1 Of Doubt and Desire

Agent Romanov barely reached Loki's shoulder. They stood face to face on the roof of what seemed to be an abandoned building; he resisted wrinkling his nose at the smells of detritus, laundry, and despair.

Behind her was a 400-foot drop. Although the mortal was below his consideration, Loki allowed himself a moment of triumph - once she had bested him in a game of wits, but there was no escape for her at that moment. Agent Romanov's imminent death, the Infinity Gem in his pocket, and the throne of Asgard – those things were his.

Exultation made him smile. He deliberately moved closer, allowing her to experience his glamour. How often had he seen goddesses, dryads, lordlings, enchantresses melt at the sight of his humor?

The mortal seemed to feel it as well. Agent Romanov's eyelashes fluttered, and she sucked in a quick breath. "So this is it," she said.

Her voice was low in register, filled with intelligence. Loki had forgotten how clever she was as well as the instant force of her, surprising in such a weak, tiny thing. "Yes, it is," he replied. "I am almost sorry – it was enjoyable to toy with you."

"One question before you push me over the edge." The agent raised an eyebrow, delicate as a brushstroke in a Vanir temple painting.

Loki nodded curtly. "One."

"How did you fake your death?"

His chest rose and fell with an impatient sigh. "Magic, obviously. Furthermore, the Jotnar – I assume you have read about my race – have very different biology than mortals or Aesir. Naturally, Thor never studied that, busy as he was with his hammer. When I was gutted by the monster, it was really just a flesh wound. Cue my deathbed speech, and the rest was easy."

She pulled down the corners of her mouth slightly and nodded. "Impressive."

Loki closed his eyes, put one leg forward, sketched a mocking bow. "My thanks. And now…"

"And now," she repeated. Agent Romanov suddenly fisted his jacket in her black-gloved hands and pulled him down for a kiss, explosively shocking. Loki always thought mortals would taste fishy; to kiss one (not that he ever considered such a thing) would be the same as licking a slug.

Freya tasted of strawberries.

Lorelei, of wine.

Hogun, of salt.

But Agent Romanov tasted like murder. She was violence, spice, heat in his blood. Before he realized it, Loki's tongue was in her mouth, and hers… Oh. It was soft, and warm, and utterly delicious.

His cock sprang to life, demanding more. He ground himself against that soft belly and pulled her closer with one hand on her rump and the other tangled in her hair, those bloody flames licking her face. To his shame, Loki felt a whimper in his throat as he thrust his face in her curls to feel/taste/smell her, every inch of her, he wanted each part under his fingers and poured on his chest and aching prick…

Agent Romanov echoed his tiny whimper, pushing closer. The fact he was kissing a mortal was so strange, so forbidden; it merely added to his excitement. They teetered slightly on the edge of the building, making him tremble with desire. Gods, it was madness.

Blood pounded in his ears, and he knew any second he would disgrace himself in a violent release.

Agent Romanov's muscles bunched suddenly, and she pushed him away. The motion propelled her off the roof, her face a white petal inside the hearth of hair as she fell. Loki, gasping with disbelief, saw a grin of pure mischief bloom on her face; a slender line whipped from her wrist, arced, and caught a windowsill to break the fall.

Gracefully she slid to the pavement. Directly beneath them was an entrance to what he believed must be a sewer; Agent Romanov blew him a kiss and disappeared into the hole: a circle of gray within the darkness of the night city.

Oh. Loki closed his eyelids for a moment, trying to still his thumping heart. The episode had been so quick, so unexpected, so – oh. And she had left him tumescent, throbbing for more of her touch.

It simply wouldn't do. Loki shook off the strange feelings coursing through his mind and forced himself back on task. The memory would be one he would revisit when he lay in his bath or rode in a forest, alone – forever he could hold the touch of her lips. The entire episode had been mysterious, and very few things mystified him.

He pushed his fingers into his pocket and stopped.

A howl of fury pushed to his throat; he swallowed it like surging vomit. The Infinity Gem was gone. At some point during their kiss Agent Romanov had palmed the jewel and stolen it.

Anger was succeeded by a grin and a long strand of laughter. Because Loki knew what the theft meant: it was an invitation to find her.

Find her he would, and soon.