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Figuring out how to get into the ropes had been a challenge for Steve, and it showed how much Natasha respected him not to even ask the reasons why. She was simply swift, efficient, and thorough, guiding him into position and tying knots with a cunning skill. As she twined the rope around Steve, Natasha explained to him that she’d kept just enough slack to reach a pair of blunt tip scissors she’d placed under the pillow, accessible in an emergency, and she’d alerted JARVIS to the situation for Steve’s sake, instructing the system to page her if Steve used his safeword. Steve knew Natasha took the protocol seriously, and he appreciated her care.
Thor had mentioned once, casually, after a training exercise involving ropes and cord extraction, how he desired to one day perhaps see Steve trussed as they were, not in danger, but for pleasure, the noble Captain America tied down for his use alone.
The thought stayed with Steve longer than a passing comment might normally, and he let it brew in the back of his mind, planning and working and engineering precisely the right circumstances for such a scenario to take place.
Now, bindings tight around his arms and chest, ankles firmly tied to the bed posts, Steve was starting to fully appreciate the appeal. The feeling of helplessness was foreign, long-forgotten, and as Steve flexed against the ropes, he remembered the pleasure of being held down, used at someone else’s mercy however they saw fit. (Not that he would trade where he was now if he could, hindsight and all that, but sometimes, Steve really missed Bucky.) Writhing against the rough fiber, he felt that wave of desire wash over him, flooding his body with warmth, and he was hard against the sheets.
Natasha had given him an estimated arrival for Thor of about ten minutes, and though it seemed like an eternity, only a very short while had passed since she’d left his quarters.
Still, Steve couldn’t help but imagine the look on Thor’s face when he saw him, wrapped and presented like a gift, solely for Thor to do with him as wanted. The thought alone caused him to stiffen even more, hips rutting, writhing against the mattress.
There was just enough give that if Steve widened his thighs, he could get a good slide against the sheets. Arching his back, he felt the burn in his legs as he pressed down, yearning for more contact, for some friction, anything. (For a disciplined soldier, maybe self-regulation was something he needed to work on.)
Then Steve could hear the door open. Thor called out for him, making his way through the rooms, and then the steps halted suddenly, just beyond the doorframe to Steve’s bedroom.
The quiet was only punctuated by the jerky rise and fall of Steve’s chest against the bed. Thor, he of so many words, was utterly silent, and Steve could sense him approach, footfalls a thud against the carpet.
Steve strained back, yearning for contact, aching to see Thor’s face, when a large hand landed on the knotted rope around his ankle, slid up the back of his leg. The sensation was like a floodgate hurled open, the anticipation and the actuality fighting for dominance, and his palm moved until it rested on Steve’s ass, fit against the curve, and Steve could feel Thor, so close the warmth of his body radiated like a furnace. It stayed still, the only movement was the thrum of Thor’s heart fluttering under the skin of his wrist, thudding against Steve’s body.
"Please," he moaned, even though Steve didn’t know where he wanted Thor to start, what he wanted from him, the single plea was all he could muster.
Thor bent down, and Steve could finally see the expression on his face, reverent and predatory at the same time, eyes flickering with want.
"I hope you’re comfortable, Captain. It’s going to be a long night."