The whole thing started on a mission, when a recently partnered spangled American boy scout and Russian femme fatale were stuck in a tight spot due to said boy scout’s need to be on a moralistic higher ground even while committing acts of espionage and breaching 30 different international treaties.
Natasha cursed as she struggled to free herself from shackles that were momentarily – only momentarily - defying even Captain America’s strength. She was pissed, and a stream of angry Russian left her lips. “I swear to God, Rogers, I will chop your dick off into a dozen pieces and feed them to the dogs for getting us in this mess.”
The man himself was fighting his own battle with the cuffs binding his wrists, slowly weakening them enough for him to break them. In a level voice he replied in fluent Russian, “I would rather you do other, more pleasurable things with my dick. And I would much rather feed it to you than to dogs.”
Natasha froze in her struggle and stared at him, an eyebrow raised. She wasn’t surprised or shocked – nothing surprised or shocked the Black Widow – but she was definitely...stymied. Because the Captain America she knew – or at least the image of Captain America she built in her mind – the symbol of purity and wholesomeness, the one who put tears of pride in Jesus’ eyes, was flirting – flirting – with her – explicitly, vulgarly, flirting with her. In Russian!
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, casually, like it was no big deal. “What?” he said in English, his voice nonchalant, with just a hint of a teasing tone. “I was a sick kid with a lot of time in hand to learn new stuff.”
“And learning new stuff included talking dirty?”
He gave her a flat ‘Are-you-serious’ look. “I grew up in 1920s Brooklyn and fought in one the greatest wars of history with some of the most rowdy soldiers in history. What did you think?”
Well, not this, she thought. But she had to admit – grudgingly to herself at least; never to him – that she was flattered, and just a little – monumentally – turned on by his flirting.
The next time it happened, they got angry and in each other’s faces, standing the middle of Steve’s living room in his apartment in DC, arguing and fighting about missions gone south and orders not followed, and she yelled a “Go fuck yourself!” to him in French.
Nonplussed, he stepped one step closer to her, his chest practically pressed to hers. She didn’t back down from him as he replied right back in the language, his voice low and menacing, but oh so hot, “One day I am going to smack the shit out of that tight little ass of yours into submission.”
She looked right into his eyes, the challenge there in hers. “What are you waiting for?”
He didn’t wait. One hand grabbing her hip, he pushed her into the nearest surface – the wall dividing the living room and the kitchen – his mouth capturing hers in a brutal punishing kiss. She gave back as good as she got, their lips parting, tongues tangling together. One of her hands wrapped up his back from under his arm, clawing and tugging at the material of his stealth suit at the bottom of his neck, while the other fisted painfully in his hair as she jerked his head impossibly closer and held him in place.
He groaned into her mouth and retaliated, both of his hands grabbing her ass cheeks and squeezing them, hard, and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips tightly, her clothed centre pressing down on the hard bulge jutting tightly against the confines of his stealth suit tights. They both moaned and parted for a breath.
“That the best you can do?” she taunted in French, her voice husky and breathless. Her pupils were dark and dilated, clouded with lust but still holding a glint of defiance and challenge.
“I haven’t even started,” he hissed, kissing a trail up her jaw to her ear, and nipping her earlobe not-so-gently. She yelped a little at that, nails digging into his back. “I am going to fuck you so fucking hard...”
He suddenly dropped her legs to the ground and turned her around to face the wall fast enough to give her a whiplash, ripping her catsuit along the zip at the back in one quick motion. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she yelled at him, but he ignored her.
He peeled the leather off her and pressed her into the wall, her bra-covered breasts flat against it, and pressed himself to her back. His strong chest holding her in place, he pushed down the black cotton thong she wore and grabbed her naked ass cheeks, squeezing and parting them, and pushed his clothed erection between them, grinding against her. She whimpered, her hands braced against his biceps, and let her head fall back into his chest. He bent his head down and once again caught her lips in a sloppy, uncoordinated, obscene kiss, driving his hips into her, rutting against her, still holding her in place as she tried to move her hips to get some friction.
He broke the kiss, letting his tongue trace the curve of her bottom lip. “I am going to fuck you so fucking hard,” he repeated in French against her mouth, one his hands travelling up the smooth curvy expanse of her side. He pulled down her bra down enough to let her breasts spill out, cupping one of them. “I am going to smack this dirty little ass of yours while I fuck you,” he brought up the hand still grabbing her rear and slapped it, the smacking sound of it echoing around them, making her whimper in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
She felt him retreat a little. Then he was spinning her back around, giving her a glimpse of his hard cock. He was still clothed, wearing his dark stealth suit, save for the belt lying on the ground by his feet, and but he had his cock out, his massive length standing tall and saluting from a spattering of blonde curls at the base. It was hard enough that the thick purple head had pushed past the foreskin – glorious foreskin a shade darker than the rest of him – and was leaking precum. Just the sight of it would have made her weak in her knees had he not instantly lifted her back into his arms, her legs hooked over his elbows and wrapped around the cradle of his hips, supporting her entire weight effortlessly. The top of his cock bumped against her clit, sending bolts of pleasure charging through her, leaving her gasping and moaning. He took hold of his length and rubbed it along the length of her slick slit. He hadn’t even touched here there and she was dripping. He let the underside of his cock rest along the length of her as he teased her.
They made an erotic sight – him fully clothed save his erection jutting out of his pants, her fully naked bar the skimpy black bra pulled under her breasts; her tiny lithe form wrapped around his massive frame. Despite their animal lust for each other, there was something intimate about the way they held onto each other, something that unsettled Natasha. So she did the only thing she knew how to.
“No foreplay, Captain?” she teased, her voice taking a heavy French accent. “Is that how you treat a woman?”
His lip twitched a little. “By the time I'm done with you, you won’t be complaining.” And then he sank into her in one strong thrust, his own hips moving upwards while he pulled her down onto him.
Natasha gasped at the sensation of being filled like never before, clinging to him, and burying her face into his neck. Steve himself adjusted to the tight warmth of her. Then he started moving. He slowly lifted her off of him, simultaneously pulling out, till only the tip remained inside, and then he brought her down on him in a hard stroke. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder to muffle her scream. He set a slow but hard rhythm, standing in between his couch and the wall, holding her as he filled her again and again. She clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, red curls sticking to her sweaty face and neck as she moaned into his shoulders, trying to hold back her cries.
Steve grabbed the back of her neck with one hand and brought her up for a long, hard, bruising kiss, one that she returned with fervour. He pulled back, looking utterly debauched and feral. “Say my name!” he growled at her in a rough husky voice. “Say my name!”
“Captain fucking America,” she panted back against his lip, “and that’s the best you can do?”
He growled and pulled her so she was plastered against his chest. The hand at her neck crawled down her body, and came down on her ass with a hard smack. His hips starting moving faster, pistoning in and out of her ruthlessly. The new position ensured her clit rubbed against his pelvis with every thrust, and a string of French obscenities escaped her lips. He hit her ass again, and she howled “Fuck!” in French.
Through hooded eyes he observed her, writhing against him, he breasts bouncing with every thrust. “I am going to fuck you and smack you so hard,” he said, slipping into French, smacking her ass again to emphasise his point, “You are going to be so sore tomorrow. Every time you move, every step you take, for days you’re going to be reminded of this, of how good my cock felt inside you, how it tore through your pussy and how hard it made you come.”
As he said that, he reached between them and pressed his thumb against her clit. She went flying off the edge, moaning and shrieking his name and cursing him in French. Her walls gripped and clenched around him almost painfully, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving inside her. He smacked her again, and it sent her spiralling into another equally powerful orgasm. “Holy motherfucking shit!”
When she had come slightly to her senses, he was still very much hard and still very much moving inside her like a feral animal. He was close, though, balancing on the edge of release, and even though she had just come twice, Natasha felt heat growing in the pit of her belly all over again. Steve saw it too in the way she trembled in his arms and whimpered. He smacked her again, and her walls clenched around him. He did it again and again. “Come for me, Tasha! Fucking come for me again!”
Her forehead lay on his shoulder and she whimpered into him. “No, no, too much!”
His palm came down on her reddened ass cheek again. “Fucking come, Tash!” he growled into her ear.
She came again, harder the second time than before, mouth open in a silent shriek as she struggled to even breath through it, her face contorted in pleasure she had never experienced before. That did it for him, and he thrust once more before spilling inside her in long hard spurts. He groaned gutturally and let lose a string of French profanities. As moving became too much for him, he held her tightly to his frame, arms wrapped around her, enveloping her entire body, and stilled, his ass clenching and twitching with the last of his release.
When they both slowly came back to their senses, Natasha whimpered slightly. “Too sensitive,” she murmured, “pull out.” She shifted to lift herself off of him, but he stopped her.
“Wait.” She followed his gaze to where they were joined together. Slowly, he pulled out, still impossibly, unbelievably erect, covered in their combined juices as they ran down his length and stained the top of his tights. When he pulled out completely, some of it spilled out of her and onto the wooden floor, the drops of white standing out against the dark brown, and, Sweet Jesus that was erotic!
Natasha fell back against him, limp, drained, and he carried her to his bedroom and lay her down on the bed. He went to the washroom and wet a towel and cleaned between her legs before cleaning himself. She laid back and enjoyed his attention. Once done, he crawled back up her body, laying a gentle kiss on her shoulder before lying down beside her, propped up on one elbow and facing her.
She was still breathing a little hard, but had otherwise more or less recovered. She glanced up at him. “You’re a dirty little piece of shit, you know.” He chuckled lightly, and she continued. “I’m pretty sure Christian Gray would blush at what just happened.”
He tilted his head and crinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “Who’s Christian Gray?”
“A character from an erotic novel. Wouldn’t have recommended it before, but I’m so making you read it now.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, and then his face started to fall, and she knew what he was going to say.
“Don’t, Steve. Don’t regret what we just did.”
“I hurt you,” he whispered, and she unintentionally winced at her sore rear.
“I enjoyed it, Steve.” She raised herself onto her elbows and kissed him softly, but suggestively. “A lot. Enough for a repeat a few hours later.”
He grinned and kissed her again, slowly and lazily. Natasha pulled back first. “Where’d you learn to talk French like that?”
“One of the guys in the Howling Commandos,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
She arched an eyebrow. “A Howling Commando taught you to say ‘Fuck you’re tight’ and ‘I’m going to fill your pussy with my come’ in French?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he replied. “We once stayed overnight at a motel in France during the war. A chick took interest in me, and Gabe made sure that I knew what to say if I did get her in my bed.”
“Huh,” she fell back on the bed. “Hard to believe I got totally and utterly debauched by America’s golden boy.”
He grinned cheekily. “I’ll more than debauch you in a few hours.” His stomach grumbled loudly. “Food for now, though.”
He kissed her quickly and got up, moving towards the kitchen. She grinned at his retrieving figure, still wearing that damned stealth suit. She highly doubted she would be able to think of anything else whenever she sees him in it now.
After that night, it became a running gag between them – how many languages could Captain America talk dirty in. Natasha was desperate to find a language he didn’t know so she could tease him endlessly in it without retaliation. As it turned out, having photographic memory meant he picked up on different languages really quickly. A mission in Italy ended with the two howling in Italian while they fucked each other into oblivion in a cheap motel room. She was pretty sure the entire floor heard how much he wanted to “cover that fucking little ass with his come.”
After S.H.I.E.L.D. went down, they all moved into the new Avengers tower in New York. No one said anything, probably out of fear of Black Widow, when Steve and Natasha moved in together. And soon pretty much everyone knew about the sex life of Captain America and Black Widow, and that Captain ‘Mind-your-language’ had a mouth on him – whatever they could gather from moans and groans in several different foreign dialects. They seemed to have the bad luck of walking past the rooms they were getting down and dirty in, and the soldier and the spy were exceptionally loud.
Bruce was the first to discover. After a late night working in the lab he had been walking back to his suite when he crossed the gym. He didn’t think much of the sound of the grunts coming from the room, but then he heard Natasha moan Steve’s name, followed by what he figured were curse words in Spanish – he’d studied it a semester in college but never really caught on to it well – and then he heard Steve growl something and, well... Bruce remembered enough of the language to know he wanted to hightail out of there.
The next day, he was feeling more than awkward around the soldier when the latter went to him to go over some upcoming mission plans. Steve picked up on it.
“Anything wrong, Doctor?”
He looked up from where he was huddled over a petri dish, tweezers in hand. “Uh... I just...”
“You can talk to me about anything, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah, I just...um...” he was blushing a deep red as he said the next part in a quick rush of words, “maybe next time lock the gym if you’re going to be loud?”
At least Bruce had the decency to not mention any of what he had heard, which cannot be said about the rest.
It was well past midnight when Clint returned to the Tower after an op. He had been heading towards the communal kitchen to grab some much needed grub when he heard them swearing off in Mandarin.
“Open that cute little mouth more, Natasha. Fuck, yes! Take that cock in!”
Clint froze, and heard Natasha moan and obviously try to talk around something in her mouth. He did a one-eighty and ran back to the elevator and to the privacy of his suite.
When he walked in the kitchen the next morning to find the couple already in, he couldn’t resist. “I hope J.A.R.V.I.S. had this place bleached after last night.”
Steve flushed a little, something that would have amused Clint if he hadn’t heard the same man shove a certain appendage down his best friend’s throat last night.
“I mean, I was grateful for the early warning I received,” he continued as he sat at the table diagonal from Natasha, who was playing with a banana. “But God, it makes me regret learning Mandarin.”
Natasha grinned slyly at him. She peeled the fruit in her hand slowly as she said, “I’ll let you know I cleaned the place down myself. Even got down on my knees.”
She took a bite of the fruit, and Clint nearly lost it. “For God’s sake, put the banana away!”
After a particularly bad fight with Natasha, Steve had left with Sam to continue the search for Bucky. Three days later, they were somewhere in Austria, and Steve was moping in a pub, pretending that he could get drunk. Sam was halfway on the verge of calling Natasha and having her deal with the mess of a super soldier when the woman herself turned up, wearing a stunning black number that had the attention of every guy in the room. Including said super soldier’s.
Steve was up and by her side in an instant, his hands instantly cradling her face as he kissed her hard in front of the entire tavern. Some people hooted and cheered as he broke the kiss and dragged her away to the stairs leading to their rooms.
Sam shook his head at them, downed his drink, paid for it and left for his own room. He regretted it soon when he realised just how thin and not-soundproof the walls of the guest house were.
Clint had warned him before that the two of them had a penchant for being loud in bed, and of talking dirty to each other in a multitude of languages. Even through the wall, Sam could hear Steve grunting and Natasha moaning and gasping cuss words in German. Sam sighed and walked to his bathroom to get ready for the night, cursing them for getting down and dirty in the one language he knew, when he heard Steve growl.
“Whom does this pussy belong to? Tell me, Tasha, who owns this pussy?”
“Since I’m the one who keeps it clean, shaved and healthy, I own it!”
Sam abandoned what he was doing, grabbed his wallet and the keys to their rental car and slammed the door shut behind him as he left. He figured there must be a church open somewhere – he needed to wash his ears with holy water.
The next morning when the two of them came down for breakfast, they found Sam sitting at a table glaring at them. When they approached, he pushed a piece of paper and a small vial towards Steve. “You’re paying for the other room that I had to stay in last night.”
Steve flushed a little in embarrassment, and picked up the vial of liquid. “What’s this?”
“Holy water. To wash that filthy mouth of yours with.”
They were gathered in the Avengers command centre, having just raided a HYDRA base, while JARVIS downloaded all the intel they gathered from the servers. Tony opened a file on his tab and stopped.
“What the hell, J? What language is this?”
“After running some searches,” the AI replied, “I believe, Sir, that the all the files in this data chip have been coded in Latin.”
Bruce, who was seated opposite him, crinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “Does anyone even speak Latin anymore?”
Tony’s eyes darted to Natasha sitting on the end other end of the table between Steve and Clint. “Well, only Little Red does. No one else would bother learning a language that hasn’t been spoken since the time of Hercules.”
Natasha leaned forward and put her elbows on the glass table top, interlinking her fingers and resting her chin on them. “I’m sure there must be others who speak Latin.”
And then to Tony’s amazement, Steve addressed her, speaking in – what he figured – was flawless Latin. “You know, we haven’t had a date night in a long time. We should do it today after we’re done here.”
“Oh? What’d you have in mind?”
He shrugged. “Dinner. Check out the new ice cream parlour near Central Park. Take a walk along Hudson. Then, we’ll come home and I’ll make sweet love to you in front of the fireplace.”
While the rest of the room stared at them in shock, Natasha arched an eyebrow at him. “What’s makes you so sure you’ll get some tonight.”
He grinned cheekily, but there was something mischievous and naughty behind it. “Because I promise to make you come on my tongue at least three times, and then I’ll let you have your way with me.”
He could see her eyes darken just slightly, and then she was out of her chair and pulling him away back to their suite. The rest of the team gaped at their retrieving figures.
“Were they sexing each other up in front of us?” Tony asked no one in general, flabbergasted. “J, please tell me they weren’t sexing each other up right now.”
“I wouldn’t know, Sir,” the AI responded in his normal tone. “I tend to cover my metaphorical ears every time Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff morph into a different dialect.”
The new Avengers Facility was brimming with young recruits into the new Avengers Initiative. With Steve and Natasha training them, most of the students had developed into excellent fighters. Wanda herself had learned hand to hand combat and to fight without the use of her powers, while also expanding their strength. After a gruelling training session, she hit the showers.
She had just started rinsing the shampoo out of her hair when she thought she heard someone talking in Serbian. Confused – she didn’t know anyone on the base spoke her mother tongue – she expanded her mental horizon, and immediately regretted it.
Both Sam and Clint had told her stories of how they had caught – heard – her teachers and team leaders in several compromising situations before. She was first hit with an image of exactly what they were doing, and then heard their voices more distinctly.
The two Avengers were in Steve’s office, situated right beside the locker room she was in, and he had her bent over the arm of the couch in the room – that seat was Wanda’s spot, for God’s sake – and he was driving into her from behind, one hand holding both of hers behind her back while the other played with her tighter orifice.
Stop, stop, stop! Come back! Stop watching! Wanda frantically ordered herself, trying to pull back her shield. Try as hard as she might, the scene kept playing on in her head.
“You want me to fuck your ass, don’t you?” he growled at her, bending over her to nip at her ear. “Beg me to do it, Tasha. Beg me to fuck your ass!”
No, no, please, don’t! Wanda thought as she hurriedly dried herself off and put on her clothes. Let me get away first!
“I’m not begging,” Natasha half moaned, half growled at Steve. “You want to fuck my ass, you ask me for it. Nicely.”
Wanda nearly gagged as she ran from the locker room to put some physical distance between them to break the mental link. She ran all the way to the recreation room at the opposite end of the base, the mental barrier finally up again. She entered the large hall and immediately spotted Sam, Rhodey and Clint (who had dropped by to train some archers) by the bar, nursing cool bottles of beer. They looked up when they heard her approaching and saw the horrified look on her face.
“I need something to purge my mind,” she practically whimpered.
Both Sam and Clint gave her understanding sympathetic looks. Sam got up and offered his seat to her, patting her shoulder comfortingly. “Welcome to the club.”
Clint ducked behind the bar and brought out a bottle of finest Russian vodka. “Natasha can very well part with her favourite drink for scarring you for life.”
After a particularly bad mission Hong Kong, all Steve and Natasha needed was the comfort of each other’s touch. Exhausted as they were, they stripped and got under the covers of their bed. Steve pulled Natasha on top of him to straddle his hips, and pulled her down for a slow but passionate kiss.
Their hands explored each other’s bodies, travelling down familiar paths, teasing sensitive spots. He moved his lips down to her neck, lightly nipping and sucking, leaving faint marks in her skin that would fade away, come morning. Natasha gasped lowly, and started moving her hips over his, rubbing her wet centre against his hardening length. Steve brought one hand down to her entrance, sinking it in to find her ready for him.
“No foreplay,” she mumbled into his ears as she traced a line with her lips down to meet his again. “I need you inside me now.”
Rising slightly to position him at her entrance, she sank down on him. Both groaned at the sensation, and Natasha leaned down over him to capture his lips again. Their movements were slow, lazy. Natasha barely lifted herself as she moved, instead choosing to rotate her hips for the much needed friction. The passion between them built slowly but steadily, the heat rising, and before they knew it, they were both moaning and whimpering into each other’s mouths. Natasha mumbled words in a language Steve didn’t understand, so he chose to let his groans and grunts convey his passion.
They found their release together, her walls convulsing around him as he spilled inside her with a deep, long drawn out groan. When they came to again, she was lying on his chest, his arms cocooning her, both of them breathless. After a few moments of catching their breathes, Steve asked her, “What language were you speaking in?”
“Hmm?” she lifted her head and looked at him. “You don’t know?” When he shook his head, she smiled playfully. “I finally found a language that I can swear at you in.”
He would’ve got it out of her – he would’ve, eventually – but they were both exhausted and he had other ways of finding it out too. So he let her go to sleep against his chest.
Tony had insisted on installing FRIDAY – another of his artificial intelligence systems – in the new base, and Steve had never been so grateful for it before. After a bit of coaxing – he never thought he’d have to charm a computer with an Irish accent into helping him – he found out the language Natasha had spoken to him in, even if FRIDAY refused to translate her words because they ‘made her blush’.
Three days later, at a black-tie function they were forced to attend on behalf of the avengers. He pulled her onto the dance floor with him – she had taken it upon herself to teach him, a few months back – and they were gently swaying to the opera, when he bent down and whispered in her ear in the very language that had confounded him a few days back.
“You look so fucking tempting tonight,” he murmured, and felt her stiffen when she recognised the tongue, “all I can think of is dragging you into the washroom and bending you over the counter. I want to fill you with my cock, and I want you to see in the mirror what it looks like when I pound into your pussy.”
Natasha bit her lip to hold back the whimper that threatened to escape her, but he heard her just the same. “You want that, don’t you? You want to see what you look like when you come all over my cock, you want to see that come dripping out of you and down your thighs. Tell me you want that.”
Instead of replying, Natasha stopped dancing and pulled him with her to the very bathroom that he had been talking about, not caring who saw them. Once inside, she locked the door and pushed him against it, her mouth capturing his hungrily.
Swahili has never sounded so erotic before.