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salmon_pinkTitle: Scratching Beneath The Surface
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Tony/Natasha
Rating: G
Words: 483
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comicdrabbles, prompt "vinyl record".
The way Natasha prowls around the room reminds Tony of a tiger at a zoo. Fingers skimming over worktops as she goes, eyes tracking everything, sharp and attentive.
“All this technology,” she muses, stopping to casually rifle through one particularly box, “and you still use vinyl records?”
Tony’s not defensive. He’s not. He’s just folding his arms over his chest because it’s a comfortable way to stand.
“There’s character in the sound, soul in the scratches,” he tells her, fingers tapping against his ribs. “I’m surprised you even know what they are. Were we already on CDs and MiniDiscs when you were born?”
Natasha smirks but doesn’t look up. Tony likes teasing her about her age, it’s like a pre-emptive strike against her teasing him about his age.
He’s not about to tell her that the records remind him of his mother, of her dancing, grabbing his hands and twirling him around the room, him struggling to keep up on his young legs. Information is a commodity to Natasha, or at least to the version of her that he’s built up in his head. He’s not giving her anything for free.
“You know, you’re going to have to stop being so scared of me eventually,” she says, like she can hear his damn thoughts.
“I’m not scared,” Tony replies instantly. Forces himself to shrug. “I don’t trust you, there’s a difference.”
“Anxious then,” she corrects, and she’s walking towards him, that swing in her hips that’s as hypnotic as a pendulum.
“Not anxious,” he says. Tony knows anxious, and this isn’t it.
Natasha makes a thoughtful noise, tilting her head. Her eyes are too old for her face, and she looks at him like she knows everything.
Tony’s not used to feeling like the most uninformed person in a conversation.
Kissing her is probably the second most stupid thing he’s ever done. Because strapping himself up in a mechanised tin can and taking on missiles and aliens, that’s always going to be in first place for most stupid, and also most awesome. But the feel of her lips is a good solid second place, maybe on both lists, he’s not sure yet. He needs more data.
She smiles at him after, more knife-edge than sweet, but he hasn’t been electrocuted yet, so that’s something.
“Put on a record,” Natasha tells him. “Let me hear its soul.”
He goes to do as he’s told, because wonders will never cease, but she grabs his t-shirt and kisses him instead. It’s soft and leisurely, and maybe the version of her Tony’s built up in his head would bite and scratch at him, but this is better.
“I’ll pick the song,” he says when she pulls back.
“Okay, I’ll give you that much,” she smirks. She’s half his age and Tony’s already in over his head.
This is definitely number two on the stupid and awesome lists.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Tony/Natasha
Rating: G
Words: 483
Notes: For
comicdrabbles, prompt "vinyl record".The way Natasha prowls around the room reminds Tony of a tiger at a zoo. Fingers skimming over worktops as she goes, eyes tracking everything, sharp and attentive.
“All this technology,” she muses, stopping to casually rifle through one particularly box, “and you still use vinyl records?”
Tony’s not defensive. He’s not. He’s just folding his arms over his chest because it’s a comfortable way to stand.
“There’s character in the sound, soul in the scratches,” he tells her, fingers tapping against his ribs. “I’m surprised you even know what they are. Were we already on CDs and MiniDiscs when you were born?”
Natasha smirks but doesn’t look up. Tony likes teasing her about her age, it’s like a pre-emptive strike against her teasing him about his age.
He’s not about to tell her that the records remind him of his mother, of her dancing, grabbing his hands and twirling him around the room, him struggling to keep up on his young legs. Information is a commodity to Natasha, or at least to the version of her that he’s built up in his head. He’s not giving her anything for free.
“You know, you’re going to have to stop being so scared of me eventually,” she says, like she can hear his damn thoughts.
“I’m not scared,” Tony replies instantly. Forces himself to shrug. “I don’t trust you, there’s a difference.”
“Anxious then,” she corrects, and she’s walking towards him, that swing in her hips that’s as hypnotic as a pendulum.
“Not anxious,” he says. Tony knows anxious, and this isn’t it.
Natasha makes a thoughtful noise, tilting her head. Her eyes are too old for her face, and she looks at him like she knows everything.
Tony’s not used to feeling like the most uninformed person in a conversation.
Kissing her is probably the second most stupid thing he’s ever done. Because strapping himself up in a mechanised tin can and taking on missiles and aliens, that’s always going to be in first place for most stupid, and also most awesome. But the feel of her lips is a good solid second place, maybe on both lists, he’s not sure yet. He needs more data.
She smiles at him after, more knife-edge than sweet, but he hasn’t been electrocuted yet, so that’s something.
“Put on a record,” Natasha tells him. “Let me hear its soul.”
He goes to do as he’s told, because wonders will never cease, but she grabs his t-shirt and kisses him instead. It’s soft and leisurely, and maybe the version of her Tony’s built up in his head would bite and scratch at him, but this is better.
“I’ll pick the song,” he says when she pulls back.
“Okay, I’ll give you that much,” she smirks. She’s half his age and Tony’s already in over his head.
This is definitely number two on the stupid and awesome lists.
