A/N: Remember when I said I would post the next few chapters before the weekend? Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I try not to make promises because without fail, I, well, fail. Now, to all of you lovely comment and review leavers, thanks! And finally, one note on Natasha and Clint, I've tried to flesh out two rather underdeveloped characters here and in order to stay moderately within the bounds of canon, I've resorted to my foggy memory of them in the comics (read them as a kid, twenty years past makes that memory incredibly foggy), as one clever and anonymous commenter has pointed out. Sorry if this upsets some of you die hard movie fans, it was the best way to address this lack of depth I found in an otherwise excellent film. Cheers!
Natasha wakes up the next morning sexually frustrated and more than a little anxious about the rest of her day. Her self-treatment for the itch Barton had mentioned had not turned out quite like she had planned. She'd gotten a little too engaged and ended up moaning, perhaps even Loki's name. She couldn't be sure. So, she really hopes that Clint didn't hear that part. Also she'd had a weird threesome dream flagrantly featuring both men and now she has to go out there and act normal in front of the two of them with absolutely nothing to distract her, just watching Loki. She's in trouble, besides all that, there's the burning loins lead to burning cheeks issue. She doesn't even know how she's going to accomplish anything without embarrassing herself in front of Clint. She feels like a little school girl still when she thinks about Loki, like the week prior, except now the reason for her blushes and shortness of breath will be mere feet from her the entire day being courteous and insightful. Add to that the eyeful she got last night which is permanently in the front of her mind, now accompanying the nude of Clint she keeps stored for dry spells, those smashed together and both pleasuring her and she'll be lucky if she can even form a complete sentence in front of Loki or look Clint in the eye. She should have slept in, that would've made for less time to expose herself.
Because of all this she's unbelievably relieved to find a note slid under her door.
Sounded like you had a good evening last night, too bad you didn't let me join. I'm out until noon, perimeter survey. You know how to reach me. -C
Natasha tucks away the note with a sigh of relief and starts to get dressed. Two obstacles down. Clint didn't hear her moaning about anyone and now she really doesn't have to face him, meet his eye or worry about him seeing though her stiff interactions with Loki. Now just to find things to pass the time with her nocturnal pal, the last thing she needs is to find herself alone and bored with him. That's when mistakes happen, that's when her and Barton had re-happened. Hell, they hadn't even been that bored in the Congo. And she hadn't been thinking about Clint eating her out either... Definitely needed some activities for the day or Clint might come home and witness way worse than Natasha stumbling over her words to Loki. More like Natasha bending over for Loki—
"Right." She pulls her tank top over her head and grabs her knife. "Activities. First, I'm going to sheer that hair. Nothing sexual about that, cutting hair. Then, then I'll leave and get him some proper clothing— Clint'll be back by then so I better have calmed down. Then I'll show him how to fix dinner and that'll be the day. A whole day of non-sexual, productive activities. Nothing can go wrong." She hardly believes her own words as she leaves her room, but it's as good as she's got.
It is still pretty early, a little before six, so she expected to have the kitchen to herself for at least a little while. She is wrong, apparently Loki is an early riser as well.
She hears him before she sees him, and she is in no way prepared for the sight. When Natasha rounds the corner to the front rooms Loki is standing— more like crouching over the toaster with a plate in hand, full of what looks to be PopTarts, and staring intently at the appliance. That's not what startles Natashan, no. It's the way he's dressed. To her eye, it looks like Clint might have had a hand in it. Loki has on a pair of sleeping trousers, nothing strange about those on their own, except for the fact that they're about five inches too short—so most like Barton's own pajamas. Also, he seems to be wearing one of Clint's undershirts, a guinea tee to be exact, which is also about an inch too short as well. As a result, he looks to be wearing plaid pedal pushers and a midriff tank top, an outfit which, had it not been for the sheer amount of trim, tone back and arm musculature it exposed, would have made Natasha laugh out loud. As it is however, she's torn between making fun of him and ripping his comically ill fit clothing off his body and fucking him right there beside the toaster.
She opts for the more sanitary of her two options, and mostly for that reason. "Ahem, what're you wearing?"
Loki glances quickly at her with a tweak of a smile before refocusing on the toaster. "Not my 'birthday suit.'" He draws air quotes carefully around the unfamiliar words, clearly something else he had gotten from Clint. It makes the situation even more ridiculous to Natasha.
"Why?"
The toaster pops out another pair of PopTarts and Loki quickly adds them to his plate before biting into one. "The woman—a maidservant, I assume—removed my clothing during the night. I had nothing to wear and Agent Barton was disturbed by this." He sits down on a barstool and nibbles on his PopTart some more, occasionally glancing back to the toaster in wonder. "I do not understand Midgardian foods. You put it in a slot and it becomes warm?"
"Yeah, it's a toaster. I heats things. Toasts them, even. But why are you eating those?" Natasha suffles to the refrigerator and focuses on fixing breakfast, anything that doesn't involve thinking about why he was naked in the first place, he sleeps naked, idiot, or the word 'slot' or any other food innuendos. Her whole non-sexually-charged-day plan wasn't starting off so well. Meanwhile, Loki is speaking.
"—then Agent Barton hurled it, this box, at my head saying it was the food of the gods. I believe it was sarcasm, but I remembered Thor mentioning them fondly and the instructions were simple enough—"
"Yes, I can assure you that that was sarcasm from Barton. Those things are nasty, I'll show you how to use some appliances, besides the toaster, later so you can fix yourself a proper breakfast next time." Natasha chooses the seat directly next to Loki and keeps her eyes trained on her food, no need to stoke the flames and start a wildfire.
"But Lady Natasha, I know not how to prepare food, beyond spitted over a flame; hence my delight at such instructions. Are not all warmed foods heated likewise?"
She tries not to snort into her yoghurt and mostly succeeds, sounding instead like she was clearing her throat. "Nope, no definitely not. Most things are cooked with more complex approaches like boiling or baking or sautéing and those things happen over there," She points toward the oven and cook top, "on those appliances. We'll, uh, show you how to work them this evening." Natasha still pointedly avoids eye contact with Loki as she gives her explanation and his recognition of such soon registers on his face.
"Very well, Lady Natasha. I shall look forward to it, but I see that you do not." He continues gazing at her with quiet intensity after she's finished speaking, his PopTarts now forgotten. "Have I done something to you, in particular, to make you disdain looking at me?"
Natasha quietly fixes her emotional tell and looks up a him, in between his brows and still not in the eye, and further deflects in her answer. "Me? No… I mean, calling me a mewling quim wasn't great, a bit hurtful but as insults go, it's creativity was refreshing, so no. Clint's mad at you still for possessing him and Fury is pissed about you killing Coulson. But me? I'm the least personally offended of this group." She nods smartly and then slides off of her stool to put away her bowl, but keeps an eye on Loki. He may have read her but she's still the master spy here—it's a good moment to collect info on him and that abounds.
He hangs his head, clearly ashamed and regretful but his face twitches, some movements between rage and joy it looks like, but Natasha can't get a real read on it. When he responds, however, his expression is firmly one of remorse.
"I am truly sorry for this loss I inflicted. I do not recall that act very clearly but I can tell you I regret it. I've killed many people and each is now a burden on my heart…" He turns away from her gazes down at his hands. "I once almost killed my own brother." His voice is soft, so sad. Natasha finds herself sinking into commiserating grief with him, she's certainly well acquainted with that regret, so she reaches out, pats his arm—the first she's touched him since she rolled him out of the rubble—and she almost thinks she feels a tiny shock. Loki might too, for his eyes jump to her in surprise but perhaps he's just startled but e intimate gesture. Natasha catalogues these things for 'inspecting' later and tries her hand a consolation.
"Guilt can be a funny thing, Loki," her hand stills on his arm so she can feel him twitch as she says his name, "can make you a little crazy, just as crazy as the maddening rage. So, maybe work on that, yeah?" He's set his hand on hers, a mild clasp of thanks, she knows that, but it makes her palms sweat and her body lurch to spring away.
"Thank you, my Lady, I will take that to heart." He gently squeezes her hand and it's too much, her heart is pounding in her ears, so she slides her hand out from under his and retrieves her knife from her pocket.
"No problem."
"And what is that for?" Loki eyes the knife in her hand with brow raised.
"To stab you over and over again, obviously." Her nerves exacerbate Natasha's dark humor, the words sounding bizarre even to her own ears, but Loki breaks into a splitting smile. "What? Have I lost my touch? Not scary anymore?" She takes a step around him, taking stock of his absurd hair.
"No, it is not that. I am only well-versed in sarcasm, 'tis my favorite approach to wit" he had been playing dumb before, I'll have to watch him and his 'ignorance' of earth ways "and I quickly recognize it, although my brother and many Asgardians do not. I appreciate your humor, Natasha." No 'Lady,' just Natasha. The knife in her hand quickly seems like a terrible idea, she hasn't seen her grip so shaky since that time she was tortured for six days straight in Nicaragua. Even then she'd been able to cut her way out with this knife. Waterboarding and barbed wire she could deal with but now, steadying her hand to touch his hair, his scalp, his neck, seemed nearly impossible.
"May I ask what you actually intend to do with your blade?" Loki spins around in his stool to look at her and finally catches her eye with his own bright blue ones.
She gulps. "I'm… going to cut your hair for you. It doesn't seem you know what to do with it at this length."
Loki chuckles and turns back away from her with a shrug. "If it so pleases you, let it be. I must defer to you is such matters. I have little knowledge of Midgardian custom beyond the members of your Avengers Initiative. However, I might request not as short as theirs. I wish not to look as Fandral does, he is over vain, I think. Much like your Anthony Stark."
Natasha can't help but laugh quietly. "Yep, Tony's certainly self absorbed, and I don't know who this Fandral is but I'm going to assume he has a similar hair cut—"
"He is a friend—was, was a friend in Asgard. Now none of the Warriors Three trust me, I doubt they's consider themselves my friends."
She can almost hear him sigh. "Well, I won't cut it as short as that. Don't worry, I'll just lop off a bit off the end, just so it doesn't flip up on your shoulders."
"As you think fit, Natasha." His voice is quiet again as she pulls her fingers through his hair, holding it out to test its length. As he breathes out her name her fingers slip, brushing down the nape of his neck and they both shiver. Natasha feels the tiny shock again and is this time almost certain Loki does as well because of his matching tremor. He or she must be statically charged.
She starts second guessing the non-sexual-ness of haircutting and the wise-ness of her continuing but she can't stop now, not without a good excuse. So she plants her feet and takes a gentle hold of a section of his hair. "Okay, I'm going to have to hold on rather firmly to keep your hair taut enough to cut, just warning you."
"I shall be fine, Lady Natasha, I have had my hair shorn before, but thank you." She can hear the smile in his voice, it only slightly softens her disappointment at the return of 'Lady.'
The first cut is easy, the center section of the back of his hair. The black strands float lazily to the ground and Natasha hesitates. She has several options but they all include coming nearer her his ears of his neck, touching such intimate areas. Suddenly the silence weighs heavily upon her, like a rock or hundreds of gallon of water.
"SO," she adjusts her volume from shouting to speaking pitch, "so, why'd you do it—try and kill Thor, I mean?"
Loki sighs, audibly this time. "Well, I was suffering an identity crisis, as I believe you mortals refer to it, and I felt betrayed by my family and long after glory. Thor was my only obstacle to prominence so I sought to be rid of him. It was a childish act of envy and rage, not something of which I am at all proud."
She selects another portion while he's speaking, words of his crimes and immorality grounding her though her fingers weave into his hair and dance around his right ear.
"Identity crisis?" Again the dark hairs flutter away and she is left to decide which she will essentially caress next, his other ear or the sides of his face.
"Indeed. I had just discovered my true origin, that I was not of Asgard, an adopted child rescued from a cruel world." His voice sounds harder, just a touch colder as Natasha collects the hair around his other ear and measures it against his already shorn locks.
"That makes sense. Adopted children can often lash out when they learn their conception of self is a lie. So, where are you from, really, if not Asgard? Because, you're not human."
"No, that I am not." His voice warms again as Natasha releases the newly cut portion and gathers the hair around his face, trailing over his forehead and scalp. "I am of Jotunheim, a Jotun, sometimes called a Frost Giant, one of great monsters who inhabit a frozen, desolate world and thrive off of violence and misery. A fairy tale creature, what do they call it here in this country? A bogey man?" Loki stares into Natasha's eyes as she crouches down in front of him and measures the hairs around his face. She meets his eye with a sad quirk of her lips and then moves around him to make some adjustments.
"Well, I certainly wouldn't take you as a giant, or frosty for that matter, so you don't quite fit that description."
Loki chuckles and folds his hands carefully on the counter. "No, I do not look the beast I am, but it's here. Inside of me."
Natasha makes her final cut and runs her fingers through his hair one last time, to check its uniformity but also to feel it. Now washed, it's soft and smooth, thick and a little wavy and so richly black. "Uh, what should—well, maybe not should—would you normally look like and why don't you?"
"Clearly, taller. Beastly, blue—"
"Blue? You're certainly not blue are you sure you're—"
Loki nods sadly and interrupts her, "I assure you, when the conditions are right, I fit the description save for my height. 'Twas why I was exposed to die, I was born too small, a king's child could not be physically imperfect."
"Hm." Natasha pockets her knife and steps off to a closet nearby to get a broom. "So you're twice a prince. Born to rule." She doesn't notice his face spasm as she sweeps. "As crazy as that sounds I think I'd like to see that. You all blue and—"
"I think not." The edge to his voice cause her to look up. His face softens are her cautious attention as does his voice, "I believe the red eyes would be offputting, besides I like not being manifestly a monster. 'Tis enough to have one whispering in my ear."
"Yeah, that bloodlust never really leaves, I get that, then the guilty conscience just eats at you." Natasha stoops back over to finish sweeping.
"No, I mean that—" Loki's brows relax when Natasha looks up at him again "—never mind."
"Go check." She dumps out the hair and points to a hanging mirror in the living room. "But as I see it, do some good and it'll make you feel better. Doesn't wipe it out, the bad, as you so kindly pointed out your last visit, but it dulls it."
Loki returns to the kitchen and nods, "'Tis well done, thank you, my Lady." His eyes are still sad, but at least he's started smiling again.
Natasha kind of regrets bringing up his past, it did do some good though, sobered her enough to cut his hair and not his ear accidentally. Now that the task at hand is finished, though, Natasha feels restless again. Her eyes creep from the gentle frown pulling his smile down, to the tendon in his turned neck, to his collarbone, his shoulders and arms—not her usual bulky, muscular type, but fit with shadows in just the right places. Time to go.
"Alright. Now that your hair is acceptable, I'm leaving to pick some things up. Uh, you're not supposed to leave house yet, sorry. So, if you need anything, Clint's patrolling perimeter until noon. Just stick your head outside and whistle, he'll be in within a few minutes, just don't actually go outside. That'll just give him an excuse to shoot you and we both know he doesn't need a good one to do just that. Just sit tight, that," she points to the large screen TV on the opposing wall, "is a television. You're clever. I'm sure you can figure out how to work it, it may be entertaining. If not, there are some books in my room that you're free to peruse."
She gathers her things into her pockets and slips on her shoes. "And when I come back, I'll have you some real clothing. Those" Loki looks down at himself with a tiny pout, " are not okay." And with that she darts out, not giving herself anymore time to notice the shape of his navel or the color of its surrounding strip of hair.
She doesn't return until it's far past noon. In fact, it's nearly five by the time she jogs back to the front door, shopping bags in hand. She's not one for shopping, especially not clothing shopping and never for men, so selecting items for Loki had been initially very difficult. That was until she began envisioning him in certain things, then she had completely lost track of time. She ended up having to purchase just the barest of essentials after her fantasy list grew too extravagant.
When she steps inside the apartment is quite besides the white noise of the television. Loki is sitting on the couch frowning up at the program being shown and Clint is nowhere to be found.
"I find television to be an interesting concept," he doesn't turn from the TV or otherwise show signs of hearing her enter, he is just as keenly perceptive as when he was wicked evil, "but I see not its benefit, only its harm. 'Tis not a good example for the youth of this world. No wonder your people destroy themselves helter skelter, if this is the bard of your realm."
Natasha sinks down beside him and sets down her parcels. He's watching Spike TV, must have been left there from Clint's last viewing. "Spike doesn't make a good impression, that's for sure but, in general, I agree with you. Here," she hands him a pile of clothes from one bag, "those are for everyday wear, just casual and not ridiculous like what you have on now." He hold up a pair of jeans and carefully feels the material. "Hopefully they fit, I had to approximate your size, but I usually have a pretty good eye for that sort of thing." And the image of his half naked body is seared into her retinas.
"This clothe is strange to me but I thank you." He sets aside the fourth pair of jeans and then begins his inspection of the shirts she just laid on his lap.
"These generally will be worn with those jeans I just gave you, that's what the blue pants are called, jeans, and these other trousers."
"Midgardian clothing is heavily reliant upon fasteners." He toys with the buttons on one of the new shirts and then grins up at Natasha. "I like the buttons well." He pulls the undershirt off and over his head, carefully unbuttoning one of the shirts while Natasha gawks.
"And—and while you do that. Um, that bag by your feet has a suit." He nods to show he's still paying attention.
"I have worn the Earth formal attire before, it is handsome enough."
"Good, um, yeah it's a full three piece suit for God know what, but no harm in your having one." She knows why she bought it—the thought of him in a waist coat and a dress shirt with lovely tight slacks made her knees feel like jelly. No harm indeed. "And this bag here on the sofa behind you has sleeping clothing and training gear. You'll need the latter for tomorrow morning, we have a physical assessment, I got a call from Fury—" Her breath catches in her chest as he stands, his shirt buttoned and on and strips the pajama bottoms from him. "—underwear, I forgot underwear. Well…" she turns away, severely distracted by the sight of him at eyelevel, even in a set of boxer briefs "…it, uh, it looks like Barton already helped you out there and hey, speaking of—"
Clint steps into the room just as Loki is fastening his new pair of jeans. He glances from Natasha's slightly blushing face to Loki zipping the pants and grimaces.
"Here." He hurls a cell phone at Loki's head which is caught effortlessly, to Clint's disappointment. "That's yours. Fury wants you to have it."
Loki turns to Clint, fully clothed and twiddling with the new device, a look of sadness playing about his eyes.
"Agent Barton, I apologize for what I have done to you, I understand your animosity and—"
"Tell it to someone who'll believe that shit. I know how you work, Loki. Remember? I had you in here." Clint points angrily at his temple and then stomps off to his room.
"Don't worry about him," Natasha gathers Clint's discarded clothing from the sofa and skirts around the dejected Loki, "he's just like that."
"He will forever loathe me then?" It's only half a question, nonetheless Natasha gives an answer.
"Oh yeah." She heads towards her and Clint's hallway.
"Will you not show me to prepare food this eve?" Loki points towards the kitchen.
"No. That'll have to wait. I'm going to bed now and you should too. Three am is going to roll around far too soon."
"But that is not true morning even. Only hunters wake at that hour or men sent to execution." Natasha catches a new expression on Loki's face, fear maybe.
"Nope, just physicals, like I said before. They want to make sure I'm in shape and to see how you Asgardians work—"
Loki takes a step towards her "but I am Jotun, you know of this now." His voice is quiet and low.
"That's fine, they'll wanna see that too. Asgardian by act, Jotun by biology—nature vs. nurture study right in front of them. They'll have a field day, because let me tell you, beside the homicidal mania of earlier this year, you're a perfect candidate for proving the nurture argument." She winks at him, not quite sure why she decided on winking, and then strides quickly to her room.
Loki, in turn, trudges slowly to his own chambers trying to quietly negotiate a boisterous inner argument.