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The crack of her hand resounded around the room as his head whipped to the side, his eyes wide when he finally turned back to her. Natasha was fuming, her own gaze fiery and her chest heaving as she panted in front of him. Once more she reached out to strike him but he caught her wrist and flipped her around so that the arm was twisted around behind her back and was pressed against his chest.
“Kitten, calm down.”
“Fuck off,” she snarled and threw her head back. He turned his head at the last moment and though it didn’t hit his nose or head it was enough to make him release her. For a moment he wasn’t sure whether she was playing or not. and Nat couldn’t have been more serious as she pulled away from him and shoved him back. “What the hell were you thinking! You can’t just do that because you’re Captain America and determined to go gung-ho into every battle!”
“Nat,” he reverted back to his normal, Steve Rogers self, “I was doing what was right--I was the only one able to take the man down and I took the shot.”
“You jumped out of a Goddamned building!”
“I’m fine!” He reminded her, pulling her back into his arms. She tried to fight against him, beating her fists against his chest, but he ignored her, taking the hits despite how bruised and hurt he already was, absorbing her blows as though he knew he deserved it, had it coming.
She couldn’t tell when he started kissing her, or even if she’d been the one to do it, but his lips were pressed hard against hers, her teeth had his bottom one caught between them and she sucked hard. He gave a low groan and turned her around so she was slammed up against the wall behind her. The few paintings he’d hung up in his room shook with the force of their movement but Natasha only groaned and arched her back against the wall, pushing herself further into Steve’s arms. Her fingers ripped at the t-shirt he’d worn, and the white material shredded with little resistance (she really had to talk to him about getting more than just plain white t-shirts; no matter how nice they looked on him he needed to branch out.) He gave a low groan as her nails raked against his skin on their way down to his hips, where he canted them hard against hers.
“Stop,” she growled. She was trying to get that damn belt off and it wasn’t making things easier when he kept driving her crazy like that!
He smiled and did it once more, arms leaving where he’d placed them on either side of her body to remove his own belt. She gave a quiet laugh of happiness when his trousers quickly followed, and in her distraction she hadn’t noticed that he had repositioned her arms so that they were above her, currently being tied up with his belt. Her eyes widened, then narrowed in quick succession as they turned to Steve.
“You have to trust me,” he said, leaning over to nibble on the shell of her ear. “I know what I’m doing. Just trust me.”
“No,” she growled. “You can’t always know what you’re doing, Steve! There’s so much more--ah.” One of his fingers had slipped past the waistband of her panties, pants somehow, miraculously, already on the floor, and he was fingering her slit gently. She shivered with want of more friction, but determinedly tried to finish what she was saying. “There’s so much more that you can’t take into account, can’t know--.” This time he kissed her hard to shut her up, finger slipping inside of her to rub against her g-spot. Her hips bucked against her will and she let out a quiet keen against his lips. Damn him!
“I know what I’m doing all the time, Natasha. I always know.”
And that was the end of the conversation, a second finger already finding its way inside of her. She loved his fingers, loved the way that even with two of them they seemed to fill her up quickly enough, how long they were and how he already had memorized every perfect motion to make her practically writhe with pleasure. It had been far too long since she’d had a lover considerate enough to take the time to get to know her so intimately, so perfectly, and the thought of him not being there--.
She pushed back those thoughts as the heel of his palm ground against her clit and she brought her lips to his throat to bite and suck in order to keep herself quiet. He knew better than to keep letting her talk, knew that aside from her body her mouth--in all senses of the word she was sure he realized by now--was one of her most valuable weapons. At least this way she could make him come undone as much as he was doing to her. She hoped. It must’ve worked. Steve groaned as she moved on to his collarbone one hand tightening on her hip as she tried to move his shirt out of the way--why the hell was he even wearing it, anyway? And why was she now that she thought of it?--and before she could blink she’d been thrown onto the bed, landing with a soft ‘oof’ of surprise on her back. Her arms were still as tightly bound as ever, and she whined as she watched him stalk closer, pulling off what was left of his torn up shirt and grinning down at her, that familiar darkness creeping into his eyes.
“You have to trust me. Do you trust me?” He asked, kneeling between her legs, his boxers on the ground as well. One of his fingers worked at her clit again, while his other guided his cock to her entrance. She shivered and bucked, trying to get him to move, to do something besides just kneel in front of her looking cocky as all get out--damn that pun, she thought in the back of her mind--but he just shook his head and shifted a little further back from her, tantalizingly out of reach.
“I asked if you trusted me, Natasha.”
“Yes.” She groaned, knowing it couldn’t have sounded any less sincere. He fixed her with a hard look and though he rubbed against her swollen bundle of nerves even harder he gripped her chin with his free hand, forcing her to look up at him.
“Natasha, I need you to trust me. Please. I know what I’m doing, no matter what you think.” He murmured, leaning down to kiss her hard. She said nothing, putting all of her emotion into kissing him back, tipping her hips against his as she whined quietly. “Now tell me,” he said when he pulled away shortly after, his blue eyes searching her own. “Do you trust me?” Slowly, far too slowly for Natasha’s taste, he pushed into her.
“Yes, Steve. Yes I trust you,” she gasped, eyes rolling into the back of her head at just how good he felt.
“Promise?”
“Yes. Dammit, Steve, please.”
He pulled out just as slowly as before, leaving her unprepared for the sudden snap of his hip against hers, the vulgar sound of their skin hitting one another as a cry of surprised pleasure forced its way out of her throat. Oh, God. He didn’t stop after that, his pace never lessening or relenting until she was screaming his name. Her shirt had been pushed up over her head and Steve had wasted no time in paying attention to her breasts, making her skin burn with every touch and nip of his teeth on her overly sensitive skin. His name had become a constant on her lips, broken up only by the sound of him panting and groaning above her and the sound of him pressing himself hard against her. She wouldn’t have had it any other way, screaming with abandon when he finally pushed her over the edge, letting her careen into pleasured oblivion as she wrapped her legs around his waist to draw him in even closer. It was a mark of how wound up he was that he didn’t last much longer than that, the tightening of her walls around him setting him off like a firework so he was shouting and shaking as he filled her up.
Neither moved until they’d slowed their breathing, and Steve undid the belt keeping her tied up within a minute. His lips soothed the places where the belt had cut into her arms, and only then, when he’d made sure that she was taken care of, did he relax beside her. She watched him work all the while, eyes processing what had happened, what she’d seen earlier that day to now. He really didn’t give a damn about anything else but those around him and their protection. It was maddening to know that he was so, unreservedly, self-sacrificing. How did she compete with that, or even go about dealing with it?
“Do you feel better now?” Steve asked, voice quiet in her ears.
“No.”
His frown was deep as he positioned himself up on his elbows to survey her. “What? I thought--.”
“Steve, you don’t realize it but if something was to happen to you--if you died, or you got so hurt, or something else--I’d never forgive you.”
He gave a low sigh, about to explain that he knew what he was doing for what felt like the hundredth time, when she shook her head and placed one hand over his mouth. “I’d never forgive you for making me care, for making me so vulnerable and--dammit, Steve. You’re so selfish when you’re being so unselfish, you know that? You think about everyone else and yet no one else.” She’d started shaking again and she hated herself for it, hated him for putting her in that position. He didn’t say a word, just watched her tremble in front of him, her already chipped armor starting to pull away, and no matter how hard she tried to cling to it it only flaked away further. So he simply held her tight, whispering into her hair that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he was sorry, and everything in between that he could think might make her feel better. Neither said anything about the water beading in the corners of her eyes, the slow whimpers working their way out of her lips, even as she bit down on the inside of her cheek and clenched her jaw. She felt weak, exposed, and entirely dependent on the man holding her in his arms. She listened intently to the beating of his heart, her ear pressed to his chest in order to double and triple check that he was still living, taking solace in the breath that ruffled her hair, in the way that he felt--warm and strong and sure--around her. He was alive and that was all that mattered.