Rating: mild NC-17
Word Count: 2,100
Characters: Steve/Natasha
Prompt: "in which they have a secret relationship […] and since Bobbie knows Natasha she sees that there is something between her and Cap […]"
For: an anon
A/N: Happy Fourth! But more importantly, Happy Birthday to our dear Captain!
... ...
She slips into the dress Pepper paid for when they were shopping downtown last week, because Natasha didn't want to drop that much on one dress, but Pepper has never had any qualms with spoiling her friends every now and then, or all the time. (She and Tony are so perfect together.) It's backless and navy blue with lace sleeves, and ever since she saw it on herself in the dressing room, she's been picturing how Steve would react—and of course he didn't disappoint. She'd barely had a chance to appreciate that look he got in his eyes before he was stepping into her apartment and kicking the door closed behind him, a hand in her hair (it's a good thing she didn't try to style it up) as he brought their lips together.
They'd decided to do Fourth of July and his birthday as just a quiet dinner to themselves, because there's no way in hell they'd be able to be in public for a few hours without someone recognizing Steve.
Also, no one knows they're even dating, so there's that.
Neither of them has made it official – because neither of them needs it to be – but there really is no other word for it. Half of his clothes are in her dresser, and he has a toothbrush next to hers on her sink and his own scent of shampoo in her shower, and the character mugs Sam keeps gifting to him for no reason are sitting in her cabinet.
He's the first person she sees in the morning and the last person she sees at night, whenever neither of them is away on missions, and she wants it to stay that way.
"Natasha, stop," he breathes against her lips, grasping her wrists between them.
She pulls away, just enough to meet his eyes, furrowing her eyebrows at him. She's trying to undo his belt and she's not really seeing what the problem is.
He chuckles softly and presses a kiss to her forehead, which is something he does sometimes, whenever she makes faces at him. "It's my birthday remember," he says, which sort of makes her want to laugh.
"I know." She tries to move her wrists but her grips a little tighter, his lip curving up into a bit of a smirk. (She loves it when he gets that look.) "I want to give you your present."
"That's not what I want." She quirks an eyebrow and he chuckles again, kissing the corners of her lips, and then bringing a hand up to grasp her chin with his fingers when she turns her head to kiss him properly. He's such a tease. "That's not what I want first," he corrects, stepping them backwards until the small of her back is pressing against the edge of the island counter. He moves his other hand between her legs, fingers ghosting over the inside of her thigh as he slowly traces upward, gathering the hem of her dress around her hips.
He presses their foreheads together, looking down between them, and breathes out a laugh as he takes in her white, lace panties.
"Red, white, and blue?" he guesses, releasing her chin and combing his fingers through her hair.
She slips her arms around his neck and pulls him closer. "Happy birthday, Steve," she says, and he holds her gaze for a long moment before slanting his lips over hers. He kisses her a little slower, a little gentler, than he has all night, and for a second, she forgets what they were in the middle of doing. All she wants is to kiss him.
Then she lets out a little noise of surprise as he suddenly wraps an arm around her waist and lifts her up and onto the counter, pressing the palms of both his hands to each of her thighs, pushing her legs apart. She sets a hand against the cold granite for balance and uses her other to trace her fingertips along his face, over the apple of his cheek, along the underside of his jaw, smiling at the way his eyes flutter ever so slightly at her touch. Her cheeks are flushed, and it's not even entirely because of what she knows he's about to do.
Sometimes, like right now, the way he just looks at her is almost too much for her to handle. She's never had anyone look at her the way Steve does.
"What do you want for your birthday?" she asks.
"You," he says, easily, kissing the underside of her jaw. He trails down the column her throat, along her collarbone, while he slips his fingers underneath the waistband of her panties. She lifts her hips up to help him slide them off, and he kneels down as he tugs them off.
He presses a hand to her knee as he sucks over the inside of her thigh, and she tips her head back, letting out a sigh.
"I don't recall it being my birthday," she breathes, pushing her fingers into his hair and tugging him closer.
He chuckles, breath warm against her skin before he works over her slowly, drawing these little whimpers from her throat. She knows this is the part he loves most about being with her, physically. He loves taking his time, teasing her (he's such a fucking tease), making her fall apart in a way only he's able to—and she knows it's not some sort of possession thing with him. He loves the way she tugs at his hair almost painfully, the way she rolls her hips against his mouth and his hands, the way she bites her lower lip to try and muffle her own whimpers, before relenting and chanting his name over and over again. (Yeah, he told her all of this one morning, when she was laying in his arms, still trying to shake off her sleep.)
(It didn't take her much longer to wake up after hearing that in her ear, though they didn't end up leaving the bed until noon.)
"Steve," she murmurs as he presses his fingers into her, and he lets out this little grunt, moving through her folds a little faster and faster. A warmth pools through her, skin flushing, and she feels her hand braced against the counter start to shake as she tries to keep her balance.
"Yes?" he asks in this nonchalant tone, like the little shit he is.
She tugs at his hair and he lets out a laugh, glancing up at her with a bit of a smirk on his face that looks strangely similar to that dopey smile of his. "Do something," she orders.
"I am," he mutters, and then brings his other hand up, thumb passing over her nerves. Her hips shift off of the counter almost automatically.
"Do something more," she breathes.
He makes this noise that sounds like a laugh, but also a little like a groan. Then he closes his lips around her, curls his fingers, and her voice peels through the air, her nonsensical sounds stuttering as he works her through her high. It drags out because of it, hips twitching against his mouth, and she feels like the arm propping her up is about to give out.
She whimpers, tugging him away from her as she says, "Stop, Steve, stop," and tries to catch her breath.
"Need a moment?" he asks.
"Ass," she mutters, but she tugs his hair again, motioning for him to move.
He stands and she slides off of the counter, and her legs are in no way ready to hold her up in her stilettos after, well, that – but she just leans against the island for support as her hand comes between them, grasping the waistband of his pants. "You sure you don't need a moment?" he asks, and (this time) it's just not him trying to be smug. He wants to be sure she's caught her breath, because he's got that dark look in his eyes and that low tone to his voice, and she knows what it means. Thank god he's not a prude like Tony jokes.
She licks her lips and grasps onto the buckle of his belt. "Are you sure you don't, soldier?" she asks with a tilt of her head.
He kisses her, hard, and she works his belt undone and then smirks against his lips when she dips her hand below and he sucks in a breath.
"Natasha," he groans, nipping at her lower lip, and she breathes out a laugh as she curls her fingers and—
Her phone rings.
They both sort of gasp in surprise, tensing, and the second that she registers the ringtone, she tips her forehead against Steve's and mutters a curse in Russian. She put her phone on silent so that only emergency calls could interrupt their evening, and this is one of them.
Steve grunts a little and leans across the counter to grab her phone, slides to answer the call and then presses on the speakerphone.
"What's going on, Tony?" she asks.
"We got a hit on supernatural activity in Costa Rica. Hydra's definitely involved, could be more experiments." Steve catches her eye, nodding, and he heads for her room to grab their gear as she hops off of the counter and starts to peel out of her dress. "They haven't caused any scenes but Hill says they're dangerously close a large civilian population."
"Good, then we still have time to get down there with little to no casualties," Natasha says, mostly to herself as Steve reappears, tossing over her suit.
"Contact Rogers for me—I know it's the guy's birthday, but we need to bring in the big guns, and I've still got to reach Wanda."
"See you in ten," she replies, and Tony grunts in response before the line goes dead.
... ...
Bobbi comes to stand beside her as they're strapping on their parachutes, a knowing smile on her lips, and Natasha arches an eyebrow. She's not really a field agent right now and Natasha doesn't blame the woman for wanting an out after what she'd been through, but she just couldn't stay away from the business. (Natasha doesn't blame her for that, either.) She runs back-up for special operations like tonight's, when they really need an experienced agent to call on, but for now, she covers transportation and monitors operations behind the scenes. Natasha's not going to pretend that she doesn't think Bobbi will want to be back in the field eventually, because it was the same way with May, but she won't bring it up.
"What's up with you and Steve?" Bobbi asks, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall beside Natasha.
Natasha shrugs her shoulders, tightening one of her straps. "What do you mean?"
Bobbi tilts her head. "Don't play that with me," she laughs. Natasha glances around, but no one seems to be paying much attention to them, not even Steve, who's chuckling at something Peter is telling him and Wanda. "You want me to believe it's a coincidence that you two arrived at the exact same time?"
"We do live in the same apartment complex," Natasha reminds.
Bobbi hums, unconvinced. "It's not the first time it's happened, especially in the last three months."
"We carpool," she replies, winking at Bobbi. "You know, Wanda and Peter carpool, too. Do you think they're sleeping together?"
"Well, first of all, they are sleeping together." Natasha raises her eyebrows, tilting her head. Bobbi grins. "I'll tell you about that later, because, second of all, I mentioned nothing about anyone sleeping together. Aren't you supposed to be a better liar than that?" Bobbi asks, stepping closer and nudging her with an elbow.
Natasha rolls her eyes, feeling her lips twitch into a smile. "Spend enough time around Steve and even the best liar will start to feel guilty," Natasha says.
"God, look at you," Bobbi says with a laugh. "I've never seen you like this before. None of us have." Natasha meets Bobbi's stare, and Bobbi winks. "We can all tell, honey. I don't know why you guys are even trying to hide from us to begin with."
"Maybe we just want to you guys to keep from prying," Natasha says, but then she grins at Bobbi to let her know she's teasing.
Bobbi holds her hands up. "Okay, okay," she says. "No more prodding. But as soon as the cat's out of the bag, you're answering all of my questions."
Natasha shrugs, but before she can reply, Peter suddenly says, "Wait, it's your birthday today?" and everyone turns to look at him and Steve. Steve's got his lips pressed together like he's trying not to laugh, but then Peter goes, "Captain America's actual birthday is on the Fourth of July?" and then they're all laughing.
"Unfortunately, yes," Steve admits.
Peter shakes his head, amazed. "That's incredible," he says, still laughing. Wanda giggles behind her hand. "Did you have anything special planned?"
"Yeah," Steve says, and he's not even glancing in her direction, but she can still tell that the smirk on his lips is all for her.
(She can't wait to get home.)