Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers.
Summary: He curls around her body when she sleeps, all lanky arms and reckless abandon; Natasha shouldn't have expected anything less. LokiNatasha, oneshot
My first LokiNatasha. I really like the idea of these two together, and I just wanted to write a little something for them since I had the opportunity. This is just a short little piece that I just couldn't get out of my head. I just thought it was an interesting concept and I hope that y'all enjoy! Thanks so much for giving this a shot!
Curious Bedfellows
She supposes if she thought Loki would restrain himself from anything, she would have been a fool.
This, apparently, applies to sleeping as well as everything else in his life.
Natasha has no illusions about men. She knows that, despite the fact that the days of the caveman and such are over, they still find reasons to squabble over the most asinine things. She knows that they fight over their women and their land, they fight as if they need the violence to expand their lungs. She knows that they are often possessive over their objects, over their women. It is a very misogynistic view of things, one that makes her cringe, and - unfortunately - she has been in the arms of many a man that felt like they owned her.
But he is different.
If anyone should have lived up to the stereotypical man owning a woman view, it should have been the Asgardian that now shares her bed.
Loki attacks everything he can with a devilishly handsome snarl, wanting to possess the wills of many, wanting to rule over the weak-minded, wanting to be able to command armies with just a lifting of his brow.
He is not like this with her.
There is a softness to him that had not existed when he was desperately fighting the Avengers. A softness that he sometimes displays when talking with Thor, one that he does not let out freely. He is a bit like her, in that respect - she believes being open is being weak.
His arms are thin, but she knows the wiry strength behind them. They wrap around her in a possessive manner - but it is in a different manner than those men of her past. His possessiveness is not the selfish, foolish, pig-headed manner of her previous lovers.
His possessiveness is something more innocent. It is the childish possession of protection, hating the fact that she might get up and leave but not keeping her there by force and not treating her as if she is a doll to be owned and displayed. Though the notion of Loki being protective of her would be particularly hilarious to Natasha in any other situation, she finds that she does not mind it as much as she thinks she should.
Loki's arms wind around her waist, drawing her to him without much preamble. His cheek is rested on the crook of her neck as she stares up at the ceiling while lying on her back. She inhales deeply when the stirring of his breath whistles through the curls of her hair. She closes her eyes and raises a hand to stroke along the length of his forearm.
He does not stir because of this action. If anything, this reassurance makes him more likely to fall into a deeper sleep. She is not sure if she wants this or not, not sure if she wants him to wake or wants him to sleep on, but she does find that she misses the crisp green of his eyes, finds that she misses the way he says her name. A smirk crosses her lips when she remembers just how long it took them to get to that point.
Natasha turns her head to look at him. It is such a cliché, but he looks younger, more peaceful, in sleep than he does when awake - the hungry, determined look that usually accompanies hyenas is no where in sight. She finds herself grateful for the darkness when she feels her lips quirk into a smile.
She rolls over onto her side so the two of them are nose-to-nose, but he still does not stir. For someone so alert and on guard during the day, he surely has none of that at night. She wonders if he has always been like this, allows an image of Loki and his brother at a younger age, Thor being unable to sleep through the night because of his adventurous nature while Loki had no problems laying his head down and sleeping. She imagines it would be no problem for him to dream, either, since he lives in his head so much anyway.
The redhead stares at Loki for a moment more, taking in his pale skin, the dark hair, the noble features. As she studies him, she finds sleep reaching out to brush her mind.
In an act born of her drowsiness - she will deny it to her death if anyone suggests anything else the next day - she slings her arm around the Trickster's thin shoulders before she falls into a dreamless slumber.
Before the sun is even up the next morning, Loki wakes and immediately knows something has changed. Her arm is draped around him, strong and haphazard and reassuring. A miraculous first.
He smiles.
End.