Black Widow - - Fellow Countryman

"FELLOW COUNTRYMAN"
A Black Widow Fanfic
By Bill K.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------he Bhe Black Widow, SHIELD, and Nick Fury are (c)2001 by The Marvel Entertainment
Group and are used without permission, but with respect. This story is (c)2001
by Bill K.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The suite was the best suite in the hotel. The hotel was the best one in
New York. It was colossally expensive, but only the best of everything was
provided for its guests.

Reclining in the suite were five men of Russian descent. They were hard,
grim men with expensive suits and expensive tastes. They could afford the room
rates, though.

Organized crime was very lucrative.

On a cell phone was a handsome blond man. He had chiseled features and a
sculpted body beneath his expensive clothes. They were tailored to accent his
tall, muscular frame. His hair was cropped close and immaculately groomed. A
single gold ring adorned his right pinkie. The man cared greatly about his
appearance, but was confident enough in his looks to not over-accessorize.

"And send someone different," he told the person on the phone. "The last
bitch you sent up here cried too much."

Dmitri closed the cell phone. Instantly the other four men turned their
attention to him. Dmitri Luchinkin demanded attention at all times. Since he
paid off very well, his men were willing to give it to him.

"Alexander?" he said to a dark haired, silently menacing man.

"We have twenty thousand American dollars a week laundering through our
co-opted banks in New York, Montreal and Cayman. No problems."

"Good. Pavel?"

"We're lining up the goods for our buyer," the youthful blond man with the
deadly eyes reported. "The Gen is is eager to sell and the goods should leave
from Murmansk shortly."

"Will there be any problems smuggling it in?"

"If the customs officer doesn't take our offer," Pavel said calmly, "we
will just make 'other arrangements'."


"Be neat," Dmitri warned.

Pavel nodded. "I'm going to miss this city when it's gone."

"A city is a city," Dmitri shrugged. "We set up operations somewhere
else, no problem as long as your money's good. Sergei," he said and a rough
brute with black hair stiffened. "How are the collections going?"

"Good," the man replied. "The trouble we were anticipating didn't
materialize."

"Did I tell you?" Dmitri smiled. "Sometimes a mistake can work to your
advantage. Your clientele are less likely to challenge you if they know one of
their own died doing it." His eyes narrowed. "That doesn't give you license to
get reckless and sloppy, though."

"I know, Dmitri," Sergei said quickly. "It was that old Markov's fault,
as I told you. I never expected an old fool like him to challenge me so
boldly."

Dmitri nodded and the matter was over. The buzzer sounded and another of
the men got up to answer it. His gun drawn, he opened the door a crack and
peeked out. Finding no threat, he opened the door, holstered his gun and
ushered the caller in.

The caller was a woman - - a very beautiful woman. She had thick dark
brick red hair swept back from her forehead and cascading down past her
shoulders. Creamy skin, a graceful jaw and red, hypnotic lips decorated her
face.

She shrugged off a beige raincoat, revealing a body that was a synthesis
of a jungle cat and a pinup model. It was encased in a close fitting deep blue
dress with short sleeves, a plunging bodice and a high hem. Her legs were long
and lean, and all the more eye-catching covered in black hose and shorn in blue
pumps with four-inch heels. A gold crucifix on a gold chain dangled from her
neck and nestled in her cleavage.

She was an older woman, but with a beauty that defied years and would
shame most younger than her.

The single mark against the package was the world-weary dimness of her
emerald eyes. They peaked out from under hooded eyelids colored midnight blue
and lashes thickened and blackened. They were eyes that whispered of the weight
of her experience and her lack of passion for life, for her work, and for
anyone, least of all herself.

"Maury sent me," she said simply. Her voice was husky with a Russian
accent.

Dmitri perked up. ["You're Russian?"] Dmitri asked in his native tongue.

["Yes,"] she replied unenthusiastically in the same language.

["What are you doing so far from home?"] he smiled, intrigued.

["Making a living,"] she replied diffidently. ["Something I couldn't do
in St. Petersburg."]

"Have you done this long?"

"Do you really care?"

"If I wasn't interested," Dmitri said, a hint of warning in his tone, "I
wouldn't have asked."

"Long enough," she shrugged. "A lifetime ago, I was a dancer."

"And why aren't you a dancer now?" he asked, only slightly mocking.

"Things change."

Dmitri nodded to his associates. One came up behind the woman.

"And what shall I call you, my beautiful dancer?" Dmitri asked.

"Natasha has always worked," she replied.

"Nata" h" he said, rolling the name around on his tongue. "It fits you."
He looked her up and down again and his eyes sparkled. "I may come to like you,
Natasha."

"It's nice to be liked," she replied indifferently.

Again he nodded to his partners. The one behind Natasha placed his hands
on her shoulders. She didn't flinch. He began patting her down for wires or
weapons, his hands slowly working his way around her breasts and torso. She
remained still without protest, as if she'd endured such searches before. His
hands worked their way down to her hips. He felt along her bottom. She endured
it in silence.

It was a firm bottom.

Smiling, the man's hand went under her skirt and felt between her legs.
The hand lingered, to the amusement of the others.

"I don't give free samples," she said calmly.

"Huh?" the burly gunsel replied.

"You leave that hand there much longer and I'm going to charge you."

The hand pulled away, amid laughter by the gangsters. The hand's owner
circled around in front of Natasha. Pulling a hundred from his pocket, he made
a show of holding it up before her, then with a sneer stuffed it into her bodice
between her breasts.

"Keep the change," he grunted in a thick Russian accent. His finger
flicked the crucifix, trying to reassert his stature.

"OK, find something to do," Dmitri said, amused by the exchange and the
fire that seemed to smolder just beneath the dulled, hardened surface of this
woman. The others moved away. He approached Natasha, then noticed the purse
with her. "A purse?" he asked warily, taking it from her without resistance.

"If the desk clerk sees a strange woman enter without a purse, he gets
suspicious," she replied.

"Smart," Dmitri nodded.

He opened the purse and checked the contents. Inside were five dollars
cash and a ring of keys. Satisfied, he dropped it next to her coat. His hand
pressed into the small of her back and Dmitri guided Natasha into the bedroom.

["You're older than what Maury usually sends me,"] Dmitri said, closing
the door behind him. Natasha took a few steps into the room, then turned to him.

"I haven't had anyone complain," she replied with just the merest hint of
annoyance. Dmitri smiled at having gotten a rise out of her at last.

["I'm sure you're very professional,"] he said. ["And there's something
to be said for experience as well. The package is certainly attractive enough."]

Mollified, Natasha glanced around.

"What did you want?" she asked.

["Please me. I leave the details up to you," and he smirked, "since
you're a professional."]

Undaunted, Natasha reached down and grasped the hem of her dress. She
pulled it up over her, her torso shimmying out of the close fitting garment.
Dmitri's concentration increased, noticing with great attention to detail the
dark nylon panties, the black lace garter belt holding up her hose and the
erotic way the muscles of her belly moved as she squirmed out of the dress.

She wore no bra and her breasts sagged only slightly. She may have been
older, but she'd aged like fine wine and he grew eager to taste her. The dress
cleared her face and Natasha looked at him like she knew he'd be staring at her.
There was no shame, as if her being topless before a man was no longer of any
consequence. Carefully she folded her dress and draped it over a chair. Her
hands moved behind her to the clasp of the garter belt.

["Leave it,"] Dmitri said.

Natasha eyed him, momentarily uncertain. Then she dropped back behind her
mask.

["The panties too?"] she asked.

["They can go."]

She silently questioned him as to how she could get her panties off
without removing the garter. Dmitri sauntered over to her, producing a
switchblade. He noticed she didn't tense upon seeing it, but she did keep her
eye on it at all times - - indeed a woman of some experience. He eased the
blade under the panty along her right hip. A flick of the wrist severed it.
Natasha stared at him stonily as he repeated the gesture on her left hip. The
nylon wisp fell away, revealing her pubic mound.

["I hope you're buying me a new pair,"] she said coolly.

["I can afford it,"] he said, a teasing smirk passing fleetingly across
his lips.

Natasha approached him, stopping only when they were intimately close.
Her tapered fingers framed his face. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
They kissed, the passion of the embrace growing with every second. He felt
Natasha's hands slide along his throat and down his shoulders until she could
grip his arms. Dmitri's hand weaved into Natasha's red tresses. He gripped
them and pulled, forcing her head back as he leaned into the kiss. Her breasts
flattened against him and her groin ground into his. When she finally, slowly
broke the embrace, Dmitri was smiling. Natasha did not seem offended.

Wordlessly, Natasha sank to her knees before him. Her hands deftly undid
the belt around Dmitri's slacks, then the slacks themselves. Beneath, the man
wore tight bikini briefs. His cock strained at the nylon and sprang out at her
when she freed it. Unbidden, she pressed her lips to the head, just to tease it.
The cock throbbed at her. Natasha's eyes closed as she surrounded the organ
with her mouth and closed around it.

"Mmmmmm," Dmitri rumbled.

Showing more enthusiasm that she had up to this point, Natasha began
sucking on the cock as if it were her path to immortality. Tiny moans escaped
from her as her mouth worked the cock. They were mirrored by the sounds rising
from Dmitri. He began trgetrget his caution and lose himself in the sensations
flooding over him. His body swayed as Natasha's head bobbed rhythmically on his
member.

She was good. For this alone, she was worth her weight in gold.

Her low, enthusiastic sounds pleased him. She might be doing it for
effect, but he didn't care. The feel of her mouth on his shaft pleased him
more, so he allowed her to paint the illusion that sucking on his cock was vital
to her very existence.

When he felt he was getting too close to climax, he pressed his hand
against her forehead. Obediently she pulled away and looked up to him.

["Where have you been all this time?"] he murmured, his voice besotted
with lust. ["You are an absolute treasure."]

She glided up to her feet, her hands sliding up his chest. Her palms slid
over his nipples, intentionally, then she pushed off gently and backed away from
him. Her eyes were locked on his the entire time, and though her expression was
still neutral, they as well as her hand gestured to him. As she backed to the
bed, she motioned with an extended forefinger for him to follow. Natasha
reached the bed and, without looking, eased up on it and posed on one hip,
leaning back on her arms so that everything was tantalizingly displayed.

Dmitri wanted to throw himself on her and take her as he had all the
others. He didn't. This one was different. This one had clasoo moo much class
for her profession. She was a woman to be seduced, not conquered. And she was
Russian. Mimicking her deliberate style, he stepped out of his slacks and began
slowly divesting himself of his shirt. Natasha's face remained inscrutable, but
she did watch him as he worked. Once his shoes and socks were gone, he stepped
over to her, his hands working the waistband of his briefs down.

Sitting on the bed next to Natasha, Dmitri curled one arm around her waist.
His right hand closed around her breast, cupping it in his hand. Both their
gazes dropped to her chest. Dmitri's hand caressed the mound, his thumb passing
over the nipple again and again. Natasha inhaled slowly.

["Do you like that?"] Dmitri asked in a low, bedroom voice.

"I won't lie," she replied, glancing up at him under the hoods of her
eyelids. "You know I do."

["Tell me in Russian."]

["I do. You have a manly touch."]

WoulWould you say that if I weren't wealthy enough to afford one such as
you?"]

["No, because I would not be here if you weren't wealthy enough to afford
one such as me,"] she replied, the merest hint of a coquettish smile curling her
red lips. ["But you would still have a manly touch."]

Placated, Dmitri returned to looking at the breast he was holding.

["I like the feel of your breast,"] he said, tracing the aureole lightly
with his index finger. ["It's a good breast - - just right."]

["Are you a connoisseur of breasts?"]

["I am a connoisseur of all the finer things in life,"] he leered at her.

He leaned in and took the nipple in his mouth, running his tongue over and
around it. He heard Natasha's breath shudder out of her and it pleased him.
His mouth passed up her chest, feeling the soft skin and the lean muscles
beneath against his lips, until he reached her throat. Natasha tilted her head
back to accommodate him.

Leaning in, he directed her onto her back. As he climbed onto her, his
hand felt down between her legs. She parted willingly and he probed. The act
was serenaded by a hissing intake of air. Unsatisfied with her wetness, Dmitri
began rubbing the pubic patch insistently.

Natasha squirmed on the bed. Her eyes closed and her lips parted,
revealing pearl white teeth. They parted as well and a small moan escaped.
Dmitri smiled in triumph, because he could tell that this moan was genuine. He
had managed to crack through the professional shell and reach the woman beneath.
The game was coming to a close and he was winning. He continued to probe her
groin and make her wriggle beneath him. He was in control of her exquisite body
now and he liked being in control.

["Do you want me to fuck you?"] he asked.

["That's . . ."] she grunted, ["why I was here, I thought."}

["Do you want it, Natasha?"]

She glared up at him in annoyance.

["Yes,"] she whispered between pants, ["I want it."]

["Beg me, my little dancer,"] he smiled.

["Please,"] she groaned. ["Please give me your cock."]

["And if I don't?"]

["Don't tease,"] she moaned and he concluded she was his.

["Very well, my pretty little dancer,"] Dmitri nodded. ["But only because
you remind me how like music it is hearing Russian come from a beautiful woman's
mouth."]

Dmitri climbed onto Natasha. Dutifully she spread her legs for him. She
reached down to guide him in, but he clasped her hands and pinned them above her
head, giving her a shake of his head. His cock slid down her until it found her
opening, then penetrated insistently and began thrusting while he held her hands
above her. Natasha looked up to him, seemingly helpless in his hands. He
leered at her.

"Yes," she moaned. "Fuck me!"

["In Russian,"] he grunted, punctuating his request with a thrust.

["Fuck me,"] she repeated. ["Give me all you have! Fill me up!"]

The words spurred Dmitri's pace, forcing Natasha to gasp between the words.
She fit him well and the feel of her body against his enflamed his passions all
the more. He worked his cock in and out of her, the woman begging him in their
native tongue for more and more while her vagina seemed to grip him like a fist.
A familiar tightness began to form in his chest just beneath his breastbone.
The rush of seion ion quickly built up within him. His entire body's
energy seemed to collect in his groin, then fire into her. Dmitri
grunted loudly, as if his essence was tryingforcforce its way from him into her.
He spurted as much of himself into Natasha as he could amass, then sagged up
against her when he spent himself. Gasping for breath, he rolled off of her.

There was no way he was going to risk her getting away from him now.

["You are a remarkable woman, Natasha,"] Dmitri said, still panting. ["I
haven't enjoyed myself thach ich in a long time. Whatever Maury is providing
you, I'll triple it. Say yes. I'm not taking the chance of you getting away."]

["Do you mean it?"] he heard her throaty voice purr behind him as he rose
up to a sitting position.

There was a flash of gold across his field of vision and suddenly Dmitri
felt something constrict his throat. Dmitri's hands went to his throat. He
could feel Natasha's knee jam into his back. He could feel a metal crucifix
bounce against his collarbone. He could feel the gold links of a fine chain cut
into his throat - - and he could feel the piano wire under the links.

Rage welled up, but was quickly overwhelmed by survival instinct. He
clawed at the garrote without success. His hand reached behind him, fishing for
something to grab onto, but Natasha avoided him while keeping the choking
pressure on his windpipe.

"Wh . . ." he tried to choke out, thrashing around in an attempt to pull
away or dislodge him from her.

["Why?"] she hissed in his ear, in Russian. ["Perhaps because I'm The
Black Widow and black widows kill those they mate with. Perhaps because your
actions are a threat to the US and the millions of innocents in New York that
you care nothing about. Perhaps because you pass among your fellow countrymen
here in America and force them to pay for their safety, so that they're no
better off than when they were in the old country. Perhaps because your greed
and callous cruelty shames every Russian in this world."]

Dmitri gasped for air that wouldn't come. He had heard the whispers about
the Black Widow from his days in the old Soviet Union, about her deadly
efficiency. His vision failed. His chest burned. He could feel himself
slipping away and he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

["But most of all, I do it to avenge the memory of Piotr Markov,"] she
whispered bitterly.

Dmitri's body slumped. When she was sure the job was done, Natasha eased
him onto the bed. She slid the chain from around his throat and dressed
casually. Holding the crucifix between her thumb and forefinger, Natasha exited
the bedroom. Dmitri's switchblade in in her other hand.

The four lieutenants looked up at her. Three sets of eyes followed her
with coarse appreciation as she sauntered over to her purse and coat.

"Dmitri?" asked Pavel, peering in the room.

Palming the switchblade, Natasha reached for her coat.

["Stop her!"] shouted Pavel.

Alexander was nearest. As he drew his pistol, Natasha flung the coat at
him. Close behind it was a vicious kick to the groin that sent him crumpling to
the floor. Pivoting, Natasha brought the crucifix to bear as the other three
drew.

The long end of the crucifix was a miniaturized version of her Widow's
Bite, provided by SHIELD, good for three shots. The first two connected, but
Sergei dodged and squeezed off a wild shot. Natasha dived behind a sofa ahead
of two more shots. She reached up and pulled a table lamp from its stand. The
lamp sailed out from behind the sofa at Sergei. Drawn by the motion, Sergei
tried to fire, then cursed at his jammed automatic.

Looking up, he saw Natasha sailing across the room at him. Heruldeulder
impacted him, flinging him to the floor. The shock of the impact was quickly
followed by the shock of a blade plunging into his abdomen. Natasha straddled
the man and with a single efficient stroke cut his throat.

She rolled off the dying man and moved to a phone. An 800 number was
pressed.

"Continental Business Operations," the voice on the line replied.

"Account 32301 is a code 62," Natasha told the voice, her chest heaving
with the exertion. "Tell the manager."

In five minutes a SHIELD retrieval team would arrive to take charge of the
prisoners - - and the bodies. Natasha sat down to wait for them.
* * * *
Natasha waited in Nick Fury's office while he read the printout of her
report. He'd already compared it to the reports of the retrieval team on what
they had found, and the surveillance spy-eye team, which had visual and audio
of the entire mission, filmed via sophisticated SHIELD satallite observation
equipment. His eyebrow arched as he read some of the more graphic descriptions
in the report. Natasha sat fighting the urge to exhibit her boredom.

"Would have been nice if ya' brought 'em all back alive," Fury commented.

"I have terminal option on my missions," Natasha replied. "If you want
them alive guaranteed, send someone else."

"Hey, I ain't cryin' no tears over Dmitri Luchinkin," Fury told her. "I'm
more worried about a good agent maybe losing objectivity."

Natasha glanced wordlessly at him.

"After all, she just hadda bed somebody she didn't want to," he continued.

"That?" Natasha replied incredulously. "It was just bad sex. It comes
with the territory sometimes. I'm not a little school girl, Nicholas."

"Yeah, yer not that. But you was once - - a promisin' young ballerina
bein' schooled by one Piotr Markov." He squinted at her again through his good
eye. "Funny how the two guys who bought it just happened to be the two guys
connected with his murder."

"It's an amazing coincidence, isn't it?" Natasha replied unemotionally.

Fury kept looking at her.

"If you have some concern about my effectiveness as an operative," Natasha
challenged, meeting his gaze, "feel free not to use me again."

"If I do," he answered her, accepting the challenge, "I won't."

THE END