Disclaimer: Do not own Marvel or The 100

One of Clarke and Natasha's first times together.

The Widow's Parlor

Clarke is positive that between the two of them, she herself is the more biologically predatory one.

But she could feel herself become timid, as soon as Natasha had suggested that they go off, after Tony's party. Natasha had put it in her usual far too subtle manner. She had smiled at Clarke and nodded to the hall at their backs, where there were a series of rooms, one of which was Natasha's room.

Natasha would never outright say, "we should fuck now."

Clarke always felt timid around Natasha, always.

And meekly, but excitedly, Clarke nodded, smiling, hopeful.

She never understood what Natasha saw in her, but she was so happy that Natasha wanted to be with her.

Natasha had smiled then and had taken Clarke's hand and had led her to the rooms, down the hall.

They had gotten to Natasha's room and they entered.

Clarke was hesitant to go any further after the automatic doors closed behind her and Natasha.

As the lights came on, dim as they were, and Clarke had no doubt that Natasha had dimmed them exactly for this purpose, Clarke overlooked the interior of the room.

She'd seen the room before, but it always struck her how Natasha arranged her room. The cloth Natasha had here was silk, satin. The softest sort. She remembered Natasha commenting one time before, that she had gotten rid of the old sheets and blankets and gotten new ones, soon after meeting Clarke in the Ice Nation.

Clarke thought about that after the first time she'd seen the interior of Natasha's room, wondering if her mate had done this specifically to make her den far more comfortable while they were having sex. She almost laughed when she'd thought of that. Because the answer to that was really clear.

Yes, Natasha had.

Natasha turned to Clarke, smiling.

"What's wrong, love?" She asked Clarke.

Clarke hesitated as she said, "I just…you know this is all new for me, right?"

Natasha nodded, a more than understanding look on her face.

"I know, malen'kiy, and it's new for me, too," Natasha said gently, "If you don't want to do this-"

Clarke shook her head.

"No, I do," she insisted, "It's just, I'm nervous."

"I know," Natasha said and slowly walking closer to Clarke, reaching her hand out and taking Clarke's right hand in her left as she continued, "We can stop any time. As long as you use a safe word, love." She gently guided Clarke to her bed.

Clarke knew that with Natasha, safe words were mandatory. Clarke would have snorted, but she knew that this wasn't up for discussion with Natasha.

She gave Natasha a safe word and Natasha nodded, asking Clarke then if she was ready.

Clarke swallowed, still very self-conscious, said that she was.

Not a lie.

When she was satisfied that Clarke was more or less ready, Natasha entered her "dom" form and smirked at Clarke, reaching out, inviting Clarke into her silk covered den of decadence. "Come into my parlor, malen'kiy," Natasha said seductively. Clarke whimpered as she neared the Black Widow's den, about to be consumed.

And yes, she knew that comment. It ended with "said the spider to the fly."

Usually a warning comment.

Clarke couldn't find it within herself to care.

As Natasha helped Clarke onto the bed, slowly pulling Clarke's clothing off and Clarke pushed her shoes off onto the floor, she gasped when she felt a hand gently press between her legs, against her clit and she closed her eyes.

She felt a mouth at her ear, then felt that mouth travel down to her throat, then down to her left breast, biting and sucking, that hand between Clarke's legs, still gently rubbing into her.

Clarke mewled, as she felt her hips start to tremble.

She was going to be consumed by this predatory woman. And she was all too willing for that to happen.

Author's note

That feels more normal. Unlike whatever those last two stories were that I wrote.