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Natasha took off her flight suit and headed towards the locker room.
Tugging on the tight ponytail on top of her head, she pulled it down and let her hair fall messily down her back. Her tank top was drenched in sweat and her palms were full of crescent marks from her nails, considering how tightly she clenched her fists during the debrief.
She almost lost her wingman today, but he was able to eject at the right time so he got off with a couple of scrapes. Otherwise, he was fine.
Psychologically, though, that's a whole other story.
"What are you gonna tell his family?"
She angrily forced her locker open and sighed. There was so much pent-up mixture of adrenaline and nervous energy in her she was practically thrumming.
Ever since the mission with Maverick, every single one of them who got called back have all proven themselves capable, they've more than earned their stripes. So, in return, they've been stationed in various places to successfully pull off more dangerous assignments.
More dangerous means more confidential. More confidential means more life-threatening.
Obviously, the thing about confidential missions was that nobody, aside them, knew shit.
Their parents wouldn't know what mission was so important that it came at the cost of their child. Their siblings wouldn't know what it was that cost them a brother or a sister.
It was all such bullshit.
Month after month Natasha's had to leave letters in her locker in case the worst happens.
Mom and Dad. Brothers. Bob. Bob's mom (when she's required to fly with her permanent WSO).
It's always the same.
I'm sorry.
I wanted to come home, I really did.
I wanted to bring him home.
I love you.
Her fingers were numb and clammy as she took the envelopes out of the left chest pocket of her jacket.
She trusted her flight skills more than anything, but nothing's ever predictable up there.
Up there, you're in control and then you're not. Next thing you know, you're spiraling and there's nothing you can do.
Suddenly "It's not the plane, it's the pilot" seems like a load of bullshit because if it's only ever dependent on the pilot then none of the pilots who went back to Top Gun would feel the need to leave fucking letters every time they go on missions.
Natasha slammed her locker closed and sat down with her head on her hands.
"Woah, what did that locker ever do to you?"
She didn't need to look up to know whose voice it belonged to. Who else would sound so unintentionally douche-y but Jake Seresin?
He'd been stationed at the same base as she did. After the whole mission with Maverick, they've finally reached an impasse where they weren't tearing each others' heads off.
They still bickered and competed silently with each other, but none of that had any of the real bite compared to before. It was more friendly banter than I-will-kill-you-with-my-bare-hands banter.
She knew that she could rely on him up there, he's finally given her a reason to, and he knew that he could rely on her, she's never given him a reason not to.
Besides, she was glad for the familiar face. And, boy, what a face he's got.
"Nothing." She shrugged. "Which is exactly why it pisses me off."
"Hm." He hummed, content with her answer.
"What do you want, Jake?" Natasha sighed, stretching her arms out. She needed an outlet for the adrenaline that has yet to simmer down.
"Talked to Randy." He mentioned casually crossing his arms. "Pretty banged up, but he's fine."
"You and I both know he's not." She looked at him pointedly.
"Well, I'd rather take banged up than the alternative, any day."
"He has a child, you know? A daughter. Barely even out of pre-school." Natasha mumbled, facing him. "Had things gone the other way, that little girl would never get to know his father and that's on me."
"Look, you made the right call, Phoenix–"
"I know I fucking did, but that doesn't make me feel any better!" She growled, pushing on his chest, cornering his body between two lockers. Natasha, despite being a few inches shorter, was looming over Jake, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "I don't need you for reassurance, Hangman."
That whole thing about them not tearing each others' heads off? That's because they found a better alternative.
"Are you really mad at me or do you need something else?" Jake said, raising an eyebrow as he swallowed promptly. Natasha thought 'fuck it' and kissed him squarely on the lips.
This wasn't the first time they did this and this certainly won't be the last (no matter how much they try and swear off of it).
They started with sparring. One mission didn't go quite well with Jake and he was ripping the gym punching bag a new one. Natasha proposed that they sparred, which he repelled with a swift 'no'. Of course, she knew how to play him using the competitive streak she was all too familiar with, eventually making him agree to sparring with her.
They pinned each other to the mat more times that she could count. Next thing she knew, they were ripping each others' clothes off and rutting against each other like sweat-slicked animals on the mat.
And so it began.
When Natasha would get called out for disobeying direct orders, she'd knock on his door and he'd know what she needed: something that involved him being blindfolded.
When Jake successfully led his first squadron mission, he knocked on her door and her first words to him were: "Congrats, Ace." Stroking his ego for the night.
They would use each other as a form of release and they couldn't get enough no matter how much they swore that the last encounter would actually be the last.
They were both very volatile people and they understood each other better than anyone else can. In their heads, although they'd never say it out loud, it just made sense that they sought each other out to scratch the proverbial "itch".
It was exhilarating, leeching off of each others' adrenaline, energy, grief, or pain like that. Nothing beats the thrill of ' are we gonna get caught this time? ' blended with the pure ecstasy of an orgasm.
They weren't dating. Feelings weren't involved in their little game, it was just them using each other. Basically, it was an unhealthy coping mechanism, but it was their unhealthy coping mechanism.
Since then, they've spared everyone the stress of watching them argue all the time and directed the verbal foreplay to actual foreplay.
And they excelled at foreplay.
Something about getting the other to the edge without actually making them topple over was an art in itself, an art that Hangman has fucking mastered, ever true to his callsign.
However, Natasha decided that she was not in the mood for him to leave her high and fucking dry. She pinned his hips using hers as she bit down at the junction of his neck. Hard.
When she pulled at his hair it was also without preamble. Tonight, she was taking what she wanted from him and she was making sure that he got her message.
Jake had never been oblivious when it came to their encounters. In fact, he was fucking attentive. He was gliding his hands down her back. His hands cupping the globes of her ass, groping, and gripping it a bit too hard. She would complain, but she was numb from the high of the thrill, so she didn't give too much of a damn.
He shifted their positions so her back was against the wall. "I don't have a condom."
She glared at him. There was no fucking way they were doing this, it was their one rule: always have protection. It didn't matter that Natasha had an IUD, they always used protection. She was not taking any chances.
"Get on your knees, then."
Jake's eyes flashed dangerously and he smirked, dropping to his knees almost immediately. He tugged her underwear down and lifted her legs, perching it over his broad shoulders.
For all his dickheadedness, he was actually a very generous lover and he loved eating her out. He was very enthusiastic about it, different from every sexual partner she's had who thought of her orgasm as a chore, but was extremely entitled about their own release.
She was pulled away from her thoughts when he licked a broad stripe up her slit. Natasha groaned and the grip she had on his hair tightened. "Oh, fuck–"
He continued working her with his mouth. His lips found her clit and he sucked . She had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the oncoming scream that tore from her throat.
Natasha could feel his smirk from down there, but she was too wound up to care. She could feel her release coming and fuck she was chasing it, grinding helplessly against his face.
"Oh god—"
She was there. Right there and then he stopped.
He pulled away and looked up at her, his stupid mouth and chin glistened with her juices. She would be embarrassed but she was too frustrated to have any other emotion dominate. "What the fuck, Hangman?"
Jake looked at her mirthfully. "What? Much as I love your pussy, I need to come up for air, you know?"
"Asshole."
"So you say, Phoenix."
Then he dove down again. His lips found her clit again. She moaned and groaned, every filthy sound coming out from her mouth as he expertly plunged his tongue in and out of her.
She was there again. Gripping his hair, pushing his face even deeper, the echoes of her moans bouncing off of the walls of the locker room. "Fuck, fuck— "
Then he pulled away. Again, the asshole.
He was looking up at her with that silly smirk of his and Natasha's decided that she's had enough, she was gonna murder him.
"If you don't get back there, I swear to god, I'm going to finish this shit myself." She hissed, tugging at his hair roughly. "And I'm not going to allow you to watch."
"Now where's the fun in that?"
For the third time, he went back down. Somehow he was more enthusiastic than before, he devoured her like it was the last thing he'd ever do. She was already oversensitive from the edging, she tried to clamp down on her mouth to at least muffle the sounds he was eliciting from her, but to no avail.
When his lips wrapped around her clit one last time, she was a goner.
It was like she was flitting between consciousness and unconsciousness. The after-effects of the orgasm had turned her brain into mush, she barely felt Jake stand and carry her towards the shower, her legs still wrapped around his waist.
Jake gently let her down and peeled off whatever remaining clothing she had. She'd be bothered by the whole intimacy of the situation, but it's not like he hasn't seen it before and she was too out of it to care.
He turned the shower knob and Natasha felt the cool water trickle down her body.
"Thanks." She mumbled, watching as his uniform slowly got soaked. "You can go now, I'm fine."
He looked at her with uncertainty, but he hopped out of the shower still. "You sure?"
That's what she liked about her little arrangement with Jake, he respected her boundaries. It's like he just knows exactly what she needs without ever being confused about where they stand.
It was nice. She knew he had heart behind that asshole exterior he liked to portray.
"I'm good." Natasha hummed in response. "Thanks Jake. For the orgasm and this." Gesturing to the shower.
"Anytime." He smiled and gave her a salute. As the sound of his footsteps got lower, Natasha licked her lips.
What they had was unauthorized, dangerous, and unhealthy. It could blow up in their faces and they'd never be assigned on missions together again especially if they've been doing it on base like they did today.
It was an unhealthy coping mechanism, yes.
It was unauthorized and dangerous, also yes.
But it was theirs.
Not much you can possess in their line of work when even their lives were practically in the possession of who they worked for.
But this was theirs.
Theirs to keep. Theirs to protect.
And Natasha had always been keen on protecting what was hers.