Spaces In-Between

A/N: Super grateful for reviews! Makes me just as happy reading them as I am nervous beforehand! Heh heh. Aallll right, enough small talk. We know you came for the goods.

And on that note, there ARE goods to be had in this chapter. TW for later when things get a little dub-con. Thee be warned - dub-con/noncon is going to be in the future as well. I will properly warn you before each chapter.

Chapter Four

I couldn't help but avoid the gang a bit after Thor's interesting background information. I processed the information in the huge shower attached to my shiny new room; it was the size of a small room itself, outfitted with ridiculous extras and enough tech goodies to boggle my mind. Temperature-sensitive tiles that changed color, multiple shower heads, touch screens for music or video, mid-level jets and sprays, dimmers and foggers - there were many things I couldn't even identify. I liked dimming and fogging the shower; It made me feel relaxed and mysterious. The tiles shimmered with oil-slick colors depending on where the water splattered.

I stroked the scar. The "L"-shaped scar that Odin gave me. The one that matched ones Loki had given countless other women, which seemed to have matching effects on one's libido. When I touched it, there wasn't a response. So, it was only others touching it, then. I stood in front of a jet and aimed my hip at it. This didn't do anything, either. I settled for grabbing a shower handle and splaying myself across the floor, aiming it between my legs and closing my eyes. Water pressure did wonders. I imagined hands, Bruce's, Tony's, Natasha's, all of their hands, the Avengers making it their mission to grab and caress and pinch. To lick. A pair of green eyes burned behind my eyelids, unbidden but not unwelcome. Odin's eyes, or what I thought his eyes looked like before I knew better. I imagined Odin's hands, but quickly gave over to thoughts of Loki. He was dead now, but what could he do when he was alive? I'd seen photos and video footage. His long fingers, his straight teeth. All smirk and shadow and tongue. I pressed the back of my wrist over my mouth as I came, grinding back against the water pressure.

I finished up my shower and walked out determined. A walk-in closet held new belongings, more clothing than I'd ever owned in my life. Tony insisted on setting me up since I'd healed, and it shocked me how much money wasn't a denominator in anything he wanted. From what I could tell from our brief encounters, Steve shared my feelings.

I pulled on skinny jeans and a tee - if there were five words to describe the majority of my new wardrobe, those were it - and looked at myself in a mirror. My hair was still wet and uncombed, but I felt... needy. Too needy to worry about my hair. "Jarvis," I mumbled, "tell on me and I'll kill you." I didn't wait for his response. I closed my eyes and focused into Asgard, right back into the throne room again. It was the only place in Asgard I was the least bit familiar with, and the trip was quicker and easier for it.

The room was empty. I gave it a cursory glance and brought my focus to the throne. It glittered and gleamed at the top of the steps. I touched my mouth and raked my fingers through my hair. I felt self-conscious in its presence. Self-conscious and something else... a pull, maybe. Temptation. I walked slowly up the steps to approach the ridiculously lavish seat. I stroked one of the arms when I reached it, heart jumping out of my chest. I turned and lowered into it. It felt risky and powerful. I felt the risk thrumming through my veins, making my cheeks burn, tingling.

"People have been executed for far less, girl."

I jumped at the voice and stood immediately, spinning around to see Odin with his hands clasped behind his back. He smirked and tilted his head.

"I'm so sorry," I breathed.

He circled around and took his rightful place at the throne, waving my apology away like so much smoke. "Never mind that. You've returned... and in such a hurry, I see" he mused, smirking at my damp hair. "How is my girl's hip?"

My girl. I chewed on the inside of my lip and approached him. Being in this room, in this realm, was surreal. I felt dangerous and brave. Being here made me feel different. Being here, or being around him? I hesitated before him and he nodded very slightly, so I came close. I stood between his spread thighs, close enough to feel his body heat, and lifted my shirt. He took the liberty of slipping a finger into a belt loop and tugging my jeans down enough to look at the wound.

"Healed up very nicely, it looks like," he observed. "And is it still tender?"

He looked up at me and I opened my mouth to speak. "I-It, uuhhhh..." It feels fine was what I meant to say. He dragged a finger slowly along the scar and waited for me to continue. "It's sensitive," I grit out. It took effort to keep standing straight. He licked his lips and I understood that he absolutely knew.

"Does my girl need a kiss? Will that make it feel better?" He smirked and stroked the scar with his knuckles, sending another jolt straight through my center. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to it. I gasped and whined involuntarily as he gave it an open-mouthed kiss. It felt so close to orgasm that I'm not sure it wasn't one. All I knew was the small explosions of heat and pleasure between my legs and threading through my hip.

He lifted his lips and I noticed I was gripping his shoulders. After a beat he leaned back toward me. "So you taught this to Lo-ooooki," I groaned. His tongue dragged over the scar. My knees buckled, but he had an iron grip on my thighs. As soon as his deceased son's name left my lips (in a whine, no less) he leaned back. His eye was sharp and practically glowing. "What did you say?"

I struggled to regain my train of thought. "I mean - god, I'm sorry, I am such an idiot. Please forgive me, I didn't mean to offend you," I babbled.

Odin shook his head. "Tell me what you know of Loki."

So I did; I explained what I'd known of his brief stay in New York and that he'd died with honor in a battle with Thor. I touched on what Thor had told us, but squirmed away from specific details; who wanted to tell someone's father about their dead son's sex life? He remained silent through my awkward rambling. When I started to move away from him, he slid a hand behind my thigh, just barely under my ass, and kept me in place. The movement was so automatic and unabashed that I allowed it without question. I relished the feeling of his hand in such an oddly personal spot, grounding me, commanding me to be near him. And yet, I knew that I wasn't really attracted to Odin, as it were... I was attracted to something about him. The way he was. Something about him that seemed secret and exciting. I felt on the cusp on discovering what it was, all the time, even in my dreams (where he always had green eyes), but it was still out of my reach.

The conversation flowed from Loki to other things. Life around Asgard, what I was getting up to at the tower. I kept my guard up about specifics; I didn't want to share Tony and Bruce and the rest of them with Odin, just as I didn't exactly want to share Odin with them. I wanted both sides for myself and myself only, for me to hold up together and examine separately. I'd just gotten into all of these situations. I couldn't wholly trust anyone but myself. It had gotten me through life so far and would continue to until I saw fit to let somebody else in.

"How are you settling in?"

Bruce had me on an examination table again, which was a fairly regular thing now. Days had passed and many examinations had taken place, with and without the presence of the others. Today, everyone was in the room. The novelty of my wound and Odin's healing had passed, and most of them looked bored. Tony paced the room impatiently and Steve watched the examination. Thor watched as well, but with about half the focus. I still found it difficult to maintain my composure when he touched the scar.

"Great," I answered truthfully. "I'm waiting for you guys to get sick of me and give me the boot."

Tony snorted. "Yeah. About that. You'll be waiting a while. You're my shiny new toy." I raised my eyebrows and noticed a few more sets rising in sync with mine. Tony rolled his eyes and huffed. "Not, like, my toy, Jesus Christ. My shiny new experiment, how's that?"

Clint's palm wavered in the air. "Ehhh. Not much better."

"Whatever. Could we hurry up with this thing? I wanna get moving to the club."

"It takes as long as it takes. It's also barely past noon," Bruce observed, eyes trained on the screens before him. He used some sort of scanner over my scar; it wasn't unlike having an ultrasound. Tony shrugged and slugged back the remainder of his scotch, setting the glass a bit too firmly back on a table. "Like I said, barely past noon," Bruce mumbled, glaring at the empty glass.

Later that night, everyone's spirit seemed to rise. I'd been put through endless observations and tests and medical checkups, endured so much prodding and poking of the scar that I thought I'd lose it every time. Now, tonight, we were going to some exclusive and expensive club with Tony to let loose. I was going to get thoroughly drunk, and the idea of bedding somebody wasn't not on my mind.

The music was loud and throbbing. It was more of the generic, bassy, top-forties remix shit, but heavy bass sat well with me in my increasingly inebriated state. I danced with strangers and with just about every Avenger, though Thor and Bruce remained on the outskirts of the crowd. Thor seemed much more interested in throwing back drinks and chattering incessantly with Bruce. Bruce avoided the alcohol but seemed pleased to talk.

There was no feeling that tonight would be anything but light and enjoyable.

I didn't protest when Tony crashed into me from behind, wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me from toppling over. "Jesus!" I yelled.

"Call me Tony!" he laughed into my ear. His lips pressed against it sent a pleasurable tingle down my side. He brought his free hand around and held two long shotglasses between his outstretched fingers. I took one gratefully and we clinked them together before taking them down. I shouted my thanks and he flashed me a shit-eating grin.

He was a clever dancer. I giggled at the way he spun me and pulled me back to him in a dance that did not go with the club music. His smile was unlike the one he wore at home - it was genuine and open where he was usually only smirking. Tony and his nightlife - go figure he was so happy. He turned me away from him and held me against his chest, hips swaying gently and with purpose. His hands found my hips and I jerked back from the contact. He took it as incentive to grind against me. The fingers of his right hand worked into my jeans. The scar. Fuck. He found what he was looking for and stroked.

It was a club like any other club - loud, hot, and dim. I was grateful for the cover; my face burned and I gasped at each stroke. After what could have been minutes or eternities, I was devastatingly close to orgasm. I took a deep breath and pushed away from his body, facing him. He was smirking now.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against my ear. "Problem?"

"No," I lied. He grabbed my hips again, pressing his thumb to the scar. All subtlety ran right out the door. He slipped a knee between my thighs, rocking his hips so that it pressed up between my legs. He paired the stroking and rocking together in a gentle and maddening rhythm. I clutched his shoulders and stared past his head, unseeing. Again I felt his lips against my ear and I shuddered and moaned. I heard his breath catch and he laughed. "It's true, what Thor said. Looks like the old man had a few tricks to pass down."

"No, it just - it - hu-uuuurts, ahh..." he dragged a fingertip along the ridge of it, nipping at my neck. His breathing came in quick huffs against my ear. I held on like I was drowning.

"Hurts, huh. How many times has Banner been rubbing it? How many times have you come on my examination table?"

"Never," I answered honestly. "The shower, on the other hand..."

He growled and untangled out bodies, eyes dark and half-lidded. He rested a hand at the junction of my throat and shoulder. I licked my lips and his eyes tracked the movement of my tongue. The grin returned. "I'll get us another drink!" He winked and turned back toward the bar. I turned away from him and wiped my hands down my face, catching my breath. I couldn't do much to soothe the throbbing, but a few minutes would help. I felt soaked.

I looked around the crowd and smiled at anyone who caught my eye. They smiled back. I knocked shoulders with these strangers and danced on a few others as I sank through the throng, mindless of where I was heading. This was the moment I saw him, a man at the edge of the crowd toward the back. He had long, dark hair, and high cheekbones. Loki. I stared at him and he dropped a slow wink. I looked back toward the bar and saw a couple of the Avengers schmoozing, but when I looked back for Loki, he was gone.

Tony crashed into me again. For all the clumsiness of a drunk Tony, he never spilled a drink. Ever. "What's wrong, kid? Look like you've seen a ghost."

This phrase was used a lot in films, right after the character had, in fact, seen a ghost. Or something like it. I fought the surreality of the moment and shook my head. I grabbed the little glass from him and knocked it back. He smiled appreciatively and toasted me with his. "A woman after my own heart," he yelled. In no time, he was pressed against me again, fingers touching and teasing. My body burned and throbbed under his ministrations. I leaned up and dragged my tongue along his throat. He made a small sound by my ear, something between a gasp and a moan, and his grip on my hips tightened uncomfortably. "You shouldn't do that," he mumbled into my ear. His voice was deep. "Shouldn't tempt me."

I bit his neck then. Not too hard. Hard enough. He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled his head away, gripping my face, thumb and fingers digging into the hollow beneath my cheekbones. His eyes darted back and forth between mine and rested on my mouth. I licked my top lip and he squeezed his eyes shut, making an effort to loosen his grip on my face and lower his hand. It rested instead at my throat, which I found equally if not more exciting. I pressed my lips to his ear.

"You want to experiment on me. So do it." I pulled away to watch his expression. He looked dangerous and feral. My skin buzzed and my very nerves vibrated with need. "You got a special, swanky, douchebag VIP room here?" I shouted.

He cracked a smile and nodded. I looked around. "Where?" He gestured up at the ceiling; upstairs. I pulled him close to me and closed my eyes.

In a matter of seconds, we ceased from existing in the club and began existing in his VIP room. It was as awful and corny as I'd assumed it would be. His eye bulged out of his head. "Fuck!" he exclaimed. The music was a little more muted in here, but bass still vibrated in the walls. "Holy fuck! You just transported us here!"

I nodded with little interest, taking inventory of the room. It was drenched in stereotypical rich-boy sex-romp furnishings - lots of black, red and chrome, leather and velvet and silk, minimalistic. I lifted an eyebrow and he laughed, spreading his arms to the room. "Yes, I agree. Some good times in here, though."

I watched him as he moved closer, settling back to his purpose. His face was flushed and in the relative quietness of the room, I could sense more acutely how drunk we were. I felt giddy and charged up. He took my shoulders and shoved me playfully back into a leather couch. I giggled as I landed and allowed my head to loll back. He got to his knees before me and I brought my attention to him. He leaned up over my body and I let him kiss me. He tasted like scotch and desperation. It thrilled me. I moaned into his mouth and he grabbed my throat again, smearing his lips along my jawline, licking and sucking down my throat. His hand found my scar once again and caressed. I pressed my hips forward and ground against him, the bulge in his slacks. He pushed me back again and removed my pants. "God," he breathed. He swiped a finger up the crotch of my underwear. "You're so wet."

I keened and gripped the leather cushion until my knuckles turned white. "I'm sorry," I said automatically. I blushed as I realized how stupid that was - apologizing for being so aroused, yeah, so sorry about that. He resumed kissing and licking my neck and ground himself between my thighs. "I'm going to get your pants wet," I murmured. He groaned and bit down.

The sensations were coming to a head quickly. "I'm going to cum," I moaned. "I'm so close."

He pulled away from me and pulled my underwear off. He spread me open and I trembled as he ran his fingers along the folds and peaks. He slid two fingers in and pumped them efficiently against the right spot, twice, only to pull them out. I cried out and bucked my hips at him, pleading for him to continue. He knelt before me and leaned over to my hip. He licked the scar. I made sounds I didn't know I could make. His fingers returned and filled me, pressing insistently against that spot. His tongue on my hip and his fingers took me straight to the brink, and I wavered before it a moaning, gasping mess.

In my mind's eye, I saw Loki. I saw him in the club, winking. I saw him in the footage I'd watched. I imagined him in Odin's throne room, on the throne - no, with me on the throne, him kneeling before me. I imagined those long fingers. His mean smirk as he dragged climax after climax from me. I focused on it so hard that for a moment, I felt I was in the throne room, and there he was, Loki. He stared wide-eyed up at me in the throne, legs spread and lips parted. I closed my eyes and shook my head and that weird, flighty feeling was lost. I was in the VIP room and Tony was working me over the edge. I came hard enough to scream, but after the initial gasp, my body arched up and locked in a long, tensed, tortured pose. Finally pleasure cascaded up from my belly and I crumpled before him.

He was panting and watched me twitch with the after effects. He rubbed my thighs and waited patiently for me to calm down. I swiped a hand through my hair and laughed. "Thanks," I breathed. I nudged his obvious bulge with my foot and gazed at him with what I hoped was a sultry, fuck-me stare. "How would you like me?"

The stare must have worked - he appeared to short-circuit, a strained moan escaping his open mouth. He glanced at his fingers and brought them to his lips. He sucked them with half-lidded eyes and smirked up at me. I shifted and felt my own smile falter. He looked... dangerous. He grabbed my thighs and spread them further apart, to the point of discomfort. I made a small sound of protest and he rubbed and poked at my cunt. "Hey," I whimpered. Pathetic. "Little sensitive right now."

"Come on," he responded. His tone changed; his whole demeanor had changed. He leaned forward and dragged the flat of his tongue up my slit. I shuddered and tried to squirm away, but his hands had an iron grip. "I know you can come again. Be a good girl and let me make you."