"I adore you, even more so with your hands around my neck."
MATURE CONTENT WARNING- Violence, Angst, Smut, and Strong Language.
Manipulated plots of: The Avengers - Infinity War
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Φίλος . (phílos) The love we treat as lesser in the modern world. The ancient Greeks considered it superior to ἔρως (érōs; erotic love), as phílos was considered a love between two equals and free of animalistic pull or sexual desire. Phílos is the kind of love two warriors who've shared a foxhole feel for one another. Someone you can count on whenever, forever.
I don't know what I was expecting. From the little she spoke of her childhood, or more accurately the one she had been robbed of, it would be safe to assume that there is in fact a hell on earth. Yet here we stand, side by side, looking at the bloodthirsty castle through two different lens.
I see red silk. A silk that could cut you if it moves quick enough against your skin, but would leave smooth, lustful kisses if you stirred at its pace. It was a regal prison if that were ever possible, fostering the helpless until they never want to leave. Eating the lotus, giving into themselves more with each bite. They play the person they are told they are until they become just that.
It was twistingly compelling, but I assume her lens is less romantic. She has indulged in that freedom already, now only able to see how that silk has unreservedly stained her.
This haven for iniquity holds the most dangerous and efficient assassins in the world, but here I stand next to the most deadly; the escaped, semi-reformed, yet just as lethal Black Widow.
I feel comfortable with our chances.
We lurk in dense fog of the surrounding forest, watching the activity in front of us from a distance.
"The access point with the least amount of security is the main entrance. They compensate with cameras, but at that point it won't matter. All we have to do is stay out of sight as we cross the field and we should be good from there."
I catch myself the first time I try to respond, acknowledging that I need more thought to my words, but time doesn't seem to make a difference. "So we're gonna walk right through the front door?"
"Absolutely."
We turn our heads to meet each other's cocky smiles, knowing full well that we were being completely and utterly careless. This wasn't work or a formal assignment. This was personal, which made us even more reckless. Our moves were ego driven, fueled by intimate vendetta. These missions are irresistible. Revenge slips so smoothly off the tongue.
If we died, we died. All we have cared about for the last year was seeing those from our past fall from our own doing.
To break us out of our thoughts, two guns click off their safety behind our heads. Our smiles stay in tact as we slowly turn to face two Soviet soldiers.
