FIC: love on the run like a loaded gun (MCU, natasha/wanda, nc-17)

[carlyinrome]

love on the run like a loaded gun (Natasha Romanoff/Wanda Maximoff, NC-17)

Natasha acclimates Wanda to life on the run. Title from "Love on the Run" by the Scorpions.

For Wanda, it happens like sparking a fire with a flint: a frustrated eternity of waiting for the flames, and then a lightning quick combustion.

“I don't know where you are,” Natasha says just once. “I never saw you.”

Her fingers hold Wanda's wrist, Natasha's grip firm, a bone cuff locking Wanda in place.

***

They are fugitives. Natasha is a ghost, and Wanda knows that she'll slip through Interpol’s fingers like smoke, if they're even looking for her at all. Natasha doesn't confide in her, or anyone else. She hasn’t spoken to Steve since the prison break, as far as Wanda knows, but neither has anyone else. They're all islands now, the team fractured and silence on the earpieces. Natasha and Clint communicate in code, and occasionally Natasha will update Wanda on the locations of the others. Everyone is in hiding, so Wanda doesn't knows how Natasha knows these things, except Natasha seems to know everything.

Natasha bleaches Wanda's hair in the bathroom sink, cuts the blonde locks with scissors when they're still coiled and wet. Natasha sweeps up the hair on the floor as Wanda studies her new reflection in the mirror, fingers twisting and tugging at the ends of her jaw length blonde hair. Her face is scrubbed and she looks young and new.

Natasha has given her a new face. Maybe if she closes her eyes and pictures it, slips into it like slipping into someone else's head, Wanda can become that new person.

***

Wanda has been at war since the shell hit her apartment building, her parents swallowed up by the hole in the floor, Pietro’s hand clutching hers as the rescue crews shake the missile inches from their faces. Love was always a secondary concern, except for her live for Pietro, as intrinsic to her as the marrow in her bones.

It's her first kiss when Natasha kisses her. Natasha's mouth is soft, the pressure of her fingers on Wanda's neck gentle. Wanda holds Natasha's face in her hands, and she closes her eyes.

***

Natasha places the gun in her hand. It's heavier than Wanda anticipated, and the muscles in her arms strain until she becomes used to the weight.

Wanda could pull the bullet into the chamber, could guide the bullet to burrow in a man's heart without pulling the trigger. I don't need this, she thinks, but then remembers the jacket binding her hands and the collar buzzing at her neck and the drugs pumping through her veins, and reconsiders. Natasha shows her how to aim, how to sight.  When Wanda squeezes the trigger, the recoil pulses up her arm, but Natasha's hand is on her shoulder and Wanda doesn't flinch.

***

Natasha makes her false papers, making Wanda pose for passport photos until she gets a shot she likes. Wanda blinks, the strobe of the flash still skewing hey vision. She closes her eyes, and sees fireworks.

There are computers for this, Wanda thinks, watching Natasha craft the passport by hand.

“Wendy,” Natasha frowns. “Willa.”

Wanda can't advise her. She has no idea of this woman who she has to become. Natasha carefully glues the picture of Wanda (Wendy?) onto the blue, watermarked paper, her fingers pressing over Wanda's face until the glue dries.

***

Natasha brings clothes for Wendy to wear. Wanda sorts through them, trying to see what kind of girl Wendy is. Wanda wonders how Natasha got rid of her accent. Later, alone in front of the mirror, Wanda practices American vowels. “Apple,” she says. “Father.”

***

Wanda is getting used to the smell of cordite. She scrubs the gun powder off her hands. Natasha watches from the doorway, her eyes on Wanda like hands pressing against her body.

***

“Fish,” Wanda says. “Winter.”

The i’s slant, and she frowns.

Natasha shows her new makeup techniques, brushing pink powder across Wanda's cheeks. Wanda presses her lips together, spreading lipstick over them, and Natasha smiles.

“Pretty,” she says.

***

Wanda sits on her bed, listening to the shower pelt the tiles under Natasha's feet. Natasha emerges from the bathroom with water still beading on her bare skin, and Wanda studies the fine form of her. She wonders what lesson this is, but then Natasha is leaning over her, her hands closing around Wanda's wrists. Natasha's hair drips on Wanda's face as they kiss.

Wanda feels fire beneath her breastbone. She is a virgin. Natasha takes Wanda's clothes off, her fingers running lightly over Wanda's pale, naked skin. It's exploratory at first, and Wanda thinks of recon, how Natasha likes to know the lay off the land before action. Natasha’s fingers rest in the divots of Wanda's spine, Natasha's teeth biting down on Wanda's collarbone. Natasha's hair is short again, a brighter red and curled like when they first met, and Wanda’s fingers glide across Natasha's forehead as she pushes back an errant curl half hiding Natasha's eyes. She wants to watch Natasha watching her as she shivers, as her back arches with Natasha's fingers inside her. Natasha cinches leather straps around her hips, and Wanda doesn't even ask where she had come up with the toy, because Natasha always seems to have everything in her arsenal, and because Natasha doesn't share her secrets except when Wanda lifts them them from her mind, and Wanda doesn't do that anymore. Natasha pushes the false phallus into her, and Wanda's legs part for Natasha to bring her in as deep as possible. Wanda wants to unhinge her jaw and swallow Natasha up, wants so desperately to keep Natasha so deep inside her. Natasha palms push against Wanda's breasts, and it's almost painful but somehow that makes it more pleasurable. Natasha's fingernails scratch across the raw roses of Wanda's nipples, and Wanda feels something release, feels herself shudder, her body contracting around the thing still inside her. Wanda is still hungry, and her flesh firms faster than she expected. Natasha leans back, her back against the headboard, and Wanda pulls herself up against her, the toy shifting inside her. Wanda grips Natasha's shoulders as she thrusts against the hard pressure inside her, rocking in Natasha's lap as her breath comes shallow and everything inside her contracts then dilates. Wanda watches Natasha watching her, and when Wanda's spine goes liquid and she wavers, Natasha holds her upright.

***

“I haven't seen you,” Natasha says. “I don't know where you are.”

Wanda nods, twisting her short, bleached hair in her fingers. There is a beat, and then Natasha holds her, and Wanda kisses her.

“I'll see you later,” Natasha says, and Wanda doesn't know if that means an hour or a month, but she knows for certain it doesn't mean forever.