Natasha's hand is under her pillow and clutching at the gun before she even registers that she's awake. Her eyes actually open by the time she pulls the safety back, the click beneath her fingers reassuring as her eyes flit from corner to corner of the darkened room. Nothing. Empty. Safe. At her side Steve stirs, the movement of his hand from its original position around her waist having woken him up. He yawns and blinks sleepily at her, the lingering hold of his own restful night's sleep holding him fast. A moment later he's alert, blue eyes wide and concerned as he sits up beside her.
"Nat, what's wrong?" His voice is quiet but firm and his hand travels from her side to her shoulder, squeezing. She doesn't even realize when she lays the gun back down in her lap, too focused on the way her body is shaking. The dream had been so real, so vivid, as though someone had taken her mind and toyed with it, unraveled what they could to find her memories and blow them up, life-sized and surreal, before her eyes. The way the man clutched at her hips as she danced, her dancing teacher a disgusting leacher of a man, his greedy grey eyes taking in all of her young innocence and ripping it away from her as easily as he did away with her dress. She shudders. There's only one person who can do that. She grits her teeth as she shakes her head, slipping back into her usual mask, her Face. This one is embarrassed.
"Nothing. Just a nightmare-honestly, Steve, I'm perfectly fine."
The crease in his brow deepens. He knows as well as she does when she slips into her comfort zone, hides behind the training that years and years of psychological torture and physical torment have left her with, nothing is alright. It's more than just a nightmare and the both of them know it. But he says nothing, simply squeezes her shoulder once more and lays back down.
"Do you have to sleep with a gun under your pillow?" His voice is only halfway teasing her. "What if you shoot someone by accident?"
"If they're in our room to begin with they deserve to be shot." She doesn't miss the way his hand searches for hers and holds it tight at the word 'our,' nor the way his chuckle is edging on disapproving. Steve may be a soldier, and he may have seen horrific things in the battlefield and off, but he's a good guy. Too good for her, she knows this, and it's the reason she places the gun on the bedside table and slips away from him. She needs to take her mind off of what she's just seen, the memories of it too bright in her mind's eye to go back to bed. Her heart has hardly calmed down, and that's saying nothing about her mind.
"Where are you going?" Steve asks. They both know it's a stupid question; there's only one place either of them go when they can't sleep.
Well, at least one place that Steve knows of.
Natasha shoots him a small smile and leans forward to kiss his forehead. He's so cute when he's worried, and her lips find their familiar place on the cusp of his worried brow. "Don't worry, I won't be long. I just have to . . . well, you know."
She leaves it at that because it's easier for him to fill in the blanks himself rather than to have her lie to him. It makes the burden less severe when Steve shoots her a smile and nods, laying back down on his bed and slipping onto her side. He knows she likes the way it smells from when she's been there, and she's sure the heat will be more reassuring than she could dream of being in a state like this. With silent feet she pads from the room, goosebumps rising on her bared legs as she steps towards the last room at the edge of the hall. She knows he'll be awake; hell, she has her own suspicions about just how he spends the time he's supposed to be sleeping, and if anything the nightmare she just had confirms it. There is no way in this world or the next her dreams would be that vivid naturally.
She doesn't bother knocking on the door, just slips the knob of the door open and pushes her way in. He's sitting on his bed, a portable fire he must have conjured himself lighting the pages of the book and casting his pale skin in the faintest of lights. He's beautiful. Not like Steve, who's all hard muscle and definition and comfortable in every sense of the word. No, Loki is as subtle as the poison slipped into one's drink at the beginning of the night that festers and leaves you gasping by the time the evening is done, burning you up all the while. Even from across the room, even being a frost giant, Loki burns her now, and Natasha finds she can't get enough of it.
"I knew you'd come," he murmurs, green eyes burning with pleasure as he marks his page and slips the book to the side where it disappears under the bed. The wording is intentional; he likes to play on the first time they met, and though he's loathe to admit that she beat him he finds some sort of poetic justice in the way they sparred first with words and then with emotion.
Natasha tries not to find it endearing. It doesn't do to grow more attached than she already is. Just as quiet as before she makes her way over to his bed, turns down the covers that keep him warm, and slips atop him. He's hard and pressing into her stomach already, the familiarity making her groan and forget about the dream. She'll ask him about it later; now she needs a distraction.
It's not moments later that he's pushed inside of her, filling and stretching her out as her nails rake across his bare chest, threatening to draw blood as she digs into his flesh. He hardly notices it, giving a low moan when she leans down to tug on one of his nipples with his lips as her hips begin to rise and fall. He lets her take the control, riding him as hard as she can, arching her back as he thrusts against her. While one of his hands take her breasts the moment she pulls away, his mouth finds her other, and his free hand finds her clit. The attention to all three spots has her gasping and groaning in a matter of moments, and when she tumbles over the edge into an extensive orgasm he follows her blindly, hips canting upwards to press flush against hers one last time.
She rolls off of him moments later and he lets her, kissing her neck only when she settles in her traditional place beside him. Her arms are crossed over her chest, the universal sign, Loki is quickly learning, for her being cross with him and Nat is sure he knows why, sure that is the reason for the way the corners of his lips turn upwards. She's just waiting for him to say it.
Not that he will. He loves watching her squirm and it was what made their first attempt at a relationship so disastrous. They just wouldn't work, they don't work anywhere but the bedroom or the arena to verbally spar. They're too alike, too perfectly identical and dark. They'd consume the other, feasting on their weaknesses until there would be nothing left but the husk of a god and a spy.
It's a pity they could do so well with the other.
"What are we doing here, Loki?" She asks after a few minutes of silence, her eyes flitting to his face.
He tries not to smirk. "I believe it's called having sex, though you mortals do have a wondrous amount of euphemisms for it."
Natasha's fist lands on his shoulder and he lets out a harsh laugh. "What? Do you wish for a definition of what we just did? I'd be more than happy to show you again," he said, the laugh turning into a deep smirk as he turns on his side so he's sitting up beside her. With slow movements, slow enough that Nat can push him away if she wants, he kisses his way down her neck, biting on occasion as he goes. He loves hearing her sharp intake of breath, loves the way her body tightens near his.
"Stop. You know what I mean." She demands. To her surprise he does stop, eyes taking her in.
"You came to me, Natasha. I did not seek you out." He reminds her, and once it sinks in he tries not to gloat. It's the third time that week that she came to him either when she and Steve were getting ready to sleep and she needed a distraction, or when she seemed to want something a little out of the box. Loki was always up for that, though he wonders why she doesn't just break it off with Steve. Hasn't this taught her anything? "After all, if you needed to be comforted, to lose yourself, why come to me and not stay with your boyfriend? Afraid of what he might think if he knew what was going on in your head?"
"Shut up," she growls. For being so smart and so knowledgeable about nearly everything the Asgardian can be a real idiot. She begins to get up but a hand at her wrist stops her.
"Natasha, think upon what I say. You know I'm right." His voice is quiet, sincerity creeping in, a stranger to Natasha as she's never heard him be anything of the sort before. With Loki it was all half truths and manipulated emotions wrapped in smooth words and a cunning smile. This . . . sincere, honest Loki was a myth, spoke of fondly by Thor when he regaled them with stories of he and his brother growing up. It's enough to make Natasha take pause. "He's too good for you, and I do not mean that he is a better class of mortal I simply mean that his mind is unlike yours and mine. He does not think how we do, about the best way to get what we want or how to use someone or something to our best advantage. He does not think of self-preservation and what we have done to stay alive; I am not even sure he has the capacity for self-preservation. He is not learned, and he is a good leader but not wise. He is unlike me, and he is certainly unlike you."
"You say he's a good thing like it's a bad thing," she mutters, rolling her eyes at the way he describes Steve. "He is a good guy. Maybe that's why I like being around him. What's wrong with that?"
"You don't belong with him, Natasha." Loki's hand comes to stroke the side of Natasha's face. She pulls away.
"So where do I belong, Loki?" The question takes a half a moment to form in her mouth, her eyes locking onto him to watch the way his face changes. It's subtle at best but she's learned how to read him by now. He's sure of his answer, so sure he allows himself to smile.
"You belong with me, of course. I've told you this before. Many times before." He reminds her, and his hand reaches out to take hers. She pulls away a moment before he touches her and shakes her head.
"Stop this, now." The command holds little water after what they've just done and his laugh is enough to tell her that. It's bad enough his eyes are mocking her and her weakness. "I mean it, Loki. This is the last time."
"Yes, I imagine it is. Just as the time before was the last, was it not? And the one before that-."
"Shut up." They both know that she's ashamed, it plays out in the heaviness of her voice. She stands and crossed towards the door, but Loki is at her back a moment later, his lips on her still bare shoulder and his hands on her wrists.
"Don't leave me, Natasha. Don't leave me alone with myself." The plea is soft, broken only by the times he presses his lips to her skin, and she feels her heart break. Can't she understand that, the fear of being alone, of the monsters the mind creates in the silence and dark of the night? Can't she sympathize with him why he's afraid of being alone forever?
"Just tonight," she murmurs, turning to stare at him. It's a lie, a bold-faced one that he doesn't even bother calling her out on. She's said it so many times she might as well have kept quiet, and Loki presses his lips to her full ones to stop herself from saying anything else, bringing her back to his bed.
Steve often wonders where it is Natasha goes when she has nightmares like she did last night; he knows better than to ask, figuring she would tell him if she needs help or someone to talk to, but he can't help but ponder that in the morning when he wakes up and she's not there. It's cold on the other side of the bed and his heart sinks a little as he gets out to stretch. He hopes she's at least talking to someone about it, even if it isn't him. He's worried about what all that pent up anger and despair can do to a person, knows first-hand just how important it is to defeat one's demons. How long did it take him to start sleeping soundly at night without nightmares or destroying his pillow? Though he did have to admit that it had all stopped since Natasha had moved into the same room as him. He smiles at the thought and it gives him enough energy to get up and face the day, putting a smile on his face. Jarvis reports that it's going to be a lovely spring day in the city and Steve wonders about packing a picnic for he and Nat. Perhaps a little couple time is all they need; they haven't really gotten the time in between missions. It's one of the reasons he's always so sad not to wake up next to her. He misses her.
But he pushes those thoughts out of his head, making his way down for breakfast where he finds the woman in question, clutching the steaming coffee between her fingers like a sinner looking at a Bible for absolution. She barely even seems to notice when he walks in, his large hand clasping her shoulder. He wonders if she's been training with Stark's robots again, particularly the ones that shoot rubber bullets because when her tank top rides up to show the midriff he's so fond of he sees a myriad of displaced bruises. That's probably why she's so tired, he thinks as he wishes her good morning and kisses her cheek. She returns the smile and the greeting before drinking deeply from her mug and watching him go about making breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and pancakes, her favorite.
"You're too good to me, you know that?" She asks, having slipped down from her seat to wrap her arms around his waist. It feels like an apology, though for what Steve can't imagine unless she thinks herself a less than favorable person for not coming back to bed. He finishes mixing the pancake batter before he turns to her, an easy smile playing across his face. In her eyes he can see hope, determination, and what he likes to think is love, though she's yet to tell him that she loves him. Still, he doesn't need the word, only the feeling behind it, and there's something deeply moving about the way she draws him closer, standing on her tip toes to press her lips to his. She tastes of expensive coffee and peppermint toothpaste, strange and delicious at the same time, and when she pulls away he lets out a low groan of disappointment.
"You deserve all the good things this world can offer you," he murmurs back when she's still close, ghosting his lips over her forehead before turning back to his pancakes to flip them. If there's one thing he'll do his damndest to keep from doing it's burn breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day, and when there's someone else relying on him for something, well, he's not about to let them down. Especially not Natasha. She hums her thanks to his previous sentiment before crossing over to the cabinets to pull out a couple plates and some silverware. The room soon fills with the scent of fresh food, attracting the attention of the others. Stark gripes about how he wants breakfast in bed, making Natasha roll her eyes and pop him affectionately on the back of the head. Steve can't stop himself from watching her interact with the others. He finds her expressions, the masks she falls behind and the personas she takes on to be fascinating. Each Avenger has a different one that she specifically tailors to fit their personality, so she's gentle and smart with Bruce, snarky with Stark, open and proud with Thor, and joking with Clint. It's only with Loki that Steve can't read her expression, and the god seems to think along the same lines, just as observant as Steve seems to be.
They lock eyes for a moment, and Steve swears he sees jealousy and rage pass through Loki's eyes before it's covered by curiosity when Thor calls his name. Steve wonders what that was about. What does he have that Loki can be angry about? His own gaze flits to Natasha, who's teasing Clint about the many marks up and down his neck, the circles purple and bruised, bite marks from Phil's teeth imprinted in the skin. Yes, he supposes he has Natasha. Loki has been trying to get his hands on her, wrap her in his web of lies and seduction since she'd broken off whatever they might have had between them off. Steve had wondered more than once if Loki had approached her about it, but he sees no reason to worry. She cares too much about him to do anything, this Steve knows, just the same way she knew that no matter what happened he would love her.
"Thanks for breakfast, Steve." Bruce's voice snaps him out of his memories and he shoots the good doctor a smile.
"Glad to hear it, Bruce. There's coffee if you want some," he offers, pointing to the carafe, but it's empty.
"I made some downstairs, I can go grab it real quick," Natasha offers, already on her feet and halfway across the room before Steve can argue that he can just make more. By the time the words come from his lips she's already out the door, calling back that there's no sense in wasting any coffee.
In the confusion her absence leaves he doesn't notice that Loki's gone, too, and the god is back too quickly for him to have noticed anything wrong. Natasha is back soon after that, the carafe from downstairs in hand, and when she stretches over to reach into Bruce's mug the others notice similar purple markings on her stomach and hips. Loki intentionally looks away, daintily wiping off his mouth to hide the smirk curling his lips. Steve notices nothing, his back to them as he scrubs at the dishes.
Loki can't see what Natasha does in Steven Rogers. The man is as slow as Thor after several mugs of mead; he doesn't even pick up on the marks on Natasha's waist. Does he really think her so innocent, really think the best of her where no one else will? Loki thought he did, though he's too intelligent to assume she would stay wholly faithful, now especially. It's not that he doubts her character just her resolve.
And he very much intends on taking advantage of that.
When she disappears downstairs he takes it as an invitation and vanishes, reappearing just behind her as she walks towards the already brewed coffee. She jumps when he rests his hand on her hip, pressing light fingers into the small hickeys he left from their evening last night.
"What the hell were you thinking?" She hisses, glaring down at them then back at him. "Hide them. Now."
"Why should I hide that you are mine?" He asks with a smirk. She resolves herself not to punch him as hard as she can, it'll only give more meaning to his words.
"I am not yours; I am with Steve. Now. Hide. Them." Her voice turns into a growl, eyes fierce. Loki rolls his eyes and in a wave they're hidden from Natasha and Steve's views. Loki, however, can still see them, and it gives him great pleasure to. He very much enjoys the knowledge that Natasha comes to him at night, though her supplication of him during the day is less than ideal. He watches her relax once she believes the marks have gone and his chest aches. Why does she resist him so? Why can she not see that this is the way things should be? He takes her by the hand and pulls her back to him, back into his arms, but her hands plant themselves on his chest to keep her distance.
"No Loki. Not now."
Well, it wasn't a complete dismissal. Not now? At least she has begun to admit to herself that it will happen again. And again. And again until she finally is his. She cannot resist him, feeds on his similarities to her and breathes in his mischief and mayhem as though it were a heady smoke she cannot get enough of, and in his own twisted way he thinks he loves her for it. He's tried telling her that, over and over and over again until his voice goes and his lips go numb but she doesn't listen to him. Love is for children she's told him once, yet cites the emotion to Loki as to why she stays with Steve.
Not that it surprises Loki, he realizes as he watches her sidle away. Natasha is a child with two toys being she can only have one, and so sneaks away in the dead of night to play with the other, because what she cannot have is infinitely more fun than what she can. It's just a matter of time, Loki thinks, before she trades one for the other.
At least it's what he hopes for. He's been wrong before. He manages to make it back to the kitchen before anyone really realized he's gone, and instead picks at his food as he watches Natasha stretch over to pour Bruce coffee. He watches the other Avengers take heed of the hickies on her flat stomach, and while Loki generally disapproves of her wearing such revealing clothing when it's not just him around he cannot help but smile at their look of shocked surprise. Likely Tony will bring it up to Steve in an attempt to break him further out of his shell, to congratulate him on something Steve knows not how to do, and the good Captain will be forced to realize that he is not the only lover Natasha takes to bed, no matter how she likes to pretend otherwise.
Though she'll somehow explain it away as she always does, he is sure, the idea of her being with another, and the possibility of her cheating will make the good Captain pull her tighter to him, hold on fast to her. It will be the kiss of death, Loki knows, having done the same thing to her once. Natasha cannot stand the restrictions of jealousy, nor how hot the flame burns when it is so close to her. She'll be forced to break it off with Steve, and while the Captain is heartbroken and Natasha wonders where she's gone wrong, Loki will come back in to comfort her as only he can do. His plan is foolproof, he hopes, though something about the way the Captain catches his eye worries him that he might already know, might already have some inkling of what Natasha and Loki do in the evenings. The lack of surprise will make this plan all for naught, and so he reminds himself to exercise more caution. As it has done in the past, subtlety will get him what he wants. Now it is simply a matter of waiting.
That night Natasha leaves him again, complaining of having tons of work to do and a headache to rival a blast from a Doombot. Steve smiles, trying to be understanding, asking her if she's taken anything from Tony to help with the pain. She shakes her head, giving a quiet laugh. "I'm a lot tougher than that, Steve. I'll just grab one of his bottles of vodka-that'll make it go away." It was what they did in the Red Room after all, he remembers her telling him that. With sad eyes he watches her go out the door, but not before he pulls her back into his arms and kisses her lips.
"I love you," he murmurs when he pulls away.
She's silent for half a heartbeat. "I know," she murmurs back, smiling up at him and cupping the side of his face, before she leaves.
The nightmares start again when she doesn't come back to bed.
She hates herself for being weak, hates herself for not staying away, and oh she tried her hardest. She starts out with the best intentions, winding her way down to the small office that Tony had created for her to get some work done, but it's dull and begins to give her an actual headache. The bottle of vodka in her hand is nearly gone by the time any of it kicks, and even then it's only a dull buzz in the back of her mind, taking place of the silence.
Then the thinking begins, the ideas whirling in her head like a hurricane, and she understands why Tony has such a hard time sleeping at night, why Bruce complains of him spending so much time in the workshop and lab tinkering away. How does one shut off their brain, after all? She thinks maybe talking about the situation will help her, but at the same time she doesn't wish to involve anyone else. Though she's sure they've all got their suspicions and their ideas she's not about to draw any attention to herself. It's her problem, not theirs.
And yet . . .
And yet she's never been more lost in her whole life. She lowers her head onto her desk with a low groan, brain trying to gain some semblance of understanding over the situation by rationalizing her choices. After all, if one relationship doesn't work out shouldn't that be the end? Yet she still visits Loki.
And telling Steve would only hurt him, so why bother with the pain and the emotions? They made her weak, took her edge, after all, and yet her stomach flopped every time Steve told her he loved her, curling into a tight ball as though she were afraid it was going to collapse onto itself. Then there was the look in Loki's eyes when she told him, time and time again, that she wasn't coming back. He was cocky, yes, and so sure that she wouldn't be able to keep away but deep beneath that, under the many different layers of emotion that swirled around in his gaze, was fear. Real fear; she's seen it once or twice in his eyes when he lost her the first time. Fear of being alone, of being rejected like he had been so many times before. Fear that cuts into her deeper than she likes to admit, fear that she understands and makes her want to take him into her arms.
"Life would be so much easier if I was just a polygamist," she murmurs against the wood of the desk, her face still pressed into it, as though she was gaining some sort of divine genius from it.
"Does that mean I can sleep around, too?"
The voice is such a surprise that she's thrown the knife before she recognizes that it's Loki standing in the door. He catches it by the blade before it can sink into his shoulder and he smiles. His palm heals shortly after but his blood stains the blade when he offers it back to her.
"This looks familiar," he teases. It's true. She's used it on him several times in the past, enjoying inflicting pain in him as much as he enjoys the sensation of it. It's one of the few times she was able to bare herself to him, to give herself entirely to the emotion and feeling of the act. She'd never felt so alive or had such a hard, perfect release as the time they fucked after that.
And she'll never be able to do that with Steve. Loki seems to understand and smiles when she takes the blade. He guides it to his chest, now bare as he magicks away the plain black shirt he'd shrugged on before leaving his room. Natasha's mouth goes dry and a heat pools between her legs at the thought. Her eyes are hooded when they meet Loki's, and she sees he's every ounce as turned on as she is. She rises from the desk and moves around to stand opposite him. He moves with the tip of the blade, lying down as she makes him.
"I told you that we were meant to be together," Loki murmurs as she finishes atop him, her hands pressed on his chest, into the cuts she just made. He hisses as she runs her nails down his chest, catching the edges of several of her cuts.
"Shut up or I'll slit your throat." The threat is empty and they both know it.
Loki leans up to take her chin in his hand and kisses his way up her jaw line. She shivers as he takes one of her hands in his and pulls it into his lips, sucking his own blood off of it, the iron taste mingling with the familiar sweetness of her skin.
"Could you do this with your Rogers?"
No, they both know she can't but she seems hell bent on ignoring it. She stands up after that, pulling on her clothes to likely go shower even though the sun is beginning to rise. She'd spent yet another night with Loki, and he counts it as a victory. The marks of their coupling have already begun to heal as Natasha finishes dressing to walk out, never looking back at Loki until at the very end.
"I can't leave him. I love him."
"You say that so often," Loki murmurs, and yet she comes back just as frequently. "I do not think you know the meaning of the word."
"Then in that way we are perfect as you don't, either. Loving someone is being able to let them go if something better comes along."
"Then I do not love you because I'll never let you go, and you do not love Rogers enough to let him move on to someone who can truly give him what is best." Loki argues, standing slowly to pull on a pair of pants. His eyes never leave hers, though, watching the confusion mix with the realization. She bites her bottom lip and Loki wishes it was his teeth doing that, wishes to be the only one who is privy to any and all acts involving her body.
"Stop it, Loki."
But he hasn't done a thing; it's all Natasha's doing, and the sooner she realizes it the sooner she'll come back to him, this time for good. At least he hopes. It's all he has left, after all.
A/N:
Grace de Gold wanted a love triangle, and so I present to you my attempt at a fic centered around one. There'll be more action than the first chapter suggests, I just have to get all the emotion out because . . guh. My heart. I do love these three, I'm not going to lie, but I'm sure just about everyone knows that. I throw them in this situation at every possible chance I get, haha.
Title comes from "Think of You" by MS MR. So good.
I hope you enjoyed!