I've Got a Fear of Falling (Yet Here We Are)

by chalantness

AU. "All the more reason to flirt with a handsome stranger, don't you think?"

Title: I've Got a Fear of Falling (Yet Here We Are)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~9,000
Characters: Steve/Natasha
Prompts: (see tumblr and AO3 for link)
Summary: AU. "All the more reason to flirt with a handsome stranger, don't you think?"

For: ice326

A/N: You gave this prompt to me well over year ago, probably closer to two years ago, and I changed so many details from your prompt that it's probably beyond recognition to you and nothing what you wanted. But I really, really did love your original idea, darling. I just didn't find myself sticking to the exact thing. I hope you still enjoy this at least a little bit, though? And almost an exact third of this is smut, so, yeah. There's that.

I've Got a Fear of Falling (Yet Here We Are)

Considering how vast Stark Industries has become, these corporations should really be flying in to meet them, not the other way around.

Pepper likes to say that it's their excuse to see the world, even if it's from behind the glass windows of a conference room, but Natasha knows the woman is still exasperated by it all every now and then. They're busy people, and the lag time (there's always lag time) spent waiting in airports and hotels always sets her a little on edge. They have better things to do and it really isn't safe for anyone if Tony Stark is left alone with his boredom for too long. The guy loves to tinker. They're still patching up the warehouse from his last project mishap.

"No, we need everyone to check their prototypes into the show room before Monday," Pepper says into her phone. She's probably talking with Sharon again. Stark Industries has its annual green tech demonstration in less than a week, and the participants seem to get less and less cooperative each year.

(Geniuses, they quickly discovered, do not care much for things like itineraries and deadlines.)

There's still a lot to take care of, which is another reason for them to be home sooner than later, but of course the weather isn't cooperating.

Natasha blows out a breath. This may be a while.

She pulls her laptop from her suitcase and sets it atop her thighs, leans back as she waits for it to turn on. At least she's rather comfortable right now. She and Pepper always fly first class, and of course they're going to take advantage of the accommodations that come with that. It's a hell of a lot easier to get their work done in the peace of the first class lounges than in the chaos at the boarding gates, and after working as Pepper's personal assistant for a few years now, Natasha's gotten used to a little luxury. She doesn't expect to be waited on, but the company pays a pretty penny to keep her and Pepper comfortable on these business trips. It would just be a waste to not take advantage of at least some of the perks.

Twenty minutes pass, and Natasha's replied to a dozen emails regarding hotel accommodations when the announcement comes over the intercom, declaring a 30-minute delay for their flight due to weather.

Of course.

Pepper lets out a sigh, closes her eyes and rubs at her temple. She's still on the phone, but with Clint now, dealing with a security issue at one of their labs. The woman's got a lot on her plate and is definitely frustrated about being here rather than in her office. This delay isn't helping. Not that that's anyone's fault, but still.

"I think it's time for a drink," Natasha says, standing. The smile Pepper gets tells Natasha that the woman is relieved at the suggestion. Natasha winks.

The bartender is wiping down a spot behind the counter as she approaches, but looks up when she's near. She glances at the nametag pinned to his white collared shirt. Sam.

"Hi there," he greets. "What can I get you?"

She leans her arm along the granite, glancing at the wall of liquor behind him. "Well, my boss could use something to take the edge off. Have any suggestions?"

Sam grins. "I've got just the thing," he says, reaching below the counter for an empty glass. "And for yourself?"

"Oh, no," she says with a bit of a laugh and a shake of her head. Sam arches an eyebrow as he pours. "My boss is determined to drink me under the table one of these days, but has yet to come to terms with the fact that I can hold down much more alcohol than she can." She smirks a bit. "One drink in my hand always turns into too many in hers."

"So you'll go without just so she won't be tempted?" he asks, amused. Natasha just shrugs a shoulder. "You're a good friend."

Hardly, she thinks. But she won't go into the details with this perfect stranger.

He slides the drink over to her once he's done and then laughs when she tries pay for it, gently pushing her hand away. "It's on the house, for you being such a good friend and all," he explains with a wink, and she can't help but grin. There's a difference between being friendly and being flirty, and this guy is as friendly as they get. It's nice.

As she turns to leave, she happens to catch the gaze of a man walking towards her. Well, towards the bar, because she most certainly doesn't know him. She'd definitely remember meeting someone this attractive, and he doesn't seem like the kind of person that would just waltz up to women and hit on them. Maybe that sounds like she's stereotyping, but she really isn't. She's just good at reading people, and though there is nothing but confidence in the way this man walks, there isn't an arrogance to it, either. He doesn't hold himself in a way that asks for attention, but there's something about him that draws it, anyway. It's probably the eyes. She doubts very many people wouldn't be susceptible to those baby blues.

She has to cross his path as she walks back to Pepper, and he smiles ever so slightly as she does. "Ma'am," he greets with a nod.

She almost laughs. Ma'am? Oh, that charm of his must get women into so much trouble.

Pepper is just hanging up when Natasha returns, and she breathes out a, "Thank god," as Natasha hands her the drink. "That was Tony. Bruce is already in town." Natasha raises her eyebrows as she settles into her chair. Pepper purses her lips. "I told Maria to keep an eye on them, but you know those two. Dangerous things happen when they're in a lab."

"I think they could actually collapse a building if they tried," Natasha says.

"Please don't put that idea into their heads."

Natasha smirks and tucks her wallet back into her purse, happens to catch sight of the bar in her peripheral. She watches as Sam leans across the bar to get an arm around the guy in a hug, clapping a hand to his back. Natasha finds herself smiling as she turns away.

Then there's another announcement, this time by an actual employee, who sounds sincerely apologetic as she explains that the flight is delayed by another hour.

Pepper smiles and shakes her head politely when the woman asks if there's anything she can get them, but then takes a gulp of her drink as the employee is walking away.

Natasha exhales slowly. Might as well get comfortable.

... ...

Neither of them talk much as they wait, but that's because neither of them feels to the need to fill the quiet with any kind of conversation, at least for right now. Pepper sometimes gets a little chatty after a few drinks, but she's only had the one so far, so it's not making much of a difference. At least it seemed to ease a bit of her anxiety. She was expecting the woman to work right through the hour wait, but only fifteen minutes after the announcement, she put her laptop away and pulled out the book that Maria recommended that she's been trying to make more time for. Natasha responds to a few more emails and then logs onto Facebook, and she catches up with Laura over IM as she scrolls down the news feed.

They get another update from a different employee this time, who tells them that their plane finally left Texas, which is great – at least there's a more concrete time of when they'll be boarding – but that still gives them at least another two and a half hours of waiting.

Natasha presses her lips together. She could go for a drink right about now, and maybe a bite to snack on. The bar will probably have something.

She glances over her shoulder and feels maybe a little too relieved (well, it's more excitement than relief, she's sure) to find that the guy is still there, sitting on a barstool now with his duffel at his feet as he chats with Sam. She'll admit that she's not all that intrigued by men in general. They're far too transparent, and so many of them just come up to her and invite themselves into her space, so she's not about to go looking for that herself. But there's something about this one that catches her attention, and she's always trusted her gut instinct.

She digs her compact out of her purse, flips it open to survey her reflection and finds her makeup still intact. She'd thought about changing out of her dress from the conference after the airline had announced the hour delay, but she wasn't all that uncomfortable to begin with. She's more than used to travelling in office wear by now, so it wasn't a big deal.

When slips her compact back into her purse, she finds Pepper grinning at her, clearly amused.

"Which one is it?" she asks, nodding to the bar. Natasha smirks a little and shakes her head. "They're both really cute."

"I'm just getting a drink," Natasha says, even though they both know that's not her only intention for going over there again. "Oh, but if you've got eyes on either of them, let me know now. I'll put in a good word. I'm sure Tony won't mind." Pepper just laughs. "Besides, we're at an airport. I'm probably never going to see either of them after this."

"All the more reason to flirt with a handsome stranger, don't you think?" Pepper asks, arching an eyebrow. "I thought you were supposed to be the fun one out of the two of us."

Natasha laughs a little as she stands, then runs her hands down to smooth out her dress.

"You look hot," Pepper tells her, and Natasha winks before turning on her heels and heading for the bar.

Sam sees her first, grinning as she approaches, and the man turns to look, too. She doesn't miss the way his eyes glance over her for a quick moment, but there's nothing crude about his gaze, and she feels a little too satisfied at the smile that tugs at his lips like he can't quite help himself as his eyes move up to settle on hers. They seem brighter up close.

"Hi," he greets.

"Hi," she echoes, holding his gaze for a moment longer before turning to Sam. "Have any drinks to recommend for such a good friend?"

Sam laughs, tosses a towel over his shoulders like all bartenders do. "I thought you didn't want to tempt your boss into a drinking competition?" he asks, though he's already setting an empty glass on the counter to get her started.

"She's caught up in a book, so I figured I could finish my drink over here while she's distracted," Natasha says.

"An elegant solution, really," the man comments, and she smiles a little, sitting down so that there's one barstool between them. "I'm Steve, by the way."

"Natasha," she returns, shaking the hand he offers. "So, Steve," she starts, and his smile widens ever so slightly at the sound of his name, "are you travelling for business or pleasure?"

"A little bit of both, actually," he says, bringing his glass to his lips for a quick gulp. It takes a moment for her to realize that he's drinking soda, not alcohol, and he chuckles at the arch of her eyebrow. "No drinking before the job. I'm a flight attendant, but today is actually my last trip." Ah, so that explains the luggage. "This one over here," Steve goes on, nodding to Sam, who looks a little too amused as he mixes her drink, "is going to have a tough time when I'm gone, but he'll live." Sam chuckles, shakes his head. "I'll be going home after this."

"Where is home?" she asks.

"Brooklyn," he says, and she tries not to react to that. Brooklyn and Manhattan have some distance, but still. What are the chances?

She finds that she really can't really herself: "And what's waiting for you at home?"

He doesn't smirk, or get this smug little grin on his face like any other man as attractive as him might, knowing that a woman is trying to get personal details out of him. It makes her like him more, if anything. "My best friend," he answers. "He's a teacher—got me a coaching job at his school. It's not much, but it'll keep me going until I line up something else."

"That's nice," she says. He grins like he knows she means it. "When's your flight?" she asks, because he's been here for at least an hour already.

"Oh, not until late. I'm just here early, getting in another goodbye with this guy," he says, nodding to Sam again, "and doing a bit of a people watching before they call me in." Then he shrugs a shoulder. "And I'm kind of just lingering one last time. I did a lot of waiting in airports between flights. It's stupid, but I'll probably miss it a little bit."

"That's not stupid," she tells him, meaning it. She may not enjoy the lag time, but she can also understand why someone like him, who's done it for a living for so long, just might.

He nods a little and she knows that that's his way of thanking her.

There's a pause in the conversation as Sam slides her drink to her, and again, he just nudges her hand away when she tries to pay, heading over to the far end of the counter as a couple approaches. Natasha grins and shakes her head, tucking her cash back into her wristlet. She'll just have to leave him a little something when he isn't looking. She sips on her drink, relishes the slight warmth of the alcohol that slides down her throat, and then licks her lips. He'd given her something fruity, which she normally wouldn't order, but it's good.

"So, what about you?" Steve asks after a moment. She raises an eyebrow ever so slightly. "I've done all of the talking."

"Because I asked all of the questions," she points out, grinning against the rim of her glass.

"True." He takes another gulp of soda and she laughs and shakes her head. He grins. "Oh, so now this perfect stranger is making fun of me for being responsible?"

"I'm not," she says, but there's still a bit of amusement in her tone, so it's probably not all that convincing. "It's very admirable of you."

He scoffs a little, a bit of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, which somehow makes him even more attractive to her, if that's even possible at this point. She wonders if he's this candid with everyone, or if she's a special case. It really shouldn't matter to her either way, because there's still a very good chance that she'll never see him again, but still.

Oh, god. She's not actually starting to like him, is she?

She takes a gulp of her drink.

"So, business or pleasure?" he asks, and she smiles a little too quickly. She likes that he seems to be as curious about her as she is of him.

"Business," she answers. "My boss likes to say it's both, though—that all of these conferences are our way of getting out of the office. I'd be more inclined to agree if we actually had the chance to do a little touring of wherever we are, but there's never time." She sips her drink. "It's not so bad, though. If I travelled with anyone else, I'd go a little crazy."

"You two sound close," he notes.

Natasha smiles. "She's my best friend. We're not very much alike, but I can't imagine my life without her." She shrugs a shoulder, turns to find him smiling softly. She's not used to talking about these kinds of things, because she's never really had to, or felt like she wanted someone to know, but she finds herself continuing. "We went to the same grade school and high school, but we didn't really talk until after graduation. We had a lot of mutual friends and people we were closer to than each other, but she was the one who kept in touch."

"That's nice," he says, sounding sincere. "And working together—when did that happen?"

"Five years ago," she replies. "She got a job as a personal assistant for the CEO and recommended me for an office management position. When she became the boss, she asked if I wanted to work with her. Of course I said yes."

"Even though you would have to give up a management position?"

She blinks, surprised by his question. She wasn't sure what she'd expecting from him, but it certainly hadn't been that. He's studying her, his expression thoughtful but also a little unreadable. She's always been good at figuring people out, but right now, it feels different. She thinks he's genuinely curious, but she can't quite tell what he's trying to figure out.

"Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about, but it seems like you're the kind of person who likes to be in control of her career. Kind of hard to do when you're an assistant."

He's not trying to offend her and she doesn't take it as that. She actually feels a little amused, strangely touched, even, that he can tell this about her after only meeting her.

She can't remember the last time someone had been able to read her so quickly.

"That's quite an assumption to make there, perfect stranger," she tells him, tilting her head ever so slightly. He grins a little more, holds her gaze as he shrugs his shoulder. He isn't backing out of his question, either, and again, she finds herself compelled to answer him. "Let's just say that I figured out control is a bit overrated," she says, tracing her finger over the rim of her glass. His eyes track the movement for a second before glancing back to meet hers. "No point at being the best in what you do if you don't like doing any of it, right?"

He nods a little, breathes out a bit of a chuckle. He'd said that today was his last day as a flight attendant. She wonders if he's going through a similar discover for himself.

"I can drink to that," he says, grin turning a little coy as he lifts up his soda. She can't help but smile at that, clinking her glass against his. They both sip their drinks, and then Steve licks his lips a little. She gets a bit distracted by that. "I'm sorry if I'd overstepped a line. You seemed kind of taken aback by my question."

She laughs a bit and shakes her head. "It's alright. You didn't—" She pauses, not really sure how to put it into words, and then shrugs a shoulder.

He keeps his gaze on her, though. "What is it?" he asks. His voice is far too intimate, for too comforting, considering they've only just met. She doesn't find it weird, though.

"The men I meet on this job don't usually care much if they've overstepped their boundaries," she admits. "They don't care much for figuring me out at all, actually."

Something flickers in his expression, and maybe she's imagining it, but for a fleeting second, he seems angered by her words. His eyes glance over her the way they had when she'd strolled up to the bar, and again, she can't help but feel that there's something incredibly different about the way this man looks at her.

"Well, there's a chance you might be in the wrong business," he tells her, and she doesn't know why this makes her heart flutter, but it does.

And there's that look in his eyes again, like he's taking the time to actually see her. Like he can't bring himself to look away. She can't remember the last time she'd gotten the urge to blush, but the weight of his gaze makes her want to do exactly that.

(She wonders if he likes what he's finding.)

She glances away, catching sight of the pen he's got tucked in the pocket of his jeans. She'd noticed it before and didn't think anything of it, except now it's kind of all she can really think about right now, how easy it would be to slip it out of his pocket and write her number on the napkin Sam had slid to her with her drink, still sitting between their hands there on the counter. She can't remember the last time she's ever given out her number, if she's ever done so without it being because of work. It shouldn't require this much thought, right?

"You know, you never told me," he says, drawing her attention on him again. The smile he has is soft but incredibly, incredibly sexy. It surprises her a little.

"Told you what?" she asks after he doesn't continue right away. She's playing right into his hand and she knows it. It's kind of exciting, though.

"Where home is," he tells her, lips quirking ever so slightly into an expression that sends tingles down her spine, warmth pooling in her stomach. "And who's waiting for you there."

She lets out a breathy laugh. Oh, that charm of his is exactly as dangerous as she'd thought.

She brings her glass up to her lips, takes a slow sip of it, watching in her peripheral as he watches and waits. His eyes glance quickly at her throat as she gulps and there's something rather exhilarating about it. She never cared much for the way guys have stared at her before, but this one? She cares very much for how he stares. She loves how it feels.

"Home is Manhattan," she answers, lips tugging into a smile at the slight flutter of his eyelids. He's calculating the distance in his head, too. "And no one's waiting for me there."

He nods, glancing down at his soda as he gets that dimpled grin of his back on his face, clearly liking the news. He swipes his thumb idly through the condensation on his glass and she's sort of reaching for him before she can help it, grasping the pen in his pocket. He glances down at her fingers, at where they're pressing ever so slightly against his jeans as she slides the pen out, and then he glances up to look at her again. His eyes are a little darker now, his gaze a little heavier, but she keeps their eyes locked as she pulls her hand away.

She writes her number and her e-mail down on the napkin, signs it with her initials, and then, just because she feels like it, adds a smiley face.

He breathes out a chuckle at this and then reaches for his pen, her skin tingling when his fingertips brush against hers, slipping the napkin towards him. He tears it carefully in half along the crease and then writes his own number and e-mail on the blank half before sliding it towards her.

"Wanted to do that as soon as I saw you," Steve tells her, voice a little lower, a little rougher. It makes her want to shiver.

She arches an eyebrow as her heart thumps. "Why didn't you?"

"Guess I was a little too distracted by you to think of the logistics." He grins, and it looks incredibly sexy on him right now. "Or maybe I'm just no good at this kind of thing."

She feels herself smile as she shrugs a shoulder. "Everyone needs practice." He lets out a laugh, shakes his head. She doesn't think he's embarrassed, necessarily, but she still has this urge to reassure him, so she leans in a little and feels her heartbeat stutter as his gaze is drawn back to hers. "You were pretty distracting for me, too."

He holds her stare. Maybe she's imagining it, but it feels – different, now. Just a little bit.

"Yeah?" he asks.

She nods. "Yeah," she replies, her voice almost a whisper. It's ridiculous, just how attracted she is to him. She likes that the feeling is mutual.

... ...

When their flight (finally) boards, it's late, almost midnight, but she knows there's really no way she's going to get any sleep. Not when she's still got Steve on her mind almost two hours later, after he'd had to leave because he got called in earlier than he'd been expecting. He'd slid his hand over her hip, squeezing ever so slightly as he told her that he would keep in touch, and she's sure as hell regretting her decision not to kiss him like she had wanted to do through their entire conversation. She gnaws on her lower lip now, squirming absently in her seat as she remembers the way he'd licked his lips, remembers the way his eyes had darkened under her touch. Her body is still tingling a bit at the thought of him.

(Well, more than just a bit. She wonders if she'll be able to slip away once Pepper falls asleep—)

"I've never seen you like this," the girl says, not even trying to hide the amusement in her voice. Natasha turns to her, one eyebrow raised. "It's cute."

"Shut up," Natasha mutters.

Pepper just laughs, tugging the elastic from her hair, letting it fall free over her shoulders. They'd both changed, but it was just from one dress into another, because it'll be morning when they land and they've got to go straight to Stark Industries from the airport. They still have so much to do for this demonstration.

She should really, really try to get some rest. She's never had trouble falling asleep during a flight before, especially when the first class cabin is as cozy as this one, with the shades drawn over the windows and flight attendants passing out pillows and blankets. They have a long day ahead of them as soon as they land, and the last thing she should be doing is thinking about the napkin tucked into the front of her carry-on in the compartment just above her head, fingers itching to dig it out and type in his number so she can text him. It's ridiculous, and he wouldn't even be able to respond right away since he should be on a flight of his own by now, or at least boarding it soon. It'll make her look incredibly eager, too.

But she is, and she thinks she'll be pretty quick to admit that if Pepper asked, even if she knows the girl would never let Natasha live it down.

Whatever. Steve had been incredibly charming, which she didn't think could be as sexy as it was on him, but she liked it. She liked him and she still does. It's ridiculous that she couldn't bring herself to kiss him, like it'd been ridiculous that she thought so hard about giving him her number, because she's never had trouble making the first move before.

"You're still thinking about him, aren't you?" Pepper asks after their flight has taken off and one of the attendants announces that they'll be coming around with drinks and snacks.

"Maybe," Natasha admits. Pepper grins. "I'll probably be over him by the time we land."

"No, you won't," Pepper laughs. No, she definitely won't. Natasha doesn't even try to hide her smile at this. "I can start scheduling more meetings in Brooklyn, if you'd like."

"Pepper," Natasha says.

The woman shrugs, parts her lips to say something else, but then a voice cuts her off with, "Can I get you ladies anything to drink?" and Natasha almost holds her breath, because she recognizes that voice. How could she not? Pepper's eyes widen ever so slightly as she looks over Natasha's shoulder, lips tugging into a smile, and Natasha turns her head to see—

Steve.

He's standing beside her seat, a pen – that pen – in his hand, ready to take their requests down on his notepad.

She knew that the airline had changed the flight he'd be working his last shift on. It didn't even cross her mind that it could've been this flight.

"Just an iced water for me, please," Pepper says. The tone of her voice is not subtle at all, but Natasha hardly cares at this point.

Steve is gazing down at her, lips tugging into a bit of a smirk, and her heart skips as she catches that same sparkle in his eyes that had been there at the bar. It sends a warmth right down her spine, settling low in her stomach. If her body had been tingling before, it was starting to hum now. "Ma'am?" he asks, tone almost nonchalant.

"I'd like a soda," Natasha says. He lets out a short, soft chuckle, jotting down their drink requests.

"I'll get those out for you soon," he says, holding her gaze for a moment longer – long enough to almost make her hold her breath – before turning away to tend to the passengers in the row behind them. His arm brushes against hers with the movement, and she gnaws on her lower lip a little, feeling her skin tingle.

She knows that had been on purpose.

Pepper isn't beaming, exactly, but her expression is bright with amusement as she flashes Natasha a smile. Natasha rolls her eyes, but, hell. She can't really help but smile, too, as she glances over her shoulder, eyes landing on Steve further down the aisle. He's jotting down another drink request as his eyes flicker up for a moment, catching hers, and his lips tug at the corners into a dimpled little smile. She didn't think she could be any more attracted to this man than she already was, but, well. She hadn't seen him in his flight attendant suit yet.

She fans herself once with the safety pamphlet. It's rather warm on the plane right now.

Steve comes back with their drinks a few minutes later, his fingers lingering over hers as he hands her a can of Coca-Cola, and she resists the urge to suck in a breath. She wonders if he feels the sparks just as much as she does. Probably, if the darkening of his eyes is anything to go off of.

"Thank you," she says. If it comes out a little breathless, she hardly cares.

"You're welcome," he replies, finally pulling his hand away. His eyes never leave hers. "Can I get you ladies anything else right now?"

You.

"We're fine," Pepper answers when Natasha doesn't.

Steve grins a little, glancing at Pepper to acknowledge her before catching Natasha's gaze again. "Sounds good," he says with a nod, and then he reaches out to brush a hand over Natasha's shoulder, bared by the thin straps of her dress. This time, Natasha does suck in a soft breath, and so does Steve. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Oh, she will," Pepper replies. Steve breathes out a quick laugh before nodding again, his touch still hot against her skin even though he's already gone. "You alright there, Nat?"

"Shut up."

Pepper laughs, drawing the blanket over her shoulders as she shifts to get comfortable. Natasha really should be doing the same. Their flight is a little under six hours, which is more than enough time to try and get some sleep. It's been a long day and they have an even longer one waiting for them in New York in the morning, and it's not as if she hadn't already spent two hours talking to him at the bar. His number is still on the napkin she has tucked away in her carry-on and it's not as if she doesn't know where he's headed once they land.

She tries to stop thinking about him, to get some rest. She honestly does.

Except, when she falls asleep, she ends up dreaming about him and it's— she doesn't really know what's going on, because this is all new to her. She hasn't so much as spared a guy the time of day since high school, and even then, she had never been all that serious about anyone she dated. It was high school. She was never under the impression that any of her boyfriends would really last, so, no, she's not exactly used to this – to being so distracted by a guy that she ends up fantasizing about him in her sleep. She can't quite remember any specifics through the haze in her mind when she wakes up a couple of hours later, but there's a definite throbbing between her legs and she can feel how wet she is when she moves to pull the blanket off of her shoulders because it's just too hot. Her skin is tingling and she has blurry images still in her head of Steve kissing her neck, hand sliding under her dress—

She gathers her hair in her hand and pushes it over her shoulder, trying to put herself back together, but she can't quite do it. Fuck. Fuck.

Pepper is fast asleep beside her, and one glance over the rest of the first class cabin tells Natasha that most, if not all, of the other passengers are asleep, too. She flexes her hand where it's atop her knee, still hidden under her blanket. If she stayed quiet, no one would even know. No one…

She turns to look over her shoulder towards the back of the cabin where the flight attendants are seated, feels herself almost hold her breath as she sees Steve sitting on the aisle. He's got a notepad balanced on his knee as he's jotting things down, except, she can tell that he's not quite writing. His hand is moving too fluidly, too purposefully, and the warmth coils a little tighter in her stomach as she realizes that he's drawing. Somehow, she's not all that surprised by this, and she wonders just how talented those hands of his really are.

She bites her lower lip. God, she shouldn't— she shouldn't.

But she wants to.

Her gaze lingers on him a moment longer, unsure of what to do. The smartest choice here is to try and will herself to go back to sleep, but she keeps watching him, watches the way his fingers curl around his pen. There's something a little too certain about his strokes for this to be something he only does every once in a while.

He furrows his eyebrows a little, expression turning a little frustrated – a little more frustrated, she should say – and his shoulders lower ever so slightly as he sits back in his seat a bit more, exhaling slowly. Whatever he's drawing, he isn't quite getting it right. He licks his lips (oh, god) and sort of stares at the page for a moment before glancing up, shifting quickly across the first class cabin before meeting her gaze. Maybe it's all in her head, but the gesture doesn't seem all that absent, as if he's looked in her direction more than once tonight.

It makes her smile, and Steve blinks slowly at this, lips curving into a smile of his own, and she thinks, screw it.

She wants him. She wants him right now.

She pulls the blanket off of her, drapes it over the arm of her chair as she stands, taking another glance around the room. Everyone is definitely asleep, which is good, because there's really no way to be discreet about what's about to happen.

She catches his gaze again as she turns to walk down the aisle and his lips part ever so slightly. He sits up a little straighter as she nears, causing the pen he set down on his lap to fall to the floor, and, really. He's making this a little too easy for her. She fights off a smirk as she sets a hand on his knee, feels him tense ever so slightly as she crouches down and picks up the pen. Then she looks up at him from under her lashes, gnaws on her lip a bit, just to see what he'll do. His eyelids flutter a little, his eyes dark and sparkling as he holds her stare.

She slips the pen in his palm, letting her hand linger as she leans up and whispers, "Follow me," into his ear, and then pulling away completely.

He mutters, "Fuck," a moment later as she's walking away. It makes her grin.

She slips into the bathroom, blinks against the brightness of the light and then catches her reflection – the flush in her cheeks, the hazy look in her eyes – and feels her heart skip in her chest. She can't remember the last time she'd been this turned on, if she's ever, and it makes her feel a little better about the fact that she's about to have sex in the bathroom of an airplane because she simply can't wait. Something like this would've never crossed her mind, but she likes Steve, and she wants him, and it seems like he wants her just as badly.

The door opens behind her, and then Steve appears in the reflection, meeting her gaze in the mirror. She smiles a little as he clicks the lock into place.

"Hi," he says. His voice is low, eyes sweeping quickly over her figure in the reflection. She wonders if he can see the desire as clearly in her appearance as she can.

"Hi," she echoes, turning to face him. She watches him lick his lips, swallowing a little, and it takes every ounce of control she has not to jump at him right that second. The bathroom is small enough that when he takes one step closer, she's practically pressed between him and the sink. "I don't usually do this," she admits softly. It feels important that he knows.

"Neither do I," he tells her. It's ridiculous that this makes her feel a little relieved considering she was the one that made the first move, but whatever.

She likes that she's as much of an exception to him as he is to her.

She squirms a little, her blood thrumming, and suddenly the heat between her legs is all she can think about again. She needs him to touch her, and he must catch on because he brings his hands up to cradle her face, thumbs smoothing over the apples of her cheeks. She lets out a breath, heart thumping, and she watches as his eyes darken a little more as they settle onto her lips. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, voice rough. She thinks this might've made her laugh, except it makes her let out this pathetic little sound instead as she nods a little too quickly, not caring how eager she must seem. She needs him to kiss her right now, and then he tips his head forward and does exactly that, and she very nearly whimpers.

She had expected it to be something gentle, something sweet, because everything about him seems to suggest that that's how he might kiss her.

But the press of his lips against hers is not at all gentle and she doesn't mind it one bit. She loves it, actually, the force of the kiss, the way he sucks her lower lip between his, kissing her breathless. Her desire coils tighter in her stomach, her skin almost on fire, and then he lets out this little grunt and tips her head back a little more, deepening the kiss.

"Fuck," he breathes into the kiss, and it almost makes her laugh. She hadn't expected him to be a swearer.

Then he licks at the seam of her lips once, twice, seeming to way for her permission, and she reaches up and grasps the lapels of his blazer tightly between her fingers as she parts them for him, her whimper muffled by his tongue as he presses it against hers. He's good. He's really, really good, and it didn't even occur to her until now that she had no idea how he'd be in bed (well, at sex, at least) until now, when it crosses her mind that someone who kisses as well as this man does probably knows exactly what to do to please a woman.

The thought sends a warmth right between her legs and she presses her hips against his in response. Maybe it's selfish, but she needs more than just making out.

He must be thinking the same thing, too, because he pulls one hand away to reach behind her, grasping at the zipper of her dress and tugging it more than halfway down in one motion. Then he presses his palm flat over her back and she lets out this little sound from the back of her throat at the sensation of his warm, calloused fingertips on her skin.

"You're amazing," he murmurs against her lips. Her lungs are starting to burn for air, but she doesn't want to stop kissing him, either. "Couldn't stop thinking about you," he says.

"Me neither," she tells him, yanking hard at his blazer, pressing her hips against his again – she can feel how hard he's getting – and earning a groan in response.

He pulls his other hand from her face, wraps an arm around her waist and hoists her up and onto the edge of the sink with ease, and she wraps her legs around his hips. He tugs the zipper of her dress down the rest of the way and lets it fall from her shoulders, revealing her lacy red bra underneath. It doesn't match the color of the lace panties that she's wearing but she doesn't even have a chance to begin to feel self-conscious about that because then he's unhooking the clasp and letting it fall between them as he presses a hot, wet kiss to the column of her throat, and she gasps for breath. She hooks one hand over the back of her neck, pushing the other through his hair as he places more wet kisses down her throat.

"Steve," she breathes, and then he pulls his lips off of her and dips his head lower, lips closing around one of her breasts, and she lets out a cry.

He groans, the sensation going right between her legs, and he brings a hand up to cup her other breast, rolling his thumb over the hard nub and making her shudder. Her wet heat is almost aching at this point, desperate for his touch, but then he sucks a little harder and she tosses her head back against the mirror, gently scraping her nails over his scalp.

Oh, oh god. He's amazing at this. She may have to keep him.

He pulls his mouth off of her breast with a soft, wet pop and then latches onto the other, his hand coming up to roll her wet nipple between his fingers. She feels her walls flutter as they clench around nothing, and it should be a crime, really, how quickly he's bringing her to her high without having even touching her down there just yet. Granted, she was already well on her way there thanks to that dream of hers, but nothing she could've ever imagined could compare to the real thing, to him. This is definitely worth the risk of getting caught.

He releases her other breast in another wet sound and meets her eyes, his heavy with desire. She holds his stare for a moment and swallows, throat dry.

"Kiss me," she whispers, practically pleads, because as much as she needs her high, his mouth isn't on her right now and that's almost just as frustrating to her.

He complies, tongue pressing against hers once more as their lips meet, and he drops a hand onto her knee, sliding it under the hem of her dress and making her hips jump as his thumb brushes the front of her panties. He groans as he finds just how wet she is, and it might've been embarrassing, except she hardly cares at this point, and she honestly thinks Steve wouldn't find anything about her embarrassing, anyway. She wraps her arms around his neck, holds him close as his other hand drops to her knee, keeping her legs spread as he's rolling his thumb over her nerves and making her shake under the light, barely there pressure. It's exactly what she wants and also not at all enough and she lets out a soft cry.

"It's okay. It's okay," he murmurs into their kiss, shushing her gently as he applies more and more pressure.

She's close, oh so close, and she's trying not to fall apart as quickly as he's trying to make her because she wants to feel him in her but she also doesn't think she can hold off much longer. She kisses him harder, nipping at his lips, trying to convey this, and then almost yelps when he complies, slipping underneath the lace fabric and sinking a finger into her.

She breaks the kiss as her head falls back against the glass again, lips parting in a moan.

He shushes her softly, brings his free hand up to tuck his fingers into her hair, massaging over where her head keeps hitting the glass. "You okay, baby?" She doesn't know where the pet name came from but she definitely doesn't hate it, at least coming from him, so she whimpers a yes in response and rolls her hips against his hand.

He pulls his finger out of her entirely, but she doesn't have time to protest against the emptiness because then he's pressing two back into her, palm flattening against her nerves.

Her body shakes. He sucks over her pulse, up the column of her neck, nipping at the underside of her jaw, and she tugs and tugs at his hair. If it hurts, he doesn't show it.

"Come on," he murmurs, skimming his lips up as his fingers curl inside her. She arches her back, about to let out another cry when he muffles it with a kiss, angles his wrist and presses in even deeper, palm flat against her clit with every stroke. "Natasha," he breathes, and her world dissolves into white, hot pleasure.

He holds her close as her orgasm trembles through her body, keeps stroking his fingers slowly as she falls apart, and it's almost too much, too much, but she feels his other hand on her back, pressing her firmly to his chest as he kisses her cries away, and she lets herself get completely lost in the sensation, in him, knowing that he's got her. Her body twitches under his touch as he works her through her high, dragging it out, and then he pulls his hand away and eases her back down with soft, sweet kisses until she's drawing back to catch her breath. He looks a little breathless himself as he holds her gaze, like her orgasm had been a little too much for him, too. That seems a bit ridiculous, but she kind of loves it, too.

He leans forward, presses a kiss to her cheek, like he can't help himself. Then he pulls back a little and gives her that dimpled smile of his. "Hi," he says.

She almost laughs. She never could've imagined when she met him that they'd end up here, like this. She's really, really glad that she decided to go back to that bar.

"Hi," she says back, and then leans forward, kissing him on the lips. He hums lowly, squeezes a hand over her knee. She can feel her wetness from his fingers on her skin and that's kind of all it takes for her pulse to pick back up, and she kisses him a little harder in response, a little deeper, nipping at his lower lip and earning a groan. "Do you have a—"

"Yeah." He presses her close to him again with one hand, reaching behind her head with the other, and the glances over her shoulder to see as he opens pulls the mirror back and reaches inside the cabinet. He fumbles for a bit until he pulls away with a condom between his fingers and she breathes out a laugh, turning to press a kiss to his cheek. He had said that this was his first time doing this and she believed him, but the fact that he knew about this box of condoms means that they're obviously not the first to pull something like this. She feels him grin as he shuts the cabinet again, as if hearing her thoughts, and the smirk he has as he meets her eyes as downright sexy. "My co-workers are terrible," he tells her.

She can't help but grin, arching an eyebrow. "Can't exactly pass judgment anymore, can you?" she asks, grasping the buckle of his belt between them.

"Well, what're they going to do?" he asks, eyes sparkling. "Fire me?"

She laughs, shakes her head, and then he grasps her chin in his fingers and draws her lips back to his.

She honestly thinks that she would be pretty damn content to just kiss him a little while longer, except it's also driving her a little crazy, her desire coiling tighter and tighter in her stomach again, her every nerve tingling. She needs him to be inside of her soon.

He seems to think the same thing, because he reaches between them, helping her undo the front of his pants and push them and his briefs down his hips, falling to the floor at his ankles. She takes the condom from him, tears it open and then circles her fingers around his length, drawing a noise from the back of his throat that shoots right through core. She watches him clench and unclench his jaw as she slowly rolls the condom over him, watches his eyelids flutter as he groans out her name, hands gripping the sink so hard that she thinks he could actually crack it. For a moment, she finds herself just staring at him, transfixed, but then he hooks an arm around her and hoists her up a little, drawing a soft yelp.

His length is hard against the inside of her thigh and she licks her lips, swallowing in anticipation. It's ridiculous how much she wants him.

He braces his free hand against the wall behind her, presses her a little closer to his chest. The only thing keeping her balanced is him, and somehow she knows she can trust him to hold her up, even if she thinks it's a little much to ask him to do so. He doesn't seem to mind it at all, though, if that sexy little smile he's giving her is any indication.

He holds her gaze for a moment and she squirms under his stare, not sure why he isn't moving. She licks her lips again, letting out a breath. He's not going to make her ask, is he?

But then he's dipping his head forward, capturing her lips in a kiss as he rolls his hips, pushing into her slowly. Her nerves are still sensitive from her first orgasm, causing her to shudder as he presses into her, rubbing deliciously, but he holds onto her a little tighter, keeping her upright as she whimpers into their kiss. She scrapes her fingers over his scalp again, tugging at his hair. Her lips part to suck in a gasp when he's fully inside and he presses his tongue against hers, kissing her gently she adjusts to the feeling of him inside her.

It feels amazing. He feels amazing, but she needs him to move now, and she nips at his lower lip to try and tell him this.

He catches on, rolling his hips slowly, rubbing against her sensitive nerves with every press and pull, and it's already enough to make her body tremble.

He lets out a grunt, tightens the arm he has around her. It's a good thing she's already so close, because so is he. He'd given her an orgasm first and hasn't even had his own release just yet. Of course he's close, too. She tries to roll her hips against his, which is a little hard to do with their position, but he still draws a sharp breath in response.

It doesn't take long for him to pick up the pace, his thrusts faster, a little more desperate, angling his hips to brush against all the right places. He's a perfect stranger and it's taking him nothing at all to read her, to listen to the way her breath stutters, the way she tugs at his hair and scratches at his scalp, so that he knows exactly what to do to bring her back on that dizzying edge. He's trying to draw her to another orgasm before he can reach his own, which is taking nothing at all, really, but it's still so incredibly sweet that he's still concerned about her pleasure first even though she's already gotten there once and he hasn't yet. Her heart flutters in her chest as this realization settles through the haze of desire, and she—

She's a little overwhelmed, to be honest. She doesn't know how this man that she just met can draw all of these feelings from her, but she doesn't hate it, not even a little.

She tips her head, slowing their kiss a little, even as he angles his hips and thrusts a little harder, a little quicker.

He hums into the kiss, following the slow, gentle press of her lips, and she can't really help herself – she skims her fingertips down the side of his face, tracing down the curve of his eyebrow, over the apple of his cheek, along the strong curve of his jaw. He makes this little noise in response to her touch, tongue passing over the seam of her lips.

Everything about this moment feels rather intimate considering they only met a few hours ago, but it doesn't really freak her out, and she can tell it doesn't freak him out, either.

"Steve," she whimpers against his lips. She's so, so close, her senses blurring together, every fiber of her being focused only on him and how he's making her feel.

"Natasha," he groans. "I, I can't—" She cuts him off with a kiss, nodding. She knows he's close, too. She can feel it.

"Me too," she murmurs against his lips. She's right there with him, walls fluttering, and then he thrusts particularly hard and sends her tumbling over the edge with a soft cry that he kisses from her lips. She digs her nails into his arms, whimpering his name over and over again as he continues rolling his hips through her orgasm. It's almost too much, but a few more thrusts and then he's falling apart inside of her. He kisses her a little harder, groaning into her mouth, but then he pulls away and they both sort of gasp for breath. They're both too overwhelmed right now to kiss, but she feels him press his face into her neck, his breath hot against her skin, and she closes her eyes and smiles, losing herself in all of it, in him.

It takes a long while for them to gather themselves again, but he seems pretty content with not moving, and she sure as hell isn't going to just yet.

She tugs at his hair a little, drawing his face back to hers, and he kisses her slowly, almost lazily, but she really, really likes how it feels. They should probably feel a little more urgent considering anyone could still find them, but she can't bring herself to care much.

Eventually, Steve breaks their kiss, drawing back to meet her eyes. He looks as satisfied as she feels and it makes her smile.

"You alright?" he asks. He doesn't sound proud. (Well, he doesn't just sound proud, but confidence looks incredibly sexy on him, so it's fine.) He sounds genuinely concerned.

She nods a little, brushes her lips to his in a short but sweet kiss. She's definitely doing to be sore in a few hours, but right now? She feels amazing.

He smiles at her and nods, pushing off of the wall to straighten himself up and then pulling out of her slowly. She's still so, so sensitive that it's a little much for her, but then he's out and pressing a kiss to her forehead, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. They stay like this for a few moments longer before she convinces herself that she should get moving, and then he wets a few paper towels so they can clean themselves up. He zips her back into her dress and she straightens up his shirt, and then he kisses her cheek, giving her a smile.

He slips out first and she lingers in the bathroom a little longer in hopes of trying to be inconspicuous, in case anyone happened to have woken up while they were busy.

She surveys her reflection, and, fuck. She looks fucked, which she can always blame on the flight, but she's definitely going to be tired when she has to be in the conference hall in a few hours, and she's probably going to be sore, too. She doesn't regret any of it, though.

She leaves the bathroom and heads back to her seat, pausing when she finds a bottled water sitting on top of her blanket.

She glances back at Steve, who raises his own bottled water to his lips, winking. She grins a little and shakes her head, moves the water bottle into the cup-holder and settles back in her seat. She uncaps her water, takes a few gulps from it, and then her phone lights up with a text. It's an unknown number on her phone, but she knows exactly who this is.

Brooklyn and Manhattan are only a half hour drive apart, you know.

She giggles (fuck, she's got it bad) and types back, I know, signing it with a smiley face.

... ...

It's a half hour after noon when she walks into a restaurant a few days later, pulling her shades from her eyes as she glances around. It doesn't take her long to find him since he's sitting at the bar by himself, sketchbook open on the counter. There's a glass of soda sitting in front of him. This makes her grin, makes her heart flip a little in her chest, and it does again when she starts walking towards him and he glances up as she nears, his bright blue eyes meeting hers. He gives her that dimpled smile of his, standing from the barstool so that he can greet her with a hug, and his breath warm against her ear as he says her name. She gnaws her lip a little, smiling way too widely, but she can't bring herself to mind it.

She draws back a little, just enough to catch his gaze again. "Hi," she says, voice soft, but he still catches it.

"Hi," he says back. His eyes are sparkling, his hand squeezing over her hip. Neither of them says anything else right away, but it's fine.

They've got all the time in the world right now.