[He lets her push him onto his back without fussing, his hand sliding down to rest at her hip again, the impulse to help steady her hard to resist. His thumb strokes slowly against the swell of her cheek as they kiss, her still-damp hair coiled around his wrist like it wants him to stay close too. Well, he's not going to argue.
Normally Phil doesn't like being on his back — it's inherently vulnerable, as positions go, makes him feel helpless — but it's barely a thought with Natasha, perhaps because even his unconscious mind knows that he can trust her to look after him. She's patched him up in the field before, he's relied on her to cover his exit, they've kept watch over each other during long, cold nights... Phil mostly trusts those he works with out of necessity, but he trusts Natasha out of choice.
The silk of her robe is at once cool to the touched and warmed from her body, and he likes the contrast of it as it pools over his hand, getting tangled around them both, keeping them close.]
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Normally Phil doesn't like being on his back — it's inherently vulnerable, as positions go, makes him feel helpless — but it's barely a thought with Natasha, perhaps because even his unconscious mind knows that he can trust her to look after him. She's patched him up in the field before, he's relied on her to cover his exit, they've kept watch over each other during long, cold nights... Phil mostly trusts those he works with out of necessity, but he trusts Natasha out of choice.
The silk of her robe is at once cool to the touched and warmed from her body, and he likes the contrast of it as it pools over his hand, getting tangled around them both, keeping them close.]