A/N: This popped into my head after re-watching Avengers today. But it's Loki-centric and post-TTDW, so I guess it goes in this collection.
EDITED 12-18-13: A second part has now been added to this chapter: a tame little sex thing. Enjoy.
There was a plain envelope on the floor of her apartment, as if it had been pushed under the door. Natasha picked it up, judging the weight and thickness of it instantly. Just a plain piece of paper inside; she was sure. She shook it: no powder. Still, she pulled a mask out of the hall closet before she opened it, just in case.
Just a piece of paper. She opened it up and it said – in handwriting – Are you still for sale?
She heaved a sigh. She couldn't just write the note off. First, the person knew where she lived…
…And second, her door and floor had a row of interlocking metal tabs that made it impossible for things to be pushed under her door.
She left the apartment immediately. Took out a pen and wrote an answer right on the letter: Depends who's asking and what they're looking to buy. Notes are inefficient. Text me, and left it on the floor of the hallway.
She spent the night at the house of some stranger she met in a bar. (He was safe; she was confident. She'd culled him from a group of harmless-looking drunk friends and then lifted his phone from his pocket to quickly check up on him in the bathroom.)
The next morning she went back home with backup, and had the place searched. No indication of how an intruder had gotten in, no indication that one had touched anything. The note was gone, though.
The amount of time it took the person to find her cell phone number would be a test. She thanked the agents for their help and plopped down on the couch.
Her phone buzzed the moment the door closed behind them.
There: now we are alone, the text said.
She kept her face impassive, because apparently he had eyes on the apartment. She didn't know how; the agents were supposed to have been looking out for that sort of thing. Well.
Time to answer. You've convinced me you're not wasting my time, she said. But if you've done your homework you know I don't do much freelance work anymore.
I don't need MUCH work, came the immediate reply. Perhaps six weeks. It should be nothing you have moral objections to. And I'll pay you in coin more valuable than you can imagine.
That last, actually, concerned her. If the person had offered her money – lots and lots of money – she would have agreed to at least hear out his proposal. But this… what exactly was at stake?
When she considered a little too long, the person texted her again: Texts are inefficient. Let's speak.
At least if she heard the person's voice she could get more of a read on how creepy he – or she – actually was. Call me.
No. Let me in.
She stared at the phone. He was here? There should have been alarms and alarms…
No time to be paralyzed. She took out a gun and checked the peephole. Someone was there – alone at least. It was a bland-looking older gentleman in a suit. As she watched, he stepped away, spread his arms and turned around. Something about his gestures was familiar, but she couldn't place it. Anyway, he wasn't packing any visible weaponry.
And of course if he'd bypassed the security downstairs he could have made short work of the locks if he'd wanted. "Okay," she said through the door. "Come in."
When the door was opened for him he ducked his head to her – almost a bow. "Hello."
She didn't yet step aside to let him enter. "What's your name?"
His smile, too, was familiar. "We'll get there. May I?"
He clearly was here to hire her, not kill her, so she let him in the apartment. Then she locked the door behind him and armed all the security all over again, just in case he had friends lurking around.
"Sit," she invited, but when she turned she found he had already taken a seat on the couch.
"Sit yourself," he said, and nodded towards the armchair opposite.
She opted for the barstool instead – now she had a couple of feet of height on him and a full view of the room. She waited for him to talk.
It took him a moment. "Ah… I'm going to hate this," he said at last. He made a helpless gesture. "The problem is, if we both operated with our usual degree of carefulness it would be weeks before we'd even arranged a face-to-face meeting, and I don't know that I have that much time. Instead, one of us will have to take a leap, and I recognize that as the party in need it will have to be me. So." He took a deep breath… and then hesitated. "You… will remain calm?" he said. "Regardless of what I tell or show you?"
She blinked. "As long as I don't think there's a safety concern, I promise I'll at least hear you out."
"There's no safety concern," he assured. "Honestly."
And then he sparkled, and the nondescript old man melted away entirely. In his place sat Loki.
He was smiling. "Hello."
Fuck – fuck! She didn't speak until she was sure her voice would be quiet and calm. "Thor told us you were dead."
"Thor was… misinformed."
"I see."
"I'm not dead. I'm quite well. In fact I am making a power play for Asgard."
"Oh. You did say you wanted a throne." He hadn't yet done anything menacing… but she knew how quickly he could change.
"Mm. If I can have that one, I will leave your people alone. Asgard will leave your people alone."
She blinked. More to play for time than anything else, she tossed off: "So now I'm negotiating intergalactic peace treaties? This kinda sounds like it's above my pay grade."
He grinned at her. "Not at all. That is not the nature of my bargain."
My bargain. Was he intentionally calling up the memory of his awful threats from the cage?
No – he winced at his own word choice and irritably waved it away.
She didn't dwell on it. "Then what is?"
"Under my rule, Asgard will leave your people alone regardless," he promised. "It would make no sense for us to do otherwise. But as for how I plan to pay you for your services…" He spread his hands. "You've seen what I can do. Name your price."
She shifted in her seat. "Depends on the services, doesn't it?"
"I need everything you have to offer."
She gave him eyebrows. "Everything?" she said, with a bit of a purr.
"Well, I'll have that too if you're willing." He sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between. "But. What I've done is take the throne under disguise as Odin. And what I need now is a counselor, a strategist. Someone to help me manage and navigate." She didn't speak up when he paused, and eventually he went on. "And I need a spy. Someone who can go where I can't, who will charm where I offend, who's free while I am occupied. And – equally important, honestly – is I need a friend. I've killed or banished or replaced everyone who knew the royal family too personally, and now I am left effectively completely alone." He cocked his head and his face scrunched into a pained, worried expression that looked so real she wanted to go pat his hand. Even though it obviously wasn't. "Agent… I've got no one to brag to."
"Oh, poor baby." Her inclination was to say: hell yes! It was a job too good to pass up, and while Loki probably intended his payment to come with strings, she had no doubt that in the end she could get whatever she wanted from him in whatever way she wanted it.
Still. To give herself a second to reconsider, she said: "Why me?"
"You've got the skills I want. And I know you. I know you through Barton; I know every memory he has of you and every opinion he's formed. I trust his judgment. And I trust you. Because you're mercenary."
"Mercenaries are typically the people you don't trust."
"That's just foolish. I don't trust people who work for causes. But you… you are rational and dependable. And you impressed me."
"Well, thank you." She hopped down from the barstool and stood with her feet apart and her arms crossed. "Let's recap. I come with you to Asgard and do whatever you think is necessary to help you cement your position. Socially, politically. Fine. And I keep you company, and I pat you on the back." Then she rolled her eyes and checked him out briefly. "…And perhaps some other places, if I feel like it."
His smile showed teeth. "Exactly."
"Will you want me to kill people?" She was cool about it.
So was he. "I may. It won't be anyone beyond your abilities or anyone you'll lose sleep over."
That was more assurance than she usually got. On to the more practical concerns. "You come up with a cover story – or a disguise. I can't just pretend I stumbled into the cloud city by accident."
"I will handle it."
"You bring me back here when we're done."
"Of course."
"Then you give me a fuckload of money. Real, actual, usable money. I don't care how you get it."
"Agreed. I can't say I'm familiar with how one measures a fuckload, but I'm sure we'll work it out."
She ignored him. "Then you leave Earth alone. And you owe me some sort of magical favor some time."
"Yes. If you're concerned that I won't deliver, you're welcome to ask for payment in advance."
It might be better to just keep the IOU. Who knew what kind of magical favor she might need one day? She considered.
"Oh," he added in the silence, "And it goes without saying: you don't tell Thor."
It did go without saying. "The last time the two of you had a heart-to-heart you smashed up Stark's tower," she reminded. "The time before that, you destroyed a town. I think it's safer for all concerned if Thor doesn't even know you're alive."
"Then we're in agreement." Now his smile was wide, and creepy but not as creepy as some of the other smiles he'd given her. He stood up and held out his hand. "Aren't we?"
She took his hand. His grip was strong – weirdly strong; it didn't look like he was squeezing on purpose. Up close, he was huge. His eyes were piercing. (And clear this time. None of that weird cloudy blue glint now.) He was pretty intimidating, but then, would she really want to work with an ally who wasn't? This would be interesting for sure. "We are."
"Excellent." He grinned and waved his free hand in the direction of her bedroom. "Go pack."
End of Part 1.
A/N: The next bit, below, has some SEXUAL CONTENT. It takes place in Asgard one evening, while Natasha and Loki are relaxing in the king's private rooms after a tough day of political intrigue.
"I want a bath," Loki said, out of the blue. "Come take a bath with me."
His tone made her turn difficult. "Is that an order, Your Majesty?"
He heaved a sigh. "I meant it as an invitation, but if an order is what it takes, then: yes, it's an order. I want you to strip and to flirt with me." He waved off the obvious. "I won't touch you without permission."
She couldn't help herself. She supposed Loki was less ridiculous than most, but still, the idea that men thought they should try to reassure her for her safety (and that she would believe them!) always made her laugh. "I'd like to see you try," she said sweetly.
"I meant no offense," he said, and it annoyed her that even when he was being offensive, he had a nice voice.
"Fine – I'll come with you," she said, hopping down from the windowsill. "But be aware that you're not getting in my pants."
He gestured her out of the room and put a hand on her back as he followed her. It was one of those irritating paternal gestures she would usually shrug free of, but if he was really as touch-starved as he claimed she would probably have bigger problems soon and should choose her battles.
"In here," he said – and there was that voice again. "Take your clothes off."
She thought it reasonable, now, to elbow him away from her and turn her back while she undressed. "Believe it or not, Loki, even a pathetic little human like me can figure out how to use a bathtub."
"Well, you're certainly taking long enough," he growled from across the room. She turned in surprise, and found that he was already naked – magic? – and settled down in the steaming bathwater. He was leaning back against the rim of the tub (pool, really; it was huge) with his head tipped back. His eyes – if they were even open – faced the ceiling. He wasn't ogling her at all.
So she stripped quick and businesslike; no need to be sexy now. She approached the far side of the pool and dipped one foot in.
"Too hot?" Loki said lazily, without looking up.
"It's fine." It was too hot, for comfort at least. It wouldn't hurt her though, and she'd get used to it. She stepped all the way in, stepped down off the seating ledge and sat on it.
It was quiet for a long while, and she let her head fall back too.
Eventually Loki said: "Do you take baths, at home?" He sounded as groggy as she felt.
"Not often. Relaxing is dangerous."
"That's too bad – bathing suits you." Suddenly he didn't sound so groggy any more – and he didn't sound so far away. She opened her eyes and discovered that somehow he had gotten up and crossed the tub, and now stood looking down at her.
When he broadcast his interest, she didn't flinch away and cover up. Instead, she spread her arms wider on the wall behind her and arched, so that her breasts just started to break the surface. Loki grinned at her. Good girl. "Bathing suits me? Would that be... especially when I'm not wearing a bathing suit?" She arched a little further, until the little wavelets were licking gently at her nipples. "You're welcome to enjoy the view," she added, with an edge in her voice, "But like I told you: you're not getting in my pants."
"Your pants are over there." He sat down on the ledge – not quite next to her; there were still a few feet of space. "But don't worry. Contrary to what Thor may have told you, I do know how to keep a bargain when I make one."
She shifted to sit up straighter, sitting cross-legged. Now that she wasn't slouching the water only came halfway up her ribs, but she didn't seem to mind. "Thor didn't say you cheat. Only that you lie."
"Fair enough, I suppose."
They sat in silence a while longer. He was watching drops of moisture run down her neck and chest. Water or sweat? He thought it was probably sweat; her cheeks were pink and the water was quite warm. (He liked to think it was sweat; she was pretty when she sweated.)
All the while she was staring absently into the distance. When she finally looked at him, she did a double-take and snapped: "Hey! Do not jizz in the bathwater."
"What?" He followed her gaze, and realized that his hand was in his lap, curled loosely around an erection he hadn't even noticed. He let go. "Oh. No no, I'm not-…" and then he laughed. "Why, are you worried I'll impregnate you? Can you imagine trying to explain that to your friends and colleagues? Oh, I was just visiting Asgard, and-"
"Shut up," she said, but there was a smile in her voice. "It's not that. It's just that I don't think we know each other well enough yet for me to bathe in your semen, okay?"
He considered telling her that the concept was more than figurative; his magic actually could turn the bathwater to semen. Then he considered skipping the warning entirely, and just doing it. But first of all he was sitting in the bathwater too, and second, he supposed that such a thing would probably constitute more than light provocation and might drive her away, and he didn't want that.
Instead he just echoed, thoughtfully: "Yet."
She snorted and stood up. For a moment he thought he'd offended her after all, but then she brushed her hair out of her face, looked down at him and said, "Do you want me to jack you off?"
"What?"
"I'm pretty choosy about who gets to touch me," she explained, "But I have no problem with giving hand jobs to people." He could only stare. "Blow jobs either, really," she added, "Except not now, because underwater oral sex takes effort. So?"
He could imagine how stupid he must look, and tried to pull himself together. What was he supposed to say to such a direct...? "Ah… Yes please. Thank you. That would be fantastic."
"Okay." She knelt on the seat, next to him, and without further ado put one hand on his thigh and wrapped the other around his dick.
"I prefer things on the rough side and I'm assuming you do too," she said as she got started. "If you want me to ease up, feel free to say something."
"No, it's-, that's fine." He sounded like he was trying to match her coolness. "More than fine." Unsurprisingly, he was failing.
"Okay, good. Just relax and enjoy the ride."
She could tell almost immediately that it would be an easy hand job; his body language and breathing gave clear clues about what worked, and the pace he liked was not fast enough to tire her. She settled into a rhythm.
Every now and then she would glance up to see what he was looking at. At first he was watching the way her tits jiggled as she moved, but before long his eyes had roamed up to her face. "May I touch your mouth?" he said.
"My…? Uh, sure."
He put a hand against her jaw. "You have pretty lips," he said, and ran his thumb over them. "Full and very soft. I think I would like the way they'd look stretched around my manhood."
Her breath caught. She wondered if this was his preference, or if he'd somehow found out about her thing for dirty talk. (Interesting, classy dirty talk. She'd heard more than enough take it! Take my huge cock! to last a lifetime.) "You said you don't mind giving pleasure with your mouth." He was stroking back and forth, back and forth while he talked. She fought the urge to lick at him. "But do you enjoy it?"
"Depends," she said – and couldn't believe how airy and sexed-up she sounded. He was supposed to be the one losing it! She tore her eyes away from his and tried to pay more attention to what she was doing.
He laughed softly. "Don't be annoyed. I have centuries more experience coping with arousal than you do. I can count on one hand the times I've truly lost my head to it in recent years."
For a moment she wanted to rise to the challenge and tell him he would need fingers and toes to count with by the time she was done with him. But she was still together enough to realize that promising herself as Loki's sex slave was probably something she should think twice about, so she kept quiet and just kept stroking.
He was still plucking gently at her lower lip. "When you give your blow jobs," he went on, "Do you prefer to be the party in control? Do you use your lips and tongue to make him helpless beneath you?"
She tried not to turn and nuzzle into his hand. "Sometimes."
"…Or do you prefer him to grip you hard and fuck your mouth with authority? Do you like to feel owned, to be used like property?"
His voice cracked there at the end. Instantly, she felt less outmatched. "Are you asking," she said against his fingers, "What it would be like if I blew you? Are you trying to imagine what would happen once I got down on my knees in front of you?"
He stretched his arm out along the rim of the pool behind him and gripped hard. "I might be." Definitely not steady this time.
"Well… I don't know. You are cute when you just lie back and take it. Spread your legs."
When he obeyed, panting now, she put a little more force into her strokes, and moved her free hand to his balls. "Definitely cute. I'm not sure though," she said. "I might let you grab my hair and shove your cock down my throat. Do you think you'd like that?"
He was squirming and jerking, and his eyes had glazed over. "I'm sensing yes," she said. "I'm sensing you'd be really rough – you know I can take it. I'm sensing you'd want my pretty lips to be all swollen and bruised by the time you're done with them."
"Oh gods," he rasped, and then pressed his mouth shut.
She added a little twist to the end of her strokes, upped her speed a little. He seemed to be getting close.
She asked with her eyebrows, and he nodded frantically. "Yes- yes, like that, keep going, yes."
She kept going. "Okay, well, about the blow job: we can talk about it. I'm thinking a nasty facefuck from you could be kind of hot, actually. Does this feel good?"
As if she needed to ask. He writhed harder and finally gasped "Yes there- almost I'm-…"
And that was her cue. She took a deep breath and dove under the water to suck his dick into her mouth, hands still busy, and almost immediately her mouth was full of something too salty to be bathwater. Loki's hand fell on her shoulder and squeezed hard enough to hurt; he jerked and twitched; and it was hard to tell from under the water but it sounded like he was babbling.
When his death-grip relaxed she sat up and flipped her wet hair out of her eyes.
He had slumped boneless against the edge, breathing hard, but pulled himself together to raise his head and throw her a smile. "Next I was going to ask whether you swallow, but apparently…"
She shrugged and licked her lips.
"I apologize for grabbing you." That was almost serious. "I did promise not to touch."
Her hand went to her shoulder. "I think I'll survive."
"Oh good. The alternative would definitely distress me."
God of lies or not, in this instance she was inclined to believe him.
The End.