keepcruising | Steve/Nat

[ it's a fucking riot that she gets to go into heat around the team. always a bowl of cherries. she's the only omega of the group, which smarts that much more. sam lives a fairly untroubled life as a beta. wanda's a quiet, controlled alpha; her gifts tend to help her find a certain zen when she's in any kind of hormonal distress.

steve is a god damned brat.

if he had even an inkling of what it was like to go through her type of career as an omega, of all things, he might learn a little perspective. instead, he huffs and snuffs, paws at the ground through his boots, takes up about as much space as a man his size can, and glares at a person like he wishes his serum had given him some heat vision along with everything else.

natasha props bare legs with bare feet up on the opposite chair at the small kitchen table, glancing up at him through her bangs between two boxes of procured hair dye. it's not long eye contact.

it never helps to look at him too long when she knows her cycle's coming, suppressants or not. something about the slope of his shoulders, the knit of his brow. how much he trusts her, when no one should. he's—

he's a brat. concentrate on that. ]

You're sulking.

Edited 2018-07-03 05:22 (UTC)

[ The thing that frustrates Steve the most is that he really does try. He remembers being the little guy and getting pushed around. Being an alpha doesn't give him the right to do that to anyone else. So yes, he can be touchy sometimes, but he tries not to let it turn him into the kind of alpha that he'd always hated, even if the serum had made his alpha nature that much stronger.

He runs his hands through his hair and levels Natasha with an unimpressed look. ]

Leave it.

[ The words are growled out. The others would listen, but he knows she won't. She never listens. She's the most stubborn omega he's ever met and normally that's what he likes about her, but right now he wishes she could just let him have this.

Even with her suppressants, his sense of smell is stronger than most people's and he can smell her in ways the others can't. It's overwhelming, heady and strong and it makes him feel like his own control is slipping where hers is still intact. ]

[ her expression is equally unimpressed; one ankle calmly crosses over the other. ]

How about you leave it? I know you're stressed; I know you don't want to talk it out. [ she frowns, fiddling with the plastic cover on one of the dye packages. ] But we're all stressed, and we're short on space here in Busan. You don't need to hustle the others out of the common area every time you get anxious.

[ natasha flicks the loosened piece of plastic at him, hitting him square in the chest, hoping to at least distract him if not get him to smile. ]

We set up a punching bag in our shared room for a reason.

[ Their shared room is the problem. It smells even more like her than it does out here, though with her sitting here, the room might be preferable.

He stands, teeth bared. Sometimes the way she talks to him sets his nerves on fire. Something in him screams at him not to take it, but he ignore it for the most part. ]

You want me gone? Fine.

[ When he walks away, it's with heavy, angry steps. He leaves the chair pushed out and he slams their door when he gets to it. If she likes it so much out there, she can stay there.

There's a part of him that knows she's right and he goes for his wraps, but he tells himself he's only doing this to work out the aggression of her talking down to him like he's done something wrong. ]

[ natasha stares after his infuriated, retreating back; watches him slam the door. she doesn't flinch — she remains absolutely very fucking still, too still. for about ten long seconds, processing.

cold, liquid steel pours down her spine.
this is suddenly very personal. she'd been hoping against hope that it wasn't.

just as she pushes out her chair to get up, wanda opens her door a crack, inquisitive and concerned. natasha just shakes her head once, dispelling any worry over an emergency, and their resident witch goes back into seclusion with a parting look that says, good luck.

with that, she stalks toward their shared bedroom like a jaguar scoping its supper. the way she opens the door and closes it behind her is calm, cool. quiet. too quiet. she takes long, deep breaths — she has to, because she's seeing literal red right now.

her voice is low. even. dangerous. ]

I want you to listen very closely.

[ she doesn't care if he's wrapping up and preparing to punch the bag or her right now. none of it matters. nothing except what he just did. ]

You and I are a team. Don't you ever walk away from me like that again.

[ she takes one more step closer to him, in his personal space, lip curling. tries to ignore what the proximity is doing to the rush of heat low and deep in her stomach. ]

Do you hear me?

[ Her smell fills the room the moment she enters it and he wonders if she understands what kind of effect she has on him. He hands are already shaking on the wraps when she speaks and he looks up, obedient in a way he really shouldn't be.

She's too close and only moves closer, her smell and that look in her eyes are such a sharp contrast, but she's always been like that to him.

Inviting and dangerous, like a toy with razors inside of it and he knows it'll end badly for him, but he can't help wanting to touch it.

He closes his eyes and whines. Everything about this is too much. He's not even sure he can find words right now. ]

[ ...that whine.

suddenly things click into place; clues that she could have put together much sooner if she hadn't been actively denying, disregarding, refusing. he'd been doing his best to cover it up until now. (she'd been doing better.) dread fills her like lead dropping to the floor of an ocean. they can't.

they can't do this.
she's broken.

natasha takes one slow step back from him, fingers flexing in spite of herself. (touch. feel.) ]

...No, Steve. I'm not— not with me.

I know.

[ When he opens his eyes, he looks as utterly broken as his voice sounds. He feels wrecked and there's no excuse for it, because she's his friend and his teammate, but she isn't his. ]

I know. I'm sorry. I'm trying to--

[ He can't look at her anymore. He has to look anywhere else. ]

I'm trying.

[ this can't be happening. the more anguished and hopeless he looks, the more her body reacts, her hand actually moves toward him— a day early... she's starting a day early, she can feel the electricity spiraling out through each and every one of her synapses and she jerks further away from him as if stung. ]

I'm so stupid—

[ she blurts out, stumbling back. ]

We should have never shared a room, what were we thinking—

[ she can't bear to look at his lost face, his slumped shoulders, for another second; she's already turning and fumbling, actually fumbling despite all her diamond cut reflexes for the door knob— ]

Edited 2018-07-03 07:11 (UTC)

It's not the room.

[ Steve's shaken, but he's fast. The wraps are dropped on the ground and forgotten as he moves towards her, unable to stop himself until he's right behind her, close enough to feel each other's body heat.

He's intending to help her with the knob, but when he reaches around her, his hand lands on hers on the knob and he freezes.

She smells amazing, like a spring breeze wafting through his old apartment in Brooklyn, carrying with it the scent of fruit from the market down the street and flowers from the next street over. She smells like home. Impossibly so. ]

[ he hovers over her, just barely touching — the warmth of him like a cloak and her body's every instinct wants to simply tilt back, melt into it, wrap herself up in everything that is him. instead, she studies his hand clutched over hers, feels a burning where their skin touches, and they are both completely still. breathing deeply, struggling for air, because every cubic inch of it smells so acutely of him: firewood, fresh strawberries over homemade pancakes, newly fallen snow...

...home, before the room... ]

The room's made it worse.

[ her voice is tense, barely audible, tight as a violin string. ]

I need to give you space.

Don't.

[ He says it before he can think. He'd wanted space so desperately earlier, but now it sounds like a prison sentence.

The last thing he wants is space. He wants to be near her. ]

I'll be good.

[ as unwise as it is, she turns to face him, slowly, so careful. her forehead only reaches his chin; she tilts her head up to look at him, half in despair, half in a dead-end sort of love with him she assumes just about everyone is. i'll be good. her throat burns hot with that plea.

a hand is still twisted behind her on the door knob, ready to flee.
trouble is, it means his arm is more or less around her waist, too.

her mouth has become a desert in the midst of this exchange, the surge of hormones, the heat of the moment. perspiration starts to tickle the back of her neck, amplified by anxiety. she finds she has to wet her lips with her tongue before she can speak. ]

What if I can't be?

[ His eyes go straight to the movement, focused on her lips for a little longer than can be strictly innocent distraction.

He can smell her like this. He can smell everything and there's a part of him desperate to take care of her that tells him he can't let her leave when she smells so distressed.

There's always been something about the smell of a distressed omega that leaves Steve wanting to fix it with a desperation he can't quantify, like it's his mission to make it stop. It's especially strong with Natasha, who he's known and cared about for a long time now. Maybe she isn't his, but she sort of is, too, and he wants to take care of her.

He's carefully still as he watches her.

He's got her trapped and cornered and he has to remind himself not to pounce. It won't fix anything. ]

You can.

[ she tries to take a slow, deep, steadying breath — otherwise remaining very still.

all that manages to do, given their proximity, is to push their chests together.

a small, terrible sound — half-pained, half-aroused — chokes out from the depths of her throat. ]

Why torture ourselves?

[ Everything in his stance slumps.

It kills him to see her like this. She's the strongest person he knows, not just the strongest omega. ]

I wish you would let me help you.

[ And there it is. All he wants is to make her pain go away.

Well, that's not all he wants, but that's all he'll ask for. ]

[ she looks down, eye level, at his chest. she'd been ready to brawl with him five minutes ago, made sure he couldn't look away from her. now the last thing she wants to do is see that sympathetic clear ocean blue staring down at her.

she may be broken, but she doesn't want fixing. ]

We'd only wreck everything we have. [ her voice is gravelly, forcing back any dampness. ] If you're going to choose an omega, it can't be me. I'm not— I'm not right.

Nat--

[ He takes his hand back now, tears himself away from her to take a big step back, even though his body is screaming at him to close the distance again. ]

Natasha, if that's how you think I see you, then you really can't think much of me.

[ She's not just an omega and it wouldn't matter if she wasn't one at all. He feels connected to her, loves the way they can finish each other's thoughts in a fight and pull easy smiles from each other. That's not just about sex. ]

There's nothing wrong with you.

Maybe—

[ she pauses, slumping against the door. it's rare that she's at a loss for what to say. she uses diction carefully. it's in the dna. ]

Maybe that wasn't the right word.

[ the loss of his warmth near her body should be a relief; instead she feels like a ghost has just walked over her grave, as if she's never been more hollow or wanting. she wraps her arms around herself. ]

Maybe I meant "mate."

Tell me to drop it and I will.

[ He can't push.

He can't chase.

He won't be that alpha. That's never been the man he wants to be and he knows that that's not how you care about someone. ]

Tell me you don't feel the same way and I won't bring it up again.

...What way do you feel.

[ she swears her hardened heart stops beating as she waits for an answer, pressed back against the door, startled that the words even made it out of her mouth. ]

I care about you. A lot.

[ Talking about feelings: not actually one of his many skills. ]

I... you're already my partner in all the ways that matter.

[ they're both abominable at this. but it's the word partner that stings in such a sweet way through her chest, like she's been pierced.

it's true: ]

You're mine, too.

[ she lies so well, like her very own language. she can't lie about this. ]

[ He knows she feels that way, but it's still nice to hear. Doubting her hasn't been on the table for a long time. ]

If you want me to drop it, I will. I don't want you to think I'd ever--

[ How does he even finish that thought? He wants to be there for her and he doesn't know how. ]

[ she takes a step closer to him, removing the gap he had so carefully placed between them. testing him. ]

You said you'd drop it. But it turns out the reason for all your anger and anxiety is me. Just being around me.

[ one hand reaches for his; the other drifts up, splays over his chest. she's trembling. it's a test for him, but it's nearly breaking her as well. ]

How do we go on like this, if just being together has you slamming doors and me crawling out of my skin?

I don't know.

[ It's hard, having her so close. It takes all of his resolve to stay still, especially when he can feel her shaking and he'd give anything to take that away. He can't go back on his word, though, and he can't use his intimidation. Not on her.

Never on her. ]

You're the smart one. You tell me what you need and I'll give it to you.

[ Even if it's for him to leave her alone. ]

[ she doesn't answer.

what does she need? her body has all kinds of ideas. her mind has others. her heart has different desires entirely.

it's a flurry of indecision and a searing ache of loneliness and longing all mixed up together this close to him. he smells so good — tantalizing and comforting at the same time. thinking is too difficult like this, but she can't bring herself to take a step back again.

instead, she leans her head softly against his chest, and brings his hand up to her face. she nuzzles slowly at his palm, letting his scent wash over her... her eyes roll back in her head and they close; she sees a million brilliant warm colors behind her eyelids. her head dips minutely so that her lips can graze in self-indulgent strokes over his wrist.

body. heart. taking over the mind. ]

[ Oh.

Steve's breath hitches, but he does his best to let her lead here.

His other arm comes up to wrap around her, but it's a loose barely-hold that she could break with no effort if she wanted to. He only wants to comfort her, to make sure she feels that affection that's always bubbling under the surface, not to trap her in.

This isn't about him.

It can't be when it's her body that's going through heat. He can smell it now and he wants to bury his face in her neck until it's all he's breathing, but he needs her to invite him in. ]

[ her mind says: there are boundaries. her mind says: there are things you can never give him.

her body says: how can things get any worse?

already swimming in the scent of him like home in winter, before she had to struggle to survive in any condition, she moves her lips from his wrist to his throat, barely any pressure. a butterfly's touch, wet but slow, as she stands on her toes.

she considers the arm braced around her; it feels nervous. unsure. like the last corners of her that fight this.

natasha can't be of two minds. she has to choose a path and attack it.

she tilts her head. slides her fingers into his hair. bares her neck to him. ]

[ He whines, low and desperate, at the feeling of her lips on his skin, the offer of it all.

After that he ducks his head, nose brushing her throat. Careful, not because she's delicate (he knows better than that) but because she's worth the care. Because he knows better than to think that strong people don't deserve a little gentleness sometimes, too.

She might think she's broken, but he doesn't know a stronger person in the world. Even if sex really is off the table, that won't change how he sees her or how he feels. ]

Steve/Nat

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