Chapter Text
It’s been a long few days.
Steve just returned from a solo mission down in Florida, following a lead on a number of missing SHIELD files- a lead that went absolutely nowhere. He barely got any sleep, between his undercover work, research, and the heat of the summer sun near the Equator. The travel was also unforgiving- straight from the jet to his hotel, with a return trip the following night at midnight. Luckily, SHIELD provided a ride for him back to the base, because, honestly, he doesn’t think he could have made the drive himself.
He shuffles through the door, bag in hand, around three a.m. The only thing on his mind is sleep. His eyes are barely open as he enters the elevator and presses the button for his floor.
In a few seconds, the doors slide open to an empty apartment. He drops his travel gear at the entrance, not bothering to turn on the lights. He walks past the kitchen, not stopping for a snack, since he had one on the flight. He does pause at the bathroom door, where he strips down to his boxers, leaving his clothes there to put in the hamper later. Although he’s tired, there’s no way he’s sleeping fully clothed and partially uncomfortable because of it.
Taking a few more steps, he arrives in his bedroom. It’s dark enough that he has to use his muscle memory to get to the right spot. He’s successful, except for stubbing his toe on the leg of the bed. He lays his phone on the nightstand, although he’s not expecting any calls the next day. A creature of habit, he pulls back the sheets on the right side of the bed, where he usually sleeps.
Sliding into the fresh, cool sheets is a treat after getting little sleep in a stuffy room during his mission. He quickly settles in, covering himself with the comforter and adjusting his pillow. His fingers skim across the sheets in search of the second pillow on his queen-sized bed. His hand is about halfway there when his fingers brush something smooth and warm, making his hand jerk back on instinct.
What the hell is in his bed?
He stretches out to reach for the switch on the lamp resting on the bedside table. His fingers grope in the dark, but…
There’s no lamp.
Now very confused, Steve grabs his phone from where he left it on the nightstand. Pressing the power button, the screen lights up enough for him to see various parts of the room. The moment he sees gray sheets, his heart starts to thump harder. Slowly shining the light across the room, he finally sees what he touched.
The “what” is actually not a “what” at all, but a “who.” There’s blonde hair splayed across the pillow he was looking for. Natasha’s face is peaceful, her eyes still closed, her jaw relaxed. Her breathing is steady and deep. Seeing that, he feels relief knowing he didn’t wake her.
The light and his gaze move further down her body. Her shoulders are bare, and it’s then that a lot of things click into place.
The first is that Natasha apparently sleeps naked. On all of the missions they’ve been on together, she’s worn shorts and a tank top or athletic clothes when they’ve had to share a hotel room for the night. Right now, her back is to him, which must be what his fingers brushed against. The idea of what else he might brush against under the covers is driving him insane. She’s killing him and she doesn’t even know it.
The second is that this isn’t his apartment, his bedroom, or his bed. He knows this because his sheets are blue instead of gray like the ones he’s currently looking at. Most likely, he pressed the button for the wrong floor. A five and six look oddly similar, especially at three in the morning when you’re dead on your feet.
The last is that he better get out of Natasha’s bed fast, no matter how much his mind and body protest. He lays back on the bed for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to get his stuff and leave without disturbing Natasha.
It’s while he’s thinking that he hears Natasha’s breathing shift. Steve stills as much as he can, even slowing down his breathing, just in case the rise and fall of his chest was enough to wake her.
He freezes when Natasha rolls over and partially on top of him. Her chest is pressed against his arm, while her arm drapes itself over his stomach. She burrows in, and Steve can tell she has no clue that she’s cuddling up to him instead of a pillow. Her head settles into the crook of his neck, her breath hot on his skin. The feel of Natasha’s warm, pliant body against his feels good. He knows that he shouldn’t be here, but there’s no way he can leave now.
Trying to not overthink it, he closes his eyes, sleep coming almost immediately.
He wakes to the sensation of fingers dancing across his skin. It’s still dark, leading him to believe he has only been asleep for an hour or two, at most. His head lulls to the side, only to find Natasha already awake.
For once, he isn’t sure what to do. Natasha continues to stare at him calmly, her fingers still tracing their path back and forth. Lucky for him, Natasha speaks first.
“Hi,” she whispers, her voice raspy from sleep.
“Hi,” he replies, his voice equally as rough. He pauses for a moment before speaking again. “I’m sorry. I got back late and pressed the button for the wrong floor. I didn’t realize it until I got into your bed.”
He can feel her quick laugh reverberate through his own chest.
“So…” she starts, drawing out the word, “why are you still here then?”
As she says this, she doesn’t sound upset or angry, just curious and slightly amused.
“Well, when someone wants to use you as a human body pillow, you let them.”
That and being up close and personal with the woman he’s been interested in doesn’t hurt.
She laughs again, and as she does, her hands start to wander. Steve would almost think he’s fantasizing this, but the feelings stirred up in him are definitely real.
“You know, I almost swore I was dreaming when I found you here,” she mumbles softly.
Steve hums in response, his own hands beginning to roam over the curve of her hip and along her thigh. He normally wouldn’t be so bold, but there’s just something about Natasha that pushes him to do things he wouldn’t usually do.
Their chemistry has always been there, simmering under the surface. Now, it’s at a full on boil.
“Do you think you’re still dreaming?” he asks as one hand slides to her bottom and gives it a firm squeeze.
The hitch in her breathing is a very satisfying response.
“No, definitely not,” she murmurs, stroking her fingers up his chest. She’s making it difficult for him to form a coherent reply, but he somehow manages.
“Have you dreamt of this before?” he asks.
In response, he gets a single nod.
“Me too. Let me show you what always happens next in my dreams,” he says as he rolls her underneath him.