Out of all the things Natasha has imagined herself doing with her life, this definitely isn't one of them - balancing on her knees and bending over the lap of her pimp as she does lines of coke off of his white forearm. Although he isn't a dealer himself, Loki always seems to have the best stuff and she can't possibly refuse when he demands she take a hit. Denying him would mean returning home - if she's lucky, since sometimes the selfish Aesir held her for days - sporting a fresh black eye and attracting the attentions of Steve who'd be all over her in a heartbeat, acting every bit the caring father.
Shakily, the redhead pulls away from the other, his piercing green hues boring into her skull, and unceremoniously wipes her nose clean with a rather unflattering sniffle.
"How much?" Natasha murmurs and Loki allows himself a throaty chuckle. Her head is spinning and she feels the euphoria setting in.
"Seven lines. Almost the entire gram."
"Fuck," She hisses. "You were supposed to stop me at four."
Normally Loki is nothing but calm and collected; with the job he has, being anything but would get him in a world of trouble. However, this is his place, his own private house of whores, and when one of those whores says a word against him, even the slightest of whispers, then you can fucking bet that he's not going to be all puppies and kittens. Within seconds, Loki grabs Natasha by the hair, tugging so hard she swears she hears the strands literally rip from their pores, and pulls her close, his breath cool and acrid against her skin.
"I was supposed to stop you?"
The next thing she knows, her hips are pressed painfully against the edge of a nearby table, hands splayed out on the surface where, earlier, Loki had carefully cut her first rails. He's forcing her forward, one hand still entangled within her curls and the other raking at the small of her back. He has half a mind to break her fucking skull, to smash her pretty little head against that mahogany top until he can paint pictures with her blood, but he won't because Natasha's his favourite, his golden girl - that and he can't risk another visit from Fury and his merry band of boys in blue. They've already been called twice within the past month and it doesn't help that he'd finally decided to put a bullet in the brain of that ungrateful bitch Maria for bringing in less than a hundred bucks that week. Fury will be suspicious, he always is when it comes to Loki and his run-down, yet somehow popular, dump of a club. Although he's not doing much in the way of restricting her air, Natasha is having trouble as she squrims and writhes beneath Loki's hands. With a bit of a grunt, he pulls her up, again by the hair, and against his lanky frame. Her nose burns and her body aches; all she wants to do is go home, but that isn't happening until Loki graciously gives her permission. Well, at least she's not dead yet.
"You know full fucking well how our arrangement works, little spider. You knew when to stop, but you kept going, didn't you?"
Of course she did. If it were any other day, Natasha would have inhaled that fourth line and stopped unless he told her otherwise, and it's a rare occurence when Loki tells her to do more than four lines a gram. Silently, the female nods her head and stares intently at her feet as his hands slide from her hair, slender fingers wrapping themselves around her neck like snakes, and when she doesn't respond verbally, his grasp tightens. He feels the strain in her muscles and the pull of her tendons, so easily torn and broken, as she swallows whatever bile had risen in her throat. Once again, he feels the urge to cause her pain, immense pain, and he should in the way of punishment for that mouth of hers and the gram of pricey cocaine she'd nearly downed; it's hard to resist. Instead, Loki takes her chin in one hand and twists her head round, leaning in until green eyes meet blue.
"Didn't you?" He growls, emphasising each word through gritted teeth.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
Natasha doesn't hestiate in answering. Her words are short, clipped - she's long since lost the high that would've lasted longer had she not been so careless, and niether does she particularly feel like being rewarded with a beating tonight. All she wants is to let the guy fuck her and get the hell out, though it won't suprise if she's feeling better by the time they finish, she always does.
"Yes, master."
Loki narrows his eyes, closes the gap between them and crushes his lips against her own. The full on kiss that ensues is not gentle, anything but chaste, and holds the potential for something more. Natasha's mouth is a thinly painted line, though she doesn't think twice as she parts her lips and allows Loki's prodding tongue to slither past, immediately finding the other in a devilish dance of flesh and saliva. He tastes of alcohol and she does as well, though he always seems to find a certain taste about her tongue - a strange, otherworldly flavour that somehow reminds him of blood and a sweet fruit that he can't seem to put his finger on - though how she has come to acquire that taste, even he doesn't know. He's already flipping her body so that she's facing him, and Natasha can't help the moan that tears itself from her throat as Loki haphazardly makes a grab for her shirt, pulls it up and is fondling her lace ridden breasts in one fell swoop. Her bra is literally nothing but a thin, weary piece of lace and cloth, practically useless save for the fact that she's able to feel every sweep of Loki's cold, calloused hands as her nipples pearl and harden beneath them. The music drifting in from the room beyond fills her ears as he continues, his mouth drifting to her lower lip, her jawline, her collar bone. He has this sickening grin tugging at his lips, one that makes Natasha want to slap it right off his damn face, but also one that she knows all too well. It's the same grin he wore the night they met, and the same grin that silently tells her that the time for worship is now.
Loki isn't about to let Natasha off easily, nor is he going to allow her pleasure before his own.
"Kneel."
Natasha has always assumed that it's his favourite word, and the way he says it is enough to send shivers down down her spine. He has this whole theory about how Humans are meant to be ruled, about how they need domination and while that may be true for Natasha who finds herself guilty of loving Loki's dominance, not everyone feels the same way. But the liquid heat that pools in her lower belly each and every time he tells her to get on her knees, is evidence enough of her need for him to rule her. It embarrasses her to think that such an independent and strong woman such as herself submits so willingly, like a dog rolling over for a treat - if Loki told her to jump, Natasha was damn well sure she'd ask how high.
She sinks to her knees, her sapphire hues still focused on his own, and reaches out with cautious but eager hands to find his trouser buttons, pleased that he didn't request she use her teeth. Loki's hands are already in her hair, idly fingering through the auburn strands as Natasha finds his cock, errect and hard. Just the sight of it makes her shudder with anticipation and she immediately leans forward and pushes him into her mouth, tongue already making its rounds as it swirls and rubs against the head. Loki lets out a pleasured groan and Natasha almost smiles against his cock, already anxious for his climax, anxious to feel it, hot and heavy as it runs down her throat or stains her skin.
"Fuck, Tasha." Loki manages to grunt as he begins thrusting his hips, shoving himself farther down her throat.
Almost too quickly, he's already pushed himself to the hilt, his entire length pulsing against the walls of her throat. Natasha loves the feel of his cock in her mouth, the way it slides along her lips as she all but sucks him dry. God, it's really all she can do not to reach down with the hand that isn't squeezing his balls, and play with herself. She's horny as hell and probably won't be getting any anytime soon, but touching herself before he comes is against the rules and would only earn her a run of the whip. After what happened last time Loki used it, Natasha can't really afford another trip to the hospital again, nor does she want to think of some near believable excuse as to why her body would be littered with red, bleeding welts. Explaining that to Steve was damn near horrific, though Natasha could tell that he needed no excuses. He knows what she does to earn her keep and although it sickens him and he'll never approve, there is nothing Steve can do.
She's humming as she works her way around, sending vibrations up the length of his shaft and drawing a moan from his lips. It's quick but he's close, so close and Natasha is silently praising herself. Several more strokes of her tongue, an inhale, along with the hollowing of her cheeks and Loki pulls his cock from her mouth and allows himself one last groan as he comes in her face - and that's just when an frustrated and angry Agent Clint Barton bursts through the door. The whole scene is one big fucking mess and Natasha can clearly see the myriad of expressions that simueltaneously manage to taint Clint's features. Confusion, anger, pain, overwhelming jealousy. Years ago, back when Natasha was an acceptable, albeit extremely poor, member of society and a senior in high school, she'd been in a relationship with Clint. She'd always had a thing for older guys and he was one of the nice ones; fuck, Steve even approved of him and it wasn't often that he approved of Natasha's boyfriends. Clint took pretty good care of Natasha and even gave her some cash here and there when she really needed it, maybe she even loved him a little, as he did her. But a year or two later when Clint became an official officer, working under Fury, Natasha ditched him for Loki and immersed herself in a life of dirty sex and drugs. She was wrecked and Clint wanted to help her so desperately, to see the face of the Natasha he once knew, but she turned him down at every chance he got.
Now, Clint is trying his hardest not to look at Natasha, with Loki's cum practically dripping from her cheeks, her hair tousled and eyes bloodshot. She's confused as to why he's there, why he had suddenly gained the nerve to fucking kick the door down like some Hollywood movie ninja, but there's still a job that needs finishing - Loki is even looking at her rather expectantly as he tucks himself back into his trousers, ignoring Clint for what it's worth. So, she makes a show of wiping Loki's seed from her face, or some of it anyway, places her fingers in her mouth and allows her tongue to run over them, sucking in a half-hearted parody of the oral pleasure she'd just given him. The salty taste is familiar, drawing a sly smile to her lips as her actions earn her a smirk of approval from Loki.
"What do you want, Barton?" The satisfied Aesir inquires, moving to pour himself a drink from a dated bottle of scotch. He sounds amused more than anything and Natasha finds that she enjoys watching him as he slinks about the room like a lion on the prowl. She won't move until he gives her the okay and when he does - it's nothing more than a wave of his hand, like he's some sort of fucking prince - she stands and adjusts her blouse, finally covering her exposed breasts. Her face is streaked and she fancies a shower (and Loki's fingers buried in her cunt, working her over, not to mention), but in all honesty, Natasha really wants to know why Clint has made an appearance because usually he wouldn't caught dead in Loki's place. It's either one or the other and in the end, despite the fact that she figures she'd have chance to get off in the privacy of a shower stall, Natasha chooses to wait.
"I'm here for Natasha."
At Clint's response, she all but jerks around to face him, brows furrowing in annoyance. So he's trying to take her away again, to get her help. How many times has she told him to fuck off now? A hundred, maybe more? It seems like every other day he finds her and orders that she give up the life she lives, but Natasha doesn't take orders unless they come from Loki himself. Loki, in fact, seems to find Clint's response favourable, as he still hasn't rid himself of the shit eating grin that taints his features.
"My apologies," He begins, as if trying to fight the urge to laugh in Clint's face. "But Natasha only sees a select few, well paying clients-"
"I don't see you paying up." Clint interjects lamely.
"Ah, yes, but you see, Agent Barton - Natasha is mine. She works for me, she serves me, therefore I own her. What, may I ask, is the point of paying to use something you own?"
The agent is silent and Natasha notices as he slowly reaches down to put a hand on the gun at his hip. It's probably some sort of comfort thing, but she doesn't take any chances and keeps a close eye on him. Clint can potentially blow Loki's brains out and call it self-defense. No one would question him, considering it's Loki, a big name in the crime syndicate and not some innocent bystander.
"Clint," Natasha finally lets out in an almost exasperated sigh. "I'll go with you. No questions, nothing. Just don't do anything stupid." She eyes the hand that's still resting on his gun as his finger strokes the trigger. Anyone can tell he's just itching to draw it, itching to feel the warm splatter of Loki's blood across his face. He's hated Loki even before Natasha came along, but now, he hates him even more for destroying what little innocence she had left. The man took everything Natasha had and ruined her, and she just let it happen. Clint, once again, is at a loss for words and only responds with a subtle nod as Natasha returns to Loki and looks him directly in the eyes. He quirks a brow, as if to question her motives and lifts a hand to Natasha's lip which she appears to be leaning down and kissing, but then that telltale sound of inhalation can be heard and it's obvious that Loki allows Natasha yet another hit of cocaine - for the road, one would say - and right in front of Clint, nonetheless. He's an officer of the law and should be reporting this, considering the use of cocaine in any form is undoubtedly illegal, though Clint could never bring himself to land Natasha in the slammer.
"Tomorrow, Natasha." Loki deadpans as she turns from him. He needs no response because they all know she's going to be back, there's no doubt about it. Natasha won't try to leave Loki, not for good, because he'll find her, always has. After several attempts at escape, Natasha realised that it was no use and simply gave in. She chose this life; She wanted it and still does, just like she chose Loki, wanted him and still does. Without him, Natasha is nothing, something she's been forcing herself to believe ever since they started this fucking thing they call relationship. She is his and that's the end of it. Period.