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Her presence is commanding

Natasha Romanoff's presence demanded silence.

Not verbally. Not vocally, obviously.

But it demanded silence, nonetheless.

Natasha's very presence humbled Clarke. Made Clarke unable to really say what she wanted to say.

Natasha never uttered a word that made Clarke believe that silence needed to be demanded. But just her presence was enough.

Clarke didn't know quite how to explain it. Even to Natasha. She was positive that if anyone, including Natasha asked Clarke wouldn't be able to come up with an answer, particularly not an eloquent one.

All she would end up being able to do, she knew, was tell Natasha, "I'm sorry. I don't think I can tell you. I don't know. You just do make me at a loss for words."

So, telling Natasha that, really wasn't an option. She'd just end up sounding like a moron.

Or more so than she usually did around Natasha.

It was hard to explain. Natasha's very presence was commanding. Was remarkable.

At some point, during one of Tony's many parties-Clarke knew that as always, Natasha had seated herself down next to Clarke, looking at her and smiling, and Clarke smiled back, yet again, having to search for the right words, knowing that she would be at a loss for them, as always, while around Natasha.

Clarke felt the words coming out quietly, "I'm sorry."

When Natasha frowned and her eyebrows lifted.

"For what, love?"Natasha asked, "What are you sorry for?"

Clarke sighed, taking a breath. Her saying sorry hadn't been an accident. She had meant it.

She would give the explanation soon.

She answered at last, "It's because…, I'm sorry, because I'm never able to tell you exactly what I want to tell you," she shook her head, "That you're incredible. That you're amazing. That you're able to silence me just by being in the room, because I'm unable to do anything else except be in awe of you. It's like you compel me to be at a loss for words."

Finally, Clarke had said what she meant.

It was probably a bit extreme and dramatic, but it was the truth. That was exactly how Clarke felt when she was around Natasha.

Or rather, that was the start of how she felt for Natasha.

Clarke uneasily looked at Natasha. And Natasha, much to Clarke's relief and delight, looked at Clarke, not with surprise, or disgust or shock, but with a look that told Clarke that Natasha was thrilled. Absolutely thrilled.

Clarke felt heat reach her cheeks and she asked quietly, "You're not mad?"

Natasha chuckled, inching closer to Clarke, "Why would I be mad, devushka?"

Clarke swallowed. Natasha always spoke Russian words of endearment to her. Always.

"Because I'm being dramatic over you, I guess," Clarke said, "I mean, it's not even close to telling you just how incredible you are, but it's a start, I guess."

Natasha's smile turned catlike making Clarke shiver. "I'm not mad, love," Natasha said, "I promise. And thank you. It means much more than you think, hearing you say that. But you don't have to say anything like that to me, you know that don't you? You know that you don't have to say that to me, to get me to be with you or sleep with you, right?"

Clarke chuckled wryly, nodding. "Yeah," she said, "I know. But…I feel like it's…it's hard to explain, but I feel like not saying it to you, would be…I don't know, maybe being more unworthy of you than I already am."

Now, that? That got a different reaction.

Clarke hadn't thought that it would get her a different reaction, since as far as she could see, she had just told the truth, that was all.

But it got a different reaction.

She saw a flash of Natasha's right arm reaching out and she felt her chin being cupped. Her eyes widened when she felt her face being turned back to Natasha.

Natasha stared at Clarke, her smile gone, and her green eyes burning dangerously.

"Do not say that again, devushka,"Natasha said, voice dangerously low, making Clarke freeze on the seat where she was perched, "Do not. Never speak about yourself like that. Please. Don't ever talk about yourself like that."

Clarke's eyes widened.

She had not been expecting that.

"I'm just telling you the truth," Clarke said quietly, cowed into being more quiet.

Natasha stared at her, unyielding. "I don't care whether you think you're being honest or not. What you just said about yourself? You're not going to talk about yourself like that again, understand me?"

Clarke's eyes widened, if that was possible, her eyes grew even bigger.

She opened her mouth to protest, Natasha interrupted sharply.

"You say I compel you?" Natasha asked, voice strong, "Then don't ever talk about yourself like that again, understand?" Clarke froze, shivering at the command in Natasha's voice.

Natasha leaned in closer and Clarke whined quietly, smelling Natasha's scent as Natasha said, "Do not ever say that you're unworthy of me. You've always been worthy. Always. More than worthy. You don't have to prove your worthiness to anyone. I'm so glad that you're in my life. You don't need to prove any kind of worthiness, my love. Ever. Don't. Ever. Say. That. Again," Natasha commanded, leaning forward, her lips connecting with Clarke's, and kissed the younger woman deeply.

Natasha's other arm snaked around Clarke's waist, holding the younger woman close to her.

Clarke panted as Natasha parted from her, hazy already with pleasure and heat shooting down to her cunt, demanding that Natasha pay a good deal of attention to it.

Natasha said darkly, a wicked gleam in her green eyes, "Let me take you to my room, malen'kiy, and I'll show you just how much I love you. That you should never say that you're unworthy, Clarke. Come with me. I'll show you exactly how much I wish to be worthy of you."

Clarke's eyes widened again. She almost said that there was no way that Natasha would ever be unworthy of her, ever.

But one look from Natasha compelled Clarke to not speak a word of that.

Natasha wrapped her hand around Clarke's left wrist and led her up from the couch and led her to the stairs, up to Natasha's room.

Clarke knew that Natasha knew that Clarke could pull away anytime she wished.

But Clarke wasn't going to. And Clarke and Natasha both knew that too.

Clarke whimpered, desperate to be at the mercy of Natasha's hands and mouth. To be used in any way that Natasha wanted.

She worshipped Natasha. Would be happy to do anything, anything at all that pleased this woman.

She happily followed Natasha into Natasha's room, the doors closed, and Natasha led Clarke to her bed and pulled Clarke to her, and that night, Natasha made sure Clarke knew again and again and again that the blonde was worthy, would never not be worthy.

Natasha took Clarke, again and again and again, whispering the words into the younger woman's ear, as she thrust her fingers into Clarke again and again, "You will never be unworthy of me, malyshka,never." She wrapped the fingers of her other hand around Clarke's throat and choked her out as she fingered the younger woman, pounding her, and she watched, grinning as Clarke's eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth gaping open. She then said in a firm, low tone, "You have always been worthy of love, Clarke. Always. And I'll show you even more of the love that you've always, always have been worthy of."

Natasha thrust into Clarke hard, and Clarke cried out, arching off the bed, the pleasure taking her and ravaging her body mercilessly and Natasha's catlike grin remained as she compelled jolt of pleasure after jolt of pleasure that tore through her lover.

She was compelling Clarke now-compelling her to be anything else except pliant, and neither of them wanted it any other way.