v2 OPEN POST;

[deconstruct]

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

Comments

[severer]

[ 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. ]