The Prince And The Rose

08 - I Hate You, Rogers

Steve hadn’t actually intended to find out that Natasha was ticklish. They’d been watching Batman Begins, and he was, quite frankly, bored and irritated. So he’d reached over and started poking Natasha in the shoulder and side to get her attention.

To his surprise, she snorted a laugh and pulled away.

So from that day on, whenever she wasn’t paying attention, he’d come behind her and tickle her sides, which invariably earned him an elbow in the ribs and an exasperated “Stop it, Rogers!”

Normally this silliness was abandoned when they were on missions, for obvious reasons. However, after one particular job (which turned out to be a bust and was therefore a massive waste of time) Natasha was in a bad mood because she was low on sleep and Steve was equally grumpy because he was hungry. They were lounging around their hotel room and eating cereal and basically doing nothing for a few hours.

Natasha started things this time, although it was technically Steve’s fault. He was stretched out on his back on the floor with his arms behind his head and his eyes scrunched closed, and he made far too tempting of a target.

Nat scooted closer and attacked his stomach before he had any idea what was happening.

“Nat!” he spluttered, eyes flying open. He rolled over and sat up, batting her hands away. He was frowning, but she could tell he wasn’t really mad. Unfortunately, it was also obvious that he wasn’t nearly as ticklish as her. A second later he was grinning that shit-eating grin that she knew meant trouble, and she jumped up, retreating so that the hotel coffee table was between them.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, pointing at him threateningly.

He just smirked at her, maneuvering around the table. She followed his movements, then made a break for one of the bedrooms. Steve caught up to her just before she could close the door, and not for the first time Natasha mentally complained about the unfairness of super soldier muscles.

She yelped as he pulled her back into the living room, tickling her the whole way. Between fits of very girlish giggles, she informed him that she was going to kill him. He just kept tickling her as she tried, unsuccessfully, to twist out of his grip.

Laughter made her clumsy and wobbly. “Steve, stop!” she pleaded, although she was smiling and laughing still, so it wasn’t all that convincing.

“Not till you say please,” he teased, and she would have punched him but she could barely breathe.

He finally let her go when she started crying because she was laughing so hard. He was chuckling himself, and the second she was free she stuck up her middle finger at him and collapsed on the couch.

“I hate you,” she managed between deep breaths.

“No you don’t,” he answered, winking.

“I really, really do.” She tried to smooth her hair out of her face. “That was not fair.”

He snorted and flopped down next to her, and she eyed him warily. “If you start tickling me again, Rogers, so help me…”

He shook his head, still smiling broadly. “No more tickling. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout,” she retorted.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “So?”

Natasha huffed, mock-irritated. “Go away. I’m not talking to you.” She drew her legs up to her chest and gave him a fierce scowl.

He just rolled his eyes at her and got up to get her a glass of water.