Christmas in July

B&E, Vodka and Ice Cream

Kate stood, opened mouthed and eyes wide, taking in the sight before her.   'You have a motorcycle?' Kate finally managed after a good few seconds of ogling.. 

'Yes.  I can fly almost every class of helicopter.  You think I can't ride a bike?' 

Yelena Belova was in Hell's Kitchen, on a scrambler. Yelena Belova, hot sauce loving assassin extraordinaire, dressed like a post-punk revival badass, in tartan on a Triumph Scrambler in Hell's Kitchen.  On a Triumph. A  Triumph .  It was as if Yelena had gone into the very deepest depths of Kate's brain and pulled out one of her most well-hidden of her fantasies.  That was the coolest effing scrambler Kate had ever seen, and the coolest effing woman Kate had ever known (don't tell Carol) was sitting right up on it.   Shit me.  Did she get to touch it.  

'This night just got infinitely cooler.'  Kate swallowed in awe. 

'Are you going to continue to stare or are you actually going to get on?' Yelena asked, not aware of the near other worldly effect she was having on the Bishop heir. 

The words flew over Kate's head as she took in every detail of the bike glistening in the spectrum of colour that was New York City at night. 'That is a nice bike,' the brunette whispered, breathlessly. 

'Kate!'  Yelena appealed, a little more forcefully than before, and Kate's brain snapped to attention. 

'Right, of course, sorry,' she smiled, awkwardly, suddenly very aware that she may have been staring somewhat inappropriately.  'Do I need a helmet?' 

Yelena sighed.  'Can you please just get on?' 

'Alright, alright, but you're responsible for me now,' Kate reminded the Russian, as she mounted the bike excitedly.  Of course, Kate Bishop was technically an adult.  She was of a legal age to do almost anything she wanted in the United States, but invite her onto a motorcycle and don't take care of her basic safety needs? That one's on you. 

A loud impatient sigh escaped Yelena again.  It was almost as if they had somewhere to be.  'Are you regretting saying yes already?  You are, aren't you?'  Kate grinned.  She was quickly learning that counting how many times she could make Yelena's eyes roll in one evening was one of her new favourite things.  Why she loved winding Yelena up, she didn't know, but she knew that it was funner than nearly all the activities in the world combined. 

'Just hang onto me, will you?' Yelena asked, gruffly, as she suddenly seemed to be the only one out of the two who was at all concerned about catching the man Kate was supposed to be trailing.  

Kate frowned, hesitantly, down at her hands.  Where were they supposed to go?  Where were you supposed to touch the super tough assassin?  Were you even supposed to touch the super tough assassin?   The brunette delicately placed her hands upon Yelena's hips.  'Like this?'  Kate asked.  

'No,' corrected Yelena, over her shoulder, 'Like, around.' 

Like a hug?  Like a hug from behind?   Kate could do that, no problem.  No problem at all.  She was a hugger, a great hugger.  She could hug Yelena all day if she had to.  It was just that right at that moment, the prospect of being so close to Yelena, was causing her brain to slow from one hundred miles per hour to well below thirty.  Kate blamed the margaritas, Yelena blamed America's prudish approach to censorship in the film and television industry.  

'Like this?' Kate asked, as she loosely wrapped her arms around Yelena's waist. 

Kate almost felt the pained groan of frustration escape the woman sat in front of her.  This time she didn't look back to correct the brunette, she simply yanked down on the throttle aggressively, sent the back wheel into a pretty epic spin, and then released the brake.  With a small yelp, Kate nearly flew backwards off the bike as it lurched forward, violently, and shot out into the busy city streets.  It was only then that she realised that she was clutched tightly around her partner, clinging on for dear life.   The bitch did that on purpose.