A/N: This chapter includes mild strangulation.

Denial

A low chuckle wound upward from the back of Loki's throat as the agent collapsed against him, her back to his abdomen, her head lolling on his chest. The metal floor was hard and cold beneath him, but he didn't mind. Cold had never bothered him, and he was too focused on the soft, warm creature above him to give anything else much thought.

The god was a bit winded himself, but not nearly as much as Natasha. Her breaths came in hard gasps, chased away by tiny, trilling whimpers, spiraling up into the fluorescent bulbs overhead like tendrils of smoke disappearing in bright sunshine. Each satisfied huff made her shake and tremble, brushed her fiery curls against the underside of his chin. It tickled, but he liked the feeling.

Loki slid one cool hand across her stomach, letting his arm rest lightly around her as she worked on coming down from her carnal high. The other hand he moved up the side of her body, over her rib cage, over one impossibly creamy breast. His fingers brushed along the curve of her collarbone, following it to the top of her shoulder and then back to the base of her neck. He laid his palm over the center of her pale throat, felt the air rushing in and out of her, quickly at first and then gradually slower, almost gently.

He let out a light hum that was at once content and, as usual, amused. "Did you miss me, Agent Romanoff?" he murmured. It was the first attempt either made at conversation since her arrival over an hour beforehand.

"Shut up," she sighed, exasperated. She lifted a hand and let it fall limply against his forearm, the extent of her ability to protest at the moment.

Her efforts only widened Loki's smile. "Why would I? I know how you enjoy the sound of my voice," he teased, taking on his most seductive tone just to bother her. He couldn't see her face, but he could practically feel her roll her eyes at him in response. When she remained silent for the next few moments, he prodded, "You have yet to answer my question."

Natasha released an annoyed grunt, and he failed to bite back his chuckle. "You always find a way to ruin this," she muttered, a bit spitefully.

"Ruin what?" Loki asked genuinely, his brows lofting.

"This," she insisted, waving a hand absently in the air before she let it fall back onto his shoulder with a light smack.

"I fail to see how I have ruined anything," he went on, although he did realize what she was referring to. Loki tilted his head down, Natasha's curls enveloping the lower portion of his face. She smelled like blood and cinnamon. Letting his lips brush the top of her head as he spoke, he pushed, "You do miss me, do you not? Else you would not seek my...company...as often as you do."

The agent huffed again, although this time it felt, to Loki at least, more defeated than angry. "All of a sudden I have to like you to want to fuck you?" she asked quietly.

Loki's smile evaporated and his fingers twitched against the agent's neck. "Evidently not," he answered coldly. "One begins to wonder if you need like any of the men in your life, or if you merely enjoy them."

Natasha stiffened beneath his hands. "Shut up, Loki," she said again, her voice low and threatening.

"It is a valid point," he threw back at her, venom seeping from his words. "You would throw me to the wolves given half the chance, yet you crawl back here, night after night, desperate to see what only I can show you, what dear Agent Barton knows nothing about—"

Natasha tensed and began to move, but the god was too quick for her. Loki tightened his hand on her neck and rolled, letting her back hit the metal floor. He hovered only millimeters above her, his weight resting on the elbow of his free arm, her throat covered by his palm. Her breath crashed over his face, hot and sweet.

"Do not lie with me and feign remorse for what you have done," he snarled at her, the corners of his scowl twitching darkly, his emerald eyes bright with fury. "You pretend to care for him, to loathe me in order to soothe your pathetic guilt, but your body betrays you. Always it will drag you back to me, wet and wanting for another just as dark and grotesque as yourself."

Loki's fingers tightened, his hand pressing down harder against her throat as he growled, "Tell me that when he beds you, you do not think of me. Tell me that when he touches you, when he caresses your soft skin, you do not long for my hands in his stead. Tell me, Natasha, that when he barely manages to arch your back and curl your toes it is not my name you wish to scream into the darkness!"

The fingers of Loki's free hand had curled into a fist upon the floor, his other hand squeezing Natasha's neck just enough to make it difficult to breathe. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and murder was written across his angular features, etched into the wrinkle between his furrowed brows and the creases on either side of his snarl. He glared down at the insolent woman beneath him, willing her to contradict him, to give him an excuse to punish her for not fighting back.

Loki's eyes narrowed as he stared at Natasha, at her round, pale jade orbs. They weren't filled with the fear or the hate that he expected to see now that he really looked at them, but rather with another emotion which he knew all too keenly. Her full lips were parted in an effort to draw in as much air as she could through his grasp on her neck, her chest rising and falling weakly with her shallow breaths. Her blood pumped lightly beneath his fingertips. Her hands rested limply to either side of her head.

His furious expression faltered and he drew his hand back as though she had stung him.

The trickster pushed himself into a sitting position and turned his back on the assassin, his palms flat on the floor, fingers curled slightly as though if he released his grip he might float up to the ceiling. He fought to keep the angry look on his face as Natasha gasped and coughed lightly behind him, but the more he listened to her, the more difficult the facade became.

Several seconds passed before she was able to regain control of her breathing. After that, a palpable silence blanketed the small cell. Loki could feel her eyes on his back but he had no desire to turn and face her, to see what accusing look she wore for him tonight. For three weeks she had been sneaking away to see him, and always their encounters ended this way. He made a comment she didn't like, she threatened him, attacked him. He would retaliate if it would make her angrier. If silence or laughter proved the better weapon, he would respond accordingly. She would leave him with the lie they both so desperately needed to believe.

His only form of entertainment was dangling the truth before her angry eyes, but tonight it didn't feel so entertaining.

"Well?" he asked through gritted teeth, breaking the silence as it approached the one minute mark.

Natasha seemed to hesitate, and then she quietly returned, "Well, what?"

"Tell me I am wrong," Loki said tersely, the words less a request than a demand. It was evident from his strained tone that he meant them, that he wanted her to tell him that his taunts were untrue.

The cell was quiet again for several more, long moments, and then Loki heard the swish of fabric behind him. He realized that Natasha was dressing herself, and he only barely restrained the angry huff threatening to break free. She always made him wait. Whether for another of her visits or an answer to one of his questions, she always made him wait as long as she possibly could before she inevitably gave in to him. At first he enjoyed the game, found her defiance amusing, almost cute because he knew he would always win in the end, but as time went on his victories began to grow sour.

The click of the last buckle sounded throughout the cell, and Loki curled his hands into fists in preparation for the incoming blow. He took a breath and waited, waited for Natasha to tell him that he was wrong, to continue delivering the lie that let her keep coming back to him. Her footsteps echoed faintly around the small room as she crossed to the door, followed by the light hiss that signaled its opening.

"Goodnight, Loki," she called softly, and then she was gone.