A/N: Don't ask why this happened; I couldn't tell you. Basically I wanted these two to discuss their scars and it's hard to do that without having them take their clothes off. Takes place a month or so after the Battle of New York.

Nat stared at the bullet on the table.

Tucked away in the corner of a dingy bar somewhere in the East Village, she was sipping a White Russian inside a booth with one leg settled underneath her.

Clint was going to be a father.

Natasha knew it would happen eventually, she just hadn't expected "eventually" to come so soon. She held out hope she would be worthy of his love one day. Hoped that she could earn it, earn him. But Clint didn't have that kind of time.

Laura was great, the sort of person Clint deserved. Someone normal, who had never been brainwashed or committed homicide. A woman who could live on a farm. Nat could never settle down like that; she needed to keep doing enough good to balance out the bad.

The glass made a dull thunk when she placed it back on the table. The bullet wobbled and fell onto its side before rolling toward the edge. It rolled ... and rolled ... and rolled right off the end into Natasha's open palm. She placed it back onto the table and rolled it over the surface. Once, twice, ten times. Over and over until she could hardly feel her fingertips.

Someone coughed.

Natasha jumped and stuffed the bullet into her jacket pocket. She looked up to see a tall, thin man standing a few feet off to the side of her booth.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he mumbled. "I just, um ... You looked like you might need someone to sit with."

Not a pickup line. He had an English accent and looked as though he should be just about anywhere but a bar on Wednesday afternoon. The man was staring adamantly at the side of the table like he was nervous to be so much as speaking to Natasha. There was a stick-shaped bulge in his pants pocket but he did not appear to be carrying any actual weapons.

Nat looked up and said, "It is rare that anyone manages to sneak up on me."

"I've lived most of my life trying not to be noticed," the man said. He shrugged and admitted, "I fancy myself quite good at it."

Nerd.

It was the first word Nat thought of to describe him. Blond hair, round-faced, and well over six feet tall. He wore a blue sweater over a grey button-down and looked more like a college professor than anything else. The only thing missing was the briefcase.

"Nat."

"Sorry, what?"

"Natasha," she said, "my name."

"Oh!" He offered his hand and said, "Neville."

She nodded toward the other side of the booth.

"You can sit."

Neville looked at his proffered hand for a moment before realizing Natasha had no intention of accepting the handshake. He slid into the booth opposite her and sighed. Nat waited for him to say something, but he seemed more interested in the tabletop. He had a full blond beard and looked to be in his early thirties, but his eyes looked like they had seen sixty years' worth of tragedy. She took another sip of her drink and asked the one question guaranteed to drive most people away,

"What brings you to New York?"

He chuckled.

"Work."

"Everyone says that."

Neville asked, "Would you prefer I lie to you?"

"I would prefer you to be interesting."

He grinned and said, "No one has ever accused me of being interesting."

"Now there's a lie," Nat countered, returning his smile. He was a surprisingly nice distraction from ... everything. She guessed, "You're a professor?"

"Usually. I am on sabbatical this year for research, but had I known it would bring me to New York I would have reconsidered."

Nat swirled the liquid in her glass and admitted, "The city has lost some of its shine for me, as well. What do you research?" Pedestrian conversation was safe. It almost felt normal.

"Plants."

One-word answers always said more than a full diatribe.

"You're a biologist?"

"Herbologist."

"Fancy," Nat quipped. "Why are you here?"

Neville looked up at her and raised his eyebrows.

"I just told you, I'm here to research—"

"In my booth," Natasha clarified, with a wry smile on her face. "Why are you here in my booth?"

He ran a hand through his hair and said, "You looked like you needed someone, is all. You look like you are carrying the world on your shoulders, and I know how difficult that is. Sometimes I wish my friends had been there for me, stopped to ask, 'Hey, mate, are you alright?'"

Nat nodded and Neville continued.

"'Course, most of them suffered more than I did. Might have done more than I did, so I always felt a bit ... Dunno, like my pain was somehow invalid. Like it wasn't quite bad enough for anyone to care. And if they didn't care, why should I?"

Nat raised her glass and said, "I understand that better than you could ever know."

"And that is why I'm in your booth. Because I wish someone had told me it was alright to feel sad, even if I didn't feel I deserved it."

He was staring at her, then, his earnest gaze unwavering from Nat's line of sight. She hadn't seen that look before. Well, that's a lie, she had once when Clint found her all those years ago. That look of understanding, vulnerability, and trust. Why the hell Neville the Biology Professor was looking at her like that she couldn't say, but she wanted him to keep doing it.

"Maybe I don't," she said.

"You don't deserve to feel pain?"

"If you knew the amount of pain I've caused in this world ..." Nat trailed off and shook her head. "You would run out the door and jump into the Hudson."

"Listen to me, Natasha, I have come face-to-face with true evil. I faced a man with only a fragment of his soul remaining so I know what that looks like. I may not know you as a person, but I can damn well say you are not evil."

"Perhaps I was, once." She leaned forward and noticed scarred, mottled skin around his hairline. It seemed to have healed, mostly, but it appeared to be a burn. She nodded toward it and asked, "What was that?"

Neville completely closed off. He sat back in his booth, looked down at the table, and pushed his hair further down the front of his face. They sat in silence for a full minute and neither of them moved. They listened to the distant hum of conversation, barely distinguishable from the music coming out of the jukebox. Neville broke first.

"War," he revealed. "It was war."

"The head is a strange place to get a scar."

"War is inventive."

"That evil you were telling me about, this is what he did to you."

"You wouldn't believe what happened to me if I told you."

Nat grimaced and revealed, "I can promise you, I would."

"Funny thing about darkness, innit?" Neville said, quickly changing the subject. "It creeps up on you. Then you need someone to show you the light again."

"Did you ever give into that darkness?"

Neville shook his head.

"I prefer to be the light."

"I know a guy like that," Nat revealed. She spun her glass around a couple times before continuing her thought. "He saw the good in me when no one else did. He's the closest thing I have to family."

"And you lost him?" Neville asked, concerned.

"In a way."

"Now, that I understand."

"How could you?"

"Because I was in love once, too, and losing her to someone else landed me in the back of an old bar drinking until I couldn't tell my name from hers."

Natasha laughed. An actual, honest-to-God laugh. He hadn't meant it to be funny, but ... The thought of Professor Neville being the sort to get heartsick-drunk in the back of a bar was ridiculous. Nat had met people like him before; quiet professors whose minds far outpaced their social skills. She had killed more than one of them, but this one, this man was holding something back. A big something.

"You're different from the sort of person I assumed you were." She glanced toward the ceiling then back to her drink. "I thought I was finished being surprised for awhile."

"What can I say?" Neville teased. "'m full of surprises."

"Last month I battled an evil sorcerer and a robot army; nothing is a surprise anymore."

Neville chuckled low in his throat and stared down at the table. It was his tell; something had made him uncomfortable.

"Was it the robots or the sorcerers you didn't like?"

"Not sure about robots, whatever the bloody hell those are, but magic is something I am well-acquainted with."

"Then you should get the hell out of my booth," Nat quipped.

Neville nodded and made to scoot out. More than happy to take his leave.

"Nice meeting you, Natasha. I hope you find the good in yourself soon."

He stood at the end of the table for just a fraction of a second too long. Like he actually regretted his decision to leave and it surprised him. Just before he turned away, Nat said,

"You can stay." She nodded to the available space next to her and said, "Sit with me."

Neville glanced toward the door and said, "I really shouldn't."

"Pretend I'm work then," Nat teased. "Research me."

"I don't ... I mean ..."

She lowered her voice into a more somber tone and said, "Neville, it looks like we could each use a friend right now. Be my friend for a minute?"

He shrugged and acquiesced, "Fine, just for a bit." He sat down as close to the edge and as far away from Natasha as possible.

He had figured out she was dangerous; that was why he was so eager to leave. A man like him had his fill of danger looking at a Venus Flytrap, let alone in being in the clutches of a well-trained assassin. Neville knew more than he let on, though, and the only way to his truth was through her own.

"My friend was married before I met him. He was the light for me. The one person who saw through what I was and found potential for good. I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay him for that trust."

"Do you ever consider going back to it?" Neville asked. "Back to what you were before?"

"Honestly, professor? I don't think I changed," Nat admitted. This Neville person couldn't do anything with her secrets. He didn't know who she was, where she was from, or what she had done. He knew nothing, and yet seemed to know exactly the right thing to say. "I think I use my skills for the right side now, but if you make your living in a fight, in a war ... Can I ever be good?"

"You said you battled a sorcerer and his army," Neville said. "Why?"

"Because New York needed to be saved. The world needed to be saved and I could help."

"That's good, wouldn't you say?"

Nat gave him a wan smile and said, "There is a lot of red in my ledger, professor."

"I don't care," Neville insisted. "What matters is what you do now. What you want to do and choose to do, that defines who you are now. The horrible things you must have done, would that person have worked to save the city?"

"No, but—"

"Then you are a new person. New person, new ledger."

She inched closer to him on the booth and he didn't pull away.

"I'll never deserve him, though," Nat said. "Never going to be enough to repay what he did for me, and he has his own family now. This time next year, he will have a daughter. He has a farm, the whole family life, and is it bad that I want it?"

"No, it would only be bad if you wanted to take it away from him."

"I would never do that."

"I know," Neville said with a small smile. "I can tell."

Nat leaned forward and undid the first button of his collar. Her fingers worked slowly, and Neville stopped breathing. He looked like he might pass out, but he didn't back away from her proximity either. She smiled and said,

"There. Now you can breathe."

"Yeah, um, yeah ... Wasn't really having trouble with that before, but ..."

Natasha enjoyed seeing him flustered. He blushed and she thought perhaps she could pry more out of him while he was embarrassed.

"Tell me about your lover, then. The one whose name you couldn't remember."

"I remember it fine now," Neville quipped.

Nat wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled herself flush against his side.

"Maybe I can help you forget again."

That seemed to relax him. Nat felt the tension slowly bleed out of his shoulders. He bit down on his lip and admitted,

"I might like that."

"Tell me about her."

"We went to school together," Neville whispered. "I've known her since I was eleven. Never really caught her fancy in school, far too fat and unfortunate for that."

"You're here with me," Nat teased, a whisper against his ear. "Can't be too unfortunate."

Neville swallowed thickly and she watched the up-and-down bob of his Adam's apple. His breaths were slow and steady, like he was concentrating, or maybe he was lost in a memory ...

"We got married eight years ago and really thought we could make it work. She's one of the nicest people I've ever met. Just a nice person trying to do some good in a world with far too much bad." He laughed and said, "God, she was really great at snogging, though."

"Sounds like you loved each other."

"Well I'm a teacher, you know, at a private school in Scotland. She lived in England and there wasn't a commute. Our love was strong up close, but at a distance ..."

Nat put her hand on his thigh and he looked over at her with sad eyes. Goddamn, she couldn't do too much for him in the long run, but perhaps she could make that sadness disappear for one night. If she was lucky, maybe he could do the same for her.

So Nat kissed him. Just a delicate brush of lips to test whether Neville would pull away ... And he didn't. She moved to nuzzle at the space right below his ear. He sighed.

"Natasha, this really isn't what I had planned for the evening."

She nipped at his neck then trailed delicate kisses along his throat until she reached the hollow of his throat. Another pronounced bob of his Adam's apple. He smiled and placed one hand on her side.

"Is this how you treat all your friends?"

"I think you need a distraction," Nat said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "And I do, too."

Neville dragged his hand slowly over her back, from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck, pulled her closer. Nat shifted onto her knee and his indecision seemed to wane.

"Her name is Hannah."

Nat nodded and Neville shifted on the bench to face her, so they were both sitting with their weight on one leg and one shoulder pressed against the back of the bench. His request was whispered so softly Natasha could hardly hear it over the din of bar conversation.

"We divorced about three years ago. Would it be horrible if I wanted to forget her for a night?"

"I don't think either of us wants that," Nat whispered against his lips. "I think we want to move on."

"And this is step one?" Neville asked as his fingers snuck beneath the hem of Nat's shirt.

She nodded and smiled a bit.

"Maybe we skipped a few."

"I think 'm okay with that," Neville replied. His hand worked upward underneath Nat's shirt and he cupped her breast overtop her bra.

Nat was caught off-guard by the fire that surged through her veins and she arched into his hand. She kissed him again, harder this time, threading her fingers through his hair to pull him closer.

She felt Neville smile and mumbled, "Shut up," with absolutely no conviction. Natasha tugged on his sweater and he removed his hand. Her breath caught in her throat when Neville began kissing his way up her neck. The scraping of his beard and the swipes of his tongue against her skin were gentle and almost hesitant.

"Really shouldn't be doing this here."

"Yeah, you're right," Nat said, with no intention of stopping. When she made to kiss him again, he pulled back.

"How much do you hate magic?"

"You can do magic?" Nat asked. "Not like, card tricks, but magic?"

Neville swallowed hard and asked, "Would you like to come back to my hotel?"

"How fast can we get there?"

His arms tightened around Natasha and he said, "Hold on."

Next thing she knew, she was being squeezed through something approximately the size of a toothpaste tube. Every part of her was uncomfortably mushed, liquified, like she was being sucked through a straw. And just as quickly as it began, it stopped. Nat was spat out onto the floor of a very nice hotel room.

Once glance around told her she had scouted the place before. It was near Washington Square Park and cost far too much money for a lowly professor. She stood up to face Neville, who was staring sheepishly down at the floor.

"So you can do magic?" she asked again, an accusation in her tone.

"Yes, I can do magic." Neville pulled the stick out of his pocket and revealed it to be a wand. An honest-to-God wand. He stood up and opened the drawer of the sidetable and tossed it inside. "But I know it makes you uncomfortable so I won't."

"How the hell did we get here?" Natasha asked, wrapping her arms around her middle.

Neville sat on the edge of the bed and answered, "Magic. Are you afraid now?"

Nat thought about it, but Professor Neville was not threatening. He could probably be if he wanted to. Nat could tell he had seen war. Would bet he had killed, too, but he felt safe in a way Clint didn't. Professor Neville didn't have anything she could take away and wasn't the sort of person she could hurt.

"I don't think so. I've seen magic worse than this."

"So have I."

Nat nodded.

Neville held out one hand and said, "Let's just start again."

"Step one?"

"Maybe we'll skip a few."

Nat laughed. This felt so easy, so welcome. She walked over and pushed Neville back slightly on the bed before straddling his legs. Neville wrapped his arms around her waist and they made out for awhile. His ex might have been a great kisser, but Neville was pretty good himself. He was gentle, careful, almost loving.

He started exploring Nat's body with his hands. They broke apart just long enough to get her shirt over her head before Natasha kissed him again. He drew his fingertips along her spine, from the bottom of her bra strap to the hem of her pants and back again. Then he came up over her shoulderblades to run his hands up and down the curve of her arms. Gentle exploring was exactly what she needed, easy, lazy strokes across her skin that felt like slipping beneath a warm blanket after a cold day.

But Nat wanted to be warmer, closer to the light that was Neville Longbottom. She pulled the sweater over his head and tossed it on the floor. She played with the buttons on his shirt but did not open it. Neville stilled his hands on her back and Nat wasn't sure what she wanted. He certainly wasn't, however, as he undid her bra and threw it on top of his sweater. Neville cupped one breast and rolled the nipple between his fingers as his other hand just snuck beneath her underwear to tease the top of her ass. Nat moaned and pressed her forehead into his shoulder.

"Where'd you learn that, professor?"

He laughed.

"I used to be very clumsy, if you can believe it. Still trip over everything."

"You don't think much of yourself," Nat mumbled.

"Neither do you," Neville countered. "Think much of yourself, I mean."

"I like some parts more than others," she mumbled. Nat unbuttoned the second button of his shirt and fanned out the collar. She wondered how his bare skin would feel beneath her fingers. She pressed her hips down against Neville's and his breathing stuttered again. He was very still; the only movement was his thumb tracing circles in the small of her back.

In that moment, Nat felt safe and warm. She never wanted Neville to leave her arms, wished they could keep floating along, just like this. Stay in this stolen moment where all the tension had gone and thoughts of her broken heart were so far away she couldn't feel it at all.

Natasha leapt up and unbuttoned her pants. She pushed them down without ceremony and stepped out, leaving her socks in the cuffs. Nat had never been self-conscious about her scars and wasn't about to start now, but Neville studied them intently.

"Come here," he said.

Nat obliged him and he touched the one on her abdomen. Ran the pad of his thumb across it then swiped it back before firmly pressing against it. He wrapped his fingers around her hip and felt his way to the similar raised bump on her back.

"Went right through you?"

Nat nodded.

"Your turn," she said. She pushed his hair back and saw the scar ran above his hairline as well, and reached from ear to ear. "I've never seen a burn like this."

"Magic," Neville replied. "I was jinxed with what we call, um, we call it a Body-bind. I couldn't move, he put the hat on my head, then set it on fire."

God. They rarely used fire in the Red Room. It's not intimate enough, not effective enough. Guns, knives, your body ... Those are effective weapons. Fire is uncontrollable and far too risky. Nat had never thought much about it before, but looking at Neville's scarring Nat wondered whether she had ever been that cruel.

"It was over fourteen years ago, Natasha. I've dealt with it." He pressed the pad of his first finger against the small linear scar at the base of her throat. "This one looks older."

"It was over fourteen years ago," Nat quipped. "I've dealt with it."

Neville laughed and Nat liked his smile. It had been awhile since she was around anyone who wasn't afraid to laugh. Let alone laugh while she was topless and he was already half-hard in his pants. She traced the litany of scars along his left wrist.

"Cut myself on glass when I dropped a prophecy. Suppose I should have seen it coming."

It was Nat's turn to giggle.

Neville admitted, "I've been waiting years to make that joke."

Nat began unbuttoning his shirt. He leaned back a bit and smiled. She didn't rush. None of this needed to be quick. Once she undid the last button, Nat pulled the sides apart to see a pink flush making its way down Neville's neck and chest.

"You nervous, professor?"

"I think I might be, yeah," Neville admitted. He stared at a spot on the wall over Nat's shoulder. "I wasn't until about ten seconds ago, but ... Until now I was just doing this for me, but I think I want to do this for you, too."

Nat should have left. She should have stopped right there, grabbed her clothes, and found the nearest elevator. But the comfortable warmth of Neville was too inviting and his breath was hot against her cheek.

"You have to know I'm a one-and-done," she said. "I can't do anything more."

"I better make this one good then, yeah?"

"You are doing exactly what I want you to do," Nat said with more sincerity than she intended. "Just slow, professor. Let's go slow."

He nodded and moved toward the center of the bed. He opened his legs and patted the space between them, so Nat crawled over to place herself between them with her back to his front. Neville ran his hand over her shoulder, slid past her elbow and down to her palm to take her hand in his own.

"I owe your friend a debt."

Nat asked "How so?"

Neville's lips grazed the delicate skin between her neck and her shoulder, so Nat leaned further back. The feel of his mouth against her disappeared just as quickly as it began.

"If he is the first man who saw good in you, all of that led you right here to me. Forgive me for the low comparison but you, Natasha, are certainly the best part of New York City."

She chuckled. God, she had smiled more in the past fifteen minutes than she had in the past year. Nat reached behind her and slid her fingers into his hair. She tugged the slightest bit and Neville moaned low in his throat. Natasha leaned as far back as she could and tilted her head up toward his. Before she could say anything, he pressed his lips against hers.

This kiss was different; it was needier. He softly pulled at her lower lip so she tilted her head further back as he worked himself into her mouth. Nat let her guard down and went slack in his arms. She shouldn't have, should have remained alert and scanned for potential threats, but Neville wasn't that sort of man. She had seen evil, corruption, men deranged with power. Neville was not like that. Hell, he had placed his wand out of sight to make her comfortable.

They broke apart the slightest bit as Neville cupped one of her breasts. They breathed into each other's mouths, shared the same air, and Nat couldn't get close enough. She placed one hand on his thigh and he murmured,

"Take your knickers off for me?"

"Yeah," Nat nodded, breathless. "I can do that."

Neville watched as she lifted her ass off the duvet—damn, they hadn't even made it to the sheets and Neville's gaze was already sending bursts of warmth down her spine. Nat pulled her underwear off and tossed them over the edge of the bed. Neville dipped his head to kiss that point between her neck and shoulder once again and cupped both breasts with a firm grip. Nat moaned quietly and Neville said,

"You don't have to be quiet, Natasha. And, um, if I'm being honest ... I'd sort of ..."

He trailed off and Nat huffed, "Don't go quiet on me now, professor."

Neville ran one hand down across her stomach and further to press one finger against her clit. She let out a shaky breath and tightened her grip on his thigh.

"I'd like it if you weren't quiet. If you don't hold back how good I can make you feel. That's all."

He made agonizingly slow circles against her clit and Nat started writhing against him. She pushed up into his hand a bit trying to increase the pressure, but he pulled away.

"You said slow, so we're going slow."

Nat nodded, cursing herself. It began slow, just like everything with him seemed to. She tilted her head up again and he kissed her. Nat felt him hard against her back and the thought of fucking him was almost too good. She was so ready for it, wet and wanting.

She couldn't remember the last time anyone had wanted her like this, if anyone ever had. It was intoxicating. Neville finally upped the pressure against her clit for a moment before he slid two fingers inside. The heel of his hand kept tension against her clit and Nat bucked her hips up into his touch. She felt Neville grin against her shoulder.

"God, yes," Natasha said, throwing her head back onto his chest.

"There we go," Neville teased. He kept kissing her as his fingers worked in and out. His lips drifted lazily from her jaw to her throat to her shoulder and back again. It was as though he felt her arousal and always backed off just before it was about to crest. He drew out her pleasure, kneading absentmindedly at her breasts or trailing his fingers up and down along her side.

Natasha felt herself start to shake in his arms. She breathed out, "Please," and Neville obliged.

He quickened his pace, in and out, while using his other hand to rub hard and fast against her clit. Nat came suddenly, choking out a half-formed "Oh, God," before her eyelids fell shut. It was a light show behind her eyes and she slipped further down Neville's chest. Every muscle that had relaxed beneath hi's touch tensed at once until she fell into a dense fog, completely boneless.

She blinked herself back to consciousness sometime later to feel Neville rubbing soothing circles against the inside of her thigh. She tilted her head up for a kiss, gentle and pliant.

"Do you want to go on, or was that enough?"

"I want—" Nat stopped herself and pulled back. Neville didn't move at all, electing to give her space. Which was fine, since she was freaking out in the worst way. I want. The Red Room had burned those words out of her and S.H.I.E.L.D. never gave them back. For the first time in God only knew how long, Nat didn't feel bad about wanting something. Someone.

Nat just turned around and took Neville's face between her hands. She pressed their foreheads together and shut her eyes, wanting to be wholly in that moment with him. Nat's not sure how intimate she was prepared to be, so she kept pushing forward.

Throwing caution out the fucking window, Nat unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down along with his boxers in one movement. Neville kicked them off with an amused smile and Nat kissed the corner of his mouth. He took that opportunity to get a thigh between Nat's legs and rub.

"FUCK."

Neville tugged Nat down into another kiss, and she could spend ages just like that. Happy kissing this professor she picked up in the dingiest bar she could find. Or, well, Nat supposed he had picked her up, as they were back at his hotel.

"You're so quiet."

"I told you earlier, I am very good at making myself unnoticed."

Nat grabbed his hand and ran his fingers across the wet heat between her legs and said, "Well I fucking noticed."

Something shifted in Neville right then. Like he only just realized he was meant to enjoy this, too.

"Touch me," he said. Not a command and not a request, just a statement hanging out there between them.

Nat dipped her head, wrapped her lips around the tip of his dick, and sucked.

"Ohbloodyhellwhatthefuck!"

Neville fell back against the pillows and bucked up into Natasha's mouth. She couldn't help but smile as she popped off to breathe. She took him in a second time and got him halfway down her throat before pressing against the underside with her tongue.

"Natasha ... Tasha ... NAT!" Neville begged her to stop. "We only get one go of this, and I want to ... Want to ..."

She popped off again and asked, "You want to fuck me?"

"God, even hearing you say it gets me close," he admitted. "How embarrassing is that?"

"It's not embarrassing to want me."

"No, I know, but ... My brain seems to have taken a holiday and I'm thinking with my dick now."

"Fine by me," Nat said as she pinned Neville to the mattress. She guided him to her entrance and slid down onto him almost too quickly.

Neville squeezed his eyes shut and Nat braced herself on either side of his head. She rolled her hips the first time, testing it out, and good God. Neville's breaths came in short, uneven bursts and she pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek. He opened his eyes and placed his hands on her hips, guiding her to the appropriate speed. His hips rose off the mattress in time with Nat's up-and-down movement on his dick.

It was slow. That's what Nat liked about their time together: nothing was rushed. She leaned forward so their chests were pressed flush against each other and Neville wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her close. He nipped at her lower lip and grabbed her ass with both hands as he thrust inside her. Nat felt that familiar pull start between her hips and build up as Neville's fingers wandered across her body leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Neville looked her in the eyes and said, "I'm so close, Natasha."

"Yeah?" she asked. "Good, because I—"

She came with such force that it surprised her. There was a full light show exploding against the inside of Nat's eyelids and her entire body was weightless. She was floating there, on top of Neville and she never wanted to leave.

"Almost there, Natasha," Neville said. He pulled her down onto his hips with both hands on her ass and settled her there as he rode out his own orgasm. Nat watched as he threw his head back onto the pillows and shut his eyes, concentrating on how good it felt. She brought one of his hands up to her breast and rocked back-and-forth until Neville said, "Stop."

Nat rolled off of him and onto the mattress. She stared up at the ceiling and smiled, satiated. She snuggled up to Neville's side and pressed one hand to his cheek, turning him so they were face-to-face. She pushed back some of the hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead.

"You were wonderful," he said. "Fucking amazing."

"Not so bad yourself, professor," Natasha replied. She leaned forward to kiss him, but Neville pulled away.

"Sorry, as much as I would love to have another go, it's going to be a bit before I can."

"I don't want another go, I just want to kiss you for awhile."

Neville's brow furrowed and he asked, "Why?"

"Because I can't remember the last time someone cared enough to go slow." Natasha ran her hand across the plane of his chest. "And I'm not ready to let go of you just yet."

"Do you want to ..." Neville shook his head. "Never mind."

"Whatever you were about to say, I can fully confirm that I want it."

Neville picked up her hand and pressed a delicate kiss to her knuckles.

"Dinner?"

"Only if you promise to let me do this again once we get back."

"Oh, Natasha, such great hardship. I really must think about this further, consider all my options ..."

She shut him up with a kiss that both of them smiled through.

"Think you can tolerate New York now?"

"I was such a magnet for misfortune, Natasha, but I think you might have changed that."

Her expression darkened and she said, "Don't count on it, professor. I've brought misfortune upon hundreds of people in my life."

Neville tucked some of Nat's hair behind her ear and replied, "That may be true, but I promise you I'm not one of them."