Romanogers - Oneshots

Who do you want me to be? (2)

Sequel to 'We've done this before'

Who do you want me to be?

Before, the first time it was asked, the answer to this question was so simple.

How about a friend?

Now... Not so much.
Steve hadn't been lying. Back then, all he had wanted was a friend. He hadn't known her all that well, but the mission and the easy banter between them made him want to know her. So he asked for a friend. And she had complied, with a chuckle.
And now he was stuck. Because he no longer wanted a friend. No, Steve wanted to so much more. He wanted everything.

He had tried to ignore it, he really had. Told himself to shut up and get on with the job. He tried to squash those feelings down so far they would never emerge again. Unsuccessfully.

Don't ruin your friendship, he thought. She doesn't feel the same. Steve tried to ignore it, but he couldn't. It was impossible. Every time she walked into the room his heart skipped a beat. She could say one thing, do anything, and he would blush. Whenever she smiled at him, his heart felt so full he was sure it would explode. That smile lit up every room it graced with its presence, a shining star in the centre, or more often, the corner.

He wanted to kiss her until he couldn't breathe. He wanted to hold her slight form tight forever, just breathing in that intoxicating perfume. He wanted to make her feel things she never felt with anyone else. He wanted to do so much with Natasha. But he couldn't. He wanted everything, but he couldn't have it.

He had seen the consequences of his decision play out in numerous circumstances, but he had no power to stop them. For example, Natasha's sudden liking to Bruce. He liked Bruce, genuinely, but found it hard to keep his own green monster quiet when he saw them together. It's not like he could just go over and push them apart, plant himself between them. What could he say? What could he possibly say to explain his hatred of them as a couple? He couldn't say he wasn't happy, filled with elation when he left her. Though all this was unfounded. He had no right to feel these things, it wasn't like he was going to profess his feelings to her anytime soon. He had told himself this many times, but that didn't stop those feelings from arising.  Like right now.

It's later in the evening. The lights are low.  Conversation is quiet, dwindled significantly since the earlier fun and games.

As he looked down at her, his feelings rose, stronger than ever. She leant against him, head on his chest, her slight form curled up against his large, protective one. She had fallen asleep. One hand curled in the fabric of his shirt, sort of like a baby. She looked peaceful. Her face was relaxed, no lines from furrowed brows, pursed lips. She looked happy, almost, a tiny smirk tugging at a corner of her mouth.
He stroked her hair and admired the sight, slightly in awe.

The others nudge each other and exchange glances, smirking at their two friends, entangled in each other's arms and clearly smitten.

"Uh, I'm gonna go to bed." It seems Steve has snapped out of his reverie as his voice cuts through the other's conversations. "I'll take her with me, she won't want to wake up here at four in the morning. See you tomorrow."

They say goodnight, chuckling as he picks her up carefully and carries her bridal style over to the lift. Her hair tickles his neck and she makes adorable, tiny snuffles as she sleeps that make Steve's heart leap. The doors open and he steps inside feeling slightly awkward, just standing there with a sleeping Natasha in his arms. He takes a moment to breathe her in as it ascends, simply (and Steve's not really into that kind of stuff) absorb her energy. He rests his cheek lightly on her head, taking in her warmth and light but distinctive, perfume. Stop it, he tries to remind himself. This is no longer brotherly affection.

The doors open with a bing and he walks out onto the empty corridor. He tests the handle on her door. Luckily for him, it's open. He walks in with some difficulty; both his arms are currently otherwise engaged, and sets her down on the bed gently, before standing back up.

His eyes run over the surroundings. Her room is plain, with only a few signs she inhabits it. The walls are undecorated, but a few framed photographs are scattered around the room. The Avengers team photo sits on her bedside table along with Natasha and the other girls, labelled 'A-Force'. Steve isn't sure where she and Clint are in theirs, but they rest on top of the chest of drawers next to Natasha and Fury, Natasha and Steve himself. All in their own silver frame.

Except for a faded picture that lies on its back on the dresser. It's not framed, probably due to its tiny size and seeming delicacy, as it looks rather translucent (perhaps due to age) against the wood surface. Steve can just about make out a tiny cottage. Snow covers its roof and icicles hang from the gutter, sending a kaleidoscope of colours down the gravel path leading to the front door as light shines through. Something in Russian is written in the upper right corner, perhaps an address. He guesses it's a house in Russia. Perhaps where her parents lived? Where she was born? Maybe he'll never know.

A tiny shell shaped bowl sits on the bedside table, an arrow necklace nestled inside.

A hoodie is draped over the top of the dresser that strikes recognition in his mind. Oi Romanoff. That's mine, he realises, and chuckles lightly.

Steve's heart feels full. Natasha's room may be slightly bare, but it's filled with the things and people she loves. Practically a shrine to her family. It's beautiful.

He leans down again and strokes her hair before pressing his lips to her forehead. He reaches for the duvet to tuck her in, but she stirs. He freezes. Suddenly he feels like he's trespassing, like he shouldn't be here.
Her eyes flutter open and rest on his face.
"Steve?" She whispers.
"Ah." He retreats to normal posture. "Sleeping Beauty wakes."
She sits up in bed and rubs her eyes, shaking her head a little. "Sleeping Beauty, eh?" She smiles a coy smirk and gestures for him to sit down next to her. He complies, awkwardly, and shrugs.
"It seemed like the best description."
"Is that how you think of me?" Her eyes have locked on his face. They seems to be searching for something. Steve's thrown off guard.
"Well I mean, only when you're sleeping." He replies. He feels frozen in place, in time, unable to move. Her eyes are riveted on him. He can only see her. He finds himself searching for something in her too, though he's not sure what. He wants something, feels it ache in the pit of his stomach, but can't put his finger on it.

"Watch that a lot do you." She jokes, a half smile. Steve blushes. There's a pause. Then the smile slides off her face. She's totally serious now. Hesitant. Fearful even.

"Who do you want me to be?" Natasha asks. His mouth feels dry. His head is spinning; he feels slightly dizzy. Dizzy with the electricity, the strength of emotion. Dizzy with desire, but it's for something he doesn't even understand. Her eyes are deep, and he feels like he's falling. He leans forward. She tilts her head slightly, anticipation bubbling inside her.

And suddenly he's kissing her. Suddenly Steve is kissing Natasha, and it's everything. The ache has been replaced by a feeling of soaring. His hesitance goes out the window as she responds immediately and passionately. His hand drifts up to her face, cupping it, then moving to rest at the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. It becomes deeper, more passionate, each taking all the secret feelings, longings, out on the other in a way that's utterly, inexorably, pleasurable.

They pull away for air, both breathing hard, enthralled.
"Actions speak louder than words." He whispers.
"I don't think I got the message." She replies. "Show me again."
He needs no more encouragement as their lips meet again.

She pushes him down on the bed on his back and crawls on top of him, hands tangling in his hair, legs either side of his body. His arms wrap around her back and she feels the hard press of his palms on her shoulder blades. He teases the jacket off her shoulders, leaving them pale and bare, and tosses it to the side. He suddenly rolls them over so that he's on top of her, feeling the heat radiate from her body beneath him. He leaves her mouth and buries his head in her neck, feeling her breath hitch. Her hands slide down his sides and tug the t-shirt over his head by the hem.
He pulls away abruptly, face hovering centimetres above hers. "Wait, it's late. Weren't you tired?"
She laughs, a light giggle that makes his heart beat a hundred miles faster than it already was. "Suddenly I feel very awake." She replies, and pulls him back.