him, and while she wants to take her time-- there's also a greater part of her that wants to take him and swallow him down in one long motion.

"You're so hard. I can't wait to taste you." Running her finger over the tip of his cock head, Nat pulls back a long string of cum and drags it to her lips. Sucking it off her thumb, she hums over it. "Fuck. Just as I thought." Leaning in she licks around his base and then up the singular vein along the back of his cock, circling along under his tip, playing with him-- moaning the entire time.

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sorry for all of the delay. i'm starting to feel better

That's good. We all have stuff that takes us away for a while. Its never a problem. <3