The beautiful Russian woman sat on the bed, her pale skin reflecting the moonlight that lit up the dark room. Her bare skin was exposed along her backside. The sparkling blue dress she wore showed nothing farther than her toned bottom, and ran into a point at the base of the small of her back. Her hair had grown longer, and the ruby red lustre of her long strands glinted softly off her left shoulder.
Clint knelt beside her on the bed, taking a comb out and running it through her waves of blood-red beauty. She sighed with his gentle touch, being content with the simple brush of his calloused archer hands on her neck.
He leaned down to press his lips on her shoulder firmly, kissed it and whispered, "You're very beautiful. Especially looking like this."
She gave a humourless laugh. "Please Clint, don't be fooled. I'm a cold-hearted woman underneath this stunning, seductive persona."
He gently began running his fingers through her hair, playing with it, then began braiding it into an intricate pattern. She waited until he was done, unsure of why her hair was suddenly being tugged slightly, then turned her back to the mirror in front of her and glanced over her shoulder. She gasped with awe.
"Clint, I never knew you could braid…and so…so beautifully." She exhaled with lack of any more words to say.
"Well, my deft fingers don't only shoot arrows sweetheart; sometimes they're used for simpler things too."
Her eyes began brimming with tears. His heart thudded with the thought of making her cry. She never cried. His heart almost stopped entirely when she spoke up again.
"Clint," she whispered quietly. "No one has ever braided my hair before. I never had a mother, and the girls at the Black Widow Ops…well, let's just say they didn't exactly give us all a free hair-styling class." She laughed slightly. Then she looked up at him, her green gaze slightly glazed over and said, "Thank you."
"Natasha, anything for you." He wrapped his arms around her in a passionate embrace and kissed her ear. She sighed with pleasure; happy to be held by the one man she had always longed to be with. They broke their embrace, and she then backed up to face him. She laid her hands on his chest and gripped his midnight black tuxedo tenderly with her fingertips.
"Now look, we can't be all happy-sappy-lovey-dovey out there at the party tonight. Nobody knows we're engaged, and we certainly don't need Stark spreading it around. You know how he tends to get when he's drunk."
He smirked playfully and looked deeply into her eyes.
"You got it, love."
He kissed her one last time before they left, tasting her ever-pleasantly plump lips for the last time until they snuck into their apartment again tonight in the wee hours of the morning. He held her hand until they arrived at the party, where throughout the night they gave each other flirty glances and stares of longing. He mouthed "I love you" to her, and she mouthed it back. And they both meant it.