Rating: T
Genre: Modern/Non-magical AU, Humor, Romance
Summary: At a science conference, Loki escorts a drunk Jane back to her hotel room.

Prompt: "Drunken kiss/tipsy" from averbaldumpingground

FUN SURPRISES

"Listen, listen," Jane said, her words a tad elastic at the edges. "I don't like you." She poked a finger into Loki's shoulder to punctuate her statement as he escorted her into the lift.

He was tempted to capture her hand and... And what? He wasn't certain he wanted to finish the thought. When it came to the little she-devil of astrophysics, his feelings were, at best, complicated. At worst, well... He wasn't going to finish that thought either.

"I'm serious," she kept nattering on as they ascended. "Sometimes when you talk about dark energy, I want to kick you in the face."

That drew an involuntary laugh from him. Oh, he knew. He spouted the most inane shit all the time just to get a rise out of her, especially during conferences like this weekend's. The way her nose would scrunch, cheeks turning bright red, lips curled in a snarl—so gratifying, that.

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open.

"I'd very much like to see you try, Foster," he said, grasping her elbow when she started to wander off in the wrong direction. "Though I'm not sure your legs are long enough to reach all the way up here."

She growled and it was unreasonably endearing. Like a snapping Pomeranian. "That's what I'm talking about. You're so...so arrogant!" She tried to shove him but stumbled back on her heels instead.

He caught her by the waist before she fell over—it wouldn't do to have that pretty silver cocktail dress ruined—and steadied her against him. She put her palms on his chest, eyebrows pinching together in consternation. Her fingers tensed and then slid upward and out. Then in and down.

She made a disgusted noise. "You're such a jerk," she complained. "Why do you get to be a supernova?"

He stared at her. "A what?"

Her hands roved over his torso again, less tentative this time. "It's stupid how hot you are."

His mouth stretched in a wide grin. Wasn't this a fascinating turn of events? He was going to milk that crucial bit of data for a very, very long time.

"Stupid dimples." She lurched forward, gripped his shirt and tie to stay upright.

He sighed. Merciless teasing would have to wait until she was sober. He took her hands in his—so dainty for all that steel she had—and encouraged her to let go, to continue on toward her room. When she teetered again, he bent over, lifting her into his arms. She squeaked in surprise, but then rested her head in the crook of his neck, fingers curling in his hair.

Don't get any ideas, Foster, he almost said as the usual part of their heated banter but thought better of it. He did want her to get ideas. He liked these ideas in particular. A whole new game for them to play.

"He said the spark was gone," Jane mumbled into his collar. "Came all the way to New Orleans to tell me that. He went to the French Quarter without me."

Ah, yes. That boring doctor she'd been dating for half a year. "Bastard." So this was the reason he'd found her in the hotel bar, giving a drunken lecture on Hawking radiation to the nearest patrons. The bartender shot Loki a grateful look when he convinced her to leave.

"Right?" she said. "You're an asshole, but even you wouldn't go to the French Quarter without me."

"Never." He set her down by her door. She swayed on her feet, and he gently pressed her into the wall with a hand on her bare shoulder. "Key card?"

"S'in my pocket. 'Cause this dress has pockets!" She clumsily patted at her hips until she found one, shoved her hand in, and pulled out the black rectangle of plastic with a triumphant smile. "Ta-da!" She giggled at her own joke with a fetching little snort.

"Clearly you missed your calling as a world-renowned magician." He took the card, unlocked her door, and gestured for her to go in.

She looked up him with large, glossy eyes, mouth drawn in a fake pout. "You're not going to carry me over the threshold? Wimp."

He smirked before slinging her over his shoulder. She squealed and pommeled his back halfheartedly. He kicked the door closed, switched on the lights. The place looked like her suitcase exploded. Clothes were strewn in haphazard piles on the back of the overstuffed chair, on one side of the bed, on the desk beneath a stack of papers and a partially closed laptop.

"Put me down," she demanded to his shoulder blades.

"As the lady commands." He flipped her onto the mattress and she...laughed? Not the lovely scowl he expected, but—yes, this would do.

She propped herself up on her elbows, face practically glowing with delight. "See? I sparkle."

"Oh, yes." On that, they agreed completely. "Like the stars."

"Like goddamn Sirius."

He nodded. "Even more than that."

"Don't do that!" She slid off the bed suddenly with a frown and kicked off her heels before giving him another futile push. "You can't be hot and nice."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Why ever not?"

"Because..." she sputtered. "Because."

Adorable. He canted a brow. "Always so eloquent, Foster."

She sagged in relief. "Thank god. You're still you," she said. "I almost had to like you."

"Heaven forbid," he replied with feigned sincerity. This was quite possibly the most fun he'd had at any conference. He'd have to challenge her to a drinking game at the next one—if only to see what other secrets he could pluck from her loosened tongue.

She searched his face as though deciding something. "Come here." When he didn't immediately obey, she glowered. "Come. Here."

Why not? Whatever she wanted would likely provide more fodder to use against her later.

He leaned down, and as soon as he was within reach, she grabbed his shoulders, yanking him all the way to her—where she unceremoniously planted her mouth on his. His surprise hastily gave way to softness of her lips, to her fingers gliding up his neck to scrape through his hair. He braced himself against the bed to keep from falling into her, cinched his other arm around her waist, tugged her into him, and how she moaned. That sound. He would sell his soul to hear more of it, to have her petite body pressed against his indefinitely.

But no. Not this way.

Grudgingly, he broke off the kiss, relaxed his hold on her—though he couldn't bring himself to let go entirely. Not yet.

She tipped her head back with an exasperated sigh. "Dammit," she muttered. "Darcy was right. Sometimes you just have to kiss the bad boy to feel alive."

Loki liked that silly assistant of hers infinitely more now.

Jane pushed at him again, and this time he relented, taking a step backward. "Shoo!" she said, waving her hands. "I have to go to bed now."

He should leave—especially when she grasped at the side of her dress and wrestled with the zipper. But it was terribly entertaining to watch her get out of the thing with the grace of an amateur contortionist. To say nothing of the nude matched set she wore underneath. Oh, and the flash of ink he caught just above her hip. Look at that. Jane Foster had a wild side, after all. She flung the dress across the room and crawled onto the mattress, wrenching the duvet over herself as she mumbled something about holographic entanglement.

This woman. He shut off the light.

Back in his room—three doors down—he took in his disheveled state with a grin. His mussed hair, the lipstick smeared at the corner of his mouth, the stain on the collar of his shirt. He took a selfie and sent it for her to wake up to in the morning.

Thanks for the memorable evening, Foster. I'm quite fond of the Einstein-Rosen bridge tattoo.

Because she wasn't wrong about him. He was an asshole.

(Who would take her to the French Quarter tomorrow night.)

~FIN~

A/N: Thank you for having a gander! If you have a moment, I'd love to hear your thoughts!