MCU (c) Marvel Studios
solnishko - little sun
My beautiful liar, you are drowning in your fear. You're cutting into me; you think if I bleed it can save you. Why… so tell me — So tell me how did you lose yourself at sea? Drifting within this — so tell me why, did you cast yourself away? It's such a sweet addiction, you should celebrate. — In This Moment
His touch was gentle, petal soft and his smiled made her heart flutter; it always reached his brown eyes, warm like melted chocolate. Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her close as he gave her a kiss. It was warm in their bed, the blizzard howled outside, billowing snowdrifts and icy flakes but that was outside. She was with him inside, snuggled beneath the covers the scents of sex, her shampoo and his cologne mingled together. He tucked a strain of copper hair behind her ear, smiling with loving devotion in his eyes. "You're my ray of light, Natalia, moy solnishko."
She grinned, running her fingers through his soft brown hair. She pressed her face against his cheek, feeling the one day's worth of stubble scratch her nose. She pressed a kiss there and worked her way down to the crook of his neck, drinking in the scent of his cologne and sweat. It was heady and intoxicating, making her loins ache for his touch. He groaned, she felt the sound against her lips and grinned; it always gave her a little thrill to know she could control him in such a fashion. He was always so strong, so self-assured, yet in bed she was the one with all the power. The fact he surrendered to her in such a fashion was sweet. "Natalia," he breathed, voice rough and husky.
"I want you, Alexi," she said, slipping a leg over his waist. "I want you so much." She kissed him, nipping his lip until he let out a soft whimper. The windows shuddered in their panes, the wind whistled beneath the door and the heater had given out long ago — communism at its finest. It didn't matter if their house was cold or that the fire had coughed and sputtered itself into death; beneath the blankets they were warm, and she had no intention of leaving the heavy quilts and down comforter any time soon. By the rigidness of Alexi's cock poking her, she didn't think he had any plans to get up either. She wiggled, sighing when she felt the head of his cock slip into her warm wet folds.
"Fuck, Natalia," he growled, looking at her with warm lust addled eyes. She smirked, sinking down on him and rocking her hips once she had him fully sheathed. He growled, thrusting his hips up, meeting her fast pace with vigor. Her whimpers and mews grew louder and louder, countering his grunts and groans as he continued to drive himself into her. She had pinned his hands above his head, dominating him, a half-smirk on her lips as she watched his cheek flush, mouth agape as he panted. She loved watching him come undone, loved driving him over the edge. He was close, she could tell by the look in his eyes.
"Promise me," she said as she rolled her hips, "promise me Alexi that you'll never leave me. Say it… say it!" Her own climax was nearing, but she had experience in holding it at bay, the Red Room made sure of that. The Red Room trained her to kill, to wear ten thousand different masks, and to master the arts of pleasure and sex. She was the perfect femme fatal — Black Widow. "Say it!" she gasped. She wanted him to promise her he'll never leave her, the one bright spot in this black world of blood and pain.
He whined. "I promise… I promise — fuck" — he came, his hot seed spilling into her — "Natalia, I promise."
She grinned, gasping a moment later as she let herself go, the shudders of her orgasm rippling along her nerve endings. She lifted herself off him and laid herself on his chest, running her hand through the damp curls that stuck to his pecs. He pressed a lazy kiss to her forehead and smoothed her hair. "Thank you," she said, smiling as she looked up at him.
Alexi smiled, that sweet smile of his. She didn't know why the KGB had paired them together. At first, she thought it was because they wanted to breed a line of super spies from her, but they should have known she was sterilized. Regardless of why they forced her to marry Alexi, she was glad they did. It was the first time since she was taken from her grandmother that she felt like she had a place to call home. "I'll never leave you, Natalia," he said. His fingers ran down her spine and she shuddered. "I promise." He cupped her face and gave he another languid kiss. "I love you."
"Love's for fools," she said, though the confession warmed her. "Toldja that before."
He laughed, it was such a rich, warm sound and if she could make him laugh for a hundred years then she'll die a happy woman. "Then I guess I'm a fool" — another kiss — "a fool for you."
Yes. Yes, you are Alexi Shostakov, yes you are. "The only type of fool I'll accept," she purred. Two human shaped shadows fell over them. She glanced up, pressing a finger to his lips and watched as the two men walked pass their window and out of sight. She rolled off him, slender hand slipping beneath her pillow to grab the small gun she kept there. Two booming knocks sounded.
"Alexi Shostakov!" a man's voice shouted. "Alexi Shostakov!" The man pounded on the door, the booms echoed like thunder in their cold house. Her fingers curled around the gun and she brought the blankets up to cover herself with the other, she glanced at Alexi.
"It's a blizzard outside," he said, she gave a little laugh.
"We're Russians, a little snow doesn't bother us," she said. He laughed, glancing out the window at the still raging blizzard.
"Comrade Shostakov!" the man bellowed again, followed by more booming knocks. Alexi grumbled, reaching over the bed for his pants. He hiked them up and pulled on his sweater. She watched him leave their room, heard him answer the door and the roaring wind outside. It died to a moaning whine a few seconds later. She slipped from bed, gun still in hand, and the blanket covering her. On cat silent feet she made her way to the door, peeking out at the two men that wanted Alexi.
They wore thick fur line coats that fell to mid shin, buttoned closed with buttons of brass. Black fur ushanka on their heads, the red and gold star of Mother Russia emblazon on the fronts. Thick gloves covered their fingers and shiny black boots. Upon their shoulders was a red rocker with gold stitching declaring the unit they worked for and below that the crest of the KGB. She swallowed, furrowing her brow and wondering why two KGB agents had come to her and Alexi's house. Her handler had given her leave for two weeks and Alexi had a few days of liberty to spend with her. Why would the KGB need either of them?
She leaned a little further, unable to get a good look at either of the men. Alexi caught her eye and he jutted his chin. She huffed, wrapping the blanket around her and headed back to bed. She popped the cartridge of the revolver open, counting the rounds and with a flick of her wrist, snapped it back into place. She spun it, listening to the snapping sound it made as it revolved. Alexi's voice drifted to her, along with the two KGB agents', though she couldn't hear what they said. After a few minutes the two men left — the wind howled when Alexi opened the door — and Alexi came back to bed, a disappoint frown on his handsome face. "Alexi?" she asked, getting to her feet, the blanket falling away. Goosebumps prickled her skin the cold, she wormed her way into Alexi's embrace, sighing at the warmth. He nuzzled his nose in her hair.
"I'm sorry solnishko," he said, swaying to unheard music. "I have to go, they want me to test a new airplane."
"Did you tell them no?" she asked, ear pressed to his chest; the sound of his heartbeat soothing. She shuddered as he ran a hand up and down her back; they really should restart the fire.
"You know how the KGB is," he said, a sad frustrated note in his voice. "They're waiting, I have to get dressed and go."
"I don't want you to go," she murmured, pressing herself closer to him and cupping his groin. He gave a soft groan, looking at her. She squeezed him, smirking as he groaned louder. "Don't leave me Alexi."
"I… I have to solnishko," he said, "you know how it is." He didn't let her go and she wasn't about to unwrap her arms from around his torso either. They stood like this, listening to the wind moan outside, the snow drifts spinning around and the windows rattling in the panes. Alexi let go first, pulling away from her to finished dressing. She stood there, arms folded beneath her naked breasts, not bothering to put her clothes on. He came over to her, ushanka on his head, thick coat buttoned to the chin. He didn't have his gloves on though. "Help me? You know I'm hopeless with these."
She snorted, taking the gloves and holding them open as he jammed his hands into them. He gave her a cheeky grin and kissed her again. She caught the collar of his coat, the pins that declared his rank and position cold beneath her fingertips. "You come back to me, understand?"
"I did promise," he said, laughter in his eyes.
"Promises mean nothing Alexi, you come back to me." She held his gaze, until the mirth faded from his eyes. He stroked her cheek, the leather soft against her skin.
"I'll come back solnishko," he said. She let him go and he smiled once more before leaving. She watched him walk pass their bedroom window, tying the ear-flaps of the ushanka beneath his chin. Dogs barked, someone gave a command, and Alexi was gone leaving her alone in the cold empty house.
She was in Moscow, a few weeks later, walking up the stairs to the third story apartment in the city, a bag of groceries in her hand. The apartment building was a run-down place, peeling olive green wall paper that reminded her of shit after eating too many fibrous vegetables. Someone was wailing down the hall, a tv was one and children screeched in delight. The walls were thin enough that she could hear the city beyond, cars honking and an airplane flying overhead. Another building built during communism, another building that is falling apart because nobody gave a damn to build it properly because they all got the same shitty handful of rubles at the end of the day. She jammed her key into the lock, the door gave squeaking on unoiled hinges. She pulled her key out and went in the rest of the way.
Her apartment was dark, the kitchen window the sole source of grey light. Snowflakes, big and fat, drifted down in lazy slowness. She closed the door and dropped her keys into the bowl by the door. She drew her pistol, stepping further into the quiet boxy apartment. "I was wondering when you'd show up Black Widow," a gruff voice asked, it reminded her of rocks in a blender. She could smell cigarette smoke and saw the bright red-orange cherry a heartbeat later. "Put that thing away."
She holstered her pistol with a huff, though didn't come any closer. "What do you want, Ivan?" she asked. Her handler didn't answer; she walked to the kitchen, setting her groceries on the table. She made a cup of tea, waiting for him to say something. She stood in the light of the window, her living room dark and Ivan swathed in thick inky shadows. She took a sip of tea, waiting for her handler to say something. He gave a lusty sigh, the cloud of silvery smoke catching the weak sunlight.
"Shostakov is dead," he said. "Died two days ago, I'm sorry…" there was a pause as if Ivan was unsure if he should say something or not, "…Natalia."
"Oh." She kept her voice impassive, her emotions locked behind the façade of Black Widow. Something within the walls began to buzz, the clock on the windowsill ticked away the seconds, and she drank her tea calm and uncaring about the news of her husband's death. Ivan sighed, the couch squeaking as he got up and walked into the weak light. He was a man approaching his senior years, ungraceful as he left middle age. The skin on his cheeks sagged, his salt-and-pepper beard unkempt, eyes ringed with dark circles and wrinkles, his hair thinning. He held a stubby cigarette between his middle and index fingers of his left hand, in his other hand he held a manila folder. He dropped it on the table. She glanced it.
"New mission," he said, gesturing to the folder. "You leave tomorrow, I'll be by to pick you up."
"I'll be ready," she said, finishing her tea. Ivan gave her a tiny smile, as if he was trying to be comforting but forgot how to. He sucked on the cigarette, blowing smoke into her face and then stubbed it out on the ash tray she kept in the middle of the table. Smoke curled around the abandoned cigarette butt. He walked to the door, picked up his coat and walked out. She went over to the door and engaged the locks. The buzzing in the wall returned and she heard an unseen cat meow. She walked over to the table to look at the folder. A black widow spider stamped on the front of it, her name stamped on front of it along with the date.
The first cracks in her façade appeared, her lip trembled, her eyes stung; she felt her throat tightened, and it became hard to breathe. With a savage scream she pushed everything off the table. The carton of milk busted open, the eggs cracked, the ash tray shattered, the papers of her new assignment fluttered all over, it was a mess, but she didn't care. She slumped into a chair, folded her arms on the table and cried.
"Nat?" Clint asked, she looked up, the memories fading away. The swing creaked, some scrapped off bark drifted down. "Nat, you okay?" he asked again.
"Where's Nate?"
"Laura's got him. She's helping Steve with the kids or rather Steve's helping her, not sure which it is." Her friend shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. He didn't say anything and neither did she. The wind rustled her hair and the leaves overhead. It was warm today, summer refusing to relinquish its hold. She liked it, the air smelled warm and sweet, with just a hint of the coming chill.
"Remember when you found me?" she asked, pushing herself on the swing, the grass was a mix of green and brown. She couldn't look at Clint, couldn't watching as his eyes darken as he remembered that mission. He was sent to kill her, for she had been killing too many important people, too many people that Shield valued. "You said my eyes looked dead."
"Yeah, I remember. You also came onto me in the hotel room after you agreed to come with me," he said, glancing up at the sky. She smiled at that. "Told you I was in a committed relationship."
"Still kissed you, still almost got you in bed with me," she said with a wink. He gave a snort. "A few months before that my handler came and told me my husband died."
"You were married?" he asked, surprised coloring his voice. She nodded, sucking on her lower lip. "For how long?"
"A few years, wasn't much of a marriage. Arranged by the KGB, my husband and I… we uh… didn't like each other much when we first met, but by the end… I guess we loved each other. At least he told me he loved me." She twisted her hand around the chain of the swing. "If you had killed me that day… I wouldn't have minded."
"Don't say that Nat," he said, "I made a call… the right call, and you're here now. I mean, Steve's head over heels for you and… you like him, right?"
"Clint," she said, smiling. "I love him. I look at him and I see the entire world before me. He's… I love him." She gave a little bounce, watching as bark and loose leaves rained down. She giggled when Clint gave an unhappy expression. "It's just that—"
"I doubt Cap'll die the way your first husband did," he said, a teasing note in his voice. "Look, I'm sorry Lila pushed you two, kept saying how you two will get married and—"
"That's the thing Clint," she said, "for the first time I can see something like that for myself with Steve. I see myself married and living in a nice house with a white picket fence, two cats and a dog and a child." She closed her eyes, her lip trembling as a few tears leaked out from her lids. "I see a child, a child I can't have."
"Does Steve know you're uh—"
"Yeah, he does, I told him the first time we uh…" she licked her lips and Clint nodded in understanding. "He sympathized and tried to empathized, but—"
"You want to give him that don't you," he said, stepping closer to her. She nodded. "You know, I'm sure you're uh… well, I'm sure you're not all broken down there. You two could do surrogacy. I'm pretty sure Laura would volunteer, you're practically family Nat, she'll help ya." Clint smiled. "Or you and Steve can adopt. There are plenty of kids that need good homes and who better than to have as parents than Captain America and Black Widow?"
She chuckled at that. "I hate visiting cause seeing your kids makes me want my own," she said.
"I don't know how that is possible, worse decision I ever made, wouldn't wish it on anyone." They laughed, looking up when Steve came wandering outside, he was holding Nate, and the little boy seemed content in his arms. Steve was talking to him, pointing to things as he did so. She smiled as she watched him. For all his initial awkwardness around the kids, once he settled in to the role of "Uncle Steve" he was good at it, and he seemed to light up. "He's good with kids," Clint muttered. "Bumbling and awkward at first, but you know him. Never backs down from a challenge."
"Wouldn't be Steve Rogers if he did."
"That's for damn sure," he said, "hey, Steve! We're over here!" Clint bit his lip and let out a sharp whistle. Steve looked over and grinned, Nate waved and pressed his face into Steve's neck, acting all bashful and shy as Steve walked over to them. "And you didn't want to hold him." Clint teased. "Laura threaten you with chores?"
"Hardy har-har," he said, rolling his eyes. "No, she just taught me how to function around kids." He bounced Nate, and the little boy giggled. "Said I was a natural."
"Oh really?" Clint arched a brow and held out his arms for his youngest son. Nate shook his head, preferring Steve. "That's cold, Nathanial. That's real cold." The toddler babbled something and whispered into Steve's eye. For his part, Steve's eyes widened, and he nodded, whispering back to the little boy. He winked at them. "I can't believe it," Clint said, "I can't believe that my own son prefers Captain America to me."
"Guess Laura has to file divorce papers," she said, smirking, "marry Steve. Don't worry, if you feel that bad, we can get married."
"Ah, no," Steve said, and despite Nate's protests handed him back to his father. He looped his strong arms around her waist and pulled her back, kissing her cheek. "You're mine," he growled, nipping her ear lobe. She purred, leaning against his strong chest.
"I am?" she asked, her voice soft and husky. Clint made a face and the baby babbled, realizing that his father's embrace was just as good as Steve's.
"Mmhmm." Steve's hands dropped lower, squeezing a hip. Nate squealed when his father's hand covered his face, chubby fingers tugging at Clint's in an effort to remove his hand.
"Get a room you two," he said, eyeing them both. "There are innocent virginal eyes around, don't need you two humping like rabbits behind my house."
"What if I wanna?" Steve asked, a wicked good smirk on his lips. She flushed, a bit surprised he was being so bold. When he was comfortable, his snarky side came out. He pulled her back more. "Gonna stop me?"
"Make you sleep out in the jet" — Clint leveled a glare at both of them — "both of ya."
Steve laughed, letting her go and she laughed as she swung. "Clint watch out!" she cried, and the archer side stepped to avoid her. She giggled, looking over her shoulder at Steve. She felt his hand on the small of her back, pushing her again. She never done this before. In Russia, the winters were too cold for her grandmother to take her to the park, the summers too short and her grandmother always had to work. When the KGB took her, she was didn't have time for swing sets and parks anymore. This was freeing; she felt like she was flying and could touch the sky.
She smiled when Lila came outside to join them, the sun catching the glitter on her cheeks. The girl squealed, running to her father, ducking to avoid Natasha's feet. Lila clung to her the belt loops of her father's pants. "Wow, you're really high Auntie Nat!"
"Yes, I am!" she said, gave a little shout of delight, her grin widening when she felt Steve's hand again on her back as he gave her another push. "I feel like I can fly!" she said. The sky was a bright blue today and she felt like she could see for miles at the apex of the swing. Her heart was light and excitement squirmed in her gut.
"Jump, Auntie Nat! Jump!" Lila encouraged. She swallowed, unsure if she should, Steve gave her another push and she wiggled forward a bit and jumped at the apex of the swing. The momentum of the swing sent her flying, the wind chill against her cheeks and whipped her hair about. A laugh born from excitement escaped her throat.
"Natasha!" Then she was falling, gravity tugging her back to earth. Instinct drove her, she pulled her arms towards her chest, hunching her shoulders up to protect her neck and angled her shoulder towards the ground. She'd fallen before, it wasn't that high, she knew she wouldn't get hurt. Arms wrapped around her the next instant, strong and protecting, pulling her to a board familiar chest, a hand on her head to keep her steady. "I gotcha," Steve said, they landed on the ground; he grunted at the impact, coiling his around her more.
He caught her, she jumped off a swing and caught her. "Idiot," she grumbled, hiding the fact that his concern was touching. "I was fine." She pushed, he let her go, she sprung to her feet and he flipped to his.
"Show off," Clint grumbled. Lila was giggling and clapping, running over to tug on Steve's hand.
"Me next! Me next! Me next!" she shouted, hopping up and down. Steve chuckled, as she ran to the swing and got on. She kicked her legs, leaning back — the swing creaked, moving a little. "Push me, Uncle Steve! Push me high, so I can jump, and you can catch me! I want you to catch me!"
"You're not jumping off the swing, young lady," Clint said, his voice stern. "Uncle Steve can push you, but you're not jumping off it either." He tuned his glare to Natasha. "And you shouldn't've done it either!"
"Oh please, I can—"
"I know, but kids are impressionable." He tipped his head to Lila, who was still begging Steve to push her really high, so she could jump and have him catch her. "You're just lucky his first reaction is to protect." She snorted at his glare. "Now I have to go inside, I have a diaper to change and if you do anything reckless, I'm going to throw a dirty diaper at you."
"You wouldn't dare! That's a biological weapon!"
"Watch me," he said, only half teasing and went into the house to change Nate. Lila watched her father leave, decided that swinging wasn't so much fun anymore without a large audience and demanded to be put down. Steve obliged, and the little girl ran off. She chuckled as the little girl went into the house. The wind ruffled her hair, she pulled a few strands from her mouth, glancing over when Steve stopped at her side. He looked a bit awkward.
"Sorry," he said, "about catching you. I know you can take a fall and well I just—"
"Captain America instincts kicked in?" she teased, he laughed and gave a nod, kicking at a dirt clod. "It's okay."
"Bucky and I used to jump off the swings at the park. Well, Bucky did, I was too sick to do it. Could've broken a bone and then my mom would've been unhappy with me." He flashed her a smile. "So, Bucky did instead. I just pushed."
"Explains why you're so good" — she flushed — "at pushing, I mean."
"Oh, yeah, yeah," he said, nodding.
They stood there, listening to the wind and the instincts. A honeybee lighted on a flower, buzzed and then flew off to another flower, birds twittered in the tree and the wind rustled the leaves. A hawk cried somewhere, a long mournful note. She looked up, spotting a dark speck against the blue of the sky. Well, this is awkward, she thought as she glanced at Steve. He scratched at his cheek, not meeting her gaze. "You're good with the kids," she said. "Now that you aren't afraid of them."
"Oh, yeah, thanks," he said. "Mothers used to come up to me on the Bond Sales tour, handing me their screaming kids so they could get a picture."
"That must've been—"
"Uncomfortable, yeah." He worked a stone loose with his toe. "Entire thing was awkward. All the fame and attention. Wasn't used to it, didn't like it too much either. Always was the quiet kid —"
"Until someone said something that went against your morality?" she asked. He nodded.
"Yep. Then I'd say something, which usually led to a fight." He chuckled. "If we ever get a chance to go back to Brooklyn, I'll show you all the allyways where I got beat up. If they're still around."
She stepped closer to him, tilting her head up. She tossed her head to the side, dislodging her hair that was in her face. "Now why would I wanna do that?"
"Cause," he drawled, "those allyways were shaping me to be Captain America. The scrawny kid that never backed down from the find. History being made and all that, can't learn that in a museum."
"I never went to your exhibit at the Smithsonian."
"Really? I'm hurt now," he said, a cute little pout on his face. She laughed at that. "Why?"
"Why? I had you, I could ask you anything, any time I want. Why go to a museum when I knew you?"
"Would've done you better going to the exhibit, you wouldn't have gotten much outta me." He pulled out the compass he always carried with him and handed it to her. "Here."
"I don't want your compass. It's yours. I know how special it is."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not giving it to you. I want you to open it," he said. She arched a brow and opened the compass. Her picture stared back, she was smiling and there was a happy light in her eyes. "Put your picture in my compass," he said as she handed it back to him. "Peggy's behind it, but I figured she wouldn't mind sharing it with you." He gave her a shy half-smile.
"Thank you," she said, her voice soft. He snapped the compass close and slipped it back into his pocket. She watched him, studying his face and memorizing his features. Hell, she could envision him in her sleep. She closed her eyes, picturing that idyllic little life she was day dreaming about: the quaint little house in Brooklyn, because Steve wanted to raise his family in his old neighbourhood and she had nothing left in Russia worth sharing with a next generation; the yard was big enough for a dog and the two cats they had ruled the interior, and their child — no, a son, would chase the dog outside and play catch with Steve and there was a tatty Dodgers cap from when the team was still located in Brooklyn. Their boy looked like Steve, with reddish blond hair and bright blue eyes and a smile that lit up the room whenever he saw his parents. Steve scooping up their son, planting a big slobbery kiss to his cheek.
"Nat?" he asked, snapping her from her daydream. She looked at him, eyes wide. "Something wrong?"
Yes, I can't give you a son. "No," she said, the easy disarming appearing on her lips, simple and natural. "We better head in."
"Yeah," he agreed, falling in step as she lead him to the house.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. They had a light lunch — well, the rest of them had a light lunch, Steve ate like a horse, though assured Laura he would be ready for dinner when the time came. He didn't like and ate just has heartily at dinner time too. Laura had tsked and said something about going to the city soon to restock the fridge and pantry if they were going to be staying for the foreseeable future considering Steve ate enough for a family of three (at least) in one sitting.
She helped Laura clean the kitchen, while Steve and Clint watched the kids and help with homework. She smiled when Steve got upset with Cooper's math homework. "Why would they change math!" he had bellowed, "Math is math!" It had taken she had to go calm him down, explaining that new ways of thinking about stuff had come about in the seventy years (maybe eighty) years since he was last doing math homework. He still didn't look convince at the end of her explanation but had agreed to let it go and allow Clint to help his son. Clint later confessed to her that he agreed with Steve: changing math was stupid, math is math. All seven of them sat around the tv after homework and the dishes were done, to watch Frozen (Lila had picked the movie and her big thing was Frozen). She wasn't sure if Steve enjoyed it, but he didn't hate it. Bathes and showers followed, and when she saw him again in their little attic room he was humming Let It Go. She smirked, kissing his cheek, which lead to humping like rabbits — Clint must've gotten a broom and banged on the ceiling, since she heard several dull thumps on their floor — then cuddling, basking in the post-orgasm afterglow.
"Wow," she whispered, putting a hand over her chest, feeling her racing heart. She couldn't remember the last time she came so often or so hard. "When they said you got increased stamina they mean it."
"'m sorry," he mumbled against her neck, trailing lazy kisses along her nape and shoulders. "I can use my hand next time if you—"
"No! God, no," she said, looking over at him; his mussed hair from her running her fingers through it and tugging at it during sex, his eyes closed as he drew nonsense patterns along her back, his lips kissing out the patterns he doodled. "I'm just… it'll take some getting used to." She smiled at him as she twisted around in his arms. He gave a little whine as her knee brushed his cock. She pecked his lips, and rested her head on his bicep, fingers dancing along his smooth chest. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and she listened to the house creak and groan in the night, to the scuttling sounds in the walls. The wolves howled outside, always followed by the laughter of coyotes. She pressed closer to Steve, drinking in his scent of Irish Spring body wash, something that remaindered her of leather and his own natural musk.
"You weren't angry at Lila, were you? When we were dancing?" he asked, breaking the comfortable stillness and jerking her back into consciousness.
"When she said I was your princess?"
"Yeah." He nodded. "Then. You left right after she said that and I" — he licked his lips and swallowed — "I think it's—"
"I wasn't upset," she said, "at least not at her." She closed her eyes, pressing her face into Steve's neck. No, I'm upset at myself for wanting something I can't have. "I love you." She smiled as his arms tightened around her.
"I love you too, Nat," he said, reaching up and smoothing her hair. "And if something's bothering you, I'd… I'd like to know, so I can help."
You're too good for me. She smiled, pressing her lips against his neck. "I'm fine, Steve," she said. He didn't answer for a moment or two, she knew he didn't believe her. She couldn't tell him, it wasn't the right time for thinking about a domestic life. That sort of life was something beyond her grasp, denied to her forever. She could never give up being who she was, Steve would never give up being Captain America. They may be able to marry and continue doing what they do, but a family? Never.
Clint made it work because Laura was a full-time mom. She or Steve would have to stop being heroes in order to raise their child and she — despite how much she hated the Red Room — had worked hard to get where she was, she wasn't about to give that all up, no matter how much she wanted a family with Steve. And she knew Steve, he would never give up being Captain America to be a full-time dad (though she'll admit that him doing that would be very him and very sweet). If she told him that she dreamed of having a family with him, having that domestic life that Clint had, then he would do everything in his power to give her that. She knew it, saw it in his eyes. It was this knowledge that held her tongue, prevented her from telling the man she loved what she wanted.
She had told Bruce to run away with her, escape this life and settle down. He had shot her down, responding with and what then? He couldn't have children, and neither could she, so running away had died there. She wondered if Steve would run away with her if she asked. I doubt it, he wouldn't abandon everyone like that. She gave a frustrated sigh.
"Nat?" he asked, voice sleepy. She snuggled closer.
"Steve, promise me something."
"Anything."
"Don't leave me."
When I had originally decided to bring Nat and Steve to the Bartons, I was planning lots of fluff and Nat seeing Steve being great (eventually) great with the children.
Ya'll get the angst.
Lots of angst.
Tons of angst.
God has forsaken me, so I have forsaken you. ;p
So, Part II focuses on Nat a lot, and I have a lot of headcanons about her life before Shield. That means, I'll be exploring her past relationships (mainly with Alexi), but that could mean some BuckyNat (since someone said I write them well together and because I do that well, I should write a BuckyNat fic). I'm not sure, and I'm rather have the story dictate to me where it should go instead of me trying to force it into something else. This is ultimately a SteveNat fic, and they are the primary focus. But since this is Nat, furthering her development from Part I, we'll have to delve into her past.
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Silent readers, lemme know you're alive! Leave a kudos! (or a question about why I chose to do something the way I did? Seriously, I love those questions!)