Here's a little oneshot of Loki/Natasha I randomly thought up- hope you guys like it!
Disclaimer: I definitely do not own the Avengers- or Loki…
A floorboard creaked in the darkness behind her slowly and quietly, but she moved not a muscle. She ran through a dozen plausible scenarios in her mind in a moment and waited for the right opportunity to strike. The shadow would have been invisible to anyone else, but to Natasha Romanov it was as obvious as cloud on a sunny day. She could practically feel the anger rolling off of him in waves; as they washed over her, her heart began to pick up its pace ever so slightly. Fear? She thought suddenly. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that. Before her thoughts could wander any further, the shadow jerked towards her from behind, and a cold hand gripped her shoulder painfully tightly. With one fluid movement she grabbed the hand, twisted forwards and flung him onto his back.
"Loki," she stated, matter-of-factly. Loki grinned slightly, but otherwise said nothing. "Silent as usual? Fine."
She grabbed for the knife in her boot but the god kicked her feet out from under her, forcing her to backflip out of reach. He pushed himself up and walked towards her with a glint in his dark green eyes. Fumbling slightly, she pulled the stiletto knife out of her boot finally and brandished it with a warning for him to stay back. He didn't spare a single glance at the weapon in her hand as he quickened his pace. She dodged at the last moment and slipped behind him, swiftly shoving the stiletto between his ribs and pushing him to the ground with the heel of her boot.
He rolled to his uninjured side with a wince, but the slight look of contempt mixed with amusement and promise still remained as he stared wordlessly into her eyes. He swiftly pulled her leg out from under her, forcing her to the ground as well, as he pinned her to the ground, stopping her from slipping the dagger across his throat. "Not tonight, Agent Romanov…" he whispered in a gravelly voice that sounded so unlike the smooth tones she remembered.
Suddenly, she was in her bed once more, panting as though she really had just been in a fight with an immortal. Reaching for the glass of water on the night stand, she raked a shaky hand through the scarlet curls that had plastered themselves to her face in the night. Her thighs were wet and a deep ache was burning at her core.
The dreams had begun after Loki's capture and subsequent imprisonment in Asgard; something about that look he had given her right before he'd been taken away had shaken her deeply. It was almost as though he'd been trying to tell her something- a warning? A threat? His eyes were always the same in the dreams, but he had never spoken until tonight. The dreams had started out innocently enough- with her killing him in inventive ways- but they had gotten more and more realistic; until she could hardly tell when she was awake and when she was asleep. And lately there had been a sexual undertone that she could neither understand nor ignore.
Barton had begun to suspect something as well, but she couldn't let S.H.I.E.L.D. find out that she was having dreams about the man who had nearly killed them all, so she accepted an assignment in St. Petersburg–hoping against hope that the dreams would abate on their own. They hadn't.
Her cellphone beeped quietly to alert her of a call. It was probably Nick Fury checking in again, she thought as she swung her legs off of the bed, ignoring the numbing cold of the tiles on her bare feet. The man wouldn't let her off of his radar for a minute, as if in that minute she could easily return to the gruesome occupation she had been doing before she'd been recruited by him.
"Romanov here," she answered without a trace of the exasperation that was simmering below the surface.
"Romanov, I need you in New York; there's been a series of anonymous attacks on the subway system that I need you to look into."
"And what about Nikolas Rostad?"
"I hate to pull you away from a mission, Agent but you've been there a month and no progress. Besides, I'd put the Captain on it but we both know he's no detective."
Natasha fumed silently as she fought to keep her tone neutral in her reply. "With all due respect Sir, there has been progress, but Mr. Rostad is not a trusting man. However, I fully expect to have the details on the weapons silo within the week."
Fury was silent for a minute. "Alright, you've got a week, but I expect to see you in New York by this time next Tuesday," and with that the call ended.
Natasha dressed quickly and began to clean her weapons. She paused for a moment and considered her reflection in the gleaming surface of her .22 pistol; Fury was right, it had taken far too long for her to collect the info from Rostad. She hadn't been lying about his tight-lipped nature, but if she was being honest with herself, she could have gotten the plans out of him in a day if she'd wanted. She was just stalling.
Stalling for what? She had no idea, but there was no way she could go back to headquarters like this. The thought of him popped into her head far more than it should, and not all of her thoughts were antagonistic. She'd caught herself daydreaming about his lips and his hands, and how wonderful they would feel on her bare skin before she'd caught herself and cleared her mind. But even meditation didn't seem to work anymore; he was seeping into her subconscious.
She focused her thoughts back towards the repetitive task of cleaning her knives, and tried desperately to ignore the thrill that had welled up in the pit of her stomach when she thought about his eyes gleaming at her in the dark as he pinned her to the concrete floor.
"Arghh!" she growled as she threw a knife across the room in frustration. The metal thrummed softly as it lodged itself in the eye of a painted politician. 'Great' she thought sourly, now she'd have to explain the damaged painting to Rostad's staff. The man thought she was the heiress of a Russian oil magnate, so perhaps a temper tantrum or two wouldn't be out of character- but the overlying problem of her incorrigible thoughts had to be solved.
"You missed me," a smooth voice stated plainly from behind her. Before she spun around, she knew exactly who it was- when had she fallen asleep? she wondered.
"I won't miss this time, Loki," Natasha growled as she palmed another knife and whirled around to face him.
He stood smirking at her from the glass table in the kitchenette, dressed in a typical Russian outfit comprised of a large overcoat with a green scarf poking through the folds and shiny dress shoes under well-fitting gray trousers. She forced her thoughts away from his clothing and hurled another knife in his direction. The blade passed cleanly through his forehead as his image wavered and disappeared.
"Missed again," a soft breath brushed against her ear. Before she could move, his arm had encircled her body and a sharp object jutted painfully against her throat. "I think we both know how this is going to end Agent Romanov". As he pulled away, a cold band of ice wrapped around her arms and chest.
"With you dead," she replied matter-of-factly. To her surprise, he began to laugh, a clear, harmonious sound which completely took her by surprise.
"Right!" he chuckled with a gleeful look on his face, "you still think you're dreaming!" Natasha stared at the man in concern; her dreams were getting unmanageably difficult, and if it continued she would have to tell Fury.
"Let me rid you of your reservations- this is not a dream and I could very easily kill you," with that he raked the knife that she had thrown earlier across her shoulder, drawing a thin ribbon of blood across her skin. "I've been biding my time, gaining strength and power; and finally –with your help –I've managed to escape!"
"What do you mean, 'my help'?" she asked with the least possible amount of interest she could muster.
"Come now Agent Romanov, as handsome as I am, surely you didn't think all of those dreams were of your own doing?" he smiled slyly as he circled around to face her.
Natasha stared uncertainly at Loki, had he been the cause of her endless dreams?
"why me?" she asked, "what do you want from me?"
Loki smiled and turned to face her, "because, my little spider, you and I understand one another." A chill ran down her spine, and she suddenly realized how cold the ice around her was.
"As for what I want from you, that is very simple; just information." She stared mutely at him, hoping that he wouldn't be able to hear how quickly her heart was beating, and he continued. "Stark is building something which I require access to- tell me where it is and you'll have what you desire."
"And, what is that?" she asked lowly.
"A fresh start Agent Romanov! A new identity, a new name –a new face if you require it!" he replied quickly, "or," he said suddenly, locking his dark eyes onto her own, "I could convince Agent Fury to forget all about you; I can be very convincing when I want to."
"So, let me get this straight; you've been sneaking into my dreams for months now in order to build up the strength to use them as a portal to our world?"
He smirked and began to circle around her and describe the merits of working for him rather than the Avengers, but she found herself unable to concentrate on his words when the sight of him pacing purposefully about the small room with his long-legged stride made her heart flutter abnormally. She halfheartedly fidgeted with the ice bindings, but a part of her –a large part of her- wanted the moment to last longer.
Natasha colored slightly and struggled to maintain her composure as images of his smooth, flawless hands gliding across her exposed neck, caressing her breasts and gripping her dark red hair flooded into her mind.
"I don't think a new identity will do me much good once you've destroyed the planet," she spat.
"I was never going to destroy the planet," he replied, aghast at her implication, "but that is in the past, and trust me when I say that I have no more interest in this puny rock; my sights are much higher now."
"Forget it Loki, I've been on that side before, and I'm never going back. If you stop this now, I'll recommend that Fury take your cooperation into consideration," she bit out with much more confidence than she felt.
Loki paused his pacing to regard her perfectly schooled demeanor. Something about the way he was looking at her implied that the cracks in her armor were beginning to show.
"Why, Agent Romanoff…" he started towards her slowly, "I do believe you're trembling…"
Natasha quickly relaxed her muscles and maintained her composure, but kept her mouth shut because she didn't trust herself to speak.
"Come now Agent," he whispered silkily into her ear as he stopped only inches away from her face, "I could hear your heart beating from across the room. Don't tell me you're afraid."
Natasha knew there was no point in denying his claims; it wasn't fear that had her worked up, but there was no way she would admit the truth to the man in front of her. Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough to control her impulses when a slight breath tickled her ear and her breath caught in her throat. Loki stepped back a few paces and regarded her with confusion and interest, as though seeing her for the first time. Natasha bit back a curse as she realized what he had probably begun to realize and focused her energy on her next move.
Swiftly she kicked his feet out from under him, and landed with her full weight on the band of ice, shattering it to pieces. Loki regained his balance faster than she had anticipated and descended upon her as she forced herself out of her daze. She rolled out of the way as he lunged for her and jumped to her feet, pulling out the knife she'd pierced the painting with and bringing it to his neck as she forced him to the ground.
Loki splayed his palms in a sign of defeat, but that damned smirk that haunted her dreams still laced his lips.
"It's over Loki, I could open your throat in a second and not even your magic could save you then."
"Oh, I know my little spider. So often you've dreamed of it," he replied casually, "but I can't help but wonder if you'd have dreamed something different if I hadn't interfered so often…"
Natasha willed her face not to flush, but today just didn't seem to be her day.
"Don't you ever wonder, Natasha," he said as his voice dropped to a husky whisper as he glanced up at her through dark lashes with his luminescent green eyes," what it would be like to-"
Before she knew what she was doing, the knife had clattered uselessly to the floor as her hands wound themselves in his long, dark hair and her lips pressed themselves hungrily against his. His arms wrapped around her quickly and his knee forced itself between her legs. She bit her lip as she ground herself shamelessly against him.
Loki let out a slight hiss and pulled her more tightly against him as he slipped one hand under her shirt as the other tightly clutched her raven locks. The god of mischief made quick work of the thin sleepwear as he tore it from her eagerly like gift wrap from a present.
Suddenly, a loud banging echoed from the hallway, and a gruff, impatient voice called from the door, "Miss Ivanya? I'm here to remind you of the breakfast you have scheduled with Mr. Rostad in thirty minutes. Please be ready to leave in fifteen; Mr. Rostad does not like to be kept waiting."
Natasha cursed angrily under her breath- how could she have forgotten about the meeting with Rostad? Then a pair of mischievous emerald eyes reminded how exactly how she had forgotten. "Late for a date, my little spider?" he purred mockingly into her ear, still clutching her naked body against his.
"I –I have to leave Loki."
"Don't worry, I know you'll miss me." And with that, she was alone in the room once more.
So, what'd you guys think? I'm not sure I want to write more for this- I kind of like the little snapshot of them that I captured. I might be induced to continue if I gain some sort of inspiration. Comment please!