I did it! I wrote this stupid chapter, even though it tried to kill me in the process. Sorry it took so long. The theme song is "Adrenalize Me" by In This Moment


Chapter 71: Smoke and Mirrors

Loki looked over the collection of assorted items strewn across his bed. It had taken a great deal of effort, but he had managed to get everything together in just under three days. Once he had decided on what implements he would use, he had needed to get the money to buy them.


The sound of the door closing alerted Loki to the fact that he was no longer alone in the apartment. Since he was waiting for Thor's arrival, this did not surprise him. He had chosen to wait in his room so it wouldn't look like he was waiting. Poking his head out the door, he saw that Jane and Darcy had accompanied him. Quickly, he selected an excuse from among the list of half-truths he had devised.

"Hello, brother," he said nonchalantly. He wanted Thor to feel amiable towards him, but if he laid it on too thick he would be suspicious. "Lady Jane, Lady Darcy."

Jane gave a slight bow in response to the greeting, showing that Thor had been teaching her the etiquette of Asgard. He was impressed—she made it look natural and automatic. Darcy just waved.

"Greetings," Thor said cheerfully. "What are you up to today?" The comment was made good-naturedly, without any real suspicion.

Loki stepped out into the living room proper, and put his hands in his pockets. "I wanted to ask you something, actually."

"Oh?" Thor took Jane's jacket and moved to hang it up as the girls politely excused themselves from the conversation and moved to the kitchen.

Moving towards the entryway, Loki put on a mildly embarrassed expression. "I should like to buy something for Lady Natasha," he admitted, "but, well, lacking an income of my own..." he made a helpless gesture.

The god of thunder's broad face lit up. "Of course! Here," He fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, and opened it. "How much do you need?"

Loki was now genuinely embarrassed by Thor's open generosity. "I-I'm not sure, and it's on the internet..." he stammered.

"Right. You will need this then," he pulled out a credit card, and handed it to Loki. "Do you know how to use it?"

Taking the card, Loki nodded mutely. That had been far easier than he had imagined. He remembered that Thor had mentioned to his counterpart that he had access to a substantial fortune. He felt an old, familiar itch, the desire for mischief which had never truly left him, mixed with darker urges.

"Don't spend it all in one place," Darcy called from the kitchen. The colloquialism made Jane smile and Thor chuckle, but Loki glanced up to see the seriousness in her expression. She must have seen an echo of his thoughts in his face.

Smiling harmlessly, Loki pocketed the card. "Of course," he joked, and escaped back to the sanctuary of his room.


The next challenge had been acquiring the items in question. Most of the websites he wished to purchase from offered next-day shipping, but at prohibitive costs. Thor might be richer than king Midas, but he would likely notice if Loki made such a large purchase. He was able to find local establishments that carried such items, but that had its own drawbacks.

He did not typically "go out" in his original form. There was always the chance that someone would recognize him, even with his new clothes and haircut. His face had been all over the news, and he didn't want to risk a public commotion.

Sighing, he sent Tony a text:

Need disguise to go shopping. Ideas?

A few minutes later, Tony texted back:

Better idea: go to this website, put in your shopping list and payment info. They're a personal shopping service.

Loki looked up the included website, dubious.

Are they discreet?

Tony's reply was almost instantaneous.

Trust me, they've bought weirder things. They'll have it delivered to your door in non-descript packaging by the end of the day.

With a mental shrug, Loki began typing in the list.


The last of his purchases had finally arrived, a day later, and Loki added the one thing he had only found online to the collection strewn across his green velour bedspread. He had a detailed plan and the tools to enact it, now he only needed the time. It was already Thursday, and he was somewhat impatient, but he also wanted to take Natasha's interests into consideration.

It was out of the question to attempt it this evening, as Natasha had work in the morning. Ideally, he would like to have a full day, so that she could be free of the concerns of her job, but he wasn't sure he could wait until Saturday. That left Friday.

Picking up his phone, he stared at it for a full minute. He had never felt nervous before making a call before, being unintimidated by either the technology or the social interaction. Irritated by his hesitation, he dialed the number before he had really thought out what he would say.

"Hello?" Natasha answered after the first ring. She had always been careful to answer her phone in a neutral fashion. It wouldn't do to answer "Agent Romanoff" when the caller might be a wrong number.

"Hello, Natasha," Loki grinned at the sound of her voice.

"Loki," she sounded pleasantly surprised. "What's up?"

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?" he got straight to the point.

There was a pause as she thought. "No, why?"

His smile turned sly. "Don't make any. I should like to have you all to myself for a while," he murmured.

"Is that so?" he could almost hear the raised eyebrow in her voice. "Well, I will leave my calendar open then. Will I be seeing you later today?"

Loki had thought about this, too. "No." There were no excuses he could come up with that were not also lies, and the truth—that he could not keep his plans to himself if he saw her—would spoil it. So he let her wonder.

"Okay..." Natasha sounded a little put-off, but didn't ask. "Tomorrow then," she said, not quite a question.

"Tomorrow," he agreed. "Oh, and Natasha? Don't wear anything you're terribly attached to," he warned.

He wasn't sure if he imagined the sound of her swallowing, but there was definitely a pause. "Understood. See you then."

"Good bye." He heard the phone click on the other end and let out a whoosh of air. He fell back onto the bed, next to his various tools and implements, and stared at the ceiling. He picked up a particularly wicked-looking piece and twirled it around in his fingers. As he watched, they turned ever-so-slightly blue. He wasn't sure if this was a good idea, but when had he ever been certain of the outcomes of his actions?

Whether it was wrong or right, Loki was resolved to do it properly. "Nothing by halves," he murmured to himself, and began to go over the plan in his head once more.


Natasha came home to find her front door unlocked. The vague sense of anxiety she had felt all day suddenly bloomed into a near-panic. She squashed it down, feeling a little silly, but relishing the rush of adrenaline it brought.

Stepping inside, she found Loki reading on the couch, the picture of nonchalance. He wore dark pants and a green tunic, much like the outfit his counterpart had worn when she had first arrived. He glanced up at her when she entered, smiling and closing his book. As she put her things on the table, he stood, took both her hands in his, and kissed her.

"How was work?" he asked congenially, keeping her hands.

"Tolerable," she shrugged.

"Are you hungry? Tired?" his voice and words made it clear that he would gladly postpone his plans to make sure her needs were met. However, his impatience showed through as his thumbs absently traced circles on her palms.

"Loki, I have been seriously distracted for the last 48 hours. I don't want to wait another minute," she ground out.

A smug, gleeful grin broke across his face. "Well, then I shan't keep you waiting." He turned and gestured towards the bedroom, and then led the way. "How did you sleep last night?"

Natasha glanced at him nervously. "I had the dream again."

Loki felt his pulse quicken. He had tried to send it, and dreamed it himself, but he wasn't sure if the success was due to his efforts or merely coincidence. "Good," he smiled, satisfied. "This is going to be a little different, but I think it should suffice."

By this time they had come into the bedroom. On the bed was a dark swathe of cloth, which showed a variety of strange shapes beneath it. On top of it was a blindfold and a knife. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the knife. It was a nasty piece of work, made of one solid piece of metal, with a curved tip and serration near the handle. The handle had an intricate pattern tooled into it, providing a good grip. Natasha knew her knives and this one was a piece of art. It terrified her.

Loki saw her stare, brushed the knife with his fingertips briefly, and then picked up the blindfold, running the green silk through his hands. "Before we begin, there is one rule I must first establish."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"For this to work, I need to know when your protestations are genuine and not merely part of the game. If my actions exceed your tolerances, then you must alert me," he explained.

She was fascinated by the return of his elaborate speech. At a guess, it meant he was as nervous as she was. "Like a safe word?" her sarcastic tone revealed what she thought of the idea.

Suddenly the blindfold was around her neck, pulled just tight enough so that she could feel her own pulse against it. "I make the rules," he hissed. "You follow them. That's how this works."

She swallowed, feeling the silk tighten as she did so. "Ok. What's the word?"

He released the tension on the blindfold, pulling on one end so it slid against her skin. "You have many different names, little spider," he said cheerfully. "I've always wondered which one you were born with."

Put off balance by his sudden change in attitude, she answered automatically. "Natalia Alianovna Romanova," she rattled off.

He repeated the name, slowly, as if relishing the taste of it. "Beautiful," he murmured, and began to tie the blindfold around her eyes. "Say it again and I will stop, no matter what, no consequences. Understand?"

"What if I can't speak?" she asked.

Intrigued, Loki paused in his work. "You mean, if I were to gag you?" he sounded delighted.

She nodded, obviously less enthusiastic about the idea.

"Hmmm..." Loki ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "I think not. Not tonight, anyway," he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "I want to hear every last moan and scream you make," he explained.

She shifted uncomfortably, her head turning towards the wall which butted up against the next apartment.

"Oh, don't worry," he chuckled. "She soundproofed this room quite a while ago. Now, do you agree to the safe word?"

"Yes," she agreed, and hesitated before stubbornly adding, "but I won't use it."

Pulling the knot on the blindfold tight, Loki smirked. "That remains to be seen." He adjusted it a little, and then stood back, admiring the sight.

Natasha was impressed. Most cloth strip blindfolds were pretty useless; the fabric was often semi-transparent and there were gaps left at the bottom of her field of vision. But this one had small padded disks sewn to the back of it, which covered her eyes completely. As she accustomed herself to the loss of one sense, her others began to sharpen. She could hear Loki move to the bed, and uncover his mysterious collection. It irked her to no end that she couldn't see it. He hadn't given her any instructions to stay still, but her oldest training kept her rooted to the spot.

Loki selected a length of rope with a snap ring attached to either end and a big knot tied part way through. Picking up a bar with two cuffs at either end, he attached it to the rope and then walked to the door. Natasha's head turned as she followed the sound, and he smiled to himself.

"So curious," he laughed, throwing the knot over the top of the door and then closing it. "You'll find out what it is soon enough." He adjusted the rope so the bar hung at the right height, and pulled the slack out from under the door. Returning to the bed, he took the other bar with cuffs and then attached it to the snap ring on the floor.

Turning, he held perfectly still for a moment and just watched her. A flicker of doubt flashed through his mind, but it was quickly overtaken by the rising hunger he had suppressed all day. It was as if his desires had been dammed up far too long, and now that the gates had been opened, there was no closing them again.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly.

She licked her lips. "Yes," she breathed.

Reaching out, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her over to the door, and she nearly lost her footing in surprise. By the time she had her balance back, Loki had restrained both of her wrists in the leather cuffs on either end of the top bar. They were high enough up that she had some difficulty getting her footing, and then it no longer mattered because he grabbed her ankles and then ensnared them in the other set of cuffs, forcing her into a spread-eagle position.

Natasha tested the restraints experimentally. This much was familiar from the dream, although the fully vertical position put a lot more strain on her arms. It was still more comfortable than having her arms tied together over her head, and for that she was grateful.

Loki stepped back and admired the sight of her bound against the door. She had let him tie her up before, but never like this, never in a position which left her so vulnerable. He trailed a hand down her side, and paused with his hand on her hip, his thumb tracing a line just below the hem of her shirt.

"So," he drawled, pitching his voice in the low, raspy tone he had used when they first met. "The infamous Black Widow, tangled in her own web. What delicious irony," he murmured near her ear. She turned her head away from him, and he trailed the back of a fingernail down the exposed side of her neck. "Quite the catch, I must say."

"Who says I'm caught?" she challenged. "I've gotten out of worse situations than this."

"With the help of your little friends, no doubt. But they're not here. They can't hear you. They don't even know you're in trouble." He braced both hands against the door, bracketing her face, and leaned in close. "It's just you and me, and all your delightfully wicked secrets."

She pursed her lips. "I won't tell you anything."

"Good," he purred, and then went back to the bed, selecting a pair of metal shears. "I like a challenge." He savored the weight of them in his hand, and made a few experimental snips in the air before deciding where to start. She had chosen a worn, threadbare t-shirt and ripped jeans to wear, and the shirt pulled invitingly across her breasts. He pinched the fabric together and cut a hole, revealing her ample cleavage.

She gasped as the back of the blade brushed the skin of her breasts. It was cold, and made her nipples instantly hard, causing them to poke up beneath the thin t-shirt and old bra.

He smirked and leaned down to swipe his tongue along the exposed line between her breasts. She jumped at that, too, infinitely more surprised to find that to be cold. She made a sound of protest, and he chuckled. Rising, he made as if to whisper in her ear, and she could feel his breath on her neck, like a draft from a window in the winter. It raised goose bumps on her skin, and she shuddered hard when he licked the shell of her ear.

"You don't like that, do you?" he asked mockingly.

She glared at him. Even with her eyes covered, he could tell it was a glare. "I'm Russian, I'm used to the cold," she argued.

He laughed darkly at that. "That excuse didn't work last time, either," he reminded her. He pinched one of her taut nipples, hard, and she made a pained sound. With his free hand, he trailed the tip of the scissors lightly over the exposed skin, before snipping the fabric up towards the collar. The tips of the shears tickled the vulnerable skin of her neck as he sliced through the last of the fabric. The t-shirt sighed open, affording him a better view of her lovely breasts.

"Besides," he smirked, and allowed the tiniest fraction of his true form to bleed into his fingertips. "You've never known cold like this." He slipped his hand under the thin fabric of her bra and took firm hold of her soft, yielding flesh. She cried out and tried to wrench away from his grasp, but the restraints made it impossible.

"You want more?" he asked teasingly.

"No!" she gasped.

"Then hold still," he commanded.

Natasha stopped squirming, although she continued to shiver. Loki let the cold drain away, warmth returning to his fingers as he stroked her more gently. Finally he released her, and tugged on the waistband of her jeans so he could tuck the scissors into it. "Hold on to these for me, will you?" he joked, and she hissed as the cold metal touched her again.

Taking hold of the severed edges of her t-shirt, Loki ripped them apart, tearing it in half. He raked his fingernails lightly down her exposed stomach, and then slowly pulled the scissors back out of her pants. "You know, it's truly a shame I caught you incognito. I was so looking forward to ruining that delightful little catsuit you call a uniform," he lamented.

She laughed. "I think you'd find my 'catsuit' was not to your liking. It has more than a few surprises built in."

Loki began to cut the t-shirt up towards her sleeve, catching the strap of her bra in the process. "Well, now I'm just curious. You'll have to work hard to make up for that," he promised darkly. "But I expect you will be up to it," his tone implied exactly how she might accomplish that.

"Fuck you," she spat as he repeated the process on the other side and pulled the shredded remains of the t-shirt away.

He tucked the scissors into his back pocket. "That's the idea," he murmured, sliding his hands around to her back to unhook her bra, pressing himself against her in the process. Just to make sure she got the message, he tilted his hips against her suggestively.

Natasha sucked in a surprised breath as she felt exactly how much Loki was enjoying this game. She remembered the ruse in the alleyway, when they had hunted Pierce. "You're a monster," she said, echoing her words from their first meeting.

Loki drew the scrap of fabric away, and pulled his tunic off quickly. "Yes. You were right, the first time. But so was I." He pressed himself against her again, and groaned at the feel of the skin-to-skin contact. He heard Natasha try to suppress a moan, and grinned. "You love this. You relish it, crave it." He dropped to a crouch, trailing his hands down her body, before retrieving the scissors and beginning to cut up one pant leg.

"Why else would you cling to the name 'Black Widow' long after you turned your back on those who first gave it to you? You tell yourself it's just part of the job, but you get such a high, pulling their strings, letting them think they have control of you before you pull the trigger. But it's never enough, is it?" He finished the first pant leg and began to work on the second.

"You're always looking for a stronger target, getting involved in conflicts that are far above your ability, and why? To test yourself?" he laughed. With one final snick of the scissors, he cut through the waistband of her jeans and they fell away, along with her thong. He stood, holding himself a millimeter away from her body. "You do it because deep down, you want to know. You want to feel what it's like when someone really controls you," he growled.

Natasha swallowed. When she had agreed to this, she never imagined he would go so far, that he would say such things. "No," she protested, her voice not as strong as she would have liked. "I'm not what you say I am..."

He chuckled. "Oh really?" he asked, sliding his hand down her stomach, through the thatch of red curls and between her legs. "Then why are you so wet for me, Natasha?" he whispered in her ear.

She whimpered helplessly as his fingers went to work. Maybe he's right, she thought. Maybe I am a mewling quim. Tears began to well up in her eyes, dampening the blindfold.

"Let me give you what you want," he crooned. "Let me control you..."

Drawing in a shaky breath, Natasha gathered her wits. "No."

"No?" Loki pulled his hand away, stepping back as if considering. He watched her confusion, grinning, letting the moment drag on. He slowly unlaced the front of his leather pants, and then broke the silence by grabbing her throat and slamming her against the door. "I think I'll show you anyway," he said through clenched teeth, and then buried himself in her sweet, slick center.

Natasha cried out in surprise and, to her dismay, pleasure. He didn't pause to gloat over it, but picked up a rapid, brutal pace that made the hardware she was strung up on knock against the door with each thrust. She tried to press her legs together, to deny him access, but it was useless. The bar which held her legs spread far apart wouldn't raise more than a foot, and doing so only changed the angle of her hips to his benefit.

"You. Are. So. Sweet." he ground out in time with his movement. He slowed his pace to a more salacious rhythm. "Such delicious impurity, such decadent corruption," he murmured against the shell of her ear. "My sweet, lovely Natasha... You are just. like. me."

She resisted the urge to deny his accusation, knowing that was exactly what he wanted. It was difficult for her to think against the onslaught of sensation, but she managed. "God, you really love the sound of your own voice, don't you?" she complained.

He chuckled at that, and she could feel it inside her. "Not half so much as yours, pretty Natasha. Especially when you scream my name."

"Fat chance," she spat.

He paused, and a wicked grin split his face, and she could hear it in his next words: "I accept that challenge." He picked up the rhythm once more, putting his extensive talent to good use.

Natasha fought against the rising tide of pleasure. She had no intention of giving him his satisfaction that easily. She was surprised, then, when Loki clutched her tightly and spilled his release, before stopping altogether.

He caught her look of confusion and chuckled, pulling away. "What, you thought I was going to make you scream that way?" he walked to the bed and cleaned himself up with a small hand towel, but left her dripping. He deftly did up his pants again. "Oh, no. You don't get to come until I decide you've earned it. Besides," he snatched the knife up, as well as another item, and returned to the door. "I have a much better tool to make you scream."

Natasha flinched as he pressed the flat of the blade against her cheek. "No," she murmured, shocked. "Oh, no, no, no..."

"Oh, yes," Loki whispered. "When I saw this little treasure, I knew I had to have it. Just like you." He drew the blade downward, trailing the tip of it feather-light against her skin, tracing the blue line of a vein. "Can you feel it, Natasha? The way it sings for your blood?"

"Wait a minute," she gasped, suddenly short of breath. "I never said you could cut me. That was never part of the deal-"

Loki slapped her across the face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to startle her into silence. "You don't command me, bitch. There's only one thing you can say to stop me, and we both know you're too stubborn or too stupid to use it," he dared her.

Natasha's own name flashed through her mind, but with a sinking feeling she realized he was right. She would not back down. Strangely, this brought her some clarity. Loki wouldn't really cut her, would he? And then the pain started, proving her wrong.

Loki drew back after the first "cut," knowing that she would flinch violently. He smirked down at the deceptively wicked piece of metal in his hand. In reality, the blade was as dull as a butter knife. But he had learned, in his research, that if something is made cold enough, it will hurt so that an unknowing victim will be unable to distinguish it from fire or blades. His fingertips were slightly bluish, and a thin veneer of frost coated the implement.

"Hold still, or you'll ruin the pattern," he chided. He drew another harmless line across her heaving chest, and where the knife went with one hand, the other followed with a small bottle of warm strawberry syrup. It would feel, to her, as if her wounds were bleeding. He used a little more, and a tendril dripped down her skin. He leaned down and licked it up, loving the way she flinched away from his touch.

"Mmm, so sweet, just like I said." He bit his lower lip hard, so that when he moved in and kissed her she tasted his blood and thought it was her own.

Natasha freaked out. He's really doing it, she thought, panicking. "Stop," she gasped. "I don't want to do this anymore!"

"Oh, but I've only just begun. It's a rather complicated pattern, you see," he said gleefully, and went back to work.

Natasha was momentarily stunned into silence, chilled to the core by his unknowing echo of Pierce's words. But the pain began to grow beyond her ability to ignore it. "Please stop," she begged.

"No," he said simply. As he worked, she began a litany of begging and protestation, but as it included neither her own name, or his, he did not respond. He wasn't ignoring her—he relished it like the sweetest music—but he needed to stay focused on his work. In the process of Her research, his counterpart had discovered the spell that Pierce had likely begun on Natasha before he arrived. It was a dedication sigil, designed to trap the victim's soul and send it to the indicated entity when the subject was killed. He formed it carefully, drawing each line with an artist's skill, until there was nothing left but the space in the middle for the name.

Who Pierce had meant to sacrifice her to, he hadn't the slightest idea. But the concept of someone—or rather someone else—owning her so completely sickened him. So into that space he put his own rune, the sharp angled B. She was his, whether she realized it or not. He would accept no alternative.

Just as he was making the last stroke, she finally whispered something that sounded like his name. He glanced up and smiled. "Finally decided to play along?" he teased.

"You bastard," she sobbed.

He laughed. "Probably accurate, but not my name." He let the knife return to room temperature, and pressed the flat of it against her neck, smearing the fake blood there. Her tears had soaked through the blindfold and stained her cheeks. He licked one of the trails, savoring the salty taste. "Say it," he whispered. "Say my name."

She whimpered, and then gave in. "Loki," she breathed.

"Good..." he purred, and trailed his fingers down her skin, avoiding the red lines carefully. He paused, his fingers just above her most sensitive spot. "Louder," he commanded.

Her breath quickened. "Loki," she repeated automatically.

Loki stroked her with his thumb, feather-light. "Again. With feeling this time."

"Loki," she moaned, needing to use no artifice.

"Good girl," he crooned, giving her more. "Keep going." He began to kiss a trail down her neck, removing the knife and letting it fall to the floor.

"Loki, please," she begged, with an altogether different meaning.

He kissed his way down her body as she continued to repeat his name. Soon his mouth joined his fingers in pleasuring her, licking and biting and stroking and pinching. Natasha felt a surge of relief, as she finally gave in. She was screaming his name, just like he said she would, and it felt so damn good to be wrong. When she came, it was unlike anything she had felt before, racking her whole body and making her curse in Russian.

Loki sat back on his heels, staring up at his beautiful Natasha, now hanging limp from her bonds, as he caught his breath. Gods above, I love her, he realized. There was no way he could possibly deny it now. He quickly unbuckled her ankles and wrists, removing her blindfold and wrapping her in the black cashmere blanket that had hidden his collection of toys. He carried her to the bed, and sat down with her still in his arms.

"Loki, you cut me," she murmured in a betrayed voice.

He chuckled. "No, darling." He swiped up some of the strawberry sauce, making her jump. He stuck his finger in her mouth, and she blinked, surprised. "Smoke and mirrors," he promised.

Suddenly Natasha felt a rush of relief. It was over, and she was fine, and Loki was still there. He had done it—had taken her far beyond her fears, and god she loved him for it. She realized how much she tried to hide what she really was from everyone, but he had seen right through her and still liked what he saw. She laughed through her tears, a little loopy.

"We're quite the fucked-up pair, aren't we?" she asked breathlessly.

He made a sound of agreement and kissed her. "A perfect match."

She smiled, and nestled in the protection of his arms, drifted off to sleep.


A/N: Tada! It's all downhill from here, in fact I've already written the next chapter, so I'll probably post it on Saturday. I'm so glad I finally got this done, what a relief!

Since I was having so much trouble, I did a TON of research for this, and it was quite the education! Many thanks to my friends who helped me with the details. Also, got a request for "say my name" and had to try to get it in there. (How awesome is the new trailer? *squee*)

Naturally, I am dying to hear what you guys think of it, because most of my writer's block was me trying to get it *perfect.* I hope it was worth the wait.