1 comments/ 5599 views/ 14 favorites Shield and Gun Pt. 01 By: SofiaVerne It had been a long three weeks since Natasha and Steve had holed up in the cabin, on the run from remnants of Hydra, and Hawkeye. They settled into a routine, though Black Widow admonished herself during this time as she had not so easily fallen into it. Steve was a natural - coming from a simpler time of the 1940s and roughing it on the front lines of WWII, he seemed perfectly at home sans any technology or modern advancements. Natasha, on the other hand, had struggled to keep herself busy and found herself cleaning and re-cleaning her guns as Steve went about the daily business of chopping wood and starting a fire in the lone fireplace of the one-room cabin. She was in the middle of cleaning the sights on one when a flash of sunlight broke through the misty haze of the morning. Looking at him, she idly played with the contours of her gun. He modestly wore a tank undershirt as he took the hard, sharp metal of his shield and expertly split a log, the sinews of his muscles left little to the imagination as it plainly showed his figure beneath moistened cloth from mild exertion and the damp mountain air of their hideout. Clutching his waist was a pair of sensible khakis he apparently kept in the bag on his motorcycle. Why exactly he carried a pair of pants around gave her momentary pause before she kept on with her unabashed leering. His blonde hair was matted with sweat and moisture as he stoically split another log effortlessly, the warped glass of the window playing with his visage to her eyes. And as if he felt her eyes upon him, he stopped mid rise of the shield, and turned, meeting her gaze. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, matching the fiery crown the curls of her hair formed around her face. Without modern comforts, her hair had succumbed to nature and now furiously curled in the dampness of the air, a halo of red framing her face. She smiled meekly, and waved at him idiotically. One corner of his mouth perked up into a lopsided smile. "Don't come in...don't come in..." she thought to herself, cheeks still burning unencumbered from being caught looking at him. But he had taken her wave as an invitation and gently put his shield down, gathered the split logs and booted through the front door. "Did you need something, Nat?" It was a line she had become accustomed to hearing from him, as he had patiently been waiting on her hand and foot due to her ineptness. "Uhhh...no," she responded lamely, "...aren't you cold?" His entry into the cabin had rushed in a breeze of cool air with him, causing her cheeks to deepen into an even deeper red. He laughed genuinely, a playful lilting of the notes as his blue eyes creased at their corners, "Nah, this is nothing compared to being frozen for a few decades." She placed the gun she had been cleaning down, carefully onto the table in front of her, "Sorry, that was a bit mindless of me." Smirking, he walked over to the fireplace and deposited the fresh firewood in the metal basket. She couldn't help but watch him, his long legs allowing him graceful and methodical movement - so unlike the sharp albeit frantic movements of her own petite body. As if he sensed her feeling of ineptitude, he sat next to her, looking at the gun on the table, "These things have gotten so complicated," he said, motioning vaguely in her direction, maybe to the gun. But a sense of double entendre was lingering in the air at his words. It was her turn to smirk, "Is that why you've decided to not use them anymore?" "I'm not slow, and I enjoy a challenge, why don't you show me how it works?" Narrowing her eyes a bit, Natasha wasn't sure if they were talking about the gun still, but she obliged, reaching one slender, well manicured hand out at the metal contraption, when his larger hand rested on hers. "That's not what I meant." He said plainly. She panicked. Eyes wide, she looked at him worriedly, "Wha-?" He lowered his lashes, long and blonde at the tips but darker and ruddy at their roots, and then looked at her. Without saying a word, he lifted his other hand to her cheek, still flushed and now burning more fiercely as her nerves took a hold of her, he stroked the pale skin affectionately. She was caught in his gaze, unaccustomed to him touching her like this. Neither of them blinked, they just stared at one another, refusing to breathe. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she let it all out in one slow near-whimper and the spell was broken. He lowered his hand back to the couch. "I'm sorry," He said, and almost ashamed. She could see in his eyes, blinking now, that he meant it. She couldn't respond. She didn't. And her silence wedged between them, causing him to get up and go back outside, calling behind him, "Let me know when you're hungry. I'll start a fire." Natasha had never been a woman scared of her own desires, but she was terrified. She and Steve had developed a well fought for friendship. Covertly, she had let the rumors circulate that she and Hawkeye were an item, even having him give gifts she bought herself. In truth, they were best friends, and she trusted him to keep her secret. If people thought she was already involved with someone, then no one would be so bold as to try to engage her. Her cheek tingled of its own volition, reminding her of Steve's touch. He was the last person she thought would even think to cross that line. The thought of Clint caused her to involuntarily reach up to touch the small pendant necklace Hawkeye gave her as a gift - a singular arrow connected to a chain at tip and quill. But they were on the run from Hawkeye. He shot at her. He had become so singularly minded that she didn't even recognize him anymore. Without her permission, her gaze returned to look through the glass pane window at Steve. And she couldn't help but wonder if she had been in denial this entire time... That night was a particularly cold one, and after quelling the awkwardness between the two with jokes over meals and plans on what to do with the shambles of Hydra once they found they unraveled the mess they were in, things returned to a tentative normal. Cocooned in blankets and quilts, with a roaring fire at her feet, Natasha was still shivering. She rustled, sitting up in the lone cot like bed in the cabin and she could see Steve's prostrate figure asleep on the couch. But she knew better. "Sorry," she whispered over to him, knowing full well that the serum had not only enhanced his physical prowess but also his senses, and that he was quite the light sleeper. "It's okay. Are you cold? I hear you shaking." He stirred, sitting up and looking back at her, the flickering firelight dancing across his well chiseled face and flirting shimmers in his cropped, blond hair. "There aren't any more blankets. I'll endure." She offered him a smile that quickly left her lips as he stood up, clad in nothing but his tank and boxer briefs. Envious of his durability and tolerance for the cold, she chided herself - after all, she was the 'Russian.' As her mind scolded her ethnic failings, he lumbered purposefully over to her, "Scoot over." She looked up at him with bewildered eyes, "What?" "Scoot over," he nudged her playfully. Obliging, but still confused, she objected only in words, "This is smaller than a twin, Steve." He squeezed his large frame onto the cot and deftly lifted her slightly on top of him. His hand nearly burned her cold flesh. "Jesus Christ you are a hot." "Why thank you, Nat, you're not too bad yourself." She rolled her eyes, but was quite thankful for the body heat he was generating and she at once relaxed. "You're so corny." but she curled up on him, reveling in his furnace like heat, "It's a wonder you didn't melt the ice when you crashed that plane." She felt the deep rumblings of a chuckle, her ear planted on his expansive chest. "Well if I had, I wouldn't be here today to keep you warm. So I'll be thankful that didn't happen." So considerate, she thought to herself, he was always so damn considerate. Her mind absentmindedly began to catalog all the instances of his consideration towards her, an exhaustive exercise, that she hadn't noticed he had shifted his hand from laying on it awkwardly to resting near her waist, his fingertips brushing her side. His breathing was rhythmic and steady, and she found herself lulled, not into sleepiness, but pure relaxation. She felt safe. After a long while, she whispered to him in the semi-darkness, "Steve..." "Mmmm?" was his only reply. "Can you hold me?" She asked bluntly, before stammering out an awkward, "I-I'm afraid I'll fall off otherwise." "Sure, Nat." And she felt his broad shoulders shift, his long arms curl, and his hands clasp at her waist, holding her securely. She couldn't tell whether or not his hands had been shaking...but he wasn't cold. Drifting further into relaxation and bordering on sleep, she nuzzled his chest and neck and felt him breathe out slowly. With his hands splayed on her sides, she felt a twinge of wanton desire strike her in her half dazed state. And it became obvious that he was struck with the same feeling, the fabric of his undergarments now beginning to strain against the pressure of his wants. He didn't dare move. She bit her lip, thinking quickly to herself. She wanted him, there was no denying that, but she was afraid that it was a product of the proximity and that it'd ruin their wonderful friendship. Plus, as far as she knew, Steve was a virgin, his body was probably extra sensitive to these kinds of things, and it's not inherently an indication of his actual desire, and...isn't he sleeping? She decided to test, just for curiosity sake, or at least that was what she was telling herself, as she shifted her weight and her knee ever so gently rested against the length of his growing nethers. He didn't move. She smirked, knowing full well he was awake, light sleeper and all, but wondered about his motivation for staying so still. She even thought he had stopped breathing. She looked up at him, the full line of his lips resting silently, his lashes lowered into a gentle sleep like expression. "Steve..." she whispered at him. He didn't respond. "Steve..." she whispered again. Still no response. Rolling her eyes for the second time that night, she turned her body so they were now chest to chest, their lower extremities dangerously close to one another, "Like that is it?" She lifted herself slightly, lowering her face a mere inch from his, Steve still laughably keeping a straight faux-sleep face. She whispered breathlessly, "Do you want me?" She felt his breath catch at her words, and he finally opened his eyes. The deep blue of his eyes were tinged with an emotion she often recognized in him - sadness, maybe even regret - but it wasn't as intense as when she normally saw them. They were a beautiful shade, with the illusion of shards of glass overlaid on dark waters - in the stillness of the night they looked nearly black. He looked ashamed, and concerned, but answered honestly, "Yes." The affirmation felt amazing. And she hadn't realized just how badly she had wanted that answer until she heard it. She supposed they had both been in denial in their friendship, willfully ignoring the growing attraction between them. She couldn't help but smile softly down at him before whispering, "Good..." and she lowered her mouth to his, tentatively at first, a church-like kiss in which their lips molded willingly to one another - not sterile like the one kiss they had shared before on the escalator of the mall in DC, but sweet and restrained. Opening their eyes, they looked at one another earnestly. He face was riddled with worry, not exactly the kind of reaction she was expecting, "Nat, what about Clint?" She smiled gently at him, kissing his chin lightly, "We're just really good friends. Kiss me some more?" The regret she had just seen in his eyes was replaced with a surge of relief, excitement, and...something else... The moment was broken when he lifted his head to hers and kissed her passionately, no longer chaste, with his tongue tangling with hers, his hands cupping either side of her face, a guttural groan escaping him as she responded to his kiss in kind. Her lips were plush and full, massaging his own as their tongues sparred with one another and she pressed her hips down on his navel, a scant inch away from a his more sensitive parts. She was so tiny, he was afraid he was going to hurt her, but as if reading his mind, she grabbed his right hand and rested it on backside, pressing his splayed hand in an indication for him to squeeze. He obliged, his heart pounding and blood racing as he felt the soft, tender flesh of her cheek, cool against the ever-growing heat of his body. His eyes closed, his mind raced at the image of them - her straddling him, on top of him, her back arched slightly as her full breasts rested upon his chest. One of her hands ventured down and slipped underneath his briefs' waistline. He tensed. His breathing was ragged. But he kept kissing her. He nearly jumped out of his skin as her small, cool hands wrapped around the shaft of him. He had never been touched there before - and he nearly lost his control in that very moment. He groaned into her mouth. She pulled away, smiling down at him, "This is nothing..." she promised him and turning her head to the side, she caught his hand that had been resting on her cheek and took one of his strong fingers into her mouth, the sparring her tongue had been engaged in, now sparring with his finger, her eyes locked on his. Her hands gently stroked up and down, achingly slow, as she sucked on the digit, causing Steve's mouth to fall open and hold his breath once more. His hand involuntarily squeezed her backside and his hips lifted against her down-stroke of their own volition. "Jesus Christ..." he seethed, breathless. Natasha was enjoying herself - she had never been with such a seemingly grateful man, nor one so shamelessly enjoying himself. "You've never been a virgin ever, Natasha," her mind reminded her. After a moment she stopped, releasing him from her grasp and mouth and he looked utterly broken that she had done that. Sitting up on him, her legs hugging his form as if riding a horse, she lifted the single shirt she had on over her head, her naked form resting firmly on top of him, only but her panties keeping any sense of modesty. He stared at her in wonderment, instinctively rising to meet her and took one of her nipples into his mouth, his arms wrapping like chords around her tiny waist. It was her turn to swear, "Fucking hell, I thought you were a virgin?" He mumbled something that she couldn't quite make out, her head dizzy with excitement at the jolts of pleasure his flicking tongue on her nipple was rocking through her body, but she thought he said, "Internet." She was quivering from his ministrations, her hands now roaming her smooth back and gripping the ends of her hair almost forcefully arching her spine so he could better attend to her breasts. Her hands clutched his blonde hair in kind, pulling him into her, her breathing haggard, inconsistent, and shallow as a deep warmth brewed between her legs. Unceremoniously, he stood up, taking her with him and walked them both to the floor in front of the fire, between the tiny bed and couch. He laid her down stood over her. Lashes fluttering open, she looked up at him, looming over her semi-backlit from the lowering glow of the fireplace, his broad frame heaving with heavy breathing as he slid the tank off. He was built so beautifully - with long muscles hugging his long bones with purpose and threat - an expansiveness to him that wasn't at all intimidating to her, but welcoming and comforting. He paused for a moment, but then thought better of it and proceeded to lower his briefs. She idly thought to herself that no woman had ever seen him naked before. She felt privileged, and as she caught sight of what he had been hiding and what she had been previously touching, she felt thankful. What a waste that he's only now having sex, his body was definitely built for it. A rush of excitement ran through her then, but she didn't move, enraptured in taking him all in. From the faint tan line of his shirt to the lightly fuzzed navel leading a trail of hair down to that gloriously untouched manhood. She bit her lip and he lowered himself, ceremoniously taking off her plain panties and she all of a sudden felt a bit self conscious. He was utterly, physically perfect, and here she was, marred and scarred from her haphazard life - her hand began to move as to hide the most jarring of scars - the bullet wound she had gained from the Winter Soldier, but his words stopped her. "You're so beautiful, Natasha..." They weren't the words of a man trying to woo her, he said it so matter of factly that she believed it. It was a statement - not a plea. Bracing one arm, he raised himself above her, poised for their union. He hesitated again, and she saw it, but urged him on, "No regrets, Steve, we both want this." That was all he needed to hear, and he timidly pushed apart the gentle folds of her lower lips, the wet warmth enveloping him in welcome, and he shook in her arms momentarily. "Fuck," he said, taking her aback, as she had never heard him curse in the years they had known each other. He almost collapsed on her, so shaken with pleasure at their first direct intimate touch, but he caught himself, her hand encouragingly resting on his chest, "Not yet it's not," she teased him. She was rewarded with a smile, a flexing of his lower muscle which caused her to arch her back, and the game was on. He pulled back, the long length of him achingly leaving the comfort of her body only to plunge back inside causing her body to rack in response, a moan escaping her lips. Leering down at her, he did it again, his own body beginning to quake with his movements, the rise of pleasure swelling in him. Arching her neck up, she beckoned him for a kiss. He somewhat begrudgingly acquiesced, as he had been enjoying seeing her shake with ecstasy - her beautiful mouth agape, her cheeks flushed, her eyes half shut with her raspy voice moaning for more. Lowering his mouth to hers hungrily, he savagely kissing her mouth as he slowly exited and entered her body, his one arm taut at the strain of keeping from bearing his full weight on her. He kept on with the slow movement, driving her both wild and mad, she wanted nothing more than him to take her as roughly as he was kissing her. Attempting to spur him on, she raked her nails down his back, maybe even drawing a little blood, causing him to cry out and grit his teeth while she bit his lip. And with that, the movement shifted from making love to taking one another, ravaging each other desperately and he began to pound himself against her with an urgency that scared him. With each assault, their tongues matched, darting in and other of each other's mouths in choreographed movement as they seemingly tried to claw their way into one another. He tucked one hand beneath her, lifting her hips forcefully with each thrust of his pelvis and he suddenly felt her entire body tense up. She squeezed him from below, harshly, almost causing him to lose himself, and he momentarily stopped his movements. "No...please, don't stop." He started again, causing her once again to tense and cry out, and each cry became louder and louder as he continued moving in her, their joining soaked with mingled sweat and the excited slick now pouring out of her, willingly urging him on. He was close to climax and he knew it, he wanted to slow down, to prolong it, but she spurred him on, hip thrust matched for hip thrust, the sounds of her pleasure drowning him in satisfaction. Shield and Gun Pt. 01 As her sounds reached a fevered pitch, they broke against one another, bodies shaking almost violently as the crash of orgasm overtook each of them in shared pleasure. He finally did collapse on her then, not that she minded, and his head reeled intensely. It was a good five minutes before he stirred, allowing her to breathe once more and rolled unceremoniously off of her, both of them panting wildly still. Awkwardness began to creep back between them, so she curled up into the nook of his shoulder to stave it off. His arm naturally curled around her slender shoulders, his hand caressing her hips as his other arm laid across his brow. What they had shared was something different - something that Natasha had never experienced before and it was all at once frightening and exhilarating - and she wanted more. She idly wondered if he'd be willing to have a go at it again, pondering if the super soldier serum had increased his appetites as well... "I..." he started. She looked up at him, eager to hear what he was going to say. "I never knew," he finished. "Never knew what?" "That it would be like that." He didn't look down at her, his eyes buried in his arm still. "Well, you had never been with a woman." "Yeah, but I've been on the internet. Nothing prepared me for that." She broke into a smile, feeling a bit proud to have exceeded his expectations. "There's still a lot that you don't know then..." she said to him languidly. He looked at her then, a warm smile on his face, the sweat beaded decoratively on him, "Oh?" "Let me show you..." And with that, she brought herself back on top of him, guiding his already recuperated body to the wet cleft between her legs. As he entered her for the second time that night, he whispered her name into the dark, "Natalia..." Shield and Gun Pt. 02 Despite the fact that he came off aloof and assured, Steve couldn't help but feel he had done something wrong. Looking up from his cup of coffee, he saw Natasha daydreaming out the window, seated across from him. It had been months since their illicit affair - and that's what he was calling it now. An affair. She had taken him to her bed almost a year ago and they had never spoken of it since. What he thought was a transcendental experience of sharing was obviously a mistake to his long time friend. Part of him felt dirty, like he had succumbed to her wiles, only to be tossed aside when she had her fill. "And I guess one time was enough for her," his mind taunted him. "Natasha..." He started, his voice low but forever commanding. Startled, she blinked rapidly to focus and turned to him. He couldn't help but notice the way the light of the afternoon sun played with the many red and auburn hues of her hair, neatly pulled back into a functional, low bun on the nape of her slender neck. She was beautifully defined by the light, the rays caressing the smooth slope of her brow, the fine tip of her nose and speckling on her freshly licked lips. "What?" She asked abruptly, breaking his train of thought. His mind scrambled for an excuse for saying her name, as he hadn't had a reason TO say her name, "Don't worry, Nat. We'll find him." Him. It. Bruce. For weeks, Natasha had been flirting with disaster and he could do nothing to stop her. Normally, he had offered his advice to her as she was courting Bruce, knowing full well it would end badly for them both. But their tryst in the woods had put a strain on their relationship and he felt he not only couldn't be objective in talking to her about her infatuation, but that he was painfully aware that he was riddled with jealousy. And now Bruce had abandoned her. Abandoned the Avengers. Not only did the ranks need to be replenished but Natasha seemed genuinely heartbroken. And that didn't sit well with Steve. "Thanks, Steve..." her voice whispered across the diner's table to him. He thought she was going to say something more, but she stopped herself. He needed to get over her, he thought to himself, first Peggy, now Nat? He had a bad habit of falling for unattainable women. Maybe he liked the challenge? Or maybe the years of being bullied had somehow made him think he was undeserving of someone who actually wanted him for him. He didn't know. All he knew was he knew he was in love with Natasha, even though she was clearly not in love with him. --- She could see the question in his eyes. And the pain. Natasha had no idea what to say to him. After their affair, she got scared. Scared for herself and scared for him. Their encounter was too intense - it had too much energy, too much emotion... "Too much potential?" Her mind asked her mockingly. She knew what those kinds of relationships lead to - heartbreak, emotional turmoil, a complete loss of self in one another. They were ultimately destructive no matter how well-intentioned both parties were. While she had never experienced it herself, she had witnessed it enough to recognize it when it came her way. So she ran, like she always did when things became untenable. And to throw him completely off, she had started a ham-fisted relationship with Bruce, of all people. Bruce was nice and all, but she had almost nothing in common with the guy and pitied his situation as a friend, nothing more. She also knew that Bruce's own fear of himself would never allow for them to become an actual item - he was a semi-safe pawn in her scheme to keep Steve away and protect herself. To keep up appearances, she played the saddened damsel, especially in front of Steve. She needed him to get over her. Once he did, once he moved on, then maybe - maybe she could stop replaying that night over and over in head. And just as she thought to not think of it - flashes of their naked forms tangled in one another glanced across her memory, making her heart skip a beat. She was looking past him in the diner, her eyes almost glazed over in reminiscing. "Well, I'm going to pay my check and head home. I have..." his voice barely broke through her haze, "uhhh, laundry to do," he finished lamely. And with that, he got up, leaving a fist full of cash on the table, his large frame gracefully exiting through the flimsy glass door. Her eyes locked onto his long limbs as they strolled effortlessly on the pavement. "Damn it, Steve..." she said to no one. Her head falling back onto the old-timey cushioned booth seating, closing her eyes. --- That weekend, in her apartment, she tried to keep herself busy. For months, after her work outs, she had been picking random household projects to tackle - last week it was repainting a shelf with crackled lacquer, this week it was constructing a table for her laptop. Sure, she could buy one, but this gave her mind and her hands something to do. She was wrist deep in sanding some wood that it took a minute for her to hear her phone going off. *bih-beep-beep* *bih-beep-beep* Shaking her hands free of sawdust she grabbed at her phone without seeing who it was. "Hello?" Her voice sounded a little annoyed. "Hey Nat, I was wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat, I'm a few blocks from you?" It was Steve. Yes. Her heart said. No. Her head retorted. "I'm kind of busy right now with a project." She excused herself. "What kind of project?" "Uhhh...I'm building a laptop table." "Really?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "I found a YouTube video," she explained before he could ask her how she figured out how to do it, knowing full well she had a strong reputation with him about not being very handy . "I didn't mean it like tha-" he began to pseudo apologize. "Anyway, I should go..." she cut him off. "Nat..." he started again, followed by a very thick, overhanging silence, "come on, aren't we still friends?" It was the first time either of them had made any kind of implication towards anything being out of the norm. A precarious silence on the subject existed between them, both parties too terrified to disturb it, lest it crumble from the pressure. Like so many times before, she didn't know what to say to him. She just bit her lip, her mind racing before saying with a tone of casualness no one would believe, "Of course we are, why would you ever think otherwise?" She was met with more silence on the other end of the line - for so long that she thought the call dropped, "Steve?" she asked tentatively. "I'm coming up." He stated matter of factly and ended the call. She completely panicked. She had no idea why he would come up. Why he would say it like that. He wasn't that guy - he was always polite, always respectful, he never demanded anything of anyone or do something that would make them uncomfortable. And 'uncomfortable' was a pale euphemism for the sheer dread she was feeling now. Tripping slightly over the strewn bits of wood, she ran by a hallway mirror and checked her hair. All in all, she didn't look too shabby, except that there was a very fine film of saw dust covering her entire body. Her ratty tank top and house shorts were at once exactly how she wanted Steve to see her and exactly NOT how she wanted Steve to see her. The bold knock at the door moments later stopped her frantic tamping down of her wild red mane. "Coming!" she called, even though she was but a few feet away. She hesitated. Shit. But he knew she was home. Well, it's Steve. You know how to get him to leave. Just talk about Bruce. A lot. With her half-assed plan in her head, she swung the door open, a cheerleader like smile on her face, greeting him, "HI!" --- Bounding up several flights of stairs was no trouble for him. He wasn't sure what exactly was compelling him to go up to her apartment, after having ran three blocks to get to her building, but it was something in her tone. A small twinkle of hope was now tentatively running a muck inside of him that he had read that tone correctly - that he had been wrong all of this time. Could she still care about him and he caught her so unawares that she failed in veiling it? Maybe this wasn't about Bruce at all. He lifted his hand, pausing for just a breath and then knocked firmly on the door. "Coming!" Her voice came muffled through the heavy metal door. And he waited. And waited. Suddenly the metal frame creaked and swung open, Natasha's bright eyes and the world's fakest smile plastered on her face, "HI!" Steve suddenly doubted himself, and his motives, "Uh hi," he responded. She smiled up at him, her small stature exaggerated with her being barefoot, her lithe arms motioned to herself - she was a bit of a mess, her hair flying in every direction and an inconsistent dusting of her work covering her head to toe, "I told you I was busy." She had a light tone with him, and now looking at her, he couldn't tell if it was genuine or not. "Can I come in?" He asked cautiously. There. He saw it. Something in her eyes as he asked that question. It wasn't fear. It was... "Sure..." she offered, silently wishing she had pictures of Bruce around her living room as she led him to the den. Steve had never been in her apartment before, and he was both surprised and not surprised by how bare it was. No television. Only one single seated couch. A solitary end table. No coffee table. A bookshelf bursting with books, half of which were in Russian, and a haphazard pile of wood, tools, and a dust covered laptop on the ground where she had been doing her construction. "Did you get robbed?" Steve joked with her. Natasha smirked, spinning in place to look up at him, a sardonic lilt to her voice, "Har har. I try not to get attached to things..." He nodded silently before she finished, "Or people." He knew an inadvertent opening when he heard one. Bearing down on her with a bold gaze, his blue eyes crystal clear in their intent, he asked, "People like me?" She internally balked, not knowing if she had thrown that out on purpose or not, "You're not Bruce." The words stung him and she could see it. Instinctively, she wanted to go to him, comfort him, and apologize. But she had to be strong. Not just for her. But for him. "No. I'm not..." he started slowly, struggling to find the words that were a nothing more than a maelstrom of feelings inside of him. "Natasha, we need to ta—" but he was cut off by a sharp rebuke. "No, Steve, we don't." Hurt grew in the silence between them. "If I'm your friend, don't I deserve an explanation?" He offered the question almost timidly. "Why? It was what it was and it's in the past. I know you like living in the past, but like I said - you're not Bruce." Seeing the words form in his head at first before they started to rapid fire out of him, her casual insult to him triggered a scathing response, "Right, I'm just the guy you slept with a year ago out of...what I can only call desperation." She shot him a look that would crumble a weaker man to his knees, but he stood firm. She didn't say anything. So he tried to push his point, and he could feel the anger building up in him as he let the words fly. "I'd think that as a woman you would be against the idle disregard of emotional and sexual partners - I would never do that to someone - but I guess you're not like me - I guess those Russians really messed you up..." He saw her finger twitch and pressed on, "If it was just sex you wanted, you could have told me that from the beginnin—" "Oh shut up!" Her eyes rolled as she snapped at him, "You can't come into MY apartment and start giving me that holier than thou bullshit." His eyebrows raised a little, his annoyance, months of anger and hurt barely held at bay, "Holier than thou?" he asked incredulously. "You're just going through what every teenager goes through - you're infatuated with me because I was your first." Her words cut through him and he momentarily doubted his feelings as she went on, "You've put such a ridiculous amount of importance on sex that now I'm on some unrealistic pedestal!" She knew she was getting to him, but there was a sick wonder at just how mad she could get him. She had never seen him angry - Steve was the calm one - centered, rational, sometimes emotional but in a really earnest, innocent way. She kept on, "And it kills you that you, Mr. Captain America, Mr. Justice and Freedom, doesn't get to get the gal at the end. Because that's what you expect, isn't it?" He blankly stared at her as her words volleyed themselves haphazardly in his direction. "You're just like every other man - with some glory prize expectation of women," Her hands flew up in full swing of mocking him as she spoke, melodramatically emphasizing her words, "Well guess what? Boohoo, Avenger. This isn't the 50s and I can sleep with whoever I want and I don't have to feel any guilt over it, old man." Suddenly he stepped towards her, his broad hands gripping her shoulder - not in threat, but in plea - his voice both cracking and growling out, "This isn't about the sex, Nat, and you know it." She sneered at him, "You're just another notch in my belt, Steve." His eyes were boring holes into her, the blue shining with an intensity she had never seen before - it was intoxicating to look at... "Am I?" Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers, the kiss so intense that it took her breath away. She immediately took the kiss, her eyes half closing, her knees shaking, a rush of excitement running through her as her blood caught fire from his attention. She melted against him, her body responding in a way that surprised her as he wrapped one thick and sure arm around her waist, pulling her ever closer to him. The kiss was deep, their mouths molding to one another naturally, their breaths mingling as a tentative tongue sought reciprocation from the other. She couldn't tell if it was him or her who was seeking. Her head began to spin, a torrent of emotions pouring themselves through their kiss in a passionate outburst that she remembered only too well. Knees almost buckling, she could feel her rational mind begin to slip away as she got swept into the intensity of his longing for her. No, Natalia! Her eyes sprung open and she pushed him away violently, catching him off guard, causing him to stumble back. With her hands at her mouth, she stared at him. What had she done? Months of work to try to save the both of them from pain, only to kowtow to the will of their attraction at the drop of a dime. Weak. She looked at him wildly, with a mixture of horror and relief on her face, her hands shaking as they touched her lips where his had just been, head still spinning, heart pounding. Breathing raggedly from the kiss, Steve fought to catch his breath, his anger and determination still spilling out of his every movement. His feet automatically took an offensive stance, "This was never about Bruce, was it?" His voice was low, almost threatening, and it chilled her to the bone to hear his normally pleasant and comforting voice so harsh with emotion - this was a side of Steve she didn't know existed. She had seen hints of it that night in the cabin, but nothing ever since. She sighed, knowing the ruse was up and opted for honesty instead of more lies, "Steve...we can't be together." "Why?" He immediately reacted; the words hit her like a jab. She looked down for a moment, thinking on how best to put the truth, "What we have...it's unique..." "That doesn't sound like a con to me." One corner of her mouth pinched as she grew frustrated, "It's too much. What I felt that night, I've seen it before." She saw a part of him soften as she admitted to her feelings for him, but he was still worked up - she had to talk him down before they both did something they regretted. "That kind of intensity destroys people. It's unsustainable..." she continued in earnest, "If it had just been a physical thing, it'd have been fine, but it wasn't...Jesus Christ, you know it wasn't, Steve." "Still doesn't sound like a con to me." "It won't last, you idiot! And the world needs someone like you - and maybe the world needs someone like me - we can't afford to be selfish and get wrapped up in ourselves." He didn't look convinced, standing straight, his towering height accentuated by the setting sunlight beaming through her living room windows. She watched him as he moved towards her with purpose, his voice eerily calm, "So you thought because of my fragile emotions that you'd spare us the potential pain?" Without her permission, her eyes were watering as she tried to keep her feelings in check, "Yes." "Isn't that exactly what Nick Fury tried to do before we found out Hydra was in control of SHIELD?" Her brows furrowed, "What?" "He tried to stop a war before it started," he explained, "And in the process ended up hurting a lot of people." He saw a glimmer of understanding and continued, "You don't get to decide for others what's right and what's wrong. You are not responsible for my emotional welfare..." He moved closer to her now, almost menacingly, a leashed power that reminded her of that night they shared, with a hint of danger and a world of promise. Bringing himself a few inches from her stalk still body he spoke with meaning, "Just like I'm not responsible for your emotional welfare..." before turning into a hush, gruff whisper, "...but I want to be." Tilting her head up, she looked at him pleadingly, once again, unsure of what to say, her eyes moments from spilling over from the well of emotions she was desperately trying to control. Standing in silence, the sun set around them, the light slowly inching its way out of her apartment before the cool embrace of night began to envelop them. The words were circling in her head, "but I want to be," and she knew he meant it. She tried to muster a defense, tried to come up with some other reasoning against the words, but found nothing. Absolutely nothing to counter his call of responsibility of self. And suddenly, she felt guilty - she had chosen the wrong path, again. While she had tried to protect him, and her, it was a farce and the realization of it stung. She had used Bruce as collateral in her own selfish protective efforts, and hurt the man she actually cared for, for nearly a year. Beginning to withdraw into herself and her thoughts, and as if in slow motion, she sensed his hand move to tuck itself under her chin, holding her gaze in place. Steve could see her pulling away from the moment, and moved to stop it, wanting to keep her there with him in the pit of their shared emotions. While their first night together it was she who guided him through the emotional roller coaster, it was his job to do the same right now for her. "Kiss me," He ordered. Whispering a by rote response, "You're not my boss..." and he tightened his grip on her chin. "Do you want to me?" He growled the words out, words that she had used a year ago in the dark cabin with him. Words she had thrown at him callously and with confidence then. He was confident now. Searching his eyes, she saw him - not the super soldier, leader of the Avengers, but simply a man in pain, in need, a friend asking nothing of her except for her honesty, something she was in short supply of in her life. Almost whimpering, she sighed breathlessly, "Yes," cutting herself off as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him wholeheartedly. Allowing for a sincere embrace, no more lies around them, she suddenly felt free until the hands she had gently wrapped around his neck were gripped by his own broad embrace. With his mouth on hers, deepening their kiss still, he peeled her away from him and roughly pinned her hands above her head. A quick moment of fear jolted through her, but he stopped her pulling away by bracing his knee between her legs, rubbing the apex of her thighs as he spoke into their kiss, "You've made enough decisions for now..." Shield and Gun Pt. 02 Before she could even think of an objection, he closed his mouth on her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth, demanding hers. Without her leave, her body betraying her, ignoring the nagging tightness in her chest of objection, and the self consciousness of the situation, she welcomed his power. A power in which he exerted with singular purpose as their tongues danced in one another's mouth. He reveled in the taste of her sweetness, the smell of her sweat, the quivering feel of her against him. She tried to hold her own, but after he shifted his hands so only one hand pinned both of her dainty wrists against the wall, the other slid down the length of her body hungrily and replaced his knee that was propped between her legs, she shook with lust. As much as Steve wanted her, he didn't want to rush things. He could tell she was just following her body and that her mind had not caught up yet to her heart. Suddenly he pulled away, roughly jerking her away from the wall, "You're filthy," he said. With her wrists still tight in his hold, he led her through the darkened hallway. He had to guess where he was going, but eventually found what he was looking for. Swaying as he guided her, Natasha had no ability to pay attention to where they were going, the pent up emotional baggage she had been carrying seeping through her facade of control. All she could do was keep her eyes locked on Steve's back, dazedly watching the muscles effortlessly moving under his shirt. Her pupils constricted as the subject of her focus turned the light on in her bathroom. Flipping on the light, and without ceremony, he spun on his heel to face her, taking off her tank top, bits of saw dust flying around them, glinting in the warm glow of the bulbs. He gave her a knowing look, silently instructing her to take care of the rest. Pausing for only a breath's moment, feeling hypnotized by the intensity of his gaze, she began to undress as she watched him lean past her and turn the shower on, the loud rush of the water almost deafening in the silence surrounding them. Standing naked, she waited for him to tell her what to do next without even realizing that's what she was doing. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, silently, looking almost emotionless as his eyes raked over her naked form - hungry, but in control. She felt his eyes pass from her quivering legs to the small mound of her sex, past the many scars on her body to the curve of her bare breasts, tipped with light pink nipples that stood erect against the chill of her apartment, up the graceful line of her neck to stop when he met her gaze. Get in - his eyes said. Yes, sir - her eyes replied. He extended a hand for her as she stepped into the shower, the shock of the cold water jarring her almost senseless, but she didn't move. His hands led her to sit and he took the shower head off its hook, turning the dial to warm the water. After a quick moment, sitting on the lip of the tub, he ran the water over her, watching as the bits of saw dust and rubbish fell away from her body. His hand tucked under her chin one more time and urged her to lean her head back as he ran the water through her hair, one hand on the shower head, the other splayed between the ruddy red strands that turned a dark brown in contact with the cleansing water. Still holding the water upright for her, he reached for the products near him and poured a generous amount of shampoo into his hand before rubbing it gently into her wet locks, massaging her scalp, causing her eyes to close in near ecstasy. Rinsing the lather out of his hand, he grabbed for the second bottle and once again rubbed the cool liquid into her hair, before then grabbing her loofah and running it across the milky contours of her body. The water was warm, but she shivered quietly. Steve put the shower head down to rest against the bottom of the bathtub as he lathered her body - it wasn't sexual - it was a caress, a loving action as he moved across each part of her body, laying a gentle kiss before washing her. On her neck. On her shoulder. On her hands. On her knees. And she lifted her feet to him, letting him kiss the tops of her feet before he covered them in the lather. Still in silence, he plucked the shower head off the bottom of the bath and lifted her to her feet, rinsing her from head to toe slowly, his hands guiding the flow of water over every inch of her. Leaning yet once again, he turned the shower off, replacing the shower head to its rightful place. She was about to tell him where the towels were when he lifted her into his arms, and he carried her out of the bathroom and walked them both, soaking wet, to her bedroom. If her living room had been bare of creature comforts, then her bedroom was a cave. A simple bed laid in the middle of the room - with the sister of the end table from the den now acting as nightstand here, holding a single clock that must have been made in the 1980s. The bright flashing red of the digits bright in the dark room. He placed her on the bed, taking his time to walk to her window and open the drapes, allowing the moonlight to spill into her empty room, his normally warm blonde hair reflecting the white, causing him to look ethereally unreal. He stepped out of his shoes, very purposefully and carefully stripping down in front of her, mindfully folding his clothes in a neat stack on the floor. Natasha watched, enjoying seeing his body move fluidly in his actions, the long lean muscles just as perfectly sculpted as she remembered them, the fuzz of hair between his legs darkened by shadow and depriving her of full vision of him. She drank him in, a heady drunk lust coming over her as she anticipated the love making to come. He lifted his head to look at her, as he stood naked in the moonlight. "Get on your back and spread your legs." His authoritative tone was back, which both unnerved and excited her. His body moved silently on the hardwood floors but the bed creaked under his weight as he waited for her to do as he said. She did, propping herself on her elbows a bit to see what he was going to do but a hand reached out and pushed her back onto the bed, making her "ooof" quietly. "Don't. Move." The words hung in the air over her as she felt one large, warm hand trail up the inner length of her inner thigh and cup her nethers. She held her breath. While she restrained her body from quaking, his hand caressed her there, her body responding and slicking to his touch. Then achingly slowly, he slipped one long, slender finger inside of her deftly. It took every bit of self control to lay still - to not arch her back, to not gasp, to not let herself roll with the gentle to and fro of his ministrations as he slid yet another inside of her and then outside of her, and then inside of her, again. His other hand came around pressed, palm flat, gently below her navel, forcing her to stay even more still and forcing blood to rush away from her upper body to her lower extremities making her more sensitive to his touch. As he applied even more pressure to her abdomen, his hand inside of her began moving earnestly - rougher, quicker, his fingers bent slightly as the tips grazed aggressively against that sensitive spot inside of her. She finally breathed, sucking in air with her mouth agape, and with guilt looked down at him to see if he had heard her gasp of air. His facial expression was hard to read, even if it hadn't been obscured by the darkness and limited moonlight, and she didn't dare try as all of her concentration was being used on trying not to react to him. He looked at her then, intently, intensely. He didn't touch her like this before - he had been a virgin a year ago. And a thought occurred to her that maybe he had had another lover during their time apart. A pang of jealousy shot through her and he felt her tense. She rationalized that he would think she was close to climax, but he surprised her. "Natalia..." he began, breathing deeply as his hand didn't let up, "After you had me, and walked away, I thought I had done something wrong..." She started to protest, to reassure him, but his look silenced her. "I've had a year to think about this. To learn. And you may have been my first, but I intend on being your last." And as if to punctuate his words, his fingers curled hard against her sensitive spot causing her hands to clutch the plain cotton sheets of her bed, her back arching almost impossibly as a wave of liquid rushed out of her and her body unleashed a torrent of ecstasy, flooding her mind into a tingling, muddled mess. "I didn't say you could finish, Natalia," he said through gruff tones as he positioned himself on top of her as her mind came back down to join her body. And as if to punish her for not asking permission, he parted her hyper sensitive skin, burying his length in her, and, without pause, relentlessly took her. Her body shook violently with each of his thrusts, and as she tried to reach up to hold onto him for dear life, he grabbed her hands with a force that made her grit her teeth as he pinned them to the bed, doubling his assault on her. Her head began to spin as her body welcomed his attack and she moaned between breaths, calling his name into the darkness, as if to invoke further power from him, to pull him closer inside of her. She tried desperately to escape his grasp, to free herself, but he fought against her, pinning her harder with each jolt to the point of pain, causing her to cry out. He kissed her again, hard, controlling her breathing and her body in one fluid motion. Leaving a hot trail of his mouth on her cheek, he bit her ear lobe viciously, "Stop fighting it," he hissed, pulling on her ear just enough that something in her mind finally snapped and she embraced it. She embraced the freedom, embraced her feelings, embraced her lust, and gave herself to him. The shift would have been imperceptible to anyone but Steve, but he sensed it. He knew it. He felt it. And as soon as she let her own control go, so did he, and he released his grip on her, knowing she'd lay willingly for him to cater to her. Taking complete control, he braced one hand beneath her and took her - again and again and again. He bent his body, slowing his movements a bit as he took one of her breasts into her mouth, flicking his tongue methodically and lovingly, his teeth pinching the base of her nipple hard enough to rush her blood to the area. She lifted her body into him, but kept her hands away, letting him show her just how much he had thought about this moment over the last many months. It was as if he knew her limitations without ever asking - he brought her to the edge of oblivion repeatedly only to stop her from going over, slowly building up his intents again in a seemingly chaotic but completely methodical manner. "Look at me," he commanded before she realized her eyes had been closed. Her lashes fluttered open at his demand and she saw his face in the gentle glow of the moonlight. Sweat was beaded on his forehead from the exertion and his normally flawless complexion was flushed pink. She lost herself in his stare as he brought her to climax again and this time, let her have it. Coming down once more, he slowed his pace, letting her catch her breath, his eyes fixated on her face, a look of adoration in his deep blue eyes. Her head was reeling, with jolts of pleasure flying through her body without control. She had never experienced this kind of freedom before - total trust and lack of responsibility, where nothing was asked of her except to enjoy herself. "Do you want me to stop?" He asked her, sincerity in his voice. Gasping for air, she started to nod, but then stopped to ask, "If I said yes, would you?" Pulling away and out of her, with a smirk tickling his lips, he sat on the bed next to her, his wet and naked form glistening in the moonlight. But she didn't want him to stop and reached for him. Instead of fighting it, he let her pull him down onto the bed on his back, that adoring look still in his eyes. I need you - they said. And I need you - her's replied. Taking the reins, she slid on top of him, bracing her legs on either side of his hips and guided him to her. Completely relaxed, he sighed, the sweetness of his breath brushing her cheek as she lowered her lips to his and gently kissed him. Without instruction, he placed his hands on her thighs to push against her motions, just like she had taught him to that night in the woods. Good memory. But she didn't move. She didn't want to move. She was enjoying being the recipient of all the attention - being a little selfish. He tentatively lifted himself beneath her and she gave a sound of approval, urging him on. He pushed his arms forward, causing her to rock back and she responded in kind, shifting herself forward once more until they both found a rhythm of comfort. The melodic love making, initially gentle and sweet took a turn in tone as Natasha found her second wind and began taking him in full stride, her lithe body rocking urgently on him. He tried to slow her down, but she responded by digging her nails into his chest where she was resting her hands. "It's MY turn." His eyes widened a bit as she rolled her hips emphatically, causing his eyes to roll to the back of his head and moan compulsively. She wanted to show him - show him everything - not only because she felt bad for having denied them one another for so long, but also because she felt possessing him in return was the only way they'd have a shot at this. Leaning forward she looked at him intently, "Open your eyes, Steve." He smiled as he lazily obeyed, loving to hear his name on her lips in that way. Still moving on top of him, she wrapped her slender fingers around the thick corded muscles of his neck and squeezed, idly wondering just how deep into learning about sexual acts he had done. He didn't flinch, his eyes locked on hers. He trusted her. Quickening her pace, she felt the rush of blood rising in her and saw his face redden with efforts, but he didn't breathe. She brought him to climax adeptly, moving her body in sync with his until the very last possible moment and she released his neck, allowing the blood to rush to him at the same time his mind unleashed a torrent of pleasure, shattering him into a million pieces with her. They both coalesced minutes later, panting heavily, their limbs tangled in one another, their minds barely coming together to make cohesive thoughts. Mentally blaming his super soldier serum assisting in that, he spoke first, "I'm in love with you," he said plainly into the darkened room, the heat of their joining dissipating into the coolness of the air. Forcing herself to respond, not from unwillingness, but from sheer exhaustion, "I know...and I love you too." There. She said it. To hell with the consequences. He rolled over, propping his head on his hand, elbow bent, "I know..." Natasha had one arm strewn across her face, still catching her breath, but she peeked from beneath her bicep, "Oh yeah?" He smiled brilliantly at her, the corners of his eyes wrinkling just a little, "I knew that first night." Clearly, he was not going to let her fall asleep immediately, "You know, Steve, not all of us can bounce back like you do after extreme activity." "I thought ladies liked pillow talk?" He joked with her. "I'd hardly call myself a lady." "Are you tired, Nat?" He stroked her side, caressing her curves and tracing some of the light scars that adorned her perfect form. "Mmmhmmm..." she quietly articulated, enjoying his touch. "Let me help you with that then..." And without demand, he lowered himself to her, gently kissing the sensitive skin between her thighs, taking her once more to the zenith, softly, allowing her to quietly melt into the bed beneath her.