Burning

The sun was offensively bright in her eyes, and the sting of leaking gasoline poisoned every shuddering breath she took. But Natasha couldn’t be bothered to care about her sense of sight or smell. Not when her belly felt like it was on fire. Not when she had just been shot in the abdomen.

Her strength was quickly failing, draining out along with her blood, and she allowed her body to sink to her knees, arms wrapped around her midsection. Glancing over her shoulder confirmed what she already knew to be true: the engineer was dead. The same bullet that had pierced her body had travelled through, striking and killing the man instantly.

She huffed a breath and turned back to the figure before her. The Winter Soldier had completed another mission.

Though her mouth was dry, though her body was giving out, Natasha couldn’t give up on her own goal. She needed him to remember himself. He had to come back to her.

“James,” she pleaded, her teary gaze crawling up his dark figure to search for his eyes behind the mask. “Please, let me tell you about us.”

The Soldier shifted, stepping closer. The raw power in his muscles used to make her flush with passion, but now filled her with terror. She didn’t have time to raise her hands in defense as he suddenly wrapped a metal hand around her throat. Nat felt herself being pulled upward, closer to his masked face.

“There is no us,” the Soldier said in Russian, his voice deathly cold. ”I have no name.”

Gasping for air, Nat’s fuzzy mind wondered vaguely whether if it would be less pleasant to be strangled to death rather than bleed out from her wound.

But nothing in her body hurt as much as her heart.

“Please,” she whispered. “Remember me.”

The Soldier simply held her, staring into her eyes. Natasha’s lungs burned, her fingers weakly clawed at his metal wrist, her vision fading.

This was it. This was how the greatest Black Widow would die. At the hands of the man she loved most in all the world. And he didn’t even realize it.

Suddenly, the fingers on her neck flexed and Natasha was dropped to the ground. Hot air filled her lungs, as did the cloud of dust that surrounded her. Her body screamed in protest as she sputtered and coughed, but she couldn’t bring herself to make a sound. Instead she watched, pitifully, as the Soldier’s booted feet turned and walked away.

She didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears.

—-

Natasha opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by darkness.

She lay on her back perfectly still, breath hitched, willing her mind to work through her surroundings. She was in bed, not her own bed. The sheets were different, slightly rougher, slightly heavier as they lay on her body. There was a warm, musty scent in the air, the smell of old wood. And at her side, a man lay sleeping, warm, even breath causing a few strands of her hair to shift, tickling her cheek.

James.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to control her emotion, but two tears slipped out the corners and fell to the pillow beneath her.

He was with her, as he should be, by her side in the guest bedroom of the Barton’s home. Everything was alright. It had been a nightmare, a terrible memory, no doubt brought on by Wanda’s earlier toying with her mind.

She turned onto her side, her hands coming up to graze his chest. She could feel his steady breathing, his heartbeat, as her own evened out. Nat sniffled softly as she took in the peaceful expression on his beautiful face.

Even back in the Red Room, she had taken such guilty pleasure in watching him sleep. The tortured Soldier, the tool of Hydra, the man who committed atrocities at the orders of his handlers, could finally find peace in her bed.

A sudden urge filled her, and Nat pressed herself closer to his warm body. She needed to be closer to him, to feel the security of his embrace, to know he knew her, to know he loved her.

One hand moved to caress his cheek, stubble rough against her palm, and she pressed a kiss to his lips. It was gentle, but needy, and Natasha moaned softly against his mouth when she felt him awaken and respond.

James’ hand moved to her shoulder, slight pressure pulling her back so he could meet her eyes.

“Tasha?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “Are you crying?”

She didn’t answer, instead going in for another kiss. Her lips were on his, on his chin, on his neck, her hands crawling down his bare chest, fingering the waistband of his pajama pants, desperately trying to convince him to make love to her.

“Please,” she whispered against his collarbone. “I need you.”

He didn’t respond, and for a moment, Nat wondered if he had even heard her. Then, the man moved.

He gently pushed against her again, rolling her onto her back and following with his own body. She began to wrap her arms around his neck, but James’ bigger hands trapped her wrists and pushed her hands above her head. Natasha stared up at him, confused, frustrated.

But James simply stared back at her, gently holding her still, studying her face with that wordless intensity of his. His right hand moved to brush the lingering wetness from the corner of her eye, and a softness washed over his features. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. He understood.

Before Nat could blink, his lips were on hers again. This time his kisses were more commanding, with building intensity that was quickly taking her breath away. His metal hand released hers, moving instead to trail down her side in a cool caress while she wove her fingers through his dark hair.

James’ kisses shifted, traveling up her jawline to her ear. “We’ll have to be quiet,” he whispered, his voice as hot as his breath against her.

Natasha nodded quickly, unwilling to waste any more time. Her hands moved downward, brushing over the muscles in his back as she reached for the top of his pajamas again. James lifted his body in response, pausing the ministrations of his lips against her neck to reach down and push off the clothing. By the time he had tossed the pajamas to the floor, Nat had already lifted her t-shirt over her head.

With the slight pressure of his hand against her chest, James pushed her back down against the mattress. Their lips joined again as she spread her legs to let him nestle between. Besides the soft palming of her hands against her body, there was no foreplay. That wasn’t what Natasha wanted or needed from him this time. She just needed to be joined with him, to be reminded that she was his, and he was hers.

When he pushed into her, it was with a strangled moan, an erotic sound that nearly sent Natasha over the edge on its own. She relished the feeling of herself stretching around him, the sweet pain of her body adjusting to his. It made her gasp and dig her nails into his back.

James’ movements were slow, controlled, deep but tender, as he peppered her shoulders and chest with featherlight kisses. She felt surrounded by him, smothered by the heat of his body, the heat of his breath, the scent of him filling what little air there was between them. As if nothing in the world existed but him.

It was perfect.

As he picked up the pace, Natasha’s legs shifted, wrapping around his waist, opening herself more to him while digging her heels into his backside to pull him in even closer. James’ breath caught in his throat, and she knew he was close.

He buried his face in her hair, lips against her ear as he growled out her name. His voice sent a jolt of fire straight through her soul, and Natasha came, biting his shoulder to keep from crying out into the darkness.

They lay without moving for some time afterward, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his bare back while his heartbeat slowed against her chest. When he did finally push himself off of her, his real arm pulled her along, holding her close against his side. Natasha’s eyelids already felt heavy as he pressed a long kiss against the top of her head.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as sleep took its hold again.