Wanda awoke with a start, sheets tangling around her lithe form as a tremor of power rolled through her very bones. Deep scarlet tendrils flickered at her fingertips, thrumming with an intoxicating sort of energy.
A dream...no, a vision of such searing clarity it stole the very breath from her lungs.
Heart galloping, she reached up to trace the beads of sweat pearling her flushed brow. Never had her gifts manifested with such lucid force when unconscious, as if the fabric between planes had blazed away entirely to reveal...
Natasha.
The name burned through Wanda's scattered thoughts like a brand searing into her very essence. She could still envision every curve, every nuance of the former Russian assassin's features as clearly as if Nat were lying beside her. It made her mouth go dry with a strange, unfamiliar sort of wanting.
There was such a barely-restrained power about the deadly Widow, a coiled sensuality waiting to strike like a serpent at the slightest provocation. Those smoldering jade eyes hostile one moment, yet glittering with flashes of something rawer, more carnal in her vision's gossamer lulls.
Wanda swallowed hard against the vice constricting her slender throat. This was inexplicable...and yet undeniably, inexorably right in a bone-deep way that transcended her meager experience.
They were two sides of the same shadowed coin in the end, were they not? Natasha with her shadowed past and hard-earned redemption. Wanda borne of tragedy and reborn in fire from the ashes of her former life in Sokovia.
Both had been forged in the searing crucible of chaos, reformed and tempered as weapons to unleash their wrath upon a cruel, unforgiving world. Sisters in arms haunted by their respective mantles as the ruthless Black Widow and the dreaded Scarlet Witch.
A fresh wave of gooseflesh rippled across Wanda's skin as more tantalizing flashes resurfaced from that heated reverie. Slick skin sliding together, ragged gasps caught in the hanging strands of sweat-soaked tendrils. Sinuous limbs linking, entwining in a carnal dance. Nat's razor-edged smirk hovering mere inches from her own parted lips, eyelids gone heavy with unconcealed lust...
Wanda clenched her thighs together in vain as the tantalizing phantom of that mind's touch lingered hot and heady in every nerve ending. God, what was this depraved spell woven trance weaving its dark seduction around her so thoroughly?
Suddenly her modest quarters within the Compound seemed stifling, too small to contain the surging scarlet tides crashing inside her. Wanda sucked in a ragged breath, tossing aside her tangled sheets before rising from her sweat-dampened bed in a daze.
A soft glow permeated the dimness as she padded silently through the inner hallway, drawn like a moth to whatever precipice loomed ahead. The whispers in her mind thrummed with each barefoot step, pulsing with the heartbeat of the vision growing ever clearer.
Flickering flashes coalesced into half-remembered snatches of sensation - the silken burn of Nat's tongue searing scorching paths down the hollows of her throat... The heated brand of those deadly thighs scissored around Wanda's waist and anchoring her in blinding ecstasy...
Sweet goddamn heaves of rapture, she was smoldering. Wanda could practically taste the desperation, the ravenous hunger to rend and consume until nothing remained but blistering union. A tumultuous storm of passion given a singularly voracious form in Natasha's unraveling.
Panting low in her throat, Wanda pressed herself against the wall just outside the heavy oaken doors separating the Compound's locker rooms from the main wing. Thick tendrils of scarlet energy wafted from her trembling palms, slithering beneath the crack spilling harsh amber light from within.
