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Inscrutable

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“Well, that’s just embarrassing,” Natasha says, this carefully blank expression on her face that doesn’t really hide the teasing glint in her eyes.

Wanda grunts, pushing up to her knees before getting heavily to her feet.

Natasha doesn’t help her up. Steve would, always happily offering a hand to all the new Avengers when he inevitably tumbles them to the mats during spar sessions.

Honestly, Wanda prefers working out with Steve.

Of course, she understands why lately her physical training has been assigned to Natasha. They’re a similar build, it makes sense that Natasha should teach Wanda to use her size to her advantage.

But Natasha never helps her up.

Natasha just watches her frustration, as unreadable as ever. A hint of a smirk, a cocked hip, drawled words are the closest Wanda ever gets from her to something that feels real.

Wanda is about emotion, passion and fire. But Natasha is about impressions, subtle clues that can be interpreted in a million ways. Always just beyond reach, guarded in this way that’s like a taunt.

‘You can look, but you can never see.’

It’s infuriating, in a way that rattles Wanda down within her bones.

Perhaps after her soul-deep bond with Pietro, it is inevitable she would struggle with learning to read anyone, let alone somebody as enigmatic as Natasha. But Wanda suspects it goes beyond that.

Natasha is closed to her, and with anybody else Wanda would accept that. But from Natasha, she cannot.

Because Natasha is wary of her, and Wanda accepts why, as an enemy turned ally, trust still a tentative concept between them.

But Wanda wants to know her.

“Again,” Natasha orders.

Wanda shouldn’t care so much, but there’s something about Natasha that undeniably intrigues her. Chasing those ghosts of expression across Natasha’s face, the unimpressed raise of an eyebrow when Wanda telegraphs an attack too much, the slight shake of her head when Wanda promptly overcompensates a feint to the left and almost loses her footing.

She’s trying, but she’s just not good at fighting like this.

But the rules are clear, no lashing out with her powers, no energy bolts or levitation. She must be able to defend herself without them.

“Come on,” Natasha goads, sidestepping Wanda’s lunge with humiliating ease. “It’s about surprise, about being creative.”

Something simmering between them, something that makes Wanda need to try harder, be better, have Natasha notice her.

Wanda drops and twists, kicking out at Natasha’s ankles. She’s breathing heavily already, flushed and sweating, but Natasha makes every move look effortless as she dodges the sweep of Wanda’s leg.

Steve would compliment her for such an attack. It’s one she could not have accomplished a month ago.

Natasha simply stares her down with a quirk of her mouth, as if Wanda is almost adorably uncoordinated. And even that expression is gone as soon as Wanda registers it, hidden away behind a mask of detached aloofness.

‘You can look, but you can never see.’

Wanda rolls back to her feet, strikes out and misses again. Her hair is escaping its ponytail, sticking to her forehead and irritating her eyes. Her chest aches, and Natasha remains as out of reach as ever.

“Get vicious,” Natasha hisses, riling her further and further.

Wanda does.

It’s instinct, stretching out with her powers, the world sliding into a red hue that makes Natasha’s hair more vivid than ever. Slipping into the dark clouds of Natasha’s mind, and she realises her mistake as soon as she makes it.

But Wanda finally sees.

Sees herself through Natasha’s eyes, spread across the mats, across Natasha’s bed, across the floor of the Quinjet, across the rubble of a battlefield. Sees Natasha’s hands upon her thighs, tastes Natasha’s desire on the back of her tongue, falling into fantasy after fantasy in the blink of an eye before she yanks herself back to the cold reality of the gym.

Stumbling across the mats, dizzy and shaken, and Wanda is aware that Natasha has gone very still.

It’s wrong, a violation. Those were Natasha’s most intimate thoughts, Wanda had no right. She will be disbanded from the team, truly alone with only her grief and her anger to prop her up in some parody of a life.

She only wanted to know Natasha, but instead she has ruined everything.

But Natasha simply lets out a shaky sigh, raking fingers through her hair. “Well, I did tell you to get vicious,” she admits, and there’s something in her voice that almost sounds impressed.

Wanda’s breath leaves her in a rush, and she can feel herself grinning, a little giddy with the hint of praise, with the phantom touch of Natasha’s fingers on her skin.

“Alright, don’t get cocky,” Natasha tells her with a roll of her eyes, and then she drops down into the move Wanda attempted earlier, kicks Wanda’s feet out from under her.

Her back hits the mats with a loud smack. Natasha stays crouched beside her, but doesn’t offer to help her up.

Which is fine, because Wanda reaches out, quick as she can. One hand on Natasha’s wrist, the other in her hair, hauling her down.

Natasha lands bodily across her in a sprawl, chest to chest, eyes bright but refusing to look surprised. Wanda’s hand is still in her hair.

“Really running with the whole ‘get vicious’ thing, aren’t you?” Natasha asks, in that low and husky way she has.

“Yes,” Wanda replies, heart thundering beneath her ribs, and drags Natasha down to kiss her.

This is what she’s been missing, been craving. This is why it’s rattled her so much, to be kept at arm’s length.

She’s wanted Natasha.

The revelation of it is so unexpected and yet obvious that it makes her want to laugh.

She smiles again, a little dazed, when Natasha pulls back slowly.

“This is a bad idea,” Natasha tells her. But it’s a token protest, Wanda is sure, and maybe it isn’t ever going to easy to read Natasha, but Wanda suspects she may be starting to get the hang of it.

It’s not the words that are important, it’s the way Natasha is still pressed against her, the way her gaze falls to Wanda’s mouth.

“I saw,” Wanda whispers. “I saw what you wanted to do to me. Here, on the mats.”

Natasha sucks in a quick breath.

Show me,” Wanda coaxes.

Natasha shakes her head, but she’s still not moving away. “Cap’s gonna be so pissed at me for this,” she sighs, and the heat of it tickles Wanda’s lips.

“Show me your fantasies,” Wanda murmurs, and Natasha kisses her hard enough to drive her head back against the mats.

For all her usual inscrutableness, Natasha’s intentions are clear as crystal now. She bites at Wanda’s bottom lip until Wanda opens to her, licks inside with such heat that Wanda can feel herself burning with it. Hands tugging at Natasha’s hips, and Natasha’s fingernails scrape down Wanda’s bare sides beneath her sports bra.

When their lips break apart, Wanda’s panting, swallowing desperately at the air.

“I want it,” she moans, legs spreading to make room for Natasha’s hips. “I want it all.” Arching her neck back for the sting of Natasha’s teeth. “Everything I saw, I want you to give it to me.”

Natasha bites her hard enough to hurt, and Wanda bucks beneath her, a high-pitched noise scraping at her throat.

“Want your mouth, your hands,” she gasps, raising her hips so Natasha can drag her leggings down her thighs. “Want you here on the mats, and then again in the locker room.”

Her hands tangle in Natasha’s hair, soft and damp between her fingers. Urging her down, feeling Natasha sucking bruises into her stomach.

“Want you to push me against the tiles and fuck me from behind.”

She spreads for the heat of Natasha’s mouth, wet and rough between her thighs.

“Want your fingers, stuffing me full, sat at the back of the jet, knowing anyone could turn and see us.”

Words slurring now, and Natasha growls, sucks at Wanda’s clit, making her cry out.

“Want you to fuck me in the open, before the dust’s cleared, fallen enemies at our feet.”

Natasha curses in Russian, fucks into Wanda with two fingers, Wanda already so open for her, swollen with want, dripping with how it feels, Natasha’s desire so clear in every drag of her lips.

“Show me everything,” Wanda pleads, and she can hear her voice cracking, feel the snap and fizz of power behind her eyelids as they fall closed.

Because she wants this. Wants Natasha, the first thing she’s wanted in so long that isn’t violence and justice and vengeance. It’s why she’s leaned to Natasha, searched her face for every twitch and twist of potential emotion.

She’s been searching for a sign, even if she hasn’t known it, searching for confirmation that she could have this. This mysterious woman with the concrete walls and pain-filled past, who touches Wanda now with a rawness that makes her whine and twist beneath Natasha’s lips.

She’s wanted Natasha to notice her, because she can’t help but notice Natasha, and now she has that attention upon her it burns like the sun. Ferocious and inescapable, and Wanda wails for the way Natasha presses down hard with her thumb against her clit, finger dragging over her g-spot. Holding her pinched between two perfect forms of pressure and shaking with it as she clenches down and comes, heels skidding against the mats.

She can’t catch her breath, and Natasha looks her at her with a slick mouth and fiery eyes.

“Show me more,” Wanda begs, and Natasha smirks at her, the expression clear and readable, a promise of everything she plans to do to Wanda, all the fantasies she still has to share.