undergrounds | Backdated to 22 November

Natasha's never much been the sort to celebrate her birthdays. Wasn't even when she was alive and aging. Call it the result of not having anyone to celebrate with. Family had all died when she was young, and growing up in thin times, in and out of orphanages and boarding schools, there weren't many people interested in splurging to buy her presents or take her out to dinner. She could count the number of birthday parties she's had in her whole like—seventy-eight years today—on one hand and still have fingers leftover.

She's not sure why she's thinking of it at all this year. Maybe just because there's been so many changes. New city. New allegiances. New friends, maybe. New life, maybe.

Maybe she just didn't actually expect to live to see this one after she fled Russia.

Whatever it is, Natasha goes out drinking tonight with purpose, making the rounds and her regular bars and drinking a toast at each of them. Sometimes she drinks them to herself. Sometimes she drinks them to the people who didn't make it this far. If, along the way, she runs into anyone she knows? In the event that happens, they might find themselves with a bottle of beer or a glass of whiskey being set in front of them, a silent invitation to join her for this round.

If she doesn't, then she has her drink alone and moves on.

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"Well then," he starts as he leans a little closer, close enough to speak directly in her ear, and he drops his voice a little too, "what say we try this idea out then?"

"I think we ought to do just that." As she says it, she stands, throwing a few bills on the table to cover her drink as she rises. "I'll be interested to see if I can exhaust you, you know. I do like a challenge."

Eames stands after her, and makes his way toward the exit with a casual smirk and a wink over his shoulder, pulling his phone out to book a cab.

"Well I'll tell you it's possible, but I won't say any more than that."

"I guess we'll see what I can do, then." She falls into step beside him, closer than would be considered entirely casual. She doesn't show any sign of being in a hurry, or being uncomfortable.

But damned if she doesn't really hope this is actually happening tonight.

Eames' body language isn't exactly inviting per se, but it's open, allowing Natasha to get as close as she wants as they walk outside and wait for the cab to arrive. He runs hot, he always has, he knows that has to have a draw for vampires.

Plus, she's gorgeous and charming, as if Eames has a problem with her getting a little close.

"I look forward to it," he lofts an eyebrow, "I'll have to see about returning the favour too."

Natasha does notice how warm he is, and while she doesn't give in to the temptation yet, it does draw her. There's a strong argument to be made against tempting herself this way, but Natasha isn't one to back down because she's worried about her self-control.

It just means she has to restrain herself from burying her face in his shoulder. For now, she just stays close, letting herself be aware of his body and his head, letting the anticipation.

Which is why she hasn't climbed on top of him by the time the cab shows.

Well there's a cab, and Eames even politely opens the door for Natasha before he gets in himself. It's not a long ride, and seeing as Eames is pretending he's a decent person who doesn't get up to funny business in the back seats of minicabs, there's probably not much more than some light flirting until they arrive.

Once they arrive though, Eames pauses after he opens the door to listen for claws clacking on the floor, but after a moment’s silence he figures Boxer must be asleep and steps in with a gesture and a quiet "come in," for Natasha's benefit.

"You want a drink?" He asks as he hangs his coat, looking to her with a considering expression, "or should we just head straight upstairs?"

"I think I've had enough to drink for tonight," Natasha says, setting aside her purse and tossing her jacket over the back of a chair before glancing first toward the stairs, then back at him.

Between the two, she goes for him rather than the stairs, stepping in front of him. Out of public, she figures now's the perfect time to let go of playing coy. She hooks her fingers in his waistband, just behind his belt buckle and reels him in close, tilting up her head, though not going in for a kiss.

"What about you? Did you want a drink first?"

He goes easily, moving close enough to press flush against her with a smile, and he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. Brushes the knuckles of his other hand up the side of her neck and along her jaw with a soft noise, considering the question as if he doesn't already know the answer.

"I think I've had enough for tonight too."

"Good answer." Her voice drops lower, husky, and she tips up her chin further, enjoying the warmth of his touch. While not cold Natasha runs cooler than human. It reads less as dead and more as bad circulation, but it's still a distinct difference.

"I think now would be a good time to kiss me."

Eames huffs a small laugh as he brings both hands to rest under Natasha's jaw, gently tilting her head a little more to make the angle better for him to lean down and kiss her. It's a soft kiss, short and lingering. The kind that hints at things to come.

Natasha lips part under his, inviting, matching his style. She's not in a hurry here—not backing down, because she wants this, not indifferent by any means. But willing to let him take his time.

When he breaks the kiss, she stays close, pressing her nose into his shoulder and breathing him in in a way she's been holding back from. The temptation to feed is there, but that's not what this is about; this is about savoring the heat that radiates off his body and enjoying the way he feels, the way he smells on a level that's as unrelated to hunger as sex ever can be for her.

Which, admittedly, is only so much.

Eames lets her do whatever she wants, drops his hands to her shoulders, to brush down her arms. He sighs softly, enjoying the feel of her against him, soft curves laying over muscle and strength he imagines she had long before she was turned. One hand he brings to rest against her waist, while the other he uses to tilt her head up again for another kiss.

"Come on," he murmurs against her lips, "let's head up."

He's not in any rush, but he'd prefer not to just stand around kissing in his living room.

"That sounds like a very good idea." She steals another quick kiss before backing off a step, her hand still in the front of his pants as she starts toward the stairs.

"Let's get me out of these clothes."

Eames gives an amused snort as he's pulled by his waistband to the stairs, not that he really needs any extra incentive to take her upstairs but he doesn’t have any complaints about it either. Just responds with a soft "let's" in agreement as they ascend into the darkness where consenting adults do things they (probably) wouldn't tell the public about.

Backdated to 22 November

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