When Natasha stalks towards him, predatory gleam in her eye, Bruce feels more than a twinge of trepidation. When she puts her hands on his arms, holds him in place with a light touch and the knowledge that he won't break free, he sucks in a deep, calming breath, and the scent of her shampoo, astringent and herbal. When she presses her mouth to his, hot and open and needy, he gasps into it, surprised, or maybe pleased, and not a little worried about what she's thinking and how it will end.

She pulls back and studies him, her gaze steady and assessing, and then kisses him again, with teeth this time, sharp against his lower lip, a warning and a dare. He holds still and kisses her back gently, letting her have control here, where he doesn't need it, the anger that always simmers in his belly banked for now, overtaken by the heat of desire washing through him.

This time when she pulls back the appraisal is still there, but its edged with need, and her lips curl in a small, smug smile. She muffles his answering laugh with another kiss, her hands sliding down his arms to fold around his hands, and pull him towards the couch. He goes without resistance and, for once, without being afraid.