NOTE - Good old-fashioned bodyswap with resulting smut. By Odin's Beard, this is the most cliched plot device yet and I give you my sincere apologies. However, the story grabbed me in the shower, wrote itself in my head, and here we are.
The object, a sphere that seemed to rotate into itself thus creating what Natasha suspected was a one-sided figure (like Moebius strip or a Klein bottle) shimmered on the center of the conference table. Colors radiated down the sides, red and green and black and some other hue she had never seen before.
Behind her, the door swung open. Loki entered the room, and his presence made the object tilt, fall, roll off the table. Her impulse was to catch it; as she reached out Loki shouted "Stop!"
Several things happened at once.
His fingers covered hers.
They caught the object together.
There was a shift, and Natasha staggered.
And someone began to laugh, and it sounded like her.
Except it couldn't be her. She didn't find anything humorous in the situation, and she was disoriented, dizzy. The table seemed farther away than it had a moment earlier.
Strangest of all, she was looking at herself. The Black Widow, clutching the strange object, flung her head back to emit a shout of mirth. It seemed to consume her so much she fell against the table.
"What the hell?" Her words came out in a low register, silky and filled with dark promise. Natasha frowned, clenched one fist, and glared at her arm. She wore vambraces, leather covering her to the palms. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"This is just too delicious! You and I, my dear Black Widow, have switched bodies." Loki in the body of Black Widow, ran admiring hands over himself and looked at his reflection in the glass window. "Mmmmm. And what a body it is."
Scowling, Natasha shot out one arm and caught the female by one arm; she couldn't help being amazed at her new lithe, graceful strength. "Stop touching my goodies," she growled.
"You know, I am rather frightening when I threaten someone," the Loki Widow mused as he stared into her face. "You might try adding a sneer – it sometimes brings them round to their senses."
Natasha dropped him (her?) and snarled in disgust. "How the hell do we get back to the way we were?"
"No need to worry – of course you now control my magic."
A trickle of relief like water from a warm shower coursed over her. "Your magic - how could I forget? Tell me what to do."
The Loki Widow tapped one finger against his lips and circled her, considering. "It will be delicate. We will need to gather a great many herbs and powders - most of them can only be obtained in Varinheim. Once we are prepared – with the proper scrolls and magic inks as well, of course – you and I will sit in a prepared circle and chant for three days…"
"Three days!" Natasha shook her head. "There has to be a faster way."
The Loki Widow ran her nails over Natasha's chest. "Oh, there is, but I am certain you would not want to try it."
"Of course I do!" Natasha resisted the urge to punch herself in the throat. "Tell me."
"We will need to combine our bodies, naturally, with this little object next to us."
"Oh." Natasha sighed, propped one arm gingerly around the Loki Widow, and touched the strange thing. "Okay, tell me what to do next."
"Agent, I said we need to combine our bodies, not act as though we had just met at a diplomat's convention."
Natasha gaped at the Loki Widow, a dreadful realization breaking through. The Widow chuckled and ran her fingers through Natasha's now-black hair. "I always wondered what I looked like when you tricked me in my cell," he/she said. "Now I know."
Natasha chose her own apartment for the transfer back into her own body. She couldn't deny it was enjoyable being Loki – one stride seemed to take her halfway across the room, as though she wore a pair of fabled seven-league boots. Secretly she ogled her own body in the catsuit as he walked ahead of her. I do have a nice ass, she couldn't help thinking.
Inside the Loki Widow headed to the bedroom, but Natasha stopped her. "Oh, no," she snapped. "We do it right here, on the couch. I'm not letting you in my bed."
The Loki Widow shrugged. "As you wish - it is all the same to me. Tell me, are you looking forward to making love to yourself?"
She shuddered. "I was trying not to think about it too much, just close my eyes and get the job done. How about you?" She couldn't help wondering what he thought of having sex with his own body.
"Oh, I have done it before." When Natasha frowned, the Loki Widow went into another peal of laughter before adding, "One gets bored after a decade or two inside a dungeon."
"Okay, I really don't want to know one thing more about that." Natasha looked at her heavy armor. "Help me get all this off and let's get it over with."
"No. I am a woman now – I want to be prepared. Romanced." The Loki Widow winked, went on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to Natasha's mouth.
She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was with one of several women she had gone to bed with. After a moment she stopped, thrust the Widow aside, and shook her head. "No, it's not working. I need vodka – and plenty of it."
"Ah!" With a pleased expression, the Loki Widow sat on the sofa and crossed her legs provocatively. "Now you begin to make sense."
They began with shots, progressed to drinking straight out of the bottle. Natasha found Loki's body got drunk faster than hers did; soon she found the room wavered pleasantly in front of her and she began to giggle. It came out as a low-pitched "Ehehehehe."
The Loki Widow laughed as well; Natasha reflected her body had never enjoyed so much humor in one day. I look pretty good when I'm in a good mood, she thought.
"You think I look nice," the Loki Widow said. She reached up, felt for her zip, and drew it down to reveal bare stomach. "And I do look nice. I enjoy these." She palmed her lace-covered breasts, gasped and arched her back. "Agent Romanoff – you have such sensitive skin! I never knew." The Loki Widow moaned, slid one hand between her legs. "And you get excited so quickly – see what I mean."
Stunned and drunk, Natasha could only watch as the woman in front of her grasped her hand, eased it inside her own underwear. Loki was right – she was dripping. Something at the back of her mind took over, and she growled again, seized Loki, and kissed the Widow, biting her lip and nudging her teeth apart with an impetuous tongue. As Loki kissed her back, she felt something between her own legs – an unexpected length of skin and muscle rise, grow engorged with blood, press delightfully between the two bodies.
She couldn't help thrusting against Loki's hand as he/she palmed the crotch of her breeches. "Undress me," Natasha demanded.
Small, knowing hands pulled off the vambraces, unbuckled the tunic and breastplate, shucked off the long jacket. Natasha found herself (himself?) divested of clothes, and quickly she yanked the catsuit down Loki's body. It brought her in the region of Loki's pubis, and some unknown impulse made her sink her tongue there, flicker it with new knowledge against the Widow's clit.
Loki screamed, arched back again, sank her fingers in Natasha's black locks. "By the Norns and the Nine Realms! Come here, Natasha, and fuck me…"
She didn't have to say anything else. Natasha reared up, fire coursing through her blood. She positioned her new length against that wet, hot throbbing spot – oh, God, she couldn't help sinking inside.
The feeling was electric. Intoxicating. The Loki Widow screamed again, wound her legs around Natasha's back, and pulled her into a long kiss. Instantly they set up a fevered rhythm as though they had been lovers for years. Natasha knew how she liked it, and a desire to show off, to make Loki remember her as a damn good lay made her twist, vibrate, thrust, put her shoulders into it.
But he was doing the same thing to her. The Loki Widow moved her hips, clenching her slit around the long, hot member inside…
Natasha realized she was growing close already. No way. She would make the Widow come at least twice before she had her own release. Quickly she slipped out, licked the quivering breasts in front of her, lifted hips to tongue the Widow in the way she knew she liked it. Flickering. One finger inside. Another working her clit. Setting the perfect pressure – not too hard, not too soft. Again and again and again…
Loki screamed again, her pelvis shaking. Natasha tasted the flow, the juices, and grinned against the fluttering skin. Making a woman orgasm was always such a high.
The Loki Widow pulled her up with strong arms to look into her eyes. "Fuck me," Loki begged. With an almost audible slish Natasha slid inside, and Loki's eyes rolled back in her head. "Fuck me, Natasha - fuck me, Loki, fuck fuck fuck…"
Oh, God. It was too delicious. Natasha felt a growing tightness down there and knew something was about to happen.
And as she shouted and pushed into Loki, joined their mouths in a prolonged kiss, she felt her seed spurt out.
And with it, her being.
She – the secret part that was really her – left the Loki body and went into the Black Widow. For one moment she was both, shooting and shaking at the same time. Giving and receiving. Then she was back in her own body, shuddering with the last of her orgasm, with Loki between her thighs.
"That was – that was…" he gasped into her neck. He interrupted himself by kissing her shoulders, her ear, her collarbone.
"Oh, no." Firmly Natasha pushed him off, pulled up her catsuit, zipped it up. "We're not going for round two here, buddy. Out."
"What?" Loki stood, his mouth opening with outrage. "What are you talking about? We have already bedded each other – we might as well continue. Not to mention I now know all the pleasure points of your body. No one will be able to make love to you the way I will. No one."
"Out," she repeated, handing him a pile of metal and leather. She slammed the door on his furious face.
That episode was the catalyst for a determined pursuit, the likes of which she had never experienced before. If she went into the gym, Loki was there. In the cafeteria – Loki. On the street, going for a cup of coffee – Loki, with a knowing smirk, striding beside her. "Tell me, Agent Romanoff," he would purr, "do you still enjoy sharp teeth on the nape of your neck?"
"We are done," she insisted. "It happened, it's over, and I'm moving on."
"But it did not happen. We made love to ourselves, not each other. Except - just for one glorious moment I felt myself inside you, and then you ousted me rudely into the hall." This was accompanied by a hooded glance, just skimming her jaw and neck. Loki never actually broke horizon.
But he came close.
"Look." Natasha stopped in the middle of the street, looked up at his height. "There was a purpose to it. Now it's over – there's no reason for us to do it again." The alien object was back in SHIELD control – she had actually used tongs to carry it back to the conference room.
"But sometimes there need not be a Why. Sometimes pleasure is reason enough."
And that began a series of gifts. On Wednesday Natasha received a vase filled with amaryllis. On Thursday it was a glass sphere with a tiny fountain cascading over it. Friday was the figure of a dancer done in silver and blue. Saturday was a huge box swathed with ribbons and filled with chocolates.
"Okay, I get it," she said as she handed the sweets back to Loki. "Pleasurable things are their own raison d'etre – I understand what you're trying to say. But you and me - it's not going to happen."
Loki glowered, popped a chocolate in his mouth, and stalked off. "We will see about that," he threw back at her.
During meetings he watched her constantly. Whenever he caught her eye Loki instantly smirked and winked. In the hall she felt him behind her, one hand ghosting over her back. When she turned to confront him and tell him to knock it off he looked innocent, raising both arms to show he was blameless.
Exasperated, Natasha wrote him a terse email. "Leave me alone or I will move out of the building to another apartment."
It seemed to do the trick. Afterwards Loki kept to himself. The knowing looks, gifts, sly touches, constant flirtations – all stopped as though they had never happened.
Natasha told herself she was relieved. As she pulled on a pair of red heels for a formal dinner where she hoped to eye out a possible mark for an upcoming hit, she looked around her living room. Everything was neat, clean. The couch had been shampooed. The rug was vacuumed. The books, pictures, and the little blue and silver dancer were all dusted – immaculate. It was better that way, she insisted – her own private little life, with no god of mischief lounging on the cushions to smile lazily at her.
Yes, much better.
She grabbed her purse, a silver envelope holding nothing more than chapstick and a phone, and headed out. One of Tony's limos waited below, a long black car proclaiming decadent wealth.
For a moment, after all the ambushes, she expected to see Loki inside. The car, however, was empty – save for her and the driver.
During the drive she reviewed her notes, coded into her phone. She added some ideas, organized her plan, made certain every contingency was covered. It was just as neat and clean as her sparkling apartment.
The party was the same as a hundred others she had attended. The mark went down just as expected. Waiters circulated with tiny, exquisite appetizers and not enough alcohol, since it was Tuesday night, not the weekend. Stupid bloody Tuesday.
And her shoes pinched.
Information loaded in her phone, Natasha texted the driver to meet her at the front. He drew up, got out, opened the door.
Was she surprised to find the other rider in the back?
"Success?" Loki popped a bottle of champagne, poured a glass, and handed it her.
"Yes, but don't think…"
"I am not thinking. I am pouring, Agent Romanoff." He topped his glass, put the bottle in a holder, and touched his rim to hers.
Natasha drank thirstily. She was trying to ignore the feeling of relief sweeping over her; logic dictated she should have been angry. But her temper seemed to have spluttered out, extinguished by the amused glance of the being next to her, casually twirling his glass and propping one long arm along the back of the seat.
She held out her glass and he bent close as he refilled it. "Take a look," Loki said, leaning over her to point out of the window. There she saw a series of scaffolds for a construction project that had apparently just begun.
"What is it?"
"A hospital for the victims of my strike against Manhattan. It will provide care free of charge. I have decided to name it Romanoff Center."
Natasha, sitting in a circle of metal and leather, moved violently as though to shake him off her. "Okay – cut it out! I don't want to be wooed by you anymore."
"No?" Loki smiled. "But you like my arm around you – why shy away as though you were a frightened girl? You are not frightened, are you, agent?"
"Of course not," Natasha began stiffly.
"Of course not. And certainly you are brave enough to bear my touch on your hair, like this. Hair does not count – it is not like skin, after all. So it would be silly to protest when I feel your curls, so much like velvet against my fingers. Have some more champagne."
Natasha drank again, as much to ward him off as anything else. He couldn't stick his tongue down her throat while she was guzzling bubbles, she thought. "What kind of wine is this?" she demanded.
"Elderflower champagne – from Asgard. They brew it at the palace. Delicious, is it not?"
She had to agree. The drink was crisp and flowery, but not too sweet. It was also potent as a stiff shot of moonshine. "Delicious," she echoed.
"Yes, but not as delicious as many things I can name – those chocolates you refused, the kick of winning a battle, your mouth…" Loki's breath surged into hers as he kissed her.
"I said cut it out."
"But we have already done it now. And I must point out you kissed me back, Agent Romanoff." Loki kissed her again, swirling his tongue around hers in the way she particularly liked.
Oh God, Natasha thought confusedly. He knew every spot on her body already – since he himself had inhabited it. A steady thrum started between her legs, and she found she had one arm around his shoulders, a leg sliding between his.
Loki broke the kiss just as she started to really enjoy it. Staring intently at her, he reached inside his jacket, withdrew a thick sheaf of bills, and flung it at the driver. "Close the window and drive us around for an hour," he ordered. His green gaze flicked over her, and he amended it. "Two hours."
Natasha felt for the catch on her diamond bracelet, undid it, and tossed the jewels through the window just as it closed. "Make it three."