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[locution]

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[retravel]

[ His team may be intact in some respects — but its heart turned to dust along with its heads (Hill, Fury). He comes only because it's Natasha who calls, because Leo Fitz will go to the end of time, to the ends of the earth, and further still, if someone he cares for is waiting on the other side, miraculously intact despite the 50/50 odds of her survival. Just being with her makes his breathing even out, focus narrowing to this room alone — to her soft features, which he thinks rarely arrange themselves in the patterns that he sees, at least for other people.

Fitz lets his hands wander, languid touches down her sides. They have time. ]

[ One side of his mouth hooks into a smile, pleased by her the compliment. ] Your view could be better. [ like his, from above, knees bracketing her. He tilts his head, watching and waiting as she relaxes, confirming that this is what she wants. ]

Deal. [ He leans down for a peck, stubble catching her jaw as he shifts to kiss the corner of her mouth after. Where else would either of them be, honestly? In the war room, puzzling the mechanics, working on something, anything to fix this. Their wheels all spin and spin and spin, no traction to ground them. It's not the sort of problem you can simply reverse engineer, even with some of the brightest minds remaining at the table. ]

Just you and me. [ a promise. ] But I dunno how we'll pass the time.

[ said in a sly tone that suggests the opposite. ]

[basques]

[ It should probably be a little disarming, how easy it is to fall back into bed with Fitz, how Natasha doesn't always think twice before she tosses him a text on her current burner phone, expertly cautious with location and security but not necessarily with her feelings, at least when it comes to him. Her soft spots are few and far between, the current placeholders being held by Steve Rogers and Fitz, employing that brand of quiet loyalty she's adapted after a few decades of a distrustful existence. Childhood had not been kind. Friends had been shallow or nonexistent.

But here, it's safe and it's an alien feeling, extra foreign now that half the population of the galaxy has been wiped out with the snap of two fingers. Nothing feels secure, and yet this -- it feels like they're the only two people on the planet. ]

I can think of a few ideas. [ Punctuated by her thighs tensing easily, entirely self assured as she wraps her legs around him and tips him over, rolling him onto his back, perching up on his hips, weight settling on her palms at either side of his head. ] Wish you were wearing that tux again. I'd really like to take it off you right now. [ One hand lifts to start working on the buttons at the front of his shirt, shrugging up one shoulder, nonchalant. ] But this works, too.

[retravel]

[ He follows the momentum, breath hitching as she settles over him. Excited, not entirely surprised. He tips his head back, giving her space to pop the topmost buttons and work her way down.

They've done this before. ]

[ mouth tugging to one side, ] Could wear one tomorrow. [ Automatic, as his hands smooth up her thighs. Tomorrow, as if that's a given. Just them for a few days, after all, fragile yet secure in the aftermath. ] Take you on a proper date. [ which he'd once worried would bore her but now knows she finds a bit novel, like most of his ordinary, romantic inclinations. His eyes flick back to her mouth. ]

Get you back out of that dress. [ Well, in then out, but his mind's skipped ahead — 'cause he'd been quick to get to his knees and underneath the cascading fabric, once they'd stumbled into their flat after that first mission.

Calloused fingers work on rucking up her turtleneck, skimming the muscled flat of her stomach and just barely dipping into her waistband. ]