Romanogers - Oneshots

We shouldn't be doing this

"We shouldn't be doing this," She whispers. Their lips touch and they taste each other for the first time. If she's honest, the last minute is rather a blur for Natasha. One second she and Steve are sitting, chatting amicably, and the next they're throwing themselves at each other and she's in his lap, lips moving hungrily.

"Mm yes. This should feel weird," He replies as his lips press hers hard. One hand slides around her waist and the other up her back into her hair as she straddles him on the sofa. A shudder goes through her as his hands rake through the red-gold tresses, pulling her to him with more desperation. His kisses begin to stray from her mouth, nipping gently at the corner of her mouth, then her cheek. His kisses work their way up her jaw and nibble on her earlobe softly, and Steve can't help but be satisfied at the sound that comes from her mouth.
"But then why does it not?" She whispers back, voice hoarse. He doesn't reply.

Maybe it's that they've craved this warmth, this closeness, for so long it just feels euphoric to submit to that craving. Maybe it doesn't matter who, they just want to kiss somebody. Maybe it doesn't matter that it's Steve at her collarbone, against her shoulder, Steve whose hands feel so warm on her skin, and whose breath makes her feel electric. Maybe it shouldn't matter, but it does.

For some reason, it is beginning to become clear that it matters more than anything that it is the other's arms around them, in fact it is intrinsic to that craving, that fire of lust and desire that will not be easily quenched. Natasha wants to, because it's Steve, card her fingers through that flaxen hair. She wants to feel his abs press against her stomach, and go pliant so that his hands may do whatever they wish. She wants to hear every pleasure-filled groan, feel his hot breath in her ear, on her neck, wants it more than anything. And now she's getting that chance, it won't be given up lightly.

The fact that it's Natasha straddling his hips is the only thing that makes this okay. The fact that it's Natasha means he doesn't have to feel guilty about every jolt of hedonism rocketing through his brain, because he knows she's worthy. She's more than worthy of Peggy's mantel, more than anyone he's ever known, and the fact that it's Natasha, the fact that he knows he can just let go and be with her, is the most important thing to Steve in this moment. With Natasha, he is no longer the stiff soldier that emerged from the 40s. With Natasha, he is himself as he'd like to be, as he's grown to be. Loose, and with the liberty of heart and mind to not care about the consequences, to only care that the heat in his chest is spreading through his whole body, and Steve feels like he's on fire with concupiscence.

Of course they know, they shouldn't be doing this. Like really shouldn't. There are other things to be concerned with here. Half of humanity has been wiped out. There are allies to email, reports to read, scanners to check. But there is a small part of her, and Natasha hates this part with everything, that says they've already waited 5 years. What difference is another few minutes going to make? What if someone walked in on them?
But who's left to walk in? Clint's AWOL, Tony's living his best life out in the woods, Thor's somewhere on New Asgard, Bruce's somewhere in the city...Everyone is gone. You're all alone.

Natasha knows without a doubt she shouldn't be doing this. But she can't stop the warm feeling that's rising inside of her, making her feel hot. It wraps itself around her heart and it burns, but not unpleasantly so. She brings his head back up to meet hers and crushes their lips together again. His tongue prods the seam of her lips and she lets him through willingly, though surprised at the forwardness. A heat flushes their cheeks at the sweetness, and the simply unapologetic wantonness that pours with fervour from every pore in their surroundings. As she kisses Steve, she loses a sense of herself, her surroundings, her mind. Her thoughts turn to syrup. She just wants him, and she wants more. A soft moan escapes her lips as his hands lightly flow down her body, from her hair, her back, her sides, lower and lower. He bites her bottom lip and she wants to moan louder, but feels self-conscious, be they the only ones at home. His hands grip her hips, pulling her impossibly closer, that they might merge into one, fluid being.

Steve shifts, taking control, and suddenly Natasha is lying on her back on the sofa in the Avengers sitting room. He lies on top, slightly supported by knees and elbows so he doesn't completely crush her. One leg maneuvers to wrap around his hips, the yearning becoming almost unbearable; the minimal restraint they're holding is dissolving, and fast. When it disappears, Natasha fears there won't be anything that can stop her from doing what she craves with Steve, and she's not sure he's ready for that whirlwind. Until then, she wants to be close to him, closer than she's ever been before, to fill all the gaps between them, time and space.

"Well well well, don't let me interrupt." Tony's voice rings out from across the living room, quickly shattering the atmosphere. They scramble apart so that they're just sitting next to each other on the sofa. Natasha pulls her vest down desperately, as his hand was dragging up there a second ago. Steve rakes a hand through tousled hair. They bite their slightly swollen lips. Both stare at the ground, wishing it would swallow them up.

At least they'd be together.

"Uh, Tony... How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." Natasha can hear the laughter he's desperately trying to suppress in his voice. She lifts her eyes to the ceiling now, and shakes her head a little, furiously resisting the urge to blush. Steve however, is not so successful.
"What are you even doing here?" She asks Tony, unable to look at him.
"I've found a solution to your little time travel problem. I was about to call a meeting, but if you're busy..."
"No. We're good." Steve's voice is tight. Natasha desperately pushes down the overwhelming urge to giggle and pulls the corners of her mouth down into what she hopes is a serious expression.
" 'Kay great. See you in a bit, yeah?" Tony says.
"Yeah." Steve replies. Natasha flits her eyes over to him. He too is struggling to withhold his mirth, she can see it. The urge becomes almost irrepressible.

Tony turns to leave, but raises a finger.
"Yes?" Natasha is struggling to talk normally, the lump at the back of her throat threatening to distort her tones. Every nerve in her body feels alive and on fire, just sitting inches from him.
"Don't let me keep you. But is the first time, or-" If it was possible to go a darker red, Steve did just that, while Natasha let's a dusting of pink colour hers.
"Tony!"
"All right, all right, I'm going. Just try and keep it PG, yeah?" Natasha hears him chuckle as he leaves the room.

She turns her head to look at Steve. He looks at her. They both burst out laughing, hysterics ripping through them. These days, mirth is rare, but right now feels unbounded. They feel they could laugh forever. He halts her giggling with a light kiss and rests his forehead against hers, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The shades of red and blonde blend beautifully around her shoulders, and Steve decides in that moment, that this is his favourite hair. Two parts. The before and after.

"I really, really, really like you, Natasha Romanoff."
"I really, really, really like you too, Steve Rogers."