~*~it's where the happy endings are, love of mine~*~
you are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person i have ever known and even that is an understatement
- f scott fitzgerald -
Words – in her presence and hers only – failed him. Something he had never expected.
For words had not failed him in the presence of Jane. However, he quickly realized that Emily – though a maiden of Midgard herself – was not Jane. She was something else entirely. An entity – despite all of his travels through the nine realms – that he, Thor the God of Thunder, himself could not quite comprehend.
She wasn't an otherworldly being or an enhanced Midgardian like the Captain. But she was more – though, he couldn't explain how – than ordinary.
All that being said, he still can't bear to leave Asgard behind completely. The bi-frost is stable now, making travel between the realms far more achievable, and Asgard is his home. It is where his family – his mother, his father, Sif and the Warriors Three are and even Loki – reside and someday [though, he prefers not to dwell on it] he is expected [destined] to assume the mantle of King once his father has made the fateful passage to Valhalla to rest permanently amongst the other great kings and Gods.
Slowly but surely, however, Midgard has taken residence in his heart as more than just a place he has sworn to protect when called upon by his fellow Avengers and his brothers in arms – such as the Son of Coul and Nick of the Fury – at S.H.I.E.L.D., and it's because of her.
She has made the strange land, so unlike his home, grow roots inside his most deepest places. More so than Jane ever had.
She made him long for the comforts of her Midgardian residence when he was roaming the halls of his childhood home.
He would miss the brown bitter tasting liquid – coffee – that she would brew every morning; he had come to enjoy the taste of it alone as much as he had the lingering blast of it on her tongue when they would kiss. He would also miss the ethnic food in the white containers with the symbols marked in red on each side and how they would use the sticks to eat it as they watched the moving pictures on her television set, curled on the couch with her head rested on his shoulder. He would miss the way her scent – a flower known as lilac – lingered upon the fabric of his clothes and how the stall where she liked to bathe would burst with the scent from the heat of the water as it descended upon her from the spout just like the entire bathing chamber would.
Each time he took his leave it became harder and harder to return to his home. Just like his list of the things he missed would grow and grow; a new item or three added with every visit back to Asgard.
He does not quite know – despite his nature for being verbose and indulging in eloquent prose – how to verbalize what he feels inside for her. He knows he's never felt these feelings before; not even for Jane, whom he believed would be the great love he had been searching for and would ultimately join him in ruling Asgard as his Queen when the time came.
But with Jane there were not any visions of those thoughts coming to fruition when he would be overcome by sleep.
Whether he is on Asgard, sleeping alone or in Midgard, sleeping with her tucked in close inside his arms, visions of her in royal garb and a crown of golden flowers circling her head, come to him.
He doesn't breathe a syllable of the dreams when the morning light starts to shine through her curtains, but his heart feels so full he has fear that it will burst from his chest.
He is well versed in the shape and slants and curves of her frame. Holding her is just like holding Mojinlor in his hand; natural, instinctual and without thought.
He can map the subtle flare of her hips, the pert shape of her breasts [that fit so well in his large palms], seams of her thighs, arches of her feet, dip of her back and so and so on from memory alone. He takes his time to reacquaint himself – as if he's forgotten how to make her writhe and fall into the flames of lust underneath him – with her alabaster skin every time he returns.
He cannot find the words to express what he feels inside, but he can show her and hope the words he speaks with his lips gliding along the hollow of her throat, the rasp of his beard against the sensitive skin of the inside of her thighs and his fingers expertly moving inside of her, make his intentions clear.
And when she looks at him through her velvet lashes, her warm eyes drunk with passion, he feels [believes] that she understands what he cannot say with words.
It is not the first time he is all but entranced by her hands when he watches her treat The Captain who requires medical assistance after a long, hard fought battle with a mutant called Magneto and his followers The Brotherhood.
On Asgard his people would call her a healer on Midgard she is a doctor.
And not even the plain, shapeless clothing – he's heard her call them "scrubs" though, he is unsure why as they do not appear to help her clean in any way – can distract him from her beauty.
But it is her hands – smooth and nimble – that hold his attention most.
They are sure as sure as they are gentle and comforting while she tends to The Captain's wounds, which she assures, are not life-threatening mostly because of the enhancement the serum provided to his body.
And as he watches them work, he can see the shape of her fingers, slender and feminine, wrapping around his rougher, broader ones. Just like he can see them gliding through the thickness of his hair as their lips meet in the first moment of a kiss. Or how her nails – always painted with pink polish – dig into the skin of his shoulders, sinking in for purchase and leverage as her slick, heat envelopes him during the throes of their passion. Or how she'll smooth her thumb across his lips before he takes his leave of Midgard and each time he returns from Asgard.
He knows her hands as well – if not better – than he knows his own. He knows how they clutch tight to her favorite mug of coffee, how they shake ever so slightly when she embraces him before each battle he must fight, but mostly how they fit perfectly with his own; as if hers were made for his.
"A doctor?" Tony blinked repeatedly, watching as Thor interacted with Emily outside of Steve's hospital room. "Seriously? Point Break's dating a doctor? How am I the only one shocked by this? Seriously, how? Come on, Bruce, be a good science bro and back me up on this!" The self-proclaimed genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist demanded.
Coulson's steel voice cuts through before a still recovering or de-Hulking, if you asked Clint, Bruce can answer. "I don't know," His voice is dryer than the Sahara and he's barely concealing an eye roll. "Maybe because his first girlfriend on Earth was an astrophysicist."
Tony gaped, his mouth literally falling open. "You're shitting me, Agent. Like, you're punking me. A fucking astrophysicist? No way!"
Natasha's full lips quirked into a slow blooming smirk, the kind that made Tony believe there was only one thing on her mind; murder. "And yet a completely independent, capable, smart, witty and beautiful woman like Pepper Potts is dating you. Stranger things," Her blue eyes drifted to her nails, flicking imaginary dirt. "Than Thor romancing a doctor and or an astrophysicist have happened. Your relationship and the fact that it's lasted this long, is nothing less than remarkable."
"If you were anyone else, I wouldn't ignore that slight to my very fragile ego, but you're..." Tony trailed off. "You know... you and really I'm too narcissistic to let myself be murdered by you or anyone, because honestly, what would the world do without me? Let's be real here."
"Didn't you have the chance to tase him once?" Clint questioned, turning to Coulson. "Wait... Didn't you threaten to tase him and make him drool into his ridiculously stupid carpet while you watched Super Nanny? Did he give you, like, a million dollars to not do it? Cause I can't understand why you didn't."
"Maybe," Coulson's thin lips twisted into a wry smirk. "I'm just biding my time, Barton."
"The lovely Emily," Thor's booming – even when he was trying to control its volume – broke through the conversation. "Has proclaimed The Captain to be recovering from his injuries quite well. He does not have to stay the night in the healing chamber and can return to the tower once the paperwork is done."
"Be sure to tell Dr. Quartermaine thank you on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. We appreciate her discretion in treating Captain Rogers. I'll take care of the required paperwork. And Stark," Coulson turned to the preening engineer, stopping just before he entered Steve's hospital room. "Keep your opinions of your colleagues personal lives to themselves. God knows they keep their opinions of yours to themselves. If you don't, I will tase you and you will be drooling into the carpet or on the floor of your precious laboratory while I enjoy The Bachelor."
"What happened to Super Nanny?" Tony couldn't resist needling the unflappable agent.
Instead of answering, Coulson simply opened the button of his nondescript suit, revealing on the inside of his coat, a gleaming taser, and then he finished the short walk inside Steve's room.
Thor's blue eyes rapidly ping-ponged between Natasha, Clint, Bruce and Tony, confusion reigning on the strong features of his handsome face. "I am confused by The Son of Coul's proclamation. What exactly does he mean by Anthony keeping the opinions of our personal lives to himself as we do about his? Has he offended any of you?"
Bruce gave the demi-God a soft, half smile. "Don't worry. Tony was just being Tony." He dismissed, casting the engineer a brief glare. "Emily," His smile came back. "Seems very lovely. It's good that you've found someone. It looks good on you..." He chuckled, low in his throat. "Being happy and, you know," He shifted in his chair, rubbing his thumb over his palm, in habit. "In love."
Thor blinked at the shy physicists proclamation. Slowly his eyes settled upon Clint and Natasha, just as the two assassins caught each other's gaze. Though, they were schooled in not revealing their emotions, poker faces the demi-God believed he had heard Anthony refer to the expressions as, he could see a tenderness coming through. Something in the cool blue eyes of Natasha registered with him; he'd seen Emily with that look in her eyes as she gazed upon him and he did the same to her.
His heart thudded in his chest, the sound reverberating in his ears, almost as if he'd wielded Mojinlor at a foe, the resulting force deafening and intense.
"Give The Captain my regards." His cadence was uncharacteristically quick. "Also my apologies that I will not help the rest of you see him home."
Before Thor could disappear in a swirl of his deep red cape, Tony reached for his arm. "Just a hot minute there, Point Break. Before you go proclaim your thundering love for your Meredith Grey-esque maiden, I have to ask..." He waggled his eyebrows up and down, smirk threatening to break out across his dark features. "Are you..." He didn't get a chance to finish because out of nowhere, Natasha rewarded him with a swift jab of her elbow into his stomach, making him double over in pain with a less than manly yelp.
"Ignore him." She advised. "But don't ignore this," She warned. "Tell her, okay? Don't be afraid and don't waste time. In this..." She let out a soft, dry laugh. "Life you don't have much time. Even if you are a demi-God."
"I take every word you speak, lady warrior, Natasha, to the deepest place of my heart. You are wise and your words ring true. I do not wish to waste any of this precious time without Emily standing beside me. And brother Banner," Thor turned to the disheveled doctor. "I offer you my greatest gratitude for making my eyes become open to exactly how I feel for Emily. You have given me a most wondrous gift and I am forever in your debt."
"That's not necessary. Telling Emily how you feel is enough for me. Really, it is."
Thor finds his way into the locker room, being directed there by a helpful nurse, and he is greeted to the sight of Emily's bare back. It is a beautiful sight to his eyes. The familiar shape of her spine and its dip, setting a flame inside his veins.
He swallows thickly and lets out a curse under his breath when the fabric of her shirt covers her skin.
If he had his way, she'd remain forever uncovered. Like, the great works of Midgardian art that The Captain has showed him.
He'd never wanted to draw or indulge in the arts, he was not raised to be drawn to them, from birth he was made to be a warrior, but she made him wish he'd been blessed with The Captain's skills for rendering pictures. Drawing her – not necessarily on her, like he does with his lips and hands, mapping the slants and curves of her beautiful figure – in pencil would be a privilege, for sure.
As if she senses his presence, she turns, the blouse she is wearing left unbuttoned. As beautiful as her breasts were bare, encased in the white lace of her brassier, they were still evoked the word beauty in his mind. His fingers flexed at his sides, the want to touch their soft curvature, pulsing through his towering frame.
The sheen of a pink hue floods her cheeks as a soft smile takes over her bow-shaped lips. "Hey."
She reaches to cover herself and his strides reach her quickly and he pulls her hands away from clenching her shirt. "You need to never cover yourself in my presence, Emily. If it was permissible by Midgardian etiquette, you would not ever be covered. Though, I would feel the harsh rage of jealousy from others being privy to your beauty. I wish to be the only one to see you without a stitch of clothing from now until I make my fateful passage to Valhalla."
"Have I ever told you," She reaches up, fingers twisting several strands of his shoulder length hair. "That you put Shakespeare's sonnets to shame? It's a wonder my head," She laughs and it sounds like the most beautiful melody from an Asgardian harp to his ears. "Can fit through a door with you around."
"I do not understand." His brows furrow together and she smiles, likening him to a curious puppy.
"You don't have to. All you need to understand is that I appreciate every compliment you've ever given me. The only thing other thing you need to understand is that..." She swallows thickly, eyes growing misty and her tongue snaking out to lick her suddenly dry lips. "I..." Peering up at him through her velvet lashes. "Maybe it's too soon, and I probably shouldn't say it, but when you say things like that, I feel like there's only thing I can say and that's, I love you."
"It is not too soon and you should never be fearful of telling me how you feel. My only great want is for you to be my side for however I remain on the mortal coil of Midgard or my home of Asgard or anywhere within the nine realms..." He reached for her, pulling her lithe frame against his hulking one, cradling her face in his large palms so she could not look away. "Because I love you, Emily of the Quartermaines. I love you in a way that words cannot express. In every touch of my hands along your body and the way my mouth moves with yours, I can only hope – from now until the end or your feelings waver – that you know my love for you and how deeply you reside in my heart. So deeply that I hope you will allow me to take permanent residence not only on Midgard, but in your home so we will never be separated for too long."
"You can't possibly be real," She breathed, several tears escaping. "You just can't be. But you are," Her fingers, shaking from the gorgeous words he spoke, smoothing over every inch of his handsome face. "And I am the luckiest woman anywhere – make it Midgard," She couldn't help but giggle at using his vernacular. "Or Asgard. And believe me when I say, my feelings will not waver and there is nowhere I'd rather be than wherever you are."
"And I you."