Monsters

Natasha swallowed and held her eyes closed so firmly that it hurt. Her hand followed the length of Clint's forearm and she pushed her fingers through his, squeezing the back of his hand and pressing it firmly against her collar. He gave a quiet grunt and shifted in his sleep, his nose nestling closer in the crook of her neck.

This is where you want to be. This is where you belong. Safe. Warm. With Clint.

She swallowed again and listened to the sound of his steady, rhythmic breathing. Her lungs drew in air, held, and exhaled in time with his. Her free hand clutched the edge of her pillow so firmly that the blood drained from her knuckles.

A breeze passed through the open window, brushing lightly across Natasha's bare neck and shoulder. She gasped.

Stop it. Stop. It. You don't—no, don't even think it. It's sick. He's sick. You said it yourself, he's a—

Natasha shuddered and her eyes flew open, pale green specks in the fluid darkness of her bedroom. Clint shifted again at her movement and she felt her stomach turn, her skin crawl. This wasn't right. None of it was right. Carefully she slipped out from under his arm, deftly sliding her pillow against his chest to fill the empty space she left on the mattress.

She stood, frozen, caught between the bed and the door. She looked back and forth, her eyes alternating between Clint's sleeping frame and the living room, barely visible through the crack between the door and the jamb. This was the third night in a row she'd snuck out of bed, unable to shut out the words still winding through her mind, unable to forget the feel of those hands, cold even through the thick fabric of her suit...unable to sleep wrapped in Clint's hot, clumsy arms.

The assassin swallowed again as she stood in the darkness, her fingers shaking and her eyes darting back and forth. She felt as though she were caught in her own web, helplessly staring on at the advancing spider, pincers clicking threateningly, spindly legs carrying its round body, fat with venom, closer and closer until she was staring into its eight, unblinking eyes. The vision made her shudder again, her head shaking back and forth to clear it, but the feeling, the web, remained.

Another breeze wafted in through the window, and goosebumps erupted over her pale skin.

Natasha moved over to the closet and opened it without a sound. Gingerly she slid the back panel aside, revealing a hidden alcove in which she stored her catsuit and gear. She changed quickly, as quietly as she could despite how heavily Clint was sleeping, and strapped into her things. Her fingers still shook, making the process slower and unusually difficult, but soon she stood, fully dressed, in the doorway. She gave the archer's sleeping face one last long look before she clenched her jaw and turned her back on him.

Less than an hour passed before Natasha found herself striding down the dimly lit, underground corridor, the faint ring of white light at its end beckoning her, making a mockery of the dark, filthy desires that drew her to it. Her jaw was still clenched, the muscles behind her ears beginning to grow sore although there was nothing she could do to relax. The verb "relax" had left her vocabulary three days ago. Her eyes didn't so much as twitch toward the glass barrier as she passed it. She was focusing on this descent into Hell one step at a time.

She pressed her hand to the identification scanner.

The door released.

She stepped inside.

When Natasha finally allowed herself to look up, her cold gaze connected immediately with Loki, standing as he was in the center of the cell. His expression almost surprised her. He seemed to regard her with apprehension, his eyes narrowed and his head turned only slightly, as though he were preparing himself for whatever she might do. His hands hung loosely at his sides. His posture suggested nothing threatening.

She took some satisfaction in knowing that her reaction to his advances bothered him.

Unflinching, her icy glare still locked in place, she quietly asked, "The cameras?"

Loki shook his head. He was unshackled and still able to use his magic, so she trusted that he'd probably been concealing their interactions for quite some time. If not, she knew where they kept the footage.

Her eyes narrowed at him, the loathing in her gaze palpable. "You are a monster," she nearly growled at him, only barely restraining her contempt.

"With you, I can pretend to be nothing else," Loki replied delicately, his deep voice soft and measured.

Natasha's heart beat once.

A chill ran up her spine.

Twice.

A pang of guilt tore through her.

Thrice.

"Neither can I," she all but whispered, and with a few impossibly quick steps she closed the distance between them. Her hands connected with Loki's chest and she pushed him back, or rather he allowed her to push him back, until he connected with the metal wall on the other side of the cell. Her eyes burned into his armor as she began scrabbling at it, having no clue how in the hell any of it was supposed to come off. There were no noticeable buckles or ties anywhere on him, and as the first couple of seconds ticked by, she half expected him to laugh at her pathetic efforts and shove her backward again.

He did no such thing. The intricately woven leather and cloth fell away in a heap at his feet, leaving the upper half of his body exposed beneath her searching hands. Her palms connected with his cool chest and she shuddered, immediately pressing in against him as her fingers explored the curves of his lean muscles. He was chiseled, powerful, elegant...so unlike her short, stocky Clint.

Natasha's breathing was already growing a bit heavy as her fingertips connected with the hem of the pants he still wore. She began to fumble with them, having a bit more success this time around, as her lips pressed against the hollow at the base of his neck. She trailed them along his collar, jumping slightly when she heard all of her gear, her trusted weapons, clatter to the metal floor. Loki's long fingers curled in her hair and made a fist, pulling a faint whimper from her and forcing her to forget all about the loss of her security blankets.

The flame that chased her away days prior exploded in the core of her body once more, and the part of her that was still determined to punish him for making her feel this way, to punish herself for feeling this way, bit down directly on his collarbone, hard. A strained growl clawed out of his throat and he yanked her head back, his wolfish gaze capturing her own, caught somewhere between lust and fury. The zipper of her catsuit tore downward without warning, the fabric strewn across the floor only moments later. Loki's lips broke apart in that familiar, chaotic smile.

Natasha pulled her hand up and slapped it off his face.

He snarled at her and seized her by the waist, effortlessly spinning her and slamming her back into the cold, metal wall. Her arms were trapped between them as he pressed in closer, one of his hands drifting over her stomach and dipping between her legs. His cold finger slipped between her already wet folds and pressed against her clit, gliding mercilessly over it, his glinting, emerald eyes never leaving hers even as they rolled shut.

She cried out at his touch, her nails clawing at his skin. He pressed his fingertip against her opening but was careful to go no further, each tiny movement meant to make her squirm.

"Exquisite," he purred, his low voice heavy, almost breathless against her lips.

He slid his finger forward a fraction of an inch. Natasha's strained whimper broke over him and she dug her nails into his skin. She was so unfocused that it was the only way she had to cause him any measure of pain.

The move pulled a labored growl from the back of his throat as he pressed the cool digit into her body. She let out an uncontrollable, reluctant moan and her back arched. Her hands slid over his neck and into his dark hair, her eyes finally opening, her vision filling with his burning, hungry gaze.

Natasha's nerves were made of steel, but after barely a minute of Loki's painfully focused, meticulous attention they were white hot and coming apart all around her. Her body was on fire, quivering and trembling at his every touch, breathless whimpers and cries tumbling through her lips one after the other. She couldn't remember the last time she had wanted anybody as badly as she wanted him, all her efforts to cause him pain abandoned in favor of attempts to drag him ever closer.

Her leg slid along his as she hooked her knee over his bare hip; she had no idea when his pants had come off. One of her hands curled around the back of his neck, the other still lost in his black locks, her fingertips scratching mindlessly at his scalp. He bent his head, his lips brushing over her ear as he asked, "Is there something you need, Agent Romanoff?"

The god's voice felt like silk and daggers trailing across her skin, soft and cool and razor sharp. Natasha opened her mouth to answer as Loki began to pull his finger back, once again sliding it firmly along the most sensitive path of her body. Her words died in her throat and she let out a helpless whimper, her eyelids fluttering as she stared back at him, unspoken pleas for more swimming in her pale eyes.

Loki's hand wrapped around the underside of her thigh. She attempted to pick the leg up, to wrap herself around him, but he held her fast. "Tell me," he breathed, burning her up in the intensity of his gaze.

Her lips trembled, but she held her tongue. The last vestige of defiance left in her wouldn't let her beg for this, not from him.

He swept her leg out from under her and quickly closed what little distance remained between them. The open palm of his free hand collided with the wall beside her head hard enough to leave a dent as he positioned himself at the warm center of her body. "Tell me," he growled fiercely, his snarl millimeter's away from Natasha's own wide-eyed expression.

Panic cut through her desire like a flash of lightning, loud and bright and impossible to ignore, and then vanished without a trace. She stared back into the eyes of the monster in her arms, into the fury, the loathing, and the lust seeping from those clear emerald orbs, and she let go of everything else.

"You," Natasha snarled back. "I need you."

Loki's fingers clenched Natasha's hip as he thrust himself into her, the rough movement causing her to cry out and arch her back against him. Electricity crackled through her body as he slammed his hips against hers, his cool breath rushing over her neck. Her ankles locked behind him and she clung to him, to this cold creature kindling a kind of fire inside her unlike any she had ever experienced before, her nails once again digging into his skin, clawing at him as shocks wracked her slight frame.

"Fuck! Loki!" Natasha panted between ragged cries. She trembled and writhed against him, his soft groans and strained growls only making her clutch him tighter, scream louder as he picked up the pace of his rough, controlled movements.

A light sweat broke out over her collar and her shoulders went numb from the continual pressure of the hard metal wall. Loki's hand was bruising her hip but she didn't care; he thrust into her, hitting that special, perfect spot that intensified the heat in her core and tore a long, breathless, ecstatic cry from her throat. "D-don't stop!" she forced out, her legs tightening around him as he promptly obeyed, pushing himself deeper into the center of her shaking body.

The pressure between her legs continued to build until she rocked on the precipice of her climax, her head thrown back against the wall and her hands gripping Loki for all she was worth. Her limbs shook and twitched and her breath came in quick ragged gasps until he finally pushed her over the edge, her muscles constricting around him. "Loki!" she cried, repeatedly, as her orgasm took her, wave after wave of intense, burning pleasure rolling through her until he reached his breaking point as well. The god's grip on her tightened and he shuddered, a loud groan escaping him as his other hand dented the metal beside her head even further.

Loki's forehead connected lightly with the wall beside her ear, his hand slipping down the metal to cup the underside of her other leg. They lingered together, unmoving, the sound of their slowing breaths filling the cell. Natasha's heart rate lowered, and the touch of Loki's skin, so much cooler than her own, helped to calm her even further. He was like being wrapped in a light layer of snow, just cold enough to chill but never cold enough to make her want to brush it away. She took a deep breath, her lungs filling with the scent of sweat and something sweeter, like mint and clear, December mornings.

Her eyes slipped closed, and a gentle smile turned the corners of her mouth upward.

Loki turned his head toward her, his lips brushing along her jaw and then over her ear. Softly, he purred, "Does Agent Barton know where you are?"

Natasha's eyes snapped open and she went rigid in his arms. She grabbed a handful of his dark hair and pulled him back so she could get her eyes on him, an icy glare already firmly in place. "No, and if you mention this to him, if you mention him in front of me again—"

"You'll what?" he interrupted, an arrogant smirk crossing his face. "Punish me?"

A cruel edge crept into Natasha's threatening expression. "I won't, but I know someone who will," she warned.

Loki hissed and pushed her away from him as though she were made of hot coals. She stumbled slightly when her feet hit the floor but stayed upright, her knees shaking as she stared up at him. His features contorted strangely in the fluorescent light and he turned his back, taking a few steps across the cell as his clothes rose from the floor and began to wrap around him.

Natasha's eyes narrowed as she watched him for a few moments, covering himself up as though being exposed made him uncomfortable. She didn't know exactly what she'd seen in his expression before he hid his face, but the longer he remained silent, the longer he went without attempting to belittle or threaten her in turn, the more she realized how seriously he'd taken her spiteful words.

Her brows slammed together and she let out a huff, pushing away the squirming feeling in her stomach as she went to retrieve her suit. She slipped into it as quickly as she could, hastily buckling her gear on and then shoving her feet into her discarded boots. When she straightened up again she saw that Loki still stood with his back to her, his hands balled into fists, his fingers moving tightly back and forth as though he were squeezing something in each palm.

Natasha couldn't tell if his distress was more irritating than it was alarming. Still, as they stood in silence, the god doubtless aware of the fact that she had finished dressing and begun watching him, she felt something deep down give way. She swallowed and let out a heavy sigh, her eyes still narrowed in a dark expression as she began to cross the cell.

Loki's hand shot out as she drew level with him, gripping her firmly around her upper arm. His jaw was clenched and his teeth ground against themselves. Without moving his head he looked over at her, his eyes brimming with resentment.

Natasha looked up at him from beneath her lashes for a long moment, her own expression hard but no longer as cold as it had been. "Just don't mention him," she muttered at length, redirecting her gaze to the right, past the glass barrier and out into the corridor. Loki's grip slackened, and she quickly made her way out of the cell.

Sooner than she'd like, she found herself crawling once more into the confines of Clint's heavy embrace.