Natasha likes to play. She likes to push against her partner until he pushes back and then to catch him against her, for him to catch her against him. She hasn't really found the thing that makes Steve break, but she likes it with him, likes the sex they have. It's fun and sweet and hot and sexy, but Steve is hard to figure out. Half the time he's treating her like she's glass and the other half he's stopping himself from treating her like she's glass.
"You should tie me up," Natasha says experimentally, and watches his face.
Steve looks at her, unwrapping the white tape from his knuckles. "You want that?"
Natasha wipes at her face with a towel and tosses Steve a clean one. "Could be fun," she says, offering.
"Okay," Steve says.
Natasha thinks about what he might do. Bruise her maybe, on purpose, suck little red and purple marks into her skin. Maybe slap her around, Natasha's had a few men like that, but she can't quite reconcile Steve liking that. She can't decide what Steve would do, and she likes that, likes the anticipation, the uncertainty.
She is surprised, though, that he doesn't ask her for a safeword before slipping silk ties around her wrists, threading them through the slats in the headboard and securing them tightly. "Legs?" she asks and Steve shakes his head.
"I like your legs around me," he murmurs, tracing a finger up her calf.
"What are you going to do now?" she asks, and Steve smiles.
"Whatever I want, right?"
"Yes," she says, watching him carefully.
Steve traces her belly button with his tongue, dips ever so slightly in before spiraling down to her hips and then jumping lower to the highest spots on her inner thighs, broad hard flat swipes of his tongue and then little laps, soft licks. Natasha arches and then sighs.
"This is what you want?" she asks, hitch in her breath when he ghosts his hands down her sides. "You can do anything and you want this?"
"I want you," he says, and crawls up her to kiss her, shorter than she'd like before making his way down the center of her chest. She twitches when the ghost of his breath drifts across her nipples, but he doesn't stop until he crouched between her thighs again.
"We had these pinup girls," he tells her, tracing her scars with his fingers and looking up at her from underneath his lashes. "Blondes, mostly, but some of the boys liked redheads." He dips his head to slip his tongue into her, and she shudders. He sucks at her until she clenches her legs up around his head and squeezes hard enough to flush his skin. When he pulls back she has to bite off a keen.
"They were always, you know, posing," he continues, licking at the wetness on his lips. "Looking, coy, you know. Innocent. The boys liked that, the innocence."
"I'm far from innocent," Natasha says, and Steve gives her his biggest smile.
"You're dangerous," he says, the same way someone else might say sweet. "and you don't hide it, you... exude it." He fucks her with his index finger, just a centimeter from where she needs it, and she refuses to cant her hips to get him where she wants. "Your scars are the prettiest part of you," he tells her, and she gasps a little. He rewards her with another finger. "Gorgeous," he says, laying his head on her thigh to watch his fingers slip in and out of her. His breath flares hot against her skin.
"You're strong," he murmurs, "and kind, and loyal. I trust you with my life--I trust you with the world." He slides forward to slip his tongue in her with his fingers, and she comes with her fingers twined in one of his hands and the other resting just above her heart.
When he pulls back he smiles, shyly, and lays all along her like a heavy blanket. "I liked this," he says happily, and undoes the knots holding up her wrists with his teeth.
"Me too," Natasha says, and rolls them over so she can make him feel as good as he makes her feel.