Not A Virgin: Chapter 1 (Steve Rogers one-shots)

Here it is, the bane of my recent schedule! I really ended up writing more for this than I planned, so much that I delayed posting it and ended up missing the day I planned to upload it. In the end I broke it up into two chapters instead of one, the second of which will be going up within the hour. I know most of you are probably more interested in Percy Jackson stories, but I do want to diversify a little, and I have so many ideas for Marvel stuff.

Everyone's convinced that Steve Rogers must be a virgin, but they couldn't be more wrong. The serum made him more than just the ultimate soldier, it made him the ultimate man. It was only a matter of time before the women in his life learned that first-hand, one by one.

In other words, Steve Rogers fucks different women of the marvel universe. There is no over-arching plot beyond the set up within each anecdote. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

A Friendly Spar

Steve Rogers watched the punches coming at him virtually in slow-motion and tried not to feel disappointed.

He raised his guard and blocked one before ducking the follow-up. In one motion he straightened back up, using the momentum to fuel an uppercut that lifted the opponent off his feet.

The man, a fit but nondescript brunette in black combat fatigues, hit the ground in a groaning heap. Steve approached him, bending over and holding out a hand. 

“Good effort,” Steve told him.

The man managed a faint smile, but his voice had been knocked out of him along with the wind in his chest. He found his feet and staggered back to a small crowd of identically-dressed men. 

“Anyone else ready to give it a go?” Steve asked.

The group of S.H.I.E.L.D. exchanged looks. More than a few were clutching bruises and injuries through their clothes after ending up like the most recent brunette. When nobody stepped forward, Steve just about managed to keep his sigh to himself.

These were supposed to be among the strongest elites in the world. Fury set him up with these men specifically in the hope they’d help Steve keep his edge, and that maybe Steve would shape them into something better along the way. Instead, it had been a succession of quick knockouts that ended each bout as quickly as Steve chose to. It was frustrating.

He wasn’t being fair to them. They were talented, and their drive was plain to see just from the fact that they were still standing. But in his head, Steve wasn’t comparing them to civilians. Since coming out of the ice he’d fought gods, aliens, and the son of an old friend in a suit stronger than a tank and faster than any car. He wanted to be better, so that the next time something came looking to snuff out life as they knew it, Steve would have the best chance possible of sending them packing.

A hand popped up from the crowd. 

“Is that offer open to me too?” asked a woman’s voice.

The agents split to reveal the newcomer, a red-haired woman in a modified sleeveless training top. Natasha Romanoff placed her hands on her hips and smiled. 

“Natasha,” Steve greeted. “Nice to see you.” 

“Just call me Nat,” said the spy. “I’d say we’ve been through enough for that, starting about the time we saved the world together.”

She sauntered through the crowd until she was standing directly in front of him. When she stopped, one hand found her hip again while the other hung loose by her side.

Natasha Romanoff was an enigma to Steve, but one he was pretty sure he liked. In some ways, the gorgeous redhead felt like the epitome of this new world he barely understood— flashy and beautiful, yet inscrutable at the same time, with a dark side kept out of the light of day.

From the little he knew, the woman was someone with a bad past doing her best to make a better future. That was something he could respect. 

“So?” Natasha — Nat, he caught himself — prompted. “Am I invited to this little sparring session?” 

“If you want.” Even though his voice was level, Steve’s fingers twitched with anticipation. This was it: the challenge he’d been looking for. “Seems I wasn’t getting more takers.”

Some of the agents looked at the floor, while others blushed. Steve hadn’t meant it as a jab but they probably weren’t used to this kind of situation. There were a grand total of three people on the whole Helicarrier that could lay them out so easily, and now two of them happened to be staring each other down on the training mats. 

“Excellent!” Nat grinned a little too brightly for someone that just agreed to a fight. “I was just thinking I was getting rusty.”

She bent down and touched her toes, running through a quick set of extreme stretches as easily as breathing. Steve put his right arm straight across his chest, pushing the shoulder until it popped. He did the same for the other side. 

“The last time I sparred Barton, he almost got me,” Nat said. “In hand-to-hand combat, even. That’s how you know I’ve gotten bad.  This should wake me up.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Steve said.

Nat smiled. “I know you won’t.”

Without any more words she got into position to spring forward. Steve raised his guard. They each took a deep breath, and it began.

Nat moved first. She sent three sharp punches at Steve’s jaw, but the super soldier knocked each aside. She twirled, launching a high-kick as effortlessly as the punches. The attack came without any wasted movement, but Steve’s near-superhuman reflexes weren’t for show. He caught her boot.

Turning, Steve used the grip to throw Nat over his shoulder. It seemed to work, until halfway through the motion she flipped to land on her feet. She tried to sweep his legs, but Steve hopped the attack. She kept spinning to launch a back-kick while he was in the air, boot aimed at his liver. Steve blocked, although the force threw him off-balance. Seeing he was going to land on his back, Nat tried to press him, but Steve fended her off with a drop kick. 

He rolled through his landing, on his feet in a flash. His last attack landed, but only against Nat’s guard. All it earned him was a bruise across the forearms. 

“You’re pretty good without your shield,” Nat said. 

“I try my best,” Steve said. 

“Oh yeah? Then how about this, soldier boy.”

Nat closed the distance. When Steve launched a punch, she dodged it and then some, wrapping her arms around his and hauling herself up. A moment later her legs stretched across his chest with the ankles locked. An armbar.

It was an MMA staple for a reason. Once locked in, breaking the opponent's elbow could be as easy as squeezing. Steve found himself blushing, but not from pain.

He shouldn’t be paying attention to something like this, but he couldn’t help himself. Nat’s training shirt, made up of tight, thin athletic material, hugged her form as tightly as a second skin. It made it very hard not to notice his arm being wedged in the cleavage between two very nice breasts— and apparently, he wasn’t the only one seeing it.

From the crowd of agents, someone whistled. The others looked like they thought that was crazy, but it was impossible to tell which of them had done it. Steve’s blush worsened. He decided it was time to get out of this.

Not by tapping out, of course.

Steve raised his trapped arm, Natasha and all, with only a brief grunt of exertion. The spy’s eyes widened as her whole body was suddenly swung toward the ground.

Only Steve’s fist hit the training mat. Natasha twirled the moment she recognized what was happening, spinning around his back to grasp his other arm. To avoid a repeat she hadn’t gone for another armbar. Instead, she positioned herself in front of him, upside-down, holding his own arm across his body. Her legs looped around Steve’s neck, hooking behind his head.

Steve had a new problem, and it wasn’t his dwindling oxygen supply. Their newest position left him with a face-full of Natasha’s crotch.

Her strong, lithe legs were tight against his head, their grip unrelenting. They kept him pressed so tightly to her, ahem, pelvic region, that Steve would’ve felt guilty about simply breathing, if he could breathe at all. Through the haze of his blurring vision, Steve caught some jealous looks off the watching agents. He thought he saw some smirks, too. Looked like he’d be taking them for some second rounds after this, volunteers or no.

His embarrassment made him hesitate, which was dangerous in a match like this, especially at this kind of moment. He had to act now.

The hand freed from the armbar reached up, gripping Natasha’s ankle. He had no leverage, and one arm should struggle to overpower a leg. Steve wasn’t just anybody, though. Inch by inch, he pried Natasha’s submission hold open with a single hand.

The agents had forgotten all about the suggestiveness of their position now. Awe, fear, or something similar colored their faces. For the first time in the spar, Nat’s eyes widened. It was nice to know even she could show shock.

She threw a kick at Steve’s head, forcing him to release her leg, and spun for one final desperate submission hold, bringing herself around to Steve’s back and going for a classic headlock. Again Steve felt the pressure of her breasts against him, this time pressed to the base of his neck. Those things really were big, weren’t they? But he’d had enough of suggestive positions for one day. Reaching back, his fist latched onto the collar of Nat’s training shirt. Before she could complete the submission hold, he dragged her straight over his head.

She flipped in the air, but it was far less graceful than the purposeful ones from earlier. The eventual landing on the mats was hard and face-first, violent enough she must’ve been seeing stars. Before she could get her bearings Steve was straddling her, pinning her arms behind her back to hold her down. It was his win.

“Should we leave?” a voice asked.

The question from one of the agents jarred Steve back to Earth. More than a few of them were smirking now, and it didn’t take Steve long to realize why. Apparently, he hadn’t thought the ‘suggestive positions’ part through all the way.

As he straddled Nat, holding her down, he had one hand pinning her arms to her back and another placed firmly below her neck. His crotch had ended up pressed harshly against her voluptuous backside. In a different setting, with less attire between them, it wouldn’t have looked at all out of place on some of the less-than-savory websites Tony had personally insisted that Steve check out.

He quickly released Nat and hopped to his feet, coughing a bit awkwardly. “Cool it with the wisecracks.”

For the first time since waking up in this new time, he was happy the Howling Commandos hadn’t made the trip with him. If they ever caught wind of this, he’d never make it a day without getting teased for the rest of his life.

Nat rose to her feet next to him. Taking a hit was just one on a long list of skills Steve had seen from the woman. 

“I should train with you more often, Rogers,” she said. Then she winced a little, holding the side of her head. “Maybe not too often, though.” 

“Not interested in a second round?” Steve asked.

Compared to the bouts earlier, fighting Nat was exactly what he’d been after. Someone that made him work for his win. But Nat shook her head.

She cast half an eye to the watching agents as she said, “Later. I will take you up on that rematch offer, though.”

Steve smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Natasha strolled away, leaving the room the same way she came in. As she passed, the agents watched her from behind, their eyes fixed rather low. There was a lot to look at there, Steve had to admit. Not that he was giving them a pass.

“Where do you think you all are looking?”

The agents spun back to face Steve. He punched the palm of his hand, smiling. 

“I’ve just lost my sparring partner, so come at me. This time, just do it all at once.”

One agent, looking particularly pale, said, “Is this about the jokes, Sir?” 

“Who knows?” 

Steve looked at the agents. They looked back at him. The silence stretched. 

“Are you coming to me… Or am I going to have to come to you?”

With that they finally charged, and Steve lost himself in sparring once again.

Call him old fashioned — he’d heard worse before — but Steve kept a strict schedule. In bed before ten, up and ready to face the world by five A.M. The routine was just one way he worked to find a little familiarity in this confusing future.

When the sparring finished and he sent the agents on their way, it was already getting late. He grabbed a quick, mostly tasteless dinner from the mess hall and tossed himself in the shower. Then he headed to his room, fully intent on getting some shut-eye.

A knock stopped that before he’d done more than pull the covers back. Steve frowned.

The quarters Fury had given him were lavish— a big comfortable bed, kitchenette, dining table, and even a wide workout area with mats like a smaller version of the room he’d visited today. Steve figured the man’s plan was to make him as comfortable as possible on the Helicarrier to get him to stay longer, extending the time S.H.I.E.L.D. had him at their disposal. It wasn’t working all that well. Usually, Steve just felt lost in the cavernous space, and he still hadn’t found a use for half the amenities. To make it worse, the suite was buried in an out-of-the-way corner of the flying base. You had to make a trip specifically to it. So far in the week Steve had been there, nobody had.

Until now.

Curiosity had him opening the door in seconds. On the other side, he found a familiar face in an unfamiliar outfit.

Natasha stared at him with her usual unflappable gaze, standing in the empty corridor outside wearing a black-and-red robe. The bath variety, not like those fictional wizards Steve kept hearing about. She tilted her head. 

“I want a rematch,” she said.

Steve stared. “You want to spar now?” 

“I almost had you earlier. It’ll be different this time.” She walked past him, into his room, as if he agreed and invited her in. Seeing her move to the training mats, Steve shut the door and followed, staring at her bemusedly.

“But… now?” Steve repeated.

“That headlock would’ve gotten you. You only got out of it because my collar gave you something to grab. That’s cheating.”

“Cheating?” Steve stared. If there was one person that respected underhanded methods, he expected to be Natasha. And pulling clothes was nothing in a fight.

Nat nodded. “Cheating,” she confirmed. “So we’re doing it again. And this time, it’ll be fair.”

Her robe slid off and fell to the floor.

Steve gaped. She stood in front of him in nothing but two lacy scraps that just barely shielded her modesty— a sheer thong and a bra that he swore was at least three sizes too small, swelling under her significant bust. Her tight stomach, milky shoulders and long legs were completely bare. 

“This time, I’m not losing,” Natasha said.