Natasha did not put down her wineglass. Instead, she held it as she leaned back, turning her head away, though she could still see Bucky's sharply defined profile in the reflection of the metal ornament beside her. Her throat bobbed.
Bucky was handsome, but unlike all the handsome men in the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. What drew people to him most was that wild, decadent air about him. He looked like a vagrant, like a stray dog crouching in a cardboard box beneath the eaves on a rainy day, soaked to the skin.
Natasha preferred dogs to cats, because dogs could be tamed. She enjoyed the process of pursuit and conquest, rather than the erratic probing of some neurotic creature. She did not want a lover. She only wanted men at her feet.
Loyalty was a fine quality. If both parties possessed it, it would surely be wonderful, but equally dull. If only one side had it, it would obviously be a tragedy—but some people lived on tragedy.
When Natasha set down her wineglass, it gave a crisp clang. She lowered her head slightly and tucked in her chin, looking forward from above her eyes like a venomous snake poised to strike. Bucky raised his head slightly, then turned it and watched Natasha from the corner of his eye. His hands were clasped on the table, like prey bound in place. When their gazes met, neither of them was simply letting their mind go blank and thinking with hormones alone.
The two rose one after the other. Bucky quickly signed the bill. Natasha had already gone around the screen and left, her footsteps swift and without hesitation. Bucky did not seem inclined to chase her either. After swiping his card, he hurried down the stairs, just as a flash of silver