Pepper's hands are nimble, small; they aren't like Natasha's, gun-calloused and rough. They dance across her keyboard at incredible speed, something Natasha will never match. She doesn't know if she minds being outdone, not if she can watch as Pepper moves, study how she does it, learn her. She's good at that, an excellent mimic, but maybe she'd rather be bad; maybe if she's bad enough, Pepper will teach her some new tricks. She seems like the type, the consummate nurturer, soft hands and soft heart, something Natasha will never be, even with a thousand lifetimes of instruction.
She wants those hands on her body. By now, it's just a matter of asking.