[That contact sent a jolt shuddering through her. There may have been times in working with Steve Rogers, that Natasha indulged in fantasy. He was well built, athletic, had amazing stamina but he was too good for someone like her. Oh his hands had stained with blood, but always for a cause, a reason. He was a hero and she....well her reasons were rarely ever quite so lofty or noble.

She had imagined his lips would be soft, the press would be ginger and sweet. That he would taste the way a summer breeze washes over grain fields, or sunlight dances on water. She always thought he would be unable to involve himself physically with her without tainting himself somehow. Silly ideas born of the same of her past.

She had envisioned it, and this brief taste of his lips nearly sent her to her knees. Brief, yes. Undemanding, yes. But without potency? Not a chance in Hell.

She steadied herself when he pulled back, shock plainly written on her features. It took her a full twelve seconds before she was composed again, an eternity for someone of her skill. So much for fantasy, she had failed all these times to figure in one simple dynamic that changed everything... the idea he might desire her as much as she had him.]

We should go, I have transportation but I'd suggest you keep your head down all the same. No need to raise questions before necessary.