His head tilts and Natasha follows, his gestures proving to her that he may be more on the same page with her than she had originally assumed, and she lets her full lips trace slow pathways down his throat before her tongue makes a gentle flick against his cool skin. That pride is back, silly and bubbly in a way that's still foreign to her, because just a few days ago he was forcefully standing still on a balcony outside so she could touch him. Now his bare fingers are moving against her back as she settles in his lap with nothing but the fabric of his clothing between them.
Although she knows that he's going to speak his protests aloud, they're not what she thought they were. The realization stabs her a little more painfully than he'd might expect, a sadness slowly wilting in her heart, but it's a soft one. The edges of it are tinted with a sort of peace that can only come from many years of acceptance, and Natasha lifts her head to look at him directly so he can see her when she gives him a somber smile.
"That's okay." Although it's ambiguous, it's obvious that she isn't referring to his rejection because she makes no effort to move off of him. Her eyes flicker away for barely a second before moving back to him and she shrugs one bare shoulder halfheartedly. "I'm sterile. I can't have children." She'd never mentioned it because she didn't think that it was relevant, and even now that's the only relevant part he needs to know. There's a change in her disposition, and after her admission she seems to shift from seduction to something more gentle. Natasha's arms move from his shoulders so she can push his long hair from his face, running her fingers through it to comb it away from his eyes, and she looks down at him with tranquility.
"We'll go slow," she promises, that hint of affection slipping in once again. "We'll do this together just like everything else." She leans in, but this time it's to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and Natasha trails it down between his eyes until she reaches the tip of his nose. She speaks with soft words as she starts to trace his lips. "YA nikogda ne doveryal muzhchine tak, kak ya tebe doveryayu, moy Dzhasper." She comes to settle with her forehead rested against his own, her eyes closed, and her hands find their place on his chest with her fingertips brushing over the buttons of his shirt.
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Although she knows that he's going to speak his protests aloud, they're not what she thought they were. The realization stabs her a little more painfully than he'd might expect, a sadness slowly wilting in her heart, but it's a soft one. The edges of it are tinted with a sort of peace that can only come from many years of acceptance, and Natasha lifts her head to look at him directly so he can see her when she gives him a somber smile.
"That's okay." Although it's ambiguous, it's obvious that she isn't referring to his rejection because she makes no effort to move off of him. Her eyes flicker away for barely a second before moving back to him and she shrugs one bare shoulder halfheartedly. "I'm sterile. I can't have children." She'd never mentioned it because she didn't think that it was relevant, and even now that's the only relevant part he needs to know. There's a change in her disposition, and after her admission she seems to shift from seduction to something more gentle. Natasha's arms move from his shoulders so she can push his long hair from his face, running her fingers through it to comb it away from his eyes, and she looks down at him with tranquility.
"We'll go slow," she promises, that hint of affection slipping in once again. "We'll do this together just like everything else." She leans in, but this time it's to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and Natasha trails it down between his eyes until she reaches the tip of his nose. She speaks with soft words as she starts to trace his lips. "YA nikogda ne doveryal muzhchine tak, kak ya tebe doveryayu, moy Dzhasper." She comes to settle with her forehead rested against his own, her eyes closed, and her hands find their place on his chest with her fingertips brushing over the buttons of his shirt.
"Ty yedinstvennyy, komu ya kogda-libo khotel posvyatit' sebya. Mne bylo ochen' teplo, tol'ko kogda ya s toboy ... YA khochu, chtoby ty pochuvstvoval eto, prezhde chem ya ne mogu bol'she eto tebe davat'. YA nikogda ne khotel delit'sya etim s kem-to yeshche. Tol'ko ty."