The music continued to play through the ballroom long after it had emptied. Moonlight streamed in through the large window, illuminating the only two remaining occupants in the centre of the room. He had his arms wrapped around her waist. Hers hung loosely around his neck, digging into his shoulders a bit as she rested her weight into them. He didn't complain.
"You're so good to me," she whispered. He spun her around, their fingers barely touching for those few seconds, then held her close to his chest and whispered sweet nothings in her ear, switching languages with each word. She didn't say a word but he felt the way she shifted, the way her mouth curled up a millimetre as he whispered to her in Russian.
So it's one of those nights, then.
"Natalia," he whispered. He kissed her collarbone. "Natalia." Her nose. "Natalia." Her forehead, this time pressing his lips for a couple seconds longer.
She sighed deeply, leaning further into his embrace.
"I can never go back," she whispered, her voice hoarse.
He paused as he took in her words.
"Would you want to?" He asked slowly. Cautiously. Not wanting to lead her to one answer or the other.
"I don't know." A brief pause. "I guess I never need to know."
But it might make it hurt less if you did.
He barely had time to react before her lips were pressed against his, so gentle and knowing. So unlike her. He pulled away and turned his head to the side, trying not to see the hurt look on her face.
"Not tonight," he murmured. He grabbed her wrist gently, pulling her hand away from his face, then encasing it in both of his. "Not like this."
She stared at him for a moment. Anyone who knew her less than he did would miss the tears welling in her eyes that disappeared as quickly as they showed up.
"So good to me," she said again. She pulled her hand out of his then grabbed her strappy heels from the floor, where they had been abandoned a half hour ago.
"Stay with me tonight," he found himself saying.
She shot him a lazy grin over her shoulder. "Don't you think Coulson would mind me being in his bed?"
"Of course not," he said. He meant it and they both knew it — both knew she didn't even need to ask — but this was their routine. She regarded him for another moment.
"All right," she said. "I'll see you up there."
He watched as she walked out of the long ballroom, her hips swaying and her high heels hanging over her shoulder.
Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Somebody should remember her name. The things you do to me, Natalia.