Avengers Fic Natasha/Clint, Unrequited Loki/Natasha NC17 "She Stoops To Conquer"
Written for this prompt at Avengerkink. Set during the movie, but Natasha's a female Alpha, Loki's a scheming Omega who isn't as slick as he thinks he is, and Clint is a Beta but that's not stopping Natasha.
He can smell her, the rich fertile smell of a female Alpha, intoxicating and unmistakeable through the recessed vents of his glass prison. Oh, this will be a pleasure indeed.
"There's not many that can sneak up on me. Had you worn a scent blocker you might even have passed unnoticed," Loki says and turns to see her.
"But you figured I'd come," Natasha Romanoff says, and yes, this will be a pleasure. Alpha defiance and power in every line of her, small enough that she could ride him where he stood, and oh, if he plays this right, she might.
"You would have appeared as a balm, a lure. A strong, caring Alpha, that I might bury myself in your arms and find protection. That I might give myself in relief and pleasure and give you everything, even unto my secrets," he says, brushing a fingertip against the glass.
"I want to know what you've done to Agent Barton," she says, squaring her shoulders.
Predictable. "Surely this isn't love, Agent Romanoff?" he mocks.
"Love is for children, I owe him a debt," she answers, meeting his eyes, frank and unafraid. Better and better.
"And what debt might you owe your little Beta friend?" Loki asks idly, seating himself on his glass prison's lone chair. "Did he slake the hungers of your time?"
She comes forward on the bridge toward his prison. "Agent Barton was sent to kill me," she says, with the slightest shrug, "He made a different call. I work for SHIELD now."
He laughs, leaning toward her, elbows resting on his knees. "And now he plays the Omega, pretending to honors that are not his own," he taunts, lightly. And now for the hook. "But duty inevitably stales - how often must you hunger for the unmistakeable taste of a true Omega as that sad counterfeit thrashes beneath you?"
She shakes her head, but oh, he can smell her. "I am caged, I am helpless, who could fault you if you tried to swive the cooperation into me? Nothing could be more natural, one might even call it laudable."
"I know how dangerous you are, what you're capable of," she says levelly, but is that the faintest sound of doubt?
"Yes, when I desire it, and why not?" Loki asks and rises. "Am I not of a race grander than any spawned on Earth? And yet here I stand bound before you, a captive audience, enamoured of your very scent though I am not even near unto my time," he says, pacing back and forth, but with each turn getting closer. "Perhaps I am desperate for a way out, to be relieved of my burdens, eager to give the dominion that is your due. Perhaps I only want a good hard knot, but I might slip for one vital word or moment under your hands."
"Would you?" Romanoff asks, taking a step closer. Oh, she will scream beautifully as she takes him, he can almost hear it. "Do you want it?"
"Don't stoop to beg my flattery, Agent Romanoff," he says leaning hard on his hands on the glass, "You know well your charms for those such as I."
She smiles, dark and tempted. Oh, he has her, he has her. "And if I gave it to you, what you wanted," she asks, hands caressing the glass where it's warm from his hands, "What would you do? Would you kneel? Would you beg? Would you cry out for me?"
"If I were writhing under your touch, what might I not do?" he purrs, tilting his head, exposing his neck. Take me, take me, yes. He can almost taste her. "As if I were in season. As feral as the monster you tether in your midst. Convince me."
"No," she says with a sudden crisp snap, turns on her heel, and walks away.
"Loki means to unleash the Hulk," she says into her earpiece. "Keep Banner in the lab, I'm on my way. Send Thor as well."
And somehow he burns all the more.
**
"I've got red in my ledger," she says, later, later after he's safe, but not, sitting next to him on the cot, "I'd like to wipe it out."
"You're not the only one," Clint mumbles, and they share a small, week smile.
"I hate this, you know? That he, that anyone, could just do this to me. Could almost make me do that to you," he tells her, and his eyes look desolate. "I just want to erase him, to wipe out his scent. Feel it down deep that you're here, that this is real, that I'm here." He takes her hand and she realizes what he's saying.
Oh, this is a bad idea. She rubs the back of his hand with her thumb and shakes her head slowly. "Clint, I'm not sure you should..."
He catches her eyes with his own, and oh the look on his face. Scared and brave and full of desperate hope. "I am. Nat, please," he says.
She takes a deep breath. How can she deny him this? Maybe he's right. "Well, then," she says, as she stands up from the bed, "You're wearing too much."
"Yes ma'am," he says, with a two fingered salute, and they fall to undressing as quickly as possible. Clint pauses while untying one of his boots too look up at her. "I missed you," he says, with an honest smile.
Natasha struggles out of her undershirt and rolls her eyes at him. "You missed this," she teases gently.
"That too," he admits with a shrug.
They're down to their underwear in record time.
She takes him by the shoulders and pushes him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Goes in for a quick kiss, then straddles his lap. He cranes up for another kiss and she leans down to meet it, one hand cradling the back of Clint's neck, the other buried in the soft bristles of his hair. She eases herself onto his erection, taking his pleasure for herself.
"Ah, Tasha," he gasps, "You're too good for me."
"No," she says, and grabs him by the chin and forces him to look at her. "No, you're exactly right for me. This is mine," she tells him, caressing his shoulder, running her hand down his back and never breaking his gaze.
"This is mine too," she says, seizing his hand then guiding it with her own. "This is yours," she says, smoothing his hand across her breast, pressing it to her heart. Moving her hips gently but implacably in a rhythm that makes him gasp.
"This is yours," she says, dropping a kiss on the heel of his hand, and his eyes are impossibly wide, his pupils entirely blown. "This is yours," she says as her knees clench tight around his body, her arms around his waist. Riding him as her knot rubs hard against him.
"All of this is mine, and nothing, nothing any god or king or Omega does is ever going to change that," she snarls, full of glorious and terrible promises. "You're mine, you belong right here, just like this, you hear me? Just let anyone try to tell me different, and watch what happens."
"Tasha," he moans, and shudders in her, under her, in her grasp.
"I don't care who worshipped him or what parts he has, Loki can go straight to hell," Natasha says, and he reaches to embrace her, just hold her and bury his face in her neck. And they're home.
He can smell her, the rich fertile smell of a female Alpha, intoxicating and unmistakeable through the recessed vents of his glass prison. Oh, this will be a pleasure indeed.
"There's not many that can sneak up on me. Had you worn a scent blocker you might even have passed unnoticed," Loki says and turns to see her.
"But you figured I'd come," Natasha Romanoff says, and yes, this will be a pleasure. Alpha defiance and power in every line of her, small enough that she could ride him where he stood, and oh, if he plays this right, she might.
"You would have appeared as a balm, a lure. A strong, caring Alpha, that I might bury myself in your arms and find protection. That I might give myself in relief and pleasure and give you everything, even unto my secrets," he says, brushing a fingertip against the glass.
"I want to know what you've done to Agent Barton," she says, squaring her shoulders.
Predictable. "Surely this isn't love, Agent Romanoff?" he mocks.
"Love is for children, I owe him a debt," she answers, meeting his eyes, frank and unafraid. Better and better.
"And what debt might you owe your little Beta friend?" Loki asks idly, seating himself on his glass prison's lone chair. "Did he slake the hungers of your time?"
She comes forward on the bridge toward his prison. "Agent Barton was sent to kill me," she says, with the slightest shrug, "He made a different call. I work for SHIELD now."
He laughs, leaning toward her, elbows resting on his knees. "And now he plays the Omega, pretending to honors that are not his own," he taunts, lightly. And now for the hook. "But duty inevitably stales - how often must you hunger for the unmistakeable taste of a true Omega as that sad counterfeit thrashes beneath you?"
She shakes her head, but oh, he can smell her. "I am caged, I am helpless, who could fault you if you tried to swive the cooperation into me? Nothing could be more natural, one might even call it laudable."
"I know how dangerous you are, what you're capable of," she says levelly, but is that the faintest sound of doubt?
"Yes, when I desire it, and why not?" Loki asks and rises. "Am I not of a race grander than any spawned on Earth? And yet here I stand bound before you, a captive audience, enamoured of your very scent though I am not even near unto my time," he says, pacing back and forth, but with each turn getting closer. "Perhaps I am desperate for a way out, to be relieved of my burdens, eager to give the dominion that is your due. Perhaps I only want a good hard knot, but I might slip for one vital word or moment under your hands."
"Would you?" Romanoff asks, taking a step closer. Oh, she will scream beautifully as she takes him, he can almost hear it. "Do you want it?"
"Don't stoop to beg my flattery, Agent Romanoff," he says leaning hard on his hands on the glass, "You know well your charms for those such as I."
She smiles, dark and tempted. Oh, he has her, he has her. "And if I gave it to you, what you wanted," she asks, hands caressing the glass where it's warm from his hands, "What would you do? Would you kneel? Would you beg? Would you cry out for me?"
"If I were writhing under your touch, what might I not do?" he purrs, tilting his head, exposing his neck. Take me, take me, yes. He can almost taste her. "As if I were in season. As feral as the monster you tether in your midst. Convince me."
"No," she says with a sudden crisp snap, turns on her heel, and walks away.
"Loki means to unleash the Hulk," she says into her earpiece. "Keep Banner in the lab, I'm on my way. Send Thor as well."
And somehow he burns all the more.
**
"I've got red in my ledger," she says, later, later after he's safe, but not, sitting next to him on the cot, "I'd like to wipe it out."
"You're not the only one," Clint mumbles, and they share a small, week smile.
"I hate this, you know? That he, that anyone, could just do this to me. Could almost make me do that to you," he tells her, and his eyes look desolate. "I just want to erase him, to wipe out his scent. Feel it down deep that you're here, that this is real, that I'm here." He takes her hand and she realizes what he's saying.
Oh, this is a bad idea. She rubs the back of his hand with her thumb and shakes her head slowly. "Clint, I'm not sure you should..."
He catches her eyes with his own, and oh the look on his face. Scared and brave and full of desperate hope. "I am. Nat, please," he says.
She takes a deep breath. How can she deny him this? Maybe he's right. "Well, then," she says, as she stands up from the bed, "You're wearing too much."
"Yes ma'am," he says, with a two fingered salute, and they fall to undressing as quickly as possible. Clint pauses while untying one of his boots too look up at her. "I missed you," he says, with an honest smile.
Natasha struggles out of her undershirt and rolls her eyes at him. "You missed this," she teases gently.
"That too," he admits with a shrug.
They're down to their underwear in record time.
She takes him by the shoulders and pushes him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Goes in for a quick kiss, then straddles his lap. He cranes up for another kiss and she leans down to meet it, one hand cradling the back of Clint's neck, the other buried in the soft bristles of his hair. She eases herself onto his erection, taking his pleasure for herself.
"Ah, Tasha," he gasps, "You're too good for me."
"No," she says, and grabs him by the chin and forces him to look at her. "No, you're exactly right for me. This is mine," she tells him, caressing his shoulder, running her hand down his back and never breaking his gaze.
"This is mine too," she says, seizing his hand then guiding it with her own. "This is yours," she says, smoothing his hand across her breast, pressing it to her heart. Moving her hips gently but implacably in a rhythm that makes him gasp.
"This is yours," she says, dropping a kiss on the heel of his hand, and his eyes are impossibly wide, his pupils entirely blown. "This is yours," she says as her knees clench tight around his body, her arms around his waist. Riding him as her knot rubs hard against him.
"All of this is mine, and nothing, nothing any god or king or Omega does is ever going to change that," she snarls, full of glorious and terrible promises. "You're mine, you belong right here, just like this, you hear me? Just let anyone try to tell me different, and watch what happens."
"Tasha," he moans, and shudders in her, under her, in her grasp.
"I don't care who worshipped him or what parts he has, Loki can go straight to hell," Natasha says, and he reaches to embrace her, just hold her and bury his face in her neck. And they're home.