Okay then. [ It's a pleased kind of exhale. She looks up at him through the dip of her lashes, curling a hand into the collar of his shirt as if to keep him there, fingers a light press into the warmth of his neck.
She doesn't do anything except just breathe, for a little while. Natasha's getting better at cataloguing small moments for herself rather than to use; Phil is good for her that way. Eventually, she closes the distance until she can kiss him, the kind that's slow and languid and thorough, like Natasha's relearning everything she can about him.
When she pulls back, there's a quiet, sated sigh to her exhale. ]
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She doesn't do anything except just breathe, for a little while. Natasha's getting better at cataloguing small moments for herself rather than to use; Phil is good for her that way. Eventually, she closes the distance until she can kiss him, the kind that's slow and languid and thorough, like Natasha's relearning everything she can about him.
When she pulls back, there's a quiet, sated sigh to her exhale. ]