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It smells like blood when you open the door.
Not again.
You slide your backpack onto the floor and tug your shoes off. It smells more and more metallic the further you get down the hall, the air slightly colder.
For most normal people, this would be a cause for concern, but living with Nat and Maria, it’s normal. One of them is always slightly injured, whether it’s cuts or scrapes or broken bones.
Blood is more reassuring than tears. Blood can be wiped away and forgotten about but tears take longer to fade. Funnily enough, they stain worse.
You tug your jumper off and lean around the bedroom door. Blood is Nat, bruises are Maria, but neither of them are anywhere to be seen.
Bedroom, no. Kitchen, no. Sitting room, no.
Bathroom.
You’re usually right. Sure enough, Nat is sitting in the empty bathtub, and she does not look good.
There's a ripe-looking swelling over her left eye and a bloody gash across her stomach, which appears to have little pieces of glass embedded into it.
Nat is picking them out very calmly with a pair of tweezers, humming softly to herself.
You hiss through your teeth.
“Natasha. What the hell happened?”
She smiles without looking up, digging the tweezers even deeper into her flesh. “Life is a hell of a thing to happen to a person.”
“You pretentious fuck. Tell me what happened!”
“Old friend.” She murmurs.
You roll your eyes and clamber into the bath with her, nudging her legs aside. A dribble of blood sides down the side of the ceramic and soaks into your sock.
“That’s nasty, Nat.” You roll your eyes, taking the tweezers from her. “Let me help?”
“Fine.”
“And are you going to tell me a bit more than ‘an old friend?’”
“Double fine.”
“Alright. What can I do?” You ask.
Nat leans back and exhales slow and hard. Even her pain tolerance isn't loving this. “I need the first aid kit from under the sink, a bottle of Tylenol, a bowl of warm water and a flannel.”
“Anything else, your highness?”
“A kiss?” Nat grins cheekily. You smile and peck her on the forehead.
“I’ll be back in a sec. And don't pick at that wound: I know what you're like!”
“Spoilsport.” She says good-naturedly as you disappear off to collect what she's asked.
When you get back, Nat's skin has a sheen of sweat across it and her cheeks are flushed. Her hands are twitching slightly, trying to contain the urge to pick at her wound.
You slide back into the bath and kiss her collarbone gently.
Despite being in pain, Nat looks gorgeous. Her eyes are bright, her hair is fanned out behind her and she's wearing nothing but a tank-top and underwear.
You like her like this, vulnerable, a little desperate and nearly naked. Nat or Maria usually get to be the ones in control, so you're enjoying flicking the switch slightly.
Nat doesn't give you much time to revel in it, however. She digs her knee into your hip and arches her back slightly.
“Can you take the glass out now? It hurts.”
“Alright bossy, I was just trying to be sweet.”
You sit back on your heels but pause before you go in again. “Nat?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll tell me if I'm being to rough, mmm? If you need a break?”
“Why wouldn't I?” Nat fakes puppy eyes.
“Because you’re a psychopathic masochist with a taste for danger?”
“Sadist, actually.” She counters, but she squeezes your hand when your expression doesn’t lighten. “Relax, honey. I’ll let you know.”
“Good. You going to tell me about the story behind this now?” You ask, blowing gently on the wound as you pick up the tweezers again.
It’s easiest to keep her talking through this because it keeps her mind off the pain. Besides, Nat has a flair for the dramatic. She loves a good storytelling.
Today, however, she seems subdued.
“I’ll tell you later, when Maria’s home. It’s easier; you know I hate repeating myself.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.”
She smirks and runs a hand through your hair, digging her nails in and tugging when you pull a particularly sharp shard of glass from her skin.
“Fuck.”
“I’m sorry, Natty, but it’s got to be done. Disinfectant next.”
“Why would you remind me?” She groans. Your scalp tingles from her tight grip.
“Just warning you. Hold still for this bit, and don’t pull my hair.”
“Why? Does it turn you on?” Nat snickers. You roll your eyes.
“Not in this setting, no. Just makes it hard to concentrate.”
“Fine.”
Her fingers slide out of your hair and just tap gently on the side of your cheek.
Now released, you get to work, taking little slivers of glass from her stomach and dropping them into a glass next to you.
At first, Nat is calm. She rubs her thumb gently across your shoulders, hums along to nothing, but after a while, she gets restless.
“Nat. Stop thrashing.”
“I’m bored. Is all the glass out?” She complains. You kick her in the ankle.
“Almost. But you know what makes it take longer? Unnecessary chatting. Tone it down.”
“Mean.”
She stops fidgeting but you can tell she's grateful once you put the tweezers down and reach for the needle and medical thread. Most people hate stitches, but Nat's had them so many times that it’s the easier part of the operation.
You thread the needle, nudging Nat. “You ready?”
“What do you take me for, weak?” Her lip curls.
“Alright tough girl, cool down on the act. If I wanted to date a show-off, I'd be dating dudes.” You chide her, weaving the first stitch in. It catches Nat off-guard and she gasps.
“Oh, you're evil.” She hisses.
“Vile.” You agree. “Keep still.”
And finally, she obeys.
You sit in silence for a while, you stitching and Nat receiving, but after a while, she starts to act a little strange.
You watch her carefully as she wriggles around a little. Her eyes flutter closed, her breathing turns erratic and her fists clench.
If it was anyone else, it would be from the pain, but Nat’s tough, and this is completely unlike her.
It could be — no, there’s no way.
“Can pull the thread a little tighter?” She breathes, the ghost of a whimper haunting her words.
Oh my god, it is.
Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open in disbelieving delight. “You’re actually getting off on this!”
“No!” She whines. You raise an eyebrow, and she immediately caves. “Alright, yes! So what if I am?”
“You’re so weird. Besides, I thought you only enjoyed it when the pain was being inflicted on other people? Sadist not masochist, I remember you saying earlier.”
“I go both ways.” She grins at her little joke, then lets out a pure, unrestrained moan as the needle slips through her skin.
You laugh. “Fucking strange, Nat. Wait ‘till Maria hears about this. It’ll make her day.”
“Oh don’t. She’ll tease.”
“Yeah, but she might play into your fantasies if you ask nicely.”
Nat groans, though whether it’s from the pleasure of pain or the mere idea of her being polite, you’re not sure.
“I am not bottoming for Maria Hill.”
“She’s your girlfriend, dummy. Don't act so put out.”
“Whatever.”
“Your pride will be your downfall.” You say in a dramatic voice. She chuckles and pushes your head to the side playfully.
“Alright Game Master, just finish the stitching job.”
“Yeah, that won’t be the only thing I’m finishing by the looks of it.”
“Aw, and you’re so funny I almost laughed.” She quips. “I’m not going to cum from getting my stomach stitched up. Relax.”
“Sure, cowgirl.” You finish stitching, laughing at the look of disappointment on Nat's face, and then knot the thread. “Is the disinfectant going to excite you as much as this?”
“No, disinfectant stings. Can we skip that?”
Nat shifts up onto her elbows and goes to climb out of the bath, but you yank her back down again.
“Not so fast. Infections sting more.”
“Asshole.” She spits.
“Masochist.” You counter.
“Pillow princess.”
“Slut.”
“Oh, you for Maria? Definitely.” Nat grins as your face goes red and you scramble on top of her, waving the medical disinfectant dangerously close to her eye.
“Slut for Maria, slut for Maria!” She sings, delighting in how much it winds you up.
“Shut up! You’re a slut for having someone stick a needle in you!”
“Slut for Maria.” She teases, completely unbothered.
“Who’s a slut for me?”
You both freeze and your heads snap up to see a smirking Maria in the doorway. Neither of you heard her come in.
She leans against the wall and raises an eyebrow.
“And why are you two covered in blood?”