Romanogers - Oneshots

City of Lights

When Natasha steps out of the shower, water running off her body in rivulets, the apartment is quiet. She reaches for a towel, wrapping it around herself hastily as protection from the chill eager to envelop her, the warm steam from the shower long gone. Her newly chopped blonde hair sticks to her head and neck, colour darkened by the soak.

It had been a sudden decision: she'd caught a glance at herself in the mirror a few days ago and had, quite simply, laughed at herself. The red locks on her head were striking, she knew, and distinctly unique. An incriminating characteristic, these days. They'd wasted no time reminding her of its likeness to freshly spilled blood back in Russia. And yet, be they on the run, she had not made a single effort to disappear, become inconspicuous. She dressed the same, brushed the scarlet tresses into the same style every day. Part of her wondered if she was losing her touch. After all, even Steve, not exactly a paragon of undercover excellence, had made the most minimal effort.

She wasn't sure when he'd stopped shaving, or whether it was out of conscious strategy or mere carelessness, a lapse in routine as they holed up in various clandestine hideouts across the globe. She also wasn't sure whether she liked it or not, but she supposed it also wasn't really her place to judge, nor did it matter. The beard was here to stay, for the foreseeable future, whether she liked it or not.

So, after a good five seconds idle consideration, she grabbed a few notes in the currency of whatever country they were in now and hastened to the Superdrug on the high street. The range of choices was wide, she'll give them that, but decided after a quick browse that a simple light blonde was the best way to go. Something to blend with the crowd. At the till she was slightly surprised to see Reese's Peanut Butter Cups front and centre, but slung those in the basket before paying and hurrying back to the hotel to go through with this little plan before she wimped out. Personally, she liked the red. However she does not like the feel of dye on her head. It seems greasier, for whatever reason, especially when you can't wash it as often, but that's a petty reason to remain blatant. She'd chopped off a few inches too, for good measure, before applying the platinum colouring.

Steve had done a double take when he'd first seen it, had stood there staring, mouth moving like a gold fish.
"What do you think?" She'd asked. He'd walked over and she'd swayed it this way and that. His hands ran through the new short white length as she waited anxiously for a verdict. Eventually a smile had broken through, creasing his whole face, making her grin too.
"I like it."
"Rogers if you're lying to me..."
"I do, Nat. I like this New You."
He had kissed her for reassurance and the butterflies had risen in her stomach again, a feeling becoming all too familiar these days.

This new facet of her and Steve's relationship is unforeseen and unpredictable. She'd run with him knowing she was running into fog, running blind, but trusted completely that with her hand in his they would be fine, not realising exactly what that meant. Not until he'd begun to look at her in that way that he does these days, the way that made Natasha's face heat, the gaze that made her stumble under the weight. Not until he'd kissed her without warning in the street, and she hadn't pulled away. He kissed her and she kissed him back, and he hadn't stopped. Not until then had she fully realised that it was okay.

These recent developments unfurl a warmth through her body whenever their eyes meet, a hot fist around her heart that squeezes, but not unpleasantly so. He kisses her without hesitation, touches her like they have forever, taking advantage of the small pleasures wherever available. Sometimes Natasha feels like she's losing her mind as she kisses Steve, like if she doesn't watch out she'll melt, or be made a senseless vegetable by pleasure. She has to remind herself to claw back a little mental capacity before she is lost, part of him and the way he moves and feels and how his heart thumps in her ears, their blood flowing in wild synchronicity. Melded into each other, fluid and pliant where their hands land, kisses bruising their mouths and necks and bodies without mercy.