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It’s a late morning in New York, and miraculously the sun shines in scattered rays across your loft. You were able to move out of your cramped apartment complex after Valentina acquired The Avengers. Well, you guess it’s the New Avengers now, according to what Bob has told you. Regardless, Avengers money pays well. Especially when you’re their communications manager.
Bob has been staying with you when he’s not with the team, and while your new place has nothing on (new)Avengers’ Tower, it’s still more than enough for you, and Bob loves to be wherever you are. It’s not the biggest space, but the wide windows really open the place up. With what you’re used to, it feels huge.
Nowadays whenever the two of you manage to quit jumping each other’s bones and actually get out of bed, you’ve been trying to help him with his abilities. (Which you’ve quit calling his powers because he said the word made him feel ‘dorky’. Although, you were happy to remind him that he’s always dorky.)
“C’mon baby, you’ve flown before! You’ll be fine.” You cover your giggle with the back of your hand.
You’re in your bed—a throne of tangled sheets and blankets—head propped in your hand with nothing on but your underwear (it was a miracle you had even found them after they were flung halfway across the loft) and Bob’s hoodie, as you watch him stand on your kitchen island, his bare feet shifting nervously atop the marble.
“Yeah, I’ve done it before, but I wasn’t, I don’t know, thinking about it…”
His hair is tousled, and with you in his hoodie you’ve left him in just a pair of pj’s. They’re plaid and hang loose at his hips. You focus on something else before you end up dragging him back under the covers with you again.
“Then don’t…think about it…” You state the obvious through batting lashes. Bob still rolls his eyes at you.
“Easy for you to say.” He scratches his head, staring off the counter like he’s at the edge of a building. Yelena will die laughing when you tell her about this. Your boyfriend, the most powerful Avenger the world’s ever seen…and a fraidy cat when it comes to heights.
After everything that went down fourteen months ago, Bob’s been experiencing a sort of power block, unable to do anything without fear of freeing that dark side of himself again. The Void… But you’re happy to help him figure things out, especially when it means spending time with him like this.
“You’re like four feet off the ground. Max.” You laugh in observation.
“You wanna get up here with me then?”
You’ve learned over the past year of your relationship with Bob that he can be a real diva when he wants to be. It’s funny. He looks like the Bob you met in that cell of a bedroom Valentina was holding him in, but the confidence of The Sentry is still in him somewhere. Even though he may not realize it himself most of the time.
You swing your legs off the bed, enjoying the challenge in his tone. He sort of pulls back, obviously not having expected you to put your money where your mouth is. You stand beneath him with an outstretched hand, and a smug look on your face.
“A little help please?” You ask, thoroughly amused because you could easily get onto the counter yourself. You’d just like it better if he helped you.
He shakes his head like he can’t fathom your behavior but before you can say something snarky, he’s lifting you up like you weigh nothing. You stumble against him, breathless as you wrap your arms around his middle in a panic. You often find yourself forgetting how casually strong he is. The strength of The Sentry never really left him.
“But it’s only four feet, huh?” He chuckles into your hair. You push away from him in spite, but he keeps a hand at your waist, stabling you.
“Alright I’ve joined you.” You say, tugging on a piece of his brown hair petulantly. “You gonna jump or what?”
He looks you dead on. “You’re serious?”
“What’s the worse that’ll happen?”
“I dunno,” He begins. “I could break something.”
“Break something?”
“Yeah. Like my leg, or arm, or…face. I don’t know.”
You fake a gasp, cradling his face between your hands. “Please don’t break this face.” You beg teasingly, attacking his chin and neck with kisses. He groans with an exaggerated ewww sound, but pulls your hips to his own nonetheless. The loft’s a chorus of laughter just between the two of you as you rise to your tip toes to kiss his mouth, his chin craning away to evade you.
For a moment you manage to forget you’re both standing on a countertop as you wrap you’re arms around him, nipping and licking at the spot where his pulse quickens just under his jaw. So much so, that one wrong step has your socked foot sliding from beneath you. Everything happens in less than a second. You let out a shriek as you stumble off the marbled edge, your hands scrambling to grab onto anything as you tumble down. Just as quickly as you fell do you feel a pair of arms catch you from below. The wind knocks out of you on impact, and it slowly occurs to you what just happened as you look at the empty countertop in front of you.
You crane your neck to see Bob staring back at you, visibly stunned.
“Are you okay?” He pants, holding you close.
You cradle his face in your hand. “How?”
“I dunno.” He shrugs, and you can see the faint hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He lets you down gently, his touch lingering at your lower back.
“It’s not flying, but teleporting will certainly do.” Your impressed. You’ve yet to see a lot of what Bob can do. Half the time he can’t manage to do anything or he’s too afraid he’ll hurt you if he does, which you understand. But it’s nice to see him in his element. It feels like you’re in on a special secret of his finally. “Do you think you could do it again?”
He looks around the space, thinking about it, and then in a breath he’s gone.
You gasp, grinning in disbelief when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You jump, spinning around to see, well no one. “Okay very funny, show off.” You cross your arms despite your smile, and then slowly, sending a chill prickling across your bare legs, you feel his arms slide around your waist.
“Pretty cool.” He says into your hair, an upward inflection in his voice almost like it’s a question. You hum as he presses a warm kiss behind your ear, then turn yourself to face him.
“I never thanked you for saving me.” You point out slyly, face burning under the heat of his eyes on you.
He raises a brow, his voice hoarse when he says, “Feel free.”
You lift onto your toes again, pressing a kiss, chaste, barely there against his lips. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths as you pull away, his mouth chasing fleetingly for the feeling of you with fluttering eyelids.
“That all?” He asks, gently tugging you back towards him by the hem of his own hoodie you have on.
“Oh? Is my gratitude not enough for you?” You goad.
His laugh, dazed and heady, burns right down to the center of you.
“I mean, you could've gotten real hurt.”
“Hurt? From a four feet fall?”
“Were you not worried?” He questioned. “Y’sure screamed like you were.” He leans down to kiss you, his hands planted dangerous low on your hips. You dodge him, playing hard to get just to see the way it makes his eyes flicker. That’s another new thing about Bob, sometimes his eyes go silver if you pester him enough, though you’d never admit to him that you do it on purpose. No, you’d never do that.
Bob looks you dead in the eye then, and says plainly:
“Say thank you.”
It takes you off guard for a second, and you almost snicker at the way it sounds like an order until the silence between you hangs there for a second too long, and you realize that it was. You’re at a loss for breath and words as you eye him appraisingly, eyes darting between the stern furrow of his brows, and the soft lines of his mouth.
“Say. Thank you.” He repeats himself, a frayed edge to his voice. You feel your heart leap.
You don’t know where to look on his face, your neck tilted back to see him. Your voice comes out wobbly when you finally manage to speak.
“Thank you.”
Bob sighs, almost as if in relief before connecting his mouth to yours. His kiss is hot and sloppy as he licks past your lips. He guides you towards the bed until it hits the back of your knees, and he’s already grabbing at your thighs before your back’s even hit the mattress. You feel lightheaded when he touches you, something even fourteen months of touching each other can’t seem to change. You’re a panting mess already, and he hasn’t even touched you where you need him most.
Like second nature he knocks your legs open with his hips, yanking you flush against him by your thighs. Your moan is desperate, almost pathetic when you feel him. He’s hard. You can feel his cock, hot even through his pajamas, through the thin cotton of your panties, and your hips start squirming for friction, for more, for anything. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve had him, you need him so badly every time. You tell him that, and he just groans, all broken and choked up in a way that has your pussy fluttering around nothing.
He can’t seem to focus on one thing, alternating between fumbling with the knot of his pants, and tugging your underwear down your legs. You relieve him of a task, kicking your panties off the rest of the way on your own, and once he’s got his pants undone and shoved halfway off his body, he wastes no time in wrapping a fist around himself.
“Can I?” He chokes out, and you laugh, high pitched and dizzy at his manners. He’s already fucked you twice this morning, and you’re still wet for him. You nod frantically, rambling out a string of pleas, and with your permission he wastes no time plunging into you.
You both moan like this is your first time. He’s slow at first. Gentle, despite himself and the way he’s white knuckling the bedsheet beside your head. He kisses you anywhere he can, his mouth leaves wet bites against your lips, your neck, your collarbone when his hoodie falls to the side. His moans are strangled as he buries his face into your shoulder.
“Say thank you.” He grunts out, and just the order itself has you clawing at his back.
“Say thank you.” He says again. That time it comes out rushed, like a beg.
You oblige, liking the way he looks, eyes screwed shut in pleasure above you, with his dark tangled hair tickling your forehead as he thrusts into you.
“Thank you.” You whine, and then you thank him again, and again, and again, until he’s a cacophony of gasps, and strangled moans. You silence him with a kiss, and as your lips move with his the thought crosses your mind that you might be in love with him. You try to push it aside for later inspection, but the feeling of him, so real and tangible in your hands makes it hard to.
You still cry sometimes when he fucks you. Tears slip down your cheeks now as you approach your orgasm, closer, and closer. This is normal for you, and he doesn’t question it anymore if only just to make sure he’s not hurting you or something. Today he’s more subtle with his approach. “Feels good?” He asks, deep and throaty. You sigh, your head lolling to one side.
“Yes.”
He licks the salty tears from your face the way he’s been known to, and you can feel the way it makes him twitch inside of you, his pace staggering for an almost imperceptible second. This miniscule detail breaks you, and you cum together, ragged sounds being torn from the both of you.
He collapses then beside you. The two of you lay there catching your breath. The ceiling fan spins above you. Bob pulls you against him, holding you to his chest, clammy with sweat, although you don’t mind. He smells like sex and bath soap. It’s barely noon and you feel exhausted, and you think so does he. You’re ready to fully give up and sleep the rest of the day away when the shrill ring of a cellphone startles the both of you.
“Oh god!” Bob reaches an arm over you as he reaches for his phone, fully squishing you beneath his weight.
You can’t help but cackle as he practically crushes you. “Watch it!” You laugh, swatting his arm away and grabbing the phone yourself. He laughs bashfully as you pass it to him. In all caps the caller ID reads: BUCKY.
“Ooooo, you’re in troubleeeee…” You tease, and he pinches your mouth shut between two fingers, answering the call. You slap his hand away as you eavesdrop on Bucky’s voice sounding from the other line with a hesitant hello.
“Bob? Hello? Hello? Bob? Did I hang up?”
You snort at the Winter Soldier’s technological illiteracy, and Bob claps a hand over your mouth.
“Bucky? Hi. Um, sorry I was about to—”
Before Bob can continue you can hear Yelena on the other side.
“Bucky,” You can hear the frustration behind her thick Russin accent. “You’ve muted him you idiot.”
You stick your tongue out against Bob’s palm sending his hand flying from your face. He whispers out a judgy “Grossssss.” Which makes you laugh ‘cause didn’t he just have his tongue in your mouth a minute ago?
There’s a faint rustling on the other line before you hear Bucky again.
“God I hate smartphones. Bob? You’re late.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Bob rambles, sitting up and leaving you laying between two pillows.
“He sounds charming.” You mouth, and Bob shrugs nervously.
“I’m on my way, promise.” He’s digging around the blankets aimlessly before looking up and realizing his hoodie is on you and not lost somewhere in the bed. “Give it.” He whisper yells at you, and you pretend to not know who he’s talking to, looking over your shoulder at the headboard.
“Give you what?” Bucky asks bitterly.
“Oh, not you.” Bob talks to him between impatient pleas for you to hand over the only clothes he had brought over.
“What?” Bucky questions, and you can hear an incessant tapping like he’s trying to figure out if Bob’s weird behavior is a result of some unseen setting on his iphone.
“Bye, Bucky!”
“Bob?”
The call ends.
You smile devilishly, sitting up now. “He sounds mad.”
“He’s always mad. Give me my hoodie, I can’t leave here without it.”
“Then either don’t leave, or get me out of it.” You challenge, crossing your arms.
Bob shakes his head at you in disbelief, but you see a sparkle in his eyes that has you wondering if he loves you too.
“You’re gonna regret saying that.”
You aren’t sure you will.