It was sheer instinct to lean her cheek into his hand, rubbing her skin against his. Yes, she could insist that it was for the purpose of their cover, but internally Natasha knew that was just a fabrication. She was drawn to this man, for reasons she neither understood nor wanted, anymore, to understand. She simply didn't care. Their lives were forfeit, there was no way to know when a bullet would find either of them, so what was the point in pretending?

She turned her head slightly to press her lips to the center of his palm, and looked back at Bucky with hooded eyes. "Do you want me to move?" She knew he didn't, the tense muscles beneath her bespoke of his true inclinations, but prudence was probably the best idea, at least for the time being. So instead of waiting for an answer, Natasha sighed softly, shifted, and eased off of Bucky's lap to return to the seat across, silently buckling her seatbelt as the intercom came to life, informing all passengers of the plane's impending departure.