Slowdancing
Slowdancing
Avengers | Sometime after Captain America: Reborn
General/Romance | PG | 1068 words
Natasha/Bucky
"It's not a silly little moment; it's not the calm before the storm"
--John Mayer's Slow Dancing in the Burning Room.
(Christmas comes late in Russia)
Pure white stretched out against the vast black winter night: Natasha closed her eyes and imagined what the blanket of snow would feel under her bare feet, the imaginary cold already making her shiver and she giggled from the sensation. The centralized heating unit made her small dingy room too warm even as the wind viciously blew against the shaking coniferous trees in the distance, but she kept her windows tightly shut and the curtain drawn save for a sliver through which she watched the winter scene played out.
She had a secret to hide that night and she couldn't take any chances, especially not when that secret was holding her waist from behind and burying his face into her shoulders, the warmth of his breath bringing her back from her fantasy.
"You know," she whispered and watched her breath mist up the glass of the window, "I think it's Christmas."
"Mhmmm," he mumbled and the rumble of his throat tickled her skin. "How'd you know?"
"I have an impeccable sense of time," she replied, "look, my watch is going to beep right now."
And it did; the shrill beeping filled the dark room and somehow she found it funny and she laughed--his puzzled look that she caught a glimpse of only spurred her on.
(Her thought flashed briefly to the two of them outside basking in the snow and swooning to church bells she had never heard before in her life--)
"Hey, let's dance."
The beeping went on and she made no move to stop it.
"What?" he said, looking flustered, "here? Now?"
"Yeah," she turned around and looped his arms over her head and placed them back on her waist, "here. Now."
The smallest of a smile was tugging at his lips. "I don't--I don't dance."
"It's nothing complicated," she said. She placed both of her hands at the back of his neck and drew him closer. "See, it's just--we're just moving right and left..."
They were both barefoot and she was thankful for that when he stepped on her feet again and again (he kept muttering his apologies but she just laughed them off). Their naked feet brushed the cheap carpet and sometimes static built up between their fingers or almost touching noses.
"Listen," she whispered and pointed out the rhythm and count of the beeping, "one-two-three, one-two-three." She moved him to the right, and then to the left; and back to front. He stumbled and tripped and he looked positively mortified dancing to a beat only she could hear--he had a goofy expression she'd never thought she'd see on him and it was like seeing an entirely new person and she loved it: the Winter Soldier out of his comfort zone.
"This is crazy," he said, but he was laughing too.
By that time she had settled them into a nice slow rhythm and she planted her face into his bare chest. In the dark, his metal arm gleamed faintly from the outside light filtering in.
"Well," she said, "we are two crazy people."
(Superheroes don't have Christmas breaks)
It was his first Christmas ever since he took up the shield and Steve's first Christmas ever since he came back. There were plans for
a dinner--Sharon in fact had cooked a turkey (and Sam grimaced when he'd heard about it) and Clint had offered to prepare the eggnogs--but even on the 24th of December New York still needed the Avengers for some saving (this time from the Mole-Man; they must not have calendars underground). They had trooped home dirty, tired and disgruntled, with dirt in their mouth and boots and where it would be rude to say aloud.
Thankfully, whatever that took up Steve's and Natalia's time all the time lately had spared them and she was already home when he opened the door.
"The dinner plans fell through, huh?" she said in a manner of greeting.
He grunted affirmatively. "They'll warm the food for a Christmas lunch tomorrow."
She was already out of her costume and she had pulled on an oversized shirt (which wasn't his; it could be Clint's or Luke's or any of the guys'--they left a lot of stuff when they moved out).
It wasn't snowing outside but there were leftover frost from the night before caking windowframes and rooftops. He could faintly hear the jolly carols sung on the streets.
"I think it's Christmas," he said, his ears straining to hear the whoops and festive greetings and cheers echoing outside.
She had gotten up from the sofa and approached him. She smelled good: the scent of her soap and body mist wafting into his dirt-caked nose. "I know," she said. She came near enough to almost kiss him but she didn't. "Get cleaned up, James, then we can have a Merry Christmas."
(She and her choices of words).
The choir outside had started singing a very familiar carol--it was muffled and not too professionally done--oh, it was Silent Night. He felt like it had been an eternity since he last heard it last in the war where both sides would be humming it as an informal declaration of ceasefire.
"C'mon, let's dance," he said suddenly.
"Dance? To what?"
He took her in his arms (and she squealed in mock-disgust) and he nodded to the empty air as if he could see the notes hang like the Christmas ghosts there. "To this."
He tried to lead--he wasn't a good dancer to start with and Natalia's one time lesson was a lifetime ago--but ended up bumping and stumbling into her and she laughed. She stopped them and arranged his hands on the small of her back and in her palm.
"Left, right," she whispered, and counted the rhythm of the carol in his ear. His costume was slippery to the touch but amidst the drying mud her fingers could grab hold of him.
The choir must have moved away because soon enough, they were left in the silence of his living room, but they kept moving to the rhythm she had placed in their heads.
"This is crazy," she said, her green eyes shining with amusement as he attempted to twirl her.
"Hey," he said, catching her, "we"re two crazy people to start with."
Avengers | Sometime after Captain America: Reborn
General/Romance | PG | 1068 words
Natasha/Bucky
"It's not a silly little moment; it's not the calm before the storm"
--John Mayer's Slow Dancing in the Burning Room.
(Christmas comes late in Russia)
Pure white stretched out against the vast black winter night: Natasha closed her eyes and imagined what the blanket of snow would feel under her bare feet, the imaginary cold already making her shiver and she giggled from the sensation. The centralized heating unit made her small dingy room too warm even as the wind viciously blew against the shaking coniferous trees in the distance, but she kept her windows tightly shut and the curtain drawn save for a sliver through which she watched the winter scene played out.
She had a secret to hide that night and she couldn't take any chances, especially not when that secret was holding her waist from behind and burying his face into her shoulders, the warmth of his breath bringing her back from her fantasy.
"You know," she whispered and watched her breath mist up the glass of the window, "I think it's Christmas."
"Mhmmm," he mumbled and the rumble of his throat tickled her skin. "How'd you know?"
"I have an impeccable sense of time," she replied, "look, my watch is going to beep right now."
And it did; the shrill beeping filled the dark room and somehow she found it funny and she laughed--his puzzled look that she caught a glimpse of only spurred her on.
(Her thought flashed briefly to the two of them outside basking in the snow and swooning to church bells she had never heard before in her life--)
"Hey, let's dance."
The beeping went on and she made no move to stop it.
"What?" he said, looking flustered, "here? Now?"
"Yeah," she turned around and looped his arms over her head and placed them back on her waist, "here. Now."
The smallest of a smile was tugging at his lips. "I don't--I don't dance."
"It's nothing complicated," she said. She placed both of her hands at the back of his neck and drew him closer. "See, it's just--we're just moving right and left..."
They were both barefoot and she was thankful for that when he stepped on her feet again and again (he kept muttering his apologies but she just laughed them off). Their naked feet brushed the cheap carpet and sometimes static built up between their fingers or almost touching noses.
"Listen," she whispered and pointed out the rhythm and count of the beeping, "one-two-three, one-two-three." She moved him to the right, and then to the left; and back to front. He stumbled and tripped and he looked positively mortified dancing to a beat only she could hear--he had a goofy expression she'd never thought she'd see on him and it was like seeing an entirely new person and she loved it: the Winter Soldier out of his comfort zone.
"This is crazy," he said, but he was laughing too.
By that time she had settled them into a nice slow rhythm and she planted her face into his bare chest. In the dark, his metal arm gleamed faintly from the outside light filtering in.
"Well," she said, "we are two crazy people."
(Superheroes don't have Christmas breaks)
It was his first Christmas ever since he took up the shield and Steve's first Christmas ever since he came back. There were plans for
a dinner--Sharon in fact had cooked a turkey (and Sam grimaced when he'd heard about it) and Clint had offered to prepare the eggnogs--but even on the 24th of December New York still needed the Avengers for some saving (this time from the Mole-Man; they must not have calendars underground). They had trooped home dirty, tired and disgruntled, with dirt in their mouth and boots and where it would be rude to say aloud.
Thankfully, whatever that took up Steve's and Natalia's time all the time lately had spared them and she was already home when he opened the door.
"The dinner plans fell through, huh?" she said in a manner of greeting.
He grunted affirmatively. "They'll warm the food for a Christmas lunch tomorrow."
She was already out of her costume and she had pulled on an oversized shirt (which wasn't his; it could be Clint's or Luke's or any of the guys'--they left a lot of stuff when they moved out).
It wasn't snowing outside but there were leftover frost from the night before caking windowframes and rooftops. He could faintly hear the jolly carols sung on the streets.
"I think it's Christmas," he said, his ears straining to hear the whoops and festive greetings and cheers echoing outside.
She had gotten up from the sofa and approached him. She smelled good: the scent of her soap and body mist wafting into his dirt-caked nose. "I know," she said. She came near enough to almost kiss him but she didn't. "Get cleaned up, James, then we can have a Merry Christmas."
(She and her choices of words).
The choir outside had started singing a very familiar carol--it was muffled and not too professionally done--oh, it was Silent Night. He felt like it had been an eternity since he last heard it last in the war where both sides would be humming it as an informal declaration of ceasefire.
"C'mon, let's dance," he said suddenly.
"Dance? To what?"
He took her in his arms (and she squealed in mock-disgust) and he nodded to the empty air as if he could see the notes hang like the Christmas ghosts there. "To this."
He tried to lead--he wasn't a good dancer to start with and Natalia's one time lesson was a lifetime ago--but ended up bumping and stumbling into her and she laughed. She stopped them and arranged his hands on the small of her back and in her palm.
"Left, right," she whispered, and counted the rhythm of the carol in his ear. His costume was slippery to the touch but amidst the drying mud her fingers could grab hold of him.
The choir must have moved away because soon enough, they were left in the silence of his living room, but they kept moving to the rhythm she had placed in their heads.
"This is crazy," she said, her green eyes shining with amusement as he attempted to twirl her.
"Hey," he said, catching her, "we"re two crazy people to start with."