The kiss deepens, becoming more pointed—more heated and directed toward a particular outcome, an urgency slipping into the contact. Natasha can't deny the appeal of seeing this through, the way it excites her. She doesn't want to deny it—

Natasha wakes with a start, sitting upright in bed in her dark room an panting softly. For a short moment, her thoughts are clouded with the dream and she stares in confusion at the blank walls. Then, as the world comes into sharper focus, she sighs deeply. This is the fourth or fifth time she's had dreams like this that she could remember. It's not normal. Not because her friend isn't desirable, but because she knows her dreams.

They're never this good.

It's time, she thinks, to talk about this.