Freedom. It's a hard word to define, but he'd take it as this. These days he took the missions he wanted -- and he is allowed to want, a wondrous thing in itself considering the state they found him in -- and on a night like this he was free to remind himself what it was like to be a man instead of a weapon.

Not that Natasha didn't handle weapons with every bit of grace and ferocity as she handled her men. The thought brought a wolfish smile to his face as he released his hold on her hand. There were other places on her to spread his fingers and rub the slick trickle of water into her skin. Along the curve of her thigh, for example.

"I bought you champagne once. Paris, remember?" he murmured, before his teeth caught her earlobe in a swift, sharp tug.