Darcy/Natasha for CatrinaSL
When Tony first walked in on Natasha while she was knitting, he was surprised. It was just so… domestic. And Natasha was so… Not what people thought of when they pictured domesticity. Then he saw her stab someone through the carotid artery with a knitting needle and the world made sense once again. What still didn’t make sense was the massive amount of blanket she was knitting. Who was it for? What was the design (he could have figured it out if only she’s just let him look, but she didn’t like people looking at her knitting, apparently, so he kept away from the thing.)
Eventually, the blanket was big enough that unless she was knitting by herself, Natasha could no longer hide that it was the periodic table of elements. On a blanket. Out of yarn. That the Black Widow was knitting. For no known reason. But there she was, sitting through meetings with a bag full of yarn, and a lap full of blanket. It was when the blanket itself was finished things got even more interesting.
“I’m glad I wove in the ends as I went at the start. I just finished the first column. There are eighteen, but still.”
Darcy looked up from the cookies she was cutting out and told Natasha
“You’ll get there. I have faith in you. Besides, I’ll give you a kiss for each column you finish.” Darcy wiped her hands on her apron, walked over and gave the knitting operative a chaste peck, even if it was on the lips. “There is your first one.” Tony looked around to see if anyone else was shocked by this development. Darcy had kissed Natasha. Right in front of everyone! He looked at Barnes first, knowing that he had shared some cold night with the russian during the cold war. All he got for reward was Barnes’ indulgent smile in the women’s direction. Rhodey had the same “why does my baby sister have to kiss people in front of me?” look he’d had while Darcy had been with the intern… Ewan? Ian? Whatever his name was. But still no shock. In fact, all the occupants of the room had various forms of “we’re happy for you, but we all knew you were together” on their faces.
As the columns finished, the kisses got less chaste until, yawning, Darcy stood up and told Natasha “I’m going to bed. I’ll give you your last few kisses there. Come get me when you’re ready for them. Our audience can get over it. Bunch of voyeurs.” Tony had a feeling that last bit was directed at him, but he wasn’t the only one complaining when Darcy and her lips left the room. He had to assume the last kisses were good when Natasha showed up to the next meeting fifteen minutes late, and wearing a scarf.