[ What settles between them isn't the spy-silence of confession. It's just— ease, the kind you get when you know someone, and even if it's not intimately there's been enough years between them for it to be close enough. When he extends the drink to her, Natasha leans back and rolls over on her stomach — she peers up at him through her lashes and the thin haze of smoke, her cigarette hanging from the pink bow of her mouth. She only places it in his hands once the drink is safely in hers. Natasha might not mind sharing, but she's better with an even trade.
Draped across like this, her bend of her elbow is lightly touching his knee. There's a sliver of skin at the dip of her lower back, pale between the white of her shirt and the black of her underwear. In a way that's wholly Natasha, she smiles at him a way that's more with her eyes than her mouth. (No telling which makes it more genuine.) ]
no subject
Draped across like this, her bend of her elbow is lightly touching his knee. There's a sliver of skin at the dip of her lower back, pale between the white of her shirt and the black of her underwear. In a way that's wholly Natasha, she smiles at him a way that's more with her eyes than her mouth. (No telling which makes it more genuine.) ]
Спасибо.