Title: The Love Of A Brooklyn Boy

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Marvel Comics owns these two.

Notes: For Dillon or TheDarkZannen (who helped with some of the descriptions here and there and helped with the flow and ideas), Skewbald, ym4yum1 and MysticFantasy who liked 'Good Morning' and would have liked more for the ending.

This is a precursor to +1/0 of my fanfic 'Good Morning' but can be read on its own.

The whir of the jet's engine slowed down, the wind whipping around the helipad, a S.H.I.E.L.D agent opening the door and saluting to Steve with a curt nod. Steve stepped off, waving to close the door and turning around to face Stark tower. He walked forward, wincing as pain shot down his left arm, the adrenaline wearing off from the mission and sensation coming back to the nerve endings of his body. There would be bruises. He could already feel them forming and a shower was in order right now. He'd been in Cape Town for a long military intervention operation, leading a squadron like he used to back before the ice. He had Coulson on the comm link – who was also observing Clint and Natasha. The steps into Stark tower opened up, allowing him in, and he could see why Tony enjoyed making an entrance like this. He might not like the tower, per se; however, it was all very Tony.

'Good evening Captain Rogers' JARVIS said pleasantly.

'Evening JARVIS. Who else is here?' Steve asked, trudging down the steps in what he would like to believe was faster than treacle speed, hearing the slide of the top close overhead and the noise deplete immediately.

'Well, sir, Agent Romanoff is in the armoury. Neither Mister Stark nor Agent Barton has returned' and Steve nodded, hoping both men were alright.

'Thanks JARVIS. I'll be in my room if anyone needs me' Steve said, tapping the elevator button for his floor.

'Of course, sir. I shall warm your room for you, and alert you if anything occurs that requires your assistance or presence' JARVIS replied and Steve sighed heavily, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes for a moment.

Half an hour later Steve was sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the bruises that were not yet fading on his stomach beneath his ribs, and the one on the inside of his right thigh. All the bruises were purple to blue, throbbing and taking on the appearance of paint on marble. He breathed in through his nose, pressing the bruise on his stomach and flinching at the pain and dull ache. He huffed: the shower had done a lot of good but the serum would take care of the other aches eventually. He got up and started hunting for a pair of jeans and t-shirt. When ready he paused, hovering in the middle of his room, his brows furrowing.

'Natasha?' he called, ducking and scanning what he could see of the armoury. Steve spotted her, by the rifles, running her hand over the shelving. In her other hand she was twirling her S.H.I.E.L.D issue knife. Steve padded towards her and she stilled, eyes flashing at him and then lowering. Not cold, not hard, just distant. 'Are you okay?' he asked, her tensed figure worrying him a little.

'I was in Syria. In Damascus. To take out a chemical weapon hidden in the town and the people behind it. I couldn't get to it. We didn't find it in time – it – it went off' Natasha said, her face screwing up into a disgusted snarl. 'We eliminated the henchmen, and caught the boss – or one of them. He's in custody' Natasha tossed the black knife, catching it by the blade. She swallowed, smoothing out her expression, blinking and Steve reached out to her to offer comfort if she wanted it. Natasha ignored it, moving away from him in a step, the knife spinning on her palm. 'Children died. They lay in the hospitals, on the floors dying. The chemical got inside them and shut their bodies down' Natasha said, her voice hollow.

Steve heard of the explosion on the news; he hadn't been able to get any more information on it. His stomach turned at the thought of all the people that must have been killed. All of the families and victims. Natasha slipped her knife in the holster on her calf, straightening up. She moved quickly, the tips of her fingers touching the soft flesh of Steve's wrist. His brows furrowed at her questioningly but she seemed to be settling something herself silently. She was taking his pulse, hearing the beat of his heart and the blood pump rhythmically.

'You should go upstairs Natasha and relax' Steve said, not movings away from her cool hand, letting her do so.

'I'm fine' she said, in the same tone she used with Fury. Steve gritted his teeth.

'Go upstairs and relax. That's an order, Agent' Steve said and did he feel incredibly bad? Yes, extremely, but she needed it. He hated seeing a woman like her – or any member of his team as a matter of fact - look so haunted. Even during New York, she'd shown him that even though she was tired she could carry on in battle. But they weren't in the field - they were home. Natasha nodded, her eyes conveying 'thank you' with the flicker of a sad smile at her lips. That was enough. Natasha never disobeyed an order. She brushed past him, leaving the armoury. Steve left her, giving her space, leaving the room not long after.

Steve was reading a sports novel about a baseball team. He was positioned on the floor at the end of his bed, now feeling very much more relaxed and better than he had done a few hours ago. He sat, one foot under his thigh. He did that when he was sketching without a flat surface other than the floor, to balance his sketchbook in his lap. He turned the page, reading to the end of the chapter and bookmarking the page, setting it next to him. Running a hand through his hair, he twisted to glance at the bed and, if he was honest, he wanted to go back to his place in Brooklyn and sleep there. He got up. His tan leather jacket was in his duffle bag, so he grabbed it, slipping it on and deciding that if he didn't go now he wouldn't leave. Getting into the elevator again, he stopped before punching the number to Natasha's floor. The doors dinged open and he walked over to her door, knocking lightly.

'It's open' Natasha said and he pressed down on the handle, opening it up: he hung at the doorway.

'Hey. I was just leaving, and I thought I'd check on you. Are you okay?' he asked, trying and hoping he didn't sound too nagging or even pitying. He was concerned. Natasha's hair was curly and fluffy; she was brighter than she was earlier, his heart sank at the red wetness around her eyes.

'I'm fine. Thank you for asking, though. Clint never left me alone after an op went bad. He just hovered like a munchkin' and Steve grinned - not laughing because it was not appropriate. Natasha noticed, smiling back a little. Steve coughed, nodding, feeling a bit awkward.

Then he had an idea.

'I – uh' he stopped, closed his mouth and started again. 'If you want company you're welcome to join me' Steve offered a smile to her. She blinked at him, licked her lips, and tilted her head.

'Are you taking the Harley?' and Steve's eyes widened, Natasha's smile blooming slowly across her mouth.

'I didn't know you liked motorcycles' Steve asked over his shoulder, opening the door to his apartment and then letting her go first. Natasha shrugged loosely, taking in the sight of Steve's place and all the rooms.

'When you've rode as many as I have, you appreciate quality' Natasha said easily, turning around to smirk. 'Namely, Budapest, where Clint and I crashed an Ace into a market stall. When I say we – I mean him' Natasha said, losing her jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. Steve did the same, taking his duffle into his bedroom and putting it at the bottom of the wardrobe.

'You and Clint go back a long way' Steve said, more than asked, heading into the kitchen. Natasha leant on the doorway.

'We do. He's a good partner but he's an idiot' Natasha said and Steve chuckled, shaking his head. Natasha had a wonderful way of giving compliments; he had realised that much. She snapped back- handed compliments to Tony constantly, just to banter with him or shut him up. It worked most of the time, much to everyone's relief. Steve opened a few cupboards and came to the conclusion he had hardly any food in his apartment. That was going to be a problem.

'I haven't been here in a while' he said, facing her.

'No food?' she asked, raising an eyebrow, deducing his point precisely.

'Not exactly…'

'Tut tut Rogers. I thought you were meant to be the star spangled man with a plan' and Steve pursed his lips at her, feeling the tips of his ears redden. She was teasing him - which was a good thing all things considered.

'Not always' he conceded and her features softened.

'What do you have?' Natasha asked, walking forward and opening a random cupboard door, peering inside.

They worked out they could compile everything Steve had stored and somehow create dinner of sorts. Making a pizza (which ended up being barbeque chicken) was a harder task than it should be. But no less fun. He found Natasha was ambidextrous and unlike Clint she didn't have a compulsive need to fiddle with whatever she could get her hands on. Natasha growled at Steve's hob when it refused to do what she wanted, so Steve leaned over and adjusted the knob, smiling innocently when Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

'Usually it's me that struggles with technology, I guess there's a first time for everything, right Ms Romanoff?' Steve teased.

'Normally, I leave Clint in charge of the simple tasks when cooking' she responded.

Steve was dusting the surface while Natasha chopped the ingredients and yeah, maybe he did begin thinking about the time when the orphanage cooker caught on fire and the blaring noise of the alarm, and he wasn't paying much attention, and not even dusting the dough anymore, but he did not expect flour to the face. He resisted the urge to sneeze, and turned to Natasha. She merely smiled, pushing the chopped green peppers to one side of the board with her knife.

'Look alive, Captain' and Steve's heart fluttered a bit, not deterring the smugness of catching him off guard. That was for the hob thing. She relaxed around him, he saw the actual Natasha, not the one she projected to do her job or knew how to threaten with. While that was her, it also wasn't. She left her Agent title and façade, similarly, to how Steve was Steve and not Captain America. He evened out the dough, spreading the tomato sauce and mozzarella on the pizza base. Sprinkling the toppings on, Natasha putting on the marinated chicken strips and opening the heated oven door, he slid it on the rack and closed the door. 'Plus, in our line of work, I didn't have access to equipment a lot. So I never bothered'.

He was about to say something to that, when Natasha did the flour thing again. She dipped her fingers, which were sticky from the dough making process, in the excess flour which hovered around and swiped them across his cheek in a friendly slap.

'This means war. Just so you know' Steve said smirking.

'I have no idea what talking about' Natasha said feigning innocence extremely well and she no doubt used it on missions for S.H.I.E.L.D, but Steve knew otherwise. 'You look like a TV chef now'. Steve swayed on whether that was a compliment or not.

'See, I never leave someone behind. So, if I get the flour-treatment then so do you' Steve said, and Natasha took a look at her clothes, and then fixated him with challenge written all over her face. Why he thought she'd back down, he still doesn't know.

'You're on'

It all kind of went weird after that, Steve picked up the bag of flour, flicking it sharply at Natasha. The flour flew at her and she suddenly resembled a geisha - dark eyelashes framed grey eyes. It rained white flour for a good thirty seconds or so. Without any warning, Natasha pounced jabbing him light, and he dropped the bag. She caught it, grinning like a Cheshire cat, mischief glowing in her eyes. Steve backed away, holding his hands up in surrender. Natasha weighed the bag in her hand, pausing. She was calculating. This wasn't going to go well for him. Natasha put the bag down on the side, and Steve ducked as she hurled a handful or extra dough at where his head would have been. It hit the wall, and he couldn't bring himself to care. Steve took possession of the bag of yeast, holding it like ammunition. He darted, skidding on the floor, the watery- doughy tips of his fingers tapped Natasha on the end of her nose. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, opening them, Steve found himself laughing, doubling over. Natasha used that to her advantage and Steve was on the floor of the kitchen on his back. She was locking him in place with her feet and balanced weight, knees either side of his chest, and she mashed her hands into his face. She rubbed cold, sticky, sweet smelling dough and whatever else she had, on his mouth, cheekbones and jaw. When she stopped, Steve still had his eyes shut, and he opened them, blinking wildly. He could taste the dough in his mouth, and Natasha was gaping at him. Steve scowled, spitting, his arms not available. Natasha began giggling, and it got louder and louder until it became full blown hysterical laughter. She clambered off him in her amusement, propping up against the cupboard doors. Steve studied his caked arms, the kitchen and then at Natasha. If the sound of her laughter wasn't enough to get him laughing too, (which it was) it was the sight of her. With flour in her hair, on her face and oversized top, the dough on her nose and mouth, and the carefree expression on her face. Steve pushed himself to sit beside her, his head hitting the cupboard door. Slowly, their laughter turned to chuckling and eventually subsided.

'We're quite clean' Steve said absently, and they were really, compared to how it could have escalated. Natasha was flexing her hands, investigating the drying dough. She nodded, then licked a line up her palm and made a face.

'That's overrated'

Steve grinned at her and copied her. Yeah, that's not meant to be eaten raw.

'Uhm' Steve said looking at his once spotless kitchen in awe.

'I would apologise. But you did you start it' Natasha said idly, flashing a grin his way. Steve wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

'Let's call it mutual' he said and Natasha snorted a laugh.

'Whatever you say, Captain'

Steve picked out two bottles of Brooklyn Lager, shut the fridge door and walked around to hand one to Natasha. Then he realised he hadn't a clue as to where his bottle opener was – it should be in the draw next to the sink but… Natasha hooked the bottle at the end of the table by the cap, slamming the heel of her palm down, the silver cap slipping off. Steve caught it on reflex.

'How did you do that?' he asked, impressed. Natasha set her lager down on the living room table, easing Steve's own out of his hand and repeating the motion.

'I started drinking at fourteen and they don't sell bottle openers to kids' and Steve didn't have to be a genius to know there was more to it, but he was inclined to leave it.

'Cheers' Steve dropped onto his side of the couch once again, holding out his bottle to Natasha.

'Dlya zdorov'ya' she replied in kind. Steve mentally translated that to 'to health'. His languages were a tad poor, being broader rather than fluent and confined. The glass clinked on contact. They both took pull from their respective lagers, a calming silence filling the room for a few moments.

After the flour fight in the kitchen, Steve had pointed Natasha in the direction of the bathroom and she washed up. Steve put the chili cheese fries in the oven. He also leant her a t-shirt of his, a baggy Dodgers one which sort of drowned her so she rolled the sleeves. Somehow, she re-appeared from the bathroom with not one ounce of evidence of their previous activities. Steve had cleaned up, grinning into his towel, brushing down his jeans.

'Does it bother you that alcohol doesn't affect you?' Natasha asked, tipping the neck of the bottle in Steve's direction.

'Not really. I don't think it's only about getting drunk when you drink alcohol. I like the taste and knowing the work that went into making it' Steve said honestly.

'I tend to agree with you, actually. You and Thor are the only people I can't out drink of all our team' and Steve laughed.

'If you give Tony Pina Coladas he gets very sweet and his barriers go and Clint can't deal with tequila' Steve said and Natasha smiled.

'I'll remember that, thank you'

'You're welcome. Just don't tell either I told you that'

'Scared of them?' Natasha baited easily and Steve considered it.

'Strength-wise? No. Regarding my sanity and my dignity? Very'

'That's fair' she smirked, and she took another gulp of her lager, examining the label. 'Brooklyn Beer' she mused.

'Do you like it?' Steve asked, swigging some of his own.

'It's sweet. I should introduce you Baltika 4. It's Russian but it's similar to this in after taste and colouring. You might like it' Natasha said simply. Natasha frowned, the tiny creasing around her eyes, and hardening of her jaw. The expression disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.

'I remember the first time I drunk any alcohol' Steve said, Natasha turning her body reflexively towards him. She slanted her head, silently asking him to continue. 'Bucky had got some beer – not this it's another brand – and he was talking about a girl he liked, Molly I think her name was. He offered me one of his beers and, well, you can imagine what happened. I took one gulp, and sprayed it all over him' Steve said shaking his head fondly at the memory. If he closed his eyes, he could picture Bucky's shocked face, wide brown eyes, sputtering and grinning at Steve in wonder. Natasha smiled, looking bemused.

'Tell me about Bucky. I saw his name in your file. What was he like?' she asked and anybody else would tell Steve she was using one of her interrogation techniques – Steve wasn't that gullible much to the incredulity of many. Natasha set her bottle down. Steve thought about it, and huffed a laugh at how he was about to describe James Buchanan Barnes.

'Him and Tony would get on swell. Bucky was loud, confident, and brave and smart. He loved the ladies and they loved him – when he wasn't going steady with one he was talking about another. He was kind and he stuck up for the little guy. Which at the beginning was me' and he caught Natasha's eye on the last part, before looking back down to the lager which was going warm in his hand and picking at the label. 'I remember when I found him, after going into the war- after the serum. I thought he was dead - there was no sign of him on the regs or reports. So, when I did, I told him exactly that and he said: 'I thought you smaller'. It wasn't funny at the time, but after we go out of the building, into the snow and I stood next to him… I was so used to looking up to him it was weird having him look up to me. Literally anyway' Steve muttered, swallowing on nothing. 'The Commandos wanted to follow Captain America. Bucky wanted to follow the little kid from Brooklyn that was too dumb enough to not back down from a fight' Steve sighed, glancing over to Natasha who had the barest hint of a smile.

'He sounds like a good man. And I agree with him'

'What do you mean?'

'You're my Captain, but I don't follow you just because you're the leader out there. I follow you because you're someone who believes. You see the good in people. And because it's helpful having a super soldier on the team' she added. During the battle with Loki, he and Natasha had controlled the streets as a team, she'd used him as catapult to the chitauri and judging by the look she was giving him she was thinking of the same thing. 'I knew a boy in Moscow. He was small, blond, blue eyed and always gave me a rose for each first Friday of the month' Natasha said.

'I don't mean to be rude or whatnot because it's lovely gesture, but why?' Steve asked and Natasha smirked, and shrugged.

'I still don't know'

'Maybe he was trying to tell you something' Steve proffered with a quick one sided grin. 'It's hard being small and kinda powerless in cases like that' Steve said, the room feeling incredibly stuffy. 'You're not going to be noticed unless you do something like that'.

'True. Is that how you felt? Powerless… so you got involved in fights?'

'That basically sums it up. Peggy said, after the serum, that I finally had a body to match my heart' and he took a drag from the lager, licking his lips.

'Intelligent woman'

'I still feel useless sometimes. Like the serum didn't anything and I'm 5'5 and getting beat up by an idiot with a bigger fist than his brain' Steve sneered, baring his teeth. Natasha leaned forward, her hand laying on his wrist, thumb stroking his skin lightly. 'Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to do that I-'

'Hey, it's me. I was doing the same thing earlier. I'm not going to judge you. Don't apologise' Natasha said calmly. Steve nodded twice.

'Thanks' and Steve looked at the clock on the wall. The pizza should be good to go.

'We should check on that pizza' Natasha lifted herself off the couch in a swift motion and Steve put his bottle down, going into the kitchen with her.

They were right, the pizza was done and so were the chili cheese fries. So together, they got the table ready and sat down opposite each other. Natasha had cut the pizza (which was quite large) into equal slices and they took their servings. The chili cheese fries were a hit with the assassin, Natasha claiming the bowl over to her side.

'Mine'

'Hey. Come on sharing is caring'

'Are you learning bartering from Clint?' Natasha rolled her eyes, putting the bowl back to its original position. 'I think you should cook for the team' Natasha said; to the adamant string of mozzarella rather than Steve.

'Oh no. That's not happening' he said quickly.

'Why not? You're – like the alpha of a wolf-pack you have to take care of us'

'Was that a Twilight reference?' he asked, reclining back in his chair. Natasha's expression deadpanned almost instantly.

'No. Who introduced you to Twilight?' she demanded, taking a bite of her pizza. Steve shrunk, sheepish.

'It was on Netflix'

'That's – well it's good you have Netflix, but what possessed you to pick that?' Natasha asked, looking genuinely confused.

'Clint and Tony kept making references to it and it was available' sand Natasha sighed, like it caused her physical pain.

'Of course it would be those two. Anti-Chick flick, my ass' Natasha grumbled. Steve smiled at her, trying to dim the need to twist it into a smirk as he said:

'Next you'll say you don't like 50 Shades of Grey' and Natasha's head snapped up, eyes narrowing faster than the speed of a bullet. She scrutinized him and he wasn't sure whether he was imagining it, but there was a faint flush on her cheeks.

'Tell me you're joking' she demanded. Steve kept his expression as clean as he could, until he just couldn't, smiling with his top teeth and Natasha groaned. Steve shrugged, popping a fry into his mouth. 'Captain America reads 50 Shades of Grey. There's a headline I'm sure many women would like to read' she said sardonically.

'I'm sure. But I am staying away from that book- or books' he amended. He knew type of thing the book was about and it made his squirm in his seat if he thought about it for too long. 'It's weird that that kind of thing – actually no, not that kind of thing' Steve's neck warmed. 'Was once just on blue movies and now it's everywhere' Steve was as non-plussed as he sounded.

'We're in a very 'all access' world. It's normal. Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame, and twitter and YouTube are allowing them that' Natasha said, finishing her slice of pizza in a mouthful of crust. Steve hummed.

'I miss how it was, back in 40s, but at the same time I don't. If I look hard enough, the streets are still the same and so are the people, it's all the other stuff that's changed' he said, vaguely aware he was preaching a little.

'That's exactly what it's like' Natasha agreed.

Another sweeping silence swept over the pair of them and Steve finished his lager in two more gulps. Natasha spoke up.

'You turned to me to make a decision about Clint after Loki's brainwashing. We were both compromised and you looked to me for my opinion even though you were the command' Steve froze, feeling extremely vulnerable and exposed with her concentration on him like that.

'I did' Steve said steadily.

'Why?'

Steve's logic halted and broke down and he couldn't form a reason.

'I trusted you' Steve said. 'If you trusted Clint then so did I'.

Natasha stared straight at him, blinking unhurriedly, grey irises sparked with a little green. She nodded once.

'Do you want to put the rest of this in the fridge?' Natasha asked, and Steve analysed the spread of left-over food. He agreed. They did just that. Natasha held out the bottle of Brooklyn Chocolate Ale, chucking a bottle for Steve to catch before taking one for herself. They tidied up a small amount, with Steve whistling an army squad song. He got distracted in searching for the dry sponge. Honestly, how he misplaced things in this apartment was beyond him - it was organised. Tony would wander into wherever Steve was in the tower and hand him a sketchbook Steve had left lying around without a word. He told Natasha to make herself comfortable. The spy could go through each and every item in his living space, find out things about him, and put it all back without a trace. But she wouldn't. He was certain of that. He discovered the dry sponge, finished up, and returned to his guest. She was on the couch, flicking through his Netflix account with the remote.

'Shall we watch a film?' Steve asked and Natasha hovered over a title. Meet Me in St Louis, a 1944 production. 'Is it good?' Steve sat beside her on the couch cushions.

'It's nice - family genre. It's a musical. You like Judy Garland?' a smirk faintly painting her face. Steve grinned.

'Yeah' and Natasha selected play.

In the year before the 1904 St Louis World's Fair, the four Smith daughters learn lessons of life and love, even as they prepare for a reluctant move to New York…

The film was good and Steve liked the tranquility. The sweetness of the acting and characters lulled Steve back to his time. The songs were kind of corny, even he could see that, but none of that mattered. The strings played softly, Esther singing a song about a boy she adored who lived across from her. The Boy Next Door.

The moment I saw him smile
I knew he was just my style
My only regret is we've never met
Though I dream of him all the while.

The smoothness of Garland's voice was indeed outstanding. Natasha sung the next verse words lowly, under her breath, whispering the words like she knew them by heart. Steve listened to her instead of Garland.

'And though I'm heart-sore, the boy next door, affection for me won't display. I just adore him, so I can't ignore him. The boy next door'

I just adore him
So I can't ignore him
The boy next door

The song wrapped up, Esther closing the white cotton curtain of the window. 'Your voice is really beautiful' he said, and then mentally slapped himself for his brain not engaging with his mouth. Bucky would be mocking him right about now. Natasha's gaze had been fixed on the screen, and she turned her head to look at him. She sensed his embarrassment and appeared to take pity on him.

'Thank you. My mother was a very good singer. I have her voice' and Natasha left it at that. She tucked her hair behind her ear. 'I told you that S.H.I.E.L.D was buzzing when you were found. Coulson especially fanboyed - not that I'll say that to his face – but no one seemed worried that you'd be on your own' Natasha said and Steve gulped past the lump in his throat, the film temporarily forgotten. 'I don't want to upset you, make sure you know that. I empathise. I know what it's like to wake up surrounded by people you don't know and might not want to, with no familiar surroundings, and expected just to deal with it' Natasha paused, breathing out, 'I asked you about Clint and the trust. Not a lot of people trust me for various reasons, a few you know from my file, but you do. My heritage still causes problems over here, and I've done things I'm not proud of and I wish I could undo them all' Steve waited patiently, the hub-bub of the film speaking conversations neither party was listening to. 'You are a good, honorary man, Steve Rogers. You're not alone' she did a subtle shift, returning her attention to the film. He slid his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers as if they had done this times before, Natasha leaning onto his arm. Steve got engrossed in the film once more, catching up on what they had briefly missed.

The film ended on light note. His head a little fuzzy with the words Natasha had said and a voice in the back of his mind – which sounded awfully like Bucky and Peggy in one – telling him: Of course you're not alone Steve. You weren't before and you aren't now. Back straight, soldier.

Their hands were still linked together. Steve bent his head slightly, about to ask Natasha, when she looked up. He brought his other hand to brush against her cheek, trailing the tips of his fingers along the soft skin under her hair, stopping at the nape of her neck. There was a chance he was about to be hit, and that he had read it wrong. Natasha glowed, a sigh escaping her lips. They drew close, his focus on her lips, and the fullness of her pout that was so feminine and so Natasha. He'd seen the kink of her smirk, the soft quirk of her smile and they were breathing one another's air, Natasha licked her lips and that gave Steve the courage to close the miniscule gap between them. Her lips were as supple as they seemed but cooler, and tasted sharper next to the chocolate flavour from the lager. He pressed closer, pulled away, very aware of the blush at his cheeks, and he didn't think words and stuttering would help at all. Natasha's eyes fluttered open then her lashes hooding. Something squeezed, and coiled in his gut when the edges of her nails scratched against the top of his denim clad thigh lazily. Steve twirled a lock of her hair around his index finger, smiling shyly as Natasha raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. The hand on his thigh lifted, Steve missing the touch, only for the palm to be placed on his chest. Her fingers twitched on the fabric of his t-shirt. Steve understood why, and let go (a little reluctantly) of Natasha's hair, reaching inside his shirt, to reveal his Howling Commandos dog-tags. He wore them almost continually now, they fit snug under the duralium armour when he was called on missions. She held them, the silver metal stark aside her pale pink palm. She read the inscription, not saying a word. The pants of Steve's breath echoed around the room. Balling her hand into a fist she tugged on the chain to haul him forward, catching him in a harder kiss. He brought a hand up to cradle her jaw, Natasha made a soft noise, re-aligning on the couch and hooking her right knee over his left. He licked across the seam of her lips asking for entrance, half expecting her to refuse. Her mouth dropped open, the kiss deepening with intent, Steve nipping her bottom lip experimentally. He hadn't had a far-reaching range of experience nonetheless he wasn't dim. Natasha arched towards him, a moan muting at her lips. She broke away the warmth dissipating, and Steve blinked, finding her standing in the v of his legs by his knees. Pulling on his hand, Steve warily got to his feet, little to no space between Natasha's body and his own, her eyes pupils eclipsing black, shining grey-green around the rim, and a sanguine smile. She swivelled on her heel so her back was to him, and Steve's feet walked on their own accord, following her. She knew which way lead to the bedroom. As they crossed the threshold, Steve shut the door, his hands spanning her stomach, pinning her against the door.

'Good morning' Steve said quietly after hearing a soft snuffling sound that was barely audible.

Turning his head, he almost buried his mouth in the dark hair spread out against the crisp white of his bed sheets. Natasha was on her front, her face not visible, one cool palm curled around his bicep, the other around his wrist, sheets pooling at her lower back. Her breath was warm against his shoulder, and Steve felt her eyes open. Raising her head, she rested her chin on his arm and grey eyes met blue.

'Good morning, Steve'

Reviews are like love and I honestly adore these two, so let me know if the characters are OOC or whatever.