⚂ [ a u d i o || a c t i on ]|

[specifics]

Never liked this tradition. I mean, I'd rather not take orders from a plant. Seriously, just...

[ - annnnd, some subsequent mumbling, as well as the words - you know it's a parasite are articulately audible but not much else before the device turns off. ]

[ ooc/accosting reference: Arthur today will have been in order - getting coffee,

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[duplicitas]

[ natasha herself had gone to get her coffee--black, scorching hot--and was on her way out as arthur was coming in. ]

Hello, Arthur.

[specifics]

[ Recognizing her of course, Arthur pauses while pushing the door shut behind him (the slight wind having made it just sort of hang open otherwise) and smiles at her slightly. Suffice to say his eyes do dart toward the ceiling once, but the vicious destroyer of worlds (mistletoe) has yet to make an appearance. So he relaxes, somewhat. ] Hey. [ A glance at her coffee, ] Going to work, or...?

[ Small talk, something people think Arthur doesn't care for but that's not it at all. He's just discriminating as to who he has small talk with. ]

[duplicitas]

[ natasha herself typically isn't one for small talk, but she makes exceptions in certain cases. she likes knowing about people, finding out what makes them tick, and sometimes a little small talk now makes discovering that later much easier. ]

Errands. I've finally a whole free day to get things done.

[ and of course it's the day that fate chooses to unleash mistletoe upon the world and utterly inconvenience her. she hasn't managed to get through a single store without someone's lips getting in her way. it's beyond irritating. ]

Yourself?

[specifics]

Errands before my shift, [ he nods, dusting the sleeves of his coat off absently, the snow still in its curiously powdered stage rather than anything actually substantial. ] Casino, [ is the clarification for himself, having no reason to hide it, and he slips his gloves off to stuff in his pockets, side-stepping from the door to make way for other patrons. ]

You working for Stark still...or, again? [ His eyes crinkle slightly with the question, remembering she mentioned having been in his employment prior to arriving. ]

[duplicitas]

Something like that.

[ more like sniping at him via text message and stealing his meeting room to meet with yusuf, but that's neither here nor there. what tony doesn't know can't possibly hurt him. ]

You work at the casino?

[ she hadn't expected it of him, not really. he'd seemed the sort to gravitate towards something more...professional. she mirrors his sidestep without thinking, and the motion is almost that of someone facing an opponent. natasha's instincts forever show her for what she is, if she's not paying strict attention to them. ]

[specifics]

[ Brow arching a little at the mirroring nature of Natasha's movement, he rests a hand on the back of the nearest chair - at an empty table too - and nods yet again. He's still not entirely clear on what all the City Solutions business has under its tabs, what its goals are collectively in the sense of there having been more than one Tony on record in this 'City', this dream or whatever. Having Yusuf potentially involved might prove clarifying though, he thinks, among other things. ]

It's more interesting than my other options.

[ He explains, one half politeness the other half honest, but none of that has to do with Arthur's free hand curling fingers under Natasha's chin and drawing her into a kiss. Above them the mistletoe is crawling into existence like the fiendish foliage Arthur perceives it to be, but he's not thinking about that at present, instead letting his hand slip just a bit to better frame Natasha's face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. ]

[duplicitas]

[ having a pyrokinetic in existence would have most likely solved this problem for her. paying someone to follow her around and ignite any potential mistletoe sprigs would have been well worth the expense. but that's a thought that will register later, whenever it is that she disentangles herself from arthur. at the moment, all she does is pull him closer, tipping her head back to meet his lips.

natasha is good at this. everything about her is inviting, just as she intends to be. all those soft, sweet curves of her body hide razor sharp knives and steel. she's not called the black widow for nothing, after all, but for once she's not thinking about how to turn this to her advantage. she's thinking about her arms sliding beneath arthur's jacket, around his waist, and the pressure of his hand on his face.

it's rare, her kissing anyone honestly and without some cold analytical part of her mind trying to pin them down and decide how best to make use of them. ]

[specifics]

[ Natasha's arms make for a slender but surprisingly solid frame against Arthur's sides, palpable warmth through the waistcoat tailored to him underneath the jacket, which is underneath the outer coat. Too many layers for this to be accommodating per se but Arthur for all his rigidity concerning plans would be nowhere if he was not also adaptable - for when those plans go sideways or whatever else. This isn't a plan though, isn't something he went into on his own volition, and has no clear plan of action concerning it

[duplicitas]

[ her fingers map his shoulders, the curve of his spine, through layers of fabric--expensive, well-cut fabric, she notes, because natasha misses no details, even at moments like this, with arthur's hand in her hair and arm around her waist. there's no space between them, and most men who get this close to the widow regret it, one way or another. that's what she's thinking of when her head tips back, that this is simultaneously too close and not close enough.

and that they're making out like a pair of teenagers for anyone to see, but somehow that isn't important. it seems to be the theme of the day, to embarass oneself in front of a full audience.

she bites him back. she knows no other way to interpret that graze of teeth than as a challenge, and she doesn't possess the ability to be passive, to let that slide. she bites him, fingers digging into his hip as she shifts up onto her toes. she can't quite close the height gap between them, but she can gain herself leverage. and she'll take what she can get, in that respect. ]

[specifics]

[ The empty table serves a new purpose, like it was placed there for this very reason and Arthur is just going to Not think about anyone else having used it similarly since there's something simultaneously second-hand and just Plain Weird about it. Instead his attention is all for sliding his hand down between Natasha's shoulderblades, trailing back round to mirror his other hand at her hip, both hands gripping tighter just to lift her onto said table. This more or less solves the height difference annoyance - and it's telling that he thinks of it as an annoyance right now, an obstacle between him and a woman he absolutely does not know. Go figure

[duplicitas]

[ for a moment, she very nearly lashes out, before she understands what arthur's objective is. and then it's an idea she's absolutely in favor of. an even playing field is much preferred, as opposed to standing on the tips of her toes or yanking him downwards

[specifics]

[ Ankles at his back he can feel, the slight dig of a heel and the glancing weight of anklebone into clothes he was going to have steamed anyway but now really will have to. He doesn't mind especially not right now, replying to Natasha's soft-strong hum by pressing his tongue just enough to run along her bottom row of teeth, the gesture like a question of his own. That's when she pulls on his tie however so he takes it for what it is - green light means go and all that, sliding his tongue from her teeth up to map the roof of her mouth, and there's something distinctly clean about the taste here. He's not sure why that's the word he comes up with, but it's sharp, vital, and he likes it, the hand previously at her knee smoothing up her thigh to her waist again then to the dip of her back, fingertips pressing just past the articulate curve of her spine. When he fists his hand it's just to brush the knuckles of it up between her shoulderblades then back down, fingers splaying wide again just above her waist, a firm pressure like he's

[duplicitas]

[ under the slight pressure of his knuckles her spine curves, body arching up in response. encouragement. it feels like her skin is prickling, so attuned to the touch of his fingers through layers of fabric and cloth. the hand in his hair tightens, just for a moment, before it falls away. through the shirt and the waistcoat, her hands press against his chest, his stomach, tracing the bones of his ribs and the muscles of his abdomen. and the kiss stretches onward, the kind of familiar urgency that only comes when the participants have with no specific endpoint in mind, when the journey is what truly counts.

and really, who knows what might have happened if she hadn't shifted, leaned back and knocked over her coffee. half of it splashes down onto the floor, and natasha herself practically jumps off the table, using arthur as a vault, to avoid getting coffee all over herself, breaking the kiss. ]

[specifics]

[ The way he swallows past something sharp and heavy in the pit of his throat seems loud and coincides with a reciprocal press of his body forward into the distinct individual play of Natasha's fingers, the heel of her palm, the slide of her hand entirely, his muscles jumping reflexively whatever direction she trails.

It's fortunate for both of them that she does spill the coffee, the pressure on Arthur's shoulders a direction all its own as in sheer reaction he curves forward, all the better a human vault, so on and so forth. Catching his breath takes a second though he takes such small ones that it might not be noticeable, cursing under his breath and grabbing a handful of napkins from the island of sugar and cream and other coffee condiments, stooping to mop up the puddle there. The look he lets flicker to Natasha is brief but clear: apologetic, even as he's getting up to toss the soaked napkins into the nearest bin. ]

[duplicitas]

[ she doesn't look at him immediately. instead, she spends a few minutes carefully straightening her coat, running fingers through her hair, straightening the rumpled edges and mussed locks. and breathing, slow and steady, until it's as if she'd never been sitting on that table with arthur's hands on her. poise. it was what she was in the business of, control and poise and an excellent poker face. ]

Seems as if I'll have to purchase a new coffee.

[specifics]

[ There's a slight hum of acknowledgment as he returns, pushing one of the chairs back where it ought to go, straightening his own clothes again, running pale fingers back through his hair and fairing quite similarly in the department of a poker face. At least he's used to the feeling of the expression though he finds himself surprisingly amused at knowing he's seeing it on Natasha's face as well. He bows his head briefly shakes it once which spoils some of his own nonchalance. ]

My treat? As an apology, [ he clarifies and this is the other thing he's good at, all politeness even when on the turn of a dime he can be persnickety and downright rude if the persona and situation call for it; needless to say, this doesn't. ]