natasha romanoff one-shots (gxg)

⑱+ 𝐠𝐲𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐭.𝟐

a/n: (requested? i guess) more smut lol. title doesn't make any sense anymore but whatever

Steve and Bucky give you a confused stare as you suddenly slip out of the storage room together, but the confusion quickly gives way to silent disbelief when they spot your hastily thrown on clothes and mussed up hair. You decidedly ignore them, letting Natasha tug you out of the gym and towards the elevator.

As soon as you've stepped into the enclosed space, your back hits the wall. You feel her hands under your shirt, lips on yours. You don't part as you step out again, instead stumbling through the hallway blindly as you hold onto each other. Hand fumbling for the doorknob, feet nearly tripping over each other as you slip into your room unnoticed. You kick the door to your room closed before Natasha grabs you again, hands roughly squeezing your waist.

"Wait", you pant as she starts tugging off your shirt again. Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, momentarily forgetting about the sight of your bare skin. "I'm all sweaty."

Natasha scoffs, her eyebrows furrowing. "You think I care?"

You quickly grab her hands when she starts pulling at your shirt again, holding them still. "I'm saying", you try to explain, eyes locked with hers, "that we might want to rinse off."

"Oh", she says quietly, a small smile forming on her face. She hums in mock contemplation, drawing you closer by the waist and feeling your boner against her thigh. You stifle a moan when the simple contact causes a rush of heat to shoot through you. "I guess that can be arranged."

Clothes off and water on. You slip into the shower, feeling the warm water cascade down your bodies as your lips collide again. Natasha pushes you against the cold tile wall, silencing the quiet hiss that leaves your mouth with her lips. One of her hands runs up and down your side, the other reaching for the washcloth hanging on the hook of the shampoo holder.

You don't really know where she's going with this until she slips her hand into the washcloth. Then she wraps her hand around your erection, the terry cloth fabric feeling almost rough against your sensitive skin. Your eyes widen for a split second, a breathless moan slipping past your lips.

"Fuck", you stammer as her hand keeps moving up and down your shaft in measured strokes. Her thump occasionally rubs over the tip, gathering precum that's spilling out of you.

Her fingers tighten around your cock wherever she moves her hand, her movements unbelievably slow. She's dragging you to your orgasm, postponing it as much as possible. And as excruciating as that is, it's also incredibly arousing.

"Look at you", she mumbles, leaning in to press kisses against your wet shoulder. "You're trembling."

Yeah, you are. Each time she moves her fucking hand your knees start feeling weaker and weaker, up to the point at which you think they'll buckle underneath you. Your hands are shaking as you grasp at her shoulders, trying to find something to hold onto, but you find nothing but slippery skin.

"You're killing me", you moan out, eyes squeezed shut. Natasha smirks, her mouth sucking a tiny mark into the spot above your collarbone. Then she turns your head with her free hand, pulling you into a slow, uncoordinated kiss. The fabric of the washcloth provides friction that leaves you breathless, the kiss is messy in a mind-numbing way. You feel the coil in your lower stomach tighten further, a satisfying heat that gathers and pushes for its release.

You want to say something, but all that comes out of your mouth is an incomprehensible string of moans. Her hand closes around your shaft again, and again, and again, as sparks of electricity shoot up your spine. The terry cloth — textured, rough — feels stimulating, making your cock twitch in anticipation. Your head falls back against the wall, breaking the kiss and allowing a quiet curse word to escape you.