Now Where’s Your Champion? [@athermajestysservice]

athermajestysservice:

inheritorofmemories:

The man is squirming on the floor, and Natasha rolls her eyes at the greeting. “If he was co-operating, would he still be breathing?” she asks, before crouching next to him. The clever dress she’s worn rides up around her hips, but the press of her gun is far more compelling. “Et bien plus vite qu’il peut écraser la trachée, je peux avoir une balle dans le crâne, «bébé».“ 

As the target burbles the code - translated readily as ‘1895’ - Natasha sighs. “Essayez à nouveau.

James glanced at Natasha and noted how her dress had ridden up, a smirk pulling at his lips before he returned his gaze to the man on the floor. Working with her was certainly more entertaining than working alone, that he would admit.

James’ fingers tightened around the man’s throat, and he choked quietly, grasping at his wrist. But he kept his grip tight, until the man began to turn purple, and pleaded for him to stop and that he would tell him the true code. Loosening his hold enough for him to breathe, he waited as the target told Natasha the code.

Natasha’s too busy concentrating on the minutiae of the target’s reaction, but she’s accustomed to feeling the burn of men’s eyes on her anyway. One more makes no difference, and certainly not when she’s saved the job of manual strangulation - a lot of work, for little reward.

She leans forward, hair brushing the man’s face as he chokes out the number sequence. Flickering her gaze to James, Natasha nods once. It’s probable that this time, they have the real code; she knows how to spot a liar when she sees one. Pulling herself to stand, she smooths down her dress, before blowing the target a final kiss. “Il faut plus que quelques chiffres pour fixer ce prix, ma chérie. Bonsoir et… bonne chance.

Pressing her back to the door, she waits for James to silence the target and join her - their job isn’t over for the night.