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kathierif_ficTitle: Clothes make the man
by: kathierif_fic
Fandom: MCU
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/Tony Stark, implied OTAvengers
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It's a little bit like Halloween, Tony thinks as he inspects himself in the mirror.
A/Ns: For kink_bingo's "silk velvet feather fur".
It's a little bit like Halloween, Tony thinks as he inspects himself in the flat metal disk that serves as a mirror. He gets to dress up and go to a party.
That's where the similarities end, though, as far as he knows. He is on Asgard, Thor's home planet, the party they're invited to a state banquet, and the Avengers are Thor's guests of honor.
The big guy insisted.
Tony is used to wearing suits and ties and how expensive fabric feels against his skin, but it's nothing like the whisper of silk and velvet of Asgardian undergarments. He suddenly understands why Thor often wears his Asgardian clothes even if it makes him stick out like a sore thumb, even in New York City.
Tony gives himself another look and smirks.
It's not his usual style, he has to admit, but he pulls it off well. The boots he wears are brown and wrap halfway up his calves. They're warm and soft-soled, and it's a little bit like wearing really thick socks. The pants are tight and accentuate all the right spots, as far as he is concerned, and he can't wait to see Hawkeye in them.
In addition to that, he wears a long tunic that almost falls down to his knees, but is cut in a way that doesn't hinder his movements. It is, Thor explained to them, custom to bring one's weapons to the Great Hall, and Tony, unwilling to wear the Ironman suit all night long, compromised and quickly came up with a way to integrate pieces of repulsor technology and a few small surprises into the gauntlets he is wearing.
Completing his outfit is a thick cape with a thick fur collar, and the chain mail Thor gave him as a present - it's light, not constricting his movements at all, but Thor assures him that it will protect him from even the sharpest of weapons.
A sharp knock against his door makes him turn away from the mirror, the cape swishing against the stone floor, and he clenches his hand in the glove, activating the repulsor just in case, and calls out "Yeah?"
The door opens, and Tony's breath catches in his throat almost against his will.
Of course he recognizes that it's Natasha and not one of the valkyries. Of course he does. Natasha is unique, she's his teammate, and she looks sleek and dangerous in her own outfit - high boots, tight pants, the glitter of body armor under the bodice. Her collarbones are visible, her skin pale and delicate across them until she shifts and her own fur cloak falls down, hiding her skin from view.
She's wearing her usual gloves, her Widow's bite, but there's a long knife dangling from her belt, and she's brushed out her hair and let it fall loosely around her face, red and fierce like flames, and Tony tries to find words to describe her and utterly fails.
"You look amazing," he finally manages. "I..."
He wants to tell her that he can't wait to see her out of those clothes, spread out across the furs on the bed, skin pale and creamy, just waiting for him - for the others too - to worship her body like it deserves.
Instead, he just walks over, takes her hand and squeezes it briefly.
~~~
Natasha has been wearing leather for as long as she cares to remember. Her Black Widow costume is sturdy and protects her well enough, and it feels like a second skin when she slides it on.
She wears dresses and skirts when she's undercover, and she knows the feeling of silk on her skin and appreciates its soft touch as much as the next girl, but silk doesn't protect her from bullets, from road rash when she has to cut an assignment short and flee, for whatever reason, when she has to jump and kick and fight.
This, she thinks, she could get used to.
She can move easily, jump and stretch in all directions without any fabric ripping. The silk and leather of her clothes move with her, hugging her and brushing against her skin gently. The boots are perfect for sneaking through hallways without being heard, and there's a spot on her belt where she can put the dagger Thor gave her for her birthday.
The fur cloak is thick and soft where it rests against her bare skin. The clasp at the throat opens easily, and she knows that she won't get strangled with it. It has a hood to hide her hair under, if she needs to remain anonymous, and she almost wishes she could take it home with her.
It reminds her a little bit of Russia.
Natasha doesn't get homesick, especially not for Russia, but sometimes, she catches the fleeting memory of a man with a fur hat, a woman with a soft coat holding her hand and brushing a hand over her head. She doesn't know if this is a real memory or if it was implanted by the Red Room, and she tries not to let it bother her.
When she's dressed, she leaves the room Thor showed her to check up on the rest of the Avengers. She moves quietly, fabric brushing gently against her skin, and she doesn't know if it's the teasing touch or the coldness of the hallway that make her body shiver slightly.
She finds Tony first, standing in front of a mirror and inspecting himself.
He looks good, she can admit that much, in his Asgardian outfit. He added a little bit of a personal touch, she sees, the red Ironman gauntlets catching the candlelight and reflecting it slightly. She can see the blue glow of the repulsor and it makes her oddly proud, that Tony is learning not to trust people blindly.
She doesn't understand that feeling. She knows that this constant state of paranoia is not good, that he will break under the strain if he isn't careful, but he's learning to protect himself properly, in long, painful lessons with her and Steve, and the man she sees now has little in common with the broken and dying man he had been on their first meeting.
She likes the man he is now much better, especially when he steps up to her, his eyes impossibly wide, giving him an air of vulnerability, and takes her hand in his.
They make a striking pair, the two of them, and Natasha knows it will only get better when their teammates join them. But for now, it's her and Tony, and he still looks so starstuck that she tugs him close by his hand and kisses him.
She doesn't give him the chance to react, just slips her tongue into his mouth and tangles her hands in the soft fabric of his clothes. Her fingertips are bare, and she slides them down his body, feels the shirt of mail Thor gave Tony, an apology for hitting Tony with the hammer when Tony wasn't in his armor.
"Do we have time?" Tony asks, his voice pitched low, his hands resting on her hips, and Natasha thinks for a split second and decides that yes, they do have time for this, as long as they hurry up.
~~~
They strip just as much as they need to, shirts rucked up and pants pulled down, and they don't stop kissing. Tony's gauntlets fall to the floor next to the bed, followed by her belt, and then she's on her back on a thick layer of furs and Tony is covering her.
His coat is falling around them, cocooning them, and Natasha presses herself into his touch, her hand in his hair and his lips pressed to her collarbone, sucking gently and swirling his tongue over her skin. His other hand is between her legs, rubbing and circling and teasing, and she can stand it only for so long before she has to move.
Soft silk brushes against her breasts, sending spirals of arousal through her body, and Tony moans gently and doesn't fight when she grips his ass with both hands and pulls him down, into her, in one slow thrust.
"No time," she murmurs into his ear, adding a bite just because she can. Fur tickles her cheek, silk rubs against her legs and breasts, and she feels like burning.
"I know," he replies and kisses her, oddly gentle, before he pulls out and starts to fuck her in earnest, angling his hips in a way she likes.
She runs his hands over his back, feeling silk and velvet and fur and the hidden strength of his muscles against her fingers, against her knees, her bare stomach, and every brush of fabric against her skin makes the flames burn hotter and her hips snap sharper up, against him, urging him on and on and on.
Tony moves with her, touches and kisses her, his lips cool and his tongue hot against her skin, smooth like silk while his beard is tickling like the fur she's lying on, his hands catching slightly against her like the best velvet, and she arches up against him, takes him deeper, kisses him and rides the waves shuddering through her entire body.
"You're amazing," Tony pants, his lips now pressed against her cheek, her ear. He retaliates for the bite with a wet lick, breathes against her skin just to watch her shudder as aftershocks race along her nerve endings and make her buck up again, and then, he is coming as well, his groan muffled against her shoulder again.
She likes her uniform, she thinks as she lies there panting, likes how she can move in it, but this, the silk and fur and velvet, this she could get used to very easily.
Tony presses tiny kisses against her throat and leans up on one elbow. His hair is sticking up wildly, his face is flushed, and he grins widely when he says, "I can't wait to see the others."
Natasha can only agree.
by: kathierif_fic
Fandom: MCU
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/Tony Stark, implied OTAvengers
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It's a little bit like Halloween, Tony thinks as he inspects himself in the mirror.
A/Ns: For kink_bingo's "silk velvet feather fur".
It's a little bit like Halloween, Tony thinks as he inspects himself in the flat metal disk that serves as a mirror. He gets to dress up and go to a party.
That's where the similarities end, though, as far as he knows. He is on Asgard, Thor's home planet, the party they're invited to a state banquet, and the Avengers are Thor's guests of honor.
The big guy insisted.
Tony is used to wearing suits and ties and how expensive fabric feels against his skin, but it's nothing like the whisper of silk and velvet of Asgardian undergarments. He suddenly understands why Thor often wears his Asgardian clothes even if it makes him stick out like a sore thumb, even in New York City.
Tony gives himself another look and smirks.
It's not his usual style, he has to admit, but he pulls it off well. The boots he wears are brown and wrap halfway up his calves. They're warm and soft-soled, and it's a little bit like wearing really thick socks. The pants are tight and accentuate all the right spots, as far as he is concerned, and he can't wait to see Hawkeye in them.
In addition to that, he wears a long tunic that almost falls down to his knees, but is cut in a way that doesn't hinder his movements. It is, Thor explained to them, custom to bring one's weapons to the Great Hall, and Tony, unwilling to wear the Ironman suit all night long, compromised and quickly came up with a way to integrate pieces of repulsor technology and a few small surprises into the gauntlets he is wearing.
Completing his outfit is a thick cape with a thick fur collar, and the chain mail Thor gave him as a present - it's light, not constricting his movements at all, but Thor assures him that it will protect him from even the sharpest of weapons.
A sharp knock against his door makes him turn away from the mirror, the cape swishing against the stone floor, and he clenches his hand in the glove, activating the repulsor just in case, and calls out "Yeah?"
The door opens, and Tony's breath catches in his throat almost against his will.
Of course he recognizes that it's Natasha and not one of the valkyries. Of course he does. Natasha is unique, she's his teammate, and she looks sleek and dangerous in her own outfit - high boots, tight pants, the glitter of body armor under the bodice. Her collarbones are visible, her skin pale and delicate across them until she shifts and her own fur cloak falls down, hiding her skin from view.
She's wearing her usual gloves, her Widow's bite, but there's a long knife dangling from her belt, and she's brushed out her hair and let it fall loosely around her face, red and fierce like flames, and Tony tries to find words to describe her and utterly fails.
"You look amazing," he finally manages. "I..."
He wants to tell her that he can't wait to see her out of those clothes, spread out across the furs on the bed, skin pale and creamy, just waiting for him - for the others too - to worship her body like it deserves.
Instead, he just walks over, takes her hand and squeezes it briefly.
~~~
Natasha has been wearing leather for as long as she cares to remember. Her Black Widow costume is sturdy and protects her well enough, and it feels like a second skin when she slides it on.
She wears dresses and skirts when she's undercover, and she knows the feeling of silk on her skin and appreciates its soft touch as much as the next girl, but silk doesn't protect her from bullets, from road rash when she has to cut an assignment short and flee, for whatever reason, when she has to jump and kick and fight.
This, she thinks, she could get used to.
She can move easily, jump and stretch in all directions without any fabric ripping. The silk and leather of her clothes move with her, hugging her and brushing against her skin gently. The boots are perfect for sneaking through hallways without being heard, and there's a spot on her belt where she can put the dagger Thor gave her for her birthday.
The fur cloak is thick and soft where it rests against her bare skin. The clasp at the throat opens easily, and she knows that she won't get strangled with it. It has a hood to hide her hair under, if she needs to remain anonymous, and she almost wishes she could take it home with her.
It reminds her a little bit of Russia.
Natasha doesn't get homesick, especially not for Russia, but sometimes, she catches the fleeting memory of a man with a fur hat, a woman with a soft coat holding her hand and brushing a hand over her head. She doesn't know if this is a real memory or if it was implanted by the Red Room, and she tries not to let it bother her.
When she's dressed, she leaves the room Thor showed her to check up on the rest of the Avengers. She moves quietly, fabric brushing gently against her skin, and she doesn't know if it's the teasing touch or the coldness of the hallway that make her body shiver slightly.
She finds Tony first, standing in front of a mirror and inspecting himself.
He looks good, she can admit that much, in his Asgardian outfit. He added a little bit of a personal touch, she sees, the red Ironman gauntlets catching the candlelight and reflecting it slightly. She can see the blue glow of the repulsor and it makes her oddly proud, that Tony is learning not to trust people blindly.
She doesn't understand that feeling. She knows that this constant state of paranoia is not good, that he will break under the strain if he isn't careful, but he's learning to protect himself properly, in long, painful lessons with her and Steve, and the man she sees now has little in common with the broken and dying man he had been on their first meeting.
She likes the man he is now much better, especially when he steps up to her, his eyes impossibly wide, giving him an air of vulnerability, and takes her hand in his.
They make a striking pair, the two of them, and Natasha knows it will only get better when their teammates join them. But for now, it's her and Tony, and he still looks so starstuck that she tugs him close by his hand and kisses him.
She doesn't give him the chance to react, just slips her tongue into his mouth and tangles her hands in the soft fabric of his clothes. Her fingertips are bare, and she slides them down his body, feels the shirt of mail Thor gave Tony, an apology for hitting Tony with the hammer when Tony wasn't in his armor.
"Do we have time?" Tony asks, his voice pitched low, his hands resting on her hips, and Natasha thinks for a split second and decides that yes, they do have time for this, as long as they hurry up.
~~~
They strip just as much as they need to, shirts rucked up and pants pulled down, and they don't stop kissing. Tony's gauntlets fall to the floor next to the bed, followed by her belt, and then she's on her back on a thick layer of furs and Tony is covering her.
His coat is falling around them, cocooning them, and Natasha presses herself into his touch, her hand in his hair and his lips pressed to her collarbone, sucking gently and swirling his tongue over her skin. His other hand is between her legs, rubbing and circling and teasing, and she can stand it only for so long before she has to move.
Soft silk brushes against her breasts, sending spirals of arousal through her body, and Tony moans gently and doesn't fight when she grips his ass with both hands and pulls him down, into her, in one slow thrust.
"No time," she murmurs into his ear, adding a bite just because she can. Fur tickles her cheek, silk rubs against her legs and breasts, and she feels like burning.
"I know," he replies and kisses her, oddly gentle, before he pulls out and starts to fuck her in earnest, angling his hips in a way she likes.
She runs his hands over his back, feeling silk and velvet and fur and the hidden strength of his muscles against her fingers, against her knees, her bare stomach, and every brush of fabric against her skin makes the flames burn hotter and her hips snap sharper up, against him, urging him on and on and on.
Tony moves with her, touches and kisses her, his lips cool and his tongue hot against her skin, smooth like silk while his beard is tickling like the fur she's lying on, his hands catching slightly against her like the best velvet, and she arches up against him, takes him deeper, kisses him and rides the waves shuddering through her entire body.
"You're amazing," Tony pants, his lips now pressed against her cheek, her ear. He retaliates for the bite with a wet lick, breathes against her skin just to watch her shudder as aftershocks race along her nerve endings and make her buck up again, and then, he is coming as well, his groan muffled against her shoulder again.
She likes her uniform, she thinks as she lies there panting, likes how she can move in it, but this, the silk and fur and velvet, this she could get used to very easily.
Tony presses tiny kisses against her throat and leans up on one elbow. His hair is sticking up wildly, his face is flushed, and he grins widely when he says, "I can't wait to see the others."
Natasha can only agree.