15 Day Elemental Challenge – Day 1 – fire
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,000
Characters: Steve/Natasha and a little bit of others
Prompts: "fire" + "high school reunion au" + "(404): He yearns for your heart. (678): He needs to stop being a pussy about it." + "Let the alcohol tell me all the things you won't say sober." —unknown
and just like that, the chemicals react (1/15)
She won't call it a reunion, because graduation was only three years ago and most of them (the ones she actually cares about, anyway) still keep in touch, as far as Facebook goes, anyway. That's not the same as actually hanging out or having a real conversation outside of comment threads and IM chats, but it's still something. It'd be a shame for four years of passing notes and cramming for tests during passing periods, nights of phone tag and mass texts at ungodly hours of the morning to finish homework, to be swept under the rug.
(Surviving high school had been a true group effort.)
Bucky Barnes was the one to reserve the beach and get the permits for the bonfires and post it to the Class of 2016 Facebook group to get the word out, which isn't a surprise. He'd always been the center of the party scene during their years at Margaret Carter College Preparatory.
Natasha gets there an hour late, because she kind of fell asleep for a bit (she loves summer break) and then took her time getting ready, but whatever. She gets passed around for a good ten minutes as everyone hugs her excitedly, gushing about how they've missed her. It's mostly the buzz talking, she's sure, but she still grins and hugs them back.
Tony hands her a drink as her eyes drift over the crowd, and she doesn't have to see his face to know that he's already smirking.
"Looking for someone special?"
She rolls her eyes. "Wouldn't you love to know?"
"I already know," he corrects. She narrows her eyes at him slightly. She used to be better at not letting Tony ruin her mood, but it's been a while since she's seen him in person, so she's a little out of practice. "Maybe he's picking up his date."
"I don't know what or who you're talking about, Stark," she says, and his laugh follows her as she walks away.
She used to be better at lying, too.
... ...
"Holy—" Darcy exclaims in exasperation as she stumbles to Natasha's side, again, clinging onto her arm for balance and sloshing beer onto the both of them. Granted, Darcy probably isn't that drunk, but they're on sand and Darcy doesn't have that much balance while sober to begin with – it's a miracle that she hasn't stumbled into the bonfire yet.
Pepper presses her lips together, trying not to be amused by Darcy's frustrations. Clint, on the other hand, just laughs.
Darcy tosses a glare at him and he holds his hands up in surrender.
"Do we need to cut you off soon?" Sam asks, already moving to take the girl's cup away.
"I'm not that drunk, I'm just cold," Darcy insists, and then tips her head back for another defiant swig of beer. Everyone chuckles. "Actually, if I weren't a little drunk, I'd probably be fucking freezing," she argues.
"Drinking yourself stupid won't make your body any warmer, honey," Natasha points out, one eyebrow arched. "Try stealing a jacket, it'll be more effective."
"Nah, all Darcy would need to do is flash that pretty little smile of hers and she'd get whatever she wants," a voice says, and Natasha turns to find—
Steve.
He, Tony, and Bucky are making their over, and Steve meets Natasha's gaze, lip quirking up in that ridiculous (adorable) grin of his. How he doesn't look totally ridiculous with his muscles stretching out the fabric of his white button-down is lost on Natasha, as is how he manages to not look like a total ass showing up to a bonfire party in a white shirt and khaki cutoffs, like something out of the Hamptons. She's pretty sure everyone would've given Steve shit for his preppy clothes out of uniform if he didn't look so ridiculously good in them. It suited him, but so did his grass-stained jersey when he was out on the field, and so did his grease-stained coveralls when he worked at his part-time job at the auto repairs shop.
Steve's always been the exception to a lot of things. Natasha spent four frustrating years trying to piece him together, something she'd failed to do by graduation, and if he's wandered into her thoughts in the three years since then, well…
She hates unanswered questions.
"Steve!" Darcy exclaims, throwing her arms around to him. Everyone laughs, but then Sam's barreling into both of them for a hug and everyone's cracking up.
"He finally decided he wanted to show up," Bucky says, clapping a hand over Steve's shoulder.
Steve shrugs. "My flight got delayed," he offers as explanation, moving to hug Pepper as soon as Darcy and Sam are out of the way, and he and Clint shake hands, as per their usual greeting. Then he's standing in front of Natasha, raising an arm and an eyebrow, that stupid grin on his lips again.
She steps forward and he wraps his arms around her, hugging her close, hand smoothing down her back, and she presses her face into his shoulder.
(She can feel everyone staring at them. They all get ignored.)
"It's good to see you, Nat," he tells her, his breath warm against her ear, and she pulls back to give him a grin.
"You, too," she says.
"How come you weren't this glad to see me, man?" Bucky asks, feigning (okay, only half-feigning) offense, and they're all laughing again as Steve shoves his shoulder.
... ...
Natasha would be lying if she said she hasn't thought about Steve since high school.
It's not an everyday kind of thing, but it feels like that, almost, because they spent so much time together in high school and lots of small things just remind her of him. She'll lie on her stomach on top of her bed as she studies and remember how, no matter whose room they gathered into when they went over to each other's houses to study, she and Steve would always end up on the bed, her on her stomach and him lounging back against the pillows with his textbook in his lap and his pencil behind his ear. She'll grab a rag to clean up some spill at the diner she works at and pictures Steve leaning against his workbench at the auto repair shop, wiping his hands on a rag and grinning as he sees her trailing behind their friends when they'd visit (distract) him. She'll doodle in the margins on her notebooks during particularly boring lectures and remember his sketch book, old and creased at the spine and filled with beautiful illustrations – grab a red apple from the basket because she knows those're his favorite – hum oldies songs from the station his radio was always on.
She'll crave pancakes and remember how Steve would always make them breakfast on weekends, or she'll be at a party and remember how the two of them would sneak onto the roof and talk all night under the stars, or she'll be alone in the studio and remember how he'd come after practice, sweaty and exhausted, and still want to dance with her.
She hasn't been pining for Steve, hasn't been hung up on him these last three years, but she's definitely missed him.
... ...
It takes a lot to get Natasha drunk – one, because she has a pretty high tolerance, and two, because she normally doesn't let herself drink that much to begin with. She tries not to get more than a good buzz when she's out and knows she has things to do the next day, but it's summer, and Pepper kept insisting that she'd drive her home, and it's been a hell of a lot longer than she thought since she's gotten drunk – good drunk, not stupid drunk – and the heat of the bonfire with the warmth the alcohol in her system feels kind of amazing.
There's a bass thrumming through the air, sounding vaguely (fittingly) tribal, and she lets herself get lost in it, tossing her head back and bending with the beat.
She gathers a bit of an audience – she's a dancer, it just happens, sometimes – and everyone's dancing themselves but mostly watching her, and she gestures for her friends to come over, but only Darcy, Sam, and Bucky join her.
A few moments later, Darcy leans in and tells her over the music, only loud enough for Natasha to catch, that, "Steve's staring at you."
Natasha knows without having to even look. She can feel his gaze searing into her skin.
"He always stares," Natasha points out. Darcy raises her eyebrows, her expression very much saying, and? "And all he does is stare," Natasha clarifies.
Darcy giggles in understanding, linking their arms together, which is a little awkward since they're still dancing, but whatever. "Oh, honey, that's because he's so into you that it makes him stupid!" she insists, like she's willing a little kid into being understanding. "He yearns for your heart."
Natasha laughs. "He needs to stop being a pussy about it."
Darcy's eyes sparkle. "Maybe you need to stop being a dick about it," she sings – sings. God, she's so drunk. "The boy can only bite if you throw him a bone."
"Okay, Darcy," Natasha indulges.
... ...
It's late, and it's cold, and the crowd has settled but hasn't really thinned, and so they're all sort of just lounging in the sand around the warmth of the bonfires, laughing and talking against the soft crashing of the waves a few feet away and a slow beat thrumming from the stereos. She ends up sitting with Steve (because isn't that always how it goes?) on top of the blanket that he brought, the same one that they'd spread out over the grass when they had picnics and over the lining of their tent to throw their sleeping bags over. He's drunk and she can tell because of the way his words tumble out. His sentences, usually more composed, are messier, a little drawn out and senseless, and he tends to ramble a little bit.
"…and, ah," he exhales with a chuckle. She's lying flat on her back and he's sitting up, bracing back on his hands. "You look good."
"You've said that a few times already," she points out, eyebrows raised.
"I know," he admits.
"Oh, but please, do go on," she says, grinning up at him. "I'd love to get a few more compliments out of you while I can, even if they're all the same."
He chuckles again, shaking his head. "There you go again," he says softly, like it was meant just for him.
"What?"
He tips his head back to look at the stars. Well, he would be, if his eyes were open. "You make it so easy to be around you, but it's so hard at the same time," he tells her. "I'm not sure how I can feel so damn so comfortable but so… I don't know – tense, I guess, at times."
She looks up at the stars, too. "At what times?" she asks.
There's a pause, and a ghost of a breeze sweeps through, but the warmth of the flames soothes the chills away quickly.
"All the time," he breathes.
She exhales slowly, reaching for him, and he moves to lie flat on his back beside her, their arms pressing together. She slips her fingertips down his skin until her fingers fold into his with a gentle squeeze, and he rubs his thumb over her skin in gentle circles.
"I wanted to ask you out for like, all of high school," he tells her. "Half the time I thought you might… you know. But you kept trying to set me up on dates, so… I figured…" He lets out another breath, clearing his throat. "I know you didn't really want one, either—after those assholes you were with before. I didn't want to be some sort of phase."
He turns to look at her, and she thinks about that slow burning inside her, those flickers of heat she'd get every time he sparked within her thoughts.
"You're stuck with me, Steve," she tells him.
He hears her real words, like he always has, and he seems to consider this, nodding gently as he pulls his fingers from hers. She closes her eyes, humming softly, and then she's being enveloped by his warmth as he rolls on top of her, skin searing against hers as they kiss.
