deconstruct | v2 OPEN POST;

v2 OPEN POST;

NETWORK | ACTION | PROMPTS | NSFW/SFW | IT'S ALL GRAVY

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

[ it isn't like the houses here - he's allowed to go where he likes when he likes, wear what he pleases, eat what he pleases, say anything. just so long as he doesn't leave the premises without an attendant. that's what makes all of the rest irrelevant. he's watched, so so closely, like he's a bomb about to explode, even more closely than Hapsburg, where they just wanted him to sit in his room and be invisible until his body was needed again. he understands why. when natasha had first liberated the house, after all the questions and legal red tape, when he was set up with a hotel and allowed to go free into the city, he'd completely lost it. two hours, and he'd found himself in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, screaming. three paramedics injured, five police men put in the hospital, and a taser later, and he was stuck here.

in the first few weeks, the psych ward doctors learned better than to try medicating him or coming near him with any kind of needles or wires. it had all been yoga classes and guided meditation and counseling sessions he was either silent or profane for, with wardens following him around, standing just far enough away to feel like they aren't being suffocating, but still watching him closely any time another person passed by.

natasha showed up halfway through the fourth week, having come back from a mission and heard he wasn't out yet. refusing to cooperate, oddly silent outside of outbursts, unstable and violent. and yet, she'd sat across the table from him, and it'd only take about ten minutes of quietly prodding at him to get him talking again. just something familiar about her, after knowing her in Hapsburg, chats in sign language through the soundproof glass wall of his room, seeing her in the halls on his way to or from the labs. he knows she isn't who she told him she was, but she'd gone in regardless, into that hell, to get him and the others out. when no one else cared enough to so much as lift a finger.

she'd started coming regularly, first once a week, then twice, soon every other day. they'd talk, or watch what sitcoms were on the commons area TV, walk around the grounds. sometimes she'd bring a laptop and try to catch him up on pop culture. eventually, natasha gave him a cell phone, told him to text or call whenever her wanted, her personal number the only one programmed in. he knows they put a wire on her, sometimes, and a device in her ear to tell her what question to ask - the only way the shrinks have found to get anything real out of him, but he doesn't fault her for it. knows she's just trying to help. maybe someday he'll go into those too homey rooms with them and talk. not yet. for know, he's just doing what feels comfortable, and that's spending time with her.

like this, in one of the large gym rooms, with mats set out on the floor. for a long time, he'd insisted on training alone, wouldn't spar with her for fear of losing it and hurting her. turns out his strength isn't so much an issue when she's not only on par with him in terms of skill, but beyond. and the stray hits that have a bit too much force behind them? she's had worse, it seems. she's a normal girl fighting in a world threatened by titans, and god she seems so unreal. incredible, really. it becomes something regular, and when she has to leave for a few weeks on mission, Andyr spends the time texting her, bored with his days otherwise, but trying to cooperate better, for the fact she wants him to. by the time she comes back, he's missing her like hell, and they go straight to the mats again.

about halfway through the first fight, he catches her in a lock, and natasha gets herself free by kissing him, out of the blue. for a second he's stunned, and that's really all she needs to elbow him in the stomach and throw him on his ass, Andyr watching her, upside down, with a tilt to his head.

huh.

round two, and they go to the ground with a quick sweep, turning it into a grappling match, which always means being an awkward kind of close to another body, but isn't something andyr's ever felt self-conscious of, until now, with her legs wrapped around his hips, his arms gripping at her shirt, or her shoulder, or a forearm as they shift and struggle. it distracts him enough that his technique is completely off, and he's out shortly after, tapping his surrender against the mat and she arm bars him. natasha's grinning at him like there's some joke he's missing, and he's trying to figure out if she's doing this just for fun, or something else.

round three, and andyr's determined to play this game as well, too competitive to just accept the sabotage. at the first punch, he's slipping past, pushing flush to her, and kissing her full on the lips, a hand on her waist and another on her shoulder, as he lingers, tugs at a lip, and sweep a foot behind her ankles. a push at that shoulder, and she goes down, but not without taking him with, her shin kicking out the back of his knees, as they both dissolve into a fit of struggles for dominance, all groping hands and too close grinding, until she's straddling his hips, bright red hair falling in a curtain around them, with teeth pulling at andyr's lower lip, as she grinds a rhythm against the too prominent form of his hard length, easy to find through the thin pants he wears in the psych ward. the purpose of this was lost somewhere down the road to this point, and all he knows now is the sweet, slow friction she'd rolling out against him, the soft, smooth texture of her lips, the taste of peach chapstick, and his hands curling into the fabric of her shirt.

until a rip sounds out.

ah. oops. that would be natasha's collar. ]

Shit. [ he hisses out, cursing himself for letting his mind go that far, while he has her in his hands. ] Sorry.

Edited 2016-08-21 05:32 (UTC)

[ Natasha had thought she knew plenty about the things one person, one organisation can do to another -- but it turns out that there are more things out there to provide fresh horrors, and Hapsburg with its inhabitants is one of them. She is no stranger to people being used as commodities, tools to serve a profit-driven purpose, because in the end that's all it is, isn't it?

That knowledge doesn't prepare her for what she had uncovered within the walls of Hapsburg, or the people she would find there -- namely, Andyr Prince, the ferociously beautiful young man used time and time again, put away like a shovel in a toolshed as they bled his life out of him a little at a time. It's what nightmares are made of, and when she had finally rescued them, giving them the freedom they all deserved from the beginning, she know that it was the start of a much harder journey.

See, this is what's easy; the much more difficult part is on Andyr's shoulders, to pick up the pieces and rebuild his life. Natasha could not stay, but she came back as often as she could, the Widow finding herself tethered to this violent, hurting man, the most damaged of them all. It takes one hell of a long time to make progress, but they do -- she makes it a point to come the moment she finds some spare time, wanting him to know that he's not alone, that she hadn't hauled him out of one prison to put him in another one. She had given them specific instructions on Andyr, important notes of what and who he is, and how he is to be approached. They'd ignored it at first, well-meaning to a fault, until they learned it the hard way, and it took Natasha all she had not to tell them that they were idiots.

Still, things continue to improve, and visiting Andyr has somehow become a new staple in her life. The texting had been a godsend; and Natasha had always smiled when his texts came in, each one without so much as a salutation and as if he'd simply decided to launch right into his message without preamble -- she considers that a most endearing trait. She had sent back messages, sometimes pictures of whatever piqued her interest wherever she was, a reminder that she's thinking of him.

All of which, of course, had led to unsupervised sparring sessions like these; she'd first played dirty just because she could, but the look on Andyr's face had sent her heart racing -- the taste of it familiar, the desire that coils within her stomach providing a revelation, then another. He's a deadly fighter, strong and powerful and at times frightening, but she had learned to take her fear in stride, to trust that he would not hurt her. Of course, Andyr catches on to her tricks, and when he rips a gash in the collar of her shirt, his body curled over hers and the hard line of his cock pressing into her thigh, she leans up to kiss his mouth recklessly, her fingers coming up to run through his dark hair.

It's gotten longer now, and it looks good on him. ] For what? [ She's smiling against his mouth, red hair tumbling over her shoulders as she keeps him pinned under her. Her hand slips from his hair to unbutton her shirt, her heart pounding with adrenaline and action. Her eyes are dark with challenge as her black bra is exposed -- they are two consenting adults with a raw appreciation for each other; the culmination of a tension that has been building up with every day they'd been with each other, every time one pins the other to the mat, every time he looks at her and makes her feel like it's past time she acted on the things she'd wanted to do to him. ]

I liked that. [ She admits quietly, guiding his hand down between her breasts, over the clasp of the front of her bra. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

v2 OPEN POST;

nsfw: sparring / sex

no subject

no subject