Thermal
All characters belong to Marvel Comics
"Natasha," she stirs from the prison of her mind, heart thumping in her ears. She knows that life hasn't given up on her. Everything flashes with the intensity of different shades of red.
Violent and dark blood drips over her voiceless lips as the urge to open her sealed eyes pulsates through her rigid bones the moment she feels heat-empowering and shielding warmth that pours into her wounds and emotional scars. It releases her from the terminal abyss of black ice she has fallen into. She refuses to awaken against the dull ache lancing in her heart. It doesn't feel real enough for her to see, just a deception of weaving dreams. "Natasha..." She hears that voice beckon to her again, this time the baritone sounds desperate and unyielding. It keeps her for the span of a second, before she sinks back into the darkness. Another tug against frigid flesh, and her bones jostle with rhythmic tension. She doesn't wake up.
"Please Nat…" The masculine voice becomes familiar to her. It's not Clint guiding her back out of the torments. It's the man who saw through the mask she wore, and protected her against the flames and crumpling stone, shielding her lithe, frail, body.
He bled for her at day, shot, stabbed and broken. He never allowed her to feel pain when the bullets sparked against the chamber walls. He clutched her like his shield, holding her with a trusting grip and pulling her back into the light. His frozen world where time betrays and friends become ghosts imprisoned in another's reflection. "Natasha...Come back to me..." The firmness of his voice drifts as faint sobs gurgle up his throat. He is pouring out his heart to her-a resilient plea against the odds of life and death. "I can't lose you..."
One breath manages to pierce from her chilled lips, Natasha knows it has to become her strength, "Steve," she says in a faint surge of voice. His rough fingers become interwoven with her gloved fingers. He encompasses warmth over her marred knuckles, squeezing her hand and drawing it into the center of his chest. He wants her to feel his heartbeat. She does feel the rippling sensation of hard muscles tightening with feverish strain and the heaviness of breath ghosting over her skin. The pounding of his strength dances with her pulse. There is a dull thud that forces her laden form to arch up against the compacted planes of flexing muscle underneath his armored uniform She knows it's her favorite one. The stealth strike suit- dark blue with reflective silver emblems. Her fingers unclasp and fan over the embossed star, and she holds her touch there for a long moment, unable to speak or move.
"Yeah, it's me..." Steve breathes out, with heavy and labored breath. His fingers slip over her blemished and ashen skin, brushing off the scarlet strands and staring deeply into her beautiful face. He pulled her gently up to him, securing his arms around her frame with ease. Blood seeps from her wound and penetrates his uniform. Natasha groans, body starting to give a response to the increasing heat circling through her. She wants to surrender herself to him, love him and restore everything he has lost. He keeps her close and protected by his embrace. This was a test for both of them. Trust and devotion. Nothing simple, but something they needed to prove to the other with unspoken words. "Hold on to me, Natasha." He says, clear and urgent. "Just hold on..."
Natasha follows his order. She encloses her arms over the broad span of his shoulders, and feels the coldness of the shield against her fingers. For a vague and twisting moment of fighting against another inward struggle, her battered face slathers into an expression of something deeper, desperate and fearful.
Her eyes snap open, and she writhes as darkness ensnares her, choking phantoms of the past reaching to grab her. "No…" she wheezes, burying her face into his shoulder, allowing stray tears to mix with the blood staining his silver star. The aftershocks of panic rip though the threads of soul. She tries to thrash and fight her away from the black mist encroaching over her, but Steve keeps her solid against him. "No… Please let me go..."
"Never," He echoes back, left with only one option to pull her out of the nightmare, the captain settles her trembling body onto the ground, unlatches his shield and places it over her stomach. He feels devoured by the uncertain, harrowing sense igniting through him, fear begins to engrave in the layers of his heart. His crystal blue eyes fill with tears, not from his own sustainable injuries, but the pain of losing his partner without ever telling her the honest truth. He loves her. He crashed beside her in a war of grief and dread. Pain blossomed in his heart, constricting and suffocating him as he took in the sight of her battle, watching her quake against terrors that kept her away from him.
He licks the lingering taste of blood from his lips, preparing for that moment, the one to bring her back.
"Natasha, wake up," he yells, knowing that he's losing the battle that he's trying to fight. She doesn't respond to his voice. With time feeling limited, and her heart decreasing. He dares himself to not to be the soldier for once. After taking a deep breath, frigid air gushing in, he removes his helmet and throws it over the mounds of snow barricading them from the street. He becomes possessed with thralls of desire to take her lips, and kisses his breath and strength into her. It's the only way he can save her. "Natasha," he says her name with firmness and truth, voice becoming ragging in his throat. It rumbles through his chest. Hard. Hopeful and loving. He blinks as shimmering and confident spark breaks through the stormy gray of his eyes. His irises become clear as winter's light and lips part. "I need you."
With no response to his confession, Steve dips his head down low. Thoughts adrift as unseen eyes of people on the streets watch him, the symbol of America's fighting spirit and patron of freedom brush his soft lips over her mouth. Hot breath melts the flecks of snow that land over their face, and his hands frame over her face, as he presses his forehead against her head, and feeling a pint of liquid courage he kisses her with no regrets. Just love. Every ounce that he could give her.
Natasha responses instantly to his soft kiss, fully capturing his mouth as he plunges deeper, her symptoms of pain melting into waves of pleasure and comfort.
She slowly closes her eyes, feeling his lips bruise themselves along her pulsing jugular vein. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, fingers threading through his strands of messy blonde. She releases out a satisfied sigh, and when he lifts his head to kiss her again, she smiles, keeping her in the present and straying from the past. She breathes him in without opening her eyes, "Always follow Cap's orders..."
When Natasha does open her eyes, the darkness fades out of the teal and stares up at his face. Bruises cover the chiseled lines of his jaw, hair mussed with streaks of ash, full arched lips smudged with blood, but his light blue eyes held the same fire and unbreakable love that always brought her back to him. Something flickers and burns inside of her. Just staring at the lines of tears embedded into his stoic and abashed features; she knows that he can't live without her.
When she feels the protective alloy of his shield over her wounds, she knows that he loves her.
Reading her genuine expression of acceptance, and permission, Steve curves his lips into a smile and brushes her cheek with a gentle touch. "There's my best girl." He whispers in a low voice, pressing his lips along her jaw, tasting the ashy splendor of her skin. He traces his wet heat onto her full lips and kisses her in a way that makes the snow underneath her body turn to slush. She interlocks herself tighter around his muscled body and guides him into a surge of passion as they feel their anguish and wounds mend with heat. Pure and uncompromising heat.
A/N: A big thank-you to my amazing Beta Reader.