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After the battle they’re all tired. No, scratch that, they’reexhausted; a bone-weary ache that makes Natasha long for just about any other moment in her life when she hadn’t been that tired. The fight had been long and intense: she hates to admit it but Doom’s latest upgrades to his bots were more than a little fucking effective. They had disabled them all – eventually - but it had taken hours and scarred up more than a few streets. Tony ended up spending the best part of the ride back to the tower on the phone to the Stark Relief Foundation, making sure they were on the scene and getting everyone back into their homes as quickly as possible.
Natasha rubs tired eyes. People just don’t understand the amount of red tape that comes with being a superhero.
At the tower they all file off the quinjet and silently traipse back to their own apartments. Natasha heads straight for her shower, stripping off her suit on the way and trailing clothes from the doorway to the bathroom. After years of tolerating the lukewarm dribbles of water that passed for showers in the SHIELD washrooms it still feels like an incredible luxury to have her own bathroom. She turns the water temperature up as high as she can take it and allows the hot needles of water to turn her skin pink and take some of the ache out of her back.
Eventually her fingertips start to prune and she steps out to towel herself dry. She’s too tired to bother with real clothes so she throws on a tank top and a pair of jersey shorts, pulling her hair back into a messy ponytail. God, she’s tired. All she wants to do is to fall into bed and sleep for at least twelve hours but the apartment is too quiet; too empty.
It’s always the same after a mission, especially one that involves all-out combat. She can’t stand to be alone. Sometimes she tries to ignore it, or to sleep, but it always winds up the same way. With a sigh she turns her back on the thought of her bed and makes her way to Tony’s penthouse.
***
Two hours later and she’s stretched out over a couch in Tony’s lounge nursing a beer, blessedly drunk and laughing fit to burst over one of Thor’s many Asgardian anecdotes. When she’d arrived at the penthouse she’d been less than surprised to find Tony already pouring drinks at his bar and the rest of the team sprawled around the room. The only person she was mildly surprised to see was Banner; post hulk-out he was normally comatose for at least the next twelve hours but here he was in bare feet and sweatpants, leaning up against the bar and chuckling quietly at something that Tony was saying to him.
Now hours have passed and Natasha has had just enough alcohol to make her feel warm and relaxed. Tony and Bruce are curled up on another couch together, legs entwined, and Clint and Steve sprawl happily over a third while Thor finishes his story. Most of Thor’s stories are about post-battle revelry, and all of them seem to end with somebody fucking someone else in a non-traditional location. Usually Thor is one of those somebodies.
Tony leans over to whisper something in Bruce’s ear and Bruce raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you being serious?’
Tony grins, ‘Why not? Give me one good reason.’
‘How about “because we’re not teenagers at a frat party?”’
Tony isn’t put off; if anything the mischievous glint that’s been in his eye since his second whiskey grows brighter. ‘But it’ll be fun,’ he wheedles. ‘C’mon Banner, everyone’ll be into it.’ He gets up and heads to the bar, grabbing an almost-empty bottle of scotch.
Clint rolls his eyes, ‘Fine, I’ll bite. What stupid idea has Stark got in his head?’
Bruce gives him the long-suffering look of someone who never signed on for this crap. ‘Tony wants to play spin the bottle.’
It’s not that surprising a revelation. Tony has a habit of suggesting increasingly ridiculous activities when they’re all a bit drunk and a bit stupid after a fight. Once he dared Clint to streak all the way down the tower to street level and one of the early morning cleaners got the fright of her life.
Thor’s brow creases in confusion. ‘I do not know this game.’
‘It’s a kissing game,’ Nat helpfully supplies. ‘You sit in a circle and take it in turns to spin a bottle, and whoever it lands on you have to kiss. It’s dumb.’ Tony’s face falls at her words and she smiles impishly at him, leaning over to place her empty beer bottle on the glass coffee table. ‘I’m in.’
If anyone’s surprised then no one shows it. Really, this isn’t one of Tony’s most outrageous ideas ever and Nat is fully aware that each and every one of her teammates is extremely easy on the eyes. If the alternative is going back to her apartment to lie awake and alone in the dark then a silly game of spin the bottle sounds like it could be fun. Plus, it’s been a while since she made out with anyone and it’s always good to keep in practice.
Clink smirks at her. ‘If Nat’s in then I’m game,’ he announces. ‘Thor? Cap?’
‘Certainly.’ Thor takes a drink from his hip flask and throws it to Steve. They’ve been passing it between them all night and Nat figures that whatever alien juice is in it must be working because both of their catching abilities are beginning to suffer.
Steve takes a swallow and skids the flask back across the carpet to Thor. ‘I suppose there are worse ways to spend a Thursday night,’ he agrees, and gives Natasha a look that sends a warm lick of flame curling down right below her belly.
‘Really? Is this actually happening?’ Bruce stares at all of them in utter incomprehension. ‘Is it always like this after a battle?’
‘Oh, Bruce.’ Tony plops back down next to him and refills his glass. ‘You have no idea.’
Bruce looks from Tony to the two fingers of whiskey in his tumbler and back again. ‘Well, I suppose... when in Rome…’ He tips his head back and downs the whole thing in one swallow, earning approving applause from Tony.
‘Alright big guy! Okay, everyone, if you’d care to make some space…’
Steve and Thor push the coffee table out of the way and Natasha slides off the sofa to sit cross-legged on the floor. Clint pitches her another beer and the rest of the team joins her on the floor to form a circle. She feels giggly and silly and safe enough to let her guard down. It’s a rare and welcome feeling.
‘Okay, time for some ground rules,’ Tony begins. ‘Rule 1: no lame little kisses like you’d peck your aunt, we’re not thirteen year old girls-’ he nods in Clint’s direction ‘- Well, most of us aren’t anyway. If the bottle lands on you then you gotta put out. No holds barred. Any objections?’
He looks at each of the team in turn and they all murmur their agreement to the terms.
Tony grins broadly and sets his now-empty whiskey bottle in the centre of the circle. ‘Rule number two: there aren’t any more rules.’ He sits back. ‘Ladies first.’
Natasha knows better than to move. With a sigh and the air of the much-aggrieved Clint raises an eyebrow at Tony and leans into the circle, sending the bottle spinning with a flick of his fingers. They all watch intently as it turns, eventually slowing down to land with the cap pointing towards…
‘You planned that!’ Tony is indignant, pointing at Clint with an accusatory finger. ‘You have crazy aim skills; you could make that bottle point wherever you want.’
Clint shrugs at him, grinning. ‘Nothing about that in your rules, Stark.’
‘He’s not wrong,’ Nat chimes in, taking a sip of her beer. She was right, this is already fun.
Clint turns to Bruce. ‘You’re not going to get jealous and go green, right?’ He’s mostly joking. Mostly.
Bruce’s pupils are slightly dilated with good whiskey and his cheeks are a little pink. ‘No, I’m not,’ he confirms, stretching lazily. ‘Don’t think I could even if I wanted to.’ And by God if that’s not a semi that Natasha sees faintly tenting Bruce’s sweatpants then she’ll hand her spy badge back right now. Boy this is getting interesting.
Tony squares up to Clint, jutting his chin in a show of testosterone. ‘Come on then, Hawkeye, let’s see what you’ve got.’
Clint shuffles on his knees over to Tony and grips his shoulder with one hand, loosely cradling the back of his head with the other. Tony, for all his bravado, looks almost nervous, but as Clint’s lips touch his mouth his eyes close and the two of them melt into each other, Clint clearly giving the best he’s got and Tony more than happy to take it. Clint’s hand finds its way to Tony’s ass and Bruce goddamn whimpers behind them, eyes glassy like this is the best porn he’s ever seen. Nat has to concede that on a scale of one to ten it’s pretty high up there.
They break apart, flushed and slightly breathless, and Clint settles back into his space with a nearly insufferable degree of smugness. Tony spares a long look for Bruce then leans in to set the bottle spinning again. ‘Round two.’
Now that the standard has been set they all watch intently, breath collectively held. Natasha smiles when it eventually comes to a stop pointing at her square-on.
Nobody says anything. Tony’s eyes lock on to hers and she finds she can’t look away, half-hypnotised by his dark irises and inky lashes. She lets him come to her and there’s no showboating this time, not with this kiss; the softness of his mouth contrasts with the scratch of stubble against her chin and when she feels the question of his tongue she willingly parts her lips. Tony tastes like whiskey and fire and darkness, and when he slides his hand up her inner thigh she has no intention of stopping him. He lets his hand rest on her skin, fingertips just barely inside the hem of her shorts, and she squirms in an attempt to make him move those last few inches and scratch the itch she’s been working on since she walked through the door.
In spite of her best efforts Tony’s fingers stay steadfastly put, teasing her. Then he’s gone, pulling away to leave her half-lying on the floor, breathless and horny as all hell.
She’s acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on her as she pulls herself together and reaches forward to take her turn. The bottle seems to rotate in slow motion and it crosses her mind that she really doesn’t mind where it lands, but there’s one possibility that’s even more agreeable than the rest, and he’s sitting across from her in pyjama pants and a SHIELD-issue tshirt and giving her a kind of hungry look that Captain America just shouldn’t be capable of. So it’s kind of like fate and kind of like luck and kind of like she might have nudged the bottle her foot when it ends up pointed directly at Steve.
Either no one notices that she’s not playing by the rules or no one cares. Or possibly just that no one dares to argue.
She stands up and walks softly across the couple of yards that separate them. Steve doesn’t move, dragging his gaze appreciatively up her body. She settles into his lap and looks deep into his eyes before she kisses him.
She intended to start slow but the moment Steve’s tongue touches hers it’s like a bolt of electricity goes through them both and she willingly gives in to the heat of his mouth and the wetness between her legs. Steve lies back, pulling her with him, and as she lies on top of him she can feel how hard he is, how he needs this as much as she does. It doesn’t matter that they’re not alone, doesn’t matter that their teammates are watching them intently; right now she’d happily fuck any one of them. But it’s Steve she has right now and she can’t wait to find out just how far his whole ‘peak of physical perfection’ thing extends.
Not letting up her attack on his mouth, she grinds her hips against him and elicits a suppressed moan that should be illegal and only causes her to rock her hips still harder. Steve breaks the kiss to throw his head back against the carpet, eyes screwed shut and cheeks pink. His hands grab her thighs to pull her even closer and he begins to move with her rhythm. Natasha shifts her position slightly and suddenly he’s hitting a spot that’s only been touched by silicone in far, far too long, and she whines high in her throat with a mixture of pleasure and the desperate need for more.
‘Please,’ she manages to gasp and that’s all the permission that Steve needs to flip her over onto her back, immediately covering her body with his and ramming his tongue so far down her throat that she forgets what air is. His hand slips easily down the front of her shorts and into her underwear and when his fingers finally slide over her clit she bucks into his hand with a string of obscenities.
‘Oh fuck, fuck yes right there, oh Christ don’t stop, oh shit Steve yes.’
He slips one finger then another inside her, curling them to rub at just the right spot while his thumb continues to work her clit. She can already feel her orgasm building, a white hot pressure deep inside her, but clearly Steve has other ideas and all of a sudden he’s gone, leaving her squirming against thin air.
Nat doesn’t even realise that she’d closed her eyes until she has to open them, ready to curse Steve out for ungentlemanly behaviour, but the sight she’s met with wipes every complaint from her mind.
Steve is sitting back on his heels to strip his tshirt off, and the rest of the team is staring at them with undisguised lust. Tony is palming himself through his jeans with one hand while the other strokes over Bruce’s panting chest. Thor and Clint are less obvious but their interest in the situation is unmistakable.
‘So,’ Tony starts, his voice unsteady with desire, ‘I guess we’re not playing by standard rules anymore?’
‘It seems not.’ Thor stands and crosses the room to wear a now-shirtless Steve sits by Natasha’s feet. He bends down and, turning Steve’s face towards him with one hand, kisses him long and deep.
Under any other circumstances Nat would be happy to watch them go at it for hours – this is Captain America and the God of Thunder making out for Christ’s sake – but right now she has a more pressing issue begging for attention and she feels like if someone doesn’t put their hands on her soon she might just fucking explode.
‘Uh, guys?’ She sits up on her elbows, quirking an eyebrow as they break off their vigorous attack on each other’s mouths to look at her. ‘Feeling a bit “dressed up with nowhere to go” here.’
Steve’s eyes twinkle. ‘Well,’ he smiles at Thor, ‘We can’t have that.’
Thor grins, playing along with Steve’s game. ‘Certainly not,’ he agrees, and the next thing Natasha knows is that Steve is in front of her pulling off her shorts and Thor is behind her tugging her tank top over her head, and then she’s lying naked on Tony Stark’s living room carpet with Thor’s mouth crushed to hers and Captain America’s tongue deep in her cunt.
It happens so quickly that for a moment Nat doesn’t know how to react and the part of her brain that’s always awake, always vigilant, always on the lookout for danger threatens to hit the panic button. But this isn’t a fight or a subterfuge and it’s so damn long since she’s been able to truly let her guard down. These are people she trusts and for once she’s going to have her cake and eat it.
Thor’s mouth finds its way down her neck and to her breasts, and as his stubble grazes her nipple she shouts with pleasure. She’s dimly aware of Tony, Bruce and Clint still watching , can see out of the corner of her eye the way that Tony’s hand has slipped into Bruce’s pants, and the feeling of their eyes on her gives her a thrill; but it doesn’t compare to the heat of Steve’s tongue burying itself inside her.
‘Thor,’ she mumbles, nearing incoherency, ‘Need you. Need to touch you.’ She tugs at his shoulders until he sits back, lips deliciously pink from sucking and licking at her nipples, and starts to work on his belt, but Steve has moved his attention to her clit and working the buckle becomes more than her endorphin-addled brain can handle. Thor’s hands cover hers and he makes quick work of the belt, tugging the front of his pants open – she’s not surprised to see that he’s going commando – so she can reach in to pull his dick out. Steve has started to lick in small, firm circles around her clit and she strokes Thor in time with his movements, the three of them forming a weird kind of rhythm that has them sweating and panting and muttering the best kind of curses.
The heat in Natasha’s lower abdomen is starting to coil tighter and tighter, and her concentration thins and focuses on the point of Steve’s tongue still busy between her legs. Her eyes have fallen involuntarily shut but images of her teammates half-naked and dark-eyed swim in front of her eyelids anyway, pulling her forward into black heat. She knows that the rhythm of her hand on Thor’s cock has become erratic as she loses concentration, but judging by his hoarse breathing and low groans he doesn’t have any complaints. Her fingers are slick with his pre-come and with each movement he thrusts into her hand, unable to contain himself.
She’s close, so close it almost hurts, but she wants to be able to see them all when she comes. With an effort she forces her eyes open to see Clint stroking himself hard in time with the rhythm of her hand on Thor. Tony is naked and spread-eagled on the couch, moaning and swearing as Bruce, still fully-clothed, sucks expertly at his dick. In that second their eyes meet and her orgasm rips through her; she cries out as every muscle clenches in waves. Above her Thor shouts and spatters her breasts with his come.
It takes her a moment to come back to her senses. Thor kisses her hands in wordless thanks and strips off his shirt to wipe her clean, then he slopes off to join Clint on the couch. He whispers something in Clint’s ear then wraps his large hand around Clint’s cock and begins to pump him roughly while Clint throws his head back in pleasure.
Tony and Bruce are still going at it hard, Bruce’s mouth making obscene wet sounds as he encourages Tony to fuck his throat. Suddenly all Nat wants to see is Tony burying himself deep in Bruce’s ass, and if Tony’s drunken sex stories are to be believed then she can’t see Bruce having a problem with that either.
Steve is kissing a line up her stomach and she pulls him up to meet her mouth. His lips are swollen and wet and she can taste herself on his tongue. He’s still clothed from the waist down and the rock-hard bulge of his dick presses against her over-sensitive clit, making her wiggle and gasp with something between pleasure and pain. She reaches down to cup him through his pants and on impulse bites his lip, not hard but firmly enough to make him whimper.
‘Wait,’ she instructs, and he complies easily when she rolls him off her. He leans back against one of the couches, kneading himself through his pants and watching her with interest.
Bruce and Tony are lost in their own little world but it feels completely natural when Nat sashays up behind Bruce, on his knees in front of Tony, and snakes her hands over his shoulders to toy with the scruff of hair showing above his collar. Tony’s eyes are open and hazy with desire. She drops her head to murmur in Bruce’s ear but doesn’t break eye contact with Tony as she tells him, ‘I want to watch Stark take you. I want him to fuck you until you’re sore and begging. Can you do that for me?’
Bruce whines and Tony’s mouth drops slightly open. Natasha takes that as a yes.
Gently, Tony pushes Bruce away from him so that Nat can work his tshirt off over his head, and he raises his arms compliantly to help her. She dips her head to bite gently at his neck and ear, and runs her fingers through his chest hair, softly pinching at his nipples. He arches into her touch and moans so softly that a wave of lust rolls through her and she can barely resist taking him for herself.
She guides him to his feet and Tony tugs his pants off, practically purring in satisfaction as his dick springs free. Bruce’s expression is spaced and dreamy as Natasha and Tony work together to make sure no part of his body goes untouched; Tony strokes and teases his cock with one hand while the other flutters over his legs and ass, and Nat runs her fingers and occasionally her nails over his entire torso and licks along his shoulder blades.
Between them they have Bruce sweating and trembling in a matter of minutes. ‘Nat,’ Tony croaks hoarsely, ‘Lube. Condoms.’ He gestures to an innocuous cabinet in the corner of the room. ‘Third drawer.’
Inside the drawer is an impressive selection of sex aids, but when she gives Tony a quizzical look he just shrugs. ‘You never know when you might need them.’
She throws a bottle and a condom to Tony, who wastes no time in lubing up one hand and sliding a finger slowly into Bruce, who squirms and whimpers in response. Steve is still watching them from his position on the floor, and Thor is turning Clint into a quivering wreck, taking him apart with slow and precise jerks of his wrist; putting him right on the edge without giving him quite enough to tip over it. Natasha knows the delicious look that Clint has on his face very well, and she can’t blame Thor for drawing it out the way he is.
Evidently Tony has decided that Bruce is sufficiently ready, and he lies him down on the couch with a tenderness that Nat didn’t realise he was capable of. She can’t tear her eyes away as Tony slides inside the scientist, both of them huffing out matching low groans of pleasure as he starts to rock his hips carefully back and forth. On the floor Steve has kicked off his pants and is running his fingers up and down the impressive length of his dick as he watches them.
She joins him on the floor, sitting next to him and placing her hand over his so they stroke him together. ‘Are you ready?’ she asks and he nods breathlessly.
‘On your back?’ he suggests, but Nat shakes her head no.
‘Like this.’ She plants herself on her hands and knees in front of him. There’s something animal about the position, simultaneously presenting and submitting to him; she rarely allows herself to be taken like this, but with Steve she wants it more than anything. It’s an added bonus that the position affords her a really good view of Stark and Banner, who have picked up the pace and are rutting hard and fast, the dull sound of flesh hitting flesh matched only by their laboured breathing.
Steve slips into place behind her, a hand firmly on each hip, and she moans with satisfaction as he slides deep inside her. She tries to press back against him but he’s in no hurry and holds her in place, fucking her slowly as she shakes and swears in his grip. In front of her Bruce has one leg thrown over Tony’s shoulder; his eyes are closed and he’s gritting his teeth in concentration as Tony ploughs into him. His hand is pumping his cock roughly in time with Tony’s rhythm and the two pink spots appearing on his cheeks suggest he’s getting close to losing it. Across the room Thor is finally giving Clint what he needs, and as Nat watches Clint gasps and comes over Thor’s hand.
‘Steve, please,’ she begs. ‘Oh god, please.’
At last he begins to pick up the pace, and the pull and drag of his dick over her g-spot makes her cry out. Now that he’s started it seems he has no intention of stopping and he fucks her mercilessly, leaving a trail of fingertip-bruises over her hips as he pulls her roughly back onto his cock with each thrust.
On the couch Bruce’s mouth is running with a string of half-formed sentences, pleading for more, until finally his body tenses and with a shout he comes over both his and Tony’s stomachs. It takes Tony no more than a couple more thrusts to follow suit, and he buries himself deep in Bruce’s ass as he comes groaning Bruce’s name. They stay locked together for a moment until Tony eventually pulls out and collapses on top of Bruce in a sticky heap, pressing sloppy kisses wherever he can reach.
Nat can feel her own orgasm impending. ‘Steve,’ she gasps, ‘Steve, oh god, I’m gonna…’
He grips her hips tighter still, ‘Yes, come for me.’
He thrusts again with all he’s got and her orgasm rips through her as she cries out wordlessly. Behind her Steve shouts and comes inside her, and she can feel his dick throbbing inside her even as her cunt clenches around it.
Steve folds onto her back and just holds her for a moment, half supporting her as they both ride out the aftershocks. At long last, when they both feel like they can move again, he pulls out and, after he’s tied the condom and flicked it in the general direction of the bin, they both crawl onto the couch occupied by Tony and Bruce and snuggle in. Clint and Thor come over to squeeze on to either end. Clint rests his head on the back of her shoulder and Bruce holds her hand and Natasha can feel herself smiling stupidly into Steve’s chest even as she starts to fall asleep.
It turns out that orgies are one hell of a way to decompress.