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Walking Dreams

Chapter Text

In hindsight, it wasn’t one of his best ideas. Hanging upside down, his toes just out of reach of the dusty training ground and pants around his ankles, Bucky knew he was going to catch hell from Steve for this misadventure.

The calloused hand, attached to the arm of one ridiculously pissed off master-at-arms, came crashing down on his already sore ass. Bucky tried his best, he really did. But it was absurd to think anyone could keep silent under the furious assault from the right arm of the aptly named Sargent Fury, let alone 12 year old, James Barnes. His own squeaks of pain were inaudible compared to the Steve’s impassioned shouts. According to Bucky, “Put him down! You filthy one-eyed son of a mange-bitten dog!” wasn’t the best line to use on a man at his wit’s end.But what did he know.

Bucky took a minute to adjust to the head rush of being set back on his feet. The whole thing had probably lasted less than a minute, but to a very sore and sorry Buck, it felt like an eon. Steve was still glowering at the pair of them, panting from the efforts he had spent in vain. He was being held back, single-handedly by a 16-year old squire, with little effort while Bucky faced his penance.

“You got a choice kid”, said Fury. “Either you take him over your knee for following you into this stupid stunt or I call the Queen and put an end to the two of you making trouble for us ordinary folks.” 

Steve was the only son of Queen Sarah and even if he really did deserve a walloping, none of the men-at-arms were authorized to give him one. Bucky had been adopted into the royal family since his father George Barnes, Duke of Bruckheim, passed during the last war. He lived in constant fear of causing enough trouble that even Queen Sarah’s legendary patience would run dry; causing him to be tossed into the dungeons or out on his ass. The master-at-arms had played his hand cleverly. Steve would rather take a walloping than face his mother’s disappointment and Bucky would rather take a second thrashing than harm one head on Stevie’s fair little head.

“Time’s running out, kid…” began the man.

“Do it, Buck!” said Steve almost too softly to hear.

Bucky shot Steve a plaintive look. “You don’t have to do this, Stevie! They can’t make you!” he huffed.

“I don’t want Ma to know we tried to practice with the broad swords. She’s already got enough worry about. You have to do this, Buck”, he wheedled. “Besides you got yours. I’d feel bad if I got off with time spent in my room.”

Steve turned to face the Sargent.

“So, he wallops me and that’s the end of it?” he asked with narrow eyes. “You won’t go running to Ma after would you?”

“My prince, do I seem to be the kind of man to tell tales?” Bucky swore he could see the man’s lips twitch. “I give you my word, I’ll remember nothing of this, once the price has been paid.”

“Then, I’ll hold you to your word” Steve said with all the dignity in his skinny pre-pubescent frame.

“Come here, Buck” he said confidently.

“I don’t think that’s the way it works, Stevie” said Bucky, dubiously. “I think, you’re supposed to come here.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sometime this eon would be nice, Buck”

Bucky trudged to his side, dejected; the master-at-arms and his squire looked on, amused.

“How do you want to do this?” whispered Bucky. “Didn’t you learn anything in the last five minutes? I mean, I knew you were dim…” Steve smirked. Abruptly, Bucky tripped him and he landed over Bucky’s bent knee. If that’s how Steve wanted to play it, Bucky wouldn’t deny him his wish. “Atta boy, Buck!” Steve gasped as he twisted over his lap to grin at Bucky. Bucky’s hand trembled a bit as he raised it.

“Go on, kid”, said the man. “Don’t stop once you get started. I’ll tell you when to stop”

“That wasn’t part of the deal!” Steve protested mulishly, from across his knee.

“Well, did you think it’s fair you get his half-assed effort when I gave him my most sincere attention, my prince?”

“No…” said Steve sounding doubtful. “It’s alright, Buck” he whispered to Bucky, sounding more confident. “Do as he says, it will be over before you know it”

“I’m the one who should, be saying that, punk!” Bucky brought his hand down and true to Fury’s word, it was barely a pat when it met Steve’s skinny backside. “God! Buck, you hit like a girl!” laughed Steve. That inspired him to bring his hand down much harder for the second swat. “Bet you wouldn’t say that to Becca!” Bucky exclaimed indignantly. He did get into the spirit of things after that. His hand moved rapidly over Steve’s squirming butt and before long he was kicking his legs, like he was trying to swim away from the attention.

At the first exclamation of pain, from Steve’s lips, his hand faltered. “He’s had enough!” he pleaded with the man.

“I don’t think so, son. Not even half. Go on kid, finish it!”

Every second swat from then on, brought forth a whimper from Steve’s lips. Bucky’s eyes were welling up and he would have given anything to stop. But if there was anything Steve hated, it was being treated like a weakling. He didn’t think he could take days of Steve not talking to him; which would be the likely outcome if he stopped now. Bucky raised his arm and stopped short when the master-at-arms called out, “Done!”

Steve had gone limp over his knee. Bucky took a careful hold on his shoulders and pulled him into his lap as he collapsed onto the mud floor of the training arena. Steve’s arms came up to circle Bucky’s neck and he turned his face into Bucky’s chest before he could catch a clear glimpse of his face.

“Stevie, stevie…” Bucky called, his lip trembling. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Aything and anyone that made Steve cry was lower than dirt in Bucky's book and boy, did he feel like the lowest, dirtiest piece of dirt there ever was.

Bucky felt Steve’s long fingers running through his hair as he sobbed into Steve's neck. “Shh… it’s alright, Buck. We're muddling up our parts, you and I. You did good.” Bucky gently guided Steve to his feet and clung to him while he steadied his stance.

“Yeah, kid. You did good. You did great too, my prince. You better keep this one out of trouble. I don’t think he would do too well, having to punish his prince again. Now get out of my arena, before I change my mind.”

Steve turned to the man and stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry I called you a filthy son of a mange-bitten dog. Nobody else ever treats me fairly. I’m in your debt for allowing me to spare my mother worry and Bucky any disenchanted attention.”

Fury took the prince’s hand and shook it briskly, shaking both Steve and Bucky in the process. Not sparing the man a second glance, Steve and Bucky limped out of the training grounds to lick their wounds in privacy. I think you forgot one-eyed" he called after them.


Bucky shot up in his pallet. He didn’t remember much of his past. His only relief, amidst his tormented nights, were glimpses of that fair head; long artist's fingers and a pale, slime face with a smile that shines like the sun. Now he had a name to put to that face. Steve.



Chapter Text

Natasha traversed the treacherous, slick slopes towards the peak of the arête that separated her from their makeshift fortress. Her specialty wasn’t this physical reconnaissance especially when performed over long distances. She was a finely honed shashka; designed to get in close, to be sent to the very heart of the fight where neither foe nor friend knew where her loyalty lay. Where a broadsword, a spear or an arrow had no place – that’s where Natasha did her best work.

But with Clint and Wanda occupied in the east, Sam still at the Capital and Tony keeping their commander sane; she had no choice but to do the grunt work for Steven even though he preferred her by his side.

She made it to the top and watched the snow fall down the sharp rock face that led down into camp. It would have been a rewarding view on a day when the winds were still and the weather clear. She set up her equipment quickly and had her ropes ready for the descent. Stark had magicked her a set of pulleys that would ease her weight down the slopes with little effort from her arm.

“Thank god for that man,” she thought. “If there was but a way to keep his incessant chatter to the bare minimum.”

The dark made for easy cover. She did not like how the guards allowed her to reach so close to the battlement, before they were alerted to her presence. She called out the approach code before the idiots could give her grief. A counter call was made, which she affirmed with a passphrase.

The gate opened for her.



Steve’s greatest skill was his mind for defensive strategy. He was a formidable fighter, true. But there was something about him that kept him away from the shadowlands beyond awareness where Natasha’s soul resided. She could take joy in her kills and in her ability to strike fear in her victim’s hearts by the mere mention of her name. While it came with nightmares of its own, such a reputation was nothing to be sneezed yet. Steve’s sword arm, though never hesitant was always wary of its own strength. He rarely used a sharp weapon when his mind would do.

In her robes and hood, the men and women who occupied the encampment paid her no attention as she made her way to the flag-bearing pavilion where Steve resided while on tour. The guard on duty held open the tent-flap and allowed her free passage.


Steve stood stooped over the map table, his face serious and gaze drifting over the territories without pause. “What’s the word?” he asked, mind far away.  

I don’t think that’s the way you want to greet me tonight, Steven” She raised an eyebrow, eyes impassive and lips pursed in displeasure.

Steve often lost himself in his own mind and priorities. Thoughts of his own wellbeing were close to the very end of a long list or completely non-existent. It was difficult to snap him out of it once he got too deep into the spirals of control he wove; they kept him aloof from all others except to act as protector. If Steve wasn't in a place to even welcome her with warmth, he was in a bad way. Since a certain night, many years ago, almost at the beginning of their friendship – Nat had never allowed him to get away with his act of indifference. 

Like waking up out of a daze, Steve’s eyes met hers over the table. She saw the usual attentiveness sharpen his gaze, in the flickers cast by the firelamps that scattered the room. His face bloomed red.

Sorry, Nat”, he sighed and made his way around the table to envelop her in a bear hug and lift her off her feet. It was an act he insisted on repeating no matter how much she complained of the indignity of being suspended in his arms like a disgruntled pet cat.

How was the trip?” his voice came out muffled from where he’d hidden his face in her hair. He placed her gently back on her feet.

“It can keep. What I really would like to know is why you did it?” Nat prompted, her face neutral.

“Who told you?”  Steve demanded, looking ruffled.

“Oh, Steve…” she sighed, “I thought I taught you better. I can’t believe how often you fall for that! Now I know there’s something you don’t want me to know.”

Steve sighed and returned to his table. He drew up a chair and dropped into it with a huff. He used his toe to nudge out its twin for Nat.

“There’s no use putting it off. I’ll have found out by morning anyway. You’d just be saving me the legwork.”

“You know I’d just have told you about it myself.” Steve grumbled. At her scowl, he added, “Eventually.”

“But where’s the fun in that” she smirked playing with the little carvings of toy troops scattered over the map table. Her face was rarely this expressive. Outside of the present company, there existed only a handful of people who could annoy and amuse her in the same instance.

Grabbing the cavalry man out of Nat’s meddling hands, Steve set him carefully down on the table.

Soon after you left, the Rumlows attacked the village of Torun”, he began. “It’s about a half day’s journey from here. We were informed by ravens stationed by Tony of a cavalry unit, 25 strong and headed by the Crossbones flag-bearer. By the time we reached Torun, they had already been driven back – a dozen slain. The villagers described a single man – not even mounted, Nat. He used a metal bow, similar to a longbow. But like none I had ever seen or heard described before"

Well, it isn’t anything new,” mused Nat. “Clint sent me a hawk from Achnsbach. If the reports he's heard are genuine, this man was there not a fortnight ago. I wondered how he’s travelling. But the real question is why you wouldn’t want me to know about it.”

“It isn’t really that part that would upset you.” Steve offered hesitantly. “I took Danny and Matt; tracked him as far as Narwe River. We found it hard to follow him as a unit, the further he moved into the woods. He was covering his tracks, very much like you do at times. He looped around and crisscrossed his own path and in multiple places cut across streams so we’d lose his scent entirely.”

“How did you track his scent Steve?” asked Nat, the beginnings of unease stirring.

“I knew you’d catch on quick” Steve murmured under his breath. “I think… I think I may have met him before. I can’t be sure. I can’t usually single out strange scents and follow them over long distances. It’s still hard to track even familiar ones as you know, with how we practice. But I think I knew him once, a long time ago; before I was the way I’m now. I sent Danny and Matt, off on the wrong trail and caught up with him or he let me approach. I’m not sure which” Steve confessed.

“Tell me you didn’t, Steven Grant Rogers!” Nat exclaimed.

“You sound like Ma, Nat.” Steve complained. “I assumed he was friendly with how he was defending our people. But he got more distressed the closer I approached. He didn’t use the longbow, so I thought I might still have a chance to talk to him.”

“How naïve of you Steve…do you really think that a man, if not a foe is clearly your friend?” Nat whispered fiercely.

“If we lost him then, how much time do you think would pass before we got another shot at finding out who he is, Nat?”

“That’s not the point here and you know it!” Nat ground out. “He’s been consistently targeting Hydra affiliates. It isn’t a matter of if he would turn up, but when. So what I want to know is why you stuck out your fool neck, Steven. The least you could have done, was to not send away your guard!”

“You don’t understand, Nat. The way he stood, the way he fought… I think, I think it’s Bucky”

Nat stared at him, her eyes cold and angry. But beneath the façade, Steve knew he had scared her.

“Is this the reason you wanted to come on this campaign yourself? Instead of sending Sam when you’re needed in the Capital? Steve, you’re fooling yourself. You told me yourself, Bucky died a long time ago. I know you want to believe otherwise. But if you go looking for the dead, you wind up dead yourself. Believe me, Steve, I know.”

“I can’t put it off my mind, Nat. I keep going over that day… wondering whether there’s any chance he’d have made it. Whether I left him there – to suffer. I just wanted to see the man’s face. You’re right Nat. It’s not him – I just want to be sure”

“And did you?” asked Nat softly, though her gaze on him was still frigid.

“He wore a mask and no other armor. He caught the Shield, Nat. I threw it across the length of the clearing – it was almost a furlong and he caught it like it was a child’s toy. I saw...” Steve hesitated. “I saw that his left arm - it was covered it metal or it was a metal arm. I think he’s enchanted, like me. He saw us coming a mile away and could have taken out all three of us. I think we can be sure that he doesn’t want to do us harm, Nat.”

“Steve, do you remember what I told you about the Winter Soldier?” Nat asked her voice husky and face pale. Steve immediately knew she was afraid. That low register crept into her voice and would be a distraction to anybody – man or woman - who didn’t know her as well as Steve did.

“I'd considered it when the reports started coming in. I didn't think it possible with how tight the security was around the soldier. Honestly, I didn’t want to believe it. The only other man I’ve ever met who could hold that Shield is him. Not to mention the metal arm.” 

“But you called the Soldier the Fist of Hydra!” Steve argued, agitated.

“I don’t think he ever wanted to be that. Just like I never wanted to fight for Red Army. He wasn’t what you would call sentient when I knew him. He was a ghost, a shell. I sometimes wondered whether he was even alive, the things they made him do. If he’s hunting them and their followers now, he’s escaped or he’s been turned. We need to talk to Phil.”

“I’ll have Tony send the raven” Steve stood up, ready to take action.

“You can do that in the morning. I think you have something to ask me first, Steven” Nat smiled, more in a baring of teeth than any friendly gesture. Steve gulped and shifted his weight on his feet. It always amazed him how quickly Nat could shift track. Sometimes he thought, she did it just to throw him off.

“What’s our deal, Steven?” asked Nat, enjoying watching him squirm. Steve was a beautiful paradox. He was always so controlled and had an amazing intensity that made him the one constant, that every soldier on their side took strength from in a ruthless fight. It was truly a pleasure for Natasha to be one of the only people who saw him so vulnerable.

“I’ll be your conscience keeper and you take care of me when I forget to take care of myself,” Steve whispered. Nat pushed herself of her seat and circled Steve like he was a particularly jumpy prey animal. 

Tonight would be fun. For her.



Chapter Text

“Are you my sub tonight, Steven”, Nat demanded.

“Yes”, Steve gulped.

“And what do you say if you want me to stop?” she asked as she circled him again.


“Good. Get undressed.” Steve swiftly unbuttoned his surcoat. “Take your time,” Nat added. She walked to the entrance of the pavilion and murmured instructions to the guard outside.

She returned to the middle of the pavilion to the lovely sight of a very naked Steve.

You do know how I hate you neglecting yourself”, Nat purred as she raked her gaze over all that beautiful bare skin. Steve trembled under the practically physical presence of her scrutiny. It felt heavier, the longer he was exposed to it. “If you’re so set on hurting yourself, I think you should at the very least do it under supervision. We’ll have you work on something that will hurt a lot, but do no harm.  Get on the bed. You’re going to give me a show tonight, sweetheart.”

Steve whimpered, but complied readily.

“Good. Start working those nipples for me. Don’t go easy, I want them tender by the time I get back” she said wickedly before she drew down the curtain that separated the sleeping portion of the pavilion and made her way back to the living area.

Steve whimpered as he did just that. He didn’t know how long she would take and didn’t want to risk further punishment. Nat was always unpredictable, but especially so in a mood like this. He hadn’t won himself any points with all his activities of today and was eager not to invite further displeasure. He pinched his nipples and God… Nat did know his weaknesses. Even in this body, so much stronger than his ailing frame of the past, his nipples were just so goddamn sensitive. He was an idiot for letting Nat figure that out. The two nubs throbbed under his attention and he whined as he gave them each a harsh twist. He didn’t dare let go too soon. This body healed so quickly and it was only with repetition that he could accomplish what Nat had demanded of him. He let them go and sobbed a bit as the blood rushed back into them, making them a hundred times more sensitive. Steve rubbed them gently with his thumbs, almost in apology.

He saw a shadow of movement beyond the curtain and his enhanced hearing could pick up the murmur of Nat’s clothes as she removed them. He heard the splash of water and then Danny’s voice addressing Nat. Shame heated his body and shot directly to his cock. He was hard from tormenting himself and all that kept him from discovery was a flimsy piece of cloth. It made everything feel more intense. The cold air inside the tent and the thought of being revealed, covered his skin in gooseflesh. But, he was a good sub and would obey his Domme. She would take care of everything else. His only job was to get back in her good books. He felt himself begin the slow descent into subspace as he pinched both the tender buds almost flat and bit his lip to control the cry of pain.


 “Let him stew”, Nat thought as she exited the sleeping area.

She took her time changing out of her travel robes and made use of the water bowl to wash herself clean. Naked, she snatched a couple of apples off the fruit bowl and sat down at the table to peel and savor each bite. Steve hadn’t been very appreciative of her attention earlier in the evening. “He can wait for it, now. Let it not be said that the Black Widow ever forgave a grudge easily” she thought amused.

The blond, curly haired guard had returned from his errand and requested admission from the entrance. Natasha granted it and watched the man stumble at her appearance, amused only in mind and not in face.

“Ma’am, your meal,” he said, sounding strangled. Natasha was appreciative of the fact that his gaze remained on her face and made a note to compliment Steve on his selection of defenders. He set his burden on the table and hurried to the entrance.

“Do you require anything further, ma’am” he asked, eyes averted.

“No, thank you, Danny”, Natasha hummed.

Satisfied with that game, Natasha swaggered back into the sleeping area to raid Steve’s chest for clothing.

Natasha had taken her time walking back to the bedroom with the laden tray. She had taken pleasure in the little embarrassed whimpers and whines coming from a hidden Steve until he had undoubtedly heard Danny’s approach. That pleasure was nothing compare to the actual view.

Steve was kneeling on his bed, his knees spread wide to keep his balance. He was writhing under his own hands, but ever diligent, he pinched his nipples harshly between his fingers. His cry shot Natasha directly into dominant headspace.

Yes, she decided when he hurt and when he got relief. This was something she could control.

“Nat,” Steve said sounding stern. A naked, blushing man, tormenting himself for his Domme’s entertainment really shouldn’t be able to sound uncompromising. “Don’t torment my guards. Danny must have had a heart attack seeing you so.”

“I don’t remember asking your opinion,” Nat grumbled as she set the tray down on the bed. “Besides, I think it’s my job to vet your defenders. Test their mettle, so to speak. Now, hush!”

She rummaged through his things and found what she was looking for.

“A-ha” she exclaimed as she dragged a soft long sleeved tunic out of his chest of clothes. She pulled it over her head. It hung to her knees, somehow making her seem more captivating than when she was on display.

“Uhmm… let me see” She approached the bed and crawled to Steve. She pushed his hands up gently and guided his fingers to interlock behind his head. “You really don’t want to find out what happens if your hands leave that position” she whispered in his ear.

Her fingers ran over his chest, gently circling closer and closer to his areoles. Steve whimpered watching her every move. She never did touch them though. Every time she reached close enough to touch, she would stroke down to his thighs, ignoring his very erect penis and slowly continue her exploration back to his nipples. When Steve eventually adapted to this agony, her nimble fingers found their way back to his aching buds. At the first pinch, Steve jerked like a fish on a hook. He cried out and bowed his back trying to get his chest away from the torment.

“Tell me, Steven. Why are these – “, she twisted his nipples harshly away from his body, “ - getting punished today?” Natasha asked in a tone that suggested they were talking about the weather. Steve blushed darker, spreading down his chest and waist in a wash of color. His dick throbbed with the attention, pre-come rubbing off on his abs with every twitch. He held his breath, trying to keep the spiraling arousal in check and to not come all over himself.

Natasha’s patience had run out. Her fingers let go of his taut flesh and he yelped at the sting of the returning blood flow. Her hand slapped down hard on his inner thigh. She had placed herself between his spread thighs and there was no reprieve for him as she repeated the strike twice more to the same sensitive spot. “Ow, please…” Steve begged, pulsing his adductor muscle, desperate to shake out the sting. His hands twitched urgently, but didn’t dare leave their allotted position.

“You know how I don’t like to wait. Answer me or I might have to pay more notice, a little higher up”  Nat dragged her nails up his sensitive thigh and stopped just short of his balls.

Steve highly doubted that. Despite the inherently sexual nature of their time together, Nat had little to no contact with his penis, balls or hole. Though, there was the one time she made him spread himself and described all the depraved things she would do to him. She detailed the things he’d have to carry inside him and that he’d have to wear them out in public to please her. Suffice to say, he came without permission and that was the one time she let him get away with it because of how much it amused her. Still, he wouldn’t put anything past her and the last thing he would want to do now was challenge her.

“Ma’am, please could you repeat the question” Steve panted, putting on his best kicked puppy look. Natasha almost laughed, because Steven Grant Rogers, calling her Ma’am sincerely was a real anomaly.

“Well, you will have to pay for a repetition” She stated blandly; her hand snapped down thrice on his uninjured thigh, making him cry out.

“Tell me why your pretty, little nipples are getting punished, Steven” she repeated.

“– cause they hurt a lot but do no harm” Steve shouted out, recalling her earlier taunts.


“I did say you would be putting on a show for me. You will have to excuse me for missing the first act. You’re going to stroke your lovely cock for me. You can pick how fast or slow you go, but your hands comes of it the minute I say so.” Her hands had returned to torment his nipples, flicking them as though they were crumbs on a table.

“Yes Nat…” he whined, on edge.

“Don’t think I don’t know where your mind was Steven. If you do come without permission, I’ll make your balls so sore, you wouldn’t dream of saddling your horse for a month”, she growled.

He sobbed as he lowered his hand to his dick. He started out slow, anxious not to come. She let him keep the pace till he could no longer control himself. His thighs spread wider, hips moving of their own accord, desperately pumping his cock into the warmth of his own hand. Nat watched him, feeling a little outside herself. Time seemed to slow down. Her only focus – Steve.

“Stop,” she called out when she saw his dick twitch; a telltale sign that he was about to come. Steve’s hands shot to the top of his head. He breathed through his arousal, gasping and whimpering.

“Again” commanded Natasha, her eyes kind and smile devilish.

His hands returned hesitantly to his cock. It was slick with his pre-come and every stroke seemed to coax out even more. It was starting to puddle on his stomach. Steve was beyond caring. His mouth was open in an ‘O’, eyes glazed and body moving sinuously. His powerful hips rolled, chasing his pleasure.

“Stop,” Nat called out, her headspace fueled by Steve’s mounting desperation. They repeated the cycle again and again. Steve was riding the edge now. He got only as far as two strokes before Nat had to stay his hand. It was the seventh time he was approaching the edge. He didn’t know what made it so different from the sixth. There were times she had denied him longer. But, Steve felt convinced that he would be never allowed to come, stuck in this loop of unrelenting pleasure and he would fail. He wouldn’t be able to hold it back and Nat wouldn’t be pleased with him. If only she would tell him yes.

“Please, please… Let me… you have to…” he sobbed, tears running down his face. He was panting so much, his words were impossible to make out. Yet, his hand kept moving on his reddened cock. The tip was almost purple and it wouldn’t stop twitching, now with how close he rode the edge.

“Oh no Steven. I don’t have to do anything, but you do. Don’t you dare stop,” Nat crooned to him. “You know what you’ve got to say if you want this to stop”

Steve shook his head and kept his hand moving though it inched over his cock so slowly, it was a special kind of torture all on its own. Natasha moved closer and her fingers returned to rubbing and pinching his nipples. His whole body shook with his sobs, but Nat knew him well enough to keep the torment going.

“Do you deserve to come, Steven?” she asked.

“Nn… No” he managed to get out.

“Who decides whether you do?” she took a tight hold of his red, swollen nipples and pulled them away from his body. Steve keened and his hand faltered on his dick.

“You do, ma’am,” he gasped before devolving into a stream of pleads and broken versions of her name.

“Come for me, Steve”

He was so primed for it, he shot off the moment he heard permission. Natasha released her taut grip on his nipples the instant he began to come. His mind blanked and his body felt helpless, every part of him felt like it was vibrating and disconnected at the same time. For what felt like an eternity, but probably only lasted a few seconds; his dick pulsed, painting him, the bedspread and Nat in his come. His body slumped to the side, but was caught. Natasha lay him out gently and cuddled in close.

Coming out of it was one of the most intensely vulnerable feelings for him. Like he was split open and spread out like the sky on a clear night – there for everyone to see. Nat held on to him for dear life. She seemed to know without him telling her how he felt following one of their sessions. She murmured nonsense to him, her hands soothing and everywhere he needed them at once. “She’s the best” he thought sleepily as she wiped him clean and bullied him into settling more length-wise than width-wise on the bed.

The food would have to wait till they woke.


Steve was asleep next to Nat, his face turned into the pillow to block out the flickering light. Nat absently played with the short golden strands of his hair. She rearranged her body on the pillows that kept her propped up so her body blocked most of the light, and the little frown that marred Steve’s forehead eased away. Theirs was an unusual relationship by most standards, and more so when you took into account Clint. But Nat had learned that life was too short to live by other people’s ideas of morality.

Natasha loved Clint beyond what she once thought possible and how she missed him. Though if he asked, she would say that not a single thought of him had crossed her mind since he left her company a month ago. Clint would accept that answer with an exaggerated pout on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. Because if anyone could discern the truth in her eyes, it was that man.

Clint made her happy and Steve gave her peace.

There had been a time when Nat considered retiring her weapons. For one like her, that amounted to a death sentence. She could no longer make peace with doing the dirty work for forces beyond her control. The red army sent her to kill, torture and extract information, and she never knew to what use it all amounted. She was a rather useful cog in a giant machine of war. Then there was Steve.

Steve told her that if she were to join him, she wouldn’t ever have to step foot on a battlefield again. The thought that any man would retire the infamous Black Widow was what first convinced Natasha that Steve was insane. That was also the very reason, Natasha wanted to fight for him. For every fight Nat won now, the red was on Steve’s hands, or so he thought and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nat wasn’t a child to believe that logic. It would have been fairer to use the same analogy on her situation within the Red Army. To disobey an order there was to risk a fate worse than death. What she got out of their deal was the surety that Steve wouldn’t ever use her in a way she didn’t want to be used. For every life she took nowadays, she was the only one behind the blade. For every life she took, she had had the choice to walk away. The only reason she kept fighting was the knowledge that her path was the least of all the evils and that was a choice she could live with.



Steve stirred next to her and brought her back from her musings. His eyes blinked open sleepily and when they met hers, his cheeks bloomed pink. It charmed her how the man could still feel shy after the things she made him do for her.

Steve cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I dozed off on you” he murmured, blushing darker.

“I don’t think I did a good enough job if you think you had any choice in that” Nat said, frowning down at him.

“No, no…” Steve rushed to assure her, “You did a… what I mean is…”

Nat cut him off before the man could give himself an aneurysm trying to assuage imagined hurt. “If I wanted you to give me an orgasm, you would have done so. I wanted to wreck you and that’s what happened. What happens during a session is my responsibility. Is that clear?” she demanded.

“Yes, ma’am” he drawled, blues eyes practically flashing mischief, though his cheeks were still stained pink. Nat shot out her arm to pinch his sore nipple. Steve yelped and rolled her on to her back, wicked fingers finding her belly. She screeched and drew her legs up to throw him off. She was going to kill Clint for telling on her.

They managed to roll of the bed without upsetting the food tray. Lying next to Nat on the floor, panting and half dressed, Steve chuckled to himself. “Hungry?” he enquired.

At Natasha’s nod, he dragged himself to his feet and held out a hand for her. Even the stretch of helping her to her feet had his nipples throbbing. “God, I’m going to feel this for days”, he said indicating his chest.

“Serves you right,” Nat called over her shoulder as she left him behind in favor of the food. Steve swiftly followed her, lest she spare him naught.