subjunctivemood asked you: Brodinsons are banished AU: Jane & co. run out of money. Whatever are they going to do now?
Wherein Loki solves Jane's problems. (Romance/PWP. R.)
Jane loathes cold showers. It doesn't matter that she's in New Mexico; even when it's a hundred and twenty degrees outside, she wants her shower hot as the sun's surface. (It's nearly summer at this point, which is yet another thing to worry about. If the AC isn't back on by the first genuinely hot day then the equipment is going to fry — equipment that could take months, if not years, to rebuild. She didn't sketch schematics while she was making them. As a physicist, her note-keeping is impeccable; as an engineer, she flies on intuition.)
But if there's one thing Jane hates more than cold showers, it's not washing her hair for three days.
Which is why she's in the dark — the candles are gone, the batteries for the flashlights are dead, and there's no window in the bathroom — under the aspiring-to-tepid water, scrubbing herself frantically so as to get out again as fast as possible. And she's just about done when the door opens and the room floods with mid-afternoon sunlight.
Not again. "Someone's in here!" she screeches.
"Really," she hears Loki drawl. "I would not have guessed."
Well, at least it's not Thor. (That happened once. It was awkward.) Still, Jane keeps the shower curtain pinned tight to the wall as she peeps around the edge, trying to simultaneously glare at him and blink away the water that runs down her face. "I thought you were job-hunting," she says.
"You were mistaken."
"Is anyone else out there?"
"No. It would seem my brother is quite genuine in his quest for gainful employment. I can only presume Darcy Lewis is assisting him."
"And you're not 'questing'?"
"Of course not."
Typical. "Listen, aren't you clear on how this works?" Jane sticks one arm out from around the curtain and ticks off the following points on her fingers. "To find the Einstein-Rosen bridges we need data—" first finger "—which we get from computers—" second finger "—which run on electricity—" third "—which we have to pay for—" fourth "—which means we need income." Fifth. Good. All points made on one hand.
"Yes, you did explain the matter at some length. But never fret; I've already contributed my share."
"You have?"
"I have." He pauses expectantly, obviously waiting for her to ask just how he's accomplished this.
Jane rolls her eyes and ducks back under the water. "I don't want to know," she says.
The bathroom door closes, leaving her in darkness.
She lied, of course. She's dying to know. But she's not going to give him the satisfaction of her interest if he's in one of his smug, superior, Prince-of-Asgard-and-Everything-Everywhere moods.
Also, she's crabby.
But whose fault is that, really? She's standing in a cold shower. The grant money is gone because she has homeless advanced being freeloaders with no concept of basic economics and an intern who's never balanced a checkbook. They're so close, and if Jane fails to prove the viability of wormholes because of something as stupid as late fees she's going to—
The curtain pulls back, and Jane yelps as Loki steps into the water without so much as a shiver. At least, not that Jane can feel; it's too dark to see. "I thought you left," she says.
"Mistaken again," he replies affably, and she can hear his smirk without seeing it. He's in a really good mood.
This is suspicious.
"I was about to get out if you want to clean up." But she steps closer to him — closing all eight inches of the space between them, this is not a large shower — and nuzzles instinctively into his warm (and now wet) chest. She's freezing.
Loki just makes an affirming noise, his long fingers slipping around her body to play with the ends of her wet hair. Intentionally or otherwise, his hands shield some of the spray from her back. It makes her sigh in relief. "Do you not want to hear of how I've solved your woes, Jane Foster?" he murmurs. "I'll gladly tell you."
Once, eons ago, before she lost interest in fiction in favor of Euclid, Jane read Peter Pan. The line Oh, the cleverness of me! comes to her mind right now. "Nope," she lies. "Still don't care."
He makes a pouting sort of noise.
She briefly wonders just why it is that she's sleeping with an alien who can swing from sulky teen to boastful brat in the blink of an eye. He's not exactly her type.
Then his fingers slide down her back, over her ass, and dip between her thighs.
Oh, right. That's why.
She feels him smiling as he bends to kiss the side of her neck. It's a very long way down. "Must you be so abominably short?" he teases.
"It's not like I can help it," she grumbles (or tries to — it comes out more as a breathy sort of sigh). "Why are you so tall?"
There are days when he's standoffish about that sort of comment, but they seem fewer and further between. Today he laughs, moves his hand out from where it had started to delve with purpose (and, yes, she whimpers in protest), and hooks his arms under her thighs to lift her off the floor. She wraps her legs around his waist on instinct. "Now you're just showing off," she says.
He laughs again as he braces her against the cold tile. "When we return to Asgard," and he's almost giddy as he says it, "I will demonstrate true showing off, Jane Foster."
He's smug, and moody, and self-absorbed, and frequently just not very nice.
On the other hand (he slides into her effortlessly because she's been slick more or less since the moment he stepped in the shower) he's also incredibly good at this. And he helps her when he doesn't have to. And he listens when she talks. And he gave her what she needed to finally unravel what's going to be the greatest astronomical breakthrough since Copernicus.
Loki's not her type, but her type hasn't worked out so well for her in the past.
When he rocks slowly and steadily, moaning with pleasure against her throat, Jane considers that it might be time to expand her horizons.
Twenty minutes later, toweling off her hair, Jane sees the check for one thousand dollars sitting next to her computer.
It is signed by Chester Benson.
The "For" line reads Public service.
"You didn't," she says.
Loki, who for once doesn't seem to care about impeccable presentation, lounges on the sofa wearing nothing but pants and a sly smile. "The gentleman was eager to oblige," he tells her. "It would seem we've had quite an impact on the local quality of life."
Jane covers her face with her hands. "We're being paid to have public sex." Dear God, they are porn stars.
"Oh, I promised nothing for the future." Loki's smile widens to a grin. "Consider it as tangible appreciation for actions already, ah, consummated."
"You've got to be kidding."
"Not at all. Apparently we're considered impolite for the very behavior these villagers seem to so enjoy, so why not derive benefit from your culture's hypocrisy?" His expression turns intense and weirdly hopeful, like he's expecting something out of her. "Are you not pleased?"
On one hand, Jane feels like ripping the check up and burning the pieces on principle.
On the other hand…he's got a point.
And he's always got a point.
Which is… okay, it's kind of impressive.
Jane folds up the check and sticks it in her pocket. "No more exhibitionism from now on," she warns him, trying to maintain at least a little of the moral high ground.
"As you wish." Loki stretches, and he looks kind of like a cat except twice as self-satisfied. "You may express your gratitude by not informing Thor of this turn of events. It would be a shame to deprive my brother of the personal growth he might derive from all the gainful employment you've so glowingly recommended, don't you agree?"
She stalks over to the sofa with the intent of smacking him.
By the time they're done with each other she has to take another cold shower.