Author's Note: Here it is, guys. The final chapter of this tale. It was a pain to write, but it's finally here, and I'm really excited about it. I think there's something truly incredible about seeing a vulnerable Natasha/Tony moment.

"You got lucky," Natasha complained, her hand moving on its own accord to touch Clint's neck where his mark stood. Even though she knew it was a lie — it would've been obvious even if Natasha's voice hadn't cracked as she spoke. Clint's eyes squinched ever so slightly as he watched her.

"I'm sure many would consider having Tony Stark as your mate to be a lucky deal, too," he said, casually.

"Many do not know him," she defended before she could control herself, and immediately frowned in displeasure as she saw the satisfied grin on the archer's face — like getting her to be defensive of her soulmate had been the goal all along. "Shut up."

"I never said anything."

Not like he had to.

"I hate you," she stated, and still, her hands never faltered as she measured the necessary flour to make the damn cookies.

He knew better than to mention it out loud, however, so Clint simply stole another handful of chocolate chip, quickly shoving them all into his mouth when Natasha tried to bat his hand away. "Dammit, Tasha, no need to be so violent. You know that—"

"Stealing the chips is the best part of the recipe," they both said in unison, although Natasha exasperated chant was drowned out by Clint's happy sing-song.

The archer ended with a brilliant smile, his legs swinging like a puppy wagging its tail. "See? It's the rule! One shouldn't be assaulted for following traditions," he proclaimed, but his eyes were shining, and they both knew that her trying to prevent him from stealing the chocolate was just as much of a tradition as the stealing itself.

"I truly hate you," Natasha shook her head, grabbing the sugar. "I do."

It was early. Natasha had yet to check on a clock, but she had a pretty good guess of the time, and it was not a time she wished to be out of bed. There was no mission, no danger — she could be in her room, under the covers, cozy and warm. Instead, there she was, in the kitchen, standing in front of the coffee machine and waiting for her mug to be filled with the burning hot liquid — which was to be her only compensation for rolling out of bed before 5 AM.

Before the damn coffee was ready, however, somebody else stumbled into the kitchen, literally knocking over a chair from the table as they walked in.

"Shit. Fuck," Tony cursed, walking around the fallen chair and going straight for where she was. His eyes were glued to the coffee machine, and Natasha wondered if he even noticed she was there.

"J, time," he asked, hitting the cupboard with his forehead and leaning there.

"4:47 AM, sir."

"Fuck. Ugh, Tuesday?" He mumbled.

"Actually, it's Wednesday," Natasha answered before the A.I could, pleased when Tony jumped in surprise, his eyes popping open.

"For the love of— Shit. I have a heart condition, you know? Make some damn noise," he said, a hand over his heart, as though he was trying to hold it inside. "Damn assassins. I should just put a bell around your necks."

"Kinky," Natasha grinned, grabbing her mug to take a mouthful. It would absolutely burn her entire mouth, and she could hardly wait.

When the first taste of hot, hot coffee hit her tongue, Natasha's eyes closed on their own accord as she struggled to hold a moan in — God, Tony certainly got his money's worth with that fancy shit.

"Is that coffee?" Tony suddenly demanded. "Give me," he added, without waiting for her reply, giving a step closer and making grabby hands at her mug.

"What? No. Go make your own," she denied, holding the mug closer to her chest. He couldn't seriously mean for her to share — not before her first three cups.

"I've been awake for 52 hours, Natasha. Give me that," Tony said, eyes glued to the steam leaving her mug. He had a whole look of desperate need going. "Please."

As he pleaded, the patience seemed to leave him at once, and Tony reached for her mug without another word.

Natasha wanted to jump out of his reach, but, somehow, inexplicably, when his calloused fingers closed around the handle, touching her sternum in its trajectory, she did nothing. Natasha did nothing as he brought the mug to his lips and took a long sip of her — her — coffee, doing what she hadn't allowed herself, and moaning around the rim. As he stood there, taking possession of her morning drug, Natasha remained glued to her place, waiting to see what her next reaction would be. It was crazy to see who she was whenever Tony was concerned.

"Thanks," Tony groaned. "Come here," he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her closer until she was slammed against his chest, his arc-reactor digging on her shoulder.

It was uncomfortably sharp, but, like all else, that also failed to get her to protest.

"Here," he offered the mug back, supporting his chin on the top of her head. Tony was completely relaxed as he leaned on her, his body weight heavy as he trusted Natasha to hold him.

One hand holding her half-filled mug, one hand going for his back, Natasha did precisely that, standing her ground to support him. And for a long while, they remained there, sharing several mugs of coffee between them, in the communal kitchen, waiting for the sun to come up.

Natasha had one pistol in each hand, firing in quick succession at the targets popping up all over the range. She was focus and precision, determination and direction. She was an agent, and she had her mission — there was no place for doubts. Although there were dozens of empty magazines lying on the floor around her, a full tray was still standing in front of her, carrying at least a hundred new available ones, ready for use.

There was something wrong, though. Her breath was coming in ragged puffs, her chest heaving as the amount oxygen failed to satisfy her body's needs. She had missed three shots in a row because of the way her hands trembled. There was no reason for it, however. Natasha ran a mental analysis on her body, trying to pinpoint the cause of her malfunction, knowing that if she had been on the field, her lack of competence would have had her killed many minutes ago. She was supposed to be all about level-headedness and dissociation.

Yet, strangely, the range seemed to be progressively closing in on her, narrowing the space further and further until she felt like there was an ich underneath her chest she needed to scratch out. And still, JARVIS kept creating the targets, which left Natasha with no other choice but to keep moving to shoot them, shoving a new magazine in place as soon as she counted the last shot from the previous one.

How many hours had she been running and rolling around, wasting ammo on those holograms? And, more pressingly, why couldn't she stop?

Natasha was crunched on the floor, eyes scanning every inch surrounding her — looking, waiting, for the next target to come up. One, two, three, eleven, twenty, fifty seconds went by, and nothing appeared. She wouldn't relax, wouldn't drop her shoulders. The second her concentration wavered, that would be the moment JARVIS would have something creeping up on her. He had never done something like that during her sessions, but the A.I was created by Tony, and when it came to him, nothing was impossible.

When, after nine minutes, the same emptiness echoed across the room, with nothing but Natasha's own out-of-sync breath to disturb the peace, she felt the tremors running up her arms. Nine minutes should've been nothing. To her, hours should've been nothing. Natasha vision was narrowing, even as she remained still. She wanted to lay down, she wanted to run, she wanted to scream, she wanted to shower the wall in front of her with bullets only because she could.

A voice snapped her out of her circular thoughts, and Natasha had to twist her whole body to see the person leaning against a panel. It took her two seconds to have him within her shooting range. "Impressive display," he said, almost lazily.

Her fingers were shaking as they hovered over the triggers. Identify the target, confirm the threat, eliminate the subject. "Reveal yourself," Natasha demanded, scanning for others.

She should've noticed the presence before he had to announce himself.

"Very Nikita," he added, ignoring her demand. "Although I must say, you paint a much more attractive picture than Anne Parillaud. No offenses to her, of course. It's just a matter of preference."

"I said, reveal yourself," Natasha repeated, urging her body to move from her position. She should get up, approach the figure, analyze the situation. And yet, there she remained, crunching on the ground, shaking like a civilian in a fight.

"Not a fan of a well-executed 90's movie?" The figure questioned. "That's too bad. I happen to think it's a perfectly acceptable movie." He paused and stepped away from the panel before adding: "You plan on getting up any time soon or should I move closer to the floor as well?"

Natasha didn't have time to answer — or even consider if getting up was an option to her — because the man began to walk closer to her, step by step, coming into the light and revealing the familiar face of Tony Stark. He only wore a pair of sweatpants, which hung low on his hip, his face and torso slightly red and sweaty.

He wasn't a threat. Natasha needed to remove her fingers from the triggers and lower the guns aiming at his chest. Tony was a fellow Avenger, a teammate, an ally, a friend, her soulmate. He was walking toward her and Natasha couldn't seem to force herself to unlock from her terse position of defense. Why was she hyperventilating?

He came to stand in front of her, only to immediately fold into a sitting position instead, shoving some empty magazines away. He ignored the guns pointed at him, where they almost touched his chest. "Hey, there, little spider. No need for such deep breaths. Tough day?"

No need. Natasha wasn't exercising anymore, she didn't need so much air going in, she had to quit behaving like a freak and get herself under control. She could do it, she had to.

Shut down. Isolate. Detach. Put up a front.

She lowered her arms, closing her eyes for a moment and pulling one last deep breath before she opened her mouth. "Don't interrupt my training session again. That was reckless, even for you. Leave." Her voice came out mechanic, robotic even, but steady. That's what mattered.

It angered Tony, however. His lips tightened, and his eyes sharpened. "Don't do that. Don't fucking play this with me," Tony said, but it sounded like an order or a demand.

It confused Natasha. She didn't have the time to entertain Tony's musings at the moment — how long could she hope to keep her entire body from shaking?

"I'm not finished. Leave before I hurt you," Natasha threatened, although it came out sounding so much more like a warning than anything else. For a spy, it was a pitiful mistake to make.

"If you keep acting with me, I'll be the one doing the hurting. Trust me," he informed.

The censure had alarm bells ringing inside her head, and, finally, Natasha snapped back into place. It was easy to push the panic attack back into the corner of her mind when she had such a clear goal in place. She didn't want Tony to see her breaking down, she refused to hurt him as collateral damage.

"What?" Natasha snapped, getting up and putting down the pistols in the tray. "You think you want to see this? Don't delude yourself into believing this is pretty or tame. Get close to me when I'm in the middle of a crisis again, and I'll break your arms."

She had to hide a wince as she admitted to having a crisis in the middle of their shooting range, but beyond the point of caution. What had he been thinking? She could've shot him.

Tony remained where he was, leaning back and supporting his weight on his hands. His previous anger all but vanished from his face. "Is that supposed to be scary? 'Cause, let me tell you, if that was the point, boy, did you miss the mark."

It was always a joke with Stark, wasn't it? "When will you take any of it seriously? I could kill you."

"So could I, if I wanted to. Stop evading."

"Without your suit?" Natasha asked.

"Don't be naive," he said, mentioning the room around them with his hands. Natasha hid her hands behind her back. "I own this tower, Natasha, you don't think JARVIS will flood this room with poisonous gas if I ask for it? You don't think there's a group of security nearby? You don't think I have precautious? I stopped selling weapons — I haven't stopped designing and constructing 'em."

"You truly think that would be enough?" It was an honest question. Perhaps in some level, Natasha needed to know he would be able to stop her if it came down to it — that he had the means to do so if things got out of control.

"Yes." No pause, no hesitation.

How could she believe him when minutes before she had almost shot him down? "Don't be so confident. I'm trained to go for the kill, Tony," Natasha reminded, with no small amount of bitterness at the mention of her goddamn training.

Tony rolled his eyes, leaning forward now. "So I am! For the love of— I was called the merchant of death, Natasha!" He exploded, exasperated. "For more than a decade, I designed weapons for my company."

"But you—"

"No, I'm not stupid, so don't even pretend to justify me," Tony interrupted, shaking his head. "Yeah, I had no clue of the scope of the damage I was making, but I always knew my weapons weren't used for kisses and roses. I was the one who went on demonstrations, who showed people how to handle them, who tested and approved of their effectiveness. I haven't shut that side of me completely down — I can't. I just try to channel it somewhat better."

Only it wasn't the same. Not even a little bit.

Her expression must have spoken for her because Tony got up, pushing himself up and moving to grab a magazine from the pile. "What do you want me to say, Natasha? I like this, alright? Being near weaponry, handling them? It isn't exactly a hardship for me. I don't know how else to make myself clear."

"There's a difference between liking and designing weapons and knowing all the ways to use it to make others suffer," Natasha finally said, after a few moments of silence where Tony's gaze remained locked with hers. It was all she could say, and she hoped he understood what she meant by it. Tony may have been a weapon producer, he may be an Avengers now, he may fight the bad guys, he may maim, and even kill, but it wasn't the same as being a weapon himself.

His eyes went darker as she spoke, an unreadable emotion swimming in them. It was impossible to read what he was feeling or if he understood her words. Tony remained silent for many minutes, seeming to be weighing his words carefully. When he spoke, it was with a whole other tone.

"Are you scared because you think you're dangerous or because you know that you can't scare me away?" Tony asked, with a pointed look to his exposed soulmark.

The words left his mouth with an ease that shouldn't be possible. He knew. Suddenly, Natasha could see it in his face that Tony knew of her soulmark, even though she had no idea how he could've gotten that information.

It was too much. She wasn't prepared to have that conversation — not like that. So she did what seemed like the only reasonable thing to do in the face of the situation — Natasha turned on her heels and left the room without any other word.

It took her three months to return to the tower. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't stay away for longer than that. Which was how she ended up in Tony's lab, in the middle of the night, wearing pajamas and with no game-plan whatsoever.

Natasha needed to know. "When did you find out?"

Tony's face gave little away when he answered, looking up from the Stark Pad in his hands. "A while," he said with a shrug.

"Define a while."

"Look, after the whole Natalia/Natasha thing, I'll admit, I got curious," Tony admitted, unbothered. "I was intrigued. Despite what my file may have indicated about me, I'm a good judge of character. I've been tricked so many times that, by now, I have a good bullshit sensor. And the fact that you had called my attention... that was definitely something to investigate."

"Is that so? Cuz I had been under the impression that what had truly amazed you was my physical appearance."

"Are you fishing for compliments? Yes, I find you to be extremely attractive. Disturbingly attractive. So attractive, indeed, it's a constant distraction. I cannot be the first man to tell you that," he said, tilting his head in consideration.

He wasn't. He wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the last, but, perhaps, he was the first one that said that while looking her into her eyes and who seemed to mean it in many different ways, too. Tony wasn't the first to say she was attractive. He was, however, the first one who incited a response out of her. Natasha might delude herself into believing she lacked a wide range of emotions, and that she had lost a huge chunk of her personality along the line of the numerous characters she played; it didn't change the fact that Tony still shook her balance. His eyes... He was always so expressive. The suits, the cars, the flashy personality, the sunglasses, it all seem to be a constructed façade to hide the fact that his eyes showed so much. He had never learned to put a good shield. And, at that moment, Natasha was grateful for it. If he had been a better manipulator, a better liar, than she would never be able to believe a word he was saying.

"So, you hacked into my SHIELD file?" She guessed, knowing that Tony wouldn't have any difficulties doing so.

"Yes," he said, unrepentant.

"That's not all of it, is it?"

"Of course not," he agreed easily. "There wasn't anything about your soulmark on the file. Nothing at all — which is beyond suspicious, especially for a double-cover assassin. so I might have asked JARVIS to look into every information he could get his metaphorical hands on."

"Quite the privacy breach," Natasha pointed out, trying to calculate all the information that he could've found.

"Please, like you haven't done the same?" He pointed out.

It was a great point. "I'm not saying you shouldn't have done it, or that I wouldn't have done the same in your position. I'm merely commenting on a fact."

"Yeah, well, I lost my ability to trust easily a few death attempts ago, so... I went for a full hack. The way I see it, you stick a needle in my neck, you lose your right to privacy."

"What did you find?"

"Everything. After you came to work for the Avengers, it became sort of an obsession for me. The more blank spaces I found, the harder I dug for what was underneath. In the end, I found your old files," he said all that in the same breath, and Natasha held her breath. She knew where he was going, but maybe he… There was no way... "From the Red Room."

"Oh," Natasha exclaimed. She hadn't expected that. Or rather, she had expected but had hoped to be wrong, despite the clues pointing differently. The mention of her old life sent her head into overdrive — she wanted to know exactly what details he knew, what had been written about her... that wasn't a part of her life she wanted anyone digging through, much less Tony.

"Yeah, oh. I ended up finding mentions of your soulmark... alongside detailed information on their many attempts at removing it." And he sounded angry at that. He looked angry. His brow was furrowed in a deep crease as he forced the words out. "Natasha—"

"No. That's not something I want to talk about. You stole that information; I didn't share it. I don't want to know what you think of it," She didn't. Not right there, as exposed as she was already feeling. Maybe never. The Red Room was a crux she had to carry along wherever she went, knowing that she would never be truly free from the training, and the memories, and the nightmares, and the demons, but it was hers to carry. Hers alone.

"And why did you never say anything?" She asked, when he remained in silence.

"I didn't know you. Sometimes I still don't," Tony said, with a twisted smile. "You walked into my life as a lie, as a spy, working for my ex-girlfriend — for Pepper — and you literally stabbed me with a needle. I have trust issues the size of Mount Everest — I've never denied that. There were no pictures, just a damn good description of it. In my mind, I was already sure. I mean, the details, the place, the color... it was too similar, too perfect to be anything else than what it was. But I wasn't really ready to accept it — not yet."

"And in the hospital…"

"I was with you the whole time. Even when the doctors worked on you, I was in the room. Couldn't just leave you there, with a bunch of strangers unsure whether you were really fine or not. So I stayed. And I saw. I want to say it changed something for me, but I don't think it did."

"Well, the way you've been behaving with me... I don't understand. Were you ever going to tell me?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow. Just how long had Tony been planning to keep the information to himself?

He shrugged. "Eventually."

"Eventually? Are you fucking with me?" Natasha gritted through her teeth, trying to reign in her anger. "Is this some sort of test, where you play with me to see how I'll respond? Because that sick, even for us."

"What do you want me to say? This isn't exactly the sort of conversation people prepare you for," he defended, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

God, she couldn't believe the words coming from his mouth. "You are doing just fine now. I don't get it; is this what you like seeing? Me, all messed up? Vulnerable, so perhaps your weaknesses don't seem so immense?"

"You've known for years — much longer than I've known, that's for sure. Why haven't you said something, then?" Tony pointed out, raising his voice and taking one step closer to her. "The ball's been in your court for a damn long while."

"You've read my file, you've seen what I do. I'm an assassin, a spy. I'm the spy of spies. I traded KGB for SHIELD, but that doesn't mean my work has been any less dirty. I haven't gotten clean; I've just changed alliances — done a tad less damage in hopes of getting to do something right for a change," Natasha began, fulled by the challenge shinning in his eyes. "You were a playboy, a rich kid who had more power than what he knew what to do with, so, yeah, forgive me if I didn't jump into the chance of being Mrs. Stark. I couldn't risk it; I still don't know if I can. I don't do romantic relationships, and that's for a good reason. You've read my files, you tell me."

Instead of infuriating him further, her words seemed to deflate Tony just as fast as her previous ones had enraged him. When he spoke, his voice went so, so soft. "Natasha what they did to you... it doesn't make you unlovable. They haven't stripped away your ability to connect with others. Is sick, and unimaginable, but you survived. You can't stop living; otherwise, they've won."

What did Tony know about the Red Room? A few files here hardly enough to begin to understand what Natasha had to endure inside those walls. "They've already won."

"They've only won if you let them."

God, the whole superhero speech just disgusted her beyond words. "Don't be naive; it's pathetic."

He shook his head, raising his hand, as though he was about to reach out to touch her, only to give up half-way and lower it again. "Don't get defensive just because I've touched a nerve."

"Stop trying to pretend to understand what I've been through."

"I'm not! I couldn't, even if I wanted to. I'm sorry if that's how it sounded to you."

Natasha was tired. Exhausted. Tony was proving to be more than what she could handle. "What do you want from me?" She asked, because she needed to know. They all wanted something, and Tony was in a position to ask for more than most.

"I don't know."

Impossible. "Everyone wants something."

"I definitely want many things from you, as I'm sure you want from me. But what you're really asking me is where I want this to go, how I want to do things, how I want to proceed, how do we do this, and I don't know. I don't have all the answers. In fact, as time goes by, I realize I have fewer and fewer answers than I thought I had. What I do know, though, is that it doesn't make sense for us to pretend that we don't know. You are my soulmate, and I'm yours. Whatever we decide to do with this, it's on us, but let's not pretend like we're ignorant of the matter — like you're just another teammate. Cuz you're not; you've never been."

"I'm not sure I can be what you need." Actually, Natasha was almost sure she could never be a third of what Tony Stark needed.

"I'm not even sure what I need, Natasha. I'm pretty sure that what I need, right now, is a lot different than what I needed a year ago, six months ago, and a whole other ballgame from what I thought I needed five years ago. What do you think I need?"

The answer was at the tip of her tongue, ready to fly. Is wasn't as though she hadn't had the time to think about the details for years and years, dwelling over the painful differences between them in the sickest form of masochism possible. "Someone to stand by your side. Someone to be the public face you need for your company. A stable person to ground you. Someone to keep you human. A wife. A mother for your children. The whole white picket fence. I'm not any of that many of those; I literally cannot be."

"White picket fence? When have I ever given you the impression that I'm holding my breath, waiting for children and a baked apple pie?" He asked, sounding honest-to-god surprised.

"Everyone wants that, in the end. People say they don't need that, that they won't conform to the norm, but it's a lie, and we know it. All humans crave the sense of belonging and the normality of being a fully functioning member of society."

"In case you haven't noticed, we live a the tower filled with superheroes, and Norse gods, and a Hulk, and impossible things that turned out to be very possible," Tony pointed out, hesitating for a second before carrying on. "I-I flew past a hole that, for all purposes, should have swallowed me whole. I saw a piece of the universe, an army of aliens ready to take down our planet, and I was willing to risk my life so that everyone else could live. It's... I know that it goes against all your training but, perhaps, what we are living here... it's not something you've ever been taught. If I can be the person who changes the history of Stark Industries while doing what I do as Iron Man, then that's more than enough for me. I don't delude myself with thoughts of pretty houses, a stay-at-home wife, and definitely not children."

And, as he spoke, his eyes traveled across her body, and Natasha could tell that Tony was interested in her. It was surreal. She had paraded in front of him in countless dresses, gym clothes, tight uniforms… all clothes that showed her body in a much more favorable light than the ratty pajamas she was currently wearing. And, yet, there it was, unmistakable in his stare, the flicker of need, of want.

Natasha was confused, frustrated, and, honestly, beyond tired. The more she tried, the less she understood of the person who was supposed to be her other half. "I don't get it — is this what you like?" She asked, mentioning to her pajama-clothed body.

Tony didn't look surprised by her question, neither did he pretend to misunderstand her point. He knew exactly what she was asking and why.

"How many others have seen you like this, Natasha? How many?" He asked, perhaps a touch disappointed. "How many men saw you dressed to impress, flashing all your assets? Dozens, hundreds? You use your body like I use my image, for a work purpose. And that's fine — no, not fine, but it's what we do. I want more, though. So much more. I want this. I want pajamas and insecurities. You give me this — you give me the real you – and I'll give you everything."

It was crazy.

Natasha knew what she was supposed to be doing. She knew what was expected — understood better than most the unspoken rules of seduction and sex. There was nothing new happening there, and there probably wouldn't be. No matter how much Tony had slept around, the chances of him wanting to do anything that would freak her out was next to none, Natasha was well aware of that. For her job, she had done whatever was needed — many times disregarding her own personal preferences or boundaries. If the goal was to impress, she certainly knew how.

The problem, however, was that she wasn't sure whether the goal was to impress. Tony was closing the distance between them, his mouth nearly touching hers, and Natasha had yet to decide if she wanted to perform or drop down her barriers and kiss him as Natasha — as her.

But, then, as if reading her mind, Tony whispered against her mouth. "Relax."

Just one single word. One hot breath against her mouth and Natasha decided to stop overthinking it for once in her fucking life and kiss her soulmate the way she desperately wanted to. She would deal with whatever the next day if she had to. For the moment, all she needed was to be kissing him.

Natasha leaned forward and captured his bottom lip between hers, biting her soft flesh when he opened his mouth slightly in response.

There they were — two people who had seen it all, done it all. Still, despite how many hands had lingered in the same spot Tony's hand were lingering on her hips, the touch ignited a different sort of fire inside of her chest that made her want to do more. And Natasha realized she could. There was absolutely no reason for her not to reach forward and grab Tony's bicep, pulling him closer and closer to her body until they were so flushed together it would become difficult to differentiate their heartbeats. So she did.

And he let her.

His hands reflexively gripped her hipbone tighter, and yet, it wasn't hard enough. Natasha needed more. Suddenly, she wanted to touch, and bite, and feel, every inch of skin in front of her, but, more astonishing, she needed him to do the same. The feeling of desperation rushing through her veins as he slid his hand upwards, tracing a path on her back, was unlike any other. It was heady, unimaginable.

The time for hesitance had long passed. Tony looked at her, his eyes dark and molten as he leaned back a little. "How do you wanna come?" he asked, one hand still making its way up her torso while the other went for her nape, trapping her in his hold.

Instead of making her feel caged, the hold just served to send her into overdrive. Her own hands were moving, without her rational permission, digging holes on his bicep as she sank her fingernails into his skin, desperate. She closed her eyes, the question sending a sharp shot of arousal through her entire body at once.

God, how was she supposed to choose when he was right there, so fucking close, breath warm against her lips. "Yes," she answered, which was not an answer at all. Only it was — it was.

"Greedy," Tony teased, fingers going for her hair to grip the roots and pull. Her head bent back to accommodate him. "I like that."

And he kissed her. Properly, this time. Wet, desperate, needy, demanding.

Maybe that was just how he was, or perhaps he was more in tune with Natasha's desires than she had given him credit, because Tony doesn't take his time to treat her like a porcelain doll or to try and make her feel appreciated, instead, he dived right in, like a starved man who was suddenly let loose on a buffet. His hands were running up and down her sides, gripping and pinching. His leg was pressed up in the middle of hers, thankfully giving her something solid to grind against.

And his lips — God, his lips — were attached to her neck as though it was the only thing giving him substance to live. He bit and licked and sucked. All teeth and saliva. Natasha had no doubts she would have massive hickeys coloring her pale neck for the weeks to come, and yet she welcomed it, pressed herself harder against his lips, tilted her head to the side to offer him more space.

Natasha realized she was wearing her bathrobe and nothing else. It had been her decision to go like that, but for a second she had forgotten how, minutes before, she had been standing still in front of the mirror in her bathroom, wondering how long it would take her to gather the courage to stop avoiding the reality that Tony was her soulmate, that the thought had stopped being repulsive and frightening a long time ago, and that the only thing preventing her from going to him was the fear coiled tight in her stomach. Fear of what would happen, what would mean for her, for them.

In the face of the depressing prospect of having to through the motions of ignoring half of her every day more god-knows how many more months, it had seemed easy to step out of her bathroom, her room, and go straight to Tony's, refusing to stop even for a moment. If she allowed herself the tiniest moment to second guess the decision to go for it, the doubt would creep back in, and she would run and hide. Again.

Which meant that when Tony said against her mouth, "allow me," and untied the knot keeping the robe crossed over her body, it slid open, revealing her naked body to his intense perusal.

"Shit," he whispered, almost to himself, as Natasha shrugged the fabric off her shoulders and down her arms. Tony raised his open hand to touch her valley between her breasts, tracing the way down toward her stomach. "This muscles… I kind of want to push you until you're trembling under me."

"Not an easy task," Natasha teased, although she was already tensing in anticipation at even that soft touch.

Tony's answering grin was positively predatory. "I should hope not," he breathed in her ear, before kissing the side of her neck.

Natasha clutched fistfuls of his shirt, a tremor going down her spine. He grabbed her by the waist, carrying her into the room and carefully placing her body on the bed.

"Let me take care of you tonight, alright?" Tony proposed, his eyes dark with barely controlled need as he caged her underneath his warm body.

He looked so serious, too, still wearing all his clothes even though his erection quite obviously tented his pants. Natasha wanted it. Wanted all he was freely offering, even if it meant a lot of exposure on her part. "Alright," she agreed, carding her fingers into Tony's hair, feeling as he leaned into the touch.

And, just like that, Tony's mouth was making its way down her body, purposely ignoring all the places she needed to be touched the most, and going for her legs, kissing her calf, the back of her knees, her inner thigh… She tried to undulate her hips, hoping to direct his mouth to her damn clit before she had to grab him by the hair and force his face to the place between her legs.

"So impatient," he teased, grazing his teeth on the soft flesh of her thigh. "Is there something you want, gorgeous?"

"No one likes a man that's all talk and no walk, Stark," Natasha informed, going for his pride in hopes of better results than body language.

His eyes narrowed in response. "Oh, I'm plenty of walk, Natasha. Perhaps I just want to see you begging, first."

And she understood; It was punishment. Tony was punishing her for making him wait all those months without giving a sign whether she would stay or bolt. He had Natasha exactly where he wanted her, and no way would he allow her to get her way without some penitence first.

It should've annoyed her. And, perhaps, if a brief flash of hurt hadn't passed through his eyes, even as he lowered his mouth back to her skin, maintaining the eye-contact, Natasha might have tensed and responded with a defensive quip. As it was, Natasha was done hiding.

She raised an eyebrow, allowing her expression to turn playful instead of wary. "Make me," she dared, opening her legs in a clear invitation.

Tony moaned, settling properly in the middle of her legs, grasping the back of her knees and easing them apart, more and more, until Natasha was completely exposed to his hungry stare. He wasted no more time with a smart comeback, diving right in to lick Natasha around her clit, relaxed and wet.

Oh.

Shit.

She bit back a hiss, trying to anchor her hands into the sheets in hopes of not losing her mind completely.

There was something so undeniably hot about having Tony focused entirely on her, hands gripping her leg and mouth sucking her as though she was the only thing keeping him alive. Every so often, he would release a groan of satisfaction, digging his fingers harder into her flesh, and it was all Natasha could do to hold back the noises stuck in the back of her throat. He was just so goddamn good.

Unlike many of her previous conquests, Tony never said anything about her lack of encouraging noises, but, instead, remained deep in the zone, opening his eyes only ever so often to meet her eyes. The lack of pressure to perform was doing more for her than she had ever thought possible. Natasha's eyes slid shut, and she sunk into the waves of pleasure rolling across her body.

It was sinfully perfect. Tony was far too good at what he was going, and soon enough she would be begging just as he had previously requested.

Shit.

"Tony, I'll—," she tried to warn, but the words died on her lips as she pushed two fingers inside her.

It was fast. One second she was panting, the next she was trembling, and curling her feet, and arching her back, and fisting the sheets, and hissing in pleasure as she came with Tony's mouth firmly pressed against her.

Shit.

It was gloriously perfect. A high unlike any other she had ever felt before. Good in a way that felt almost criminal.

When she came down from the high, panting for breath, Natasha looked down at Tony, who had his eyes on her, watching her every move. When their eyes met, she was relieved to see that he looked as wrecked as Natasha felt, pupils blown wide and cum wetting his nose, lips, and chin.

"Damn, Natasha," Tony groaned, his fingers slowly — oh, so slowly — going back and forth inside her. "You look so goddamn perfect like this."

He looked pretty good too, actually, all messed up and out-of-control, arousal etched on every pore of his body. She never wanted to leave the place where she was, so snug and comfortable, but it felt selfish to lie there and let him do all the work. He was still pressing her down, though.

"Let me move," she asked, mentioning with her chin for him to slide sideways. Tony, however, didn't seem inclined to obey.

"Relax. I'm not big on reciprocation," Tony informed, bitting her inner thigh hard enough to elicit a yelp out of her. He began to slowly move the fingers inside her again — all the way inside, all the way out.

She tried to puzzle the pieces together on her own, but her brain had melted some time after her orgasm, and nothing was making as much sense as it should. "What does that even mean?" Natasha breathed out, conflicted whether she wanted to close her legs to escape the overstimulation that was becoming slightly more uncomfortable than pleasurable or if she should just push his head further down.

"It means," Tony explained, grabbing her left leg to force her open in a position that would've hurt it Natasha didn't possess quite an impressive flexibility. "That doing this," he continued, raising his head to look at her without a trace of impatience on his expression, carrying a conversation with her while nestled in between her legs as though it was a position he frequently found himself in. "Does more for me than, let's say, penetration."

"What? You don't want to come?" She asked, not believing her ears. He couldn't possibly mean that.

He kissed her stomach. "God, Natasha, I want to fucking mark your body and touch every inch of you. Yes, I want to come, it just isn't my priority right now. This is… well, fuck, this is much better," Tony said hotly.

Natasha wasn't sure what to say. It sounded far too fantastic to be honest, and yet she couldn't detect any hint of deception in his eyes — only desire and contentment, pouring off of him.

"You sure?" She had to be sure.

"Fuck yes. Don't move, okay? I'll be right back." Tony said, carefully pulling his fingers out, getting up from the bed, and leaving the room entirely.

Natasha didn't know where he was going — if he needed to pee or a glass of water. The whole thing was escaping her understanding. However, before the questions killed her mood, he returned, smiling widely, and with a fucking vibrator in his hands. Red and golden — of course.

She couldn't prevent an amused snort. "You are so fucking precious."

"Why, thank you," he said, crawling into the bed to hover above her. "You are pretty sweet, too. Don't worry."

God, Natasha was going to become one of those people who laughed and joked in the middle of sex. With Tony, it would be inevitable. "Shut up."

"Your wish is my command," Tony agreed, moving to kiss her. He moved with intent, forcing her mouth open with his, and Natasha allowed it, kissing back just as forcefully, loving the way his body felt pliant against her touch.

As his hands went to the middle of her legs, Tony released her mouth to lower it back on her nipple, sucking it lazily. Natasha arched into it, shamelessly chasing the sensation. Fuck — it was almost a spiritual experience.

Tony's teased her entrance for a moment, waiting until she began to mindless chase the vibrator with her movements before he began to push it inside her, inch by inch, until Natasha felt full and bothered. Somehow it didn't surprise her that Tony hadn't messed around with his choice of sex toys — it fit her idea of him perfectly. Then, suddenly, it started to vibrate inside her. A constant, powerful buzz that forced a gasp past Natasha's lips. Tony's reasoning behind the heavy hand on her stomach became clear when the overwhelming need to buckle her hips hit her.

"Stark technology," he explained with a far-too-satisfied grin. "I only work with the best."

"Ughh," she moaned in response, beyond coherent words. It was exquisite, and it stole her breath. Of fucking course Tony had designed his own perfect vibrator.

"That's it, gorgeous," Tony released her nipple to say, his voice full of amazement. He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured, so low indeed, she almost failed to hear it. "Thank you."

It was Tony Stark in bed with her, though, so Natasha fought the ripples of pleasure threatening to cloud her mind permanently, sneaked her hand under his shirt to rest it over the place she knew the soulmark was and forced the words out. "Please, don't let me hurt you," she finally begged, her eyes glued to his.

And, because Tony was her soulmate, who knew just how prone she was to get lost inside her head, his eyes shined with fondness and understanding even as his mouth twisted into a seductive grin. "Oh, I don't know, Natasha. I just might let you hurt me in any way you like," he promised, winking playfully before raising the speed of the vibrator just as she opened her mouth to respond.

"Shit!" Natasha screamed, digging her nails all the way on Tony's biceps, which, in turn, elicited a hiss of pleasure from the man.

And finally, after all those years, Natasha understood the mark. The half-eaten apple. They were sin, temptation, and luxury, all wrapped into two fucked up people. Yes. However, what Natasha hadn't realized before was that she hadn't taken the damn bite before that moment. No. They were going to do that together, and, somehow, Natasha couldn't find it in her to be the tiniest bit remorseful about it.

That girl, Eve, must have known what she was doing, after all.