Au Naturel Instincts

This contribution was written as part of an RP with user Marvelous on the Bluemoon Roleplaying Forums. I didn't write this part, but I will be continuing in the next chapter.

"It's Asgardian," Natasha corrected Chris; at least while he was saying they couldn't guess what had caused this. She was doing her absolute best to try to focus on the tangible, on what had happened, on what had caused it, and on what the solution was going to be, because if she didn't then she was going to have **** but to focus on the fact that she was stark naked in the middle of the S.H.I.E.L.D. hanger. The warm circulating air of jets coming in from test flights, the gritty and masculine machismo that tended to overtake the grease monkeys and pilots who came in and out of here, it was all precisely the sort of environment a beautiful, nude woman shouldn't have been outside of a pin-up calendar. While she dropped her arms with a sort of incredulity and an increasing sense of anxiety to look at her elbows and the lack of a jacket around them, she answered nearly on auto pilot. "We need to get in touch with Thor," she said, and for once, she didn't sound as though she was entirely sure about what she was talking about.

It was just a **** grab for something that made sense right now, to figure out the tangible while she tried to keep herself calm. Romanoff was not the sort of person who spooked or freaked out easily, but she also had rarely felt this **** -- especially in a safe place! When even someone as low ranking (comparatively) as Vic could simply stare her up and down and abruptly make her realize she had to cover up, slapping one hand over her delicate slit and the other arm wrapping inadequately over the full swell of her breasts. Her ears and cheeks were beginning to burn with the abject and abrupt humiliation of the odd situation. Her nudity was warring with her usual take-charge attitude right now, and it wasn't until Clyde took over the situation that the spark began to light in the other direction.

Honestly, it was the don't be scared that did it.

"I'm not scared, I'm just a little bit off kilter right now," she snapped, understandably on edge as she moved her hands again to give a little wave of her fingers down her toned, curvy body that left her once again at the mercy of the air, the gravity, and the realization that while these two were the only ones who had noticed so far it wasn't going to be that way for long. "Ryan, be useful and contact AD Hill to let her know we need the research team I was just with on call," she told Vic while she straightened her shoulders and then abruptly pushed past Christopher. "Clyde, just escort me to the labs," she demanded, doing her absolute best to appear in control of the situation.

Idle hands were the devil's playthings, and Romanoff wasn't about to let this situation turn her into a passive and cowering little lady in need of protection. She took off across the hangar floor at a good clip, practically demanding that Chris keep up if he was going to help explain the situation when they got to the research labs. But there were several halls and at least one elevator ride between here and there, and most of the massive hanger besides; and while the view from the back of the Widow's trim little waist gave plenty of reason to suggest why her symbol was an hourglass, he wasn't the only one taking notice.

It was a good place to be, admittedly, the swell of her feminine hips sloping outward away from her slim midsection, two nearly perfect curves forming a swaying heart with even the no-nonsense way she stormed across the unyielding metal floor of the hangar. The tiniest little dimples where her back rounded out practically drew the eyes down to her ass as if they had nowhere else they should have been, though the redhead's bouncing ringlets against her shoulders were a certain peek-a-boo fun all themselves as they bounced and revealed and hid the creamy skin of her back and shoulders.

And yet each furious step, from the front, was like a living legend that no man would soon forget. Fast Times at Ridgemont High had nothing for the average S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who might've crushed on Phoebe Cates at a young age compared to seeing one of their most decorated (and locker-room-talk lusted after) agents bouncing her way through their field of vision with furiously pink cheeks and a **** need to pretend everything was okay when it really, really wasn't. Natasha could feel the energy even in a room this big starting to change as the first mechanic noticed her, did a double take, and then realized he wasn't hallucinating.

It was just the second domino falling when he grabbed his buddy to point out what was going on .. how long before the entire organization got wind of what was happening? Her knees gave a slight tremble as she steeled herself and took a deep breath that did her plenty of favors, laser-focusing on just getting to the labs.