In light of the few lovely anon reviews the first part of this story received, I've decided that one of them was offensive (not to mention laden with ignorance) enough to warrant me publicly addressing them, despite how much I despise giving attention to "reviewers" who feel the need to read stories about pairings they dislike and then proceed to make sure everybody knows it. The first review, being mostly about how badly I suck and how I "ruined the pairing & fandom" and how Steve is OOC, isn't something I have a lot to say to. I don't have the power or influence to ruin a fandom or pairing, LOL, and as far as the other remarks, like my supposed lack of research into Marvel comics and how I've inserted actors into stories (?), all I can say is I have nothing to prove to anyone regarding my being "a real fan". Also, I have not put any actors into my stories. I have mentioned actors' names in stories, like when an angry rooster was nicknamed Matt Damon and how one of my OCs has a longstanding crush on Tom Hiddleston, which is not against the rules. The MCU is based in the real world (New York, in this instance). This isn't Middle Earth, so, yes, real people can be offhandedly mentioned. Sheesh. But on to the main point, which is the second review, and how genuinely offensive it is. In case anyone missed it:

"I don't see how sticking Steve with the Russian whore (Natasha whore herself with dozens, if not hundreds of men, when she worked for the Red Room. No matter if it was for her "work," she still did it. Goodness knows how many STDs she's had. She might even have HIV,) can ever be a good idea. Steve deserves a woman much, much better than that. I think Stevetasha competely disrespects and even degrades Steve."

As much as I believe in not feeding the trolls, I cannot NOT say something when somebody says something as offensive as this about a character I love. I don't care if someone dislikes my writing or says I ruined a pairing, but I do care when one of the few strong female character leads of the superhero movie world is degraded like this. First of all - regardless of how the Red Room will play into MCU Natasha's backstory, which we still don't know yet, for the record, not that it actually matters in this case - let's not forget that Natasha's canon backstory is not exactly one of a willing participant in these matters. But even if it was, this would STILL piss me off, because STDs and HIV? Seriously? How does it even make logical sense that the Russians would allow their top assassin/assassin-in-training to do that? She was not a streetwalker. She dealt with well-researched targets and was undoubtedly well-prepared for what she had to do. Also, to then insinuate that her backstory makes her unworthy of Steve - if that's your opinion, then fine, but that kind of makes you a sex-shaming douchebag, if it's solely due to her prior experiences with men. I realize that Steve is a particularly precious character that we all want to protect because that's just who he is, but to do that at the expense of a character with whom he DOES canonically share an strong bond with, whether platonic (as it is in the MCU now and probably forever) or romantic or a little of both - just pretend for a moment and imagine what Steve Rogers would have to say about that. Seriously. I feel like he would be as pissed off as I am (But what do I know, since my Steve is so OOC. LOL). I totally get it if one simply dislikes this pairing, or prefers Steve with Peggy and nobody else. Heck, if you're one of the many who thinks that Bucky is his soulmate, then I get that too, and I am not gonna sit here and try to tell you any different on a review page or tell you why I disagree. That's what a fandom is, differing opinions and ships and that's what makes it fun, EXCEPT for when people go around reading things they KNOW they won't like and decide to be a jerk about it anyway. Seriously, if you don't like it, don't read it, and for goodness sakes, if you don't like Steve and Natasha together, PLEASE don't read this next part because you will especially hate it lol. Actually, if you want to flame me or bash me, have at it (though I would appreciate the courtesy of an actual signed review if you're gonna go there). It gives me a good laugh. But have the decency to not be an offensive dick and say offensive dick things about a strong, complex character who most of us love and will write stupidly long things like this defending them when an idiot opens their mouth.

But, on a much lighter note lol, to the real reviewers, thank you very, very much for your feedback and your support. You are the BEST, and I hope you all like this second part/conclusion to the story. It was a lot of fun to write. Let me know what you all think, and thanks so much again for your support, seriously. It makes the occasional troll more than worth dealing with. Now, on to the very eloquently, cleverly titled part two :D

The Deflowering of Steve Rogers

On second thought, maybe she should have actually knocked this time.

A few weeks after their previous encounter, no sooner had Natasha casually let herself into Steve's place had she then found herself grabbed by two hands and shoved against the wall of the short hallway in front of the door. Everything was dark, and her defenses kicked in immediately as she kicked at the figure pinning her to the wall, then gasped for air when a distinctly non-human hand clamped around her throat and gave her another good shove into the wall.

She knew who this was, but he didn't know who she was, and she knew that if she didn't take quick and drastic measures, he would succeed at his third consecutive attempt at killing her. So, as he hissed at her a demand of who she was, she saved her answer for later and kicked at his knee hard enough to put some distance between them, and then she grasped his metal forearm and used it as leverage as she lifted up both of her legs and kicked with all of her strength at his abdomen. He let go with a grunt, and he stumbled back just long enough for her to whip out her gun and then turn on the lights.

"I'm a friend," she said in Russian, her gun held on the long-haired assassin currently staring at her with a mixture of madness and confusion. She wondered if he even remembered the two previous times that he had tried to kill her.

He stared for a good long while until recognition lit his somewhat dead eyes, and he said quietly, "Natalia."

"Natasha," she corrected. She didn't like that he called her that, though. Nobody had called her that in years, and he certainly didn't have the right to do so, likely only vaguely remembering it from a file HYDRA had shoved under his nose before sending him after her.

Before anything further could transpire between the two, Natasha heard distinctly wet footsteps start running their way. She glanced to her left just in time to see Steve running in from the hallway, feet sliding to a stop on the kitchen floor, one hand holding a towel over his hips and his hair soaked on top of his head as he called out with wide eyes, "Bucky? What's going... Nat?"

She might have been holding a gun on his best friend who had just choked her against a wall, but that didn't mean that she couldn't grin slightly at the absurdity of the situation. And it also didn't mean that she couldn't appreciate the sight of a very wet Steve Rogers in only a towel.

She lowered the gun and replied, "I think next time, I'll knock."

Steve sighed, looking from her to Bucky, who was still standing there with his fists clenched but with less crazed eyes than a moment ago. "Yeah, might be a good idea."

She tucked her gun away, pushing one side of her shortened red hair behind her ear, and everything was awkward silence before Steve shifted on his feet and said, "Nat, this is... Bucky. Bucky, this is Natasha."

"We've met before," Natasha smiled falsely at Bucky. "You've tried to kill me twice."

Bucky's expression darkened, and she saw irritation at her present in his eyes but also more confusion and an underlying sadness that she knew all too well. She watched as he looked at her, then at Steve, and then dropped his head as he muttered a "Sorry" and then stomped out of the room.

When she heard the slam of a bedroom door down the hallway, she looked at Steve and raised an eyebrow. "I bet you two have some interesting sleepovers."

Steve just sighed again and said, "I'm sorry. You okay?"

She shrugged. "I've had worse."

He nodded. "He's been with me for the last couple weeks. I found him the day after you... visited last."

Ah yes, her last visit. It had been an interesting night spent here in this apartment, with the mostly-naked super soldier in front of her now. He had been less naked that night, though, but maybe that was a shame...

"What brings you here?"

She blinked at his question and then asked, "Friends visit each other, right?"

He smiled. "They do. But I haven't heard from you. Didn't even know where you were."

"That was the idea," she replied.

"So what brings you back?"

"Stark, actually," she said. "He wanted me to talk to you about something. I would have waited for the morning, but..."

"... But that would have been entirely too normal," Steve replied with a slight smile that she mirrored.

"Says the national treasure currently naked and dripping all over his kitchen floor."

With a slight drop of his jaw, Steve looked down and then flushed a bright red as he laughed nervously and said, "I, uh... forgot. I'll just go... get dressed and then we can... talk."

She grinned shamelessly as he then shuffled off towards his room, glancing back and smiling a couple times with that perfect mix of boyishness and charming awkwardness that was completely fitting for a virgin of his age.

She did enjoy the view, however, waiting until she heard his bedroom door close before muttering to herself, "God bless America."

Ten minutes later, she was sitting next to him on the couch, sipping a soda - how mature - that he had offered her, and she was not afraid to admit that she was a little let down by the fact that he was fully clothed now.

"So, what's Stark want?" Steve asked, hair still a little damp as he leaned back against the couch and waited for her answer.

"Well," she began, "with SHIELD gone and everybody scattered, he thinks it's time that we... reassemble." She smiled and added, "I told him to call you himself but for some reason, everybody always wants to send me to have these talks instead."

"It's because you can be very convincing," Steve replied, lips turned up at one corner. "So, by 'reassemble', does he mean..."

"Missions, intel, everything we can do that SHIELD can't anymore," she explained.

"That's gonna take a lot more than six people," Steve pointed out.

"There's more than six of us," she replied. "Those of us who weren't HYDRA are still around. Somebody has to keep watch."

"Keep watch?" he repeated. "Is that what spies do?"

Clint said something similar to that when Natasha had this same talk with him a few days ago. He had asked what had happened to the woman she had been before New York. She threw the question back at him when he had agreed to the "reassembly", which was something neither of them would have been particularly interested in a few years ago. The truth was, none of them were the same, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"I don't know what I do anymore," she admitted. "I haven't known since New Jersey."

He nodded understandingly. "I know the feeling. But is this what you want? This... Avenger stuff?"

"Well," she sighed, "if you've got any other ideas for me, I'm all ears."

He chuckled. "I'll let you know if one comes to me."

"What about you?" she asked.

He paused, looking at the drink in his own hand and shaking his head before replying, "I don't know anything else. And now that I've found Bucky... I guess I need to get back to work."

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

Steve's expression became one of pain as he replied just as quietly, "He's... as okay as I can expect him to be. It's hard. He doesn't remember much. He's so different..." he trailed off and shook his head. "But he's alive. He's safe. We'll get there."

"There's a doctor who might be able to help him," she said. "Clint's been seeing him ever since New York. He says it's helped a lot."

Steve nodded. "Okay. Yeah. I don't think Bucky would want to talk to anyone, but..."

"It'll help," Natasha nodded. "I'll call Clint tomorrow and get his number."

"Thanks," Steve replied. "That's nice of you, considering how Bucky attacked you half an hour ago."

She shrugged it off and said, "Therapy might reduce the odds of him attacking me again in the future, so it's in my interests."

It wasn't a very funny joke, admittedly, and neither of them laughed. She noticed that Steve looked even more sleep-deprived than before, and it was clear that the ordeal with Bucky was taking its toll on him. As she analyzed him, he glanced at her and asked, "So where are you staying tonight?"

This again. Not wanting this to turn into a repeat of the last time she paid him a visit, Natasha just smiled coyly and said, "You don't have to worry about me. You've got more than enough worrying on your plate already."

"I'm not worried," he shook his head. "But I don't mind taking the couch again."

Of course he didn't. He wouldn't be him if he minded. And she wouldn't be her if she didn't take the opportunity to tease him. "You know, in this century, it's not unheard of for two people to sleep in the same bed. Platonically. The couch is too small for you, anyway."

"I don't think..." he trailed off, flushing again slightly and smiling just a little as he stared down at his hands. "Let's just say I'm old fashioned."

Obviously, she wanted to say back, but she was briefly disarmed by the way that he looked up at her and grinned a little. There was something distinctly non-platonic about it, and it was hard to not think back to what it had felt like when he had kissed her a few weeks ago. She had not expected it, had not anticipated the way that he responded to her "practice" kiss by taking her face in his hands and kissing her much more deeply, maybe even passionately, in a way that had affected her more than she ever would have admitted.

He was just so pure and so honest. With him, there was never any games, no agendas, none of the things that she was so skilled at but growing quite sick of the more she encountered them in other people. Wearing a false identity and getting close to nobody was indeed a good way not to die, but with Steve, none of that seemed to hold up very well.

And the fact that he was one of very few people she genuinely trusted in the world was no insignificant detail.

But it was all beside the point. Whatever happened last time couldn't happen again, for a myriad of reasons. So she just smiled and said, "Well, I won't impose."

"You wouldn't be," he said all too quickly. He wanted her to stay.

She sighed, knowing what was going on here. "Look, about the last time I was here..."

"I'm not... it's not about that," he said. "And I know what you're gonna say."

"Do you?" she asked, genuinely curious what he thought was on the tip of her tongue.

"Yes. We're friends. We work together. We trust each other. And that's all it was." When her silence served as confirmation that he was right, he went on, "And you're right. I'm not trying to push anything here, so don't think I am."

"Okay," she nodded. "But I really do have somewhere else to stay."

He nodded back. "All right. You staying in town?"

"For now," she replied.

"Then I hope I see you more than once a month," he half-smiled.

"You will," she assured him. "I get the feeling we're all gonna be seeing a lot of each other pretty soon."

Steve nodded, then said after a brief silence, "I'd rather deal with you than Tony any day, and feel free to pass the message along."

She laughed softly and took a sip of her soda. The rest of the night passed by easily, with the sort of ease that she enjoyed between them, and when she left to head back to her own place, she did so with full confidence that the one odd night they shared those weeks ago was in the past and not a problem. Things were normal, and soon they would be colleagues again. All was as it should be, and she had no doubt that it would stay that way.

At least, until a week later, which was when a simple, casual night in his apartment became something more that neither one of them could forget.

She liked Sam. He was nice, he had a great personality, and he was one of the easiest people to get along with that she had ever met. And he was even easier to flirt with. So, flirt she did, two or three glasses of wine into her next night at Steve's place, where Sam convinced them both to play poker after Bucky had trudged off to his room to be alone following dinner.

Steve and Sam were on the couch, and she was seated in a chair opposite them as they played the game on a small coffee table between them. To absolutely nobody's surprise, she was winning, and winning handily. They really should have known better than to think they could best a world-famous spy at a game that was far more strategy and bluffing than it was luck.

"Ugh!" Sam groaned as he threw his cards down on the table after yet another hand was claimed by her. "This is ridiculous! Thank God I didn't suggest strip poker like I halfway wanted to."

Natasha replied by taking a sip of her wine and saying, "If you want to see me naked, all you have to do is ask nicely and I might think about it."

Sam's eyebrows shot up his forehead while Steve's stayed exactly where they were. Her eyes flickered to him for just a split second, but it was long enough to see the instant slight glower on his face.

"Oh really?" Sam replied with a grin, and she shot him a grin right back.

"I said I'd think about it," she clarified.

"Well now I'm definitely thinking about it," he replied playfully, gathering up the cards to shuffle them. "Not sure I can think about anything else now. This is part of your strategy, isn't it?"

She laughed quietly, taking another sip of wine. Steve was staring down at his hands, trying to appear nonchalant, but she could read him like a book.

And so, she did what she knew she shouldn't do, and she kept flirting just to see how much jealousy she draw out of him. At first, she was endlessly amused by the tightness in his jaw and the way that he would pointedly look at anything else when she would make a suggestive comment and Sam would go with it. But then, when he didn't get over it like she thought he would, it became less of a game of amusement and one of curiosity, because she knew that jealousy like that, however harmless on the surface, had to exist for a reason.

Sam seemed to understand that it was all in good fun, harmless flirting that would probably lead nowhere. But Steve was a different story, and by the time that Sam left to head home to his own apartment, Natasha decided that it was time for one of her famous interrogations.

Steve was washing a few glasses in the sink, so she took her empty wine glass and sauntered into the kitchen. When he saw her walk in, he gestured to the counter beside him and said, "Set that here and I'll take care of it."

She nodded, setting the glass down and then turning, leaning her back against the counter as she asked teasingly, "What's with the long face?"

He glanced up at her and asked, "What long face?"

She gave him a pointed look. "Oh, come on, Steve. You've had this look on your face all night."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied unconvincingly, seemingly fixated with washing the glass in his hand.

Fair enough. She knew what would probably get the most telling reaction out of him. Her expression became curious as she asked, "Is Sam single?"

Suddenly, he shut the water off slightly aggressively and dumped the glass into a rack to dry, then grabbed a towel to dry his hands as he replied, "Yes. He is."

She smirked at his clipped reply and then said, "You know, friends don't usually get that jealous over friends flirting with other friends."

"Yeah, well, friends don't..." he cut himself off and pursed his lips, tossing the towel on the counter and then putting his hands on his hips as he looked up at her. "Do you like him?"

"Yeah," she answered lightly. "He's nice. He's funny. What's not to like?"

"And if he asked you out, would you say yes?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly but replied, "Maybe."

Steve then smiled humorlessly and raised his eyebrows as he said, "But if I asked, it's an automatic no, right?"

Suddenly, she wished that she had just left well enough alone. She hadn't intended to genuinely upset Steve. She couldn't think of a scenario where she would ever want to do that. "Steve..."

"No, don't 'Steve' me," he said, and she stared, taken aback at just how annoyed he really was. "You work with him now too. He's a friend. What is the difference between me and him?"

"... There's a pretty big difference, actually," she said, her eyebrows drawing together tighter the longer this strange conversation went on.

"Like what?" he pressed.

She decided to cut this off before it went any further. "I thought you understood where I stood on this."

"Yeah, I thought so too," he replied. "If you don't want to get close to anybody, especially people you work with, I get that. But that's not what this is, is it?" When she said nothing, he asked, "If you're trying to 'protect' me -"

"Steve, don't," she warned.

"Why not?" he challenged. "And while we're talking about friends, friends don't kiss each other the way you kissed me."

She rolled her eyes. "It was a kiss, Steve. It meant nothing."

"Then why are you so against it happening again?"

She looked at him defiantly, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not."

"Then you're against it being anything more than just that," he deducted.

"There is no 'it', Steve," she argued.

"Fine. Prove it, then."

She slightly raised one eyebrow at him, knowing that he full well knew that she never backed down from a challenge. Maybe he was getting to know her better than she realized.

Either way, she crossed the short distance to him and set out to prove the vast amount of nothingness between them by pulling him down to her height and kissing him without a second thought. This, she thought, would surely put an end to this silliness, and she would learn from this experience that men as old-fashioned as Steve Rogers could not and should not be toyed with the way that she toyed with other men. Then they would again return to normal, and one day they would look back on these handfuls of kisses they shared and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

It only took her a few seconds to realize how very wrong she was.

The moment their lips touched, his hands landed on her hips and his mouth was eager against hers, desperate to prove her wrong and succeeding. He pulled her closer, against the almost marble-like hardness of his chest, and when she sucked in a breath of slight surprise, he took it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss and take it from a quick, fleeting one to a long, slow, undeniably intense thing.

So much for practice. He had taken her "lessons" to heart and had exceeded them.

But she wasn't lost to him or the kiss. Her head was still firmly fixed between her shoulders and she had every intention of walking away once this was over. But then he moaned - moaned - into the kiss, and it was so deep and unexpected that it became her undoing.

They broke apart, and she opened her eyes and stared at him, breathing through parted lips as he looked at her with a mixture of heat and lust and...

No, she decided. If she was going to do this, the only way would be to ignore the affection in his eyes and the threat that it was. It was risky enough doing this at all without having to tiptoe through that particular minefield.

Luckily, he kissed her again, before she could talk herself out of what was happening. This time she felt herself being slowly walked backwards, until her back hit the counter and there was nowhere to go but closer to him. His tongue played a game with hers as his hands, markedly less timid than they were last time, moved up and down her hips and then over them, moving down until the back of her denim-clad thighs were in his grasp.

But before he could lift her up on to the counter, she broke away and said, "Couch."

He nodded breathlessly, and then she was the one steering them out of the kitchen, towards the couch, all while his lips moved to her neck and did a very good job of distracting her. Still, once the couch was in sight, she pulled his head away and then gave him a push. He fell back on to the couch, sitting up against the middle of it, and she tried not to grin too predator-like as she then climbed on to his lap, knees on either side of his legs. He watched her every move through slightly hooded eyes and with parted lips, until her lips met his again in a quiet fury, and she didn't dare let herself think for fear of ruining it.

This was not practice, not a friendly helping hand, nothing like the previous kisses had been. He felt desperate as he kissed her, like he had been starved for attention for an eternity and now couldn't get it fast enough. His hands were restless, moving up and down her sides, her back, her hips and her legs, but her hair was almost always within his fingers. He ran them through it, tangled the strands and a few times crunched them in his fist when she diverted her kisses to his neck, kissing him there the way that she had before, the way that she knew would drive him crazy. When the hand not buried in her hair slid slightly under the back of her shirt, so that his fingertips just grazed her skin, she suddenly had an overwhelming need for more, but, ever a beacon of self-control, she reined it in. This was Steve. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be fast or cheap.

When their lips met again, he surprised her by again letting out a low, breathy groan against her mouth and then pulling her hips down against his. She shivered at the feel of him, of his need for her, and she began rolling her hips slowly, almost experimentally, testing his reactions. He responded by breaking their kiss and breathing in pants against her lips, his grip on her now nearly tight enough to bruise, and she grinned as she asked lowly, "Should I stop?"

"No," he nearly moaned, dragging his lips down along her neck as she continued to move. He kissed along her chest, under her collarbone and along the neckline of her shirt, and when he started to move his hips upwards against hers, she wondered if he was even aware of his own movements and how he was trembling slightly against her.

All of this, and they were both still fully clothed. Had that not been the case, she was fairly sure that he may have suffered a sudden heart attack and collapsed.

But this felt right to her, because it was something but it wasn't too much, and judging by his increasingly heavy breaths and almost messy way that he thrusted against her, it was more than enough for him. She guided his lips back to hers, and as she picked up speed, she took one of his hands and moved it up the front of her shirt, until it was over her breast. She pressed his hand down until he squeezed it himself, and when he moaned at that too, she almost did as well, but she managed to keep the sound back as she bit her bottom lip.

The unexpectedness of it all, and not to mention Steve's equally unexpected vocalness, left her on the edge of getting equally as caught up as he was. But, before a single sound could escape her own mouth, he was suddenly stiffening underneath her and gasping into her neck, and it was with great satisfaction that she held him close and let him fall apart in her arms. There was no hiding the little grin on her face, just as there was no hiding the heavy pants pouring from his mouth and the deep relaxation spreading through his muscles. She could nearly feel them loosening under fingers, even through his shirt, and as the moment faded, his arms wrapped around her and held on like she was his anchor to the world.

She had not been expecting it to end like that. She thought that it would have taken a bit more effort on her part, but the fact that it hadn't just made her smile even more. It felt like they were teenagers, "fooling around" on a living room couch, all of their clothes still on, and Steve now a literal mess beneath her.

She had kissed him to prove that there was nothing between them, and somehow it had turned into this. But she didn't regret a thing, at least not yet.

"Well," she said after a long silence and after his breaths had calmed down some against her neck, "that was easy."

He chuckled, and it was a breathy, carefree sound. She didn't expect her heart to briefly skip when she heard it, nor did she expect the shiver that ran down her spine when he placed a small, sweet kiss on the curve of her neck.

The sound of footsteps from the hall broke the revelry of the moment, and she turned her head around to see Bucky emerging from the hallway with an empty cup in his hands. He stopped for a moment, looked at them like they were seven-headed freaks from Mars, then continued on his way to the kitchen. He flipped on the sink, filled up the cup with water, turned off the sink, then turned and walked back into the hallway, but not before again looking at them like they were the weirdest thing he had ever seen.

After, Steve asked against her neck that he still had not moved from, ".. Bucky?"

"Yep," she replied, fingers softly moving through his hair at the back of his head. "Good thing he didn't walk in a few seconds sooner."

That was when Steve finally left the safety of her neck to draw back some, and she lowered her eyes to run them across his face. His cheeks were colored with a faint blush, lips rosy and swollen with all of the kisses they had shared, but his eyes were what got her. She had never had a man look at her with a such a mixture of charm and slight shyness, especially after what had just happened. Then again, what had just happened had been a first for her, and it was really remarkable, she thought, that anything could be a first for the both of them.

"Natasha..."

She shook her head. "You don't have to say anything."

"... I think I do," he said seriously.

"You don't," she assured him. Then she cocked an eyebrow and said, "Sometimes friends can be good for stress relief."

He didn't return the grin that she shot him. "Stress relief." She nodded, and then his eyes dropped down to her lips before he swallowed visibly and then asked with a blush, "Your turn?"

If it had been five minutes earlier, she would have said yes without a second thought. But now, for some reason - maybe it was the way that he was looking at her, or the way that he was holding her still - she felt like the only safe place to be was away. She could say stress relief all day but it wouldn't change the fact that it was more for him and she damn well knew it.

She needed to stop letting these things happen in the first place.

Her lips quirked in a grin and she said, "Actually, I think it's time I headed home. Besides, you've got a date with your shower."

She tried to ignore the disappointment in his eyes at those words, but the shower remark made the blush in his cheeks flare up all over again. "But... Nat, I... you..."

"I'm fine," she assured him, smoothly moving off of his lap and getting to her feet in front of him. He just continued to stare at her with all the woundedness of a kicked puppy, like he was genuinely devastated that she wouldn't let him return the favor to her.

The thought nearly made her rethink her decision. Did he even know how to do such a thing? Would he ask her to teach him, guide him in learning how to please a woman, if she stayed and moved them from the couch to his bedroom?

Her phone ringing in her pocket jolted her from the unexpectedly titillating thoughts. She almost jumped a little before finally looking away from him and checking her phone. She read the caller I.D. and then sent it to voicemail for the time being, looking at Steve - still sitting there on the couch as if he may just be stuck there for awhile, trying to regroup and recover fully - and she banished thoughts of what she could do to this man if she really tried and said, "See you next week."

His mouth opened but no words came out, and she walked away before he could figure out something to say that would persuade her to stay.

On her way out of his apartment and down the stairs, she called the number back that she had sent to voicemail and said when a familiar voice answered, "Clint... I think I might be getting myself into some trouble."

Maybe she was already in it.

Words could barely describe the state of confusion Steve spent the next week in.

She was like a wisp of smoke, he thought, a wisp of smoke that kept flitting through the air when he wasn't expecting it, teasing him, and every time he tried to catch it, it evaporated before his eyes. Nobody could catch smoke, of course, and he should know better than to try, but the serum hadn't made him any less human. He was very human, and very confused on where they stood and exactly what had even happened on his couch. Aside from the obvious.

He knew what she was. She wasn't one for attachments, probably of any kind. That was how she survived. But that wasn't the whole of her. It was a facet of who she was, and he knew there was a whole lot more under that often-aloof surface. She was strong, brave, a lot more selfless than she seemed to think she was. Beautiful, complicated, and many more adjectives he chose not to add because he was starting to think that he had a type and that thought brought up a nagging sense of irrational guilt that would help nothing.

It was just like everything else in his life at the current time - confusing, complex, unfamiliar. With SHIELD gone, the structure that he relied on more than he had realized was gone. He had to figure out his place in the world all over again. He had his best friend back but he was a shadow of his former self and seeing him every day was a fresh stab to the heart. Everything that he had known was upside down, and now there was this thing with Natasha, and what the hell did it all mean?

Always so dramatic. Yeah, yeah, he wanted to say back to the chiding, familiar voice in his head. Some things never changed.

And if he spent one night on his couch, silently sitting across from Bucky who was reading a biography bearing his own name, scribbling on a piece of paper that turned into a sketch of a hand trying to catch smoke, well... nobody needed to see it or understand what it meant.

After it was mostly finished, he gave his hand a rest and glanced over at Bucky. He was engrossed in the story of his own life, staring at the pages like he might set the whole thing on fire once he was done with it. Steve had to fight the urge to open his mouth and blurt out everything on his mind, everything about himself and Natasha, because doing so felt like the most natural idea in the world. He could hear the whole conversation in his head, watch it play out like a movie. He would stammer out everything that happened and Bucky would laugh at him, tease him a little for just sitting there and letting Nat leave after the last incident, then make up a game plan for him on how to "reel her in" - very detailed plan that he would make Steve repeat at least twice, satisfying Bucky that he understood what to do and how to do it.

The only problem was, the Bucky sitting before him now was not the same one that Steve had grown up with, and he would probably just stare at Steve blankly if he brought up any of it. He had prepared himself for this, but there was something almost unbearably sad about having Bucky so close and yet completely out of reach.

An incoming text stole his attention, and it turned out to be none other than Natasha, informing him of her imminent arrival bearing information that she and Tony had uncovered regarding leftover HYDRA agents that had scurried underground after SHIELD's fall. He took a deep breath and typed out a quick reply, then set aside his pencil and paper.

He was on his own figuring this one out, and he would just have to make it work.

As soon as he told Bucky they were about to have company, his expression grew mildly annoyed and he nodded before silently leaving the room with his book. That left Steve alone, on his couch, thinking about the last time he had been left there, and he never knew whether to be embarrassed or proud of what had happened. He felt like he should be embarrassed, but he really wasn't, at least not anymore. The confusion had long outweighed the embarrassment.

She knocked this time. He got up and went to the door, putting on his best nonchalant smile - which was not a very good one - and let her in, and for awhile, everything was maddeningly normal.

She plopped down on his couch without a second thought, grabbing his laptop that he offered and plugging in a flash drive as he sat next to her. It was all business as they then looked over a list of known and suspected HYDRA agents, and it was depressing enough to distract him from his other problems. Many of the faces that Nat scrolled through were faces he used to see every day, people who would tell him good morning and make small talk in the elevator before heading off to their own floors to do their work. It was still mind boggling to know that these people had been actively undermining everything he had spent his life defending and upholding.

An hour went by where they went through the list, discussed different possibilities and leads, things that Stark had proposed, all manners of everything of utmost importance. Nothing was awkward and he was grateful for that, but when they ran out of things to talk over, that sense of ease started to run dry.

"Next time," she said, closing his laptop and removing the flash drive, "come to Stark Tower. I don't mind making house calls but sooner or later you're going to have to deal with Tony with the rest of us."

Steve smiled faintly. "Okay. But for the record, I don't mind the house calls either."

She set the laptop down on the coffee table, her lips quirking slightly at his remark, but then his sketchbook caught her eye and she picked it up curiously. "Oh, what's this?"

It was in her hands before he could stop her, though she caught his instant slight squirm of discomfort and how he reached out to grab the book before thinking better of it and drawing his hand back. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "Got secret things in here?"

He shook his head. "No. You can look."

So she did. He watched her flip through the first few pages, and she didn't ask what the one with the hand and the smoke was supposed to represent. Most of the drawings were, in his mind, unremarkable, mostly just a way for him to process the world around him and get certain thoughts and feelings out and down on paper. Everything was drawn in pencil, and there was only one drawing in the entire book that contained a true color. It was the one drawing that he didn't want her to see, so naturally, it was one of the first ones she found.

He watched her eyes widen fractionally and her entire demeanor change when she saw it. Curious became stunned and speechless, and he waited cautiously for her to say something.

The drawing was of her, of course. Mostly just her head and shoulders, at a slight sideways angle as she smiled with her eyes downcast towards the floor. It wasn't one of her coy smiles or a flirty one, but instead the kind he saw when he said something that she found funny and smiled to mask a laugh. What set it apart from the other pictures was the bright, deep red coloring of her hair. It had taken him the better part of a day to get the shading the way that he wanted it, which had been the day after she had kissed him in his bedroom.

"You drew this from memory?" she asked quietly, not taking her eyes off of the paper.

He nodded. "Yeah. It's not perfect, though. Could have made it a lot better if you had been there."

She shook her head just slightly. "No, it's... it's good." He watched her swallow and then add still quietly, "Nobody's ever drawn me before."

He thought through a few different replies before settling on one of the more adventurous ones. "Glad I could be your first for something."

Then she smiled, and it was just like the drawing that she was still looking at.

"You can have that if you want," he said. When she looked at him, he added with a shrug, "If you want."

"Is this how you see me?" she asked, her tone still quiet and curious.

He glanced at the drawing and answered, "It's one of the ways that I see you."

"What are the others?"

He paused and met her gaze again. "I think you know."

She let her eyes drift from his back to the paper again as she said, "This is a bad idea, Steve."

... There was a this now?

"You know me," she added. "What you want isn't what I do."

"You know what I want?" he asked.

She looked at him knowingly. "You want something people like us don't really get to have. What we can have is a lot more simple and a lot different from what you're used to."

He knew what she meant. "Maybe it doesn't have to be that way."

"It does," she sighed. "Anything more is just..."

"A risk?" he guessed. "Yeah. I'm familiar with those. Kind of an every day thing for me."

She smiled a little and shook her head. "You deserve better. Something... different. Why do you think I tried so hard to get you to date someone?"

He didn't say anything, understanding why that was now. It was as if she thought he was too good and too pure for the world that they lived in, and in her own odd little ways, she did what she could to to protect him from it.

The only problem was, when people tried to protect him, it tended to make him run into the face of danger all the more quickly. It was a recurring problem.

"To be fair," he said, "most of those girls were probably working for HYDRA."

She chuckled humorlessly. "You might be right."

"I know one who wasn't, though."

At that, she sighed and set the book down on the coffee table. She placed her hands down on the cushion beneath her, next to her legs, and stared forward. He could see the wheels turning in her head, watch her decision-making process play out behind her eyes, and he held his breath waiting for her to say something.

But she didn't say a word. Instead, she looked at him one more time before standing up, and instead of heading towards the front door like he assumed she would, she started walking towards the hallway where his bedroom was.

Halfway there, she turned and looked at him over her shoulder. "You coming?"

His mouth fell open in slight shock but nothing came out. She grinned at his reaction and then turned and kept on her way.

Once she disappeared into his room, he sprung up from the couch so fast that his foot caught the coffee table and knocked it over, sending his laptop, sketchbook, and an empty cup to the floor. He quickly scrambled to set it all back up and then tried not to run too quickly into his room, but really, there was no hope for a calm entrance. He sprinted down the hallway and then half-stumbled into his room, only to be immediately grabbed by the collar and then pulled inside as the door slammed shut.

Whatever this was, it was happening.

Her lips instantly met his for a kiss, and it was unlike the other first kisses they'd had because there was no hiding or pretending behind this one. Her hands left his collar and slid behind his neck as he took her waist and pulled her in closer, almost staggering under how fast and how hard she was kissing him. It was nice, but it wasn't what he wanted, and he didn't think that she really did either. So his hands moved up to her face, which they cradled as he broke away, his forehead briefly resting against hers before he leaned in and kissed her, much more slowly and sweetly but no less deeply.

As long as this was happening, he wanted to savor it. It didn't have to be like a tornado dropping unexpectedly from the sky and then vanishing just as quickly. He'd rather light a fire and watch it grow slowly, naturally, without anything holding it back.

By the time he drew away for a breath, she was panting in a way that surprised him. Her eyes stayed closed for a moment before they opened, the green depths meeting his blue ones as she licked her lips and said, "I'm not gonna sleep with you. You've waited too long for your first time not to mean something."

He was instantly prepared to argue this one into next year, starting with her very faulty assumption that sleeping with her would mean nothing to him. But as soon as he opened his mouth, she placed one slender finger over his lips and said, "That still leaves plenty for us to do."

She then drew her finger away, and she smiled at the blush that crept up his neck. "Yeah, I uh... I guess that's... true, but..."

"All of which I am assuming you have never done before."

He shook his head to confirm her assumptions. Rather than put her off, she seemed pleased by this, and the blush rose to cover his cheeks.

To compensate for their height difference, she had to lean up on her toes to gently kiss his neck, while her hands slowly moved up his arms to his shoulders. When she kissed under his ear, she nearly whispered, "And I get the impression that you want to go slow."

He nodded, not trusting his mouth to say actual words, and then she drew away with a faint grin still on her lips as she dropped her hands from his shoulders. "Take my shirt off."

He stared at her for all of a nanosecond before he jumped to obey the order and moved his hands from her hips to the hem of her shirt, taking it off so fast he was almost worried after the fact that he might have hurt her. But he didn't, of course, and he was instantly very distracted by the sight of her black lace bra with little hints of red throughout the trim. It was almost too fitting, not that he had time to comment on it before she was wrestling off his own shirt.

Once it hit the floor on top of hers, she grabbed him and pulled him back down for another kiss as she began also slowly walking them backwards, towards his bed. He didn't notice how she got her shoes off in the process, focusing instead on running his hands up and down her back, at least until they stopped and she broke away to ask, "Am I going to have to tell you everything to do, step by step? Not that I mind it, but..."

He was starting to like it when she challenged him like this. He grinned for a very brief second before he kissed her again, then answered her question by slowly dropping to his knees in front of her, kissing down her neck and all the way to just under her navel as he went. He sensed her surprise when she steadied herself with a hand in his hair, and as he kissed softly along the soft skin of her belly, his hands worked to unzip and pull down her jeans from her legs. He was inexperienced, not useless.

Her jeans tossed on the floor, his eyes were greeted by the sight of her matching underwear, and he had to wonder if she hadn't done this on purpose and came here tonight with the full intention of seducing him. He would never know, because she gently tugged on his hair and he rose back up to his feet, kissing her again while her fingers went between them to undo his belt. She only half succeeded before he leaned forward, gently laying her down on his bed and then climbing over her.

He took a moment to fully appreciate the sight before him, of her fiery hair spread out under her head on his pillow, the rest of her nearly bare to him, and while some men might have taken the opportunity to say something else in that moment, he decided to trail his eyes all the way down her body as he said, "I was right."

She raised an eyebrow. "About?"

"... You would look just terrible in a bikini."

If she had rolled her eyes any harder in reply, she would have needed a doctor.

He barely had time to laugh before she hooked her leg around his hip and rolled them over with ease, smiling despite his joke as she sat on his hips and ran her hands up his chest as she leaned down to kiss him. "Less talking, soldier."

He couldn't promise he would stick to that, but he smiled his agreement before she kissed him and continued to run her fingertips along his torso. He closed his eyes when her lips drifted from his to his neck, then down to his chest, all while his own fingers ran mindlessly through her hair. Just when he was almost starting to believe that this was actually happening, she again took away his ability to think at all by teasingly kissing a trail down his abdomen and then sitting back up. Hers eyes met his as she reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and then let it fall from her fingers. He sat up so fast that she actually laughed at him.

"Need any direction yet?" she asked teasingly as he stared shamelessly at what she bared to him, his hands briefly frozen in their place on her hips. He glanced up at her and shook his head, then moved his hands that were definitely not shaking at all and took each of her breasts within them, taking his time in feeling them and looking at them because he had waited a long time for this.

She didn't mind, and at the first touch of his lips to one, she made a sound like an appreciative hum and moved her fingers back to his hair, holding him a little closer. With one of his hands free now, he wrapped it around her back and felt it arch when he laved his tongue on her nipple. Her fingers tightening and thighs squeezing slightly on his lap was all the direction he needed, and it was also enough to make an almost embarrassing sound fly from his throat.

Super-stamina aside, when they got to the serious part of this, it was going to be over incredibly quickly.

After that, there was a lot of moving and shifting, even more kissing and touches that were sometimes experimental but always welcomed and well-received. Neither of them said a word until he ended up on top of her again, kissing her like he'd quit breathing if he stopped, and in the daze of it all, his hand brushed down lower past her stomach than he intended, and a soft shudder beneath him made him open his eyes and finally break the kiss.

Leaning on his elbow next to her, he looked down and watched his free hand run down over her hipbone, then the top of her thigh. He leaned down and peppered little kisses to her neck as his fingers drifted softly inwards, and his voice sounded strangely heavy to his own ears when he lifted his head and admitted, "I might need some direction now."

He watched her lips curl into a smirk and she replied, "I don't know... I'm curious to see what you'll come up with on your own."

As much as he liked her confidence in him, he replied quietly, "I'd rather know that I'm doing it right. I want..."

"Want what?" she asked, leaning up to kiss along his jawline as he tried to form the right words.

"I want to you to feel as good as you make me feel," he said, and though he could feel his face burning a little after he got the words out, he was glad that he said it because of what came next.

"All right," she said softly, reaching down and taking his hand to draw it away from where he thought it was supposed to be. Before he could ask about it, she gave him a look and said, "I've always preferred to teach by showing. Seems to be the most effective way. What do you think?"

What did he think? He stared at her in a mild stupor for a moment before catching himself and suddenly nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever you... whatever you think. Do you mean..."

She nodded, and his eyes glued themselves to her hand as it lazily made its way down her own body. "Just watch," she said, grinning at his wider eyes and already-faster breaths, and he gulped and nodded without daring look away. "And whenever you want to take over... just do it."

The words echoed through his mind and crawled down his spine. Just do it.

And eventually, he did. And when he watched her face as her nails dug gently into the back of his shoulder, her breath leaving her lips in a shaky gasp of a moan that he was the cause of, he suddenly had an idea for the next picture he wanted to sketch.

After that night, things changed. Natasha stopped running - to a point - and she decided to let herself see what might result from this... whatever it was. Sometimes she would cheekily call it his "higher education", other times she would call it "the very slow and gradual deflowering of Steve Rogers", but whatever she called it to get a rise out of him, it didn't change what it was.

And what it was, was the start of a whole lot more.

Steve began to text her on a regular basis, the way that a boyfriend would, she suspected. He would talk to her about anything and everything, from his struggles with his best friend to what he had for lunch and a hilarious "new" show he watched the other day. She had informed him with great amusement that Friends was actually sort of old now, but she was glad that he was acclimating to the world better and better as time went on.

And he was also an exceptionally eager and gifted student, as it turned out.

She stuck to her guns about not sleeping with him, because she really did want something better for him. It seemed like a shame to have waited as long as he had to then just let her have his virginity, but the longer that this thing went on and the more time they spent together, the more insistent he became that she was worried for nothing.

One night, about two weeks after seeing his sketch of her led to his first night of good old fashioned fooling around, she was lounging in his bed with his sheet covering her when she first threw out the term "friends with benefits". She had then defined the term before he cut her off, saying that he knew what the term meant - he'd had cable to two whole years now, after all - and that he wasn't interested in that. She hadn't pressed the issue, but it made her feel a bit more uneasy about what they were doing.

He wasn't in a rush to label them. But he did ask her out at least once every other day. She would say that she was busy - which was true - and would point out that Bucky wasn't in the best condition to be left alone at the apartment while they went out anyway, which was also true. Steve would nod his understanding, but then he'd say something like how the dinners and movies they shared in the apartment probably counted as dates anyway. She would give him a look, and he would grin and change the subject.

She ignored all of that for the better part of a month. It was easy to do when he used his growing confidence and expanding skill set to render her incapable of thought night after night. In fact, he had begun to get a little too good, because though she had never been particularly noisy in bed before, some nights, an irritated fist banging on the other side of the wall alerted them to just how loud she was actually being.

Who knew that soldiers in their upper nineties could be so... invigorating?

Usually, it was easy to let the jokes and the fun of it take her mind off of the consequences and the reality of what they were doing. But that flew out the window after the end of that first month, on a Friday night, when she walked into his apartment and walked into a "date" that he had set up for them right there in the middle of his apartment.

The man had actually cooked himself. He turned out to not be so bad at it. He gave her a small bouquet of flowers almost the minute she stepped inside, and then when they ate, they ate over candlelights and good dishes that she had never seen before.

Steve had been very noticeable nervous about the whole thing from the start, and she hadn't known what to say. This was another first for her, and it only served to further chip away at her resolve to keep what they had casual.

... But had it ever really been casual? Why were the lines so hard to see when it came to Steve? Was it because he was continually erasing the lines that she tried to draw between them?

As if the "date" hadn't been enough, he then further bewildered her by taking her up to the roof of his apartment with a bottle of wine. The stars weren't easy to see this deep into the city, but it didn't matter. Something was changing, and she was losing her will to fight it. What was she even fighting for at this point?

They kissed under the moonlight, and a short time later, they kissed under his slowly turning ceiling fan, in the bed that had slowly become far more comfortable than the one she had at her own place. She wasn't sure at first if he could also feel the change or if it was all in her head, wished into existence by that neglected part of her that desperately wanted what he so desperately wanted to give her. She didn't deserve it, but it was hard to remember all the reasons why when he would tell her that he believed in her and would look at her in a way that made it incredibly clear that this was much more than a physical thing.

He stripped her slowly that night, kissing every inch of her and taking his time. He always took his time, but that night he was especially torturous, using everything he had learned about what she liked to keep her just on the edge and needing more. It was when they were both naked and she was losing her resolve to never beg anyone for anything that he kissed her slowly and sweetly, the way that she both loved and hated because of the welcome and not-so-welcome things that it made her feel, and she knew what he was going to ask her. What she didn't know was what her answer was going to be.

"Natasha," he said quietly, breathlessly, trailing kisses along her jaw, her neck, everywhere his lips could reach. "I know you're sick of me asking..."

She closed her eyes and swallowed down a sudden lump in her throat, almost losing her breath when his fingers entwined with her own next to her head.

"... And if you really don't want to, I won't ask you again, but... it really seems like you do want to."

She could see how it might appear that way, being naked in his bed more nights than she wasn't.

She opened his eyes and found his full of sincerity and heat as he kissed her softly and then said, "I know you want my first time to mean something. I do too. And I'm telling you that it will. It will, Natasha."

And that was just what she had been afraid of all this time. But now, her hesitations hardly seemed to matter anymore. He had crawled under her skin, past the metaphorical armor protecting it, and she had never been more convinced that she was worming her way into the heart he kept on his sleeve. It was all still a bad idea and there were a thousand horrible ways that this could end, but what else could she say when he was looking at her the way that he was, like she was the center of his existence in that moment and like she held the entire world in her hands?

He kissed her one more time, in his unbearably soft way, and murmured one word against her lips. "Please."

There was nothing else she could say but yes.

She answered with her actions rather than words, and he seemed to understand through the way that she pulled him down and kissed him hungrily, openly, with nothing held back anymore. Despite what the world may have thought of her, she was only human, underneath everything that made her who she was, and that humanity sang when he touched her.

She rolled them over, placing herself on top of him as he looked up at her through eyes heavy with need. That need, while being placated quite often by her, had not been fully sated once since the start of this, but she was going to change that now.

She leaned down and kissed him, giving him one last chance to come to his senses and change his mind. "You sure about this?"

He merely smiled a little and tangled his fingers in her hair, kissing her deeply before giving her his answer. "You know I am."

She did. She had known for longer than she was willing to admit.

And so, after a few more kisses and a few more moments of his hands dragging up and down her skin, leaving warmth and need in the trails that they left along it, she finally gave up the fight and gave in, as much to herself as she was giving in to him.

She straightened up some but stayed leaning forward, her lips never far from his when the moment came. Just a small shift of her hips and a slow, satisfying sinking later, and her traitorous heart nearly stopped pounding in her chest entirely at what she watched unfold on Steve's face.

His expression of boyish, quietly excited anticipation had changed completely the moment she moved and took what he had so willingly given her. His eyes fluttered shut for only a moment, the same moment that a little gasp left his mouth only to be followed by an equally soft but heart-stopping moan. The hand in her hair tightened, just a little bit, and his eyes opened fully and refocused on hers, and she knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had been right.

Despite her well-justified resistance, despite everything that was surely waiting down the road to make this spectacularly blow up in their faces, and despite all the things that would be racing through her mind when she woke up the next morning, none of that mattered. It didn't matter because other things were more important, like the awestruck way that he was staring at her and the flutters she felt within that she used to think that she no longer had the capability to feel. The moment was as much for her as it was for him, and feeling that connected to another person for the first time in a very long time left her utterly lost, in the very best way.

His hand in her hair gently guided her down for a kiss, and for a moment, everything was quiet. Everything was still. Everything was okay. And it turned out that he really had been right after all, for one very clear and undeniable reason.

Because it meant something. He meant something. And maybe, if they could somehow turn the odds in their favor one day... all of this would continue to mean something, and everything would stay okay for once in both of their lives.