A/N: Hello everyone! Here is a kind-of-festive Loki/Natasha one-shot to put you all in the holiday mood. This shot is a sequel to my longer story, 'How the Mighty Have Fallen', but can also be read as a stand-alone fic. Hope you enjoy!
Warning: Rated M for some sexual content (just to be on the safe side!)
Natasha Romanoff sank her bare toes further into the soft, grey fur of the thick throw-blanket lying at the bottom of her bed. The throw was a gift from Loki, who had returned from his long put-off trip to Asgard a few days ago. Slowly untangling her foot from the silver hide-hairs, Natasha ran a teasing toe across Loki's ankle; the god almost purred in response. He pulled their naked bodies even closer together, keeping his hand on the curve of her hip, his long, pale fingers fanned out, greedily clutching at her soft skin. He had been away for almost two months, and now he was reunited with Natasha, they were both intent on making up for lost time.
The bitingly cold winds of that December had brought onslaughts of snow and ice, forcing most of New York's inhabitants indoors, fearing a vengeful winter. Natasha glanced at her bedroom window; the glass was still frosted over like a warped mirror. There was no need to draw the curtains and what little light there was at that hour tumbled into the room, bathing it in a greying twilight that seemed to give linings of silver to all the furnishings.
The residents of Stark Tower had expected Natasha and Loki's retreat from the world on Loki's return, but Tony continued to mutter about 'the teenage dream stealing all the power to heat their love nest'. Protests from the lovers that Stark Tower did in fact run on renewable energy of its own making fell on deaf ears. Tony's bad mood only deepened when he realised Thor and Steve were not the best people to be complaining to about Natasha and Loki's escapades. Bruce wouldn't hear another word on the matter, only commenting: "As long as it's not going on in my lab, it's none of my business."
Natasha hid a smile at the thought of these disgruntled few of the wider world, but her gaze moved from the window to rest on the bright green eyes of her inner world. Loki's hand slid up from her hip to the small of her back, and then his head dipped to nuzzle into the nook of her neck. His jet black hair tickled her nose and mouth, and she was hit by a wave of his intoxicating scent: cracked, sweet-smelling wood with the hint of something darker, like winter itself. Loki's lips brushed Natasha's shoulder and he kissed the creamy raised skin of the scar he found there. He tentatively traced the jagged line of it with his tongue and Natasha let out a low, guttural growl. She felt Loki smiling into her shoulder, but then he said something unexpected: 'Speak to me in Russian.'
Loki felt Natasha's whole body tense beneath him. He slowly looked up to see a darkness flash behind her oceanic eyes. Her jaw locked as if she were gritting her teeth. It was a black moment, in which Loki feared Natasha would take up the revolver she clearly had hidden somewhere within reach, but the moment suddenly passed, like clouds over the moon.
An uneasy smile appeared on Natasha's lips. "You know, most guys would just ask me to put on a Santa hat or fluffy lingerie,'" she commented, a splinter of ice in her voice.
Loki wasn't sure he understood her meaning, but he knew she was trying to escape the situation with humour. "There's no need to be ashamed of your heritage," he said, with a frown.
Natasha shrank away from him with a hollow laugh. "Are you kidding me, Loki?" she snapped. "I believe you almost destroyed Manhattan this year because of your heritage!"
This time Loki's eyes flashed black and Natasha feared she had gone too far. But Loki replied steadily: "Yes... However, we did make love whilst I was in Jotun form a few months ago, and I believe we both rather enjoyed that." His lips twisted into a smirk.
Natasha tried not to smile too at the memory of that particular episode, but still she asked: "Why? Why do you want me to speak Russian?" She formed the question carefully and with some difficulty.
"Because it's a beautiful language," Loki answered simply. "And it does beautiful things to your voice."
Natasha's eyes widened in horror. "When have you heard me speak Russian?" she demanded. She very rarely entertained her mother tongue, and only ever did so on S.H.I.E.L.D. business. As far as she knew she'd never uttered a Slavic syllable in Stark Tower, and she hadn't dreamt in Russian for years.
"Oh," Loki whispered. "I thought you..." he trailed off.
"Yes?" Natasha pressed.
"Sometimes you speak Russian when you... When you're aroused," he murmured. "Usually when your arousal reaches its pinnacle..."
Natasha couldn't keep the look of mortification from her face. She had no idea that her native language had been making unconscious reappearances in the bedroom; it seemed she couldn't keep any part of herself hidden from the God of Mischief.
Much to her annoyance, Loki seemed to be enjoying these revelations. "On occasion you have also, er, offered me instruction," he added. "But I've managed to figure out your meaning."
"Please tell me you haven't been asking J.A.R.V.I.S. to translate afterwards!"
"Of course not... Trust me, your body language ensured that nothing was lost in translation."
Loki moved in to kiss her, but Natasha's hand on his chest stopped him. "I... I don't want to remember," she said quietly, a curious fear dancing in her blue-green eyes. "I thought we agreed that in this relationship we wouldn't discuss our pasts."
"Yes," Loki conceded. "But don't think of it as your past, more a past greater than yourself... A language, right at your very core, yet hundreds and hundreds of years old... Almost as old as I am." He grinned.
Natasha wasn't wholly convinced by Loki's shamanistic take on the issue, but her iciness was slowly melting beneath Loki's finger, drawing soothing circles on her forearm. His green eyes were glinting in the dying light, pleading with her. She thought of the gnawing ache she had carried around in her stomach whilst he was away, and how happy she was to have him back close to her.
"Alright," she said, with a sigh. "But on one condition." A smirk appeared. "Next time we make love, I want you in Jotun form."
"Agreed," Loki answered, after a pause. His hand moved to grasp Natasha's. "Now..." He slowly slid his ankle over hers, entwining their legs, pulling her against him. "Speak to me..." His voice flared with passion. "Teach me..."
A little reluctant, but unable to leave this call unanswered, Natasha raised their hands with their fingers knotted together. She gently kissed Loki's index finger, then peered up at him. "Pah-lets," she murmured, sounding out the Russian word with care. "Finger."
"Pah-lets," Loki echoed, mimicking her pronunciation perfectly. He couldn't begin to describe to Natasha what the sound of her first language did to him. Her voice sank lower, deeper, taking on a growling tone, much like the sounds she made when he was giving her the most pleasure. Every syllable set him alight, set him burning out from within. The fire in his eyes urged her to continue.
Natasha unfurled his fingers and her lips brushed the palm of his hand. "Roo-kah" she whispered. "Hand."
Unable to stop himself, Loki leaned forward and kissed her fiercely, pulling away with a gentle tug on her plump bottom lip.
"Rote," came the reply. "Mouth."
Loki leaned in again and kissed the curve of her jaw, then began a trail of kisses down her neck, pausing to suck on the warm, pulsing flesh, before moving to lick Natasha's shoulder. Natasha named them all, spurring him on, her breathing becoming rapid and heavy. Even if it was only for a few moments, she was letting go, and moving closer to something primitive and animalistic inside herself. Her eyes burned into Loki's as he finally slipped his hand between her legs.
With a moan, Natasha threw her head back, her red curls bouncing around her face. "Da!" she rasped, and Loki didn't need a translation.
Another growl escaped Natasha's throat as she writhed beneath Loki's hand. With laboured pants, a few more syllables escaped her throat and Loki smirked, kissing her neck. She needn't have said anything: he had no intention of stopping.
A/N: I used phonetic Russian translations, rather than their Cyrillic originals to make it easier to read. My translations are mainly from online sources and the little Russian I picked up in Moscow a few years ago, if any of my Russian-speaking readers have more accurate suggestions for phonetic spelling, please do let me know!