Edited on 1/26/2015. I've reworked chapters 1 & 2 and rewritten chapter 3 as two chapters. The fifth and final chapter is on it's way.


She glided silently to the side of the bed. He shifted, sensing her proximity and seemed to fight his inclination to tense when she rested one knee on the bed by his hip. I wondered if she was going to just strike, to smash a hard blow in the center of his body and I found myself holding my breath in anticipation along with her victim.

Instead, she pressed slowly, the flat of her palm, the heel of her hand, alternating, pushing his navel towards his spine, his breath kneaded out in a soft sigh.

I realized how careful I was going to have to be; she's strong, sure, but she probably couldn't unintentionally cause him serious injury. I could miscalculate and deal him a crushing, fatal blow pretty easily. I have to be careful whenever I'm in contact with other "normal" humans all the time, but deliberately pushing into his abdomen as Natasha was doing was risky. Punching might just be tempting fate. Knowing Clint, the danger of my strength was probably part of the thrill, but I knew I shouldn't do this.

Then, he made the most delicious sound I've ever heard, a deep, throaty moan and writhed when she could go no deeper. Unconsciously, my hand drifted to my own cock and I wanted to hear him make a noise like that under me.

Natasha seemed to sense my unspoken conflict: "Just be careful; go slow. Don't be too hard up here or here." She indicated near his liver and spleen and then pressed her palm a little above his navel. "Lower is better if you are going deep or fast. He knows his limits. And he's pretty easy to please. I throw a few punches, I have this," she said, gesturing to the flogger on the nightstand, " but it's mostly this." With that, she made a fist with her knuckles extended and pushed down hard on his lower belly.

She dislodged one of the earbuds, "He knows he's not allowed to flex. Do what you want; he won't complain. He learned his lesson about topping from below a long time ago." She tugged on his hair, pulling his head aside, but not hard. Playfully. Fondly. He smirked and she released his hair and replaced the earbuds.

Damn. I would have really liked to have witnessed that lesson.

She indicated that I should join her on his other side. I walked slowly around the bed, taking in the view from different angles.

He sensed the change as I sat on the bed and then curved his spine up to meet her new incursion and then falling back when she withdrew. "Hi, Steve," he said, his voice roughened with lust. My name bled into a stuttering moan as she pressed both fists deep into his body and swept upward towards his ribs, holding his breath hostage with the pressure.

When she finally let him breathe again, Natasha snatched one of the ear buds, "No talking," she chastised, before reinserting it once more. She produced a flogger with a long, leather-wrapped handle and laid a few stinging lines across his chest as he pulled against the ropes.

Reorienting her grip, she shoved the broad handle of the implement deep into his navel. I felt my eyes widen at the display; it was exactly what she had described but seeing the object sink in unresisted accompanied by his groan felt unexpectedly erotic.

He licked his lips, swallowed hard and then gasped when she pushed the handle into a seemingly random spot to the upper right of his navel. The breath whistled through his clenched teeth and he strained against his bindings.

"Acupressure point," she explained, and let him rest a moment as the tension ebbed from his limbs. His provocative sigh snagged in my chest and I knew I'd be hearing echoes of it for weeks whenever I heard him speak over the comm channel. I could never decide which of my two lovers had the sexier voice; Natasha with her liquid, sex-kitten perfection or Clint's easy drawl that blended gruff and soft with a palpable sensuality.

She lay the handle laterally across his waist and drove it down, dividing his body impossibly until he uttered a wordless plea for both reprieve and for intensification. Her quiet chuckle of indulgence blended with his ravaged respiration and I put aside the question of which voice I found more appealing and just absorbed them.

"What do you want, Clint?" she said his name like an erotic incantation. I watched her lips form the words, tasting them in my parched mouth. Clint also looked dry as he gasped. Natasha interpreted our unspoken need, the cadence of the simple words tantalizing and indecent. "Water? Are you thirsty, Clint? Do you want water?"

I opened a nearby bottle in shaking hands and held to his lips before taking a long pull myself, acutely aware of the cold liquid pooling in my stomach. Natasha waved the water away and licked her lips with her quick, pink tongue.

"Your turn, Captain," she said, wrapping my title in the same alluring implication.