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They weren’t friends. Not exactly.
Matt Murdock and Steve Rogers had been in each other’s orbit long enough to be familiar, familiar enough to share intel, fight alongside one another when the world went to hell, and exchange terse nods when they crossed paths in back alleys or briefing rooms. But their connection had never been warm. Not since her.
Natasha Romanoff was the only thread that bound them. A thread that stretched and frayed, but never quite snapped.
They never talked about it. Not openly. It wasn’t a secret, not really. It was more like a silent understanding, a longstanding game of chicken. An on-again, off-again situationship that neither of them had ever truly won. Sometimes she was with Matt. Sometimes she was with Steve. Sometimes she disappeared for months and came back like nothing had changed, and neither of them could help themselves.
Matt deeply knew the way her voice softened when she said Steve’s name. Steve knew the way she looked at Matt when she thought no one was watching. They weren’t stupid. But the arrangement (if it could be called that) had never come to blows. Just tension. Tension and the unspoken fact that they were both always circling the same flame.
Which brought them here.
A safehouse outside Queens after crossing paths on a mission gone sideways and forced to work together again. One bruised, one bloodied, one pacing barefoot in someone else’s clothes.
Steve leaned against the far wall, arms crossed tight across his chest like he was holding himself back, still reeling from the adrenaline even after a shower. Matt stood near the counter, silent and still, listening more than watching. Both of them were pointedly not talking to each other. They usually never did, except when it involved a mission where they crossed paths or her.
Steve’d been pacing when they first got in but now he was watching the street like it might offer answers. Matt, leaning against the kitchen counter with his hands braced behind him, said nothing. He didn’t need to.
They’d been in the same room for ten minutes. No one spoke.
Until Steve finally snapped again, like they always eventually did.
“You always do that?”
Matt turned his head, that slow, unreadable smile tugging at his mouth. “Do what?”
“Stand there like you’ve got nothing to say, when you’ve already made up your mind.”
A slow smile tugged at the corner of Matt’s mouth, far too amused. “You’ve got a real talent for turning silence into an accusation, Rogers.”
“I’m not accusing,” Steve bit back. “I’m observing. Like you do. Quiet, calculating. Always three steps ahead.”
Matt pushed off the counter. Calm, but coiled. “You want to talk about strategies now? Or are we still pretending this isn’t about her?”
Steve turned from the window, his frustration simmering too close to the surface. “You think this is funny?”
Matt straightened up just enough to stretch his back. “A little.”
“You’re in her safehouse.”
“I noticed,” Matt said dryly. “I have exceptional spatial awareness.”
Steve ignored the jab. “You’re really not bothered by any of this?”
“Oh, I’m very bothered,” Matt said, almost conversational. “Takes everything in me not to kiss her in front of you just to make a point.”
Steve’s jaw twitched.
Matt tilted his head, listening. “There it is. That twitch. You grit your teeth every time I say her name, don’t you?”
Steve took a slow step forward. “You’re pushing me.”
“You’ve been pushing yourself for years. Toward her, away from her… hell, I can’t even keep up.” Matt’s voice dipped, almost fond. “You always this dramatic, or is it just when you’re losing?”
Steve scowled. “I’m not losing.”
“Sure,” Matt said, easy. “Keep telling yourself that.”
That lit something. Steve stepped forward, sharp, frustrated. “You’re treating this like a game.”
“I’m not the one pacing like a teenager who just lost prom queen to his rival.”
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
Matt stood up straighter, unfolding with that lazy, catlike grace that always made people forget how dangerous he actually was. “I’m taking it exactly as seriously as she wants me to.”
Steve blinked, jaw working. “What the hell does that even mean? You’re the one acting like this isn’t complicated.”
“It’s not complicated,” Matt said, voice lower now. “It’s messy. There’s a difference.”
Steve took a step closer. “Messy doesn’t mean fair.”
“And what would be fair? She picks one of us? Flips a coin? You think I haven’t considered walking away from this?”
“So why don’t you?”
Matt’s head tilted quickly. “Why don’t you?”
That landed.
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable, it was heavy, tight, buzzing like live wire. Two men used to being in control, circling a situation they couldn’t manage. Neither wanted to admit what it was doing to them.
Steve was the first to look away. “She’s not a prize.”
“No,” Matt agreed. “She’s not.”
“But we’re still acting like she is.”
Matt’s voice dropped just enough to betray the weight beneath it. “I’m not.”
Steve exhaled sharply through his nose, somewhere between frustration and agreement. “Don’t bullshit me, Murdock.”
Matt opened his mouth to answer, but that’s when the soft padding of bare feet cut across the room.
Natasha.
Hair damp, skin flushed, dressed in a pair of shorts and Matt’s oversized black t-shirt — the one she'd "borrowed" during a cold night in Hell’s Kitchen and never returned. It swallowed her frame, the hem brushing her thighs, the neckline slipping off one shoulder just enough to show the faintest scrape from the earlier mission.
Steve’s eyes flicked to the mark. Matt didn’t need to see it. He could hear the way her breath hitched slightly as she leaned into the doorframe. He could smell her. His soap, sweat, that subtle cherry balm she always denied using and he could hear the tiny shift in her breath when she realized she had their full attention, that alone was enough to set something low in his stomach on fire.
“Looks like the staring contest’s over,” she said with a smirk, leaning casually against the doorframe.
Matt stayed quiet, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Steve pushed off the wall with a sigh.
“You like stirring the pot, don’t you?”
“Oh, I like stirring you,” she countered, crossing the room to grab a bottle of water.
She took a sip then leaned her hip against the counter and swiped her gaze over them one by one.
Matt chuckled lowly behind closed lips.
“It was nothing,” Steve said eventually. “You walk in and everything stops making sense.”
“That’s not true,” she replied, settling the water bottle on the counter. “You two were making plenty of noise before I came in.”
Matt’s voice was calm. “He thinks we’re treating you like a prize.”
Natasha took a long sip and tilted her head at Steve. “Are you?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
She smiled. “Honest. I like that.”
Matt’s tone sharpened. “What do you want from us, Natasha?”
“Right now?”
She stepped between them, slow and deliberate, her fingers brushing Steve’s wrist as she passed. Steve went rigid. Then she trailed her hand down Matt’s chest as she stopped beside him. He didn’t flinch. He smirked. Knew exactly what she was doing. He could hear it in the shift of her breath. Feel it in her pulse.
This wasn’t a plea.
This was a challenge.
“I want you both to admit this thing we’ve been circling for years isn’t going away. You’re not walking away. Neither am I.”
“And that solves what, exactly?” Steve asked, stepping closer.
“It solves the pretending,” she said. “And maybe… it gives us something better to do with all this tension.”
They stared at her, at each other — caught in the gravity of whatever this was becoming.
“I want you both,” she said, sultry and wicked. “Not one or the other. Both.”
Steve blinked. “What?”
Matt turned his head slowly toward her, amused. “You’re serious.”
“You don’t sound surprised,” she said.
“I’m not.” His grin was positively sinful. “I just didn’t think you’d say it out loud.”
Steve took a beat. “You mean—together?”
Natasha gave a small, infuriating shrug. “If you two are done measuring dicks, maybe you’d like to put them to use.”
Steve looked like he was buffering. Matt’s smile was slow. Amused. Intrigued.
“Oh,” he said, voice a rough purr. “Now you’re just being greedy.”
She winked. “So… what do you say, boys?”
There was a beat of stunned silence after she said it.
Steve’s jaw worked, but no sound came out. Matt’s head had turned slightly, like he was trying to catch the intention behind her voice — or the way her heart sped up right after she said it.
Natasha’s smirk lingered, but inside she was pure voltage.
She hadn’t known if they’d ever let this happen. Flirting, teasing, stolen nights with one or the other, sure. But both? At once? The fantasy had been sitting quietly in the back of her mind for years, filed away as impossible.
Until now.
Steve stepped closer. “You’re serious?”
She raised a brow. “You’re not?”
Matt’s lips parted slightly, his voice darker now. “What’s the game here, Nat?”
“No game,” she said softly. “Just tired of pretending. Tired of picking one and hurting the other. Tired of pretending I don’t want everything.”
Steve’s gaze flicked to Matt. “And what if I don’t like sharing?”
Matt’s response was immediate, voice low and taut. “You already have.”
A tense silence followed — charged, electric.
Natasha moved forward, slipping between them, fingertips trailing lightly over Matt’s abdomen, then grazing down Steve’s chest. Her voice dropped to a whisper, rough with years of swallowed want.
“Look at you two. Wound up like loaded guns.” She leaned toward Steve, lips just brushing the shell of his ear.
Matt inhaled sharply, like the breath had been pulled straight from his lungs. Steve’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
Natasha stepped back, the ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth. “Unless you’re all talk.”
Her heart kicked like it had been waiting for this exact explosion — one of them finally breaking the rules.
Steve moved first. He closed the distance in one step, hand threading into the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her into a bruising kiss. Natasha melted into it, fingers digging into his chest, but even as her mouth parted against his, she was already aware of Matt behind her.
Matt’s hands found her waist, possessive, dragging her back against him as Steve kept her pinned from the front. Sandwiched. Surrounded. Claimed.
She gasped as Matt’s mouth found the side of her neck, kissing, then biting just enough to make her knees buckle.
The kiss was messy.
Her arms were around both of them, fingers twisted in Steve’s shirt, the other curled at the back of Matt’s neck. They pressed against her from either side, their hands roaming, tugging, claiming. The oversized shirt she’d been wearing was already bunched at her ribs. Steve pulled it up, over her head, tossing it blindly across the room without breaking the kiss.
Matt’s hand slid down her bare back, the pads of his fingers tracing her spine. His mouth had moved to her throat, lips and teeth working down her skin, making her gasp while Steve’s palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples until she moaned into Matt’s mouth.
They were on fire. All of them. Clothes coming off in pieces, Matt’s belt hitting the floor with a clink, Steve pulling her shorts down one-handed, desperate to feel her.
They made quick work of their own shirts too, and she could feel it, bare skin on hers, mouths claiming every inch of her they could find.
Matt’s hand was already slipping between her legs.
Steve’s mouth moved over her collarbone, chest, stomach, his worshipful slowness in direct contrast to Matt’s more desperate hunger.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” Matt groaned into her neck.
She moaned, head falling back, hips grinding forward. It was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
“Back up,” Matt snapped, his hand colliding with Steve’s as they both reached for her at the same time. “You’re in the way.”
“In the way?” Steve scoffed, eyes flashing. “You’re practically crawling up her spine.”
“She likes it rough, Rogers. Maybe back off and let her breathe between compliments.”
“She also likes being kissed,” Steve shot back, “not manhandled like a ragdoll.”
Natasha blinked.
Matt’s fingers tightened on her hip. “Funny. She’s never complained.”
Steve’s jaw clenched. “Maybe she just hasn’t told you.”
“Oh, she tells me plenty.”
Natasha looked from one to the other, her body still humming with arousal and then the tension between them snapped back into something sharp and competitive.
“Oh my god,” Natasha muttered.
Neither of them noticed.
“…Are you two seriously arguing right now?”
They ignored her. Both locked in a slow-burn death glare over her shoulder like she wasn’t literally naked between them.
“God, Murdock, can you not get territorial for five seconds?”
“I’m not territorial. You’re just in the fucking way.”
“Jesus—”
Natasha groaned. Not in a sexy way.
She pulled back just enough to shove her hands into both of their chests. “No. No no no no.”
They froze. Mid-groping. Mid-bickering. Blinking at her like confused puppies.
She planted a hand on each of their chests, forcing a little space between them, breathing hard, cheeks flushed with heat and irritation.
“This,” she said, gesturing between the three of them, “is not a pissing contest.”
Matt’s mouth twitched. Steve looked mildly offended.
She pointed at them one by one. “You.”
Then the other. “And you.”
Then at herself. “Teamwork assignment.”
Matt huffed a quiet laugh. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “You two are not failing the group project because your dicks can’t get along. And if you two keep bickering instead of touching me, I swear to god I’m going to go into that bedroom, lock the door, and finish myself off.”
Steve blinked. “You wouldn’t.”
She raised a brow. “Try me.”
Matt tilted his head, listening to the steady, very real thrum of her pulse. She wasn’t bluffing.
He smirked. “That would be a tragedy.”
She pointed between them. “Do you want to fuck me?”
They answered at the exact same time.
“Yes.”
“Absolutely.”
Steve’s voice overlapped Matt’s, both of them leaning closer, hands already sliding back onto her body.
Natasha grinned. “Good. Then shut up and work together.”
This time, when Steve kissed her, Matt didn’t argue. He just moved in closer, hands roaming, mouth finding her skin again.
Steve kissed her again but this time slower, more reverent, fingers skimming the underside of her breast while Matt circled around behind her and lifted her right off the floor.
She yelped, half-laughing, half-melting, her legs instinctively wrapping around Matt’s waist as he carried her with practiced ease toward the worn couch in the corner of the safehouse.
She was lowered onto the cushions gently, but that was the last moment of tenderness. Because the second she landed, both of them were on her.
Matt’s mouth crashed to her neck, biting just hard enough to make her gasp. Steve dropped to his knees in front of the couch, dragging her thighs apart, hands gripping the backs of her knees as he leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh like she was made of heat and honey.
Natasha’s breath hitched violently. “Holy—okay.”
She wasn’t in control anymore. Not even close.
They didn’t need instruction. They knew her. Knew how to touch, how to break her apart. And tonight, they’d learn how to do it together.
Her hands flew to Matt’s shoulders as he knelt behind her, fingers pushing her bra out of the way, tongue circling her nipple with a low groan. She arched into him — only to jolt when Steve’s mouth finally found her center.
“Shit— Steve.”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. His mouth was patient, devastating, methodical. Tongue stroking slow and deep, lips latching around her clit just right, fingers digging bruises into her thighs to keep her spread.
Matt’s voice hummed against her chest. “You sound so pretty when he eats you out.”
Natasha moaned sharply, her spine arching as Matt’s tongue did something that sent stars bursting behind her eyelids.
Her orgasm hit like a fist to the gut. Sudden. All-consuming. Her whole body convulsed, hands clutching at whatever she could grab — Matt’s wrist, the back of the couch, air. She didn’t even realize she was moaning his name until Steve’s voice growled from between her thighs, dark with satisfaction:
“One.”
Natasha blinked. “What?”
Matt narrowed his eyes. “That’s how we’re doing this? He’s keeping score.”
Steve sat back on his heels, looking very pleased with himself, mouth shiny and smug.
Matt smirked, nipping her earlobe. “One point for him. First orgasm. That’s the game.”
Natasha let out a disbelieving little laugh, still breathless. “You’re seriously turning this into a game?”
Matt’s voice was velvet and sin. “Healthy competition.”
Steve nipped her shoulder. “Encourages collaboration.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you two start bickering again—”
“We won’t,” they said in near unison, hands already trailing across her body again.
“Promise,” Matt murmured, kissing the back of her neck. “Very healthy competition.”
Steve kissed her temple. “We’re just making sure you get exactly what you asked for.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
Then paused.
Thought about it.
And sighed. “I mean. I am having the time of my life.”
Matt nodded, kissing her collarbone. “You’re the scoreboard.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Matt’s hand slid between her thighs again and all she could do was moan.
“Well,” she breathed. “I’ve never felt so objectified and powerful in my life.”
Matt grinned into her skin. “Perfect.”
He dragged her hips closer, spreading her thighs with slow, assured hands, while Steve kissed her again, deep, open-mouthed, messy.
Then Matt was there, lining up, not teasing this time, just thrusting in with one hard, smooth stroke that made her cry out into Steve’s mouth.
He didn’t give her time to adjust.
Matt always knew how far she could go. He knew when she wanted it slow, and when she wanted it rough. And right now? She wanted to be taken.
His pace was brutal from the start, deep and fast, fingers gripping her thighs, his breath harsh in her ear.
“She’s so wet,” he growled. “You got her ready for me.”
“Good,” Steve said softly, still kissing her neck. “You going to make her come for you now?”
“I’m about to.”
Natasha screamed.
It hit her fast, sharp and explosive, blinding white behind her eyes as her whole body snapped tight. Matt cursed low and held her down through it, grinding deep as she came around him, writhing in Steve’s arms.
“One,” Matt rasped, still moving inside her. “Fucking tied.”
Steve chuckled against her temple. “Told you it was healthy.”
Natasha was gasping, blinking up at the ceiling in stunned silence. She laid draped across the couch, utterly ruined, skin flushed, lips kiss-swollen, legs trembling. Her hair stuck to her neck, her chest still heaving, and both men were pressed against her like they couldn’t stand the idea of not touching her.
Matt’s fingers traced soft circles over the inside of her thigh, still slick and sensitive. Steve pressed lazy kisses along her shoulder, smoothing her hair back like he was tucking her in for the night.
If only they were done.
“You okay?” Steve whispered against her skin.
She nodded, voice raspy. “Mm-hm. Better than okay.”
She shifted, groaning at the soreness between her thighs but her eyes were wicked. She grabbed Matt by the front of his waistband, tugging him forward, and reached out to curl a hand around the back of Steve’s neck.
“Come on,” she murmured. “Bed.”
Matt helped her up, steadying her as she stood on shaky legs. She was tugging them both by the wrist, bare feet padding toward the bedroom down the short hallway, leaving a trail of heat and ruined modesty behind.
They barely made it inside before it devolved into chaos again.
Natasha shoved Matt onto the bed with a palm to his chest, then yanked Steve into a kiss that was all tongue and teeth and dragged him to the bed as well.
Natasha was between them again — exactly where she wanted to be.
She didn’t even know whose mouth she was kissing anymore.
Steve’s tongue slid against hers, all heat and breath and reverence. Matt’s teeth grazed her jaw from her side, then his lips claimed the side of her throat like he was starving.
One moment she was still catching her breath, and the next Steve’s hand tangled in her hair, pulling her face to his, crushing their mouths together in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t tender. He kissed her like he wanted to own her, tongue sliding against hers, his teeth catching her bottom lip with a groan.
The second he pulled back, Matt was already on her with a rough hand curling gently but firmly around her throat, tilting her head as he kissed her next. Deeper. Wilder. His mouth slanted over hers like he was devouring her. His other hand still between her thighs.
He hadn’t stopped touching her.
While she kissed Steve, Matt’s fingers had never left her, stroking, circling, learning her. He didn’t rush. Didn’t need to. He knew exactly how to build her up.
Steve dragged her back again, growling, “Mine,” against her mouth before biting her lip. She moaned into it and Matt’s fingers pushed just a little deeper.
Her entire body lit up.
She whimpered, tried to turn her head toward Matt again but Steve’s hand was still in her hair, tugging her back into another kiss before she could catch her breath.
Then Matt took her mouth again.
Then Steve.
Then both.
At one point, their mouths collided with hers at the same time — tongue and lips and teeth, kissing her over each other, chasing each sound from her throat, swallowing every gasp and whimper like it was theirs.
It was filthy.
Wet and messy and so much, spit on her chin, her mouth raw, her brain barely working. She could barely tell who was kissing her anymore. Her hands clutched at their shoulders, her thighs trembling where she knelt between them.
Matt’s fingers never stopped.
She didn’t even realize how close she was until her hips jerked against his hand and she cried out.
Steve bit her bottom lip again, murmuring, “Fuck—she’s gonna come like this?”
“Oh, she will,” Matt growled, kissing the side of her neck, his fingers working faster now, slipping deeper.
Each kiss pushed her higher.
Each moan made Matt’s rhythm more precise, more brutal.
Each growl from Steve made her stomach twist tighter and tighter.
Her head tipped back, mouth falling open, breath catching—
And then it hit.
She came hard, soaking Matt’s fingers with a wrecked, desperate moan, collapsing between them like her body had given out completely.
Steve caught her by the waist, Matt by the neck and neither of them let her fall.
Natasha collapsed between them, still trembling from her release, thighs twitching where Matt’s hand had just wrecked her. Her head lolled back onto Matt’s shoulder, Steve’s hand cradling her waist like she might float away.
“Holy shit,” she mumbled, breathless and flushed.
“You’re perfect,” Matt said into her neck, still licking at the sweat gathering there like he couldn’t stop tasting her.
Steve brushed a kiss against her temple. “You good?”
She didn’t answer right away.
She shifted instead, gently, lazily, easing herself from between them and leaning back on her elbows across the pillows like a damn painting. Her legs were still spread open, her body flushed and gleaming, hair wild around her shoulders.
She bit her bottom lip.
“Okay,” she rasped, eyes flicking between them. “Your turn.”
Matt raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
She bit her lip, slow and deliberate.
“I want you to kiss each other.”
Both men blinked. Like their brains lagged trying to process it.
Steve blinked. “Wait. Us?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. Right now.”
Matt’s head turned, slowly, amused. “What’s the matter, Captain? You kiss me and suddenly the flag stops waving?”
Steve scowled. “Shut up.”
Natasha laughed — low and wicked. “Oh my god. Are you afraid you’ll like it?”
Steve shot her a glare that wasn’t nearly as deadly as it wanted to be. His mouth opened, then shut.
Matt barked a laugh, low and rough. “Oh, this is fun.”
Steve’s voice was tight. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“You’re the one making it a thing,” Matt said, leaning forward. “It’s just a kiss, Rogers.”
“I’ve just never done that before.”
“Then I definitely want to see it.” She grinned.
Steve looked down at her breathless, flushed, and clearly waiting and then over at Matt. And then back again.
A long, tense beat.
“Oh, come on,” she said, voice low and teasing. “You two were doing so well just a few minutes ago.”
Steve exhaled hard, then leaned across her body and Matt met him halfway.
The kiss wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t slow. Wasn’t even cautious.
It was messy. Raw.
Natasha’s jaw dropped slightly. Her thighs squeezed together. Her entire body lit up again.
The kiss deepened fast — hungry, uncoordinated, messy in a way that made her thighs clench. Their mouths moved with friction, with years of tension neither of them had ever put words to, with the taste of her still lingering on their lips.
Natasha watched, mesmerized
Steve broke the kiss first, flushed and dazed. Matt’s grin was sharp, wolfish, like he’d just won another round without even trying.
“You like that, Nat?”
She let out a shaky breath. “I think I just came again.”
Steve huffed a laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re both hot.” She sat up on her knees between them, reaching for both of them. “Now stop keeping score and fuck me together. Please?”
That was all they needed.
Matt stood, chest rising fast, reaching for his jeans like he might tear them off. Steve was already guiding her down onto the mattress again, this time flat on her back, mouth crashing into hers with a groan that bordered on feral.
Steve’s shirt hit the floor and he pulled her into his lap like he needed to feel her again before anything else, mouth crashing into hers with a low growl.
“No backing out now,” he said against her lips.
She moaned. “God, don’t you dare.”
Matt was already behind her, palms dragging down her sides, mouth on the back of her neck, breathing her in like she was something holy and forbidden all at once.
They moved around her like instinct, practiced and chaotic all at once. Steve settled beneath her, guiding her down onto his lap, easing her onto him with care slow, grounding. She was already shaking, the stretch sending a gasp from her lips. His hands cradled her thighs, his mouth at her jaw.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Look at me. Stay with me.”
Then Matt’s hands were on her shoulders, pressing down not rough, but firm. Intentional. Grounding her as Steve began to move.
And when Matt kissed her from behind, teeth catching her earlobe, one hand wrapping around her throat just enough to make her whimper, she felt the balance shift.
“Still want more?” Matt murmured, voice wrecked.
She nodded, mouth open in a desperate moan.
He grunted. “Then hold still for me.”
Her arms shook as she braced herself. Steve thrust up into her just as Matt nudged her knees farther apart, one hand sliding down her back, guiding himself to her second entrance.
Her breath caught. She turned her head to look at him.
“Matt—”
“I’ve got you,” he promised, voice low and raw. “You tell me if you need to stop.”
Steve kissed her as Matt began to press in, careful, measured, his other hand never leaving her neck, his mouth at her shoulder whispering how perfect she was, how tight, how fucking beautiful.
When he was fully inside, she let out a broken cry, overwhelmed, full in a way she’d never imagined.
They moved careful at first, coordinated. Deep thrusts from Steve that rocked her forward, countered by Matt’s slow grind that pulled her back. Their rhythm wasn’t perfect. It didn’t need to be
Every inch of her was touched, kissed and worshipped.
Steve’s lips never left her skin, her mouth, her chest, her throat, whispering things like “So good,” and “You’re incredible,” and “I’ve never seen you like this.”
Matt’s grip was rougher, his fingers digging into her hips, his hand tightening on her throat just enough to make her feel owned, possessed. His voice was nothing but curses and groans, breath hot in her ear.
The pressure built quickly too much, too good. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only feel. Every thrust from Steve sent her forward into Matt’s grip. Every drag of Matt’s hips made her clench tighter around Steve.
She was spiraling. Lost.
And then she came — violently, sobbing, collapsing into Steve’s chest as her whole body shattered.
They didn’t stop.
Matt groaned into the crook of her neck, still thrusting behind her, pace rougher now — chasing it. Steve held her hips steady from beneath, sweat dripping down his temples as he fucked up into her with ragged, uneven rhythm.
Her body was on fire, overstimulated, overfilled, overwhelmed, but every time one of them moaned, every time a filthy praise passed their lips, she wanted more.
Matt's thrusts grew harder, less controlled, his restraint unraveling with every second he was inside her. His hand wrapped around her throat again, just enough pressure to make her shiver.
“You gonna take us both again, sweetheart?” he growled
She sobbed, nodding, gasping, her body jerking between them with every deep thrust. She was soaked, open, wrecked, and they were still inside her like they didn’t want to let her go.
Steve’s hands slipped to her ass, pulling her down harder. “Fuck—gonna come—”
“Yes,” she begged, “yes, yes, please—”
Steve came first, his hips jerking, mouth catching hers in a groan as he spilled inside her. And seconds later, Matt pulled her flush to his chest, buried himself to the hilt, and came with a curse, biting her shoulder hard enough to bruise.
They collapsed with her between them breathless, soaked, shaking.
And when her breath returned, when she finally blinked up at them, dazed and glowing, she smiled.
“Holy fuck.”
Natasha lay in a tangle of limbs, sweat, and warmth on the big bed of the safehouse, the air still thick with heat and breath and something far deeper than lust.
Her body was wrecked. Muscles twitching, thighs aching, skin marked by hands and mouths and whispered praise. But her mind… her mind was quiet. For once. Completely still.
Safe.
Matt was the first to move.
He shifted beside her, slipping out with care, hissing softly at the overstimulation. Then he bent forward and kissed the dip of her spine — once, twice — before gently brushing the damp strands of hair from her cheek.
“Hang on,” he murmured. “I’ll be right back.”
She made a small sound of protest, too tired to speak.
But Matt was already up, disappearing toward the bathroom. Water ran. Drawers opened. When he returned, he carried a warm, wet cloth in one hand and a clean shirt in the other — his, of course.
He knelt beside her again, easing her onto her back with such gentleness it made her throat tighten. There was no trace of the man who’d had his hand around her throat an hour ago. This Matt was tender. Focused. Devoted.
He cleaned her carefully — between her thighs, across her stomach, down her legs — his touch reverent, like she was something breakable. Every time she flinched or hissed, he paused.
“Too much?”
She shook her head. “No. Just… sensitive.”
Steve was still behind her, propped on an elbow, watching them with that same soft look he always gave her after sex.
“Come here,” he said, and she let him pull her into his arms.
Matt helped ease her shirt over her head, then laid down on her other side, slipping under the blanket he’d grabbed from the couch. He pressed his lips to her temple and didn’t move for a long time.
None of them did.
The silence now was different. No more tension. No unsaid things. Just the sound of three steady heartbeats and the occasional shared breath.
Natasha curled tighter between them, one arm around Steve’s chest, the other hand finding Matt’s and lacing their fingers together.
“You okay?” Steve asked softly, lips brushing her hairline.
She nodded, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”
Matt chuckled under his breath. “That was kind of the goal.”
She let out a sleepy laugh. “You’re both insane.”
“Only for you,” Steve said.
Matt’s hand squeezed hers. “Always for you.”
Her heart stuttered.
She didn’t say anything in return. But the way she shifted closer, the way her smile softened, the way she kissed each of their chests before closing her eyes said enough.
Matt’s fingers gently traced circles on the back of her hand. Steve's thumb stroked along her arm in lazy, content motions.
Eventually, Natasha sighed. Boneless. Smiling.
Then her voice hoarse, casual, sinful:
“So… when can we do this again?”
Steve groaned into her hair. “You’re joking.”
Matt gave a low laugh behind her. “She’s not.”
Natasha smirked, eyes still closed. “Just trying to plan ahead.”
Steve’s voice was dry. “Next time, I want a calendar invite.”
Matt nuzzled her temple and murmured, “Next time, I’m not letting him go first.”
She hummed, satisfied. “Good. I like when you fight over me.”
And the best part?
They both did too.