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For some reason, Hope’s eye kept catching on the droplets of sweat glistening against Natasha’s skin.
Well, Hope was perfectly aware of the reason she kept looking at Natasha, but she wasn’t going to admit to it anytime soon. Not out loud, at least.
“Jesus Christ,” Sharon Carter huffed, her back against the mat for the umpteenth time, and tapped her hand lightly to the bicep tucking her body to the ground. Nat let her up, offering a hand to get her back on her feet. “I know you’ve been doing this a lot longer than I have, but Jesus Christ .”
A knowing smirk lifted one corner of Nat’s lips, and Hope did her best not to notice the way it made her heart jump. “You don’t get a title like ‘the Black Widow’ for being an amateur. But - ” she added quickly, when Sharon tilted her head, about to snap back, “you’re nothin’ to sneeze at, Agent Thirteen.”
Sharon bumped the knuckles of her sparring gloves to Natasha’s before turning her eyes to Hope, leaning over the ropes of the ring, and grinned. “I can’t be the only one getting my ass handed to me today, Van Dyne. You’re up.”
“Promise not to take it easy on me?” Hope asked Natasha, whose fists were already lifted again, her feet spreading into a defensive stance and her knees bending to lower her center of gravity. She could’ve sworn she saw Natasha’s tongue flick out to wet her lips before the first punch flew.
“Never.”
Sharon patted her on the shoulder on her way out of the locker room, her hair dark golden and still wet as it swung just above her collarbone. “You two coming out for drinks later? We’re doing Sam’s birthday tonight.”
Natasha had peeled off her athletic tank and her shorts, left now only in her sports bra and panties. Not that Hope had noticed. “Yeah, count me in. I might be late, though, got some stuff to take care of.”
“Hope?”
She pulled together a smile, slipping out of her soft-soled training shoes. “Yeah, I’ll be there. That pizza and brew place he likes in Midtown, yeah?”
“You know it. See you there.”
The door closed heavily behind her, and Hope turned back to her locker to tuck in her shoes and a fresh pair of socks for next time.
“You’ve got a day off comin’ up, huh?” Nat asked, her smooth, husky voice reverberating off the metal around her. Hope straightened to her full height, knowing that the only person in the world better than she was at faking it till she made it was standing in the room with her.
“Yup.” She popped the p purposefully as she shrugged out of her own top and shorts, and then carefully wrapped a towel around herself before taking off her bra and panties and stepping into her shower shoes. A cold shower would do wonders for soothing the bruises she’d earned in her sparring match with Natasha, and for the heat thrumming up from low in her belly that they were alone now. In the locker room. “When’s your next day off?”
“Tomorrow.” Hope pretended that her heart wasn’t thumping now that Natasha had come up closer, leaning on her forearm against the row of lockers to Hope’s immediate left. She could tell Nat was wearing that lopsided smile of hers before she even looked. “You...got lunch plans?”
Hope’s cheeks burned - she hated how easily she blushed, and both hated and loved how itty-bitty she felt next to Nat despite having a good two or three inches on her. She risked a glance to her left, fighting the urge to explode at the sight of the woman of her dreams wearing the hell out of the same Avengers-issue white towel she was in.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Her heart was in her throat, Natasha was within arm’s length now, those clever green eyes full of something Hope couldn’t quite place. “There’s a cafe on the eighteenth floor that isn’t terrible. If you wanted to grab some lunch with me.”
The towel was slipping, and for the fleeting moment between wondering if Natasha knew it was slipping and knowing Natasha knew it was slipping, Hope’s hand darted out to catch the corner. Nat took her by the wrist, pulling her close enough that she could smell the sweat still on her, mixed with the fading floral notes of her perfume. Hope didn’t let go of the piece of towel she still had, the tiny bit of purchase that she could cling to while Natasha Romanoff was pressed up to her, looking her up and down like there was nothing in the world she’d rather devour.
“Can I take that as a yes?” Nat asked, her voice tender and soft and utterly dangerous all at once.
Hope leaned down to seal her lips to Natasha’s, and let her body do the rest of the talking.