Perhaps it's because Pepper's lying on the kitchen table, but Natasha's much gentler than she'd imagined. The tongue tracing her folds is soft, slow; the hands clasped with hers, only one of the ways by which their bodies are entangled, are firm, but they lack the ferocity that Natasha usually holds - the nails newly manicured and fingertips resting at Pepper's hips as Tasha slips her lips around Pepper's clit and brings her gaze up to Pepper's eyes and her smile grows into something of a smirk as she starts to suck.
Natasha opens her mouth wider after a while, and smoothly slips her tongue inside of Pepper, lapping, now more eagerly, at her wetness. It's only when Pepper's hands travel from her waist to Tasha's hair, twining her fingers through it and pulling it out of her way, that there's any real force to her ministrations.
Pepper comes so hard she's not entirely certain what happens next, except for arching her back and accidentally hitting her head against the table as a result.
But she wakes up tucked into her own bed - in one of the old tee shirts of Tony's that had somehow ended up in her wardrobe and a pair of clean panties - with a muffin, a glass of water, a tiny bottle of Advil, and a post-it telling her she'll be able to have another dose at 8am on the bedside table, and she realizes that there's much more for her to learn about this Natasha Romanoff.