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It's January, which means boots and coats and gloves and hats, all with the word 'winter' in front of them. It means foot-prints in the snow and visible breath and it means cold.
Natasha is only aware of the cold in the constantly ticking analysis of her surroundings that is testament to her training. She might be shoved up against a tree on the Red Room's grounds, but she's aware. She's aware. She's aware, because otherwise this is all so incredibly fucking stupid and they'll get caught and–
Dunya's mouth is hot against her own, hot and far wetter than her studies had suggested. She also hadn't entirely understood why tongues in kissing were seen as desirable, but she's fast becoming a convert. She has bark digging into her back, and cold seeping in through all her layers, and the fur from Dunya's hat is tickling her face, and she's aware of it all, and she really does not care.
Instead, she just kisses Dunya back, wraps her fingers around the other girl's arm to hold her close, locks her knees to keep standing. She also tries not to make a sound, because as stupid as all of this, she's not that stupid. No, not even when Dunya's thigh slips between hers, because if they get caught–
Kisses are better than bullets, Natasha thinks, and curls a gloved hand around the back of Dunya's neck.