AN I don't own Marvel or any of its characters. Lots of platonic pairings but eventual WinterWidow!
Natasha cared for her boys. They started as dancers but, if they did well, they were generally offered something more. It wasn't a cult, really, or even a group of friends it was more like a family and she chose them very, very carefully. Because once the door to the club locked, or once they were upstairs in their living space above the club, the dynamic shifted.
She was in charge, and they all knew it. Each of them needed that release, that submission, for different reasons but they all found it in her. Their relationships weren't romantic, though someone who didn't understand their dynamics could easily see it that way, but she didn't go out of her way to make it clear to anyone that they weren't her boyfriends. Never needed to.
Until Steve came up to the bar toting a slightly shorter, muscular man behind him. Long, dark hair and frosted grey eyes and nothing but tethered down rage in his face.
"This is Bucky. We grew up together Nat." Her eyes flashed in warning and even with a club full of people he dropped his eyes and bared his neck to her. A submissive apology.
"I'm just asking you to give him a chance, Natasha. He's been outside on the corner for days and I'm sure he-"
"I don't just take in strays." The man's eyes flared hot with anger and humiliation but Steve stepped between them. He was pleading with her now.
"I know, but he isn't just some stray. We grew up together! He was my best friend, he was the one who took me in when my mom died." As much as she didn't like surprises or the idea of her boys springing new recruits on her, she merely studied the man. He looked like a coil, just waiting for a reason to lash out. But Steve's damn puppy dog baby blues made her hesitate and she finally gave a curt little nod.
"We'll discuss it after closing." His face lit up and he grabbed for the man's arm excitedly but the stranger flinched away before he could. "Steven, it's been years. You might not know him as well as you think you do." She glanced pointedly at where his hand was still hovering, reaching halfheartedly for Bucky's arm, and Steve looked too. He realized, and let it fall back to his side.
"Sorry, Buck." Bucky didn't say a word, to the apology or the nickname, but Steve just sighed. "I'd better get backstage or Clint will take my tips again. Be back in a bit." She watched the blonde head of hair work through the crowd and disappear behind the employees door near the staircase in the back. The dark haired man was still just standing there. He was so tense and he looked so unbelievably uncomfortable that she had difficulty picturing him working anywhere in the club. But Steve had practically begged her just to consider him so she obliged.
"Take a seat." He moved closer to the bar and leaned on it but refused to sit, standing instead between two barstools. Interesting. Normally the refusal to follow even basic instructions like sit down would have irked her to no end but with this one, it merely amused her. She just smiled at him.
"Can I offer you a drink?" He shook his head and placed his hands on the bar but she noticed the metal arm immediately. There was silence as she poured two refills further down the bar. But, when she did leisurely make his way back down the cherry oak towards him. She raised her eyebrow at him.
"Iraq." She nodded and poured him a shot of whiskey even though he hadn't ask for it.
"What's your name?" He frowned at her.
"Steve told you my name." She nodded, careful to be nothing but intention with her body language as she felt his eyes scrutinizing her.
"Yes, he did. But that's not what I asked." He took the shot, stalling. She watched, enthralled, as the alcohol burned in his throat and he swallowed with a small grimace. Even if she'd just met him, she couldn't help fixating on it. Her boys were well trained and they exposed their necks to her whenever necessary or whenever asked-there was something so primal about watching their jugular pulse and their Adam's apple bob with nerves as they chose to make themselves vulnerable to her. This man, however, barely knew her and the moment he noticed her eyes on his throat he corrected his position. His jaw jutted out and tightened as he glared at her, challenging her authority, but she made herself stop and take a breath, reminding herself that he wasn't hers to discipline. Not yet.
He was watching her, observing and calculating every little movement she mad in this silent conversation. He still hadn't said his name, but she was content to wait. It was fun to observe him, after all, even as she noted the ribs beneath his shirt and the way he favored his right leg as if he'd been in a fight recently. She could tell just from watching him that he was very, very used to taking care of himself and being on his own. Shame, she thought. The dominant in her ached to reach out and cup his face in her hands and watch him fall apart over and over again until she could steady him. But he wouldn't trust easily, she could see that, even if it meant security and a steady income.
"James." She smiled when he gave her the answer, deliberately signaling that she was pleased with his obedience. But she expected him to relax, his clear military background having ingrained the desire to please his superiors so deep in his mind that it was practically instinct. He tensed, though, and shuddered just slightly beneath his baggy clothes. Interesting… why would he be upset that she was pleased with him?
"Nice to meet you James, I'm Natasha." He nodded in acknowledgment and swirled a finger around the rim of his glass as she tended to other patrons. She chatted with the regulars, let Tom interrogate her about 'that pretty blonde' of hers, and generally went back to work as if he wasn't there. But she watched him, constantly. And it was very clear that he was aware of her eyes on his skin, even if he didn't ever meet them.
The longer the night went on, the hotter the club got. It wasn't entirely intentional but it helped and it made Clint in particular complain less about his slutty outfits being too cold so she generally didn't do much about it. While she was prepared in a fashionable tank top, however, she noted Bucky's leather jacket. He was clearly uncomfortable in it but refused to take it off. She had to wonder why and, for a second, she let her mind wander through possibilities. Maybe he was self conscious about the prosthetic? He didn't wear a glove, though, and made no effort to conceal it under the bar away from the lights so she doubted that. Bruises, maybe? From some kind of fight he didn't want to discuss?
"You and Steve, huh?" She was surprised, honestly, to hear him speak because he'd been practically silent the entire night but she returned to his end of the bar. She filled his glass as a reward, watching to see if it had the same reaction as before, and sure enough he flinched a bit when he realized that he'd done something the way she'd wanted him to. That issue would have to be looked into, for sure. But he was talking so, for now, she was content to focus on that.
"No, we aren't romantically involved. I maintain a rather close relationship with most of my staff but never romantic. Why, you jealous?" His eyes flicked up at her but, rather than anger, there was a faint hint of amusement. Well this one was just full of surprises.
"Of who? You or Stevie?" The nickname did not go unnoticed but she merely raised an eyebrow and he avoided the question by taking the shot. "How many are there?" Maybe the alcohol made him more talkative… She tucked away that thought for future use and refilled his glass. Clint was on stage, ever the drama queen, and the crowd was loving him per usual but it gave her a bit of a break in bartending so she leaned in to actually talk to him. He flinched away, not even seeming to realize he'd done it.
"Dancers? Quite a few, though I'm not close with all of them. There's other positions, too, like tech and managing the books which are more exclusive. Why do you ask?" He shrugged, letting his eyes finally drift away from her and towards Clint. The man was a stage brat and he loved it, clearly enjoying himself, but Bucky seemed transfixed for other reasons that she didn't quite understand. He startled, and turned back to her.
"How many are you close with?" She smiled easily, ignoring the way his guard went up at the sight, and fussed with drinks for a moment before answering.
"If all goes well, James, you'll be meeting them soon enough." He didn't say a word about the name, but she noticed that he didn't tense the way he did when Steve called him Bucky. She would introduce him to the others as whatever he wanted, but she decided then and there that she would call him James. The same way she had a little petname for each of her boys that only she used. His would be James.
If he was let in, that was.
She was getting ahead of herself and she shook her head, moving back down the bar to subject herself to Tom's endless questioning again just as a distraction. Why was she already talking like he was a part of their little group? He'd barely been there two hours. Having history with Steve didn't mean much to her, even if she could respect him for the stories she'd heard about him taking care of the blonde in his younger years. There was something about him, though, that just seemed smooth. Not in a player way, or a conman way, though. Smooth as though he just fit, like a puzzle piece, into her life and the club and their little family. Interesting indeed.
"Heya Tash, can I get a martini? Shaken, not stirred." She rolled her eyes and turned to where Clint was now sitting at the bar, two stools away from Bucky, and eating a handful of peanuts from the little bowl he'd specifically picked out. Always so casual, she flashed him a warning look but he just laughed. She made the drink, though, and gave it to him because she knew him well enough, now, not to see his casualness as disrespect. Just because he was informal, didn't mean he doubted her authority. From any of the others it would have been out of line but he just gave her a cheeky little smile and sipped the drink, humming.
"Perfect! Thanks love." He didn't even like martinis, he just liked James Bond.
"Clint, watch yourself. She's already testy tonight." Her glare turned on Tony, who took the seat beside Clint and put himself that much closer to Bucky without even realizing. The disapproval in her gaze made Tony's head drop and he subtly exposed his neck, whining a bit in his throat. She pursed her lips but served him his typical drink-strawberry mojito. He relaxed. Clint, however, chose to ignore that entire exchange and instead downed his martini and turned a loopy grin on her.
"Testy tonight, love? Why oh why would that be the case? Do I need to maim someone?" She tsked at Tony for saying anything, who flushed guiltily, but with Bucky watching she wasn't going to get too deep into the dynamic with either of them. She refilled both drinks and leaned on the bar.
"No, not testy. Steve's been testing my patience, a bit, but you both know I'm not that easily irritated. Would you like to meet the new recruit he's been pitching to me?" Both lit up at the suggestion and she gestured to Bucky. Immediately, there was a dancer on either side of him leaning in close and he looked so terrified that she almost felt bad for him. She glared, enough for them to back off, and settled for mild discomfort.
"What's his name?" She handed a dish rag to Clint as if he was actually going to help clean now that there was something interesting happening. His eyes didn't leave Bucky's face.
"Ask him yourself, Clinton." Tony beat him to it. Even as she moved down the bar and tended to customers, she paid careful attention and listened for what name he gave them. Bucky. She had a smile a bit because she was secretly pleased she could call him James now. If, she reminded herself, if he was in. If.
The clock hit two am just as Steve appeared from backstage, dragging Bruce behind him excitedly. Before they could completely overwhelm Bucky, however, she pointed towards the staircase.
"Upstairs, boys. All of you." A pointed look at Steve sent him climbing too and she waited until they'd all disappeared into the living space before cleaning the last few things. As the last drunk patrons left, she locked the door and flicked off the main lights.
"So, James, Steve speaks very highly of you. I'm willing to consider bringing you on with our team. In the meantime, I'm going to have Peter show you to your room and breakfast is at ten thirty."
"My what?" She smiled, both at the disbelief in his voice and the distrust in his face. She had to be very careful, very intentional, with her every movement now because he was watching for the slightest hint this was a trap. Slowly, she moved around to the other side of the bar and hopped up onto it. Now at eye level with him, she lifted a hand. He flinched violently away before she even moved but she just waited, holding her position, until he realized she wasn't going to hit him.
"It's okay," He clenched his jaw in a way that said it was clearly anything but. "I won't touch you unless you want me to. I was pointing to the stairs." He didn't look where she pointed but a bit of the panic melted from his face. She stared into those cold grey eyes, intrigued. Even just from watching him she could tell someone had hurt him-badly-and as much as she wanted to reach out and comfort and protect in all the ways she knew how, she held still. There was something else, deeper in those eyes. Beneath the fear and the bitterness and the distrust and the anger. Hope.
"The staff that I am close with lives with me in the two floors above the club. You are welcome to a room and you will be fed and provided for during this… we'll call it a trial period." He hesitated, clearly unsure of her motives. "Unless you prefer the sidewalk on the corner?" That made his decision. Quickly, he shook his head and, though he looked slightly ashamed, he mumbled a small thank you. With that settled, she led him upstairs.
The main living room, the entire group was gathered in their typical spots and they appeared to be very deep in conversation, no doubt about the new recruit. Possible new recruit. They jumped when she walked in, though, and immediately all eyes went to the floor. She felt their desire to stare at the newcomer and inspect him but they knew the routine and the rules so they all waited. Bucky hesitated, one foot still out the door, but watched. It was a test, she could tell. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on but she knew he would observe how she acted towards the others and base his decision to stay on that. Survival instincts, however sad.
"Hello, boys." One by one she greeted them, gripping the back of their necks until they sank into her and then kissing their foreheads. She saved Steve for last, intentionally combing a hand through his hair. Even if he was stubborn and insistent about Bucky, she could still tell he was genuinely afraid he'd upset her and she did her best to reassure him he hadn't.
"Boys, this is Bucky. He's going to be staying with us for the foreseeable future. Play nice, you know the rules. Sweetheart, would you show Bucky to his room? The spare bedroom across from Steve's will work." Peter jumped up, his hands still stained with ink from whatever class he'd had earlier that day, and offered an anxious smile to them both. Bucky didn't return it, obviously confused why a literal child was in the apartment, but she stepped in. She held the back of Peter's neck and he relaxed, breathing a little easier, and cheerfully instructed Bucky to follow him down the hall towards the bedrooms. Even if he was only seventeen, the kid was more than intelligent. He knew to be afraid of Bucky, but he also knew to trust Natasha's instincts and know that she would never put them in danger-least of all him. Once they disappeared, all eyes fell on her.
"So…? What do you think?" Steve sounded hopeful but also scared and she sighed. She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, before taking a seat on the couch among them. Immediately, they were all tangled around and on her.
"Well, I think he has a potential of fitting in here. I know you haven't spoken to him since he enlisted, Steve, but somewhere along the lines someone hurt him. Badly. There's a lot of damage there and a lot of walls he's put up. He won't trust easy, not even me, but you were right to bring him here." Steve swelled at the praise and buried his face in her shoulder but she just smiled fondly at him. He was always the most sensitive to any negative signals. She knew it'd been hard for him to bring Bucky in, even if he'd been so convicted in his belief it was right, because she knew how anxious he got when she was upset. But she wasn't upset, and she tried to show him that.
"You think you can help him?" She smiled. The now overly confident stage star Clint was curled on the couch with his head in her lap, eyes wide and imploringly innocent. She ran her fingers through his hair and shrugged.
"I'll do what I can. I hope it's not too late," Steve winced. "And I don't think that it is but he might also decide this isn't right for him. And that's fine too. In the meantime, though, everyone is on their best behavior. Just because he is not my submissive doesn't mean that any of you get to suddenly act out-consequences are the same as always."
"She means you." Clint elbowed Tony in the ribs enough to make him yelp but she glared at them both and they stopped. Two necks exposed themselves to her. She could have reached out and grabbed either-or both-and gripped hard enough to choke or even hit them but she didn't. She made it a point to never be aggressive or violent unless they gave her no other choice. Unless they knew that was the consequence of their actions and did it anyways, or unless they requested the treatment for whatever reason. Both men relaxed back into their original positions.
"Just for that, both of you get to clean up downstairs." They groaned but she raised an eyebrow and they went silent. "I expected the floors to be spotless and that means bathrooms too. And there better not be any alcohol missing. Understood?" Both nodded and stood, leaning down for a kiss on the forehead before trodding miserably downstairs to clean up the club. Normally, they all stayed and helped to varying degrees unless someone had earned the privilege of doing it themselves but today there were extenuating circumstances. Peter returned from down the hall and took his armchair, pulling out his laptop.
"Heading to bed, Miss Natasha?" She smiled, untangling herself from the pile long enough to place a hand on the kid's shoulder.
"Soon, yes. How's calculus going? Not staying up too late, are we?" He groaned but it was lighthearted and she just chuckled.
"It's a Saturday night, Miss Natasha!" She laughed and handed him the pencil he'd dropped earlier, kissing his forehead just enough to make him relax. Peter was never as physical with her as the others-not that she minded, he was a kid after all-but he appreciated a little, maternal gestures when he was anxious, which was often. He gave her a smile and waved goodnight. She grabbed a muffin from the kitchen, thanking Bruce for making them, before she went off to her bedroom with her little ducklings in toe. They all had their own rooms and they were more than welcome to use them, but most preferred to sleep with her. Never sexual, just for comfort. She knew first hand which ones got nightmares and how to soothe them so she never minded. Besides, they were all close enough that it worked out. Together, surrounded by bodies in her severely oversized bed, she fell asleep.
Thanks for reading! I hope to update soon.. Please please review!