[ He doesn't say anything, and she's not sure how to take it. Steve's not the kind of man to sit on his negative emotions — if what she'd said upset him, he'd let her know, and quickly. So rejection is likely not on the table, if anything is at all. He still has her curious, and she follows suit with his silence, remaining quiet even as they pull into the driveway. She lets herself leaning into his touch this time as he grabs her to shield her from the hail, and the muted noise of the weather outside is almost deafening when they reach the inside of the house.
He lets her go, and she moves to unzip her boots, kicking them and her wet socks off as he heads for the laundry room. This time she's behind him pretty quickly, although she gives a glance towards the room they used to share. The concrete of the laundry room is cold on her feet, and in a flash of lightning she can see the muscles of his back and shoulder work under his now (somehow, even tighter) shirt, and she lingers in the doorway, watching him, taking the towel when it's offered, still without a word. She raises it to her face, dries it off and then reaches up to start rubbing at her hair in an attempt to get most of the moisture out of it. But her jeans and jacket are starting to chafe, and—
And he still hasn't told her no. Natasha drops the towel down around her shoulders, grips an end in each hand and draws her gaze up his body. ] We should get out of these wet clothes.
[ She doesn't wait for an answer. She drops her towel and her jacket on the floor, and walks right up to him, skimming her hands up under his shirt to tug it off, dropping it to the floor with the loud 'slap' of wet fabric hitting a hard surface, and reaches her mouth up to his to kiss him softly. ]
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He lets her go, and she moves to unzip her boots, kicking them and her wet socks off as he heads for the laundry room. This time she's behind him pretty quickly, although she gives a glance towards the room they used to share. The concrete of the laundry room is cold on her feet, and in a flash of lightning she can see the muscles of his back and shoulder work under his now (somehow, even tighter) shirt, and she lingers in the doorway, watching him, taking the towel when it's offered, still without a word. She raises it to her face, dries it off and then reaches up to start rubbing at her hair in an attempt to get most of the moisture out of it. But her jeans and jacket are starting to chafe, and—
And he still hasn't told her no. Natasha drops the towel down around her shoulders, grips an end in each hand and draws her gaze up his body. ] We should get out of these wet clothes.
[ She doesn't wait for an answer. She drops her towel and her jacket on the floor, and walks right up to him, skimming her hands up under his shirt to tug it off, dropping it to the floor with the loud 'slap' of wet fabric hitting a hard surface, and reaches her mouth up to his to kiss him softly. ]