Title: Wear My Name On Your Heart
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,900
Characters: Steve/Natasha
Prompt: post (link on AO3 version) + gif (see on AO3 version)
Summary: It was a little surprising to find Steve that was also awake, sketching at the kitchen island by himself, but she knows comes up here whenever he has trouble sleeping, so that was probably it.
Wear My Name On Your Heart
If Steve was the type to pass blame, then technically this is her fault.
Well, all she wanted was chicken nuggets and she didn't care if it was 11:00 at night, and neither did Steve, apparently.
She and Pepper spent the entire day in and out of meetings, which wasn't that bad at first, but then three or four hours with time to spare turned to eight with no breaks at all as it got later. A few people rescheduled and could only meet today before they left the country for a few weeks, and they couldn't wait that long, so it couldn't be helped.
And it wasn't that late when they got back, but she knew Maria would be asleep already because she had a ridiculously early flight to catch, and she's a really light sleeper, so Natasha didn't want to go up to their floor and risk waking her. She figured she'd just stay on the communal floor and eat something, stay awake by watching something on TV or crashing on the couch until Maria and Sam left for the airport. It was a little surprising to find Steve that was also awake, sketching at the kitchen island by himself, but she knows comes up here whenever he has trouble sleeping, so that was probably it. He'd smiled when she walked in, but she could tell he was a little concerned, too, like he was worried why she was also up this late.
"Just got back with Pepper," she'd explained. "I haven't eaten since noon and I'm starving."
"Want me to make you something?" He set down his sketch pad and pencil and turned his stool to face where she was leaning against the counter, head tilted at him. "I could go for some food right now, too. What're you craving?"
"Chicken nuggets," she admitted with a laugh, making him grin. "We passed by that 24-hour one a few blocks down on the drive home."
"Well, that's not that far of a walk and it's been nice all night." He shrugged a little, a glint in his eyes. "You'll probably have to change your shoes, though."
She just laughed again, and that's how they end up at McDonalds, sitting in a booth in the corner with her feet propped up on his bench, only a few stray fries and empty chicken nugget boxes left on their tray after they've finished eating. And no, she hadn't changed out of her heels, but she was sitting all day so it's not like her feet were hurting yet.
"Does this place serve milkshakes?" she asks, swiping a fry through ketchup. "Or, better yet, are they any good?"
"You're still hungry?"
"Thirsty," she corrects. He grins, shaking his head, and she raises her eyebrows. "What? Does my big appetite make me less attractive?"
"I'm pretty sure there's nothing about you that could make you any less attractive, Natasha."
He says this easily, almost nonchalantly, like it's something he just knows and doesn't have to think twice about, and she stares back at him because… Okay, she knows he's flirting with her. It's kind of what they do whenever they're together, especially when they're alone together, and it's sort of like a game, dropping these compliments to see how the other will react. She kind of loves it. It's amusing as hell and sometimes it still surprises her just how charming and kind of (really) sexy he can be. He loves to compliment people, has a genuine interest in them and can see the good in everyone, so it makes sense that he'd be so good at flirting when he finds it easy to talk about someone else rather than himself.
Sometimes she has a hard time, though, trying to figure out if he's flirting just to be playful or because he might actually want more from her.
(But honestly, what would a guy like Steve see in someone like her?)
"How about we go back home and I'll make you one?" he offers. She crosses her ankles, her foot brushing against his leg, and she swears she sees something flicker behind his eyes. "Sam and Maria will be leaving soon, so we've still got a little bit of time to kill."
She glances at her watch, which tells her that it's 12:30. They've been here for about an hour and a half now.
"Let's get out of here," she says, because yeah, she wants that milkshake, but she mostly loves spending time with Steve and she doesn't care where they are.
Steve clears their table as she slips into her heels again, and she doesn't pull away when he reaches for her hand. If it was anyone else then she definitely would pull away, but Steve always sort of finds her hand and always has, whether they're on the field or in the middle of an assignment. She can't really tell you when it started, but now she sort of just expects it and she likes how it feels, likes the way he squeezes just a little tighter when he's worried and how he strokes his thumb over her skin out of pure relief that they made it out safe.
It's comfortable and, as ridiculous as it seems, it makes her feel safe – more than just safe.
She can't really explain it.
Anyway, the storm clouds were already rolling in before they'd finished eating, and Steve had asked if she wanted him to call them a cab, but she didn't think it was necessary. Even if it starts to rain a little, they're only six blocks from the Tower, after all.
It does start to drizzle before they're at the end of that first block, and Steve looks at her with this grin on his face, not because he's being smug but probably because he knows she actually really loves the rain. Yeah, it's much more relaxing when you're inside and dry, tucked under a blanket and enjoying a warm drink and a good book, but she also loves getting caught in it and she's been told (by Clint) that it's not the only childish thing about her – and by that, she knew he meant endearing. If he meant it in a bad way, she would've hit him.
She smiles and shakes her head, for no particular reason, and when he offers her his jacket, she says she's fine.
The rain picks up, and it's not pouring, but it's not just a sprinkle, either, and she laughs when Steve throws his jacket over her, anyway. She's already wet and so is his jacket, so it's really not going to do much to keep her dry, but it's still an incredibly sweet gesture and she holds it in place over her head with one hand as Steve tugs the other.
The guards on the night shift in the lobby look at them like they're crazy when they run in, laughing and out of breath and dripping wet, but whatever.
"We can dry off on my floor," he offers. She arches an eyebrow and he adds, "Sam spent the night with Maria," and Natasha laughs.
She should've known.
JARVIS takes them to his and Sam's floor, and even though she knows the layout, he walks with her to his bathroom, hands her towels from the cupboard above the toilet and tells her to help herself to whatever clothes of his she wants to change into. And it's sort of automatic, her reaching for him and him leaning in as she presses her lips to his cheek, like they've done this their entire lives rather than just once before, parting ways and unaware (or maybe just ignoring the fact) that they didn't know when they'd see each other again.
If she'd known it would take almost a year, she might – might – have kissed him on the lips.
And it's stupid she still thinks of that sometimes.
He gives her this small smile, but it's kind of unreadable, to be honest, and it doesn't bother her as much as she thinks it should. "I'll see you outside," he says in this low voice she's only ever heard him use when they're alone, and she's grinning as she watches him leave.
... ...
She pulls her bra and underwear back on, because they didn't get as wet as the rest of her clothes and they're dry enough to wear by the time she finishes her shower, which, okay, was longer than it needed to be. She loves taking her time in a warm shower and doesn't do it often as to not waste water, but tonight she allowed herself to. She borrows a sweater with the Stark Industries logo across the front that she finds in the top drawer of his dresser, and, because she's always been a little bit (or a lot) a snoop, she looks around his room.
It's kind of perfect.
The bed looks untouched, the furniture placed at almost exact angles around the room, and even the books and knick knacks on the shelves are aligned just so and without a speck of dust. It's not that surprising, because she knows Steve is a tidy person, and she's not a slob or anything, but his room couldn't be more opposite of hers.
She traces her finger along the shelf, reading some of the spines, but then her eyes catch sight of a decorative bowl on top of his dresser.
It's filled with loose change, but she notices a thin, metal beaded chain and hooks her finger under it, pulling it out of the coins until she sees what's dangling from the other end – dog tags.
His military dog tags.
It's sort of surprising and she's not sure why. She knows he had to have them if he was enlisted. She traces her thumb over the engraving, then holds it between her fingers and turns it over, examining it. The metal looks a little worn, but not enough considering these are several decades old. She thinks that he must've been wearing them when he went under, but then pushes the thought away as quickly as it had come, pulls the chain over her head and tucks it under her sweater. She gathers her clothes and wet towels from the bathroom and dumps them in the empty laundry basket at the end of the hallway, walks into the kitchen to find Steve already swirling whipped cream on top of their milkshakes.
He pauses when he sees her, though, and she's had a lot of guys stare at her before, but not the way Steve does.
The fact that she feels like blushing because of it makes her feel like a schoolgirl, so she walks around the counter and steals a cherry from the bowl, holds it between her teeth and as she takes a bite, and then smiles at the way he almost whines, "Natasha."
She just shrugs, takes a milkshake in one hand and the bowl of cherries in the other and heads for the living room, knowing he'll follow.
She settles into the couch and he grabs the blanket folded over the back of their armchair, pulls it over their legs as she sips on her milkshake and flips through channels. Of course there's not much on right now except for reruns, old films and infomercials, but she finds a channel that's playing The Sound of Music and it's already halfway through the movie, but whatever. Steve hums along to Christopher Plummer and the ensemble playing the Von Trapp children, and Natasha gnaws on a cherry as she watches Steve rather than the screen.
He knows that she's watching him, too. She can tell.
His leg brushes against her when he shifts and she swallows the cherry, hard, and looks back at the screen. She wonders if that was deliberate.
They continue watching and sipping their milkshakes, not talking, but she's only half paying attention because she can see Steve glancing at her from the corner of her eye whenever she picks up a cherry. She dips one in the melting whipped cream of her milkshake before biting, licks her lips as she swallows, and she hears him clear his throat a little.
It's really warm in this room. The fact that she's wearing a sweater doesn't help, either.
She moves out from underneath the ridiculously fluffy blanket, sets her glass and the bowl of cherries onto the table as she stretches her legs over his.
It's really, really warm.
He sets his hand on her lap, his fingers cold and wet from the condensation on his glass, making her flinch. She looks at him but his eyes are staring at something else, and she looks down to find the chain of his dog tags visible where her (his) sweater has fallen from her shoulder. She'd forgotten she'd been wearing them.
He lifts his hand and traces his fingers along the chain, his fingertips ghosting over her skin just enough to make it tingle. He tugs the chain slowly upward until the tags are sitting against her skin above the neck of the sweater, and then his eyes flicker up to hers. She lets out a breath. He's giving her this look that's… Well, she knows he's looked at her like this before, but this time feels different. She presses her legs together, feeling the urge to squirm underneath his stare, but then he lets go of the chain and the tags fall beneath the dip of the sweater again and that seems to snap her out of whatever trance she'd been in, because then she's closing the distance and pressing herself against him, kissing him hard.
He slams the glass onto the coffee table so hard enough that she's convinced he must've cracked it, at least a little.
But then his hand is sliding over the back of her neck, deepening their kiss, and she can't bring herself to think about anything but him in this moment. His other hand moves over her leg, tugging at the hem of her sweater, like he's asking permission to take it off soon enough, and she nips at his lower lip in response.
"Bed," he murmurs between kisses, and she chuckles breathlessly.
"It's alright, Steve."
She kisses him again, and then again, but then he's pulling away and staring back at her. "I've wanted this for a while," he tells her, and she gnaws at her lip. "Maybe it seems unnecessary, but I want us to be lying on a bed."
"Then carry me there," she says, and then she's wrapping her legs around his hips as he lifts her up and slanting her lips over his again.
She rolls her hips against him as he walks them to his room, because she kind of needs to and knows he can handle it, and he groans into their kiss. He kind of tosses her onto the bed because she's teasing where he's hard for her, and for a moment, he looks a little startled and probably guilty for doing so – a gentleman through and through, of course.
She pulls the dog tags off and drapes the chain around his neck, hooking her finger through it and tugging him close.
"Kiss me," she says, and he does exactly that.
... ...
He kisses her slowly, lazily, when they find themselves awake a few hours later, rainfall tapping lightly against the windows. It's probably really cold in the room, but Steve must've pulled more blankets over them because there're more on the bed when she woke up than she remembers when he'd laid her across it. She's perfectly warm like this, pressing against him underneath so many blankets, and even though they've been awake for a while already, she really, really doesn't want to leave his bed just yet – or ever, to be honest.
She'd pulled his dog tags back on after they'd woken up and it's literally the only thing she's wearing.
"How long?" she asks after a moment, because it's sort of been on her mind and she has an idea, but she wants him to say it.
"Forever," he says with a laugh, and she smiles. He's joking, but at the same time, she can tell he's also not. "It kind of crept up on me, you know?" She nods, because yeah, it was the same for her. "But, I don't know. The first time we met there was just… something."
"Don't tell me you believe in love at first sight."
He chuckles and presses a kiss to the underside of her jaw. "I can't say I do, but I can't really say that I don't, either."
"That was frustratingly contradicting," she laughs. "Have you always been this cheesy or am I a special case?"
He kisses her, and really, that's all the answer she needed. "There's this place in Brooklyn," he says, and it's a little random, but she meets his eyes and waits. "It's been there since I was a kid, probably even before then. Their milkshakes are the best you'll ever taste. And if you would do me this kindness, I would like to take you there on our first date today."
"When did I agree to date you?"
She's teasing, of course, and he smiles because knows. But then he props himself up on his elbow, brushes her hair from her face as he asks, "Can I take you on a date, ma'am?"
"I'd love to," she breathes, and then she's smiling into their kiss as she feels his fingers tug gently at the metal tags against her skin.