Natasha Romanoff (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
redintheledger) wrote2013-10-11 03:07 pm
redintheledger) wrote2013-10-11 03:07 pm
Entry tags:
OOM: 2011, San Diego
Saturday is a day that Natasha is determined to spend being lazy. She and Clint had gone to SeaWorld (and patched things up) the day before, and although she decided to try sleeping in a bed last night instead of on the couch, her insomnia didn't miraculously vanish.
She managed to have a lazy morning, at least. By her standards. But her personal revelation is an itch at the back of her mind, and it feels dishonest not to tell him. There are risks to saying anything, but then again, there always are. Despite her track record, she's rarely let that stop her.
About the time she hits half an hour spent scrolling through I Can Has Cheese Burger, she can acknowledge that she's procrastinating about it. Looking at LOLcats is an entertaining way to procrastinate, but procrastination it is.
It's not that Natasha can't think of ways to bring the subject up. Although she doesn't spend as much time seducing as people think, she can still think of half a dozen ways of saying 'I love you'. It's that...
This is Clint. And she's fairly certain that all she's doing is playing catch-up, which never gives anyone confidence for negotiating relationships.
She's also fairly certain that she's been glancing over at him a bit too often to play it cool, but these things happen.
"Hey, Clint?"
She managed to have a lazy morning, at least. By her standards. But her personal revelation is an itch at the back of her mind, and it feels dishonest not to tell him. There are risks to saying anything, but then again, there always are. Despite her track record, she's rarely let that stop her.
About the time she hits half an hour spent scrolling through I Can Has Cheese Burger, she can acknowledge that she's procrastinating about it. Looking at LOLcats is an entertaining way to procrastinate, but procrastination it is.
It's not that Natasha can't think of ways to bring the subject up. Although she doesn't spend as much time seducing as people think, she can still think of half a dozen ways of saying 'I love you'. It's that...
This is Clint. And she's fairly certain that all she's doing is playing catch-up, which never gives anyone confidence for negotiating relationships.
She's also fairly certain that she's been glancing over at him a bit too often to play it cool, but these things happen.
"Hey, Clint?"
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The danger in moving is that it makes kissing him far, far more comfortable, and as much as she'd like to this until, oh, maybe dinner, she's aware that she needs to talk to him about something else, too.
"You know," she says eventually, ducking her head out of range, "that I said I had to talk to you about two things?"
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She takes a deep breath. "So, I was thinking about moving down. If you were up for it."
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"I'm not... not up for it?"
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Then her eyebrows crease.
"Not not?"
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"I want to see you more," he says. Then he laughs, quietly. "I want to see you most of the time. It's just... we'd have to talk about a lot of stuff."
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"I was expecting us to have to talk about things," she says. "Uh, do you want me to...get off you?"
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A little.
She resettles herself on the couch, hugging her knees as she faces him, and briefly presses her bare toes against his thigh. Hey, you.
"So...talk to me?" she says with a quick smile and an upwards lilt to her voice.
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"I'm not...," his mouth moves just perceptibly as he look for the right word, "... very good at relationships."
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"As in, 'communication'? Or...something else?"
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"This is the longest relationship I've ever had? And we weren't having it. I don't do living with people well," he says, all in one breath. "I'm -- I haven't tried, in fifteen years. But I'm ... disappointing."
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And I can find my own place, if you think living together won't work." Then, hesitating a little, "I had that on my list of options anyway, depending on what we figured out with personal space."
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She's right. Not about him not being disappointing -- he is. But saying it is stupid; no one wants to hear about that.
He smiles at her, slight. "I'm... going to need to think about it? It's not really personal space.
"Uh. Well, you know I have sex with other people. Do you need to know detail, or have me -- change things?"
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"Take your time, if you need. The paperwork for transfers is going to take a while," she adds, a little rueful.
Given his odd reaction before, she doesn't reply with her first response (a teasing, 'well, I can't ask for change before I have the intel').
"I'm fine with us still being open. But, if you're...If we're discussing things anyway, it can't hurt tell me? And then I can let you know."
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"Look," he says, hesitating. He's not really done this before, but he's seen a lot of the fall-out of people doing it wrong. "I'm not going to be upset if something makes you jealous. It-- doesn't have to be logical. And," he says, "as long as you're not dating anyone else I'm fine, but that doesn't mean you just... have to be."
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Natasha stops her mouth before her tongue moves. Of course. Of course. It's not a useful phrase under the circumstances.
"I'm not dating anyone," she says, with a slight uplift of the corner of her mouth. "I can take or leave sex with other people, but actual romantic entanglements? One at a time for me."
She knows herself at least that much.
"And I wouldn't be comfortable if you dated anyone else, either. But outside that, I'm...I'm not sure where my jealousy would flare up, if anything." This time, the subtle expression that passes over her face is a faint wince. "Helpful, I know," she adds, tone deliberately wry.
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He's not looking at her, not really. He's focusing on her right hand, resting on the couch.
When he starts talking, he's calm. Not emotionless, but measured. "I have sex with a lot of people," is where he starts out, mouth twisting slightly. "Not that many, anymore, but probably three in a typical month. How often -- varies. Sometimes with strangers, more often people I know only in that ... context, and sometimes with friends. Um. Not work friends."
"Strangers are mostly women. Others, mostly men. If it bothers you, I could avoid having sex with friends. And... I might be able to cut women out?"
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"No work friends is good."
She breathes in and out, her eyes going slightly unfocused as her thoughts turn inward.
"Gender doesn't bother me," Natasha says at last. "But I think normal friends...do."
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He glances back up to her face. "I can do that."
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"Okay," she says, and then, a touch slower, "Thank you for giving me options. I appreciate it." Particularly when she's gone and sprung this all on him in the first place.
"Do I need to give any myself? Or, is that something you're thinking about?"
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"I'll think about it."
All that's coming to mind right now is shit like sorry, I had a weird adolescence, and like hell is he going to start a conversation like that with anyone. Especially Nat, who was fighting World War II in her adolescence.
Instead he offers a hand to help pull her into his lap again, if she wants. He could do with hugging her.
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"Sure." She's at his place for a few more days, and then, well. Phone. Or visits. Milliways. They'll work it out.
His hand is accepted with a brightening of her face, and she crawls back over and settles on his lap, arm winding around his shoulders. Not that she was noticing any difficulty in breathing before, but it's easier when Clint has his arms around her. Hugs are good.
Hugs are very good at the moment. And later?
Well.
They'll deal with later when it comes.