Tidbits

Chapter Two: 10x10

Rotation

She's rotating her shoulders, limbering up for a spar. Following the movement of her shirt as it rises just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin between her shirt and shorts, his breath catches in his throat when her nimble fingers grasp the hem of her shirt and she pulls up—he's out of the room before the shirt make sit over her head. Pulse drumming in his ears.

Nun

He curls into himself, taking shelter beneath the shock blanket, the first aid kit is open between them as she kneels taking inventory even though she knows she wont find any injuries on him. He is a God among men, a being of destruction and she feels like his acolyte every time she presents her hand and is awarded a fleeting touch.

shop

Talking shop with Tony and Jane was refreshing—having people who followed along and completed his jumbled thoughts—they were kindred spirits of the mind. He couldn't pretend to know what Natasha thought but it seemed all the better receiving an answer then already knowing.

Silence

Tony's Rock n Roll didn't bother him—no matter what time of day he played it—neither did Thor's sugar pop morning sessions—but Natasha's silence did. Her undivided attention was unnerving and he shied away from it, afraid of what she would see. Or worse, what she wouldn't see.

Glacier

He brings her coffee exactly how she likes it, strong with a splash of mil when her cup has run low. His half smile reveals nothing and for someone whose life often depended on knowing the tells of people she felt like a ship on a collision course with a glacier it had noticed too late.

Rank

General Thaddeus Ross was a decorated soldier but none of his stripes helped him escape her iron grip when his hands reach out towards Bruce in violence. When he makes a comment about Banner's female shields she breaks his wrist. Fury is only slightly less sour then usual at her debriefing.

Corpse

"I'd like to investigate the corpse-" she has the twenty sided die ready to roll but Tony is hiding a smirk behind the Dungeon Masters screen. She's not worried, she's a Paladin after all, a paragon of good.

Pen

His hand is large and rough with tiny scars no doubt from broken beakers during his youth but it yields under her guidance when she moves it through the motions of writing her name in her mother tongue.

Cancer

He worries that his proximity will damage her, he is a walking bio-hazard. She worries she will take all that good inside him and taint it red with her touch. It's worth the risk.

Recovery

She's slow to recover from the the touch of his lips against hers—she had always been the aggressor in, well whatever it was that they had, but when he'd leaned forward brown eyes fixed on her mouth she could do nothing but wait in anticipation.