My first fanfic for Avengers, and my first fanfic of anything in awhile. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed making it up and writing it!
This takes place shortly before Thor pulls Loki out of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s plane. It contains no Avengers spoilers.
Three days.
That's how long it had taken for Jane Foster's life to turn completely upside-down. Just 72 hours. (Closer to 58 hours, the scientist in her supplied, but she ignored it.) Only three days for an amazing man to literally fall from the heavens she loved so much, and for her to then fall head-over-heels in love for him.
Was it love? She pondered this one morning, lazing about in bed. The observatory in Tromsø she was currently working at was amazing, all equipment state-of-the-art and all facilities well supplied. But on weekends the place emptied rather alarmingly, most staff and coworkers going shopping or touring or hiking or fishing as their personal tastes ran. The quiet was almost eerie. Jane felt like she had the place entirely to herself on weekends.
Surrounded by her research and findings, it was hard for her to believe it possible to fall in love with someone she had only been with for three days (58 hours, her inner scientist reminded her, but that just made it worse). After all, how could you really know someone after so short a time? How could you truly know who they were, what they stood for? How could you know if their charm and kindness was truth or a façade? How could you know?
And yet ... just the memory of the way he said her name sent shivers down her spine. Just looking at his photo framed on her endtable (the one Darcy had taken in the diner) made her giggle like a little girl. Just remembering the way they had flown through the air made her cheeks redden and her toes curl.
Was it love? If it wasn't, it was awfully damn close.
A knock at her door startled her out of her reverie. Her visitor didn't wait for a response but just opened the door, and, oh, there he was, her personal Norse god, as if summoned by her musings, all muscle and strength, wearing a smile that was just for her. "Jane Foster," he stated in that booming voice, and Jane was suddenly grinning and giggling like a madwoman.
"Thor Odinson," she pulled herself together to say in the same matter-of-fact way he had said her own name. It caused his smile to widen, and Jane lost all control. She flung herself into his arms, and, oh, he was just as solid and warm as she remembered.
She grinned up at him, and he grinned down at her, and suddenly they were kissing. All the wasted weeks spent apart suddenly didn't matter. He was here now; everything else paled in comparison.
It was only the need to breathe that ended that kiss. Jane could have happily let it go for far, far longer, but her lungs were beginning to ache for much-needed oxygen. She pulled back with a gasp that made him chuckle. It was almost joking and good-natured, his chuckle, but then again it wasn't. His smug amusement at her need for him was oddly sadistic, almost cruel.
But then it faded, to be replaced by the lovable oaf she was so fond of. "I've missed you, as well," he said, with a smile that caused Jane's toes to curl in her socks. "Even amongst friends and family in Asgard, all I could think about was returning to you." And just like that, Jane found herself kissing him again.
If the first kiss had been sweet and glad, this kiss was more passion and lust. His lips locked around hers aggressively, possessively. His body pressed against hers forcefully. His hands were in her hair, holding her tightly to him.
It was exciting, exhilarating, and then it wasn't. His actions were just a little too forceful and aggressive, and it was beginning to alarm her. She pulled away from him, and he went from kissing her lips to kissing at the base of her throat. That was even worse, and she tried to extract herself from his grip. "Thor," she muttered, trying to get his attention so that he would realize and let her go.
It didn't work that way. At first, he looked at her, confused; then understanding clouded his features; and finally they turned almost angry. "You wish to be rid of me," he stated painfully, angrily.
"No, no," she insisted, wondering that he had misunderstood. "You're just … moving a bit too fast."
"Ah, I see," he replied; and like a strong breeze blows away storm clouds and leaves the sky bright and sunny, his anger suddenly faded away and was replaced by understanding and relief. "I will endeavor to move … slower."
She grinned back up at him, feeling a measure of relief herself. Their cultures were so different, their ways of thinking about and of viewing intimacy had to be just as different. But he didn't seem to be taking it personally, and for that she was glad.
Again, their lips met, and just like the first time it was sweet and endearing. Or that's how it started. Soon he was even more aggressive than before, kissing her hard enough to hurt and holding her hard enough to bruise. With a jolt that traveled down her spine she felt her back hit the wall; unconsciously, she had been backing away from him.
Again, she pulled away. "Thor, slower, remember?" she muttered.
He let go of her and took a step back, anger once again clouding his features. "How slow do you wish to proceed, Jane Foster?" he asked, trying to make a joke out of it but not able to keep the anger out of his voice. The result sounded almost bitter.
It was an odd question. "I don't know," she said, getting a little frustrated herself. Here was the man quite literally of her dreams, and he seemed more interested in getting into her pants than anything else. "But you were hurting me."
His lips pursed in annoyance. "I am truly sorry, Jane," he replied. "Perhaps it is best if I leave you now. There are others that I must speak to." He nodded his head in her direction. "Good day." Then he turned and headed for her door.
"No, no, wait," Jane found herself saying, even before she processed that he was really leaving. "Don't be angry, please. Here, just … just wait a minute." She put a hand on his shoulder, and he actually stopped. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? Can we just … pretend that that didn't happen?"
He considered a moment, then turned back to her and smiled tentatively. "Very well," he said. He closed the gap between them and leaned in, as if to kiss her; and yet, he stopped a few inches away and waited to make sure she was agreeable before leaning the rest of the way and letting his lips meet hers. And, oh, how sweet a kiss it was! If Jane could say one thing about the God of Thunder, it was that he certainly knew how to kiss. Then the kiss deepened, and Jane could feel both their passions rising. His hands went from cradling her cheeks, to fingers buried in her hair, to stroking down her body until he was holding her hips. Gently, without breaking the kiss, he began to guide her back towards her bed. Her heart leapt in her chest as she allowed him to lay her down.
They pulled apart, panting, before going in to kiss again. Her hands were moving on their own, without her consciously guiding them. He paused a second, seemingly shocked; she blushed as she realized that she was trying to tug his chestplate off. Then he chuckled, and kissed her once on the lips before pulling away and sitting up. He removed the chestplate himself, seemingly satisfied at the expression on her face as she watched him do it. And yet, his own pupils were wide with arousal, his pants tight between his legs. His vambraces soon went the way of the chestplate, followed closely by his tunic. When he was bare from the waist up, dressed only in a satisfyingly-tight pair of pants, he went to work on her.
It was amazing how fast he got her tee and jeans off. She gasped as the cold Norwegian air hit her suddenly-bare skin, causing him to chuckle again. He leaned in to kiss her again, and, yes, this was happening! Since she had first laid eyes on him, it seemed, this was exactly what she wanted. And here he was, her very own Viking god, naked and willing in her bed. His mouth moved down to kiss her throat, and she hummed with pleasure. He answered her with a throaty groan of his own, working his way back up to her mouth.
And then, without warning, he bit her lip. Not hard, not enough to draw blood, but certainly enough to hurt and certainly enough to anger her.
Afterward, she wouldn't be able to say exactly why she did what she did. It was just instinct, just reflex. But as soon as she felt his teeth close down on her bottom lip, she pulled back and slapped him across the face, hard.
It didn't faze him in the least. In fact, he threw his head back and laughed, thinking she was playing. Then, his mouth was on her again and he was kissing her, hard, harder than he had before. And that was the first moment she actually started to feel fear.
Instinctively, she instantly began to struggle. "No, no, no," she stated firmly, pulling away from him. He held onto her a moment longer, but she was insistent, and he finally let her go. "Thor, I think it's better if you just leave." If he couldn't be gentle with her, remember she was a mortal and not Aesir, then maybe it was better if they parted ways to cool down a bit. Her hands trembled as she tried to sit up.
He had been annoyed, frustrated, and angry before. Now, he was furious. "I have come a long way for you, woman," he growled, the words almost calm as they welled up from deep within his throat. "I have crossed realms that you cannot imagine, fought beasts and races that you cannot fathom, felt pain that you will never know. Your kin is not my kin, and yet I have bled and killed for them, come here just to save your sorry race, and now you want me to leave?!" The last was shouted, almost bellowed, his face contorted in fury. Then, suddenly, he calmed. "No, I will not leave," he stated, simply. "I am not leaving, Jane."
She grabbed her comforter, twisted it around to cover herself. "I'm not doing this with you, Thor," she stated, voice more confident that she felt. She hoped he didn't notice the way the hand holding the blanket was trembling.
He sneered at her, at her words and actions, and she felt her stomach drop. "If you do not wish to give me what I came here for," he stated, "then I will take it."
There was no time to react. She had pushed herself up onto her elbow in a reclining position; he pushed her back down into the bed, hard, and leaned over her. His hands slid beneath her bra, cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples. She gasped, half in surprise and half in pleasure.
And then her brain caught up.
As quickly as she could, she lashed out at his sneering face. Instead of a punch or a slap, though, half-remembered self defense classes were coming back, and she drove the heel of her hand into his nose. He cried out, honestly pained by that, and she had a moment of surprise that she had actually hurt him before he retaliated by backhanding her in her right temple hard enough to leave her dazed for a full minute.
When she came back to herself, her bra and panties were gone. The jackass had been waiting for her to wake up, waiting for her eyes to focus. Her eyes met his, he smiled cruelly at her, and slid his first two fingers into her.
She cried out, in surprise, in defiance, and he laughed. "Get off me!" she screamed, raising herself up; casually, he placed his other hand on her chest and pushed her back down. His fingers never stopped moving within her, sliding in and out of her with a rhythm she realized her body was actually enjoying.
Why hadn't anyone, a coworker or staff member, come to investigate the uproar they were making? She rolled over a bit, as much as she could with his hand still pinning her down to the bed, and screamed again, "Get off me!" This time, however, she screamed it towards the door, hoping someone would hear.
Her hopes were dashed when he chuckled again. "Weekend, my dear," he commented casually, grinning broadly as Jane looked back at him with a look of shock. During the week, the observatory at Tromsø, with its state-of-the-art equipment and well-supplied facilities, was full of people; but on weekends the place emptied rather alarmingly, most staff and coworkers going shopping or touring or hiking or fishing as their personal tastes ran.
She was alone. No one was going to save her. This was going to happen, and there wasn't a damn thing anybody (least of all herself) could do about it.
She sank back into the bed, overwhelmed by the feeling of helplessness that had just washed over her; he took advantage of her lack of attention to reclaim his hand and use it to pull his pants off and toss them to the floor with the rest of his clothing. Finally, he was completely naked in front of her, but she found that victory to be bitter.
Surprisingly, the look he gave her was almost apologetic. "You will enjoy this, Jane Foster," he promised, grabbing her hips. She had very little warning before he slid into her.
The worse part was, he was right. She didn't know how old Thor was, but it was old. Certainly old enough to know how to please a woman in bed. He kept a steady rhythm going, using his grip on her hips to angle her pelvis just right, and she found herself mewing in pleasure to her everlasting shame.
How was it possible that she could climax like this? She found herself climbing higher and higher until, with a final moan, she came. He wasn't far behind her, his hot seed flooding into her suddenly. He slumped over her, boneless, and basked in the afterglow for a moment.
She stared at the ceiling as he got off her. She didn't acknowledge him in any way as he silently pulled his clothes back on. "Perhaps we shall see each other again, Jane Foster," he stated, before leaving. She didn't reply.
The door closed with a click behind him. She rolled over, buried her face in her pillow, and sobbed hard enough to end the world.
Three days wasn't long enough, come to find out, to truly know someone.
58 hours, her inner scientist corrected, even now. Somehow, that just made it worse.
Thor walked down the hallway, completely heedless to the sobbing behind him. She was a mortal, after all. Only a pawn, to be used and discarded at the discretion of her betters. How she felt about it was immaterial, like asking how a chair feels about being sat upon, or a door about being opened and closed.
Suddenly, he began to change. Golden hair shifted into black. Bulky muscles slimmed into lean ones. Armor and metal became an overcoat and a scarf.
Loki stepped out of the building, just another pale Norwegian in a nice coat. He took a moment to adjust his tie, before walking towards the road and the waiting taxi.
His "brother" would be coming to Midgard any day now. With all the trouble Loki was stirring up, it was only a matter of time before Odin made sure of that.
Loki smiled to himself, satisfied with his work.
When Thor came, he would have quite a bit of explaining to do.
I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed thinking it up and writing it.
Please leave any comments you'd like, not only compliments but also (respectful) critiques. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing.