To Phil.... Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers, Hard R

[in_motu_proprio]

Title: To Phil....
Author: in_motu_proprio
Pairing: Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: potential to read as dubcon in places, discussion of character death, alcohol abuse, depression
Summary: Takes place right after The Battle of New York. Natasha is mourning Phil and after other teammates knock on her door, Steve tries and He's the only one that she lets in.



Natasha looked up at the soft knock on her door. She sat on the floor, back pressed to a wall with a picture of Coulson in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. There had been several knocks tonight but she didn't answer any of them. She'd just sat there with her drink and her photo. Coulson had never liked photographs and she'd caught this one only because he'd been drunk. They were celebrating, something they didn't get to do too often. It had been one of those rare good days and the three of them had gone out to have margaritas. Her and Clint had made it their mission to get Phil shit faced drunk and it had worked. He was smiling in the photograph. It was one of those smiles where there was nothing else behind it, just happiness. Natasha didn't get sentimental often, but if it involved one of the two men she actually cared about... well she tended to take that very personally.

The knock came again, this time with Steve's voice. It was soft, just her name. "Natasha?" Whereas everyone else had gotten no answer, and she wanted to do the same with Steve, he was different. He was a nice guy, genuinely nice, and he had managed to wiggle in a little under her skin. It was annoying, but it was what it was. She got to her feet and headed to the door. Again, that soft knock. "Natasha, please let me in." She could see out the peephole and watched him stand there, his blonde hair falling in his eyes. He looked like he had just come out of the shower, likely on his way back from the gym. He was clothed, but his hair wasn't carefully quoiffed. "It won't take long." She noted he wasn't asking if she was ok. Maybe that was the reason she opened the door or maybe it was because he looked like he was hurting like hell too.

She said nothing, just walked back into her room and left him to close the door and follow. They'd all wound up at Stark Tower that night, exhausted and in need of nothing more than beds and food, both of which Tony had and was more than willing to share. He might be an egotistical maniac, but Stark took care of his friends. "Drink," she asked him, holding up the bottle and giving it a swish. He shook off the offer but she didn't let that stop her from having another swig from the bottle. What the hell was the point of a glass anyway? "You said it wouldn't take long."

Steve shook himself a little and Natasha couldn't help but notice him looking at the bruises and cuts her arms and back were littered with. She had on very little, a tank and shorts because she was healing and, in some places, bleeding a little bit. She might have a serum similar to Steve's running through her, but it still took a little time to heal after a fight like today's. Not that she'd ever had a fight anything like today's. "Have you been looked after," Steve asked softly. Natasha rolled her eyes and pulled out a glass, thinking Coulson would chastise her with one of those looks over being piggish and not using a glass in front of other people.

"You have a few cuts ...." He nodded to her back.

"We all do. It's fine. Is that what you wanted or are you here to sell me cookies?" Steve smirked a little and Natasha was glad that he got the reference. She tried to throw the guy a bone now and then. So often he was totally out of synch with the world and that had to suck. She knew the feeling too well.

"... Um... I wanted to find out if you had anything... specific you... well...." Steve noticed the photo of Phil, Clint, and Natasha. "We're putting together a memorial." She froze for a moment, only shaking her head.

"He wouldn't want that. It's not Coulson's style." Natasha finished her glass and poured another. It really was hard work to stay as drunk as she wanted to be with her enhanced metabolism.

"Well... what was his style then?" Steve came closer, not into her space, but closer. She was giving off a very clear DO NOT TOUCH vibe. "What was he like? In person, I mean. I... well I didn't know him well."

Her eyes met his, clouded with grief for a moment before she wiped it out entirely and they went back to that blank detachment that was, frankly, a bit scary. "I don't want to talk about Coulson." She picked up her glass and sat on the couch, pulling her legs up under her and looking into the distance. Hopefully Steve would get the body language and leave.

"... ok. We don't have to talk about Coulson." Steve came over and sat on the other end of the couch much to Natasha's dismay. "I... well I just wanted to tell you that you were impressive out there today. I've always known women could hold their own, but you... you impressed me." Her expression was mixed and Steve hadn't a clue how to read it. "... glad to have you on my team today."

Natasha searched his face a moment, unbelieving of how earnest this guy was. Captain Cheeseball. "Thanks." It was about as touchy-feely as Natasha got most days. "... have you been to medical?" Natasha looked at Steve, noticing a distinct yellow tinge to his skin. "You don't look great."

"Liver damage," he said with a shrug. "It'll be fixed soon enough. But then you know that, don't you?" Steve reached out to touch a particularly nasty cut, stopping just short of making contact with her skin. "I... I think we're more alike than different," Steve said quietly. He was beating around the bush and it was irritating the crap out of Natasha.

"What do you want? Are you going to say life is short next? It isn't, by the way, not for you and I. And I swear to God if you say YOLO, I'm ripping out your throat." Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Natasha kept on. Clearly now that she'd started speaking, she wasn't going to stop for awhile. That was ok with Steve. She looked up at him from where she was sitting and asked in the most sincere voice he'd ever heard: "Why is it that the ones who are supposed to make it never do and it's people like us who survive?" Steve's eyes got a touch blurry, but he didn't say anything.

"How stupid was he? Jesus Christ, to face Loki alone...." Natasha was up and pacing, anger taking over to hide the real emotion. Not knowing how she'd gotten to Phil, but knowing she was a pressure cooker ready to blow, Steve stayed very still. "Idiot. He's such... damn it." Her glass went flying, shattering against the wall as her anger at Phil really came out.

Steve gave Natasha a few moments to pace and swear, and when he did rise he made sure she saw him moving and kept the movements slow. Even with all that, she still jumped when he touched her shoulder. That didn't stop him from carefully wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. With every fibre of her being, Natasha hated that she liked this. She wasn't one to engage in physical acts of comfort outside of sport fucking and beating the hell out of someone. "What the hell are you doing?" Steve pulled back, surprised.

"S.... sorry, you looked... um... you looked like you needed a hug." Natasha snorted and Steve's cheeks grew red.

".. a hug?" Natasha's nose wrinkled at the word. The Black Widow did not hug people. Nor did she cuddle, snuggle, or pet. She sport fucked, she enjoyed herself when the urge to fuck came on, but most of her sexual encounters were in the line of business. Certainly she'd never voluntary hugged someone. "You think a hug is going to .... " She looked up and saw how hurt Steve looked. It frustrated the crap out of her, but she reached out and awkwardly patted his shoulder. "Thanks, I guess."

Steve pulled back and was already heading for the door making Natasha feel like a heel. He'd tried to be nice and she'd... well she'd been herself. Damn it. Why did Steve have to look like a kicked puppy slinking away? Fuck. "Drink with me." Steve looked over at her. "At least one. To Coulson." She knew Steve couldn't resist that, so he came back and she found them two glasses, she poured them to the top.

"I'm surprised you bother drinking," Steve commented. "It doesn't efffect you like it does normal people, right?" She shook her head, not even flinching at normal.

"This, though, is not your average alcohol." Phil had found it for her in his travels and had made sure to keep a couple of bottles around just for her. She'd found this one in his locker on the helicarrier. He'd always taken such good care of her. Even in the beginning when she was still fighting to figure out who the hell she was, he was kind to her. Who would be kind to her now?

"To Phil Coulson," it was all Steve needed to say. They didn't need to list the man's virtues, just to celebrate that he lived and that he died trying to save the world. They both drank, draining the glasses rapidly. He noticed a difference in the liquor immediately. "What is this?"

"Vodka." Steve shook his head and she elaborated. "Really strong vodka." Natasha really was a woman of few words. "For people like us." She walked away, glass in hand, picking her way around a few shards of glass over to the windows. Natasha was clearly tipsy if not actually drunk and Steve told himself to be careful with the stuff in the glass. "People like us..." She repeated it a few times, just seeming enjoying the way it felt in her mouth. She turned to look at him when she got closer to the windows, her eyes making him feel painfully uncomfortable. She could do that to a person pretty easily. "There are no people like us." She sighed and tipped back her drink, setting the empty glass down on the floor as she slid down the window. Leaning back into its caress, she thought about Clint. This was just his kind of view. Where he'd vanished to, she hadn't a clue. She could really use him right now.

Steve came over, sitting next to her at the windows, facing into the apartment. The glass was chilly even through his leather jacket and he could see goosebumps raising on Natasha's arms. He peeled it off and made her sit forward before wrapping it around her. She gave him a look that he couldn't read, but he didn't care. She was part of his team and he wouldn't let her freeze. "I could get you a robe," he suggested.

"This is fine," Natasha slid her arms into Steve's jacket, liking the worn feeling it had. It was very Steve and she was sad to discover that it rather made her feel like she was getting another hug from him. "You don't have to stay."

"I know." Steve leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankle. They said nothing for quite some time, Natasha only gesturing for Steve's drink when it was clear that he wasn't going to finish it. It would be a shame to let good vodka go to waste, especially when it was Phil who'd gotten it for her. She suspected he actually had it distilled specifically for her, that it wasn't from some super secret Russian distillery like he told her. Her eyes got moist for a second before she blinked it away. That would not do. She would not cry. Coulson would not want that from her.

"Fuck me."

Steve's head snapped up and around like he'd been slapped and Natasha found that quite gratifying. "... pardon me?"

"You heard me." Natasha sat up a bit so she could look at Steve, lips pursed. "I have had a really shitty day, my friend died, my other friend has pissed off to who knows where, I'm drunk, and I want to forget. So fuck me."

Steve grappled for a moment with everything she'd just said, not understanding how all those things led to her wanting to have sex. Wouldn't any one of them be enough to leave a person bereft? He had many other things to grapple with as Natasha climbed into his lap looking like a woman possessed. "You're drunk."

"So?" She grabbed Steve's face in one hand, thumb digging into his jaw. "Do I look like I'm out of control?" If she weren't drunk, she would be. Maybe Coulson knew she'd need the balm of his vodka soon. He always did seem to be a step ahead.... Until he wasn't.

"... no, ma'mm." Steve drew back a little, knowing he could get her off of him if he wanted, but he was kind of frozen. It wasn't like he couldn't handle himself around women, but she was more than just a woman. She was kind of scary. Steve could look down battalions of Nazi's, but Natasha looked like her codename right now, like she was going to wreck him then dispose of him neatly. "... Um..." He fidgeted a little, trying to pull back again.

"Make me forget I just lost one of the few men I've ever trusted." Natasha knew her behavior was maladaptive, but she really didn't give a rat's ass. If fucking made her forget for a little while, then it was more than welcome in her pantheon of self-destructive behaviors. Her hand slid down between them, wrapping around Steve's prick through his slacks. Her eye rose when she found he wasn't totally soft. "Women in distress get you off? I can play victim for you."

Steve looked away immediately, his hand going to her wrist to stop her but not pulling her hand away when she found his cock. "You shouldn't." Steve's refusals were weak though, considering the evidence filling out in the palm of her hand. He was utterly mortified and pulled her off of him, wanting to get some distance. She rose right after him, liquid fast. "You're drunk and it's been ... it's been a bad day and...." She was approaching him slowly, her hips swinging in just the right rhythm to keep his focus.

"Why don't you want to fuck me?" Natasha's hand caught the hem of Steve's t-shirt about halfway across the living room.

"... what do you mean, of course I want to.... you're a beautiful...strong and...and..." Natasha grabbed his face again and Steve went silent.

"Stop" Steve froze, utterly confused and worried about her mental stability in a big way. "I am offering you a night that you will never forget and you're refusing? Is this what I'm to understand?"

"Well it just doesn't seem right." Steve looked away, trying to will the growing hard on in his slacks to keep itself in check. "Like I'm taking advantage of you." Then something happened that he really didn't expect. She laughed. She laughed right in his face before putting a hand in the middle of his chest and shoving him away hard. She turned, shedding his leather jacket and leaving it in a pool on the floor as she walked away, giving him a flip of her hand in dismissal. She had a date with a bottle.

Steve stood there dumbly, watching her backside in spite of himself. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him looking, making him avert his eyes immediately. "Do you not want to touch? Is that it? Is it some sort of Captain America Honor Code thing? Can't touch me because I've had a few?" Natasha reached down to the hem of her tank and slowly pulled it up. She might be banged up, but she was still a beautiful woman and she knew how to use her curves to her advantage. "Well you don't have to break your code, Cap." She said it with an edge as she pulled up the hem of her tank up and over her head before dropping it on the floor. "Look at me." Steve didn't so she came closer. "Look at me, Rogers." Steve did and found he couldn't stop looking.

Her breasts were bigger than he expected, and the curve of them was the kind girls in the magazines had. She looked like a pinup girl to him standing there in shorts and nothing else. Steve licked his lips, not approaching but staring. Natasha moved her hands up the outsides of her breasts, pushing them together a bit and letting them bounce back to where they sat naturally. Steve swallowed and glanced away as her fingertips skated across her nipples. He needed to leave. She was not in her right mind and this was taking advantage of her. Yet he still didn't move and he felt progressively worse about himself the longer he watched her.

"There's a bet going around S.H.I.E.L.D., the only Captain America bet currently in play that Phil hasn't bet in and won," Natasha told him as she stroked over her stomach then back up to her breasts, just keeping Steve's focus. "There's a strong contingent for you and Bucky having been an item." Steve blinked and shook his head. "And some think you're a virgin." Again, he shook his head. "Here's what I think." Natasha approached, but didn't touch, just moving, just keeping him focused.

Natasha leaned in close, arching her back so her breasts just barely touched his arm as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I think that there's no way that you were a GI in Europe with an America accent and a chest like that and weren't knee deep in pussy." Steve winced a little at the expression, finding it really rough but kind of sexy coming out of a woman's mouth.

"So who's right? You gay, a virgin, or just too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell?" Steve was frozen in her gaze and Natasha found that very, very satisfying. "Steve," she stepped back, fetching the vodka and pouring herself another, "You really have no idea the things I've been trained to do with my body. If you think the girls letting you plow them missionary style before you shipped off was fun, just wait until I show you what I'm capable of."

Steve swallowed hard again, not knowing how Natasha had gotten it so on the nose. He might not have had relations since he'd been unfrozen, but he was no virgin. And while he and Bucky were close, they weren't that close. "It wasn't all missionary." He was horrified that it came out of his mouth and felt like less of a good guy for giving any details at all though all those women were long dead. Natasha laughed at him and Steve flushed deeply.

"Did the ice take it out of you? Cap can't keep it up? You have a beautiful woman standing here in front of you, topless, asking for you to bend her over, and you do nothing." Natasha slid her hand down her shorts, knowing what she was about to do was going to break him either way and would allow her to get on with her night. She stroked herself, getting her fingers damp before sliding them out of her shorts. "I'm ready," she told him as she approached, backing him into the wall. Natasha didn't touch, but her body was only inches from him. "You could shove me against that wall and shove right in." It was kind of a pain in the ass that Steve was a gentleman about all this. Her fingers slid across his bottom lip as a last ditch effort, trailing down his chin. "See?" Steve reached out and grabbed her wrist hard, harder than she'd given him credit for. "Don't tell me that Captain America has never tasted a woman." He pulled her against him, switching their positions so that he could loom over her as he held her to the wall by that captive wrist.

Steve didn't respond, just held onto that wrist and warred with himself for a few moments while she did everything she could to work him up. Without batting an eye, she wrapped a leg up over his hip so she could press herself to him. Steve could feel the damp heat of her through his slacks and swallowed thickly, knowing he needed to say something, to do something. It was unfair how good she felt. Her mouth caught one of his fingers, sucking the tip of it while looking at him. He grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her close for a hard kiss, feeling something in him release. The kiss was short lived though, because soon enough he was flat on his back with Natasha looking down at him.

"I don't kiss." It was plain and simple, but felt really wrong to him. She dropped to her knees and reached for his belt, opening it with a practiced ease that worried Steve. She was predatory before, but this... this was worse somehow. It was like she was there in body, but her mind had run off to rock in a corner. Steve sat up a little bit and touched her shoulder, getting her attention. He was surprised to see a sort of confused hurt there.

"I'm sorry if I crossed a line. I... I didn't think that kissing would be out of line given..." He waved his hand at her bare torso. She nodded and pulled back, looking away. "I didn't know." The moment was broken and they both knew it. Natasha had gone from homicidally horny to melancholy bordering on catatonia in minutes so it was time to call an end to this... whatever it was. "You should go to bed."

"I should go to bed." The automation in her voice hurt. He knew the trope well, though. Soldiers on the brink of shell shock or who were just seriously hurting did this sort of thing sometimes, that sort of echo of a person trying hard not to fall apart, clinging to the comfort that only orders gave a lifelong soldier. Steve had meant it when he said they were alike.

"Come on." Steve got her to her feet, fighting the brutal erection she'd gifted him earlier, telling his body to cool it already. "You need to sleep." She followed, letting him take over for a moment and while it was endearing and an amazing moment of trust as far as Steve was concerned, it was also worrisome. "Here." Steve pulled a sweatshirt out of one of the drawers in the bedroom and put it on her before tucking her into the large bed.

As she drifted off, Steve's hand reached out to brush hair from her cheek, hoping that one day she'd show interest when she wasn't six sheets to the wind. Natasha murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'Phil' when he touched her cheek and Steve's heart hurt for her. He stayed sitting next to her bed most of the night, but had the good sense to be gone before morning. He'd seen her drunk and did not want to see The Black Widow hungover.