Work Text:
Steve had drawn this portrait at least a hundred times over in the span of both his lifetimes. The subject was always enigmatic; wild blue-grey eyes that were damn near impossible to capture correctly. Long, dark, thick eyelashes that most dames would have killed for. That cocksure grin that always looked a little lopsided. High cheekbones and sharp jaw line. No matter what medium he used, Steve always feels he could never put enough detail into it. Steve sighs, and mixes some more blue paint into the blob of grey already on his palate, not satisfied with the colour he has for the eyes.
He’d been working on this version — acrylic on canvas — for days now. It was starting to come to life, and the more he worked, the harder it was becoming to tear himself away from the easel that sits in the corner of his living room, beside the window with just the right lighting. He wants to get this perfect this time around. After all, it’s the least he can do to honour his best friend’s memory.
The scene plays itself out in his dreams almost nightly; Bucky holding on for life as Zola’s train raced around the mountain side. Steve tried to reach him in time, but the moment their fingers brush, Bucky slips. Then, he’s gone. The last thing Steve hears before he wakes up is the blood curdling scream that echoes off the mountain side as Bucky falls. Most mornings Steve wakes up drenched in sweat and shivering. Today was no different.
Steve works faster to distract himself from the memory. Flecks of a pure blue join the grey iris of his painting, lighting them up like the used to in the summer sun in Brooklyn, before the war. There was a joy in those eyes then, an infectious spark that everyone who knew Bucky had loved. Steve sighs again, eyeing the perfectly organized box of paint tubes at his right. What colour would best enhance those eyes?
Navy. Steve thinks, while selecting a tube of paint. That was always Bucky’s colour.
The sun is starting to set outside when a knock at his apartment door startles him from the trance he’d fallen into. “It’s open.” He calls, not wanting to leave the nearly completed canvas. He knows that if he leaves now, he may never finish it.
He doesn’t bother looking over to see who’s come in. He knows it’s Natasha, as she stops by every so often. “Whatcha up to, Cap?” The pretty redhead asks as she’s crossing the room; her high heel boots click against the hardwood floors. He feels her lean over his shoulder, hair brushing against his cheek. “Damn.” She swears. “I know you had an artistic side, but… Damn!”
Steve shrugs and dunks his brush into a mason jar filled with water that sits on the little table that holds his box of paints. “Thanks.” He says while dragging a paint-stained hand through his hair. Steve really isn’t in the mood for all the pleasantries generally associated with a Natasha visit. “Not to be rude,” Steve begins, watching the woman take a seat on his couch. “But what do you want?”
She smiles a little bit. It’s a charming smile, and it’s no wonder she has Clint wound around her finger. She’s a lot like Bucky; same flirtatious nature, same easy smile and care-free attitude when she isn’t in the field. “Somebody’s moody.” She chides with a laugh. Steve just rolls his eyes. “We’re worried is all. Just thought I’d come by to see if you were still alive. No one’s really seen much of you back at S.H.I.E.L.D since New York. Fury just wanted to be sure you’re ok.”
“I’m just fine.” Steve lies. “Just trying to adjust, still.”
Natasha nods towards the painting beside Steve. “Thinking about old friends, I guess?”
“Yeah.” He replies.
Silence hangs over then for a moment. Natasha is sizing him up like a target, watching his every move, reading his every expression. “You still feel guilty.” She tells him. Steve stares blankly ahead, silent and stone faced. “I know the story of how Sergeant Barnes died, I’ve seen the tribute wall at the Smithsonian a hundred times. You still feel like his death was your fault, don’t you?”
“Maybe if I had gotten to him sooner…” Steve’s voice trails off, big blue eyes turning back to his canvas, where his best friend’s easy smile looks back.
Natasha is still watching him. “There was nothing you could have done, Steve.”
Steve shakes his head, feeling his eyes well up. He blinks several times to clear the tears away before they fall. “That’s what they told me then. It’s what they still tell me now. But it doesn’t make it any easier knowing that my best friend died right in front to me, and I was powerless to stop it.” Steve clenches paint stained fists against his thighs, feeling the same old anger surfacing again.
“I know.” She tells him, reaching for Steve’s sketch book that always sits on the coffee table. “You aren’t the first person to lose a loved one in battle. But we all learn to move on.” She says, looking over at Steve for a moment, before leafing through the pages of the sketchbook. She stops at a drawing near the back of the book. “This one would make a really great tribute tattoo.” She says, showing him the drawing she’s talking about.
The picture is a recent one that had come to Steve while he was watching some television show about tattoo artists. It was of a set of dog tags hanging from the standard ball-chain, the same tags Steve had worn back in the forties before he’d put that Hydra aircraft into the arctic ocean. One held his information from all those years ago, and the second, Bucky’s. Around the tags ran a line of scrip; a sentence that he and Bucky would tell each other if things got difficult. ‘I’m with you, ‘till the end of the line.’
Steve sighs. “I don’t think I’m the tattoo type.” He says, trying to dismiss the idea.
Natasha just grins. “Tattoos aren’t taboo anymore, Cap!” She laughs. “They’re pretty trendy these days. We’ve all got ‘em!” She hikes her shirt up on the left side a little to expose a small tattoo on her hipbone of a little black spider. Steve snorts and rolls his eyes at the irony of it.
“I dunno, Natasha.”
“C’mon!” She almost whines. “You can’t tell me that Captain America is scared of a little needle!”
Steve straightens up in his seat. “Of course not!”
Natasha stands from the couch and tucks his sketch book under her arm. “Alright then, go and get yourself cleaned up. I’m going to help you lose your virginity.” She laughs as Steve blushes and fixes her with a pointed look. “I might even get another one myself.” She winks.
With a huff, Steve gets to his feet and stalks off. He was never one to back down from a challenge. He quickly undresses once he’s in the privacy of the bathroom and runs the shower nice and hot, and steps inside. The water leaches the stiffness from his muscles from sitting on the wooden stool in front of his easel all day, washes away the tension in his shoulders.
“What about that pretty brunette at Starbucks?” Natasha’s voice shouts from the other side of the bathroom door. “She always gives you a free drink. Totally hot for you.”
Steve groans, rinsing the shampoo from his neatly cut blonde hair. “Stop trying to get me a date!” He calls back.
“Not a chance, Cap! You need to have some fun once in a while. You might be ninety-something years old, but you sure as hell aren’t dead.” She’s saying, as Steve leaves the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Natasha is leaning against the wall beside the door and eyes him with a quick glance over, biting at her lower lip. “Yeah, definitely not dead.”
He just rolls his eyes and pushes past her and into his bedroom down the hall. Steve can feel Natasha’s eyes watching him as he walks way, but refuses to look back. He knows he’s likely already started to turn red in the cheeks. Having a woman in his apartment was still somewhat strange to him, especially when he was completely nude beneath his towel. Often times, Natasha would call him a prude, laughing as he’d blush at dirty jokes Tony and Clint would make. It wasn’t all true, Steve knew. He wasn’t really a prude, just… Shy. Steve dresses quickly — Designer jeans that Natasha had made him buy that fit close to his legs and a plain blue tee — and finds Natasha sitting at the kitchen table, thumbing through the sketchbook again.
“‘I’m really surprised,” She says, flipping the book closed as Steve slips on a pair of sneakers. “You’re one hell of an artist.” Her eyes glimmer with something that boarders on mischief as Steve leads her out of the apartment. “Maybe that’s the angle we should be taking with the ladies; the sensitive artist living in a world he just doesn’t understand.” Natasha pouts cutely.
Steve groans and follows her down to where she’s parked her car. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” He asks, exasperated.
The woman just shakes her head as they climb into the sleek black sports car and drive off. Natasha drives across the city in relative silence, some interesting music coming through the stereo system. It was highly digitalized, but the voice of the female singer was beautiful and pure. Steve found himself tapping his hands on his legs to some of the more up-beat songs, and the slower ones put him in a daze. “Funny,” She comments as they stop at a red light. “I never thought I’d see Captain America grooving out to Kye Kye.”
Steve arches an eyebrow at her, and she laughs. He watches the city passing by outside the window, mind reeling back to when he was just some scrawny kid picking fights with guys three times his size. In that ally, he’d tried to stop a guy from getting too fresh with a dame, who clearly wasn’t interested. Over there, behind that tall building was where he’d nearly gotten his face caved in for shushing someone in a movie theatre. Of course, most times Bucky was there to save his ass if he got in over his head. Which was almost all of the time. Then Bucky would drag him back to their apartment in Brooklyn and patch him up as best he could, being as gentle as possible to refrain from breaking the delicate body Steve used to have back then. Bucky had always been gentle with him. As often as they’d raise their voices at one another when money was tight and they were both hungry and cold, Bucky would NEVER raise a hand to Steve, even when Steve was being stupid.
He sighs as Natasha parks the car and leads him down the busy New York sidewalks, stopping at a window plastered with a huge rooster. “Wooster Street Social Club?” Steve reads off the window, quirking an eyebrow at her again. “I thought you were taking me to a tattoo parlour.”
“Don’t you watch TV?” Natasha asks rhetorically. “These guys are the best there is. C’mon!” She grabs his hand and drags him inside the shop. It smells a little like a hospital, Steve thinks; sterile and clean. A constant buzzing assaults his ears. Natasha nudges him towards the reception desk, where a pretty girl with orange and yellow hair sits, scrolling through a webpage.
The girl looks up with a smile. “Hey there!” She says pleasantly. “Anything I can help you with?” Steve returns the smile to the girl, whom he thinks is pretty, despite the tattoos and piercings.
From behind him, Natasha nods. “He’s looking to get some work done.” She explains with a grin. Steve just nods in agreement, eyes scanning the artwork on the walls.
“Well,” The girl says as she brings up something on her computer. “Tim’s free, if you’re looking to get it done right away.” She smiles sweetly as Steve nods again. “What is it you’re looking to get?”
Steve takes the book from Natasha’s arm and flips to the page with the sketch of the dog tags. “Something for a friend.” Steve replies.
The girl leans over the counter and looks closely at the page. She’s visibly startled by something she sees, her green eyes dart from Steve to the drawing, then back again. “Holy shit!” She says in quiet awe. “You’re Captain America!”
Natasha is laughing as Steve nods with a polite smile. Steve was adjusting to his fame that had come first from the exhibit at the Smithsonian and the footage of he and the Howling Commandos on the History Channel. Then the additional fame from the Battle of New York had bolstered that, having been run seemingly on repeat on all of the major news networks. “Yeah, I am.” He replies.
“And you’re getting a tattoo for James Barnes?” She’s still in awe as her eyes read the dog tags several more times over. “Holy shit.” She laughs to herself and shakes some of the fluorescent orange hair from her eyes. “Listen to me, I sound like a school girl! Let me bring this to Tim, and he’ll draw something up for you. Take a seat over there, he won’t be long at all.” She grins widely at him before taking the book from his hands and all but running off into a room where Steve assumes Tim works.
Natasha is still laughing under her breath when they sit on a plush couch beside the shops front window. “How about her?” She asks, nodding in the direction the girl ran off. “She’s cute, and TOTALLY had a crush on you.”
“I thought I said to drop it?” Steve chuckles, shaking his head. Sometimes he thinks that if he did take Natasha up on one if her ridiculous date ideas, she’d see just how terrible an idea it actually was. Natasha shrugs and smirks. They lapse back into silence as they wait for Tim to appear. From where he sits, Steve can see several of the artists working away on the other side of the counter.
If Steve had still been the runt he used to be, the constant buzzing of the tattoo machines and sickly sweet smell of the room would have been enough to make him want to wrench up his breakfast. Before the serum, Steve was none too fond of needles, and the fear still lurked under the surface when faced with routine blood work back at the S.H.I.E.L.D office. But he remembered the way he felt his own body stretch and expand in every way when Erskine had injected the serum into his veins, and suddenly the idea of a few needles didn’t seem half so bad. He watched the people in the chairs on the other side of the counter, all of them grimacing or wincing as the machines drilled away at their flesh.
Twenty minutes have passed by when a handsome man of maybe forty-five years with dark hair approaches them with Steve’s sketchbook in one hand, and two drawings in the other. “Captain?” He says, as Steve rises to his feet, extending a hand. Tim passes Steve his book and reaches with his now free hand to shake Steve’s. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve always been a big fan.”
“Nice to meet you too.” Steve says politely, shaking the man’s hand. “It’s Tim, right?”
“Yes sir!” Tim replies with a grin. Steve has a feeling that Bucky would have liked this guy’s style. Tim looked equal parts badass and clean cut; two arms and hands covered in tattoos, with neatly cropped black hair pushed back over his head in a style had had been popular back in the forties. Steve had a feeling that were he alive in this day and age, Bucky would have ended up looking much like Tim. “I took the liberty of doing up a couple different versions of your idea. Which, might I add, was very well drawn. Take a look!”
Tim passes Steve the drawings and Steve looks them over with an artist’s eyes. Both match Steve’s drawing to nearly a tee, the only noticeable change being the lettering styles. The script of one is flowing and elegant looking, though still very masculine. The other is stiffer and straight lined, and looks more like something Steve saw around the war era. He examines them both several times over and passes Tim the first. “I think this one looks better.”
The dark haired man nods. “Come with me then, and we’ll get started.” He says kindly, leading Steve and Natasha into a small room off to the side of the shop. Its walls are lined with pictures of the tattoo he’s done, and several paintings too. Steve notes that he’s extremely talented, and that his shading work is immaculate. Theres a small desk and a light table off in one corner, a toolbox whose top is covered with a sterile sheet, several shelves full of ink, and a small moveable lamp. Dominating the room is a table with various jointed sections, Steve assumes is where he’s supposed to sit. “So,” Tim starts as he lays several little cups in a line on top of the toolbox. “Where are we putting this?”
Steve thinks silently for a minute; it was something he hadn’t considered. He had an image to uphold these days, and he wasn’t sure of a visible tattoo would be something the American public would see as acceptable for their favourite son. It hits him quickly. “On my chest, over my heart.” He says, laying a hand over his chest. It’s a place few people see these days; even in the gym he tends to wear some kind of undershirt or tee. Natasha, who has been sitting quietly in a chair beside the desk nods, smiling gently.
“Sounds good.” Tim says. “Take off your shirt and we’ll get the stencil on first.” Steve does as he’s asked and sits perfectly still as Tim sprays his chest with some kind of solution and places the stencil of the tattoo on Steve’s chest. He pats it down several times the peels the paper away, like those fake tattoos children get for fun. “Hows that placement?” Tim asks, passing Steve a hand-held mirror.
The tag bearing Bucky’s name sits directly above Steve’s heart, while the rest of the sketch consumes his entire left pectoral. At first glance, it looks a little big, but after looking at for several seconds more, Steve nods. “Perfect.” He says. Tim grins, and then finishes setting up his gear. He threads various kinds of needles into several machines, pours black ink into the little cups and rips a hand full of paper towels off a roll and lays them near by.
Tim changes his gloves and looks up at Steve, who’s sitting down on the table. “Ready when you are.”
Steve swallows the nervous lump in his throat and leans back against the backrest of the table, and tips his head back onto the head rest. He closes his eyes as he hears the machine in Tim’s hand buzz to life, and takes a calming breath as he feels the first pass of the needle on his skin. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, Steve thinks. Maybe a little irritating, but nothing too painful, and certainly nowhere near as bad as television made it out to be. Hell, he’d gone through Erskine’s serum, this was a walk in the park by comparison. Natasha has rolled her chair up beside Steve and is watching the process closely, likely because she finds Tim attractive.
“Relax, Cap.” She says gently in his ear. “He’s one of the best in the world.”
Steve opens an eye and arches a brow at her. It’s then he realizes that he’s shaking. Steve just takes another calming breath, taking control over his body as Tim leans down to press the needle to his skin once more. He feels Natasha’s hand rest on his forearm, fingers lightly tracing patterns against his wrist, calming him even more. After a few minutes, the buzzing becomes calming white noise, and the slight burn left on his skin numbed to nothing. He closes his eyes again and relaxes.
What would Bucky say about all this? Steve thinks silently, opening his eyes after a while to watch Tim work as best he can from this angle. He’d probably think I was completely off my rocker. That, or not believe that I actually went through with it. He smirks to himself. Then again, I can see him being completely covered in tattoos if he were here. Always the rebellious one…
A couple of hours pass by, and the three are all silent, save for the buzzing of Tim’s machine. Steve does his best to sit as still as possible, even when Tim is shading over the same area three and four times making the skin burn more than before. He grimaces once or twice as the artist wipes away the excess ink, none too gently. Steve feels Natasha’s hand slip into his, her other one wrapping around the back of them both. Her hands are warm and surprisingly soft, Steve thinks. Her many years of handling so many weapons haven’t calloused her palms, like the way the other female agents were. Steve cracks an eye and smiles over at her gratefully. After all, this tattoo was her idea. Maybe she was right, and this was exactly what he needs to help himself mourn the loss of his closest friend.
“I’ve done a lot of tattoos for veterans.” Tim says quietly after a while. “Of course, none from World War Two, and never ones whose story I was already pretty familiar with.” He wipes away some more ink, and glances up at Steve. “What was he like?”
Steve smiled sadly. “Bucky was great; really charismatic, easy to talk to. He could get along with just about anyone. He was loyal and kind, the kind of person you didn’t mind putting your life in their hands, you know?” He said, tipping his head back against the head rest once more. “He was one of the greatest men I’ve ever known.”
“Sounds like you really miss him.” Tim comments.
“Every day.” Steve tells him with a nod. “He did a lot for me before we went overseas. I think he was more like a brother to me than a friend.”
Tim nods quietly and continues his work. Steve feels Natasha’s hands tighten around his, and he squeezes back. He’s grateful that she’s there to keep him grounded. It isn’t often that he brings himself to talk about Bucky these days, and when he does it tends to leave him choked up. He hates that he can’t share his memories of his best friend with the team, who all want to know more about what Steve’s life was like, what the war was like. But every time the memories surfaces, all he can hear in his head is that scream, and the howling wind.
Fours hours later, the piece is complete. Tim sits back and lays his machine down with a satisfied grin. “Alright, Captain,” He starts, spraying the tattoo down with a cleaning solution. “Take a look in that mirror and tell me what you think.” He pats the tattoo dry and lets Steve up.
He stands in front of a full length mirror and takes several deep breaths before he lets his eyes wander down to the tattoo in his reflection. The sight nearly takes the air from his lungs. The dog tags are perfect, not drawn to look new. They have dents and scuffs and chips out of them, like the real set Steve keeps in his nightstand at the apartment. The lettering is flawless. The whole piece is utterly immaculate. “My god…” Steve breaths. “This is… It’s-“ Steve feels his throat tighten and his eyes flood.
“It’s beautiful.” Natasha finishes for him. She’s standing at his side again, her hand slipping into his. “It looks absolutely amazing.” All Steve can do is nod, knowing that if he opens his mouth to speak now, he’d lose it completely.
Tim smiles warmly at them in the mirror. “I tried my best to do this piece justice. I mean, it’s not every day you get to tattoo a living legend.” He laughs and finishes cleaning Steve up, before putting a bandage over the fresh ink. He gives Steve the proper instructions on how to care for the tattoo, and what he should do to insure proper healing. Steve knows that the piece would probably be completely healed by this time tomorrow anyway, but pays attention anyway. They head back to the front desk where the pretty orange and yellow haired girl is still sitting. She flashes Steve with another huge smile before she turns back to her computer to write up a payment. “What are you doing!?” Tim asks the girl, looking over her shoulder. “We aren’t charging Captain America! Are you crazy?!”
Steve laughs and shakes his head, already pulling his wallet from his pocket. “It’s alright. I insist.”
“Not a chance.” Tim says. “This one’s on the house.” Steve tries to argue, but Tim holds up a tattooed hand. “You’re a hero, I can’t charge you for that piece in good conscience.” He smiles over at Steve, who returns it. “You guys get outta here. You can pay for the next one.”
Thanking him once more for the tattoo, Steve extends a hand to Tim, slipping a one hundred dollar bill into the man’s palm as thanks. The man shakes his head with a laugh, and Steve and Natasha leave the shop. The drive back to his building is spent in silence, the same peaceful music playing over Natasha’s stereo. They pull up to Steve’s building and she looks over at him with a small smile. “You alright?”
“I will be.” Steve says slowly.
Natasha smiles. “Want some company? Netflix has a whole pile of old Disney movies.” She knows that Steve has a soft spot for animated movies, the artist in him wanting to learn how to create moving pictures like that. Steve just nods in reply and lets Natasha park her car before leading her back to the apartment. It’s well past eleven when they get home, and it’s likely too late to bother starting a movie. Steve may not need as much sleep anymore, but Natasha wasn’t superhuman. He had a feeling she’d be out in no time. Either way, he lets her pick the movie while he makes them some popcorn and grabs a couple beers from the fridge.
She’s shucked off her boots and leather jacket and takes a seat on his couch, her feet tucked under herself, leaning against the padded arm of the sofa with her head in her hand. It’s hard for him to believe that this woman could have ever been deadly enough to be called The Black Widow. Steve takes a seat on the other end of the couch and passes her a beer, laying the popcorn on the cushion between them. “What’s this one?” Steve asks.
“Beauty and The Beast.” She says, looking over at him with a smile. She presses play and they lapse into silence again at the movie plays.
Steve is entranced by the colours, how vivid and bright they are. The story, how sweet and sad it is, then how everything magically works out. He feels himself smile. Deep down, he knows that despite his tough exterior, Bucky would have loved these movies too. He was a good artist too. Steve remembers fondly, eyes drifting to the nearly complete canvas. Though he never gave himself enough credit.
He feels eyes on him and glances over at Natasha. She’s watching him quietly again, head cocked slightly to the right. Without saying a word, she lays the empty bowl on the floor and pats her lap. “Lay down.” She says gently. He does, his whole body weary in that instant. Fingers gently comb through his hair, scratching at his scalp soothingly. Steve closes his eyes and hums contentedly at the feeling. The redhead chuckles to herself and turns back to the movie, idly carding her fingers through Steve’s hair. “Scalp massages make everything better.” She says, her voice soft and smooth.
“I wouldn’t say everything.” Steve murmurs, the old ache of loss still burning in his heart. “But it’s nice.”
The movie ends near as the clock is going for two, and Steve is still laying with his head in Natasha’s lap. He’s comfortable there, more comfortable than he’s been since waking up in this century. So far, Natasha is the only woman, aside from Peggy Carter who he’s been able to talk to without fumbling over his words like an idiot. He liked having her around sometimes. Her hazel eyes turn down on him as he looks up, and she smiles. “How’s the chest doing?”
Steve shrugs. “It’s not hurting anymore. That kinda went away not long after we got back here.” He tells her.
“Let me see.” She says.
Without thinking, Steve sits up and pulls his tee over his head, and drops it aside. Natasha turns her body towards him on the couch and folds her legs under herself as she reaches out and peels off the bandage that Tim had put in place. The tattoo is a little scabby, but otherwise, looks just fine. Setting the bandage aside, Natasha traces the chain attached to the dog tags, eyes examining the tattoo closely. Steve feels himself tense at the lightness in her touch, feeling it send a jolt of electricity right to the pit of his stomach. Her lips twitch into a ghost of a smile, feeling the way his muscles contract under her hand. Steve clears his throat and shifts back on the couch.
She eyes him closely, watching the way he watches her, judging her next move. In the end, she sighs and gets up off the couch. “Well, it’s getting late.” She says through a yawn. “I better get going.” But she doesn’t move, just watches him still. Her breathing has become a little unsteady, Steve notices, watching the rise and fall of her chest. “Are you going to be ok?”
Steve gets to his feet, grabbing the empty bowl from the floor, and the bottles from the coffee table. “I’ll be ok, don’t worry about it.” He says, more to himself than her. He places the bowl in the sink and rinses out the butter and salt sticking to the sides of it, his back to her and the rest of the room. Steve hardly hears her bare feet crossing the room, and scarcely knows she’s there until he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to face her, and she’s closer than he’d thought.
Natasha’s hand reaches from his shoulder to run through the short hair around his ears, sending another jolt through his body. He leans into her touch without realizing it, eyes fluttering shut. “Maybe I should stay, just to be sure.” She says, her voice low and smooth again. She’s got him backed against the sink, her slight body moving steadily closer to his. On instinct, Steve raises his hands and places them on her hips, and Natasha melts against him. He opens his eyes and she’s peering up at him, blinking slowly with a smirk on her lips. “See, now’s the part where you kiss me.” She teases, before she leans up and lets her lips brush across his.
The feeling is electrifying, sending his every nerve into a higher gear. Her lips are soft against his as Steve kisses her back, and her body is warm and firm in his arms. Despite the few dates he’d actually gone on since waking up in this new time, few of them had ever gone past dinner, and the one or two that had, had left before dawn. Sometimes he’d call, if he liked her enough, but nothing would ever come of it again. Back in the War, he’d been seduced by a chorus girl or two, but of course, he’d never see them again once he left the state. No, this wasn’t his first time, but something about Natasha made him lose his better judgement like he had the first time around.
There are hands in his hair, warm soft skin under his hands, and supple lips catching his lower one. Steve forced the part of his brain that’s screaming at him how wrong this is to shut up, and lets himself get lost in the feeling of Natasha’s kiss. Her tongue passes through their parted mouths, and Steve meets it with his own. There’s still a distinct salty taste to her from the popcorn, and suddenly, her hands are sliding down his chest. Steve pulls away to breath and looks down at the woman in his arms; her lips are flushed and wet, and her eyes are glimmering with the stare of the temptress that she is. His hands are pressing against her back under her t-shirt, and he wonders when that happened. Natasha has hers on his hips, fingers toying with the edge of his jeans as she keeps her gaze locked with his.
“I thought you—“ Steve starts, cut off as Natasha presses her lips to his jaw, moving down his neck. “— Clint.”
Natasha snorts and looks up at him with a cocked eyebrow. “You’re funny.” She said with a smirk. “Nothing serious between us. Just sex.”
Steve knows his cheeks have flushed by now, having her so close like this. “So you’re not…?”
“Together?” Natasha asks. She shakes her head and tosses her red locks over her shoulders. “No, we aren’t.” She leans in to catch his lips with hers once more, and Steve swears that he’s seeing stars behind his eyes. “So,” She starts, dusting her lips across his. “What do you wanna do, soldier?”
Gut instinct has kicked in by now, and all Steve can do is keep kissing her. He leans down enough to slip one arm behind her thighs, hoisting her off the ground. Natasha laughs lowly, wrapping long, deadly legs around his hips as Steve carries her down the hall to the bedroom. This is wrong, and he knows it. This is wrong, but he doesn’t care. Especially not when she’s hauling her shirt off and dropping is lazily to the floor. Natasha slides past him, her hand grabbing him as she hauls him towards the bed, smirking up at him in that cocky way that still reminds Steve of Bucky in an uncomfortable kind of way. He hauls her in close again, pressing his lips to her neck running his hands down her bare back.
Steve hears her breath hitch as he quickly unlatches her bra and tosses it aside in the dark, feels the way her hands move across his shoulders, pulling herself tighter against him as he finds her mouth with his once more. She moans softly into his kiss and reaches between them, deft fingers undoing the button and zipper of his jeans. It seems like she isn’t waisting any time, Steve thinks to himself as he lets her push the denim down over his hips and onto the floor. He kicks them out of the way, suddenly very aware of how turned on he’s become.
Natasha pulls back for a minute to take in the sight of him, biting on her lower lip as she smiles. “Hot damn.” She mutters, running her hands across his chest and shoulders. “You really are built like a tank, aren’t you?” Her fingers trace the musculature of his biceps, then run across his chest.
He’s got nothing to say in reply. All he can think right now is how badly he wants her. Steve shrugs in response and repeats her actions; flipping the button of her jeans open, sliding the zipper down, then pushing fabric over the perfect curve of her hips. The underwear she has underneath leave little to the imagination; black and lacy, hardly covering her ample backside. Swallowing around the uncomfortable lump in his throat, Steve backs her towards the bed, letting her lay herself down on the soft, plushy mattress with her head on his pillows. She looks up expectantly, bidding Steve to come closer with just her eyes.
Steve is trying not to stare too much at her mostly naked form, feeling himself stiffen his is boxers just that much more as his eyes drink in the sight. Natasha was gorgeous, that much he’d always known, curved in all kinds of delicious ways. Her Black Widow uniform never left much the imagination, but out of it her curves were even more perfect, just the way he’d always liked his girls back in the day. “See something interesting, Rogers?” She asks from the pillows, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“Maybe I do.” Steve replies, shucking his socks before crawling up the bed. Natasha just laughs. Steve takes his time, placing soft kisses across her hipbones, up her abdomen, her chest. She’s sighing quietly as he lets a hand wander across her body, letting his fingers learn the shape of her, then drags his face down for another kiss. Their tongues collide, tasting each other. Her hands move all across his back, pulling him down on top of her.
He barely has time to fully become aware of her actions when her hand is sliding inside his boxers and wrapping around his cock. He bites back a groan as she strokes him, her grip around him firm. She’s chewing on her lip again when he looks down at her, watching him with seductive eyes. Steve leans down to attack her neck with kisses and bites once again, letting her work him up. Without warning, Natasha shoves him onto his back, and is pulling his boxers off. Steve is painfully aware of how completely naked he is, and can already feel his face and neck grow warm in embarrassment. But Natasha is focused purely on making Steve so hard it’s painful, stroking him in a slow, teasing way. He huffs out a groan, wanting more.
Natasha seems to read his mind, moving down his body, leaving a trail of hot kisses and sharp bites down his torso before reaching his groin. She’s sitting on his legs, one hand still stroking him while leaning against the other on the bed. She gives him a dark smile, then leans down. Steve has to tear his eyes away from her as he feels the soft, wet heat of her mouth slide around his cock, and groans involuntarily. Her tongue swirls around the head, hand still stroking his shaft, and Steve is in heaven. His hands grip the sheets at his sides, and the woman laughs, sending vibrations though his body that makes the pleasure coil at the base of his spine. Her hand leaves him then, and her mouth is sliding lower, taking him all in as she swallows around him and Steve is positive he’s seeing stars this time.
All too soon, she’s moving away, his cock sliding from her mouth. Steve grabs her shoulders and rolls her back onto the mattress, kissing her hard and needy, tasting himself on her tongue. He slips a hand down her body, fingers edging beneath the lacy black panties she still wore, only somewhat surprised to find that the skin underneath is completely smooth. They find just the right spot, circling slowly, feeling how wet she already was. Natasha arches into his hand, whimpering into his mouth. Her hands clutch at his shoulders, nails biting into the flesh, leaving little marks Steve know will be gone in the morning. “Christ…” She moans, while Steve pushes two fingers inside her body, thrusting them slowly enough to drive her insane.
He stops only long enough to slip her underwear off and toss them away with the rest of their clothes, then resumes his actions, making the woman writhe in pleasure underneath him. She’s already slick and soaking inside, and Steve wants nothing more than to push himself inside her and fuck her senseless. But, if Bucky had taught him one thing about women, it was that they loved to be taken care of in bed. So he keeps teasing her, kissing a trail down her body, his free hand toying with her nipples. He nips at her hipbones, making her whine quietly, her hands in his hair. Steve presses kisses to the inside of her thighs, then with one last glance up at her, lets his tongue join his hand, flicking quickly at a particularly sensitive spot. Natasha lets out an audible moan, hand fisting in his hair as he keeps on pleasuring her.
“Goddamnit, Rogers…” She sighs, arching her hips down to gain more contact. Taking that as a good sigh, Steve pumps his fingers in and out of her faster, feeling the way her thighs shake against his shoulders. “Fuck.” She draws the word out through a smile. Steve keeps it up for a while, listening to the way she grew increasingly louder as she drew closer to orgasm, silently revelling in the fact that he was able to make a woman feel that good. Natasha’s breath hitches in her throat when Steve curls his fingers at a slightly different angle, and lets out a breathy moan. “Yes, Steve, right there — Oh fuck…” She’s panting, as Steve keeps stroking the same spot inside her, his tongue still flicking at her clit. He can tell from the sounds she’s making that she’s got her teeth clamped down around her lip as she pants and sighs. “Steve, you’re gonna… I’m gonna… Oh god!” Her words are cut off by a loud moan, her whole body shuddering with release.
Steve sits back, fingers still pushing inside her slowly, leading her through the waves of pleasure, watching the way her hands grip the pillow. When her body calms down, Steve withdraws his hand from between her legs and lays back on top of her, selling himself between her thighs. They kiss lazily for a few minutes, Natasha’s hands running up and down his back, gripping at his ass from time to time. Steve’s cock is almost aching he’s so aroused, the head of it brushing against the wet heat between her thighs, making her quiver. “Roll over.” She says to him.
He does, laying on his back as she straddles his hips. Their eyes meet, and she lines them up, then sinks down onto his cock, taking him all in with a low moan. Steve bites down on his lip, hands moving up her thighs to rest on her hips as they start to roll against him in a slow, sensual way. She’s hot and tight around him, and he sinks deep into her with each roll of her hips. Natasha’s hands brace herself against his chest, her head falling back as she starts to ride him a little quicker. It’s the most amazing feeling, Steve thinks as he watches the way her body moves so fluidly like that. He can’t help but reach up, sliding his hands across all her curves. She picks the pace up again, and Steve sighs through parted lips.
Sweat starts to bead on his forehead and chest, little droplets are rolling down between Natasha’s breasts too, and suddenly he’s very aware of how close he’s getting. She’s riding him harder now, driving him crazy. Steve pushes himself into a sitting position and wraps an arm around her waist, their mouths colliding in hot, desperate open mouthed kisses as she grinds her hips against his. She’s whimpering in pleasure into their kiss, arms around his neck, fingernails scraping at his back. Steve stills her for a second, just long enough to flip them back over, so she’s on her back with her legs around his waist. He can feel her body tightening around him as he thrusts into her hard and quick, making her moan each time his hips snap forward.
Steve dips his head and buries his face in the crook of her neck, fucking her as hard as he dares. His hands grip the sheets under them and he breaths hard through parted lips. Natasha is mouthing at his neck and shoulders, muttering in his ear. “C’mon, Harder… Yeah, like that. Oh god Steve, you feel so good.” She arches her hips down, forcing him to hit a different spot inside of her and a long moan escapes her mouth. “Jesus Christ!” She swears, nails tearing at Steve’s shoulders and back. “Yes!”
He feels her body convulse around him as she comes again, panting his name over and over in his ear between vulgar curse words. She tightens even more and it’s just enough to bring Steve over the edge too, spilling himself inside her with a groan after a couple harder thrusts. He rolls his hips lazily, riding out the aftershocks before he falls still, breathing hard and coated in sweat.
Natasha sighs contentedly underneath him, her arms wrapping around him, holding him close for a few moments before Steve withdraws from her and lays flat on his back, letting his heart rate slow. She tips her head to the side, smiling at him in a peaceful way. Silence drifts over them. Steve looks over at her and returns the smile. “So much for you leaving.” He mutters into the pillow, reaching over to push a stray hair off her face.
“I never really planned on it.” She tells him with a devious grin.
“You planned this?” Steve laughs.
Natasha just shrugs and turns onto her side, snuggling in close to Steve’s side, under his arm. “Not this, particularly.” She says against his chest, her lips pressing another kiss there as Steve draws the rumpled sheets over their naked, still damp bodies. “I wanted to cheer you up. You’re cuter when you’re smiling.”
Steve just laughs and tightens his arm around her a little more, and rests his head on top of hers. He feels her sigh. In truth, as weird as he felt about sleeping with Natasha in the beginning, having her here now was almost exactly what he needed to ward off the loneliness he felt at night. She fits in his arms almost perfectly, and her arm draped across his stomach is warm. The woman shifts, snuggling in closer still and sighs, Steve knows she’s falling asleep and he doesn’t mind. Even if he can’t sleep in fear of hearing the same blood curdling scream in his dreams, he can hold Natasha close and hope that it helps.