His touch was so gentle, loving, and Natasha’s expression quickly softened. He looked at her like she was the only woman in the world, like she was everything good and beautiful and important. He made her feel like her life was worth something, for if she could make him happy then... well, that was worth everything.
His words were quiet yet unrestrained, and had she not been holding two mugs of hot tea she would have thrown her arms around him and hugged him tightly. She wanted to blame hormones, but it was probably just as likely that she had never been loved like this before, a love so deep and true that she had a hard time believing it was real some days. Clint knew her, knew the darkest parts of her, yet he could still say words like these and mean every syllable. Maybe some day that fact would cease to amaze her, but not today.
Directly afterwards he relieved her of one of the mugs, leaving one of her hands free. She wanted to touch him everywhere, to tangle fingers in his hair, to squeeze his hand, to trace his lips with her fingertips. Unable to decide she brushed off the idea all together and sipped her tea instead, her eyes watching him as he tried his, searching his face for any indication of what he thought of it.
Turning toward the door she did take his hand then, entwining their fingers together as they stepped out into the morning sun.
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Date: 2014-07-09 01:10 am (UTC)From:His words were quiet yet unrestrained, and had she not been holding two mugs of hot tea she would have thrown her arms around him and hugged him tightly. She wanted to blame hormones, but it was probably just as likely that she had never been loved like this before, a love so deep and true that she had a hard time believing it was real some days. Clint knew her, knew the darkest parts of her, yet he could still say words like these and mean every syllable. Maybe some day that fact would cease to amaze her, but not today.
Directly afterwards he relieved her of one of the mugs, leaving one of her hands free. She wanted to touch him everywhere, to tangle fingers in his hair, to squeeze his hand, to trace his lips with her fingertips. Unable to decide she brushed off the idea all together and sipped her tea instead, her eyes watching him as he tried his, searching his face for any indication of what he thought of it.
Turning toward the door she did take his hand then, entwining their fingers together as they stepped out into the morning sun.