"Ugh!"
Darcy chokes on a gulp of the vile beverage that passes for coffee in SHIELD's kitchens. Since she took up the offer to work for the strange and shadowy government organisation, assisting Jane and Erik's research team, she's learned a lot but is far busier than she was in New Mexico as an intern. Her days are spent with data, data, and more data, and pretending that she actually understands all this science crap.
Exhausted after a long shift and in desperate need of a caffeine hit, she wills herself to force the coffee down, but the acrid taste proves to be too much. With a sigh, she tips it down the sink, watching the dark sludge slither towards the plughole.
"Who do I have to blow to get decent coffee around here?" she says out loud to no one in particular.
"I'm sorry?" The voice coming from behind her is clipped, refined, and strangely familiar.
Turning around, Darcy blinks foolishly as she's confronted with the sight of Thor's murderous little brother, Loki. Since Loki's foray into more normal employment with SHIELD he's toned down on the Asgardian prince regalia, but he still cuts an odd figure amongst all the agents in suits.
He's clad in a green tunic with a leather vest layered over the top and matching trousers, and Darcy has to resist making a Robin Hood quip.
"Er, nothing. Seriously bad coffee." She gestures to the sink, wrinkling her nose.
Loki's eyes glint with interest. "Midgardians are strange. The suggestion that you must orally pleasure another to partake of a good quality beverage - is this a normal thing?"
He smiles as he says this, and Darcy has the uncomfortable sense that he's making fun of her.
She laughs nervously. "It's a figure of speech."
"Fortunately, after Thor introduced me to it, I have become rather fond of this coffee that you drink on this world."
"Please don't tell me you drink this stuff." Darcy gestures to the enormous urn of SHIELD-approved coffee grounds.
He shakes his head. "I have acquired a stash of my own. If you wish, I will share it with you."
"That's very kind of you," Darcy says foolishly, wondering why she's blushing.
Loki is offering her coffee. What could be the catch? Wait, it's Loki.
"It's in my quarters. As it technically counts as contraband, it would not do to be seen openly drinking it."
Darcy's heart thumps, and she isn't even quite sure why.
"Whoa, hold up. Are you inviting me to your place for a coffee?"
One of his eyebrows raises in a comical slant. "It's a cup of coffee. I have watched this Friends programme on the moving-picture box enough to know that in this realm, coffee comes with other expectations. I have no such expectations, mortal."
It's Darcy's turn to nearly choke with laughter. Loki watches Friends? She wants to ask him if he thinks Ross really was destined to be with Rachel, but now doesn't seem appropriate.
"Just coffee," she says firmly.
Loki grins. "And the pleasure of my company, of course."
Darcy has no idea why she does it - she's tired and maybe the lure of caffeine is just too strong - but her feet move of their own accord and in moments, they're in his chambers.
She'd imagined tapestries, a bed with a canopy of golden horns, green silk sheets; something regal and ostentatious as befitting a prince of Asgard.
Darcy is surprised to find a simple sleeping cell – admittedly, considerably larger than hers – furnished in much the same way as her own. However, the bedding and sheets are a deep forest green; his signature colour.
Loki busies himself with the preparation of the coffee, and Darcy is free to stare around his room. There's a comfy-looking armchair, and beyond it a door to a bathroom with a green towel on a gold rail. More green.
The walls are lined with bookcases filled with masses of books. There are hundreds of dusty, leather-bound tomes that look ancient and probably came from Asgard, but she's amused to see some more modern novels in there that she recognises.
She tries to imagine Loki in bed in his pyjamas, reading Captain Corelli's Mandolin, and giggles unexpectedly.
He gives her a strange look, but continues brewing the coffee, setting out two green mugs he seems to produce from thin air.
Darcy's eyes are drawn to a desk, littered with notes and diagrams written in a small, neat script, and several strange-looking objects with moving parts and blinking lights. They don't look like any Earth tech she's ever seen, and she thinks they must be of Asgardian make.
Curious, she crosses to the desk and reaches for one. Wonders what it might do. But before she can touch it, Loki is beside her in an instant, his hand moving hers away gently, but insistently.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Those devices are unfinished, and I do not know what effect they would have on a mortal."
There's a frisson as his fingers touch hers – just barely, but it's there. Darcy has no time to consider it. Loki drops her hand and with the other, is holding a green cup out to her.
There's a long pause before she comes to her senses and takes the cup."Thank you."
Darcy tilts the cup to her lips, inhaling, and sighs approvingly. The strong, bitter scent of coffee beans drifts to her nostrils – heady and inviting.
She takes a cautious sip, and almost moans as she tastes it. This is Darcy's third month on board SHIELD'S helicarrier base, and it's been that long since she had a decent coffee. The effect of the beverage is restorative after the long day, liquid silk going down her throat. She can taste two sugars, and just the right amount of milk, and wonders how Loki knows how she likes her coffee.
"It's good?" he says, smiling, and it's a disarmingly pleasant sight. Since she took this job, Darcy hasn't had much cause to deal with Loki, and they've only exchanged the odd word. The only smile she's ever seen is the mocking, mischievous grin he seems to wear permanently, and it's different from this one. It's a genuine smile.
She nods. "How did you come by this? I thought only SHIELD-approved products were stocked in the kitchens. Otherwise known as the worst coffee known to man."
"It's a Colombian blend I acquired. I have used an enchantment to alter the flavour to my own liking."
"I thought you couldn't do magic?" Darcy is momentarily concerned, remembering that Jane told her it was a condition of Loki's employment with SHIELD.
"My powers are limited, yes." He moves to sit on the edge of the green comforter, and she joins him unthinkingly. "Nothing that can be dangerous to anyone. But I still have my tricks."
He smiles, but Darcy doesn't miss how forced it is. The loss of his magic is clearly a source of great pain and shame for Loki. She takes another sip.
"Whatever you did, you could patent this shit and sell it in high-end department stores. This is like orgasm-on-my-tongue coffee."
Loki's lips twist into an amused smile. "Then it must be a great pleasure for you indeed, mortal."
Irritation spikes in Darcy at being called 'mortal' yet again. Loki could be such an asshole.
Again, that twisty feeling surges in the pit of her stomach, and she's aware of how close he is to her.
"It's Darcy. Darcy Lewis," she says sharply.
"I know your name. But are you not a mortal?" Darcy knows that Loki's just trying to piss her off, but it doesn't stop her rising to the bait.
"What should I call you, then?" she snaps. "God? Pampered little princeling? How about murderer?" In that moment, Darcy realises she's gone too far.
Loki's expression never changes, but his eyes tighten, staring at something in the distance over her shoulder.
"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair."
"No, you need not apologise. I accept full responsibility for what I have done. Every day I try to repent through my work here."
"Does it ever haunt you?" she asks quietly.
"Every day. My actions on Midgard were not entirely of my own volition, and yet I allowed the madness to consume me. As I did when I levelled that small town you and Jane Foster called home."
"To be honest, I think it improved the landscape somewhat." The reply is automatic – honestly, Puente Antiguo was never Darcy's favourite place to be – but it's not really that funny, and she wants him to know.
"In all seriousness, Loki, this is fucked up. I shouldn't even be here. You're dangerous. You say you've changed, but you could kill me at any moment. Your surrender to SHIELD could be a total ruse."
Darcy is joking, but a very real undercurrent of fear runs through her at the thought. She feels the thrum of her pulse beneath her skin as it flutters, her heart skipping a beat.
"Does it...excite you, mortal?" he murmurs, his voice low. "To be spending time with a man – or rather, a god – who has done despicable things?"
She snorts. "You're not a god. I know. Jane told me. You live for like five thousand years or something, right? Gods, from what I've heard, are usually immortal."
Loki sighs, shaking his head. "Honestly, I preferred the Viking period. It was a simpler time. And the women of the time were certainly happy to serve their god."
"Oh please. Really? Well, I'm sure Thor did it, too."
He grins. "Indeed, but the maidens always preferred me."
She reaches over for a book resting on the bedside table and finds that it's Erik's Norse mythology book they'd saved from Puente Antiguo. It's open at the Loki entry.
Darcy laughs. It was so like Loki to be reading a book about himself. She peeps at the bookcase, catches sight of a book called Loki: Nine Naughty Tales of The Trickster God, and makes a mental note to borrow that at a later date.
"How did you get this?"
"I borrowed it from your friend Jane Foster. I believe it belongs to Dr Selvig, but we still have a rather, er – tense relationship, as I'm sure you can imagine." Loki clears his throat awkwardly.
"It says here that you get called Silvertongue," she says, peering at the page.
Loki's deep chuckle sends an unexpected thrill of pleasure straight between Darcy's thighs. She freezes.
Oh no. There is no way in hell that there can be something between her and Loki. At best, she's here purely for his amusement – at worst, he could destroy her.
Sure, he seems repentant – and apparently has a lending library with Jane – but she can't trust him. New York is mostly rebuilt, but she remembers the horrors from the news broadcasts. The screaming as the dust and debris of destroyed buildings filled the air.
Heart pounding in her ears, she reads on. Loki, brother of Thor, is known as the God of Lies and Mischief. Looking up, she starts when she notices Loki watching her.
His eyes are beady, his lips curved into a knowing smile as he leans on one elbow, sipping his cup of coffee. It's more than fascination, the way he's looking at her.
It's predatory.
"What?" she says.
"You amuse me when you are deep in concentration, Darcy."
It's the first time he's used her name, and, in spite of herself, Darcy likes the way that it sounds in his voice. He draws closer to her, sliding his body along the edge of the bed in one fluid movement.
"Would you like to know how I got the nickname Silvertongue?" His voice is honey, thick and damn seductive as he moves to whisper those words in her ear.
Whoa. Now this was just not fair. Was Loki trying to seduce her? His lips graze the shell of her ear, and the thrill that runs down her spine shames Darcy.
She gets up, moving until she's sitting on the other side of the bed, as far away from him as she deems safe. She notices Loki's confused expression, and for some reason, it breaks the tension of the moment and she feels the urge to laugh.
"So you're known for being some sort of sex god in Asgard? Really?" She dissolves into peals of laughter, spluttering with a mouthful of coffee in what she imagines to be a thoroughly unattractive manner.
A blush appears on Loki's pale cheeks, the last thing she expects, and he looks down at his coffee as if it's the most absorbing thing in the world.
"Are you finished yet?" When he raises his head to meet her eyes, he looks petulant, and she's half-expecting him to pout. The thought of that triggers another round of choke-laughing from Darcy.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says eventually as she stops, her voice hoarse. "But you're kind of this skinny, pale evil guy in my head. I'm still having a hard time coming to terms with the idea that you might actually be a decent person."
Darcy wants to stop herself talking, to stuff a fist in her mouth and try and shut off the stupid snark she always engages when things are getting too serious.
Loki slides along the edge of bed, until he's right next to her. He's close, so close that she can smell him. Citrus and leather and musk, and the cup of coffee that he's still holding.
He tilts the cup to his lips, swallows the last of his drink. Darcy's cup is empty, too. With a twist of his fingers, the cups vanish, and with them, all pretence of what the two of them are doing in Loki's room.
Darcy knows there's no way in this fucked-up universe that anything can happen between them. It's not as if he'd even want to. The ear-kissing and blatant flirting is Loki's way of toying with her, having some fun to see if the silly mortal girl will swoon.
It wouldn't surprise her if Fury had added fucking SHIELD employees, especially associates of Jane Foster to Loki's list of things he was not allowed to do. Darcy suspects that list would probably be as long as her arm.
As long as Loki's long, lean arm. The arm that's just reached for her.
Loki's slim, pale fingers touch her shoulder, moving her hair out of the way, pulling her collar to the side. His lips ghost over her neck, ice cold against her heated, flushed skin, and Darcy can't stop the low sound that comes from her throat.
The bedsprings creak, he moves swiftly and she's pinned under him, flat on her back with Loki on top of her. She's starting to regret the "skinny" comment she made earlier, because his hard body is pressing into hers and she can feel the taut muscles of his chest.
His eyes flash wickedly, and Darcy shudders as she becomes aware of how vulnerable she is like this. One of Loki's hands goes to her neck, his long fingers winding around it. The touch is light, but she knows that with one flick of his wrist he could choke the life from her; snap her neck like a bird. She's trembling, but then, in an oddly tender impulse, his hand moves to caress her cheek.
"Do you still think me amusing, Darcy?" One of his knees nudges between her legs, pushing until she opens for him. He slides in between them until Darcy finds her thighs are flush with his hips, his hardness pressing into her centre.
She makes an "uuuungh" sound in her throat in response. Loki grinds his hips into hers, and she realises she's embarrassingly wet, already soaked through her panties and possibly even through her thin trousers.
Loki's face moves closer, until his lips are inches from hers. He breathes in, then out over Darcy, and the heady, cool scent of him is intoxicating.
The kiss is a complete accident, really.
Darcy has every intention of sliding out of his grasp, pushing him away, telling him to go and take a running jump because there's no way this is going to happen.
She doesn't.
She moves her head to the side, intending to extricate herself from him, but Loki moves at the same time and his lips crash down on hers.
She's lost. Loki's lips are warm and cool at the same time, sending a shock of arousal cresting in her. The kiss is gentle, but it soon deepens, his tongue sliding into her mouth as his hands roam her body; cupping her breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt.
She knows this is a bad idea, that there has to be some kind of game at work. Loki loathes her kind. Perhaps he bedded mortals in the past, but they were simple ones who worshipped him. Darcy has been snarking at him, laughing at him, and it's clear from the way he looks at her that he still regards with utter contempt; despite any base desires he may have for her body.
Darcy wonders if she's really going to compare to all the goddesses Loki has surely loved in his bed over the centuries. Her hair is a tangled mess, and she hasn't shaved her legs in a couple of days, let alone any other places.
One thing she can take comfort in is that she wore contacts today and not her super-nerdy glasses with the thick rims.
Loki pulls back, his expression careful. "Are you certain that you want this, Darcy? With someone like me?"
"I could ask the same question of you," says Darcy, even though her breathing's heavy and his body is hard on hers and she's so turned on that she can barely think.
"No. I find you intriguing, Darcy."
"Yeah, sure, Loki. I'm the first girl in this place stupid enough to go to bed with you, more like."
"Do you ever stop talking?" he says, exasperated, and silences her with a deep kiss that knocks the breath from her body.
Her hands move to the laces on his tunic, fumbling, but they prove complicated and he ends up doing it himself, smirking as he pulls the garment over his head. She starts to unbutton her blouse, but Loki tears it off impatiently, along with her bra. It's a good thing Darcy never buys expensive lingerie.
She unbuttons her trousers and slides them down her legs, lifting her hips, and her underwear follows. Darcy kicks them to the floor, feeling suddenly exposed now that she's naked. Loki's eyes darken as he appraises her, and the low sound he makes in his throat makes the last of her self-consciousness fall away.
Her hand wraps around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as her lips surge against his own.
Loki's fingers trail down her collarbone, tracing the curves of her breasts before he dips his head, tongue teasing each nipple to a taut peak in turn.
He pays each breast similar attention with his hands before dragging slim fingers down her body, flattening his palm out over her hip and stroking the skin there. Darcy bucks against him, frustrated. Long fingers trace patterns on her inner thigh, the groove of her hipbones, everywhere except where she needs him.
When he finally pushes a thumb against her clit, Darcy cries out, shaking as he slides one, two, three fingers inside. She's beyond ready for him, and Loki's eyes glint in triumph as he realises this.
He settles himself on top of her, and the feel of bare skin on skin is indescribable – but he's still far too clothed for her liking.
She reaches down, unlaces his leather pants, and he helps her guide them past his hips. It amuses her to see that Loki goes commando, and she wonders if it's an Asgardian thing. His cock springs out, hard and glistening with need, and Darcy forgets everything else.
With that wicked smile, Loki leans his body over hers to rest his elbows on the bed, slides his length between her folds to tease her. He does it again and she protests, winding a hand into his hair and yanking it hard enough to hurt.
Loki laughs softly, kisses her while he reaches down and lines himself up with her.
He pauses, asking silently for her to stop this. She's too far gone. Wraps her ankles round his back and pulls him in, letting out a small "ow" as he enters her – it's been a while, and he's not exactly small.
Darcy tilts her hips upwards, pulling Loki in even deeper, and he lets out a strangled sound, the first real loss of control she's seen from him.
They start to move and it's achingly erotic, her hands sliding down to grasp his backside as he thrusts into her into a steady rhythm. One of Loki's hands moves to cup one of her breasts, his fingers playing over her nipple as he shifts inside her, expertly finding just the right angle that makes her tremble.
It seems like seconds before Darcy's pushing her hips up to meet Loki's thrusts, moaning as his hips slam into hers over and over again. He answers with one deep, shattering thrust and she's coming, quicker and harder than she ever has with any other lover. Loki grasps her hips with powerful hands as he fucks her towards his own completion, and she feels him pulsing within her as spills himself inside her with a small cry.
"Darcy" he whispers, smiling and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Darcy's never been caught off guard like this before, and there's a sudden worry as she feels his essence trickling down the inside of her thigh. Does human birth control even work with Asgardians - wait, no - Frost Giants? She should have asked Jane.
Loki reads her mind, smiling against her skin as his lips press to her shoulder. "My kind are immune to all disease, much like Asgardians. Your Midgardian methods of preventing conception work the same with us, at least in my experience."
He smirks, and Darcy rolls her eyes. She almost wants to ask him how many mortals he's bedded, but she's a little afraid to know the answer.
Loki's bed is so damn comfortable, and Darcy rolls on to her side with a yawn, loose-limbed and content. She falls asleep before she knows it, one of Loki's arms loosely curled round her side while his face rests in the hollow of her neck.
#
Darcy awakes, blinking in the gloom as she sees long, pale fingers curved around around her waist and unfamiliar dark bedding covering her legs. Loki. The thought doesn't repulse her as much as she expects it to.
She wriggles, turning over until she's facing him. He's sound asleep, mouth slightly open and his dark hair tangled against the pillow. He looks relaxed and content, and Darcy grins to herself at the thought that she's worn him out.
Loki makes a small noise in his sleep, stretches his arm out and moves Darcy back against his chest. His leg shifts against hers, and now she can feel the length of him, hard and pressed against her thigh.
Darcy is still for a moment, tempted by the feel of him against her as she feels heat rush to the juncture of her thighs. After last night, she's sore, but maybe he'll wake and they can –
Fuck. Was that the time? She leaps out of bed, dragging the green coverlet with her. Loki wakes as the covers are pulled off him, rubbing his eyes and looking grouchy, but still far better than anyone has a right to look first thing in the morning.
"Darcy?" He says, looking confused. "What on earth are you doing?"
"I'm late for work!" she says, looking around for her underwear. Remembers that Loki shredded her bra and blouse last night, and grinds her teeth in frustration.
Loki follows her gaze to the scraps of material, waves a hand lazily, and she finds the garments on the floor before her, folded and good as new.
"That's neat," Darcy says, grudgingly impressed.
After a couple of minutes in his bathroom, she's as presentable as she can be and decides it'll have to do.
She finds Loki sitting in his armchair in a green (green again?) dressing gown, smugly sipping a cup of his fancy coffee as if he doesn't have a care in the world. His dark hair is mussed, and Darcy thinks how he looks kind of adorable before she catches herself.
"I apologise for not making you one. I assumed you would not have time to drink it."
"Don't you have to be at work, too?"
He smiles, runs a hand through his rumpled hair. "My working hours are somewhat more flexible."
Crazy murdering assholes seem to get all the luck, thinks Darcy.
Goodbye doesn't seem appropriate. She isn't sure what to say, so she closes the door on Loki, rushes through the corridors and makes it to her desk just on time.
"Morning, Darcy," says Jane, raising an eyebrow. "Late night?"
"You have no idea," Darcy replies, still breathing heavily from rushing over here.
"I made you a coffee," Erik says cheerfully, plonking the cup on her desk.
"Thanks," she says automatically, but doesn't touch it. Pushes it away and reaches for the box of tea she never drinks.
Tries not to think of warm coffee in a green mug, and cool pleasure on green sheets.
No beta, please forgive any strange typos or other things that have sneaked in. I am going to continue this 'verse where I left off with the mega angst. Never fear.