004 -- voice/action;

[duplicitas]

[ natasha sounds irritated what else is new. ]

This place gets more ridiculous by the day. Must we play out every cliche Christmas tradition?

[ ooc: feel free to run into nat wherever you please, she's out and about! ]

Comments

[diastereomer]

[ Work on a Sunday seems a little extreme to Yusuf, but history has shown that he's certainly not going to turn down a paycheck with an acceptable number of zeros attached to it. This is probably Stark Solution's way of weeding out those who aren't as dedicated. It might have worked on Yusuf even (lets face it, going in for an interview on a Sunday really doesn't set up a good preview of the days he'll be expected to work in the future) but he can't really stop thinking about the kitchen--

No. No thinking about the kitchen.

Yusuf pulls open the large glass door, determined to make a good impression. ]

[duplicitas]

[ nevermind that technically natasha doesn't work for stark solutions, or that tony would have a heart attack if he found out that she commandeered his board room for the afternoon. natasha had things to do and people to see, and she'd like to know more about this man, this yusuf, who could be useful at some point in the future.

natasha likes useful people, after all.

she meets yusuf half-way, extending a hand for a handshake. which suddenly turns into her grabbing him by his lapel and yanking him into a kiss. damn it. the room had been clear of mistletoe when she'd arrived... ]

[diastereomer]

[ Well- you can't make a better impression than that, and Natasha's beat him to it!

To put it mildly, Yusuf is surprised-- but he's lucky if he's got half the work ethic Arthur has and he's certainly not got anything against kissing a ridiculously attractive redhead, so the only logical response is to roll with it. It couldn't have anything to do with the little green plant clinging to the ceiling, nope.

Calloused, thick fingers touch the highest part of her waist, respectful in their placement as some part of him still retains the knowledge that one conversation (over the device no less) does not grant him permission to touch her at all. Of course, there happens to be several confounding variables immediately present-- her perfume for one and the way her knuckles press into his chest through her grip on his lapels for another. Yusuf's other hand goes to Natasha's elbow, fingers forming to the shape of the joint (medial epicondyle, his mind supplies) not to keep her there but, really, not even remotely an attempt to push her away. ]

[duplicitas]

[ some quiet, analytical part of her is aware that this is no way to conduct an interview. that this is highly unprofessional and there's no real reason for her to be pulling his body flush against hers and kissing him like she's starved for his touch. it's highly inappropriate.

but it's the nature of the curse, so her hand tightens on his lapel and the other creeps up to his neck, steadying herself as she pushes up onto the tips of her toes. his hand on her waist is respectfully positioned--she appreciates that, it registers and she notes it and in a way this is still very much an interview. the kind of man he is, that simple placement of his hand tells her much. ]

[diastereomer]

[ Her fingers are small points at the back of his neck, an unfamiliar presence just under the sweep of his curls and he's reminded of something delicate but deadly-- a thought he would find more amusing, given the way he leans down and into her to relieve the height difference, were he not so thoroughly distracted. At her side, his thumb skims over the fabric of her blouse, noting the fit and the warmth underneath it.

With her hand on his neck (a gesture meant only for her own purposes, borne of a woman who is obviously used to getting her way) Yusuf's other hand goes to her back, supporting her when the hand pulls his lapel taut. Under his palm she feels more delicate than dangerous-- he can't remember why he thought her dangerous-- the shape of her spine a gentle thing as his fingers map her back. ]

[duplicitas]

[ she tenses up at the brush of his thumb along her side--ribs, all too easy for a knife to slip between them, even though he's hardly armed. he's not type. field agents are easy to spot. there's a way about them, a subtle air that natasha could recognize blindfolded and it isn't present here, but she tenses all the same.

a slow hand slides up into his curls, all the better to hold on to. her teeth catch his lower lip in an experimental bite, testing his reaction as her spine curves beneath his palm. ]