Natasha/Bond, regency era. Or regency era spies. Or just regency, wherever it takes you u_u
Natasha's taken to Europe like a fish to water - the parties, the extravagance, the food and the wine and the men, she'd decided to get the most out of life, and not one regret on that count yet, and this latest fling is even more fun than the last three she's had (even more so because it's mixing business and pleasure, and business has proven to be a hell of a lot more fun that the most wild excitement of her old life) and she's in no hurry to let him go.
Of course, at the moment she's more concerned with not letting go of the window ledge she's hanging from, dressed in fitted black trousers and a tight black shirt that would surely have even the most forward thinking Parisian picking their jaw up off the floor as they tried to decide just when Natasha had lost her mind - but that is neither here nor there, and the mental image (funny though ti may be) is a distraction she does not need as she heaves herself over the ledge with upper body strength she should not possess and lands lightly on the plush carpet inside the chamber. It takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, inky pitch black, and before she has the chance her ears are alerting her to the fact that she's not along in the room, a fact that quickly resolves itself into a no holds barred grapple across that rug that is suddenly not nearly as plush as Natasha would like, until she and her unwanted company have wrestled one another into the moonlight streaming through the window and she recognizes the surprised face of Bond, the same face she slipped out of bed this morning and left slumbering peacefully… which just opens up a whole new set of problems, doesn't it?