TC Stark: 14 reviews! 14! I'm so happy guys! Every time I read what you have to write, it puts a smile on my face. I never thought that I would be so into this story. I knew I had liked Quicksilver the moment I saw AOU and mused for a while writing a story, but once I started, I really feel there is no stopping. Thank you. Truly truly thank you. Quickly, this chapter begins with some much needed Rogers/Romanoff smut ;) So enjoy!
Disclaimer: If anyone has read my "Whatever Time We Have Left" story, I am reusing Tilda. I found with that story that I never developed her properly, so I'm revamping her - giving her a fresh coat of wax and throwing her into this story. Also, as much as I love the Cap, I've realized (in my head) she is much better suited in this AU, as this is a Pietro/OC story (with small parts of Cap/Black Widow because they're my OTP). This story is rated M for mature content, such as sex, violence, death, language, etc. I try not to ever be too vulgar, but also don't believe in censorship. This story deals with the serious issues of a fatal medical condition, so there's that. I do not own anyone, except Tilda and my ideas.
Chapter Eight
Muscles tightening. Breathing labored. Sweat dripping. The gym was a place to exert energy. To push your body to its limits and then some. There was no gain without any pain, and in the life of an Avenger, boy there was plenty of pain. They couldn't fight the next evil that threatened the world by sitting on the couch all day eating Cheetos.
Steve Rogers could feel the tightening in the pit of his stomach, as he slammed Natasha against the wall of the gym. It was only them and they were too hot and bothered to take themselves to either of their rooms. Sexual tension had been building for the past hour of their workout and the way that blue tee shirt clung to the captain's body had the Black Widow in a frenzy.
With his right forearm against the wall for grounding, the Cap kept his redheaded companion's fit body up - pinned between the surface and his solid body. Their sweat soaked clothes rubbed together, Natasha's shirt riding up with every buck against her core. That was the funny thing about Steve Rogers. Sometimes, the man made love to her like no one else had. Sweet, sensual, and loving.
And other times, he fucked her like a wild animal.
"Didn't know you were into voyeurism." Natasha moaned, feeling Steve's mouth beginning to attack her neck. Her skin was slightly salty from the sweat glistening, but he didn't care. If anything, the sweet aroma of flowers and spice pushed him forward.
"Shh." Steve growled into her ear.
Natasha could feel her sex becoming wet, but mostly what she felt was his hard bulge rubbing aggressively in between her legs. He wanted it. And so did she. There was an urgency to the way their hands clawed at each other, needing desperately to connect on a deeper level. She needed to be penetrated. Now.
"Now." Natasha egged on, gripping his hair to guide his mouth onto hers.
Aggressively and passionately slamming his lips against hers, Steve reached to yank her shorts off her behind. He got them sliding just barely off her hips, never once letting her feet touch the ground. Natasha moved her hand down, bunching at his shirt along the way, before untying his sweats and pushing his own pants down to finally free his throbbing erection.
Steve adjusted Natasha in his hold, pulling her panties to the side before plunging himself inside her wet, wanting folds. The Cap needed to clamp a hand over her mouth, already feeling her screams vibrate against his palm. He didn't blame her. It was taking everything in his willpower to not snarl loudly at the way her beautiful sex gripped tightly onto him.
Their kisses were becoming sloppy and chaotic, as Steve maneuvered his hips to be bucking up into her. The former KGB agent's body bounced beautiful up and down on his length, fluid coating his girth and soaking his boxers. Not that he ever minded - that's what the laundry room was for.
Grabbing a fistful of Natasha's vibrant red hair, Steve pulled her head back so he could begin placing hard kisses along her jawline while continuously thrusting into her. The agent breathed in through her nostrils and let out deep, labored moans. Everytime he shoved himself all the way in, he hit her hilt and sent a shockwave of pleasure throughout her body. It was a electric and exhilarating and everything she wanted in a good fuck.
As Steve pulled his length out, he bucked hard back inside, causing Natasha to curse, "Fuck."
"Language~" Steve chuckled playfully, moving his head up to capture her bruising lips.
The small break in their aggressive lovemaking cause Natasha to smile, wrapping her arms around his strong neck and riding his hips. Their movements worked together, meeting each other with a hard push. Desperate to just be connected and reach that peak of true, unadulterated bliss.
It was Natasha's body curling into his and shaking with orgasm that set Steve off. He threw his head back in a grunt, squeezing his eyes as her core tightened around his staff. He thrusted hard and deep, until feeling his fluid rush out of him and filling the Black Widow with his hot seed. The first few times they had intercourse, he pulled out. Even knowing she couldn't have children, he didn't want to take it upon himself and be disrespectful. He didn't know if that was okay. Needless to say, he knew now that his generosity had spoke volumes to her and she insisted now he finish inside.
Steve's hips swung upwards lazily a few more times, before practically collapsing against her and the wall. His hair was soaked, wet tips falling in front of his forehead as he watched her beautiful lips part to catch her breath. Even though his legs felt weak, he could stand there forever just with her against him.
Panting hard, Steve finally lower Natasha's body to the ground, though kept her shielded with his form regardless. Smiling, the redhead pulled her shorts up and winked up at the Cap, "Well...I would say this was a good workout."
"Roger that."
Another pair of shoes. Pietro Maximoff went through an unbelievable amount of sneakers from all the running he did. Seriously, he needed to talk to someone about that. If they were able to make a man who could run at superspeed, they could certainly make a practical shoe to live up to the person wearing them.
"You aware you're walking without shoes?"
Pietro was sulking at the state of his sneakers, when he heard a voice behind him. Turning around, he saw Clint Barton smirking while making his way over. Grinning, the Sokovian embraced the Hawkeye in greeting. Funny, how their friendship started out so explosive and now, the agent's son's middle name was Quicksilver's.
"I am aware, my friend, these shoes, they no good no more," Pietro referenced to the sneakers in hand, before hitting Clint's chest with a loose fist, "What are you doing here? You have newborn at home."
With a shrug, Clint smiled, "Eh, felt like checking on my other kids. You seen Nat around?"
Smiling, Pietro answered, "She with Captain right now. They're meeting with Fury - what, I don't know."
"Yea, Fury always has something fun cooked up for us," The archer chuckled, patting Pietro's firm bicep and winking, "I'll run into you later."
As Clint walked away, Pietro smiled. In a way, he wanted to tell the archer about his relationship with Tilda. They were friends, but in a way, he felt a paternal bond with the man. Technically, Hawkeye could be his father, but it felt strange to consider him as that role. Instead, he felt more like a mentor, someone who could give the Sokovian some advice and stability - something he didn't have from his parents dying when he was ten.
"Do you know you don't have shoes on?" Tilda asked, when she opened the door.
Pietro looked down and wiggled his toes, grinning, "Do you not like my socks? I thought they were cool. In Sokovia, we don't have much. So, I always like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles."
As silly and perhaps even childish as it was, the orange haired telekinetic gave a small smile and welcomed him in. A part of her was nervous to have a male in her room, but she pushed that aside. She remembered that he was there for her. That he only wanted to get to know her. In a way, she wished she could look into his head and see if he was telling the truth, but being an agent over the years certainly gave her good instincts when it came to that.
Tilda's apartment was minimalistic. Pietro assumed that since she had just moved in and due to her past, she didn't have many possessions in the world. At least she was neat and organized. As much as the Sokovian thought he kept things tidy, he realized that it was nothing compared to some people.
"Would it be cheesy, if I told you I bought something?"
Tilda raised an eyebrow, as she walked over to the small kitchen to get them both glasses of water, "What did you get?"
Pietro smiled, while sitting down on the couch. He had long thrown his shoes in the trash, figuring since he was in the base that walking around in socks was fine. Tilda hadn't noticed a paper bag in his hand, as the Sokovian grinned, "First - I bring vodka. It isn't Sokovian, but Russian will have to do."
"Typical." The telekinetic snickered, folding her arms and joining him on the couch.
"The other, is this," Pietro reached in his pocket, pulling out a small jade elephant figurine and handing it to her, "It is supposed to give good fortune. Or, at least, that is what old little Chinese lady tell me at nearby shop. She look too nice to question."
Eyebrows furrowing in, Tilda hesitantly looked down at the figurine. Pietro had bought her a gift. With money. He had gone out and looked for something, considered its meaning, and got it for the purpose...of her liking it. It made her nervous, uncertain, and almost angry. Not at him. Maybe anger was just an emotion she automatically jumped to, but it was with herself. Why wasn't she reaching out for it yet?
After a deep breath, Tilda reached out and took the figurine. As her fingers wrapped around the object, Pietro moved his hand over hers. He didn't want to hold onto her for too long, because he didn't want to spook her; but the contact felt nice. Her skin was warm and it felt good to be close to her.
Letting go, Pietro sat back to watch Tilda eying the figurine. With a small smile, she explained, "This is the first present anyone has ever gotten me."
"Not even for birthdays? Christmas?" Pietro begged, his eyes searching hers.
Shaking her head, Tilda looked back over at the Sokovian before reaching over and grabbing his hand. It was firm, as if needing him. As if needing grounding and Pietro just held her hand back, giving her the support she needed. Letting her know that it was okay for her to be vulnerable, to open up. He was there for her.
A long, hard gulp slid down Tilda's throat, as she nodded and placed the figurine on the coffee table in front of them. She eyed it for a second, before realizing she was still squeezing his hand. Pietro didn't protest. He quite liked the contact, looking down while stroking her skin gently with his thumb.
"Spasibo." Tilda finally spoke.
Smiling, Pietro cooed, "You're learning. Soon, you speak fluent Sokovian. You know foreign language?"
Tilda laughed, while sitting back into her couch. Feeling more comfortable, the agent crossed her legs and explained, "I can speak some Spanish. A few Swedish words. Father didn't think that was very important."
"Learning languages is very important, papa always told me that. Wanda and I learned English young, but we no speak it very often. Mostly, we learn English to read tabloids. News around the world. I know many Slavic languages - Russian, Serbian, Ukraine; all very similar. Wanda knows French, but I never learned." Pietro explained, ending it with a small shrug and a smile.
"Did you learn that in school?"
Frowning slightly, Pietro shook his head, "No. Wanda and I no have formal education. We live in poor country. Our parents dead at ten. Only have each other - sometimes, we squat in rubble, abandoned houses. All we learn, is because of books and magazines, and TV when we could watch it."
"Have you watched much television now?" Seeing him nod, Tilda admitted, "I haven't really watched much tv...or movies...passed the 1940s."
Pietro tilted his head, asking, "The 1940s? You are not from that time like Captain."
Tilda shrugged gently, as the runner fixed them both glasses of vodka on the rocks, "No, but my father lived and breathed Captain America. He was obsessed. He cursed Banner's work for not succeeding. He thought he could be the one to perfectly replicate the serum and give birth to a super soldier identical to Steve Rogers. I suppose being exposed to modern media would only put thoughts in my head of a life other than becoming a weapon. It's funny seeing the Captain in the flesh...I watched so many videos of him. He's adjusting well to modern day."
"I did not like America for very long time. What happened to me and my sister - it was hard not to be bitter. I joined many protests against Stark, America, and anyone I thought was to blame. I was very angry. I feel...silly sometimes, for letting my anger get to me. I should not have let us being experiments. And we should have never joined Ultron, he was not stable...robot man. But, I wanted revenge," Sighing, Pietro took a swig of his drink and confessed, "We saved day, but we also caused it. I know we did not create Ultron, but it was our home country that took large hit. I cannot stand to go back just yet."
Even though Pietro was looking slightly sad, Tilda smiled and pointed out, "I find it admirable that you love your country so much. I never felt a connection to anywhere. I'm like a woman without a country." She commented dryly, though ultimately laughed.
The man gave a small chuckle, pointing out, "That is a short story. I once read when I was young boy. I was cute young boy." He added with a cheeky grin.
"Hmm, you sure about that?" She teased, resulting in them both laughing.