Summary: There is a reason why Natasha is always the one to go after Loki.
Natasha waits one second for the device to hack the door's electronic lock. When the LED flashes green, she pushes the door open without hesitation and slips into the hotel room.
She's unsurprised to find it empty. Though the intel had come from a less than trusted source, it had been their best lead in weeks and someone had to check it out. (She'd volunteered immediately. Clint had teased her on her dedication.)
She flicks the switch by the door, the soft light from the wall sconces revealing luxuriously appointed furnishings and nothing more. There is no sign that anyone has ever occupied this room despite a "Luke Oleson" checking in earlier in the day. Though her intuition tells her that it's a wasted effort, Natasha sweeps the room anyway. She's examining the desk in the corner when she senses it behind her: a change in air pressure that signals the presence of magical energy. Natasha barely has time to spin around when a force knocks her back and pins her to the glass window.
No, not a force. A body. Wool chafes along the inside of her thigh as Loki shoves a leg between hers. He grips her wrists tightly, though not painfully, holding them on either side of her head. "No weapons I see," he murmurs against her ear, his voice low and intimate. "I don't know if I should be insulted or impressed by your audacity."
Natasha doesn't even glance at the purse she dropped by the front door; it's too far for it to be of any use to her. Instead she tilts her chin up defiantly. "Like I give a fuck about what you think?"
He makes a soft, amused sound. "Such language Agent Romanoff. What would your dear comrades say if they heard you?" He shifts closer, just as menacing in his exquisite suit as he is in leather and metal. "Do you think they'd approve of your tight dress? What about the fact that you're wearing nothing underneath it?" To make his point Loki slides his knee up until she's practically riding his thigh, the hem of her dress high on her hips. Natasha inhales sharply when he changes angle and presses right up against her clit, the movement sending sparks of electricity sizzling along her nerves.
"Don't," she begins to say when he releases one arm and lays a finger against her mouth. With a twist of his wrist a blade replaces his finger, its sharp edge resting against her bottom lip. Natasha stills and holds her breath. Make the wrong move and she'd be lucky if all she needed were a few stitches.
Loki merely smirks as he drags the knife lightly down the side of her mouth, along her jugular, and between her clavicles until it rests on the neckline of her dress. "Beg me to stop," he says, his grin wide and mocking. "Offer to suck my cock and I might be merciful."
There is really only one response to that. "Fuck you."
His grin twists into a sneer. "Very well."
Natasha doesn't look away as Loki effortlessly slices through her dress. It falls to the floor, leaving her naked save for the strappy heels on her feet. Another turn of his wrist and the knife disappears. His hand, now free, curves possessively around her breast. He flicks his nail against her nipple and though she's able to bite down on the moan that threatens to spill from her, she can't do anything about the way her body arches into his touch.
Loki is relentless in his assault on her senses as he is on the battlefield. (She should know, having been the target of his fury before). He leans down and with his tongue leisurely traces the path his knife took in reverse. Natasha shuts her eyes, thinking that might stem the lust surging inside her but it's useless. She's shivering in pleasure by the time he mouths the pulse beating wildly on the side of her neck, the fabric of his jacket crushed between her fingers, and that's when she realizes that he's released her other wrist.
This is it. Her chance to surprise him and free herself. But freedom becomes a distant thought when his other hand slides between her legs.
"So wet," he purrs as he parts her folds easily, thumb circling her clit as he teases her entrance. "You must want this badly." She doesn't bother to deny it, not when the evidence of her arousal is smeared along his hand. So Natasha hooks her leg around his waist and shifts her pelvis just so, both of them gasping as his fingers sink deeper into her. Her eyes flutter open at the sensation of being filled, but it's not enough. She wants more.
Nipping at her jaw, Loki informs her, "There's a man four buildings away looking at us through his telescope. His hand is already down his disgustingly stained sweatpants. Shall I turn you around and let him watch me flatten you against the window as I take you from behind?"
"You're a sick bastard," she says, sounding more breathless than she'd like.
"True," he agrees thoughtfully, as if she hadn't just insulted him. "But I am also selfish."
He makes a gesture with his hand. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the glass begin to turn opaque, shielding them from any prying eyes. Unwrapping her leg from around him, Loki steps away from her. Natasha experiences a twinge of disappointment at the loss of contact but all that's forgotten in the next moment when he sinks to his knees before her. He hooks her leg over his shoulder and pulls her in close, delving between her thighs to lick a long, wet stripe against her slit before thrusting his tongue between her folds.
There's no finesse, just a desperate hunger that's reflected in every hard flick of his tongue, every sharp nip of his teeth. And while Loki laps eagerly at her, he's still not giving her what she needs. Frustrated, Natasha finally buries her fingers in his hair and grinds herself shamelessly against his face. His laughter vibrates against her before he gives in, taking her clit between his lips and sucking hard on the sensitive nub.
Pleasure rushes over her suddenly as she comes with a sharp cry (not his name, never his name). He doesn't stop there, keeps licking at her cunt until she has to push him away before she loses her mind again. Loki falls back on his heels and with hooded eyes watches her stagger away on legs that are shaking under her weight.
He's a mess: suit wrinkled, erection straining against his pants, mouth and chin shiny with her slick. Natasha wants to push him down and ride his tongue until she orgasms again but there are things she needs to take care of first.
Her heels briefly catch on her ruined dress. "You didn't have to do that asshole," she mutters as she shakes it off.
"A minor inconvenience." Loki waves away her concern with a dismissive gesture. "It's a small thing to make it whole again."
"Not the point," she replies, rolling her eyes. Picking up her purse, Natasha removes her communicator and sends the all clear code. She has two hours before Fury expects to receive her report in person.
She plans on making good use of that time.