natasha romanoff one-shots (gxg)

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬

a/n: you and natasha agree to be friends with benefits — but there's one condition

definitely contains a bit of smut but i didn't want to tag it as such because it just wouldn't do the story justice

A gentle, damp breeze is blowing through the window, filling your room with the smell of rain. You can hear the gentle ebb and flow of the traffic outside, a noise that doesn't even disappear when it's night in New York. The city's awake, just like you.

Natasha's curled up next to you, her breathing slow and steady as she keeps staring out the floor-to-ceiling window. You can feel her heated skin against yours, an electrifying feeling that leaves you tingling all over.

You've had wine to drink. A bit too much, to be honest. You're not drunk, no — but you're tipsy. Both of you are. And everyone knows about what alcohol can do to your body, and your mind, and your inhibitions. Things you've experienced before, and things you'll experience again.

"Nat", you mumble lazily, your voice sounding like a sigh. She looks at you, and your eyes meet. For a split second, your throat closes up. You don't even know what you were planning to say anymore — all you can do is stare at her face, into her eyes.

Natasha keeps her eyes locked with yours. Her hand slowly moves over your stomach as she inches closer, and your heart is thumping in your chest as she presses herself up against you. "What?", she finally asks, her gaze flickering to your lips.

"I don't know", you eventually whisper. Her eyes look almost dark in the dim light, and her lips are full and soft and so enticing. You swallow, the alcohol having dazed your mind to an extent that it's almost impossible for you to think straight.

You shouldn't be doing this, you both know that. You're friends — you have been for years — and taking a step like this could either ruin everything or improve your life so drastically that you can't even begin to imagine. Knowing your luck, though, you don't feel like the latter scenario is that likely.

But at the same time, you don't really care. You've pushed all doubts and fears away and, right now, only Natasha exists.

Her red hair, slightly messy and smelling of ylang-ylang and jasmine; her olive eyes, so deep and familiar; her warm skin, smooth and silky underneath your fingertips as you brush them along her jaw.

The haze that's taken over your mind seems to intensify with every second that you spend marveling at her.

First you lean in, your nose brushing against hers. Her breath, sweet and mildly alcoholic, fans over your lips. And when you kiss her, you both freeze for a short period of time. It's new, unexpected, unfamiliar. You have never kissed before, and this feels like ripping open a world that's been sealed for an eternity. You explore it with your lips, your tongue, your hands, until you pull away again.

Your cheeks are flushed and your chest is heaving. If you were only a little more sober, you'd be cursing yourself right now — but you're not, so you lean in again.

Natasha's breath hitches in her throat when she feels your lips on hers yet another time. She swallows the kiss, savors it and feels it everywhere. Sensations shoot through her body, new ones, making it unable for her to move. A part of her brain is telling her to stop, yelling that this is a horrible idea. Millions of alarms are going off inside her, and she's ignoring every single one of them.

At some point, when you feel your hands starting to roam her body, you have to break the kiss. It's something that can't just keep going like this, and even you, in your tipsy condition, know that.

"What was this?", Natasha mumbles, her breathing shallow and her forehead resting against yours. You close your eyes, incapable to respond. It takes a lot of strength to eventually say something.