Bonding
Things are different after that. Less strained in some ways, more strained in others.
Natasha recognizes herself to be the problem now. She notes thankfully that James is much more relaxed around her again. It's still not quite as easy as before, but at least there isn't any of that tension anymore, trying to suffocate them both when they're together.
Now, she is just uncertain. Uncertain how they feel, uncertain how she feels, uncertain of every little thing in her life.
It's a feeling she can't stand and that feeling is quickly getting the better of her.
She has felt the looks they've both been giving her. They can tell something is different with her, something has changed. Her efforts to act as if nothing had changed are not paying off apparently.
With only two days left until the wedding, she hopes she can just blame it on the nerves.
James finds her one day, sitting under that same tree he'd found her under last time, outside of the manor, far enough away she had thought she wouldn't be found. She wonders briefly, as he sits next to her, if she was hoping he would find her.
She curses whatever subconscious instinct told her to come here, even as she draws comfort from his presence.
They sit in silence for a while. Eventually, he speaks.
"You are still willing to go through with the wedding?"
The way he phrases it, there is a question in the words that she feels guilty for putting there. They should both be assured of her commitment when they're this far in. Yet something about her behavior has made them question it. Or at least made James question it. She isn't sure whether she hopes he has kept his concerns to himself or not.
She considers how to answer for a moment. "Is it that bad?"
His shoulders shake with silent laughter. She misses those brief weeks when they would have been sitting close enough she could feel the movement.
"No." He answers with a slight grimace. "Clint says I'm being hypersensitive to it because I feel guilty." He looks down at his hands, shaking his head.
"Guilty?"
"Yes." His face scrunches up and she can see the crinkles by his eye getting deeper. "My little stint earlier."
He doesn't elaborate, assuming that Natasha would understand what he's referring to.
She did, but she still needed some little things cleared up. "How does that relate to me?"
He studies her for a moment then asks, "Are you trying to make me admit it like Clint did? Cause if so, you may be a more perfect match than even I had hoped for."
It's Natasha's turn to laugh at that. "No. I'm not sure how you… having doubts, relates to my… also having doubts." She finishes lamely, unsure what else to call it.
She doesn't want to offend him by calling his behavior a tantrum, even though she is sure she has heard Clint refer to it as such when they thought she couldn't hear them.
She also doesn't want to give away any of what she heard between the two men while she was supposed to be off getting her books, but was actually eavesdropping in the hallway. She still hasn't entirely processed that information.
The only other thing she could say would be relating to her own issues. But the only words she can attribute to her own issues veer alarmingly towards feelings, and she knows she isn't ready to have that conversation yet.
If ever.
'Doubts' seems to have gotten her point across well enough, because James answers. "I let my doubts, my fears, get the better of me. And in doing so, I treated both you and Clint poorly."
He peeks up at her when he finishes. He looks sheepish, like he isn't sure if he can actually bring himself to apologize.
Instead, he continues. "And now it seems I've made you question things as well." He takes in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. "I want to apologize. And ask that you- that you don't decide this is all too much. I know it's a lot, but…"
He looks forward, unable to face her for the next part. "It has to be you. You're it."
She feels the words, a soft caress, but also an iron grip around her heart. How can he say these things? It's unfair. Unfair for him to say the things that she hasn't let herself admit she wants to hear.
Because she does want to hear them. And that's a blow to the gut as well.
But he doesn't mean it the way she wants him to mean it. She is the one they chose, the one they had agreed on. She is the one Clint has been publicly promised to. She is the one they both desire.
But therein lies the issue. She is desired. Not truly wanted. She is necessary, but not needed. She is their choice. But she wasn't given one.
Not in reference to her feelings at least.
She forces her voice to work.
"Well, alright." James sneaks a glance back at her again, frowning. "If you're that desperate. I suppose I should take pity on you."
She lets a bit of teasing seep through into her voice. He looks at her as though she has lost her mind.
Perhaps she has.
She is barely holding in her laughter at his expression. She really might be going mad. When he manages to snap his mouth closed again, he narrows his eyes at her. "You were never considering leaving us."
He says it accusingly, but behind the surprise, there is a hint of relief. She shakes her head slowly, a smile taking over her lips even as her heart squeezes painfully. Oh, to laugh and play with this man she has come to desire.
It's a wonderful pain. It's everything she wants, yet it makes her heart ache.
"You know, that's not very nice, letting me think you would leave us." He leans further into her space, knocking her shoulder with his. But he doesn't return to his own space like he usually would after the maneuver.
She turns, tucking her face into her own shoulder, nose so close to his body she can smell him, the soap he uses, the clean, warm linen of his shirt, and something soothing she has come to associate with his natural scent. Her knees are tucked loosely to her chest, arms wrapped around them, hands clasped in front of her legs. It feels like a very vulnerable position to be in, yet she finds it doesn't bother her.
Not with him.
She is still shocked by her own reaction to his proximity. Her heart speeds up, her breathing becomes more shallow, her blood coming to color her cheeks in the most inconvenient ways.
Natasha can feel him watching her as she hides her face from his view. "Well? No apology for me?" She hears him ask softly.
She allows herself a small laugh, shoulders shaking with it, and peers up to look into his eyes. They seem… happy. It sends a shock through her to see him so open and so close to her. Leaning in more fully, she thinks how easy it would be to close the gap between them.
Either he reads her mind or he is having similar thoughts, because no sooner had the thought flashed in her own mind than James dropped his gaze to her lips. It felt like there was a magnet drawing them together. She felt helpless to stop it, even if she wanted to.
She didn't want to.
They were too close, she didn't have enough time to panic, to shake herself and get her brain back online and put a stop to whatever moment they were having.
Less than a breath away, she finds her voice again. "I'm sorry."
James freezes instantly. He doesn't back away, but he makes no move closer. He reaches across their bodies and places a hand on top of hers where they lay together just under her knees. "What is it you're sorry for, exactly?" His lips move against hers as he speaks.
Her eyes are half lidded as she responds. "Any grief I may have caused you. You or your partner."
He withdraws a fraction, but she still feels the breath from his words on her face when he speaks, hot and humid. "What grief are you referring to?"
Natasha straightens her spine a bit at the implication. "Are there so many examples to choose from?"
James shakes his head slowly, turning to her, full body rather than just his torso, moving his hand up her arm, his other hand going to settle on her waist. He squeezes her tightly, so tight it almost hurts. But she welcomes it. It forces her to pause and she sees the path her mind is taking her, where her words are leading.
Meeting his eye, she sees he has followed it too.
She turns her head away from James and lets out a gust of breath, looking back quickly when his hand comes to her cheek as his eyes seek out hers again, tilting his head to meet her gaze straight on.
"You have caused us less grief than I believe you think." She watches his eyes flicker down to her mouth and back up again. "Is there some instance you're referring to? Or is it possible you did the same thing I did?"
His voice becomes gentle, understanding. It pains her to hear when she has done nothing to deserve it. Especially when she is the cause of his supposed transgression. Her guilt increases as he continues. "I made more problems for myself by not admitting what I was feeling in the first place. You say you have caused us grief that I don't see. Is it possible you're doing the same?"
Feeling James' hands on her still, tight and grounding, she forces herself to swallow down the instinctual denial and lashing out she can taste on her tongue, the taste bitter now that she had acknowledged it for what it was. Physically swallowing the tension that had appeared in her throat, she squared her shoulders and shrugged.
When she let them fall, she felt the release of all the fight, all the tension, the will to try and stay away from these two men who had broken her down so. Broken down in a way that she doesn't mind in the least, if the way James is looking at her is what comes from it.
"Will you let us help?" James asks gently as he strokes a finger on her face, from jaw to cheekbone.
Natasha feels the heat that follows his touch. Her eyes are so close to fluttering shut. She trusts him. She isn't sure the when or why or how of it, but she does and it has been an exhausting process over the last two months.
She nods. It should feel like a defeat, but it feels almost like… freedom?
The look of pure happiness that blooms on his face makes her own heart pound out of sync for a moment. Allowing no more time for either of them to back out, his lips finally meet hers fully.
If anyone else had told her that they felt a spark from a kiss, she would have laughed. When she felt it for herself, she couldn't help the gasp it brought from her lips.
James took it as an opportunity to slot their mouths together more firmly. He had her bottom lip between his and allowed just the tip of his tongue to brush against it. Tingles followed where he touched, every point of contact just like that initial spark, only dulled slightly, shared over her entire body.
Her hands had unclasped from around her knees and had instead grabbed onto James, a shoulder and a forearm, one held tight in each hand, like she wanted to make sure he couldn't leave her now.
Breaking for air, Natasha drags in a breath, but James seems too eager for such mortal concerns and goes right back for more, kissing the side of her mouth, pressing small kisses to every part of her face, cheeks, nose, eyes, jaw. When her lungs have refilled themselves again, she turns to recapture his lips with hers.
One of her hands raises from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling him to her tightly, now that she has moved her knees out of the way she can press them together, chest to chest, clinging to him.
James ends up with a hand on the back of her head, his other arm wrapped almost all the way around her waist, crushing her to him, equally as desperate to not let her go.
When he makes no move to deepen the kiss, she makes the move herself, opening herself for rejection she feels confident won't come.
When he parts his lips on a sigh at the feel of her tongue carefully tasting him, she takes it as encouragement. She is silently thrilled at how he is allowing her to lead, kiss centering on her learning his mouth, like he is assured enough there will be other chances for him to return the favor and he is fine with letting her have this.
Expecting him to take control, she is surprised when he finally moves. More of her weight presses onto him as he leans back, bringing her with him. He is reclined on one elbow, the other still anchored around her waist, unwilling to let her go. She ends up half on top of him, chests heaving against each other, breathless from need.
"Ahem."
Suddenly a throat is clearing behind them. Natasha freezes, but James doesn't acknowledge it. She feels tension return to his body, a contrast from how relaxed he had been only seconds ago, but he finishes kissing her, several more swipes of his tongue against her lips before placing a final chaste peck to her rigid mouth when he accepts her lack of response.
His eyes flicker open and over her shoulder where she hasn't dared to look yet. He clears his throat a bit but it does little to disguise the gravely quality his voice has taken on from their moment of passion. "You couldn't have waited another few moments to announce yourself?"
"Personally, I felt I had let you enjoy yourself quite thoroughly already." Clint's voice was like a pitcher of cold water dumping on Natasha, freezing her desire from the burning ember it had been just before he announced his presence. She knew it was him. Who else would it be? But it still chilled her, hearing his voice at such a time.
"It wasn't myself I was enjoying…" James grumbled as he moved to sit up.
Natasha moved with him, not given much of a choice considering her position settled practically in his lap. She could feel how much James didn't want to let her go, in the tightening of his arm around her as well as the arousal in his lap.
Once seated, she still felt frozen. There was comfort in maintaining physical contact with James, but given what Clint had just witnessed, she is sure she should move away from him, try to recover some of her dignity, or minimize the damage at the very least.
Stuck in place by her own inability to make a choice, she does nothing. She won't meet James' eye when he looks back to her and ducks his head to get her to look at him.
"Natasha?" His voice is barely more than a whisper. A finger comes up to trace down her cheek but she turns away from him. How can he continue touching her when his lover is less than six feet away from them?
"Natasha." That is Clint's voice now. And he sounds demanding. She wants to turn to face him, but dreads what she will see when she does.
Carefully removing herself from James' hold, she straightens her clothes and pats down hair, knowing she still looks indecently rumpled but needing the moment to collect herself.
Finally, she has run out of things to stall with, so she faces him.
She isn't sure what she was expecting, but the heat and open arousal on his face was not it.