This was written for the be_compromised promptathon on livejournal. As always, none of it is mine. The fairy tale Natasha references, 'Marya Morevna,' is real.

lost inside this forest

"There's a story about a princess who chained a king in her basement."

Clint grins as his hand strokes her hip, the other under his head. Their clothes are scattered around her apartment from when he turned up at her door in the middle of the night. Natasha had not seen him in three months, and the reunion was… exhilarating.

Now he's sprawled across her bed, damp skin gleaming as she moves to straddle him. Her hair, grown so long now, spills over her shoulder in a red waterfall. "Is there?" Clint prompts her.

Natasha leans down to brush her lips across his but pulls back before he can reach up to hold her there. He wants this sometimes, after the bloodshed, and she would not deny him. "There's a story," she continues, sitting up and cupping his face. "In Russia."

Clint hums in acknowledgement, leaning into her touch and turning his head to kiss the red lines on her wrist. "Tell me," he murmurs.

"Her name is Marya Morevna. A demon king wanted her for his bride."

"And he takes what he wants?"

Natasha smiles, tracing over the spray of shrapnel scars across his abdomen and watching him shiver. "Yes. But she's not what he expects."

"Apparently." His fingers travel along her side, lingering on her ribcage, and Natasha's breath catches as Clint's grin widens, all swagger and sex.

His eyes close as she tells him of snow and towers and kings who cannot die, and his breathing evens out to the point where he might be sleeping. She pauses, touching his chest, and he opens his eyes. "Go on, Tasha."

"A prince comes to the kingdom. He's the youngest son so the throne is not for him. He meets Marya and falls instantly in love. He decides he wants to save her."

"Hmm." Clint props himself up on one elbow, the other arm coming up so he can palm her right breast. "I like this prince."

Natasha frowns at him. "She is not for him either."

He falters, the line of his jaw becoming more pronounced. "And?"

She covers his hand with hers and presses down as she slowly arches her back. "Marya had things under control. The prince is an idiot."

Clint chuckles, but she feels the tension in his shoulders. He reaches between her legs and waits for her answering gasp. His voice is rough. "And the monster king in the basement?"

Her face is serene even as she begins to rock her hips against his roaming hands. "He takes what he wants."

"And does the prince run off with Marya in the end?" He's sitting up now, guiding her body against his in a slow burn.

"Not always," she says, and bites his lip. "But the king escapes his chains."

Clint's hands come up to grip her upper arms. "One day you'll have to tell me how that story ends."

Without warning he flips her over onto her back, crushing her into the pillows as she moans.

"Kinky Russians," he growls into her ear.

She lets him kiss her as she lifts her wrists above her head.