fic: The same deep water as you (Avengers; Steve/Natasha; adult)
Ugh, I have to be up in five hours. This is not the Steve/Natasha undercover married story. *hands*
The same deep water as you
Avengers (2012); Steve/Natasha; adult; 3,510 words
content notes: D/s, spanking, crossdressing, collar, light bondage, implied pegging
"I'm certainly learning all sorts of new things about you on this mission, Steve."
ALL
angelgazing's fault. Title from the Cure.
~*~
The same deep water as you
Steve braces for Natasha's anger as soon as they're back in their room, plants his feet and squares his shoulders, because he deserves whatever she says or does after what he's just done to her.
She doesn't say anything, though, just sweeps the room for bugs the way she's done every night since they checked into the hotel. After ninety seconds of scanning, she gives him the all-clear. She slips out of her heels and into the bathroom, but leaves the door open, so he follows. She takes her earrings off and lays them on the vanity.
"I'm sorry," he says before she gets any further in undressing (not that she's wearing all that much, even by twenty-first century standards). "I should have found a way to avoid that."
"It's part of the job, Cap."
"It shouldn't be."
She laughs and begins removing her makeup, a process he finds almost as intriguing as watching her apply it. It reminds him of the girls on the USO tour. "It's not real. There was no point in this evening's festivities at which I was not in control of the situation. You and I both know that." Steve makes a skeptical noise low in his throat that she ignores. "And it can be an effective tool against a certain type of man."
"I don't like it. And I don't like that they used me to do it to you."
Natasha pauses, tissue halfway to her face. "Are you upset because you think I was humiliated? Or because they believe you're the kind of man who enjoys humiliating women?" She meets his gaze in the mirror. "Or because some small part of you did enjoy it?" He shifts uncomfortably, and he sees the quirk of her mouth in her reflection before she turns to face him. "Really? Well, I'm certainly learning all sorts of new things about you on this mission, Steve."
His face gets hot and he has to drop his gaze for a moment, because there was a small part of him that liked having Natasha bent over his knee. "Not like that," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "Not when you don't have a choice. I know you think I'm old-fashioned, but it's not the, the particular acts that bother me, necessarily." He tries to think of a way to articulate what's bothering him in a way that makes sense. "It's one thing when it's between two people who've agreed to include that in their relationship. But not--not like that. Not like those men, who think I own you."
"Well, for the purposes of this mission, it's in our best interests that they continue thinking that."
"It doesn't mean I have to like it."
She cocks her head thoughtfully and studies him for a long moment. He forces himself to meet that searching look squarely, though he wants to hang his head and scuff his toe against the carpet.
"Would you feel better if it were reciprocal?" she asks abruptly.
"Reciprocal?" he repeats, startled. "How do you mean?"
She pushes past him in the doorway and goes to the closet, rifling through the goodie bag they'd given him when he'd arrived and coming up with a riding crop. She taps the palm of her hand with it and gives him another of those measuring glances and the penny drops, but he waits for her to say it, his throat gone dry with something that feels an awful lot like anticipation.
She pulls the chair away from the desk and says, "Take off your trousers, Steve."
He swallows hard and his fingers shake a little as he unbuckles his belt. The sound of it slipping through the belt-loops is loud in his ears, but not nearly as loud as the sound of his zipper. He's already hard, has to be careful. And then he realizes he didn't take his boots off, so he's hobbled by fabric pooled around his ankles.
Natasha smiles. "Very good." His hand goes to the waistband of his boxers but she shakes her head. "Leave those on for tonight." She reaches out, touches his hand. "Are you sure about this?" He nods rapidly, still not ready to trust his voice. "Okay. If it's too much, if you want me to stop, you're going to say," she pauses, "I don't suppose you have a safeword?" He shakes his head. "Okay, but you know what that is?"
"Yes," he says, his voice a little hoarse. "I say it if I really want you to stop. How about, O'Malley?"
She laughs. "That works. Okay." She clears her throat and gives him a little nod. "Bend over the desk."
He shambles over to the desk as best he can with his pants around his ankles and bends over, leaning on his elbows and spreading his legs as much as he can.
"Very nice," she says, and he feels the tip of the riding crop against his jaw, and then sliding down over his back, lightly enough that the touch makes him shiver. While he's still processing that, she brings it down hard on his ass. The sting sends another shiver through him. His muscles clench as she hits him again, but the knot of tension in his gut that's been there since Fury told them about this mission loosens, and heat spools out, lush and thick in his veins.
There's no sound in the room but the thwack of the crop against his ass and his ragged breathing, and Natasha's occasional murmurs of encouragement. He loses track of time, focusing on nothing but his own accelerated heartbeat and the edge of pain each strike of the crop sends shimmering through him. His dick is painfully hard, but he makes no effort to touch himself. He can do that after, if Natasha lets him.
"You're such a good boy," she croons. "Taking it like a man."
"Thank you, ma'am."
She runs a hand through his sweaty hair. "And so polite." She tugs, hard enough to sting. "Turn around."
He straightens and turns, another wave of heat rushing through him as she takes in the erection tenting his shorts.
"You should take care of that," she says, tugging his boxers down and pushing him back against the desk. His ass is sore and he has to swallow hard before he can do what she says. It's a relief to curl his hand around his aching dick, and even her intense scrutiny doesn't stop him from getting off after only a few strokes. His chest and belly are covered in come and he's breathing like he just ran a marathon, but Natasha smiles at him. "That was perfect." She leans up and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You stay there. I'm going to have a shower now."
She comes out of the bathroom a little while later, trailing a cloud of sweet-smelling steam, and looks at him, still where she left him.
"O'Malley," he says, feeling awkward now that the moment has passed.
"Oh, Steve," she says, pressing another one of those closed-mouth kisses to his lips. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he says. "That was, that was intense. But good."
"Good. Now go get cleaned up. We've got an early morning tomorrow."
*
She's up and dressed before him, which makes him wonder about her sometimes, because he doesn't need a lot of sleep, but after last night's exertions, he'd slept deep and dreamlessly. He blinks sleep out of his eyes and takes in her outfit with an appalled once-over. Before he can ask again if it's really necessary (he knows it is), she speaks.
"Here," she says, pulling something out of her suitcase and tossing it at him.
It's a pair of black silk panties, trimmed with little lacy bows. "What?"
"Since you heal so quickly, you won't even be sore this morning. So, a reminder." His confusion must show on his face, because she huffs a soft laugh and says, "Put them on, Steve. Instead of your boxers."
He looks at the tiny scrap of satin and lace in his hand and he almost tells her to forget it, but then he thinks about having to spend the day in the company of men who think it's okay to sell and own other people, and the sick feeling in his stomach that didn't go away until Natasha took care of him.
They don't fit, of course, but he doesn't mind. He likes the slick material against his skin, and she's right (of course)--the way the elastic digs into his skin, and bunches up in places it probably shouldn't bunch, it reminds him that they're in this together; Natasha might be forced into kneeling at his feet, but they both know who's really in charge.
After a long day of schmoozing with human traffickers and sneaking around their little resort, it's a relief to get back to the room that night and let Natasha take care of him. It plays out pretty much the same way it did the night before, and Steve thinks he might be able to make it through this mission without blowing their cover or killing everybody in a fit of righteous rage.
And then they make him put a leash on Natasha. It's made of gold and looks like fancy jewelry--it even complements her dress--but they all know exactly what it is. He almost loses it right there. It's only the hard look on her face that makes him go through with fastening the chain around her neck. He can barely breathe by the time they get back to their room, the tightness in his chest and throat an all-too-familiar sensation, though one he hasn't felt in over seventy years.
Before he can burst out with some ill-considered ranting, she puts a finger to his lips and does her usual sweep. Once she's sure they're not being watched, she undoes the leash and looks down at it in her hands.
"It's a little delicate for you, don't you think?" she asks.
Steve's breath catches in his throat and he can't speak for a moment. "There's a collar in the bag," he says when he finds his voice.
Her smile is all sharp edges and teeth. "Why don't you go get that for me, Captain?"
The collar is supple black leather, about two inches wide, with a plain silver buckle. It feels heavy in his hands, which are sweaty with anticipation. "Bring it here," Natasha says, "and get undressed."
Steve does as he's told, and then stands at attention in front of her. She smiles again and cups his cheek gently. "You're such a good boy, Steve." He smiles back, happy that she's pleased. "On your knees." And then she fastens the collar around his neck. He swallows hard. It's not that different from wearing a tie, except in the way that it's completely different. His whole body thrums in excitement as she picks up the crop. "Lean forward," she says, "elbows on the bed."
He wishes he could see the welts she raises when she whips him, the sting of it sharper without any material between his skin and the leather, and his breathing is shuddery when she stops. He turns to look at her over his shoulder and she presses a kiss to his temple. "Good?" He nods. "Good." She climbs up onto the bed in front of him and sits there for a minute, watching him speculatively. Then she drapes her legs over his shoulders and hooks her fingers in the collar to haul him close. "Now it's time for you to take care of me."
Steve can't help the eager little sound that escapes as she shifts her hips up to give him easy access. He hasn't had a lot of sex, but this is one part he likes a lot and he thinks he's gotten pretty good at it. He licks his lips and then drops a kiss against the soft skin on the inside of her right knee. He kisses his way up her thigh and then down her other leg, sucking little bruises into the pale skin. He knows she's killed men with her thighs and that just makes it hotter. He breathes in the heady scent of her arousal and slides his thumbs along her slick folds, enjoying the way the touch makes her breath hitch, and then licks into her, eager for the taste.
She pushes up against his mouth and tightens her hands in his hair when he circles her clitoris with his tongue. He takes his time, bringing her to the edge and then easing off while she pulls his hair and curses him. Then he pushes two fingers inside her as he licks and sucks, listening to the noises she makes and letting her hands in his hair guide him. She fucks herself on his hand and mouth and when she comes, her whole body going taut as she clenches hard around his fingers, he wonders what it would feel like around his cock. She doesn't give him the pleasure of it tonight. She rides out the aftershocks and then pulls him up so she can kiss the taste of herself off his tongue.
It's their first kiss, and it's like lightning striking down his spine. He doesn't touch himself, and he's glad he showed restraint when she reaches down and starts stroking him, her fingers strong and callused and her grip just this side of too tight. His vision goes white around the edges and he comes with a moan that she muffles with a kiss.
She flops gracefully backwards onto the bed when they're done, and he realizes she's still got her skimpy dress on. She doesn't seem too eager to move, so he goes into the bathroom and cleans himself up, and then gets a warm washcloth to take care of her. She gives him a brilliant smile that makes him want nothing more than to make her happy. He helps her out of the dress and into her pajamas.
"Are you ready to use your safeword?"
Steve doesn't have to think about it for more than a couple of seconds. He shakes his head. "No."
Her smile is bright and she hooks her fingers into the collar and pulls him down onto the bed with her. "Then I want you to keep this on when it's just us."
He grins back at her, feeling more relaxed than he ever would have expected, given the circumstances. "Okay."
He curls his body around hers and falls asleep to the sound of her breathing.
*
Steve finds it easier to focus on the mission now that Natasha's in charge, and she's fairly sure it's coming to an end. Tonight's special guest is the guy financing the whole operation; once they can tie him to the organization, SHIELD can storm in, free the women, and raze the place to the ground.
Still, as horrifying as he's found the circumstances, he's going to miss this closeness with Natasha once they get back to New York. He's no expert at relationships, but he's pretty sure this is the kind of thing that doesn't continue once the imminent threat is gone, even if he wants it to.
They come back to the room after another late night and while Natasha's in the bathroom, Steve strips down and puts on his collar. He kneels at the foot of the bed and waits for her, not sure if it's appropriate but it's what he wants. What he needs, especially if it's going to be the last time.
Natasha comes out of the bathroom and gives him a fond smile. "There's my good boy," she says, ruffling his hair. She gets out the crop and runs it over his body, teasing him with little taps along his ribs and the backs of his thighs.
"Please," he says.
"Oh, I like that." She runs the crop down his spine, making him shiver. "Say it again."
"Natasha, please."
"Since you ask so nicely," she says, bringing the crop down hard on his ass. She whips him until he's sore and aching and desperate, and then she says, "Get up on the bed and grab hold of the headboard."
He scrambles to do what he's told, kneeling with his back to her and his ass in the air.
"No," she says, though she slaps his ass with the palm of her hand, which stings in the best possible way, "that's for another time." He tamps down the flare of hope that there will be another time, and the flash of desire at the idea of her fucking him like that. "Get on your back."
When he's in position, she picks up his belt from where it's neatly coiled on the dresser and twines it around his wrists and through the slats of the headboard. His cock jumps and he has to suck in a deep breath to keep from moaning at how good it feels.
"Is this okay?"
He tests it--he could easily get out if he really wanted to, but he really, really doesn't. "Yes. Natasha, please."
"You're so pretty when you beg," she says, stripping off her clothes and climbing astride him. She leans forward, arching her back so her breasts are hovering over his mouth, close enough that he can lick her tight pink nipples if he raises his head off the pillow. She pushes into the touch, and then away, teasing herself the same way she's teasing him, but if she wants him to beg, he's perfectly willing to do it.
"Please," he says again.
"Please, what?" she asks, wetting the head of his cock, rubbing it against her but not letting him push up inside.
"Please fuck me, Natasha," he manages, hands flexing in his bonds and hips thrusting up off the bed, aching to bury himself deep inside the slick heat of her. "Please."
Natasha grins and sinks down onto his cock, tightening around him. She sets a relentless pace, fucking him hard, one hand playing at her clitoris while the other clutches at his hip, fingernails digging in and leaving half-moon indentations that will disappear as soon as she lets go.
Neither of them last long, but he at least gets the satisfaction of feeling her come around him, her body tightening like a velvet fist around his cock. He arches up and comes with a shout. She rides him through it, until they're both spent and satisfied.
Natasha sprawls on top of him and unties his hands. He shakes the feeling back into them and then wraps his arms around her. They fall asleep like that and are still in that position a few hours later when the message comes in from Fury--SHIELD has what it needs, and they should vacate the premises before the raid at oh six hundred.
They pack quickly, efficiently, and Steve tucks the collar into his bag; he can't find the crop, or he'd take that too. He leaves the rest of the toys behind.
*
The debrief is awful and writing the mission report is worse. He imagines everyone can see the faded marks on his skin, that they all know what he and Natasha have been up to, and he doesn't care so much for himself--he's been the butt of mocking for most of his life--but he doesn't want any of that to touch her. She seems oblivious, though. She nods at the agents in the hallways and makes plans to go for drinks with Clint and Maria.
He feels like a third wheel--another familiar, if unwanted, sensation--and heads back to the tower to unpack and shower. He stays under the hot spray for a long time, wants to wash off the stink of that place, but not what happened between him and Natasha, even if it will probably never happen again.
He towels off and walks back into the bedroom to get dressed and finds Natasha sitting on the bed, the collar in her hands.
"Hi," he says, feeling awkward for a few seconds. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, but then he decides, what the hell, and he kneels down in front of her.
"Hi," she says, fastening the collar around his neck. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, feeling tension uncoil from his shoulders.
"I wasn't sure if you still wanted to," he says, ducking his head.
She cups his cheek and tips his face up. "Yes," she says. "Do you?"
"Yes," he answers eagerly.
"Good boy. Then I have a special treat for you." She takes off her clothes until she's standing in front of him in nothing but a black leather harness, red silicone dildo curving between her thighs.
"Oh, wow," he says, reaching for her. "You sure know how to show a guy a good time."
She wraps her arms around him and laughs into his mouth.
end
~*~
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~*~
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The same deep water as you
Avengers (2012); Steve/Natasha; adult; 3,510 words
content notes: D/s, spanking, crossdressing, collar, light bondage, implied pegging
"I'm certainly learning all sorts of new things about you on this mission, Steve."
ALL
angelgazing's fault. Title from the Cure.
~*~
The same deep water as you
Steve braces for Natasha's anger as soon as they're back in their room, plants his feet and squares his shoulders, because he deserves whatever she says or does after what he's just done to her.
She doesn't say anything, though, just sweeps the room for bugs the way she's done every night since they checked into the hotel. After ninety seconds of scanning, she gives him the all-clear. She slips out of her heels and into the bathroom, but leaves the door open, so he follows. She takes her earrings off and lays them on the vanity.
"I'm sorry," he says before she gets any further in undressing (not that she's wearing all that much, even by twenty-first century standards). "I should have found a way to avoid that."
"It's part of the job, Cap."
"It shouldn't be."
She laughs and begins removing her makeup, a process he finds almost as intriguing as watching her apply it. It reminds him of the girls on the USO tour. "It's not real. There was no point in this evening's festivities at which I was not in control of the situation. You and I both know that." Steve makes a skeptical noise low in his throat that she ignores. "And it can be an effective tool against a certain type of man."
"I don't like it. And I don't like that they used me to do it to you."
Natasha pauses, tissue halfway to her face. "Are you upset because you think I was humiliated? Or because they believe you're the kind of man who enjoys humiliating women?" She meets his gaze in the mirror. "Or because some small part of you did enjoy it?" He shifts uncomfortably, and he sees the quirk of her mouth in her reflection before she turns to face him. "Really? Well, I'm certainly learning all sorts of new things about you on this mission, Steve."
His face gets hot and he has to drop his gaze for a moment, because there was a small part of him that liked having Natasha bent over his knee. "Not like that," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "Not when you don't have a choice. I know you think I'm old-fashioned, but it's not the, the particular acts that bother me, necessarily." He tries to think of a way to articulate what's bothering him in a way that makes sense. "It's one thing when it's between two people who've agreed to include that in their relationship. But not--not like that. Not like those men, who think I own you."
"Well, for the purposes of this mission, it's in our best interests that they continue thinking that."
"It doesn't mean I have to like it."
She cocks her head thoughtfully and studies him for a long moment. He forces himself to meet that searching look squarely, though he wants to hang his head and scuff his toe against the carpet.
"Would you feel better if it were reciprocal?" she asks abruptly.
"Reciprocal?" he repeats, startled. "How do you mean?"
She pushes past him in the doorway and goes to the closet, rifling through the goodie bag they'd given him when he'd arrived and coming up with a riding crop. She taps the palm of her hand with it and gives him another of those measuring glances and the penny drops, but he waits for her to say it, his throat gone dry with something that feels an awful lot like anticipation.
She pulls the chair away from the desk and says, "Take off your trousers, Steve."
He swallows hard and his fingers shake a little as he unbuckles his belt. The sound of it slipping through the belt-loops is loud in his ears, but not nearly as loud as the sound of his zipper. He's already hard, has to be careful. And then he realizes he didn't take his boots off, so he's hobbled by fabric pooled around his ankles.
Natasha smiles. "Very good." His hand goes to the waistband of his boxers but she shakes her head. "Leave those on for tonight." She reaches out, touches his hand. "Are you sure about this?" He nods rapidly, still not ready to trust his voice. "Okay. If it's too much, if you want me to stop, you're going to say," she pauses, "I don't suppose you have a safeword?" He shakes his head. "Okay, but you know what that is?"
"Yes," he says, his voice a little hoarse. "I say it if I really want you to stop. How about, O'Malley?"
She laughs. "That works. Okay." She clears her throat and gives him a little nod. "Bend over the desk."
He shambles over to the desk as best he can with his pants around his ankles and bends over, leaning on his elbows and spreading his legs as much as he can.
"Very nice," she says, and he feels the tip of the riding crop against his jaw, and then sliding down over his back, lightly enough that the touch makes him shiver. While he's still processing that, she brings it down hard on his ass. The sting sends another shiver through him. His muscles clench as she hits him again, but the knot of tension in his gut that's been there since Fury told them about this mission loosens, and heat spools out, lush and thick in his veins.
There's no sound in the room but the thwack of the crop against his ass and his ragged breathing, and Natasha's occasional murmurs of encouragement. He loses track of time, focusing on nothing but his own accelerated heartbeat and the edge of pain each strike of the crop sends shimmering through him. His dick is painfully hard, but he makes no effort to touch himself. He can do that after, if Natasha lets him.
"You're such a good boy," she croons. "Taking it like a man."
"Thank you, ma'am."
She runs a hand through his sweaty hair. "And so polite." She tugs, hard enough to sting. "Turn around."
He straightens and turns, another wave of heat rushing through him as she takes in the erection tenting his shorts.
"You should take care of that," she says, tugging his boxers down and pushing him back against the desk. His ass is sore and he has to swallow hard before he can do what she says. It's a relief to curl his hand around his aching dick, and even her intense scrutiny doesn't stop him from getting off after only a few strokes. His chest and belly are covered in come and he's breathing like he just ran a marathon, but Natasha smiles at him. "That was perfect." She leans up and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You stay there. I'm going to have a shower now."
She comes out of the bathroom a little while later, trailing a cloud of sweet-smelling steam, and looks at him, still where she left him.
"O'Malley," he says, feeling awkward now that the moment has passed.
"Oh, Steve," she says, pressing another one of those closed-mouth kisses to his lips. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he says. "That was, that was intense. But good."
"Good. Now go get cleaned up. We've got an early morning tomorrow."
*
She's up and dressed before him, which makes him wonder about her sometimes, because he doesn't need a lot of sleep, but after last night's exertions, he'd slept deep and dreamlessly. He blinks sleep out of his eyes and takes in her outfit with an appalled once-over. Before he can ask again if it's really necessary (he knows it is), she speaks.
"Here," she says, pulling something out of her suitcase and tossing it at him.
It's a pair of black silk panties, trimmed with little lacy bows. "What?"
"Since you heal so quickly, you won't even be sore this morning. So, a reminder." His confusion must show on his face, because she huffs a soft laugh and says, "Put them on, Steve. Instead of your boxers."
He looks at the tiny scrap of satin and lace in his hand and he almost tells her to forget it, but then he thinks about having to spend the day in the company of men who think it's okay to sell and own other people, and the sick feeling in his stomach that didn't go away until Natasha took care of him.
They don't fit, of course, but he doesn't mind. He likes the slick material against his skin, and she's right (of course)--the way the elastic digs into his skin, and bunches up in places it probably shouldn't bunch, it reminds him that they're in this together; Natasha might be forced into kneeling at his feet, but they both know who's really in charge.
After a long day of schmoozing with human traffickers and sneaking around their little resort, it's a relief to get back to the room that night and let Natasha take care of him. It plays out pretty much the same way it did the night before, and Steve thinks he might be able to make it through this mission without blowing their cover or killing everybody in a fit of righteous rage.
And then they make him put a leash on Natasha. It's made of gold and looks like fancy jewelry--it even complements her dress--but they all know exactly what it is. He almost loses it right there. It's only the hard look on her face that makes him go through with fastening the chain around her neck. He can barely breathe by the time they get back to their room, the tightness in his chest and throat an all-too-familiar sensation, though one he hasn't felt in over seventy years.
Before he can burst out with some ill-considered ranting, she puts a finger to his lips and does her usual sweep. Once she's sure they're not being watched, she undoes the leash and looks down at it in her hands.
"It's a little delicate for you, don't you think?" she asks.
Steve's breath catches in his throat and he can't speak for a moment. "There's a collar in the bag," he says when he finds his voice.
Her smile is all sharp edges and teeth. "Why don't you go get that for me, Captain?"
The collar is supple black leather, about two inches wide, with a plain silver buckle. It feels heavy in his hands, which are sweaty with anticipation. "Bring it here," Natasha says, "and get undressed."
Steve does as he's told, and then stands at attention in front of her. She smiles again and cups his cheek gently. "You're such a good boy, Steve." He smiles back, happy that she's pleased. "On your knees." And then she fastens the collar around his neck. He swallows hard. It's not that different from wearing a tie, except in the way that it's completely different. His whole body thrums in excitement as she picks up the crop. "Lean forward," she says, "elbows on the bed."
He wishes he could see the welts she raises when she whips him, the sting of it sharper without any material between his skin and the leather, and his breathing is shuddery when she stops. He turns to look at her over his shoulder and she presses a kiss to his temple. "Good?" He nods. "Good." She climbs up onto the bed in front of him and sits there for a minute, watching him speculatively. Then she drapes her legs over his shoulders and hooks her fingers in the collar to haul him close. "Now it's time for you to take care of me."
Steve can't help the eager little sound that escapes as she shifts her hips up to give him easy access. He hasn't had a lot of sex, but this is one part he likes a lot and he thinks he's gotten pretty good at it. He licks his lips and then drops a kiss against the soft skin on the inside of her right knee. He kisses his way up her thigh and then down her other leg, sucking little bruises into the pale skin. He knows she's killed men with her thighs and that just makes it hotter. He breathes in the heady scent of her arousal and slides his thumbs along her slick folds, enjoying the way the touch makes her breath hitch, and then licks into her, eager for the taste.
She pushes up against his mouth and tightens her hands in his hair when he circles her clitoris with his tongue. He takes his time, bringing her to the edge and then easing off while she pulls his hair and curses him. Then he pushes two fingers inside her as he licks and sucks, listening to the noises she makes and letting her hands in his hair guide him. She fucks herself on his hand and mouth and when she comes, her whole body going taut as she clenches hard around his fingers, he wonders what it would feel like around his cock. She doesn't give him the pleasure of it tonight. She rides out the aftershocks and then pulls him up so she can kiss the taste of herself off his tongue.
It's their first kiss, and it's like lightning striking down his spine. He doesn't touch himself, and he's glad he showed restraint when she reaches down and starts stroking him, her fingers strong and callused and her grip just this side of too tight. His vision goes white around the edges and he comes with a moan that she muffles with a kiss.
She flops gracefully backwards onto the bed when they're done, and he realizes she's still got her skimpy dress on. She doesn't seem too eager to move, so he goes into the bathroom and cleans himself up, and then gets a warm washcloth to take care of her. She gives him a brilliant smile that makes him want nothing more than to make her happy. He helps her out of the dress and into her pajamas.
"Are you ready to use your safeword?"
Steve doesn't have to think about it for more than a couple of seconds. He shakes his head. "No."
Her smile is bright and she hooks her fingers into the collar and pulls him down onto the bed with her. "Then I want you to keep this on when it's just us."
He grins back at her, feeling more relaxed than he ever would have expected, given the circumstances. "Okay."
He curls his body around hers and falls asleep to the sound of her breathing.
*
Steve finds it easier to focus on the mission now that Natasha's in charge, and she's fairly sure it's coming to an end. Tonight's special guest is the guy financing the whole operation; once they can tie him to the organization, SHIELD can storm in, free the women, and raze the place to the ground.
Still, as horrifying as he's found the circumstances, he's going to miss this closeness with Natasha once they get back to New York. He's no expert at relationships, but he's pretty sure this is the kind of thing that doesn't continue once the imminent threat is gone, even if he wants it to.
They come back to the room after another late night and while Natasha's in the bathroom, Steve strips down and puts on his collar. He kneels at the foot of the bed and waits for her, not sure if it's appropriate but it's what he wants. What he needs, especially if it's going to be the last time.
Natasha comes out of the bathroom and gives him a fond smile. "There's my good boy," she says, ruffling his hair. She gets out the crop and runs it over his body, teasing him with little taps along his ribs and the backs of his thighs.
"Please," he says.
"Oh, I like that." She runs the crop down his spine, making him shiver. "Say it again."
"Natasha, please."
"Since you ask so nicely," she says, bringing the crop down hard on his ass. She whips him until he's sore and aching and desperate, and then she says, "Get up on the bed and grab hold of the headboard."
He scrambles to do what he's told, kneeling with his back to her and his ass in the air.
"No," she says, though she slaps his ass with the palm of her hand, which stings in the best possible way, "that's for another time." He tamps down the flare of hope that there will be another time, and the flash of desire at the idea of her fucking him like that. "Get on your back."
When he's in position, she picks up his belt from where it's neatly coiled on the dresser and twines it around his wrists and through the slats of the headboard. His cock jumps and he has to suck in a deep breath to keep from moaning at how good it feels.
"Is this okay?"
He tests it--he could easily get out if he really wanted to, but he really, really doesn't. "Yes. Natasha, please."
"You're so pretty when you beg," she says, stripping off her clothes and climbing astride him. She leans forward, arching her back so her breasts are hovering over his mouth, close enough that he can lick her tight pink nipples if he raises his head off the pillow. She pushes into the touch, and then away, teasing herself the same way she's teasing him, but if she wants him to beg, he's perfectly willing to do it.
"Please," he says again.
"Please, what?" she asks, wetting the head of his cock, rubbing it against her but not letting him push up inside.
"Please fuck me, Natasha," he manages, hands flexing in his bonds and hips thrusting up off the bed, aching to bury himself deep inside the slick heat of her. "Please."
Natasha grins and sinks down onto his cock, tightening around him. She sets a relentless pace, fucking him hard, one hand playing at her clitoris while the other clutches at his hip, fingernails digging in and leaving half-moon indentations that will disappear as soon as she lets go.
Neither of them last long, but he at least gets the satisfaction of feeling her come around him, her body tightening like a velvet fist around his cock. He arches up and comes with a shout. She rides him through it, until they're both spent and satisfied.
Natasha sprawls on top of him and unties his hands. He shakes the feeling back into them and then wraps his arms around her. They fall asleep like that and are still in that position a few hours later when the message comes in from Fury--SHIELD has what it needs, and they should vacate the premises before the raid at oh six hundred.
They pack quickly, efficiently, and Steve tucks the collar into his bag; he can't find the crop, or he'd take that too. He leaves the rest of the toys behind.
*
The debrief is awful and writing the mission report is worse. He imagines everyone can see the faded marks on his skin, that they all know what he and Natasha have been up to, and he doesn't care so much for himself--he's been the butt of mocking for most of his life--but he doesn't want any of that to touch her. She seems oblivious, though. She nods at the agents in the hallways and makes plans to go for drinks with Clint and Maria.
He feels like a third wheel--another familiar, if unwanted, sensation--and heads back to the tower to unpack and shower. He stays under the hot spray for a long time, wants to wash off the stink of that place, but not what happened between him and Natasha, even if it will probably never happen again.
He towels off and walks back into the bedroom to get dressed and finds Natasha sitting on the bed, the collar in her hands.
"Hi," he says, feeling awkward for a few seconds. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, but then he decides, what the hell, and he kneels down in front of her.
"Hi," she says, fastening the collar around his neck. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, feeling tension uncoil from his shoulders.
"I wasn't sure if you still wanted to," he says, ducking his head.
She cups his cheek and tips his face up. "Yes," she says. "Do you?"
"Yes," he answers eagerly.
"Good boy. Then I have a special treat for you." She takes off her clothes until she's standing in front of him in nothing but a black leather harness, red silicone dildo curving between her thighs.
"Oh, wow," he says, reaching for her. "You sure know how to show a guy a good time."
She wraps her arms around him and laughs into his mouth.
end
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