To the Count of Five
Steve tensed beneath her as she said the words, and for a moment she thought he would pull away, that this would be one of those moments he wanted to linger on. She had gotten so used to talking through everything with him, that she had forgotten who he was at his core:
A man of action.
His hands were on her and very suddenly the kiss was deeper. They had never been good at chaste— they had both had partners before, they knew what they liked. More importantly, they knew what each other liked. Still, this kiss was… something else. Something primal. The full weight of Steve’s body was atop her, his lips drawing the very breath from her lungs and lighting her skin up with every touch.
She loved the feeling of him against her, so solid and real and there. Everything else was so uncertain still, so difficult to comprehend, but he was there. And he wanted her.
Badly.
She could feel him pressing against her thigh already, his lips trailing sloppily down to her neck, settling on the crook of her shoulder, where they seemed to
pull cries from her lips. She bucked up into him, gripping at his shoulders, his back, his hips. Anything she could reach, anything to get her closer. She needed him, badly, more than she had ever needed anyone before, and for the first time since they had done this at Sam’s apartment in DC, she let herself acknowledge that.
His thigh slid between her legs and they spread of their own accord, allowing him further into her space. The rocking of his hips drew her right up to the edge, the fastest she had ever gotten there, and they hadn’t even taken their clothes off yet. Natasha wanted to come, badly, but she knew she couldn’t just yet. She needed to take back control.
She flipped them over easily and felt the air leave Steve’s lungs as he looked up at her. Her hands encircled his wrists and pinned them to the bed next to his head, her eyes trained down on him as he looked up with that wide, vulnerable look that only she ever got to see.
He pushed up to where her chest was in front of his face, burying his nose in the fabric of her top and inhaling deeply. She could feel his breath against her skin, bated and hot. She reached behind her to take her shirt off but his hands stilled hers.
“Let me.”
He sat up so that they were at eye level, forcing her back on his lap so that she was centered over him. His hands guided her top up and over her head, cast it to the side of the bed, and trailed down her back in teasingly long strokes. She arched up against him, pressing her hardened nipples against the cotton that she swore was soft just a moment before.
He looked up at her as he pressed his face to her chest, lips tracing the contours of her skin and teeth pulling the most sensitive bits between them. Her hand was locked in his hair, pressing his face against her, pulling him ever closer and watching as his eyes slipped shut and his chest swelled with an inhale.
“Christ,” he whispered, an omission so ladened with admiration that she would have labeled him a devout if not for the list that colored it. “I love your body.”
She could only moan in response, his hands reaching to cup her upper back and support her as he leaned further against her. She put one hand on the headboard for support, feeling her normal control begin to slip. She tried to keep it together, tried to focus on making everything as good for him as he was for her, but she couldn’t. Couldn’t hold back the cries he drew from her mouth.
-----------------
To Steve’s credit, he wasn’t really trying. He didn’t have to with her. She was like putty in his hands, her body melting between his fingers, lithe and loose and relaxed. He loved watching her come apart, watching her lose herself when she was with him. It had been so long waiting for her to let him in, for her to let him help her. He hadn’t been lying, he would have taken her however he could have her, whether as friends or as more, but damn was he glad she hadn’t said ‘friends’.
Her body was incredible as he pressed against her, so smooth and soft. He wanted to prioritize her, he really did, but with her breasts rubbing against his shirt and her hips twitching against him, he couldn’t resist. He pressed his face into her chest, relishing the way the hand that was locked in his hair pulled him even closer.
He wanted to be closer to her, always. It was never enough.
“Steve,” she whispered into his hair, pressing a kiss to his widow's peak as her hips continued to rock over his. There was no pattern to it, just her body taking control as she searched for friction.
He detached his lips from where they had once again wrapped around her nipple and sloppily recaptured hers. The movement of her hips was becoming erratic, her breathing becoming shallow. He placed his hands on her hips and stilled them, holding her down as she let out a slight whimper. He couldn’t resist— he pressed up against her once, feeling the heat seep through both their pajama pants and— if it hadn’t been already— bring his cock to full attention.
“Will you let me take my pants off first, Romanoff?” he asked. His accent bled through when he was like this— incredibly turned on, losing his grip. He didn’t remember ever feeling like this with another girl, with anyone for that matter, ever in his life. Just looking at her pushed him right up to the edge. He knew if he didn’t get her off of him he was going to go flying over it way too soon.
Without much warning he wrapped an arm around her waist and readjusted them so he was lying flat on his back. The bed squeaked dangerously underneath them.
“What are you doing?” she asked, looking down at him with unbridled need painted across her perfect features. He almost wanted to go back on his decision, to flip her over and slip their pants down just far enough that he could be inside her and he could watch those full lips open in that silent O she always made when she came. But no, he wanted to take his time with her. And he knew if he could look at her, it would be over way too quickly.
“Take your pants off,” he said. “I want you on my face.”
She rolled off of him quickly and did so, her legs sliding back on either side of his hips and her heat settling over him once more. He was still fully clothed beneath her, but as she slid her body up his he felt her brush over his exposed stomach. His abdomen tensed unwillingly and his hips arched up in search of her.
“Tell me if I’m too heavy,” she said, her navel only a few inches from his lips. He craned his neck to kiss her stomach, before reaching up to cup her ass and bring her full weight down onto his face.
She yelped at the contact, his warm tongue finding its way against her clit almost immediately. She was so wet already, so hopelessly gone for him. Her hands shook against the headboard, her legs straining to hold her weight off of him. Meanwhile, his fingers pulled at her hips, trying to combat her strength and pull her closer.
“Jesus, Rogers,” she cried, arching back as his tongue slipped inside of her. She was a mess above him, tugging at her nipples, whimpering at the feel of his hands on her body, looking down at where his eyes could just barely meet hers. She wanted him inside of her, pumping away as she melted into the mattress, as she cried out. She was in torment.
Steve was in heaven.
Her thighs muffled his ears and muted her cries, his nose ran over her clit and surrounded him in nothing but her scent, the weight of her body both grounded him and set him free at the same time.
She was close, he could tell she was close, and he wanted her to come with his cock buried deep inside her. He pushed her back, her cunt landing on his chest and the warmth of it leaving a spot on the thin cotton of his shirt.
“JARVIS,” he called out. His voice was low, strained. “Is this room soundproof?”
“No, sir,” came the response. “Would you like it to be?”
“Yes,” he responded, flipping Natasha over so that he was hovering atop her. Their hands worked together to pull his shirt over his head, to pull his pants down just far enough that he could free his cock as it strained against the pajamas Thor had been so excited about.
He lined up with her entrance, teasing her for only a moment before pressing into her. She arched back and he caught what would have probably been a very loud noise with his tongue. She pushed her chest into his, searching for friction, anything, grinding against him in a way that seriously inhibited his ability to set a pace.
“Control yourself, Romanoff,” he growled, pressing her hips flat into the bed. “Do you not think I’ll restrain you?”
She hooked a leg around his ass and pulled him closer. “Do you not think I could escape?”
He huffed out a laugh and pulled out, unbearably slowly. “Do you want to play games?”
Honestly, he didn’t know if he could. the way she was looking up at him, her eyes dark, her perfect chest heaving with each breath, her lips parted and awaiting his. Maybe if he couldn’t see her…
He roughly flipped her over, yanking back on her hips until she was on all fours and her ass was up in the air. He pulled her arms out from beneath her, forcing her face into the mattress, gathering her hands in one of his and pressing them into her back.
“We can play games,” he said.
The tie he had worn earlier was just within reach. He knew Natasha could probably free herself if she tried hard enough, if she focused, but his goal was to make that impossible.
He pressed into her once more, a stifled moan echoing through the room as she struggled to pull her hands away from the hastily made pair of handcuffs. He could control himself when he had her like this, when he couldn’t see the expressions she was making or the way her chest bounced with each thrust. He could watch her fall apart.
And he wanted to, so badly. He wanted to take her away from it all, to fuck her how he hadn’t let himself when everything was still so unsure. How he had almost fucked her in the closet, over the bar. How he had in DC.
He wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled her against him, digging in his fingers to exhibit the control he was using every bit of energy to hold onto.
——————
Natasha, on the other hand, was losing all control. The sex with Steve was never boring, but it had never been quite this… much. Her body felt like it was on fire, like the sheets against her were made of sandpaper and with each pump of him inside of her her skin was rubbed just a bit more raw. She wanted to touch him, wanted him to touch her beyond simply pulling her hips back to meet his. She craved the pressure of his body atop her.
“Please,” she cried out. “Please touch me.”
His hips stilled behind her and he leaned forward, locking a hand in her hair and pulling her up ever so slightly.
“What do you want?”
She gave him as withering of a look as she could manage in her current state. He just raised an eyebrow.
“What do you want, Romanoff?”
She felt herself clench for a split second at the sound of her name spoken like that. His eyes slipped shut and he pushed her away once again. She rocked back against him and watched him recoil and squeeze the base of his cock in his hand.
“You know what I want, Rogers,” she said. “Be nice and give it to me.”
“That’s not exactly how I think you should be talking given our positions,” he said. “Do you want to try again?”
She felt his hands lock around her cuffs as she tried to untie them. “No.”
The crack of his hand against her ass seemed to surprise both of them, even more so when Natasha moaned— loudly and seemingly uncontrollably— into the mattress.
“Is that what you wanted?” Steve asked, his hand rubbing circles around where his handprint was slowly appearing against her skin. “For me to touch you?”
His voice was laden with arrogance, something she was not typically used to. She couldn’t lie— it turned her on. She shook her head, trying once again to wiggle out of the handcuffs. Once again he stopped her.
“Natasha. Stop moving.”
He was poised at her entrance again, tip wet and warm against the cool air.
“Let me take my time,” he said. His voice was softer again, almost comforting. “Please.”
She was having none of it, not when she was so close to getting what she wanted. “Just fuck me.”
Another crack, another sharp pain rippling through her body. She pressed her face into the comforter.
“Not to point out the obvious here, but I don’t think you’re in a position to be making any demands.”
He was right, and she knew it, but she couldn’t just let him stop.
“Please.”
It was barely audible, but it was enough for him to press inside her, if only a bit.
“Please what, Romanoff?”
“Please fuck me.”
He pushed in once, pulled out. “Like this?”
She pressed against the mattress, her breasts brushing over the threading of the comforter and catching deliciously on the beading.
“Properly, please. I need you.”
His hands raked over the swell of her ass, nails digging into her skin. He hummed to himself, deep in thought.
“I’ll give you to the count of five,” he finally said. She felt his finger tease at her entrance. “If you make it to five, I’ll fuck you properly.”
She watched backwards in anticipation, feeling his finger trail over her clit and almost send her over the edge before they even began.
She cried out as he pushed himself inside of her, hips scooping up to hit her g-spot. The pull of her core as she tensed sent tingles up her spine, aggressive and electrifying. He pulled out slowly.
“Count them, Natasha,” he said. She could only lay there as he teased her, completely at his mercy.
“One,” she whispered.
He slammed in again, she cried out as he— somehow— buried himself even deeper.
“Two,” she croaked.
This repeated, an unrelenting and exasperating torment, for two more strokes, before Natasha was sure she was going to explode. He had set the perfect rhythm, the perfect ratio, to plunge into her and pull out slowly, mind-numbingly slowly, and she knew with just one more stroke he would take her out.
“One more,” he said. His voice was low, his hands tense around her hips. “Are you going to make it?”
She was practically crying, her body humming, singing, screaming for him to let her come. She mustered all her strength and nodded, preparing to scream into the comforter with one final thrust.
Instead, she felt cool air as he pulled away, his hands finding hers and gently releasing her from her cuffs.
“Steve,” she all but sobbed, her arms finally freed and her hand pushing her up onto her knees. She faced him, taking in the strain of his muscles, the fact that at some point he had shed his pants completely, and the need shallowly buried behind his eyes.
“I want to see your face,” he said. “Come here.”
She wrapped her arms around him and he laid them down, her back supported by his forearm and his abdomen applying a gentle pressure to her lower belly. Her nipples were like diamonds against his chest, pressing against his flushed skin. His breath was hot against her neck.
“You are so gorgeous, Natasha,” he whispered against her lips. “So perfect. I love you so much.”
She pressed a kiss to his lips, begging for him to let her finish. “I love you too, Steve, but please, please—,”
He pushed into her and her vision went black.