Author's Note: Mature Content Warning. Rating changing to M in Chapter 3.

February 14th

10:30 p.m.

Little Ukraine, New York

Several minutes later, a gentle breeze blew into the apartment through the open balcony doors. There was a soft classical Russian melody filtering into the outer living room through elegant hidden speakers. The overhead lighting had been slightly dimmed and a few candles had been added in select locations to provide ambiance illumination.

For Steve, the room was perfect. He was sitting with his back to the balcony, allowing the moonlight shining down to provide a natural glowing element to the glossy poster board resting in his lap. Having hung his dinner jacket on the back of a living room chair, his tie and clothing had been loosened to try to help him relax. He had been able to find some old markers in one of the drawers, and although they were not the best art utensils for portraits, he would find a way to make it work. For some reason, he found himself feeling slightly nervous, and he breathed a heavy sigh as he stretched his fingers to prepare.

A few moments later, the bedroom door opened. Dressed in beautifully elegant black and red ballet attire, Natasha didn't look at him as she gracefully glided to the center of the room. Her visage was focused and intense. Facing away from him, the spy dropped into a seated cross legged pose.

The soldier noticed the dip in the music pervading the room. The classical piece had just ended and was flowing with only a few string instruments into another segment. Steve smiled at the brilliance of the spy. When they had walked into the living room and had she started the music, she had known precisely how long it would take for her to change and prepare. Although almost ten minutes had passed, her timing was flawless. With intense anticipation, he held his pen at the ready.

Suddenly, there was a strong upturn in the orchestra, and the ballerina rose with it. She assumed a strong stance and posture, perfectly in accordance with the rhythm of the music. Then, she began an elegant gentle sway as the melody morphed into a flowing symphony.

With the moonlight behind him, the artist began to work feverishly. His hand moved all over his canvas at a rapid pace, capturing as much of the mosaic in front of him as humanly possible. He looked down at the paper intermittently, but his eyes stayed focused on the lovely performer.

Slowly, his keen vision began to take notice of the soul war taking place before him. Natasha swung into a practiced spin before executing a small leap then lifting onto her toes. With her mouth, she was murmuring to herself, and he recognized the names of the ballet movements and numbers. She was attempting to perform, and she was trying too hard.

"It's a dance, not a recital," The Captain whispered in a gentle voice, knowing that her enhanced senses would catch it over the music. "Stop fighting with it."

Natasha heard his whisper clearly. Just the bass of his voice seemed to have a calming effect on her. In her routine, she missed a step and held on her next pose, letting his perceptive words sink into her spirit. Then, she resumed, with even more fervor this time.

On the canvas, Steve's hand stopped moving. It wasn't happening. Looking through the eyes of love, he could clearly see Natasha's struggle, and he knew what was wrong.

The spy wasn't letting the performance inside. The music wasn't a part of her. She wasn't becoming the ballet.

Leaning forward in his chair, Steve's soothing voice was barely above a whisper.

"There is no dance. You are the dance. Become one with it."

Natasha spun upward into a pirouette, and turned toward him. She paused. Their eyes met.

A long moment lingered between them.

Then, Natasha closed her eyes. Using his strength, she let go, and in her mind became The Ballerina.

She spun smoothly to her right in a series of tip toe spins, eventually finding the rhythm of the music once again. Yet, this time, she wasn't listening to it. She began to feel it.

The difference was evident.

Natasha no longer told her physique what to do. She allowed her body to execute the visions in her mind. There was no separation between her thoughts and movements. It was the perfect dichotomy of being completely in control and simultaneously retaining no control. A higher level had opened up to her.

Steve stared openly at the sight of the lovely ballerina in front of him. Natasha was gone. He understood that he was now seeing Natalia exposed for the first time, the young woman underneath the tough exterior.

She was beautiful, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

The ballerina's movements were now sweeping, flowing and graceful, encompassing her entire being. She spun and slid over a wider area of the room, feeling the boundaries around her and navigating them effortlessly. When she took to the air, she no longer jumped, but instead slid into it as if a part of it, descending seamlessly back into another exquisite expression.

Only when she spun three times drawing near to him, did he finally snap out of his reverie of admiration. She purposefully created a slight wind to ruffle his papers, making him blink his eyes and shake his head. With a gleam in her eye which was from the depths of her soul, she smiled to him and spun completely around his chair in perfect precision. Then, she effortlessly floated back across the room to its center.

The soldier simply let his hand move. It would be impossible to capture all of the grandeur in front of him, but he hoped to catch at least some of its essence. His hand almost became a blur over the canvas.

The music quietly faded out into silence. The ballerina kept dancing. This new joy in her heart was deafening.

The sound of the artist's pen flowing over his work seemed loud for several more seconds, until the quiet was broken by the snapping of the utensil.

At that exact moment, the ballerina smoothly dropped to the floor, executing her final pirouette with an ease of precision.

The room was still and quiet around the two of them.

Natasha sat on the floor, back in the same cross legged position from which she had started her ballet, now breathing hard with her auburn hair having fallen over to cover her face. She held still, feeling the moment, enjoying the sensation, and realizing what had been the difference for her.

The difference… was Steve.

With eyes slightly blurred from exertion, Natasha looked up at him. As their eyes met, Steve raised his hands.

Three small claps.

Staring into her eyes, Steve was so overcome with admiration, amazement and enamor that it was all he could muster at that moment. It had truly been a soul stirring display.

To her, the sound of his three claps had been more applause than that of a deafening congregation. She could see his feelings in his eyes. It lifted her with a praise unlike any she had ever felt before in her life.

"I want to see it," said Natasha firmly, slowly regaining herself as she stood to her feet.

"What?" replied Steve, jarred out of his focus on her by the sound of her voice.

"I said I want to see it," she told him again as she stepped toward him.

"Well, I don't know about that," said the soldier, quickly standing to his feet and stepping around her. He turned to face her so that she couldn't see the canvas in his hands. "Things work a little differently in the art world, Nat. We… uhhh, need time to touch up the portraits before viewing and stuff like that," he said as he carefully backed away from her.

Natasha stared at the bashful soldier incredulously. Before her very eyes, it seemed as if she had watched this powerful soldier of a man, this strong warrior which she had seen face entire armies, this wise leader that had just given her the greatest gift of her entire life, morph from this six foot adonis to the cute young boy she had seen photographs of in his file. It was so humorous that she couldn't hold back her smile.

Well, she had just felt young and small when she had been in the midst of her performance, and he had been with her. Being exposed and open on such an… intimate… level could make a person feel young… like a child.

'Love is for children,' her own words echoed in her mind.

"Steve," she called to him in her sweet smoky voice as she caught his forearm. "Sit with me."

She pulled him down onto the sofa beside them to face her, not yet making a move for the canvas.

"Okay," he said with his boyish charm.

"Show me," Natasha whispered.

With a deep heavy sigh, the soldier relented. After another moment of hesitation, he turned the canvas around. The spy reached for it quickly, intending to snatch it out of his hand before he could change his mind.

Her fingers froze in the air. Her hand withdrew slightly, then stayed still. She stopped breathing.

The simple portrait had come out as more of a mural or a mosaic, in her honor. The gloss of the canvas seemed to make the entire image shine off of the paper, almost as if it were a three dimensional image. The flat surface was somehow full of life and energy and movement.

In the center of it was her cross legged pose, and it had bold edges highlighting it to bring it forward. The background was lighter, and filled with various poses and positions of her outstretched forms, her arms extended, her legs swinging, her body floating. It was literally a dance captured on paper. Only a truly skilled artisan could be capable of such a feat.

To Natasha's eyes, it was a masterpiece. Never before had she seen herself with such life and vibrance. In her own eyes, she had never looked so beautiful.

"Well, what do you think?" the soldier asked shyly.

Before she could realize what she was doing, Natasha grabbed the canvas and leaned forward to kiss Steve on his lips. The touch was warm, heady and forceful, and it immediately opened the door upon years of hidden passion between them.

The canvas dropped to the sofa beside them.

The rest of the night passed in a dazed passion filled haze of moments, images and sensations for the two lovers…

… Natasha kissing Steve, pulling him with her up from the sofa, the two of them unable to part…

… Steve lifting Natasha into his arms, carrying her toward the bedroom…

… both of them lying down on top of her bed, both feeling that every second they had to part to remove their clothes was a moment too long…

… Natasha pushing Steve's shirt off over his shoulders, her fingers grazing over a manly torso more perfect than she had ever even imagined…

… the soldier, undressing her slowly, literally kissing every inch of her skin that he exposed, pulling her dress down off over her legs…

… Natasha pushing Steve over onto his back, straddling him…

… foreheads leaning against one another as she joined their bodies for the first time, the sensations overwhelming…

… slow tender lovemaking, giving way to hot and heavy heated passion, building toward a blazing crescendo…

… nearly unintelligible words in Russian, slipping from her lips in a haze of desire…

… the super soldier, slowing down, waiting for the spy's assurances that her serum would keep his enhanced strength from hurting her…

… the spy, passionately drawing him back to her with vigorous motion, wanting him to not hold back, desperate to have all of him…

… experiencing their first climax together, a blisteringly blinding blissful release of years of restrained sensual desire for one another…

… collapsing onto their sides in ecstasy, still kissing, softly caressing, unable to let go…

… holding each other close tenderly…

… dozing…

… waking…

… with him still inside her…

… a virgin sensation for Natasha, overwhelming with her defenses down, her entire being open and laid bare for the first time…

… in this moment of her greatest vulnerability, Steve making her feel more cherished and loved than ever before in her life, kissing her tenderly all over her face…

… their spark of passion, reignited with warm searing fervor…

… Steve holding Natasha underneath him, making love to her, slowly, gently, lovingly…

… their bodies barely moving, yet experiencing sensations piercing them to their very souls…

… another mutual release together, gentle this time, washing over them like a wave, the two of them holding each other above the tidal current in their embrace, kissing through the soft moans of their climax…

… a sweet tender afterglow, filled with warm kisses, soft caresses, and gentle touches…

… the spy, whispering for a bath…

… the soldier, carrying her in his arms again …

… bathing together, the basin clouded with steam around them, as they once again became steamy…

… two hearts, experiencing the peace that only a true love can bring…

… Their senses returned to them in the midst of the warm water, gathering some semblance of themselves after sharing so much together. Both of them knew that it was only a brief respite, as the feelings between them were far from being sated, if they indeed ever would be, and they would have to have one another again soon. After they rinsed off and prepared to get out of their long extended relaxing bath, Steve again picked Natasha up in his arms to whisper sweetly in her ear.

"I think I need more practice."

"Everybody needs practice."

February 15th

07:14 a.m.

LIttle Ukraine, New York

As the sunrise began to shine over the horizon on the morning after Valentine's Day, the sky seemed a little brighter than usual. There was a gleam in the clouds with the rays of the sun reflecting off the beautiful skyline. The precipitation in the air almost had a gentle sparkle to it, like lights falling through the atmosphere.

Standing out on her balcony in her satin black bathrobe with red trim edges, Natasha watched the sun in a quiet contemplative mood. Wind blew gently across the open space, softly blowing her auburn hair across her eyes in its wake.

She felt as if her life had changed. It was initially difficult for her to identify her emotions, because she was so often out of touch with them. She now felt different somehow.

It seemed as if she were a princess in one of the fantasy novels or romance movies she always adored. As a Russian woman, she had always loved romance. Last night with Steve had been… beyond perfect. Things like this just didn't happen in her life. All of this was too good to be true.

"Can I ask you something?" the whisper of Steve's voice rumbled in her ear as his muscular arms wrapped around her slim waist from behind. "You don't have to answer it, but if you don't answer it, that's kind of like answering it, though."

"What?" asked Natasha with a grin as she remembered her own words, holding his arms more tightly around her.

"Did you do anything fun on Valentine's Day?"

The Beginning…