Donna knows which floorboards creak. She's lived in this house her whole life. Longer than most people have ever lived at all. She also knows that by taking off her shoes and walking barefoot she doesn't make a sound at all.

Tip toeing through the house Donna has developed a new sort of, hobby. She watches Natalya until she falls asleep. Sometimes for a few minutes after. Natalya is her most beautiful when she's asleep. She doesn't talk or snap or do anything. She just lays there, sometimes rolls around and murmurs. Donna finds the murmurs in particular adorable.

Instead of the usual tossing and turning before descending into sleep, the lady of the manor sees something else entirely.

Standing at the crack in the door Donna has moved her veil so she can see better. She keeps the veils bunched at her mouth so her sudden gasps don't alert Natalya to her presence.

Natalya, unaware of her audience, continues stroking up and down gently. No one would guess the callous soldier is so sensitive in any way at all much less in an intimate context. She leans her head back and pauses.

Donna does laundry once in a while but Natalya only has one set of clothes that fits her well. So cumming in her clothes might not be the best idea. So she slides her boxers off and sets them on the corner of the bedpost where she'll find them later.

Of course Donna has never seen another person naked. She's both panicked and completely transfixed. Her heart pounds in her ears and suddenly her dress feels altogether too tight.

Natalya leans her head back and sighs, biting back a moan. Her fingers slick in her excitement. She sinks two deep inside herself. It's been so long the sensation is pure bliss like she's never felt before.

Barely a few minutes later Natalya can't help a loud gasp. Her back arches and she keeps her drawn out moan quiet. As she lays back against the bed glowing an inexplicable sleep drags her under.

Donna can barely breathe. Once her powers pull Natalya under she gasps for air before she faints. Leaning on teh door it swings partly open with a creak.

All Natalya remembers is the fading footsteps and the glimpse of Donna's face she saw in the dim light coming through the window.

In the morning Natalya wakes and gets dressed, legs and all. Making her way downstairs she feels better. Stronger. Less tense. The sweet scent of cinnamon wafts upstairs. As she comes wandering in she freezes.

Donna is standing at the counter with her veil off putting icing on still steaming cinnamon rolls. Her dark hair is drawn up in a messy morning bun and her veil sits beside her on the counter.

Natalya is tempted. So tempted. She could snatch it away before Donna realized she was there. But she thinks better of it. She's not about to go through another week of complete silence.

"Good morning," Natalya clears her throat and stairs at her feet. The paint is in surprisingly good condition. She hears Donna scramble and Angie crashes into her back, almost shoving her off balance.

"What are you thinking sneaking up on Donna like that!"

"I didn't see anything," Natalya murmurs, "Just the back of your head. You have very pretty hair. And a nice ear."

"I got breakfast," Donna murmurs, "You, must miss home."

"A little," Natalya smiles, "They look great."

"Sit."

Once Natalya is sitting Donna drags a chair over with a pillow on the seat. On it Donna is almost the same height. It makes Natalya crack her crooked, roguish smile. Behind her veil Donna is absolutely blushing.

When Natalya reaches for the cinnamon roll Donna bats her hand away. Natalya snatches her hand back, looking at her housemate quizzically. Donna takes the roll and tears off a piece in her fingers. Reaching out she presses it against Natalya's lips.

For a few moments, Natalya stares straight ahead blank faced as one of Donna's dolls. Then, slowly, she opens her mouth and lets Donna feed it to her.

Donna's heart is thumping along like a hummingbird in her chest beating almost too fast. She enjoys this immensely but at the same time it's almost too much excitement for her. This way she has an excuse to touch Natalya. When she grew up people were not particularly physically affectionate. Still trapped in that social expectation she makes excuses to no one but her own mind.

The cinnamon is warm and sharp. In contrast the icing is painfully sweet and thick. It's easily the best thing Natalya has had in over a month. But she's all too aware of Donna's game. Every time Donna feeds her a bite of roll she touches her lips or wipes some invisible frosting off of her cheek. Combining that with the possible dream possible memory of the night before she can't keep from smiling.

Donna's breath catches in her throat. Natalya play bites at her fingers and chuckles. Donna clicks her tongue, "Stop that."

"Or what?"

Flustered and unsure Donna looks around.

"I'm joking," Natalya smiles, "I won't. I promise."

Carefully Donna feeds Natalya another bite, running her thumb across her lower lip. She gasps softly when Natalya turns and instead runs her tongue along her fingers. It's a surprisingly soft touch and heat pools between her legs.

Natalya notices how Donna pinches her thighs together. It's inexplicably difficult not to glance down. Instead she continues to stare directly into Donna's face.

When Donna gives her the next bite Natalya licks her fingers again, this time between them. To her surprise, and delight, Donna pushes two fingers into her mouth. Natalya sucks and licks them gently, scraping her teeth along the skin and letting her eyes smolder with any lingering sexual tension.

Donna struggles to swallow. She looks away and grabs a napkin, wiping her hand off and standing, "The dishes, leave them."

"Okay."

"Come with me."

The door beside the workshop had formerly been a sort of research room, or a slightly informal laboratory. Donna nervously waits until Natalya is gazing into the blackened room before flipping on the lights. Inside now all the tables are covered in containers full of freshly turned dirt. Old plant pots. Mugs. Some shattered or otherwise unusable cooking pots and bowls.

"You said, you liked to garden and, nothing will grow outside," Donna manages with her usual awkward pauses. She murmurs and watches excitedly as Natalya begins examining the room, "You can't leave, the house, so I brought it inside."

As she looks around Natalya's head bumps into one of the light fixtures. She steadies it with her hand and a soft chuckle, "This is great. When I'm strong again I'll work on the height of the lights here, but otherwise it looks perfect. Thank you."

Beneath her veil Donna is beaming. Not in all her memory can she remember someone calling anything she's ever done perfect. Not even her family, when they were still alive.