Romanogers - Oneshots

Since you've been gone

A knock at the door.
Natasha is really not in the mood right now. She's got a headache, the only show she actually likes has been cancelled, and no matter which position she sits in, she can't get comfortable. The ratty blanket she managed to drag out of some random attic box is thin and scratchy. Feathers stick out of her cushions like barbed wire. Whoever it is had better have a good excuse.

Today was not a good day. She should have known really, after the way her morning started.
She was forced to go into work without coffee, as it appeared she had run out. There were three empty boxes of cereal in her cupboard. A mouldy slice of bread. A bare scraping of jam.
And then of course there was the wave of water she was soaked with when walking to work, as it appeared her car was dead on petrol. And the offender didn't even say sorry. It then promptly started raining. And she had forgotten her coat.
Let's not forget the stains on her new shirt as a result of crossing into the line of fire belonging to the food fight of several of the ridiculous children she worked with. And they called themselves superheroes.

And as soon as she managed to find a position in which there weren't a dozen needles sticking into her back, someone decided to knock at the door. It wasn't even like she could pretend she wasn't home. The light from her living room was clearly visible to the outside world, and her car was in the driveway.

Enough feeling sorry for yourself, she thought. Move your arse. So she got up and trudged to the door, treading gingerly so as to avoid stepping on any more pins, like earlier. There was another rap. I'm coming! She wanted to scream. Wait for just one second! The door handle clicks. It swings open. She is not prepared for who stands in the doorway. As if this day could get any worse.

At first she doesn't know what to say. Her eyes widen, her mouth opens slightly and every muscle in her body tenses. She feels cold, like the thermostat just dropped the temperature about 30 degrees, and that's not just the gale blowing through the open door. Eventually she finds her voice.
"What in God's name do you think you're doing here." This is paraphrased of course, as such atrocities cannot be printed.
"Hi Nat." Steve offers her a small smile. She slaps him in the face in return. He stiffens slightly, the blood rushing to his cheek in a red flare.
"How've you been?"
She purses her lips.

They're now in the kitchen. Natasha is suddenly aware of how little she's wearing. Tiny cotton shorts, a hoodie and underneath that, a tank top. She feels naked, unpleasantly so.
She leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes cold and piercing. He sits in one of her dining chairs, staring at the table, the lazy lump. She didn't offer him any refreshments. He took it upon himself to hang his sopping raincoat across the back of the chair, which she dislikes. He doesn't get to relax, get comfortable, here. Not anymore.

"It's been two years, Steve." She eventually breaks the silence. After a moment he replies.
"I know, I just -"
"You just what? What excuse could you possible concoct to wheedle your way out of this?"
He tails off and goes back to staring at the ground. He's changed, she thinks. Not that she hasn't. Where there once was red curls, there is now a bright blonde bob.
His hair is much darker, nearly mouse, and much shorter. There's a beard, too. Untidy stubble wanders over his jaw. She's not sure whether she likes it or not. Stop it. You don't get to have opinions on that anymore.

"Why are you even here?" She's met with silence. It looks like he's trying to formulate a sentence, but his mouth keeps giving up on him. "Answers Rogers, come on." Her voice lowers a little, but doesn't soften. Still as sharp as her knife. "You didn't give me the opportunity to get them two years ago, so I'm getting them now."

She shakes her head a little. She can feel it. Seeping through the cracks in the walls she desperately constructed out of the shards of, well what was left of her after he broke her. She doesn't like to admit it, but out of all the aliens and assassins and tortures she's endured, Steve Rogers had been the thing to break her. Shatter her into a million tiny pieces. She didn't even know who she was, for a while. She lost all sense of self, and she could feel the recollection creeping up on her once again.
Despair. Frustration. Things she vowed never to feel again, not over him.
"Oh my god, this interrogation is basically voluntary, Steve! You can't expect to just waltz in my door, make yourself at home and expect things to go back to- to-" She struggles to find the words. How could she describe what they had, what he left? Back to normal? Pfff. "- to before!"
"That's not what I'm expecting." He replies, voice low.
"Then what are you expecting?! Why are you here, Steve?!" She's getting dangerously close to screaming at him.
"I'm not entirely sure." He responds.
That's when she loses it. "Right. Get up."
"What?" He seems surprised, and that infuriates her even more. She throws his coat at him, water droplets flying in all directions. "I said, get up. Get out! Get out get out get out!" She screams, shoving him out of his chair and back towards the door. "I never want to see you again!"
"Natasha!" That jars her, just him saying her name, but she doesn't show it. "I just want a chance to explain!"
"I gave you five whole minutes of chances! You took none of them! Now get out!"
He suddenly spins around, catching her pummelling fists. She tries to wriggle free, but his hold on her wrists is like cuffs. She trains her eyes at the floor, avoiding his face, his deep blue eyes. She can feel tears of frustration bead on her lashes. The regular rectangles of the floorboards begin to swim in front of her eyes.
"Nat. Natasha. Natasha! Just look at me." He asks. Her eyes stay on the floor. "Please. Just look at me."
Against her will, her eyes flick to his face. And there lies her mistake.

Their eyes lock. Neither could move if they tried. Natasha feels slightly lightheaded. He searches her for something, his eyes scanning her face, for what she has no idea, but finds herself reaching for the same thing.

It's mutual. Their heads crash together, lips finding each other within less than a second. They attack each other hungrily, like animals. They walk backwards and Natasha is slammed against the wall with the ferocity and passion.

Somewhere, deep in her brain, she knows she shouldn't be doing this, this isn't how it's supposed to go. But then why does it feel so good?

His hands cup her face, pulling her towards him, desperate to close any space between them. Hers wrap around his neck, make fists in his hair, anything to get closer to his body and the warmth it emits.

At some point he moves away from her mouth, leaving her lips swollen, and works his way down her jaw slowly, but not softly. His hands move to remove her hoodie, the zipper sliding down easily and it's soon cast away to the floor. Her fingers tug at the hem of his t-shirt and soon that joins the castaways on the floor.
She tilts her head back to allow easier access to the skin of her throat. He rambles down and she emits a faint moan.
"Natasha..." He breathes.
"Shut up." She whispers back in reply.
"I love you. I always have." He perseveres. She doesn't know how to respond for a second, but then it comes so easily she realises it's true. It's always been true.
"I love you too..."
As they slide down the wall, both weak at the knees, Steve picks her up. She wraps her legs round his waist as he walks over to the rug in front of the television. They take one, slow second to breathe each other in, the smell, the feel of the other's body that they've both craved for the last two years. Both wonder how on earth they could have given this up.

He sets her down slowly. His hands run down her sides like flowing water, making her skin tingle. The kisses come more slowly now. They're soft, but full of passion, and of the pain and the heartache and the despair they both drowned in. All the broken promises and the secrets and the lost time, all poured into a gentle caress. His hands rest on her hips, he's supported by his knees so that he doesn't completely crush her. She slides her hands up and down his arms, every ridge and contour.

They pull away. Steve looks at Natasha in reverence, trying to memorise this feeling, this image, brand it on his eyeballs. A thin layer of sweat coats her upper lip, and a little of her forehead, a slight sheen on her pale skin. Her blonde hair is ruffled, and he tucks back a strand behind her ear. Her mouth, the giver of the most beautiful smiles. Her eyes, before cold and piercing, are now warm and bright, playful, emerald and mint and jade and aquamarine all mixing in an endless forest of colour.

"You changed your hair." He says. She laughs, a light tinkle that makes Steve's heart soar. He feels her vibrate underneath him, sending electric shocks down his body.
"You grew a beard." She counters, to which he too gives a small chuckle.
"You're radiant, you know that?" He whispers, still in awe of her unearthly beauty. A blush rises to her cheeks and she looks away, but still smiling.

They both wish they could stay there forever, in that out-of-world realm of love and warmth, that they could stay in each other's arms forever. But alas. There is the real world to return to, but they won't be facing it alone anymore. No, not ever. Because they're together now. Together until mortality says otherwise.

Well that was rather nice, wasn't it? I liked it at least. Vote and comment if you did.

Thank you for reading!