Rating: Big old NC-17 for angst-wrought sex and dark, dark stuff.
Pairing: Black Widow/Nighthawk Clint/Natasha unrequited Loki/Natasha
Synopsis: Clint watches the scene enraged, screaming soundlessly he would kill his own body in a heartbeat if he could - he wonders if it would be considered suicide or murder.
Spoilers: Let's assume you've seen the movie.
Disclaimer: Disclaimers? We don't need not stinking disclaimers! What's that Mr. Lawyer? We do need stinking disclaimers? Oh well... They don't belong to me. Big surprise.
Momentary confusion… How did they get here? Should they be doing this? Somehow, with her hot, pouting lips against his, doesn't give a fuck.
"Nat... I've wanted this for so long."
She reaches out clawing at his shirt, the fabric rips before her impatient hands. She licks her lips at the sight of his bare chest, her beautiful lips cover his nipple sucking and nipping playfully.
He can't take this teasing anymore; he grabs her ass and lifts her carrying her to the bed, grinding his center against her. He moves his hands to her neck, slowly unzipping her suit, worshiping every inch with his lips on the way down.
She pulls him back up for a kiss, then gazes at him intently, as though memorizing him, this place, this moment. The one thing he should not say, must not say, comes out.
"I love you."
Her eyes shine and she smiles as she brings him back in for a kiss, it's the only answer she can give.
As he looses himself in the taste of her mouth, he notices the hue of her cheek fading from a perfect porcelain color, to cerulean.
He rears up, terrified, and looks around. Worst fears confirmed, the world is turning blue. He tries to move away from her, but he is no longer in control of his arms and legs.
He exerts every iota of control and manages to gasp out "RUN!"
She looks up at him, confused, then sees his eyes and horror appears. A rain of blows comes almost instantaneously, her hits, kicks, elbows all trying to catch his head, attempting to knock out the presence she knows is in his brain.
Control of his body is completely gone. Clint watches, a specter, from across the room.
He can see what he's doing to her, FEEL everything, yet control nothing.
Brave, stupid girl. She should have run. Because the force controlling him knows exactly what she's trying to do, and uses that, along with the knowledge that she's trying not to kill him, against her. His body stays firmly pinned against her, brushing away the blows and quickly immobilizing her arms by tying them to the bed.
An arrow appears in his hand. He caresses her cheek with the razor edge, working it down her neck and breasts artfully making patterns while not quite cutting through her skin. When he reaches her stomach, he cuts through the remaining material of her suit from navel down exposing her completely. She tenses, but refuses to scream or beg.
A slow, evil smile appears on his face.
"Nat… I've wanted this for so long." He pulls her hair roughly back and ravages her mouth as he frees himself. He places the arrow against her breast, over her heart, he pushes his cock against her hot center. The arrow pricks her skin a small red trickle drips down her ribcage.
Clint watches the scene enraged, screaming soundlessly, he would kill his own body in a heartbeat if he could - he wonders if it would be considered suicide or murder.
She gasps as he ends the kiss and allows her to breathe again. Tears shine but do not fall as he forces her legs roughly apart. She stares at him, trying to pierce through the veil of blue to the man she knows is still behind those eyes.
"Clint, if you can here me, I need you to know –"
She is not allowed to finish the sentence. His cock and the arrow home at the same time.
Her eyes widen, she tries to speak, but only a small gargle of blood emerges. Mutely, she reaches out to caress his face, leaving two delicate lines of blood across his cheek, trying to express what she cannot say. Her arm falls.
Clint yells like a wounded animal as he is forced to watch his body continue to fuck her savagely while her heart stops, Clint can feel his building orgasm and hears his own voice cold hard voice as the pleasure peaks.
"I love you."
He holds her in that horrible final embrace as heart stops, her lifeblood draining, covering them both.
Her eyes close. The tears she did not allow in life finally are allowed their freedom and trail down her cheeks.
And then the worst.
He's suddenly back in control. He's holding her body, still inside her. A terrible keening wail hits his hears and he realizes it's his own voice. He holds her tightly, rocking her, kissing her tears, tasting her blood mixed with them.
Movement behind him. Loki.
"I was far more merciful than I wanted to be, you know… I suppose that's because I loved her – YOU'RE to blame for that."
The mad, sorrowful eyes stare accusingly down at him as though Clint should be apologize for causing the insane god such pain.
He looks up, covered in her blood, confusion warring with the anguish and rage.
"Looking into your mind, you showed her to me through your eyes, you memories… I HAD to love her, it's YOUR FAULT."
He thought the pain couldn't possibly get worse, he was wrong. He closes his eyes and prays for the end he knows is coming.
"But there'll be less mercy for you, my archer. You'll live in agony much longer than she did.
"This is my curse upon you Hawkeye, may you live forever, the widow's widow… without love."
The scythe comes down in one sharp movement, Clint sees his bow arm on the ground next to him.
"And without vengeance."
He shoots upright in bed, covered in sweat, woken by the sounds of his own scream. The same dream, night after night, loving her, murdering her, Loki's revenge, the same scene each time he closes his eyes. Curling in a tight ball, he bites his fist to keep from crying out again.
Natasha listens to sounds of her partner ear-piercing agony in the next room.
It's been a week since Manhattan, a week of suffering through his polite indifference during the day, and listening to his tortured screaming every night. He will not talk about it, not to her, not to anyone. It's killing him, and therefore, killing her as well.
There's a quiet sound at her door, an envelope slides through, inside is a keycard and a note.
I know he's locked his door, but jesus fucking christ, it's my building, my rules, and I demand you make him stop waking everyone else up at 2am. Fix your Hawk. Kill him only if you need to, or want to, whatever, we just need sleep.
She smiles, it's not a nice smile. His avoidance shit ends now, here tonight.
Okay, fine probably not REALLY the end I should probably let these poor kids make nice… or naughty as needed. Sequel is already worming it's way through my brain.
Authors Notes: This is my first Avengers fic, so please let me know what you think. Hope this didn't skeve too many people out, I know it's dark, but I've had this 'Nighthawk's Nightmare' scenario rolling around in my head since watching the movie last week. Is this story ok or am I wasting my time and yours? Feedback is treasured forever and always responded to - Roar_ra