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corralinesage · 8 days ago

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Portrait of a wounded heart (4/8)

CHAPTER 4 Weeping soul

You struggled to focus in class, your pencil sketching a pair of eyes into your sketchbook. You knew whose they were, even if they might not have been very close to what she looked like in real life. You did your best to recall the shape of her eyelids, the angle of her lower lash line, the curve of her lashes. You found your eraser automatically without even having to look for it, your hand reaching for it blindly. You changed the shape of her canthi, concluding that they were slightly too dominant to match her appearance, simultaneously shading in some of the whites of the eyeballs to soften the sketch and make it more lifelike. You glanced up at your professor, hearing a couple words she was saying about George Eliot’s style of writing, but it all blurred into nothingness the second your eyes moved down to the paper beneath you. She was waiting for you. She wanted to see you again, spend time with you. Nothing in the world could have possibly made you focus on the lecture no matter how much you knew you should have been paying attention. Your daydreams were back, her captivating presence had once again conquered your mind, your newfound information only feeding your daydreams.

Your pencil came to a stop against the paper, your eyes falling out of focus. You were beyond tired. You wanted to close your eyes so badly, your mind immediately searching for comfort, slowly starting to recall the previous night, and just how cozy you had been in your bed with Natasha. You wondered what it would’ve been like to actually have her there, wondered how much better it would have been to rest your head against her chest instead of your fluffy pillow. Your heart actually ached from longing as you imagined yourself in her arms. You had never even hugged her, but you could envision the way she would wrap those strong arms of hers around you and hold you long after you fell asleep. You thought about other things that typically happened in bed, your mind and heart racing in tandem as you thought about kissing her. You could almost feel the way her breath would tickle your chin, see the way she would look at you with those green eyes right before she would press her pink lips to yours and steal your breath away.

“Y/N, what did you think about Ladislaw?” Your eyes snapped up to meet your professor’s, your cheeks flushing warm. Crap, getting caught daydreaming was clearly becoming a staple during lectures.

“I- I… um.” What had Natasha said about his character? Something about him being fickle. No, not fickle, maybe an idealist. Hopelessly in love with Dorothea, that was for sure. He was artistic and liked politics. “He’s a bit rebellious. Kind of an outsider at times.” You tried to be vague to avoid saying anything that could have been considered wrong.

“That’s right”, the professor replied, grasping your statement and starting to expand its implications. “He doesn’t seem to quite belong anywhere, isn’t that right?” You nodded your head, looking at the professor until her gaze shifted to someone else, signifying that she was no longer addressing you directly, your eyes falling out of focus again as she kept talking. “Did you guys notice that he doesn’t seem to belong to any social class?” From then on you were gone until the end of the class, your mind wandering far, far away from Middlemarch.

You nearly jumped up from your seat the second your professor started to wrap up the lecture, your books and notebooks getting shoved into your school bag with such vigor they nearly missed your bag altogether. You wrapped your scarf around your neck, tugged on your coat, and swung your bag over your shoulder, leaving the classroom in an instant. You hurried down a flight of stairs, beelining straight into the women’s bathroom to check your appearance. You looked at yourself in the mirror for a while, studying your features, noting the very same flaws that you knew to be there since birth. You walked a bit closer, digging up some lipstick from a pocket in your bag, applying it carefully to enhance the dull color of your lips. It helped a little, your fingers coming up to brush over your brows and lashes as if adjusting them, and then you just stared at yourself, hoping that you were enough to appeal to the older woman who you were falling for faster and harder than you even realized.

Upon entering the university library, your eyes scanned your surroundings with a certain vigilance, searching for your desired person, eventually spotting her sitting by a table with a book open in front of her. She had two takeout cups of coffee beside her, her elbow leaning against the edge of the table as she played idly with her earring, eyes fixed on the pages. She was so beautiful, so uncommonly gorgeous that you had to pause for a moment as you just stared at her, observing the picturesque sight that she was, your eyes noting every little detail of her appearance. She adjusted her loose curls with her left hand, leaving her silver earring alone for a moment as she raked her fingers through the auburn locks. They fell beautifully around her slim face, the color accentuating the paleness of her complexion. Once satisfied with her hair, her hand moved to her face to swipe across the underside of her round nose as if to get rid of an itch before her hand went right back to one of the many earrings she had. You felt like you couldn’t move, suddenly very nervous to disturb her in any way. She looked so peaceful, so in her element, that you didn’t dare to intervene, and thankfully you didn’t have to. Her eyes flicked up from the table, landing right on your own as if she would have felt your gaze on her. She lifted her head up to see you better, offering a small smile to you, the slight tilt of her head beckoning you to come closer. You looked down at the floor, a shy smile on your face as you headed over to her, doing your best to control your nerves.

“Hey, solnishka”, she nearly whispered, mindful of the other people in the library. You gave her a bright smile as you seated yourself beside her on a chair that she pulled back for you.

“Hi.” You blushed violently for no apparent reason, your stomach fluttering weakly with butterflies. Oh, how silly of you to feel so deeply, so strongly toward a woman who could merely be classified as an acquaintance. She pulled you a bit closer by your arm, leaning down to kiss your cheek as a greeting, much like she had done the last time you had parted ways. You felt dizzy.

“How was class? Did you learn anything new?” Her eyes were inquiring, that small smirk always ever-present on her lips.

“It was okay, nothing crazy.” All you had learned was that you were falling in love with her, and the erratic thud of your heart only confirmed your suspicions. Your eyes dropped down to her lips. You could just kiss her. If you somehow gathered up the courage, you could just lean forward and place your lips on her pillowy ones. Nothing was stopping you from going after her. There were no rules, no restrictions, just two friendly people who got along with each other more than well. Surely there was nothing wrong with wanting to kiss her, wanting to feel her body against your own. And there truly was nothing wrong with it, but you eventually tore your eyes away from her mouth, focusing on your bag as you dug out your laptop, copy of Middlemarch, and her umbrella that you returned to her.

“Thank you”, she said with a small smile, placing the accessory over her purse that sat on the floor. “You didn’t fall asleep in class”, she said teasingly, handing you the large mug of coffee from the table. “Here’s your drink. I need to keep that smart brain of yours sharp and focused.” You pursed your lips slightly, trying to hide your reaction to her attentive words.

“Thanks. I didn’t, but I wasn’t far from it.” You chuckled softly, grasping the mug into your cold fingers, surprised to find it still hot to touch. “What’d you get me?”

“Guess.” She gave you a small smirk that you returned immediately as you brought the mug to your lips, taking a careful sip of the drink in case it would burn you. The warm liquid coated your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut on their own as you allowed the sweet and creamy drink to surprise your taste buds. There was a very strong blend of spices mixed in, the flavor something you recognized but you failed to pinpoint where you knew it from.

“Mm, that’s so good”, you hummed, taking another sip that was followed by a small groan, her smile widening. “What is it?”

“A dirty chai latte”, she murmured, holding your gaze knowingly, the mirth behind her eyes coming off as playful, like she had been waiting for you to ask for the name.

“Ohh, that’s what it was.” The flavor suddenly made much more sense as you slowly recognized its familiar depth.

“Have you ever had one before?”

“Not a dirty one”, you said, failing to wipe the smile off your face, the tension between you far too exciting.

“It’s my favorite. Especially the dirty part”, she hummed, earning an amused eye roll from you. “I like them extra dirty.” She whispered it to you like it was a secret.

“And how dirty are we talking?” You inquired, arching a brow at her words, your eyes nailed on hers. It was hard to sort out what you were feeling, the intensity of the emotion making it difficult for you to identify it. All you knew was that there was a strong pull, an irresistible force that drew you to her like a magnet.

“Sometimes I take a double shot of espresso. It balances out the sweetness.” She eyed your cup for a moment, watching you take another sip. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. But I won’t lie, it could be dirtier.” Natasha’s smirk widened into a pleased, little grin.

“Glad you agree.”

“What did you get?” Your eyes dropped down to the cup between her hands, noting that her knuckles were slightly bruised, a bit of cool toned purple pushing through the paleness of her skin, hues of crimson and greenish yellow marking the area. You wanted to ask, but didn’t, deeming it inappropriate. Besides you really shouldn’t have been all that protective of her when you most likely meant nothing at all to her.

“Oh, just a regular latte in case you had a vendetta against chai or something”, she chuckled, her fingers playing with the paper cup. “I’ve noticed that it often divides opinions.”

“Natasha”, you sighed in a mild chastise for her thoughtfulness, her attention suddenly fully on you as if she had been caught off guard by you using her name. “That’s so sweet of you. You should’ve just gotten your favorite.” A small frown found your face. “Here, you can have some of mine.” You offered the cup to her.

“Thank you”, she hummed with a certain softness to her features as your other hand came up to the cup to remove the lid, your fingers starting to pry it off. “Don’t bother, darling.” Her hand pushed yours away gently, the lid remaining in place. “I don’t mind.” She gave you a small smile as she grabbed the mug and brought it to her lips, pressing her mouth over the small hole, the very same place where your lips had been just a moment before. She had a way of dominating the atmosphere with the simplest of acts. She merely took a small sip of the drink, yet managed to steal your breath away, your eyes lingering on her lips. You were practically kissing, and there was nothing in the world that could have convinced you otherwise. You felt a spark of thrill go through you.

“Ah, that hits the spot. It’s like Christmas in a cup. Thank you.” She handed the drink back to you, her eyes flitting down to your mouth. You were sure of it. She looked at your lips. You were more than glad for having made the decision to put on some lipstick, no matter how little it probably did for your poor lips that were struggling to adjust to the cold climate that was creeping up on you.

“It is. Dare I even say better than pumpkin spice?” Natasha gave you a look of disbelief, sarcastically suggesting you that your statement was nothing short of preposterous.

“Beware krasotka, the autumn fanatics will come for you.”

“Let them come. I’ll show them the gingerbread candle in my living room and the Christmas playlist that’s been in my ‘recently played’ since September.” She laughed at your retort, scrunching her nose the slightest bit. You couldn’t tell what it meant, but it filled you with warmth, the adorable gesture lingering in your mind. You wanted to see it again.

“Oh, see now you’re crossing a line”, she said, the air of gaiety that surrounded you only strengthened by your camaraderie. It felt strange to talk to someone with an equal amount of wit, it felt strange to be with someone of your own kind, someone with depth and nuance, someone who complimented you. “You gotta wait at least until Thanksgiving.”

“Eh, I like a head start.” You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the long sleeves of your knit sweater, your hands resting on the table beside hers. You thought about what she had said regarding hands and their intimacy, your cheeks heating at the thought of holding her own. You were so close, and she was right there. “That way I get the most of it.” You glanced up at her, moving your hands as if unintentionally, your fingers brushing against hers. They were cool to touch despite the multiple layers of clothing she wore, your heart clenching at the feel of her soft skin. With bated breath you waited for her to pull her hand away, to adjust her cup or take a sip of coffee to break the connection like you had expected her to, but she didn’t. You felt abnormally shy all of a sudden, uncertainty consuming you, squeezing at your chest when there was no reaction on her part. You didn’t want to be pushy, slowly drawing your hand back enough to break contact despite how much you would have wanted more. You should’ve probably started your assignment anyway. You pulled away from the table altogether, focusing on the laptop you had brought with you, Natasha seemingly completely unfazed. “What were you reading?” You asked her as you started up your laptop, your gaze shifting to the book that she had moved to the side to give you more tabletop space.

“Zhila-byla zhenshchina, kotoraya khotela ubit' sosedskogo rebenka by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya.” The Russian rolled off her tongue so naturally that it shocked you, the language switch bringing out the lower register of her voice, a tone you had yet to hear properly. If you had thought she sounded attractive when speaking English, you had been far from prepared to hear how her Russian sounded. “The English name for it is There Once Lived A Woman Who Tried To Kill Her Neighbor’s Baby”, she elaborated, correctly assuming that you hadn’t understood a word of what she had said.

“That’s quite the title. What’s it about?” And so, the assignment had once again found its way into oblivion as you two discovered yet another topic to discuss. It wasn’t until well past two in the afternoon that you finally managed to redirect the conversation back to Victorian literature. You turned your attention back to your laptop and got to work, creating a fresh document for you to write your essay into, Natasha focusing on your copy of Middlemarch to look for examples to use in your assignment.

Working with her was nearly impossible, and it tested the very limits of your willpower, your gaze shifting back and forth between the screen and her pretty face. It felt like no words came to you every time you tried to type something into your sparsely filled-out document. You had managed an introduction paragraph, the date, and your name, despite how much time had already passed since you had officially started working on it. You were good at writing, you liked writing, but with her there, all you could do was curse your mind for being so disorganized and blank at the same time. You felt verbally constipated, the emotional high you were experiencing consuming your mind whole, yet for some reason you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. You hadn’t been as happy and full of life as you were at the moment in months. You hadn’t felt anything all summer, and sitting there, observing her appearance, her demeanor, you realized that you had been miserable long enough for it to have become your norm. So, how could anyone blame you for taking an extra minute or two to look at her? Who could blame you for ignoring your schoolwork? Who could blame you for falling head over heels for someone who was slowly bringing back your spark?

Your eyes met again as she caught you staring, your gaze moving back to the screen to hide your blush, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as if you would have actually had something to write. From the corner of your eye, you saw her smile to herself as she too went back to the pages of Middlemarch, her finger marking the spot where she had left off. You wanted closer to her, you wanted to make physical contact with her more than you wanted anything else at the moment. You needed things to move forward, for something to happen because you couldn’t take the tension any longer, those gorgeous green eyes returning to your frame with the same frequency as yours went to hers.

“Can I see what you’ve got so far?” She asked quietly a moment later, the pining starting to get a bit too obvious, her voice nothing but a whisper in the silent library. You nodded your head, her hands moving to the laptop, those cool fingers brushing over your own as she brought the device in front of her to get a better look. She tried not to allow a smirk of amusement to take over her features as she finally saw just what you had managed to get done in the span of ninety minutes. Your work was slow, incredibly so, but she was willing to forgive you since she had a feeling that the reason for it wasn’t your incompetence, but rather her presence that to her pleasure seemed to have quite an effect on you. “Mind if I add something?”

“No, not at all. Floor is all yours.” You chuckled softly, watching with great curiosity as she pulled back her sleeves a bit to get them out of the way, your eyes devouring her veiny hands that you had previously overlooked due to the bruising on her knuckles. Her pale hands and forearms were just as toned and defined as the rest of her body, green and blue veins pushing visibly through her fair complexion. She started typing away, her fingers flying over the keys so fast you could barely process their coordinated and skilled movement. You had always been attracted by hands and forearms, but when you saw the way her muscles rippled beneath her skin with each movement of her hands she gave it a whole different meaning. You would do anything to hold those strong and capable hands in your own, to feel them grip your hips and waist, you would do anything but actually take a leap of faith and grab her hand.

Natasha finished off your paragraph, continuing your argument from a perspective you had discussed together. You were almost jealous of how beautifully the words flowed into the document, her fingers forming full, intellectual sentences with little-to-no time spent thinking of their structure. It was like she was pouring out her thoughts onto the white screen of your laptop. “I’m gonna write down the structure for you. It’ll be easier to follow along and keep up with the story.” The clicking sound of the keyboard seized, those round eyes turning to you as you simply nodded your head.

“I should probably read that one chapter you mentioned, with the codicil and stuff”, you reasoned partly to yourself, but seeking for Natasha’s validation.

“Yeah, it could definitely give you a clearer picture on the argument you’re trying to make.” She typed a couple more sentences in French lines, structuring your essay. You were more than thankful for her assistance, surprised to find yourself genuinely comfortable receiving help, instead of feeling threatened for having someone meddling with your work. It was a bigger issue at times, but not an issue around her.

“Ugh, and I still need to find the passages to quote too”, you groaned suddenly, leaning back into the uncomfortable chair you occupied, bringing your hands to your face in exhaustion. You were hungry and tired, your feet and hands getting colder by the minute in the drafty, old building. You wanted to let go of the essay, find something else to think about to give your brain a much-needed break from analyzing prose. You wanted to escape the stress of the nearing midterms that would require you to put extra effort into your schoolwork that you were already neglecting to begin with. You wanted a moment of peace, a day where you didn’t have a list of tasks to complete.

“How many did you need?”

“Three is the minimum, but you don’t have to look for them. You’ve already done half the assignment”, you said jokingly, but it was far too close to reality. She huffed out a small chuckle, studying your tired face with a look of empathy on her features, her head tilting to the side as if in compassion. She remained quiet for a moment, clearly in thought, before she spoke.

“We should take a break, go for lunch, get some fresh air. The deadline is next week, right? You don’t have to cram it all in one sitting. You can let the thoughts and arguments marinate for a while. I’m sure a bite of something would help you get your brain going again.” She spoke softly, her gentle tentativeness shining through like a beacon. She was oddly caring, something that you rarely saw in the people around you. It felt strange. Her attention didn’t come off as patronizing or belittling, but rather supportive. She was like a pillar for you to lean on, and it was all her doing, her own volition. You weren’t begging for her to take care of you, you weren’t even asking for it, yet she had no problem being her assertive, caring self.

“I’d love that.” You didn’t know why you let her sweep you off your feet time and time again when you knew better than to trust people, to trust strangers. You knew that you shouldn’t ever lean on anybody if you wanted to avoid getting hurt, avoid betrayal and disappointment. But she was right there in front of you with those soft, angelic features and a genuine smile, and you were so lonely, so lonely that your heart ached from the sole thought of having someone again. So, you gave in to your desires and let go of everything that you were used to, blindly diving right into the deep end of love because there was nothing else you could have done, not when every morsel of your being was given what it needed.

You walked through the sunny streets of New York City, the cold biting your cheeks as the crisp October air numbed up your fingertips. The sun was relatively high in the sky, and shone brightly, giving the city a warm, golden glow, the vibrant-colored leaves reminding you of why you loved fall so dearly, the surrounding trees glowing like flames of a campfire. You hugged yourself tightly to warm yourself up as you crossed the road to Cornelia Street, walking along it until you reached Bleecker Street, your nose locating your favorite pizza place before your eyes found the sign that read John’s Pizzeria.

“This is it?” Natasha asked for confirmation, earning a small nod from you.

“I swear the pizza is so good. It’s the best pizza I’ve ever had. It’s a foolproof choice. I come here too often. I think the workers recognize me”, you explained in mild amusement, Natasha yanking the front door open for you, her hand guiding you inside the cozy and crowded restaurant.

“It better be. I’m starving.”

As much as her company excited and thrilled you, there was a part of you that felt uneasy. Something didn’t add up because you were actually getting along with someone, you actually found yourself comfortable in someone else’s company in a way that wasn’t familiar to you, and by the time you received your orders, your alarm bells were going off. Things were advancing too quickly, too naturally. Why did you feel so connected to this woman after just two days? Why did it feel so easy, so right? You couldn’t fall in love, you couldn’t. It required you to be vulnerable, open to love and happiness, open to the possibility of getting hurt again, open to giving another person the control to rip your life into shreds if they so wished.

You were just going to be friends. It was decided, it was official. You were just going to be friends because anything more than that scared the living daylights out of you. You would just have to suck it up and ignore the herd of butterflies that swarmed inside you every time she so much as glanced your way. You were going to stay strong and ignore your crush. You had done it once before no matter how poorly, at least you had done it, but your plan failed the second you looked up at her from the cheesiness of your plate to see her take a bite of a huge slice of pepperoni pizza, the mozzarella stretching and stretching until she let out an awkward laugh, using her hand to get rid of the long string of cheese. Her pink cheeks gave her a slight glow, accentuating the hypnotic green of her irises, her perfectly carved nose matching the hue of her cheeks. You couldn’t resist her, you couldn’t fight the feeling no matter how much you would have wanted to, the weight of an uncertain future lifting off your heart as you watched her lap up the rope of cheese off her chin before reaching for a napkin to wipe her mouth with, those full lips a deeper shade than you had ever witnessed on her. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know what the future held, it didn’t matter if she broke your heart in two and stomped on it with those heeled boots of hers because that moment was enough to make up for it, the comfort and solace you felt were enough to make up for it.

The small break was far from short, your stay at the restaurant stretching like a warm piece of cheese that wouldn’t snap no matter what. You stayed for so long that both of you ended up finishing off your plates after complaining that you were too full on multiple occasions, but somehow as the conversation flowed, and the irresistible pizza sat in front of you on the table, it slowly disappeared in small bite-sized pieces that you tore off as a way to keep your hands busy. By the time you exited the restaurant, the sun was low in the sky, shining right into your eyes on its way to hide behind the horizon. It was somehow even colder outside, your warm breath forming a faint cloud of vapor in the air that faded away instantly, but you felt warm all over as you two made your way back to campus, taking a detour around Washington Square Park to get a better look at the effects of the season on the surrounding nature, wishing to find an excuse to prolong your non-official date. You were walking silently beneath a gorgeous arch formed by the canopy of trees, a bit of sunlight peeking through the warm colors of the leaves, when her hand brushed against yours.

You glanced at her as if to see if she would react, her head turning your way. You expected to feel nervous, waiting for that feeling of dizziness to take over once again, but it didn’t. All you felt was calm determination. You wanted to hold her hand. It couldn’t have been any more obvious, so you reached your freezing fingers for hers, tentatively grasping her bare hand into your own, noting that she possessed a bit more warmth than you did. Your steps slowed down, both of you coming to a halt as if to process the change that had taken place on the pathway littered with brown and orange leaves. Natasha looked away, her lips stretching into a reserved smirk that was the result of an attempt to hide it. Your cheeks flushed warm as if to fight against the relentless, cold air that was slowly starting to sting the delicate skin of your face. You gave her hand a squeeze, pleased to receive one in return. She held your hand with purpose, with confidence, your heart fluttering weakly. She wasn’t just keeping your hand limply in hers, but actually holding it, leaving no room for obscurity regarding her willingness to make contact with you, reminding you of her words from the night before. She wouldn’t hold just anyone’s hand.

With a small smile adorning your lips, you took a step forward to continue your way back to campus, but to your surprise she didn’t move, her arm reaching forward like a stretching spring until it held you back, bringing you face to face with her in a single, firm tug. You looked up at her questioningly, expecting her to say something to explain herself. Maybe she wanted to go a different route, or suggest getting coffees, or maybe it was time for her to go home. As if panicked by the mere thought, you started analyzing her face as an automatic habit that was solely the result of your artistic nature, your eyes taking in the fiery red of her hair that was enhanced by the setting sun behind her. You knew what shades of paint you would have used to mix the hue of orange, you knew where you would have placed the warm highlights to make the painting in your imagination glow in the most captivating way. You noted the leaves on the trees behind and above her, deeming that the specific shade of orange deviated from her hair. It fell flat beside her auburn locks. You could almost feel in your hand how you would have held a brush in it, how you would have carefully placed the lights and shadows of her pale face, her cheeks and nose tainted pink from the cold. You knew just how much ultramarine you would have needed to add into the mixture of titanium white and carmine to mute down the color to match her complexion. You saw the hint of lemon yellow that you would have needed to maintain the warmth of the sensitive hue. It was all right there for you, the possibility of the most perfect portrait study, the naturally flawed picture of feminine beauty staring back at you.

She didn’t smile, her lips parting the slightest bit as she looked at you, drawing your attention to their shape and size, your trained eye measuring every curve and arch. She leaned closer to you, her gaze trailing down your features to your mouth, her hand remaining in yours as she erased the small gap between you. She kissed you tenderly, showing her vulnerable and tentative side to you for the first time, her lips pressing over yours, the cold tip of her nose brushing against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut to savor the feel of her mouth, however gentle and light it might have been. You weren’t guaranteed another chance, another kiss, so you allowed your mind to shut off for just a moment as you held your lips pressed up against hers. The kiss was objectively very tame, shy even, your lips remaining together for mere seconds, but the intimacy of the almost child-like innocence of the kiss made your head spin. It felt so pure, so genuine, so vulnerable that it made you shiver. You felt like she had undressed you from clothing, from all your defenses. There was nothing protecting your poor heart that had been clawed raw by the past. She had full access to your weeping soul, and she was treating it with nothing but care.

Natasha pulled back first, her widened, pale eyes meeting yours as if she couldn’t quite believe she had done it, a sense of awe pushing through to you. There was a small twitch in her brow when you let go of her hand, as if she feared letting go of you, feared upsetting you, but her expression morphed into one of relief when your arms slid over her waist to bring you both even closer to one another. You rose onto your tiptoes, bringing your mouth back on hers, putting more weight behind the act, your body seeking for support from her to get you through the intensity of your emotions. It was so cold outside, so cold that you could barely feel your lips anymore, but it didn’t matter, your numb arms squeezing her closer as you molded your mouth over hers. The contact was an imitation of the first kiss, slowly developing into something more as she parted her lips enough to fit your bottom one between hers, her tongue remaining on the very edge of her lower lip, softly caressing you with its velvety warmth every time you kissed as if providing you a promise of what was to come. Her gentle breath warmed your skin, the wind ruffling her hair, the auburn curls tickling your cheeks. You pulled back just enough to see her, to look her in the eyes to make sure it was her that you were kissing, that those pale green eyes were looking at you, that those rosy lips were kissing you. She smiled at you, unable to contain it, the expression wearing off on you when you pressed your mouth on hers again, her teeth scraping lightly against your lips as you kissed her smile. Her hands stroked over the material of your coat, going up your biceps to find your face, her ice-cold fingers cupping your cheeks. She deepened the kiss, a delicate moan falling from your lips, the sound going through Natasha like a bolt of lightning.

She took control slowly, her tongue growing more dominant as her grip on you tightened. You weren’t just kissing, but you were being kissed, kissed in a way that left no room for debate on who was in charge. Your body melted into hers, searching for her strong frame for you to lean on. You craved her steadfast body, her energy, yearning to let go of the harsh grip you had kept on yourself for months on end. You just wanted to be. You wanted to sink inside her where you would be safe and sound, where your heart could rest. You kissed her harder, tried to fight the position she had claimed for herself in your life for one last time, but she was unyielding, those full lips far too soft, far too irresistible. She was everything you wanted.

You were forced to pull away when your lungs started to ache, your chest heaving with each intake of breath as you looked up at her, mirth sparkling in your eyes. There was no denying that the experience was nothing short of thrilling. You felt like your body was buzzing, the warmth in your chest gliding down your spine, pooling in your lower abdomen with such intensity you almost felt mortified, eternally thankful that she had no way of witnessing it. You both smiled at each other, her thumbs brushing over the cold skin of your face, her slight frown letting you know that she wanted you inside, somewhere warm. She leaned closer once more, pecking your lips softly as her left hand found your right one to hold, her hand remaining snugly linked with yours as you continued your walk in the sea of rimy leaves, their quiet rustle and crunch filling in the blissful silence between you.

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