I was just cruising through my fanfics when I realised my Captasha fics are the most popular. So, there's the Christmas fic that I wrote with DreamEscape1675 last year. This is loooong overdue. Thanks so much for your support and patience! I'm really happy about the way Partner Problems and Graveyard Goodbyes turned out. Your reviews on my other oneshots are much appreciated too! :)
This is a four-shot, if I remember correctly. Enjoy!
It was an early December morning when Steve awoke to the intrusion of knocking on his apartment door. At first, he stayed perfectly still, ignoring the echoes of knuckles hitting the wood, but then his crystal blue eyes shifted to the hallway, and a sigh escaped his lips as remnants of warmth from a blankets tangled over his sculpted abdomen radiated lingering heat before he reluctantly yanked them off his massive frame. Rising from the bed and supporting himself with his arms, he pushed up from the clusters of sheets piled on his body as they fell, swathing over his legs.
Dolefully, Steve looked down at his body, his hardened muscles gleamed in the caress of gray morning light, and a pair of black jogging pants were fitted at his slender hips. He was a target for any woman in New York, the American Golden boy and handsome super soldier.
His eyes fully open, the sleepy haze dissolved as his long lashes parted once more to reveal the ice blue embers settled underneath, shining against the shadows. Groaning under his breath, Steve sluggishly moved to the hallway, his golden spiked hair ruffled and messy. In quick strides, he managed to climb over his royal blue stealth armor, heaped in a corner, and then within seconds he turned the knob. The door opened silently to reveal a blur of fiery scarlet locks and full rosy lips. It was quite obvious who was standing in the doorway, a lithe and toned figure, lethal and alluring. "Morning Nat," he welcomed, his voice hoarse and ragged with sleep.
"Morning, Rogers," Natasha said, pushing her way through the door, her green eyes focused on his thick, bare chest. "Interesting, you're usually more covered when I pay you a visit." A smirk played over her lips, and Steve shifted his uncomfortably. "I take it you slept in?"
Steve's blue eyes darkened, "It's snowing heavy outside. I can't run during a snow storm." He paused, and yawned slightly. "What brings you here so early, Nat?" he questioned, suspicious of her motives and curious about her sudden appearance.
"It's snowing outside, Steve," she answered, turning her sharp gaze to the window, where huge flakes were descending and blanketing the city with whiteness. "I don't know about you, but I think it's a perfect December morning to have a bit of fun," she enticed, pulling herself closer to him, allowing him to rove his eyes over her winter gear. A black jacket, with a furred hood protecting her long curtains of red. Her jutting curves covered with black jeans, scuffed up at the knees paired with heeled boots, leather and armed with a set of knives tucked inside. Her pale face was beautiful and dusted with a rosy tint from the cold.
"Fun?" Steve nearly choked out, averting his eyes away. She coyly cocked an eyebrow, making him run his fingers through his uncombed hair. "You call walking out in a blizzard fun?"
She smiled. "Stop acting like an old man, Rogers. We're not walking down the streets. I'm going to show you how to be a kid again..."
He winced, clenching his jaw. "I'd rather stay inside where it's warm than get hypothermia," he stated wryly. "I've been asleep in ice for seventy years, cold just doesn't mix well with me, Nat."
Natasha shook her head with a smile, refusing his words. "Get dressed. You're coming outside with me." She placed her hand on his broad shoulder in comfort. He was being very guarded. Unconsciously, she pursed her lips tightly and then listened to the pop of separation. "And you're going to like it, Rogers."
He gave her a dumbfounded look, listening to his heart shudder in his ears. She was close to him, dangerously close. He took an involuntary step backwards when he inhaled the scent of strawberry. "Natasha-" he felt his tongue curl against the roof of his mouth. His blue eyes flicked down to the floor, staring at small puddles of slush form underneath her boots. Running his hand through his shortened dirty-gold locks, he sighed. "Fine. I'll go. If you want to fix yourself some coffee, I just bought a full can yesterday- fine ground, nothing fancy."
"Of course, leave it to the ol' man to keep things simple." Natasha rebuffed, clicking her heels against the hardwood.
What have I gotten myself into, Steve thought, smiling to himself.