Romanogers - Oneshots

The morning after

Steve and Natasha are best friends. Everyone knows this. It's an obvious fact. They complete each other. Someone once tried to argue that Steve was second to Clint, and practically the whole lunch canteen came over and yelled at him until he shut up and changed his opinion. Word got out, and soon nearly the whole of SHIELD was on this guy's back; he nearly resigned. But what could they say, they were passionate about this topic.

Sure, she and Clint were incredibly close, there was no denying that. He was a part of her, and her him. But you might guess they were twins sooner than best friends. That was just the dynamic.

It was just so obvious. The way they talked, they way they laughed. How their faces lit up automatically at the mention of the other, ears pricked. How they knew each other inside out, too well, it was sometimes joked. How they were everything to each other, would do anything for the other.

You could see it in their eyes. They would go to the ends of the earth for each other, further, to the far rim of the universe, which was just a bit too far, in some people's opinions.

Some people said, insisted, that the love they held went far beyond the bar of friendship. That they were so in love it was hard to comprehend. Romeo and Juliet barely made a scratch. But there was one thing everyone agreed on. They were perfect for each other, as friends or more than. Two halves of a whole. Yin and Yang. They fit so perfectly it was hard to imagine anything else.

Steve and Natasha were best friends. Past tense. Until that one night changed it all, forever.

Neither knew how it happened. It just did. The memories of how they came to be in the same bed were blurry, and nonexistent in the majority of places. They remember the actual action perfectly though, photographically, it's just the steps leading up to it that are unclear. One minute they're curled up watching a movie and the next they're tearing each other's clothes off.

The next thing Natasha knows is she's waking in a bed that isn't hers, nearly completely naked, with someone next to her. She knows this because, though she hasn't looked, she can feel their weight on the other end of the bed, their arm draped across her stomach. She's scared to look. Oh God, she thinks. What have I gone and done now.

When she does look, she's speechless for a moment, and then all the memories come rushing back as she takes in the sleeping form of Steve Rogers next to her. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit, she thinks. Oh shit. Oh God. Oh crap.
I need to get out of here, like, right now, quickly, is her next clear thought.

It just doesn't compute. It doesn't make sense. Her and Steve. In bed together. Doing everything but sleeping.

But it has to click somehow, because it happened, and now she's going to have to deal with the consequences. Oh, I've messed things up, big time, she groans.

The bottom half of the lingerie she was wearing last night was flung to the other side of the room in their passion, it seems, along with various other items of clothing. This is going to take a while.

It'll be fine. All she's got to do is reclaim all her clothes from their respective corners, leave without waking Steve, get back up to her room without running into anyone, and before anyone notices she's not there. She's a master assassin. How hard can this be?

Extremely hard, as she finds out. Impossible. She carefully removes the hand from her stomach and slides off the bed. The fingers twitch a little, but he doesn't stir. She managed to get halfway to her knickers before he turns over, eyes opening slowly. Dread fills her body like cement. Once he sees her he snaps to sitting position, eyes wide, but before he can say anything, she's already dashing out the door.
"I was just going." She throws behind her as she hurriedly collects her clothes and sprints out of sight.