Hello everybody!
I'm back with another Romanogers one-shot because I just love these two so much and all the trailers that have been released for Age of Ultron have me inspired. (And, of course, there was another trailer today, with lots of these two, so who knows, I may post something else before the movie is out :))
I don't own Avengers.
Enjoy!
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They were in South Africa, which was a little weird since yesterday they'd been on Clint's farm. Apparently Ultron had wanted a change of climate. After spending the day getting a taste of what fighting his robot minions felt like, they were all battered and bruised and exhausted. Tony had bought off the owner of an apartment building, and they had set up base in the penthouse, that was fully furnished and stocked with anything they might need. No doubt the killer A.I. that had taken up residence in the city was a bit of a turn-off for whoever had been ready to move in. Natasha didn't blame them. She and the other Avengers were to go up against Ultron tomorrow, and there was a chance they might not all make it, much less something as destructible as the building they were in.
The others had gone to try and get some sleep hours ago, splitting up between the different bedrooms, but Natasha couldn't seem to do the same. She was restless. Each time she laid her head down to try and get at least a little shut-eye, nightmarish images of her past and present collided together, ballet shoes and blood mixing with the flash of metal of evil robots as their claws threatened to tear her apart. And that was while she was conscious. She knew it would only get so much worse if she actually fell asleep.
With a sigh, Natasha crawled out of bed and padded into the open space in the main part of the penthouse that held the kitchen and a lounge area, much like the commons floor of the Avengers Tower. She skipped over the leftover pizza and searched for something a little stronger instead. It took a few cupboards, but finally she found the cabinet that was stocked with liquor. With a small smile, she pulled out a bottle of vodka.
About to head back to her room, she froze when she spotted Steve. He was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch in the lounge area, looking about as tired as she felt. She was surprised she didn't spot him before, because he'd clearly been there a while. It was especially strange since she'd been on high alert—even if it didn't feel like it—ever since Ultron became a threat. So, clearly Steve was getting better at sneaking around. Or she was letting her guard down around him. Either way, it didn't seem like a bad thing.
Wordlessly, she padded over to him, slumping down next to him with a sigh. She opened up the vodka, took a few swigs, and then offered him the bottle. He took it silently, rolling the bottle between his hands, before taking a few long drags of his own.
"I can't get drunk, you know," Steve commented finally.
"Yeah," she mused. "Kinda sucks for you, since we're probably all gonna die tomorrow. I mean, if there was a time to get drunk, now would be it."
"And go into battle with a hangover?" he quipped back automatically.
Natasha laughed a little at that. "Guess you got a point there." She grabbed the bottle out of his hand and swallowed some more down. "Takes a little more than a few shots of vodka to get me drunk, though. And it's not even Russian vodka."
Steve scoffed in agreement, but he didn't smile. Natasha felt a twinge of worry deep in her gut. He was a little bruised and a little scraped up from the fighting earlier that day, but thanks to the serum, his injuries were healing quickly, so she knew that wasn't what was bothering him. No, whatever was weighing him down was mental. She assumed it was the fact that the world once again needed saving and he was called upon to do it, even though he'd given his life, sacrificed so much to do it so many times before. It wasn't fair.
Natasha capped the vodka and put it aside, folding her hands in her lap. "If you could anything, you know, last night on earth and all that shit," she started, half-joking, half serious. "What would you do?"
Steve—finally—looked at her then, gaze boring into hers. She tried to read his features, but there was nothing. "Honestly?"
She smirked at him. "I thought you were always honest?"
He cracked a smile at that, and, god, Natasha is so happy to see that smile. She was supposed to be the pessimistic one. He's the one who always manages to find some kind of hope, no matter the situation they're in, and that just doesn't feel true if he's not smiling.
Steve glanced down for a moment, fidgeting. "If I could do anything," he started slowly, before looking up at her again, searching her face as if trying to find some kind of courage. "If I could do anything…I would just want to spend every minute with you."
Natasha's jaw dropped at that. It took her a good minute to fully process his words, and even then she had to repeat them in her head a few times to comprehend them. She wasn't easily surprised, but Steve always managed to do a fucking fantastic job of it. "Steve," she warned, her voice small.
"I'm serious," he insisted quietly, his unusually hard features softening, and she could damn near see his heart reappearing on his sleeve. He'd gotten better at concealing his true feelings, better at keeping a straight face and not betraying himself in the moment, but in the end, he was too compassionate, too empathetic of a person to truly hide all of his feelings away. "I don't have a whole lot left in this world. You are one of the few things I have and…and you mean a lot to me. And since you're here, and we're probably going to die tomorrow like you said…yes. I want to spend every second I have left with you, Natasha."
Natasha didn't know what to say. She couldn't be rendered speechless easily either, but this was Steve, and, frustrated that she seemed to have apparently lost all ability to speak, she did something that was probably incredibly stupid. But, hey, end of the world, right? She figured they were probably going to die, so what the hell?
Natasha leaned forward and slanted her mouth over his without hesitation. Because if she was being honest, she didn't want to second guess herself. Not with this. Not with Steve.
He did hesitate, though, and Natasha nearly pulled back, suddenly—oddly—self-conscious. It only lasted a second though, and then his hands were on her waist, and he pulled her smoothly onto his lap, legs straddling his. Damn, she thought, when did he get so good at this? And as she thought about it more, his kissing had much improved since their lip-lock on that escalator over a year ago now.
And god, then she couldn't even think coherently, about escalators or his enhanced make-out skills, because she was breathing hard against his mouth and he tasted like vodka and mint toothpaste and his hands were on her waist like he was never going to let go and—
"'Bout fucking time," someone muttered.
Natasha jerked back from Steve's mouth, and even though he seemed just as surprised as she was, he kept his hold on her. Natasha looked up to see Clint as he shuffled into the kitchen, hair sticking up every which way, like he'd just woken up. Figures, Natasha thought. If anyone could sleep when the world was about to end, it'd be Clint. Her best friend barely glanced at her and Steve, though, as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and a slice of leftover pizza, and then made his way back towards the room he was sharing with Thor and Steve.
"Don't forget to use a condom," Clint called over his shoulder, and then a moment later his door shut and he was gone.
Natasha looked back at Steve who was giving her a big smile. She ran her hands up his arms, across his shoulders, before winding around his neck, fingers teasing through the hair at the nape of his neck. He watched her, his own hands settled on her waist, idly stroking the skin that had been exposed when her tank top had ridden up.
"So," she whispered, their faces an inch apart. "Seems to me like you've had a bit more practice since we last kissed. What do you say you come to my room tonight and you can show me just how much practice you've had?"
Steve just grinned at her, before he leaned in and kissed her again. She ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed her, tugging lightly, eliciting a small groan from him. His hands traveled up and down her sides, slipping under her tank-top, fingertips stroking her skin like brush strokes. Only when Natasha felt like she would combust at his touch did he lift her up and carry her to the bedroom.
He got a little flustered once their clothes came off, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks burning pink, before she soothed away any of his worries. And though his movements were a little clumsy at first, Steve was a quick learner. It didn't take long before their bodies moved just as in sync in bed as they did out in the field. They were a team, and Natasha had never felt so at one with a person before. Maybe it was cliché to say that she didn't know where she ended and Steve began, but that was the only way she could describe the moment. They were so in tune with one another, and she was pretty sure that her heart pounded against her ribcage in time with his.
It was passionate and desperate—the kind of sex two people have when the world was on the brink of destruction—but it didn't feel like sex. It felt like making love. The way he touched her, careful around her injuries, the deliberate placement of his kisses, mouth lingering on her scars to show that they were just as loved as the rest of her. The way he damn near worshipped her, it was beautiful and made her heart ache in a way that only Steve could make it.
When they both reached their peak, Natasha's world shattered and came back together at the same time. As she clutched his broad shoulders Steve whispered to her how beautiful she was, breath soft against the shell of her ear. As she sunk, boneless, further into the mattress, Steve kissing her salty skin, Natasha knew that no one would ever compare to him.
Breathless, Steve still hovered over her, blue eyes meeting her own. His skin was flushed and there was a thin sheen of sweat over his body. God, he was beautiful. Natasha ran her hands gently up his chest, over his arms, soothing the skin that she had dug her short nails into moments before. Finally her hands landed on either side of his face, pulling him down the short distance till their foreheads touched.
"I need you to promise me something," she whispered, still trying to catch her breath, and even as she said it, she felt her eyes burn, because it was just so damn unfair. Someone as beautiful and bright and full of life as he was didn't deserve this.
"Anything," Steve responded just as softly.
"Tomorrow," she started, trying to keep her voice from breaking. It was stupid, she knew, to let her emotions bubble to the surface so easily. But she also knew that she had been starting to let her guard down around him. It only made sense, since he saw past all her masks anyway. He saw her. He saw her. "Tomorrow, if things are looking bad…I need you not to be the hero. I need—I need you to save yourself, okay? Everyone else be damned, I need you to be safe."
Steve's brow had furrowed somewhere in the middle of her speech, and he pulled back just enough to get a better look at her face. Natasha ran her thumbs over his cheekbones, swallowing hard. She knew there were tears brimming in her eyes, and she knew he could see that, but she didn't care.
"Natasha," he murmured, voice sounding as broken as she felt. "I…you know I can't do that."
Natasha gave a little nod because yes, of course she knew that. She knew she had just asked him the impossible. She knew he would never agree to it. It went against every fiber of his being to be selfish, to put himself first, to put innocent people at risk. But she had to ask anyway because she was selfish. She was selfish for wanting to risk the world if it meant he was safe. She was selfless, too, because she knew he couldn't do that and she was going to let him go out into battle tomorrow anyway. And though it was all of them, the Avengers, as a team, going out there tomorrow, she knew Steve. And she knew he would carry the whole world on his shoulders, even if it killed him, just to make sure they were all safe.
"Yes, I know," she told him, her voice barely audible. "Just for tonight, then. Please promise me."
"Nat," he whispered, reaching a hand up and brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his touch incredibly soft.
"Please promise me," she repeated, voice trembling. "Just for tonight promise me you won't be the hero."
Steve looked at her a moment longer before leaning in and pressing his lips gently to hers. "I promise," he whispered against her mouth. He kissed her again, and she was suddenly very grateful for super soldier stamina. She had been falling apart, and now he stitched her back up with his touch, his lips morphine for the pain in her heart. And there, in the dark, with nothing but the sound of their breath and the strong beats of their hearts, they brought each other up and over the edge once again.
-:-
Natasha woke to early morning light filtering in through the blinds on the window. It took only seconds for her to blink the sleep out of her eyes and to be fully alert. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand she saw it was just past six in the morning. But even being early, she could hear noises in other parts of the penthouse. The other Avengers were waking and getting ready for the fight of their lives'.
Natasha didn't want to get up yet, though. She was incredibly warm, curled up against Steve's body, her back against his solid chest. That selfish part of her wished they could just stay like this forever. And after a moment of imagining what it would be like, to stay here with him if the world weren't ending, she exhaled softly, releasing all her fantasies with that breath. She was about to wake Steve when she felt his lips press against her shoulder. Damn, she nearly laughed. That wasn't helping with her motivation to get out of bed.
"Morning," she whispered, and she felt him grin against her skin as he moved his lips towards her neck.
"Good morning," he responded quietly, breath tickling the back of her neck.
She let herself relax into his embrace for a few moments longer. He continued to pepper kisses across her body as his fingers traced patterns over her bare skin, like an artist working with a blank canvas.
"You know we have to get out of this bed at some point, right?" she asked.
"Mm," he hummed against her back, pulling her closer to him. "I don't hear any explosions, so I think we're good for another five minutes."
Natasha laughed before twisting around in his grip so she was facing him. He smiled at her, the early morning light doing wonders for his smooth skin and blonde hair. She suddenly had doubts about who was the real god on their team, because Steve damn near put Thor to shame. He ran his fingers up and down her spine and though it felt so good, she could feel the mood sobering quickly, the weight of what was ahead bearing down on them.
Steve, sensing this, pulled her gently to him. He pressed his lips to her forehead and it burned right down into her soul, and she found her strength returning. Steve wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face against his chest, closing her eyes and just breathing him in for the few minutes they had left.
"We're going to get through this," he said softly, determinedly.
Natasha took a deep breath, steeling herself, readying herself. She'd gotten the chance to be just Natasha last night, and if they were going to beat Ultron, she was going to have to be the Black Widow. But being the Black Widow didn't feel like pulling on a mask anymore. She was the Black Widow. Her, Natasha Romanoff, and the spider, were one. Steve had helped her realize that. And right now, in this moment, she was so sure of herself, of him. Of them.
"I know," she told him, renewed strength in her voice.
They were Avengers. They'd saved the world before, they could do it again.
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Thanks for reading!
-DaughterOfPoseidon333