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Agent Romanov barely reached Loki's shoulder. They stood face to face on the roof of what seemed to be an abandoned building; he resisted wrinkling his nose at the smells of detritus, laundry, and despair.

Behind her was a 400-foot drop. Although the mortal was below his consideration, Loki allowed himself a moment of triumph - once she had bested him in a game of wits, but there was no escape for her at that moment. Agent Romanov's imminent death, the Infinity Gem in his pocket, and the throne of Asgard – those things were his.

Exultation made him smile. He deliberately moved closer, allowing her to experience his glamour. How often had he seen goddesses, dryads, lordlings, enchantresses melt at the sight of his humor?

The mortal seemed to feel it as well. Agent Romanov's eyelashes fluttered, and she sucked in a quick breath. "So this is it," she said.

Her voice was low in register, filled with intelligence. Loki had forgotten how clever she was as well as the instant force of her, surprising in such a weak, tiny thing. "Yes, it is," he replied. "I am almost sorry – it was enjoyable to toy with you."

"One question before you push me over the edge." The agent raised an eyebrow, delicate as a brushstroke in a Vanir temple painting.

Loki nodded curtly. "One."

"How did you fake your death?"

His chest rose and fell with an impatient sigh. "Magic, obviously. Furthermore, the Jotnar – I assume you have read about my race – have very different biology than mortals or Aesir. Naturally, Thor never studied that, busy as he was with his hammer. When I was gutted by the monster, it was really just a flesh wound. Cue my deathbed speech, and the rest was easy."

She pulled down the corners of her mouth slightly and nodded. "Impressive."

Loki closed his eyes, put one leg forward, sketched a mocking bow. "My thanks. And now…"

"And now," she repeated. Agent Romanov suddenly fisted his jacket in her black-gloved hands and pulled him down for a kiss, explosively shocking. Loki always thought mortals would taste fishy; to kiss one (not that he ever considered such a thing) would be the same as licking a slug.

Freya tasted of strawberries.

Lorelei, of wine.

Hogun, of salt.

But Agent Romanov tasted like murder. She was violence, spice, heat in his blood. Before he realized it, Loki's tongue was in her mouth, and hers… Oh. It was soft, and warm, and utterly delicious.

His cock sprang to life, demanding more. He ground himself against that soft belly and pulled her closer with one hand on her rump and the other tangled in her hair, those bloody flames licking her face. To his shame, Loki felt a whimper in his throat as he thrust his face in her curls to feel/taste/smell her, every inch of her, he wanted each part under his fingers and poured on his chest and aching prick…

Agent Romanov echoed his tiny whimper, pushing closer. The fact he was kissing a mortal was so strange, so forbidden; it merely added to his excitement. They teetered slightly on the edge of the building, making him tremble with desire. Gods, it was madness.

Blood pounded in his ears, and he knew any second he would disgrace himself in a violent release.

Agent Romanov's muscles bunched suddenly, and she pushed him away. The motion propelled her off the roof, her face a white petal inside the hearth of hair as she fell. Loki, gasping with disbelief, saw a grin of pure mischief bloom on her face; a slender line whipped from her wrist, arced, and caught a windowsill to break the fall.

Gracefully she slid to the pavement. Directly beneath them was an entrance to what he believed must be a sewer; Agent Romanov blew him a kiss and disappeared into the hole: a circle of gray within the darkness of the night city.

Oh. Loki closed his eyelids for a moment, trying to still his thumping heart. The episode had been so quick, so unexpected, so – oh. And she had left him tumescent, throbbing for more of her touch.

It simply wouldn't do. Loki shook off the strange feelings coursing through his mind and forced himself back on task. The memory would be one he would revisit when he lay in his bath or rode in a forest, alone – forever he could hold the touch of her lips. The entire episode had been mysterious, and very few things mystified him.

He pushed his fingers into his pocket and stopped.

A howl of fury pushed to his throat; he swallowed it like surging vomit. The Infinity Gem was gone. At some point during their kiss Agent Romanov had palmed the jewel and stolen it.

Anger was succeeded by a grin and a long strand of laughter. Because Loki knew what the theft meant: it was an invitation to find her.

Find her he would, and soon.

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"Loki…" His name on her lips was a drawn-out ribbon of sound, curling over his chest and thighs and groin. Natasha crawled up his bed to take his face in her hands and lick his parted mouth.

He tried to kiss her and tangle his fingers in her hair, but Loki was unable to move. With a bolt of shame he realized she wore her catsuit but he was completely naked; it was sinfully exciting to feel the hills and valleys of dark material drag over his skin. "Why can I not move?" he asked.

"Hm, interesting. No idea. Lucky for me, though." Natasha kissed him again, trailed her down his chest over ribs and belly to his thighs. They trembled when she flicked her tongue over the sensitive flesh to lick his knob and suck it into her mouth.

"Ah!" he shouted. He couldn't grasp the back of her head to keep her there with the warm, wet feeling, ecstatic around his shaft. "Natasha, I want this – I want more – I want you…"

He woke in the middle of his orgasm, curls of seed spurting over his navel and stomach. When it was finished he moved to clean himself up with his magic.

His fingers stopped, and the realization hit him. Loki had experienced a sex dream about a – a mortal. Gods, was he losing his mind at last?

Lust had become a nonissue since his stint as AllFather. Of course he could have had an entire harem of Aesir and Vanir if he wished, but the thought of taking anyone in his father's guise caused his flesh to creep with disgust. The mere idea dishonored Frigga's name, and in any case he was busy running the kingdom. Besides, centuries of bed-hopping made sex rather boring; there was always the same outcome, after all, after the usual process. Flirtation, teasing, trickery, and satiation. He really didn't miss it at all.

That was, he hadn't until Natasha held his face in her hands, kissed him, and jumped out of his arms and off the roof.

Loki wanted two things: the gem back in his possession, and to skewer Natasha to the mattress with his desire. However, if she tried to access the power within the jewel…

No. He shook his head. Lust had nearly made him forget she was a mortal; of course she would only think it was a sparkly bauble fit for a pawnshop or a billionaire's collection. He only had to wait until she tried to sell it.

He rose from the bed, cleaned and dressed with a mere thought, and strolled to the bank of computers in the next room of his house on Midgard. Naturally he was able to break through several firewalls and monitor activity within SHIELD as well as that of most governments.

After getting in as a ghost in the system, Loki set up alerts for a priceless gem the size of a child's fist. An exhaustive search through private auctions and underground dealers showed no such thing had popped up yet. Eventually it would, that much was certain; his priority was to find it before Thanos or the Other heard of the affair. It would require all his attention, which was tedious, but he could do it.

The jewel taken care of, Loki turned to his other problem. If he stayed inside his penthouse, he would not be able to address the lust issue. Gem first, Agent Romanov second… unfortunately, that was the order of priorities at the moment.

Yes. He would simply have to wait.

Decision made, he decided to order some food via anonymous call to a local Vietnamese restaurant and make himself comfortable. It was all done by email – Banh xeo and goi cuon prepaid by debit card from a generic online bank. The delivery person wouldn't even have to knock on the door, he considered, as he added a hefty tip.

His mood mellowed as he leaned back in the chair. Midgard made it easy to do as he wished. In Asgard, there would be annoying servants and points of etiquette to consider, but this realm actually fostered solitude.

Loki leaned back in the comfortable chair, laced his long fingers, and thought of things he would do to the fiery little agent. Perhaps he would lock her up to his bedpost with several lengths of chain and make her wait as he described the lascivious acts she would have to perform for him. Her warm mouth on his prick, just as he had dreamed that morning – yes, they could start there. If she was good he would reward her with kisses and the promise of a thorough fucking…

In the middle of those pleasant thoughts he became aware of a spicy aroma. In one motion he put down his feet, swirled around, and prepared a blast of energy.

Natasha stood behind him, carrying his Banh xeo and goi cuon. She held out the grease-stained bag and tilted her head to one side in the manner of a curious sparrow. "Hungry?" she asked.

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As soon as Loki saw Natasha his wits fled. Of its own volition his body shot forward and slammed her between him and the door; she felt like deadly and perfect in his arms, a tiny kurait snake of destruction.

Natasha wasn't disturbed by the attack at all. Her eyes were stern, almost serene, as she looked into his face to murmur, "Behave."

"Why? Why should I? You have no weapon to match me…"

"No." Natasha shook her head. "You're quite correct about that; even my training is down the hopper against your magic. However…" She raised one finger to silence him as he opened his mouth in triumph.

Loki forced himself to wait for what she would say next. The silk of her neck was white temptation with red underneath, his to bite when he wished. Impatience surged through the ventricles of his alien heart, and he quickly reordered his priorities. In minutes he would have the agent pinned beneath him on the floor and begging for release. He would draw it out for hours, he decided – that was, if he could wait that long; already he was impossibly hard. A grin split his face as he realized she could feel his physical excitement.

"Well?" he asked.

"I have three things you want." Natasha raised one eyebrow. "First, the gem. You don't know where I stashed it."

With an impatient growl, Loki pushed himself away and strode to his desk. "It will come up in time. I merely need to wait for its appearance on the Midgard markets."

"No, it won't." She whispered the words into the crook of his neck, and a jittery line of electricity curled down his spine. "I know it's more than a gem. Time? Is that what it controls?"

Their eyes connected once more, and it seemed to Loki there was a distinct click as they did so. He bit back the question 'How did you know?'

"How did I know?" The blasted mortal could read his mind. "I didn't play around with it, if that's what you're asking. But there are some interesting readings from the gem itself – it seems to bend time and space when I tested it. The anomalies I noted were different from anything I'd ever seen before. It would be necessary to hand over the gem to Dr. Banner to discover more, and I'm not sure I want to do that just yet."

"Where?" Loki turned and seized her white throat in his hands. "I want it."

"Careful," she rasped. "If you kill me you will never find it, I can promise you."

Letting go, Loki ejaculated a long string of extremely rude Norse curses. A thought occurred to him, flooding his body with possibilities. "I could make you."

Mortals liked a certain amount of space between them when they talked. Loki broke into that comfort zone, circling the agent like a panther on the prowl. "I could paralyze you with a thought, hold you in my bed while I fetch a few devices from my realm which would make you pray for the chance to tell me the location of my gem – that, and other things."

"Torture? Really?" One quick movement of her fingers unzipped the catsuit; Natasha peeled it back and pointed to her ribcage. "That's my specialty."

Scars criss-crossed her skin. She must have been beaten, electrocuted, burned… one nasty little white crescent bore the tale of amateur surgery without anesthetic.

Some would have found the display unappealing; it had the opposite effect on Loki. He wanted to trace those scars with his tongue, to feel the ridges of pain under his hands and more. Each line he would make his, he vowed.

He reached out to touch her, but Natasha had already pulled up the zipper. "No," she said. "Let's play nice, and we can figure out a way for you to get what you want."

Ah, yes. "You said I wanted three things. The gem is one, but what else do you have that I could possibly desire?"

Natasha picked up the two grease stained bags from the floor. "Your food, for one." She opened one bag, withdrew a lettuce roll, and bit into it. "Quite tasty – it's almost spicy enough for me."

Loki watched, astonished, as she held out the roll. Her lips curved as he bit into the same place she had.

"It's at this point a gentleman would offer a lady a drink."

"I am no gentleman," Loki said.

"Well, I'm no lady, so that makes us even." Natasha crossed to where he kept food in the highest-priced cooling device he could find, more of a glass closet than a 'refrigerator', with crystal shelves of sparkling beverages of every variety. "Let's see. Vodka would be my first choice, but I want to keep my wits about me." She opened the door and withdrew a bottle of bubbled water, cracked the seal, and drank several swallows before holding it out to him.

He took the beverage from her fingers, threw it across the room, and framed her face with his hands. "What else? You said three things."

Laughter, bubbly as the water spilling across his floor, unwound from her mouth. "Oh, Loki. You already know what number three is." Natasha rose on tiptoes and pushed her hips forward to push against his aching prick. Even under his leathers the touch made him groan.

He had to be possessed – it was the only explanation for what he did next. Loki spanned the agent's waist with his hands and lifted her to grind his mouth in her throat. She gasped and tilted back her head, exposing herself to his touch.

Loki lost what little self-possession he had left. He pressed her against the cooling device, winding her legs around his hips. Gods, he had never wanted any being more in his life. Chains, hours of erotic torture… those plans were gone as he lurched into her and felt her teeth on his ear.

A crash made them both freeze, their mouths on each other, fingers already exploring skin under layers of clothes. It was followed by a voice, one Loki had prayed he would never hear again.

"Laufeyson!" it thundered.

The Other.

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As soon as The Other shouted, Natasha pushed out of Loki's arms and leaped for a section of wainscoting in the kitchen. She manipulated a carved wolf's head on the lintel, and the section swung back to reveal a dark hole behind it. There was no hesitation; the agent's movements were smooth and economical: a tug on Loki's waist. A dive into the darkness. A push on the button that closed the space.

They were in something the woman who sold Loki the penthouse called a "Panic Room" – a metal-lined square unreachable from the outside once it was activated. Naturally, the place was no match for the power of The Other, but Loki had retrofitted it with a leadbarrier in one corner. Fine lines of runic patterns were etched into the lead, creating a shield that would mask sound enough to hide them… or so Loki hoped.

When the door closed the space became black as the depths of space where Loki once fell, hurtling past planets and suns in a long death spiral. He curled one arm around Natasha's waist and pulled her behind the lead border, praying it would work well enough to hide the sound of their heartbeats. Because The Other could sense everything, Loki knew that – the being would smell the spicy Vietnamese food, Natasha's shampoo, the faint whiff of fear. He would be able to hear the very blood pulsing in their veins, and Loki hoped the protection would hold.

Together they knelt behind the barrier. Loki had prepared a few things for emergencies: a few glass rocks, pen and paper, several pouches of water, some simple food.

He couldn't use magic – it would instantly alert The Other to their presence. Not having his enchantment made Loki feel as though a limb had been lopped off, but he would simply have to adapt. Cautiously he flicked a tiny lighter and lit the glass rocks in a stone bowl; they were designed to burn for five hours. He needed to convey a few plans to Natasha, and light was necessary to do it.

She sat back on her heels and regarded him gravely. Quickly he picked up the paper and wrote a few lines: He is The Other. We are in grave danger. No sound for the next few hours.

Natasha's face was lit by the dancing flames as she took the message and read it; the light enhanced her cheekbones and flaring arcs of her eyebrows. She nodded, and slowly she settled into a more comfortable position.

Loki moved closer so he could whisper into her ear if he had to, his legs surrounding the agent's small frame. The lead barrier worked both ways, and there was silence from the outside. The effect was constraining; he wished he could hear what The Other was doing: shouting for him, probably, and blowing up the contents of the Penthouse.

How did you know about the panic room? Loki added.

Natasha tilted her head to look up at him in her signature move, the one that reminded him of a sparrow. Never would he see those small birds again and not think of her, Loki realized. He stared back at her, his heartbeat thundering in his ears – he tried to calm himself, but the agent's proximity seemed to make him lose all control.

I did my homework, she wrote back.

Even with the imminent hazard outside – but, no, that made it worse. Loki always loved skirling the line between danger and death, and the thought of facing his last moments of life with the mortal next to him made the breath hitch in his throat.

The tiny sound caused her to look up – another of those micro motions of hers he enjoyed so much. Loki was about to put his lips to her ear and whisper silver words of seduction, when the floor beneath them shuddered.

Outside, the Other was destroying something – the floor, the walls – who knew? Natasha turned her head to listen, and her hand dropped onto Loki's thigh.

His leg, and his erection. Her fingers brushed his swollen shaft – had he ever been so hard before? Just a mere touch of flesh on leather covering his own aching flesh, and he was ready to come apart. Loki couldn't help sucking in another tiny gasp of air.

Quickly he seized the pen and wrote the one thought left in his mind: I want to push it inside you.

Natasha took the paper and read what he had written. Her lips parted, her eyelids fluttered closed for a second. Feeling for the pen, she scribbled a line and handed the paper back to Loki.

I want you to do it.

The floor shuddered once more. Loki paid no attention, nor did Natasha – he stared into her eyes blown wide in the dark as though he faced a revelation, with only certain death keeping them apart.

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The unheard assault continued, and the floor shook beneath Loki and Natasha more frequently. He knew any moment The Other would lose patience and destroy the entire penthouse.

Loki would have to wait for that instant and spirit himself and Natasha to the World-Between-the-Realms, a place existing in the fourth dimension. It would be hell on her mortal physique, but it was their only chance; if she survived the assault on her senses long enough, he could return them to Midgard.

It would throw The Other off his scent.

It could destroy her.

It would require all his concentration. If only his head didn’t whirl so with desire!

Loki put trembling arms around the slight figure next to him and drew Natasha to his chest. Her fingers spread against his shoulder – so slender, so elegant. He wanted to suck each one into his mouth and watch her slide them, slick with his saliva, inside him – first one, then two, while he tongued her cleft until her dew soaked his throat…

His blood boiled as the unbidden pictures seared his brain. No, he was frozen. No, he was about to explode. He could no longer regulate his breath nor the beating of his heart. He was on fire. Her hair was flame, burning his fingertips as he caressed the soft strands with fine, cautious movements.

Natasha leaned closer, slid both her arms around his waist. Moving slowly, he pushed his fingers into her hair, gripped her waist tight enough to make his knuckles pop. If The Other found them, he would take the mortal and disembowel her or worse… the very thought made Loki want to howl with rage, tear out his hair, break apart the entire realm.

What in Hel’s name is wrong with me? Loki wondered, shaking as she brushed her fingers, oh so gently, against his neck. Am I ill?

Another paroxysm underneath their feet, and this one was strong enough to tilt the lead barrier. At the same time the metal room split and a fine line of light showed in the corner of the panic room.

It was time to go.

All he needed was one burst of magic. Loki knew it was enough to shout their presence, and with his extra senses he felt The Other’s head turn in their direction. Before the being could do anything about it, they were transported to World-Between-the-Realms.

It was a shrieking maelstrom, a formless landscape of raging earth and wind. Loki clung to Natasha and whispered urgently in her ear, “Hold tight to me. Do not let go.”

Within the four-dimensional space she was countless Natashas – all at once. He was limitless Lokis, all possibilities and all ages at one time. For a mortal, he knew it would be impossible to comprehend – Natasha would see mirrored reflections of him and yet one Loki, both at once, both the same and not – infinity was one and many. Both. He could understand it, but as Natasha looked at him, each iteration of her trying to hold each instance of him, desperately attempting to keep her sanity, he saw they would not be able to stay long.

Her arms tightened, and even in that scorching place Loki wanted her beneath him, legs wound around his hips, cheeks flushed with lust, hours and hours of madness together as she drew him into her secret place. “Natasha,” he began. Each of his infinite reflections repeated her name, until the word filled the whirlwind where they stood.

“This is weird,” she shouted. “I – never – I can’t deal…”

“Stay with me.” The Lokis spoke into her ear, pulling her head against their chests. “Just a few moments more.”

“Loki. Listen. The gem – it’s kept in…”

A ripple coursed through her body, and Natasha’s eyes widened. As Loki watched in horror, three red lines dripped down her face – one from each nostril, one from her mouth.

He shouted with anguish and pulled her away from the World-Between-the-Realms.

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Loki brought the Black Widow to another of his penthouses on Midgard. He wasn't even aware which one it was – it could have been in any city, any country. All he knew was the weight of Natasha in his arms.

She lay with her head cradled between his shoulder and chest, not reacting at all. She might have been in the middle of a dream, he thought, so peaceful she seemed as he put her in the center of the bed - thank the gods the place was actually furnished.

It was also coated with dust; Loki wrinkled his nose and cleaned it with a quick spell before he climbed carefully onto the mattress to lie next to her, his face in the crook of her neck. The room was chilled with darkness and disuse, and he pressed as close as he could get to the woman, aware his cool blood could offer little in the way of heat.

Healing, reconfiguration, reforming spells… Loki whispered them all until his throat felt raw, but still Natasha didn't move. He wiped away the blood from her face and tried again.

She didn't move. Only the slight lift of the sheet over her chest betrayed any sign of life within.

He was ready to try anything. A quick movement brought him to his knees, and he took her hand in both of his, raised it to his forehead. "Queen Frigga," he murmured, "if you can hear me at all, help me in this. I should have born the blame of The Other's rage, not Natasha. Please, hear me and help your son – for I am, indeed, yours and always will be."

There was a bang behind him and a rush of wind. Something seized his collar and lifted him like a puppy carried by the scruff of its neck before what felt like a Dark Elf ship slammed into his face.

The blow lifted Loki into the air. He landed with a crash in the corner, facing a huge, shadowy figure. It raised its fist and bellowed his name: "Loki!"

Thor. Somehow his brother had found him.

Loki scrambled to his feet, and Thor pulled him close with murder in his eyes. "You were dead!" Thor shouted. "You died in my arms – do you never stay dead? And have you stolen the throne once again? By the ravens of the tower, I shall slaughter you with my own fists!"

"The throne was mine!" Loki was incensed before reason surged back. "Thor, I will argue this point with you for the next thousand years if you like, but at this moment Agent Romanov needs..." His voice tailed off. Loki wasn't certain exactly what she needed.

Thor frowned and turned to see the white, black, and red figure on the bed. He exclaimed and started forward. "What happened to her?"

"I had to take her to the World-Between-the-Realms. She was unable to deal with the dimensional configuration there – Brother, our healers might be able to bring her back. You must take her to Asgard this instant."

Without hesitation, Thor plunged onto the bed, lifted Natasha into his arms, and turned to Loki. "Do your magic," he said between gritted teeth. "And I shall deal with you later."

"You may not have to," Loki replied. With a flick of his fingers he sent them off, soaring back to the realm he could no longer enter.

Silence surged back in their place.

Natasha's kisses, her hair, the white skin – he would never taste any of those things again. And there were parts of the agent he had never explored: her breasts under his teeth, that plump backside in his hands, the taut belly beneath his tongue, her glorious cunt wrapped around his shaft.

Loki wrapped himself into a ball on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut against the light, and pretended he was with her. When the end came perhaps he would go with Natasha on his mind; it might make Death less bitter.

Do you never stay dead? This time Thor would have his wish.

"Laufeyson."

Although Loki had expected the dark voice, the intrusion was no less horrifying. With a groan he shut his eyes tighter and hoped against all reason the punishment would be swift.

"The gem."

Loki squinted. How could he have forgotten the Infinity Gem! He had to be ill – there was no other explanation. "Not here," he stated, vaulting off the bed with one lithe movement. "But if you let me go free, I will lead you to it." Naturally it was a lie – Natasha had been unable to reveal her hiding place. Still, the ruse might give him precious moments and an escape.

"Liesmith." The Other seemed to consider. "You do not have it, nor do you know where it is hidden. Someone else does, though – the woman. The female mortal you wish to take to your bed knows."

"No," Loki gasped. He spread his arms wide, ready to bargain, to plead, to do what he had to in order to draw the chase away from Natasha.

An unaccustomed weight settled in his palm. Frowning, Loki looked down at what he had unconsciously summoned.

The Hammer of the Gods had obeyed his call. He held Mjolnir in his fist.

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Mjolnir was forged by the Dwarves as a response to a bet Loki made centuries ago. The story was the artisans used uru in its creation, dark matter scooped from the center of a dead star. It made the hammer of the gods so heavy only those who were worthy could wield it. Originally, Loki found it a supreme irony he had caused its creation but was unable to pick up the weapon; naturally, Thor was able to wield Loki's gift straight away.

To be able to lift it as easily as one of his daggers, then, was a supreme mystery. However, there was no time left to unravel the conundrum.

The Other possessed fiendish strength and speed; the strike had to be swift. Loki swirled as though to confront the dark-skirted thing before releasing Mjolnir with a loud grunt of effort.

Hammer and demon blasted through the wall and disappeared. Loki stood in yet another ruined penthouse, breathing heavily and flexing his fingers. After what seemed an age, Mjolnir crashed back into the room and flew to his hand.

The Other was gone.

Loki brought himself to a dungeon room in the palace at Asgard, certain it was where he would end up eventually. Why not make things quicker and easier for them all?

When Thor entered, drawn by the call of Mjolnir, his brother sat on the floor in the center of the tiny space. The hammer swung idly from his fingers, but as soon as Thor approached it destroyed the dungeon barrier and flew to his fist.

He looked down in almost comical surprise. "How did you raise this, brother?"

Sunk in gloom, Loki ignored the question. "Natasha?"

"How were you able to hold Mjolnir?" Thor's brow was thunderous – fitting, Loki thought.

"In all honesty, dear Brother, I have no idea. The Other threatened Natasha, and your little toy seemed to understand she needed a champion. Apparently it chose me. Now – tell me how she fares, or I shall slit my own throat."

"With the healers. She lives – that is all I can say."

"No, it is not all you can say." Natasha came into the dark hallway behind Thor and jerked her thumb. "I know there are about a thousand points of politics you two have to go over, but give me a few minutes with him first."

When she appeared Loki bounded from his apathetic crouch and pressed against the glass. It didn't help his mood when he fell through the ruined barrier to land at her feet; he ignored Thor's outstretched hand and rose to stand in front of her. "How? Why are you here?" he asked.

Natasha shrugged. "The fourth dimension sucked, no lie, but my super serum overcame it. I gave the healers the slip, and here I am." Loki opened his mouth, ready to ask a thousand questions, but she interrupted him. "Thor, get out. I'm going to have a chat with your brother."

"Are you certain? He is…"

"Out," she repeated in a bored tone. Thor, a puzzled expression on his face, left; Loki caught one last sight of him trying to listen before the huge door to the dungeon closed.

When they were alone, Loki seized her waist. "You little imp! A mere kitten you are in my hands, and yet you hold me in thrall. Will you have me here and now before I am dispatched?" The thought of bedding her on the stone flags stained with blood and worse didn't appeal, but the sword hanging over his neck would add spice to the act.

Gravely Natasha disentangled herself and avoided his kiss. "Seems to me you're in deep shit," she said in a conversational tone. "You've committed treason, and from what I know of Aesir law you will lose your head for it. Does that sum things up?"

"It does." Loki had been on the point of death so many times he had nearly grown used to it; always it came with a feeling of unreality as though the realm was fading in and out like a newly snuffed candle. "And may a dying man make one last request?"

A stern expression came over her vivid face. "Don't you think an Infinity Gem would get you off the hook? Send me to Stark Tower and I'll save your ass. But you'll owe me – big time."

"Done," Loki said instantly. He had learned long ago everything came with a price. "But you have forgotten something - how will you return?"

Natasha winked and leaned forward to lick his neck. "Oh, I have my ways."

He thought rapidly. Loki was placing his life in the hands of one of the beings he had always held in disdain, but he had no other choice. Besides, he was beginning to see Natasha was no ordinary mortal; in faith, the truth was she could probably overcome both Aesir and Vanir with her blazing beauty and quick wits. "Very well," he agreed, "although my sentence comes anon. If you truly wish to save my skin, make haste."

She winked again and stepped closer. Loki gasped as Natasha ran one fingernail down the length of his aching, quivering prick. "I've got this," she assured him.

He enacted the spell, and she disappeared. Loki was left alone to wonder if he would ever see her again.

Chapter Text

If Loki forced himself to be honest for once, he would admit Natasha Romanov viewed at him as another job; perhaps he was a more interesting one than her usual ragbag revolutionaries and drug smugglers. And when she kissed and fondled him (even now the mere thought of her fingernail scratching his leathers brought him close to the edge) it was nothing to her: a mere tick on her list of Items In Progress.

Those thoughts swirled like dark smoke inside Loki's room. Am I losing my mind? he wondered as he covered his face, trying to hide from his own musings. AllFather Thor had granted his brother the old suite of rooms for his last night of life; idly Loki considered old playthings, shelves of well-worn books, a trunk he and Thor hid in when their tutor come to fetch them for lessons. Such innocent times, now lost in the mists of memory forever.

The efforts of the past few days made him weary; he had gone nearly a week without sleep. Without realizing it, Loki slipped into a dream, and in near-conscious slumber he walked down a long, arched hallway lined with suits of old armor carrying halberds. As he passed, the iron arms descended, the blades slicing over his head and whistling past his neck. It took all his timing and ingenuity to pass them unscathed, but the figures shuffled closer together as though they were dreadfully hollow yet sentient beings.

Loki remembered a game he had played with Vili; the pastime required moving tiles to one cornerspace. The play grew more and more difficult with each turn; the players needed increased concentration and ingenuity to stay alive.

The hallway was like the horrifying version of that game.

He knew even though the knives would cut his flesh he would still walk down that corridor, trailing his own innards until he reached the end. There the huge doors were closed against him…

One halberd got his shoulder, and Loki groaned as the pain eviscerated him. The next would dispatch him in a living death.

The large doors at the far end blasted open, and Natasha leaped through. She raised two guns and shot the suits of armor, aiming so the metal things toppled against each other with a series of tremendous clangs. Loki's jaw dropped as he watched them fall; the last ones crashed and the sound echoed throughout the dream space of his horrific mind palace.

Silence descended in a haze of dust.

Natasha cocked her head with her signature movement, and Loki sprang into life. Ignoring the pain and blood running down his side, he ran towards her. She dashed forward and they met in the middle of the long hall, surrounded by ruined armor. Her hands framed his face, and he picked her up, slammed her against one wall before attacking the smooth skin of her neck. It was as though he had never been with anyone before; it was desperate, explosive, divine torture.

Loki murmured in his throat as she wound herself around him, pulling at the laces of his leathers; he fumbled at the zipper of her catsuit and pulled it down. Their mouths never stopped moving together; he tongued her teeth, bit her lower lip…and somehow, he was inside her. The pleasure was near agony, so long-awaited and delicious. In his arms Natasha arched and screamed as he drove into her, panting and gasping for more. More, she demanded. Harder. Take me. Now. Now.

And with a final thrust he gave it to her, spurting long ribbons of cream inside, feeling his very bones were about to crumble.

Loki woke, as before, with the curls of ejaculate on his stomach and flanks. He paused before cleaning himself; the dream had been terrifying and lovely, both at once. Like her – his Natasha.

The shameful liquid cooled in the early air, and with a wave of his fingers he was pristine once more. The vision had been a gift, he mused, one final vision of beauty. It was becoming clearer no one would arrive to stay his execution. Maybe it had been her plan all along? Seduce the monster before sending him to his death.

At least he had the memory of fucking her, although it was naught but a babe born of fright and his impending death. He rose and stripped off his vambraces, placing them carefully inside the ancient chest. Thor's children might find them one day and ask whose they were.

A glance out the window showed the sky was inexorably lightening, from black to purple to crimson. It was time.

So when the door burst open he was ready. Loki left the old rooms and walked between the guards, his chin held high. At least he could face death head-on, instead of hiding like a coward.

Outside a throng already waited; decapitation always was a popular spectacle. Loki caught sight of Sif in the front row – she looked scornful and furious, yet tears blurred her cheeks – between Fandral and Hogun. Volstagg stood behind them, his arm around the waist of his wife as she hid her head in his broad chest.

Thor sat in the AllFather's chair on the platform, his blue eyes misted with sorrow. Loki pushed away his brother's final embrace; he would hold Natasha's dream-touch as the last he experienced in the realm of Asgard.

The executioner's eyes were steady, just visible through the hood he wore. With one hand he pointed to the block, scarred by previous dispatches.

Loki knelt and placed his neck on the block. He forced his eyes to stay open, not to squeeze shut.

Hel was his next destination.

The hooded executioner raised the axe.

Chapter Text

Despite the vow to face his fate head-on, at the final moment Loki squeezed his eyes shut. He heard the platform boards creak as the executioner shifted his weight to get a better stance to heft the axe, a muffled sob in the crowd – Sif, perhaps? - one tiny gasp, a few hastily-subdued cheers.

They were the last sounds of his life.

Loki had always chased power, knowledge, and magic. Those ideals piloted his ambitions, and naught else made much sense to him. Money – there was always more. Passion ebbed quickly in the cold light of day; even the royal family was now completely destroyed.

Now only a few heartbeats were left before his head rolled into the dust, and with every fiber he felt the blood pump through veins and arteries. What a marvelous machine his body was; he had never appreciated its electric enchantment until that moment. At the very end life sang a secret song for him alone, - not for the throne, nor riches, nor vengeance.

He had been raised a Viking, and such thoughts were discouraged, even beaten out of him as a boy. But now, as though a bolt of light struck him, Loki found his existence beautiful – even there on the creaking platform, with the sweat of the executioner in his nostrils and a cold breeze riding up one sleeve where his vambraces no longer clasped his wrists.

Frigga, I come.

And then the click.

The gasps, those muffled sobs, all stopped. Loki opened one eye and saw a figure next to the executioner, a small shadow beside the bulk of the hooded man.

"Release him, Thor."

Was he dreaming? Loki struggled to get a better look; he had to squint against the rays of light as the suns rose over the walls of the palace.

"Lady Natasha." Thor's voice, deeper even than usual, was constricted as he rose from the AllFather's seat and strode to her side. "You play no part in this. Lower your weapon and step down."

"That's where you're wrong. I do play a part in this." There was a slight rustle, and Loki saw her produce a bag from some hidden fold of her uniform. "Take a look at what is inside."

The crowd began to murmur; the voices of tradespeople and artisans tangled and grew louder, echoing in Loki's ears like the sound of ducks. With all the gabble he could no longer hear what Thor and Natasha said to each other.

Thus, when a hand came to haul Loki upright, and when he faced the throng, he wore his usual haughty expression to mask what he felt inside. Because if he showed the hidden shame, he would have to admit it to himself – and it would destroy him.

Back to the palace he went, frog-marched between the same guards who brought him out. Loki felt lightheaded from his recent escape, and Thor's words rang in his memory. Do you never stay dead?

It seemed he had escaped once again.

The guards made for the huge throne room, but Thor bellowed "No! To our old chambers – and for the sake of my sanity, bring ale."

Loki was made to retrace his steps to the rooms he had stayed in the night before. He entered the chamber with his head up, held in place between the guards; he couldn't even turn to see Natasha. Perhaps it was a good thing.

He was pushed into a chair at a round table where he used to do sums. Thor sat across from him, and Natasha next to the AllFather. Loki saw she bore a smudge on one cheek and weariness purpled the delicate skin under her eyes; with a surge of passion he realized they only made her more beautiful. He would have given his right arm to clasp her waist and push his face between her thighs, taste the treasure she his there.

"The Infinity Gem," Natasha said. "It changes everything, right?"

"Not necessarily." Thor picked up the velvet bag and looked inside. "Bringing this to me does not erase treachery."

Loki opened his mouth to sneer, but Natasha spoke first. "In that case, why bring us here?"

"Maybe to stretch out my execution." Loki tilted his chair. "Extend the torture."

"I did not want wind of the Gem to get out, even in Asgard. Still, its presence does not excuse treason."

"The throne was mine!" Loki leapt to his feet.

"Hold on." Natasha unzipped her catsuit and produced another velvet bag. "What if there were two of them?" She upended the case, and a jewel the size of a walnut fell with a plink onto the table; one corner of her mouth curled up. "And in case two priceless artifacts don't change your mind, remember The Other still wants my ass. Loki is the only one who has any chance of keeping me safe."

Two Gems – she had known all along. Keep her safe – Natasha wanted him for a job, which meant she wanted him off the throne. In fact, the entire proceedings suddenly unraveled like ribbon from a spool in Loki's mind – and she was at the center of it. He saw in a blinding flash of anger Natasha engineered his fall from grace. Still, he bore some of the blame - how willingly he had followed, a fool reeling with the smell of her cunt.

Her. It was all because of her.

Loki stood so suddenly the chair shot back and shattered against the wall. Thor exclaimed, but Agent Romanov merely raised one eyebrow. "May The Other have her and be damned with them both!" he shouted. "Enjoy my throne, enjoy my Gem, and good luck to the agent when she faces that demon from Hel. I'll be in the dungeons."

He left the room, smacking the guard out of the way with the flat of one hand, and didn't look back.

Chapter Text

Loki was told the dungeons were closed to him; instead, AllFather Thor returned his old suite of chambers. Knowing it was a ruse to try and win his cooperation in what he now called The Romanov Affair, Loki growled and slumped on the huge bed. As soon as the guards left he flopped back and regarded the ceiling, wondering what he would do next.

He could scheme to win back the throne.

He could prepare for The Other's return.

He could dispatch the agent himself – doing so would remove her from the books and eliminate the problem altogether.

The mere thought of Natasha went straight to his sex, and restlessly Loki rose and prowled the room. A pile of papers were strewn across the table, presumably from that morning's meeting between the agent, the All-Father, and the disgraced former King; he shuffled them together and tossed the parchments into the chest where he had hidden his vambraces.

How easily he had been led to his execution! And how quickly the throne had slipped from his fingers – all because of a girl and a disgusting mortal, at that. Except a tiny flicker within told him mortals weren't disgusting at all. No, that wasn't the right word. They were breakable. Delicate. They represented sand slipping through the glass, impossible to hold, leaving heartbreak and solitude once they were gone forever.

The mirror in the corner of the room offered a flash of Loki's visage, and his fury increased. It was all Natasha's fault, he reasoned with his own brand of logic, and he wanted to hurt her, to stamp her out of his memory forever. But how could he do that from a realm away? If he went after her and caught sight of that pale skin, those scarlet curls, her intelligence spilling from her eyes and even her fingertips… No, if he saw her he would lose his way and his anger.

And in that dark hour, anger was all he had.

Loki brought his finger up to rub under his nose, a characteristic trait of his. Thor and Sif used to copy him when they were all children together in the sand by the Sea of Marmora. The gesture reminded him he was Loki, not the All-Father. Not Odin anymore. Just himself. No longer need he foreswear seduction nor lust – nor longer did he wear Odin's face. He could do as he wished. And with that thought the desire he had stifled for so long came over him in a rush. He felt a weight in his belly, heat between his legs.

Loki stumbled out of the door, intent on bedding the first being he met. In a side corridor he found a bored courtesan with hair dark as his own, fanning her neck as she lay across a velvet couch. One tilt of his chin brought her to his side, where she stayed the rest of the night.

And thus began the period he desperately wished to call The Good Time. Loki chased pleasure, first with one bawd, then another, and later with entire groups of them. He had two women at once, a woman and a man, several males in his bed. It led to larger and more expensive parties in his chambers, complete with wine, wagers, and laughter. Loki laughed loudest of all, especially when he spilled his glass or groped the low neckline of the wench in his lap in front of the entire crowd.

The behavior of his guests grew more and more raucous; why should they leave when Loki wished to satisfy his desires? No, it was titillating to have an audience cheering him on as he bucked between the legs of an accommodating mistress; often his antics caused the assembled crowd to flirt, kiss, nuzzle, and indulge right there in the prince's own rooms.

He was the loudest and merriest of all, as Loki tried to escape bright curls and dark thoughts with increasing desperation.

The prince lost a great deal of money that night, and the buxom lass sought to soothe him among the pillows. She managed to unlace his breeches and press him back on the bed, lift her skirts and mount him to the chorus of catcalls from the other guests.

Loki grasped her thighs and watched her hips roll over his, and a dreadful thought pierced his side like an arrow.

What if Natasha were doing the same thing?

What if she had several lovers in her bed at that very moment?

The very notion made him hiss and push the girl off his lap. Loki thrust himself onto his feet and looked around the disordered space: a pair of boys suckled each other in one corner. Two girls beside them kissed with a lot of tongue, unbuttoning each other's shifts. A sound of harrowed retching came from the bath - someone had quaffed too much ale and was vomiting it up into the tub; Loki could smell the fumes and hear the stuff splatter on the tiles. Another man known for his cowardice in the army knelt in front of the old trunk, digging through the contents. "He must keep his gold here somewhere," the varlet muttered.

It had all spiraled out of control. Loki lost his temper and shouted for everyone to leave; he wanted to be alone and clean the scum off his skin.

"Get out!" he shouted. A twitch of his fingers removed the partygoers from his room to the halls where they could find their own ways out. Another wave cleaned the mess from his floor and filled his bath so he could soak the stench away from his nostrils.

As he passed the opened chest, a piece of paper caught his eye. Two lines were scrawled on it, one in his own hand:

I want to push it inside you.

I want you to do it.

The following morning Loki presented himself in the AllFather's throne room. Thor looked tired, perhaps from the constant demand of the courtiers clustered in front of the dais.

He couldn't help a twinge of sympathy at his brother's plight. Well he remembered Hodr's constant demands, Fandral's cautions, and Sif's battle plans during his stint as Ruler of the Realms; the courtiers always droned on and on during meetings that seemed to never end.

"I wish to visit Midgard," Loki announced.

Chapter Text

When Loki spoke, Thor groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. "Your behavior, brother, hardly merits such consideration…"

"I will meet with the agent and decide if my protection is needed." As soon as the words were out Loki wanted to recall them; however, it was too late.

"Was that the mortal who interrupted your execution?" The question came from Sif. "I hear she is a fine warrior and has far too much sense to keep company with your brother – if you trust him at all, All-Father. I certainly would not."

Loki waved aside her words. "Should The Other return, I am the only one who could possibly offer Natasha protection – and he could arrive at any moment."

"Why the change of heart?" Thor's eyes were blue, shrewd. Perhaps the oaf bore some wits after all.

However, Loki refused to admit his true desires to anyone, not even himself. "The fiend could be threatening the agent at this very moment. Do you want her blood on your hands? You once worked together, did you not?"

"And will you deliver Agent Romanov from one demon to another?" Sif's question was pointed and shrewd, as always. "You told the mortal she had to defend herself. Why have you decided to be her champion now?"

Exasperation throttled him; with a mighty effort Loki kept calm. "You of all the Aesir should know I act in haste. This time I will allow my head to rule my actions instead of my heart."

"Heart!" Sif repeated with scorn. "Is that what you now call it? I know what part of your person rules you, and it is not located in your chest…"

"Enough." Thor slammed one huge fist onto the throne, and the two stopped their bickering. "Go to her, Loki, but be warned if anything befalls my friend your head will indeed roll from your shoulders."

Agent Romanov sat in a club, drinking clear liquid from a glass shaped like an upside-down cone on a stick. When Loki entered the glittering room he saw her glorious face at once; she stood out from the flashy, loud background like a blossom tossed into a dung pile.

Several admirers surrounded her, just as Loki suspected. A man with blond hair and a ridiculous beard-sprout under his lower lip approached with a fresh drink and put it on the bar; two other males stood behind Natasha. One woman with hair as dark as that of the courtesan Loki had bedded weeks prior stood by Natasha's chair; when Loki grew near she tried to kiss the agent's neck. It was obvious they all wanted to rut with her.

Natasha ignored them. Her eyes flicked around the room with short, sharp little darts of perspicacity; he could nearly hear her mind working. She was conjuring some plan, and he longed to know what it was.

Bypassing the ridiculous crowd of her would-be suitors, Loki strode to her side. "Dance with me," he demanded.

She looked up and lifted one fine eyebrow. Without waiting for her response, Loki lifted her from her seat and shepherded her to the floor where hundreds of sweating mortals twisted and pranced to some loud rhythmic sound. He ignored the fast backbeat and pulled her into his arms to move slowly as though they had their own song between them no one else could hear. Her hair got in his face; her skin smelled like passion and violence. It was Natasha's signature scent.

"What were you thinking of just now?" Loki murmured into her ear. "Tell me what it was."

"The lights." Natasha's voice was slightly husky, and as always he sensed the simmering intelligence behind her words. "I was calculating how often the dance floor lights and strobes line up to go off at the same time so I can set up hidden flash cameras for an op later. And who the hell do you think you are, by the way? As I recall you told me to go fuck myself. Don't think you can just waltz in here and pick up where we left off."

Loki easily contained her feeble struggles to remove herself from his embrace and glanced quickly around the room. "Every two and three-quarter minutes."

"Excuse me?"

"The lights." He whispered the response with his lips against the soft skin of her earlobe. "They sync up every two minutes and 45 seconds."

"Oh." Another struggle put her at arms' length, and Natasha smiled. "Thanks, I guess. You saved me some time – and now you can leave."

She had grinned at him once in triumph, but it was the first time he saw her looking happy. He couldn't stop himself; Loki grasped the back of her neck and kissed her flush on her mouth, sensing the pale lipstick she must have applied earlier.

He wanted her own taste, not face paints. Loki licked the color off and sucked her lower lip; as soon as Natasha tried to speak he slipped his tongue inside.

Flickers of desire became a roaring dragon as she allowed him to deepen the kiss. Loki closed his eyes, breathed her breath; she was vodka and murder in his throat. Together they stumbled backwards until his legs hit a padded bench, and he collapsed onto the laps of several protesting mortals. He didn't stop kissing her, not even when those underneath them twisted and cursed.

Natasha landed on top of him with a tiny whimper of surprise; he fisted her curls to hold her against his teeth. She licked the roof of his mouth and he swirled his tongue against hers. Gods, he had never felt so erect in his life.

Far away there were unpleasant shouts and threats. Loki ignored the interruption until a fist pulled his collar, and he broke the kiss to look up into the furious face of a large mortal wearing a yellow shirt with SECURITY written across the front.

"Hey, asshole. Break it up and find a room, fer Chrissakes," the man snarled.

Chapter Text

Somehow Natasha got Loki out of the club without murdering anyone. Dimly he heard himself shouting threats that he would cut the hands off the insect with SECURITY plastered on his chest, hang them around the silly fellow's neck, and eat the liver of anyone who dared to try and stop him.

It was all a blur until he found himself outside with sirens wailing in the distance and Natasha's fist in his shirtfront. With her free hand she signaled for one of the yellow cars Loki saw everywhere in the city; a battered box with 'A-1 Taxi' on the side drove up. She opened the door and pushed Loki inside before climbing in after him and muttering something to the driver.

When the vehicle pulled into traffic Loki instantly reached for her. The threats and violence in the club tingled in his blood, and he felt he had to part her legs to climb between them that instant. She propelled him back into his seat and shook her head firmly. "Not here," Natasha insisted.

Loki felt his jaw pop with rage. "I want you." It was simple enough – they had fought for what felt like ages to be where they were, and there was no reason to wait any longer.

"Hey, no violence in the cab," the driver said in a bored voice. "I'll throw you out on the sidewalk and call the cops if you try anything. Just say the word, lady."

Denied of slaughtering the SECURITY idiot, Loki retrieved one of his daggers for the man's neck. Natasha slid cool fingers over his wrist and shook her head. "We've waited this long," she whispered. "You can hold off for the length of a cab ride."

Her gaze held his; she wasn't about to back down. Loki flung his body back against the back of the cab seat to reveal his anger. He would comply, but he kept the blade in his sleeve just in case.

After a series of tedious events - Natasha paying the driver, Natasha paying for what she called a 'hotel room,' Natasha tipping the silly man who showed them to a numbered door - they were alone in a blank space that smelled of chemicals and recycled air. As soon as the door was closed Loki made a sound of disgust, waved one arm, and exchanged the box-like bed for a sleigh covered in furs and blankets. He furnished the room with rare carpets underfoot, delicate portraits of beautiful nymphs making love, bowls of dried and spiced petals, a low table holding wine, figs, and bread. The humming light overhead became a series of flickering lanterns. Somewhere low music played, a tune filled with melancholy revelation.

Natasha drew in a quick breath and walked forward to peer at one of the paintings. Loki watched her closely, afraid of what he might do to her; his heart rattled his ribcage like an imprisoned beast.

She pirouetted, and he thought she was trying to take it all in. Any moment she would sigh with contentment at the luxury and come into his arms. What will I do then? Loki wondered. Kiss her or kill her?

Natasha's mouth was slack with wonder. Softly she brushed one fingertip against the spiced petals in an alabaster bowl, and at her touch their aroma bloomed: mystery, hidden treasure in attic trunks, the air of what-might-have-been.

His patience ebbing, Loki raised his chin. "Do you like it?" His voice cracked so subtly no one would notice it. So he cared what she thought – that was interesting.

Natasha whirled to face him, marched forward, and slugged him on the chin with one surprisingly sharp punch. "You fucking asshole!" she shouted. "You're telling me right now you created this? Just now? None of this shit ever existed anywhere before?"

Loki gaped with rage and shook his dagger into his fist to hold under her chin. "Of course I created it! Do you expect me to lie with you on a bed where thousands of fools have already rutted? Bled? Pissed? And breathe in air born of vile lungs as we fuck? When I have you – and I shall – it will be in the finest surroundings I can…"

"Conjure up," she finished for him. "You conjured this." Natasha grasped his shirtfront once more and hissed in his face. "Is that what you're telling me? Come here."

With a tug she compelled him to follow her to one of the nymph paintings where she flung an arm at the scene of a dryad being seduced by a satyr. "Look at her face," Natasha ordered. "Did this painting exist anywhere in the nine realms until now?"

He had completely lost the thread of her reasoning, a sensation that interested and frightened him. "No, no, a thousand times no. I created it. How many times do I have to say it? What does it matter in any case? If you cannot even accustom yourself to my magic…"

"There are tears in her eyes." Natasha's voice dropped, and her thumb caressed the cheek of the dryad. "I know exactly what she's thinking. She wants him so badly, and yet she knows it is forbidden. It's the moment where her self-control has slipped away in front of his beauty and passion, and she can't hold on any longer. And look at the triumph in the satyr's face – there's a fire inside about to burn them both."

With a shudder she backed against Loki's chest; his arms closed around her waist. "I suppose some hidden wishes were captured on the canvas," he admitted into Natasha's neck.

"And yet you waste your time quibbling over gems and realms when all of this lies inside." She turned and tapped his forehead. "It makes me so damned angry, and I don't do emotions. I understand you love chaos for its own sake, but couldn't you capture it with beauty instead of the nonsense you've been chasing for the past few years?"

Her question skewered him, and he let go of her to retreat to the sleigh. The memories of the vermin in his rooms over the recent weeks, the fellow vomiting into his tub, the disgraced soldier scrabbling through his things in a search for gold to steal… Loki's own bile rose at those thoughts, and a haze of red seemed to come between him and the assassin watching him so closely with fury and admiration in her eyes. "Never," he gasped. He was unable to say what was in his own mind or even ascertain what it was – a feeling so new, so different from anything he had ever experienced in a millennia of existence – it was a sharp tooth in his side, poison in his eyes, honey on his tongue, fire under his skin. "Never."

Natasha's face flashed with rapid comprehension. Terror boiled in Loki's throat as he realized she understood his inner turmoil. Yes, in that moment she knew.

Kiss or kill her? What was he going to do next?

Chapter Text

"Maybe we need to take this a bit slower." Natasha touched the painting of the satyr; Loki could imagine her fingers against his own cheek, in his hair, closing over his shaft. He bit back a whimper and prayed she wouldn't notice his momentary weakness. Agent Romanov was a creature of the dark and would seize on any opportunity to take down an opponent. But in the hotel space filled with his treasures, the assassin seemed quiet, calm, almost melancholy.

She moved to the table he had set with wine and deliberately poured two glasses. Loki shook his head; there didn't seem to be enough air in the room to breathe, let alone sit and converse.

"Oh, come on." Natasha took a sip and offered the glass, stained with the last of her lipstick, out to him. "We can play a game."

"What sort of game?" Unwillingly Loki sat next to her and took the glass. He put the stained rim against his lips.

"Let's call it Confessions. I'll tell the truth about something I've done, and if you have done it too you have to drink."

He considered. "Very well. Tell me your confession, although we may need more wine for such forsaken villains." The idea excited him – it seemed they were the only two left alive in the nine realms. Other than the quiet music in the background there were no other noises – no traffic, no voices, no interruptions.

Natasha never blinked. "I once killed someone I loved."

The words pierced his heart, and he tilted his head back to pour the liquid down his throat. Quickly she refilled his glass and hers before reminding him, "Your turn."

"I hate what I am." The game had turned deadly; Loki had no idea where his words came from – the bottom of his soul, perhaps. He watched in amazement as she drained her drink in tacit agreement and tilted more into the glass.

"I wake up screaming every night." Chink went the glasses, and more wine sloshed into the fine crystal.

"I am lost."

"I don't even know what it is to be normal."

"I want to kill you." Loki's final confession echoed through the chamber, and they both drank the last drops.

"Yes." Natasha put down her glass on the low table and ran one red-tipped fingernail down the stem. "You know, it sorta sucks to find someone who understands me completely and have to take him out."

Loki felt amusement bubble through his chest. "Agent, I would not worry. After all, I am the stronger being – you will expire long before you can crush me."

"Right." She nodded as though chastened, but he knew that sign of weakness always came before one of her most brilliant moves. "When I said let's go slowly, I wasn't talking about seduction."

"No?"

"No. Give me your hand."

Loki complied, wondering what the next stage would be. He was curious to see how she would fight him off when it came to it.

Instead she placed his palm against her neck. "Squeeze," Natasha ordered. "Just a little bit, Loki. Feel the blood pump under my skin…" She cut herself off with a hiss as he complied.

Blood racing through ventricles and heart – Gods, he could experience each beat of her life. Loki recalled his last moments of existence on the block when he marveled at the wonder of his own physique; did Natasha think the same now?

Her hand slipped up his chest to his chin, and cold metal pricked the tender flesh there. Somehow she had found and taken his own dagger, the one he held in the taxi. So cunning, so ruthless: Natasha was like a fox in the moonlight. "Did my homework," she choked, and he relaxed the pressure on her throat to hear what she said. "The Jotnar have one vulnerable spot just here. If I slice it, you will bleed to death in two minutes."

The air tasted like her words, of wine and murder. Loki felt his eyes widen and a smile curl his lips. It was as though they teetered together once more on the edge of the tenement while they flirted with death and desire.

Desire - yes, he desired her desperately. With a groan he slid his free hand up her thigh under the short skirt she wore, feeling the edge of one stocking and the flimsy garment covering her sex. His impetuous tug tore it open and he was able to stroke the hidden part of her, those slick folds of delicious secrets.

At his touch, Natasha closed her eyes and tilted her head back to expose her neck. He could have throttled her that instant, if it were not for the clever knife she held ready to cut him open. Loki wanted to press into it, to feel his own skin split along with the plump little peach under his fingertips. Everything was swollen, especially what waited in his breeches. Ah! it was all too tight. "Unlace me," he ordered. "Take me in your hand."

Never moving the stolen blade, Natasha complied. The leather parted over his straining erection, and the rush of air over it made him gasp. "I've dispatched twenty men in one evening with these fingers now wrapped around your cock," she whispered.

"Natasha," Loki gasped. The knife she held bit deeper as he pressed her against the seat and increased the pressure on her windpipe. Her nails sliced into his thighs as she raked the leathers down over his hips; they were both exposed, both showing their bellies in a gesture of – what? What was it?

It had to be madness. He was ill, insane, sick, shaking with fever and want. His tip throbbed as he moved it to her center, and her mouth parted as soon as his aching desire brushed against her flesh.

He paused there, feeling the dagger she held and the mortal heart beating under his thumb. Natasha and Loki – so close to the final step. Slick, soft she was, with his hard, straining prick flush against her. One thrust would sink it inside.

Ecstasy and death. Loki and Natasha stared into each other's eyes, the choice of what came next weighing between them.

Chapter Text

Loki meant to tighten his hold on Natasha's neck and watch as her skin turned blue as she fought for breath. She was the one who had stolen everything from him, he reminded himself: the throne, the Infinity Gem, his own sanity. All he held precious slipped through his grasp like sand when she confronted him, and he was left with nothing.

Nothing? No, he had her life under his touch. Natasha's clear eyes stared into his as he shifted to get better purchase on the slender throat. That tiny movement made the blade in her hands bite his skin, and a sluggish dribble of blood trickled down to stain his collar. The truth was she held his life just as he held hers.

His heart thundered in his ears, a hoof beat rhythm of excitement. Softly Natasha slid her free hand over his chest to feel it, and with a rush of lust Loki realized she was rhythmically tightening the little slit in tandem with his heart.

Rhythm. Heart. Blood. Life. Death. Slit. Cock.

With a cry of surrender, Loki slid his hand to cup the back of her neck and draw her near. The Black Widow lifted her chin and in one fluid motion wound her legs around him so his tip was inside those sweet, velvet lips down there. "So close," she whispered. "It's so close. How long can you resist?"

"Resistance is not in my nature," Loki admitted in a strained voice. He would just taste it, he told himself, just slip inside for a moment, and it was all so wet and soft, and how could he hold back any longer?

A groan was wrest from him as he felt the head of his prick slide into delicious flesh. It was like putting on a ballet slipper, like pushing his thumb into a ripe apple. Even the proud agent closed her eyes and cried out softly as he slowly, tortuously breached her.

Loki gathered Natasha into his arms. Her walls quivered around him: hot, demanding, soft and strong all at once. How could he – Ah! "I cannot stop," he whispered into her neck.

With a tiny clunk his dagger fell to the floor, and she framed his face with long fingers. "Then don't, baby," Agent Romanov said. "Don't stop."

At that Loki withdrew, and she cried out once more. He meant to leave her bereft, yes, that was the plan, but somehow he couldn't think any longer. Instead he got onto his feet somehow, lifted her with impetuous arms, and carried her to the wall beside her dryad painting. Natasha watched him, eyes glazed with lust, her curls tossed back from her face. Had he ever beheld anything so beautiful in his thousand years of folly?

Crushing her between the painting and his arms, Loki tilted his hips to push inside her. Inside – it was where he wanted to be – Gods, it was all he wanted. She could have slit his throat, and it wouldn't have mattered, not when her creamy arousal covered him, not when she tightened around the shaft, not when she pulled him in for a long, deep kiss, moaning into his mouth when he withdrew and breached her once more.

I want to push it inside you.

I want you to do it.

A tiny whimper – was it his? Or hers? He could no longer tell the difference. Electricity bolted through his frame; he felt he was fucking her with his entire body. He wouldn't last long, couldn't even think straight, not when Natasha writhed and arched and constricted around him.

Another gasping cry, and Loki withdrew again. The sensation was so sharp – terrible and wonderful all at once – and he wanted to prolong the act. They had waited, had been forced apart too many times; he thought he deserved a long, wet, delicious tumble.

He lifted her, one arm under her shoulders, one under her knees, and carried her to the sleigh to fold her over the edge. Natasha's rounded backside was presented to beautifully thus – those firm globes, and he couldn't resist sliding his reddened erection between them. "Oh, baby – that feels so gooooood," she moaned.

"Good," Loki echoed; the word was forced from his throat. As for her lovely little slit, how did she do it? It was like a mouth down there, tasting and licking and fucking him all at once, and "I want you" he whispered, and "I want you" she told him, and the feeling was all too much. His leathers slipped down his thighs, but what of that, and her dress was up under her arms revealing the elegant curl of her spine, and he bent over to nip her neck and kiss her mouth, and it was all getting frantic, and he remembered to find the little pearl and flick it with his fingertip, quickly discovering the pressure and rhythm she preferred, the one that made her cry and rear back onto - !

White stars crowded out his vision. Loki curled forward and felt his hips snap into ohhhh it was ooooh it was Gods he was coming coming coming into a mortal with thick gouts of the stuff bursting out along with her name from his mouth, yes, "Natasha," he cried and she shouted his name, and it was the sweetest thing he had ever heard.

Loki awoke with a start. Someone had stripped the leathers from his legs and covered him with fur; the music still played softly in the room. He stretched out one arm and felt nothing. He was alone in the sleigh.

"Natasha!" He surged forward, panic coursing through his chest.

"Hey." A dark shadow detached itself from the larger shadows on the wall and climbed beside him, snuggled next to his chest. "You okay? Just had to take a pee break – I am mortal, after all."

Mortal. Yes – she was. His mortal.

Loki wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "For a moment I thought you were gone," he confessed.

"Nope. Not going anywhere. Not until you repeat that performance – oh, two or three more times." A husky laugh followed her words, and her curls tickled his nose.

He kissed her fiercely, with teeth and tongue, and tasted the murder on her breath. "Once I was Protector of the Realms," he reminded her.

"Oh." Natasha raised herself on one arm. "Yeah – sorry about that. I really didn't mean to bust your jam. Nothing personal, you know?"

Loki shook his head. "If I truly desired, I could be so again. It would take many centuries of plotting and chaos, but I could do it."

"And will you?"

He shook his head. "To be honest, I grow weary of politics. For now, I am content to become the protector of these realms – here, here, and here." He touched her clit, heart, and the red curls. "I will also explore those hidden lands inside you, the ones you never show to anyone, perhaps not even to yourself. The Other will return one day, Agent, and when he does we will be ready, you and I."

Even in the darkened room he could see a tear tremble on the edge of her lashes; she looked like a dryad, he thought, in the arms of a satyr. Natasha opened her lips to reply, and he kissed her again to taste her answer. Those unheard words would lodge inside him like a seed and grow, and they would become their Yggdrasil.

Lapped within a new universe, Loki fell into a sea of red and drowned.

END