![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladydeathfaerie posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
marysuevirusTitle: The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers!
Chapter Six: Distances
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. probably some drinking.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers! - The Index
"Mr. Stark. Would you kindly stop staring over my shoulder like that? It is very distracting and, quite frankly, I'm growing annoyed by your presence." Phoebe tried to keep her jaw from clenching as she spoke the words but it was a close thing. Ever since she'd agreed to this joke of a job, he'd been her shadow during working hours. It was starting to drive her batty. Between her quarters at S.H.I.E.L.D. and Stark hovering over her while she worked, she was feeling antsy and cornered. Annoyed. She wanted to set her dogs on Stark, but she was more than certain that would get them shot.
"Am I annoying you?" he asked without backing off at all. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm just curious to see how you broke into the mainframe. I keep hoping that you'll show me the back door you used so that I can block it from further access."
Phoebe offered him a mocking smile. "It must burn you terribly to not know. Especially since you traced me back to my own place of residence. Surely you found the back door then?" There was a hint of suggestion in her tone. That he should have found the backdoor when he'd been tracking her. Stark said nothing, but he sank into a chair next to her at her work station. She considered ignoring him for her work, but decided that doing so would only prolong this torture. So she turned to face him and waited for him to speak.
"I was tracking you. I wasn't worried about the back door. Now that you're here, the hole you snuck in through needs to be plugged up so no one else can use it. You've only seen a fraction of the important and sensitive information that S.H.I.E.L.D. stores on its system. Most people can't make it through the firewall. You're one of the only people who has."
It was a compliment and she took it as such. Phoebe inclined her head in acknowledgement. Stark offered her a smile that should have been all flash. It wasn't. There was something to it that she didn't want to consider. Just like she didn't really want to consider that Stark wasn't quite the man she'd first thought him to be. Every article and television interview of him that she'd seen had led her to believe he was nothing more than an arrogant, spoiled, drunken playboy who didn't care about anyone but himself.
But over the past few days, she'd seen a deep thinking individual who cared about others almost more than he cared about himself. Yes, he was egotistical, but she supposed a man with an IQ like his was entitled to some egotism. He was frighteningly brilliant, which showed when he actually put thought into what he was doing and saying. And he wasn't spoiled. Not completely. He did have problems with women who told him no, but she suspected that was more because they usually didn't tell him no as opposed to the fact that he was simply spoiled. He'd worked hard to get where he was, even if some of it had come from his father's hard work. She'd been terribly impressed to discover that there was more to him than arrogance and entitlement.
It didn't hurt that he was handsome, either. That first day he'd shown up at her shop, she'd seen the suave and sophisticated man he projected to the world. Expensive clothing, all undoubtedly custom tailored for him. Expensive accessories from his sunglasses to his watch to the shoes he wore. Perfectly styled hair. Perfectly trimmed facial hair. He'd exuded the air of a well put together man who knew his value. And if that was the image she'd been presented with constantly, she might have kept that unflattering opinion of him.
But during their working hours, she'd seen a man who was as comfortable in sweats and a worn t-shirt as he was in Gucci and Armani. She found she liked that he could be sloppy and unkempt. She liked that he often had mussed hair and looked in need of a shave. She liked that he could be casual as much as he could be classy.
Those feelings disturbed her. Especially when she found herself watching his lips move and she imagined what they must be like to kiss. Some part of her was certain that a man who was as infamous for his womanizing as he was for his intellect had to know how to really kiss a person. And there was a tiny part of her, tucked away deep in the back of the shadows of her brain, that really wanted to know what it would be like to have him kiss her. Something told her that his kiss would be utterly jaw dropping. Toe curling. Amazing. Electrifying. It was a theory she wanted almost desperately to put to the test.
Phoebe mentally scolded herself. This was neither the time, nor the place, to allow such thoughts to take root and grow. And Stark was not the man to have such thoughts about. It didn't matter that he was a very handsome man. It didn't matter that he gave her respect and treated her as an equal. It didn't matter that he was funny and witty and charming. Any attraction she had for him didn't matter at all. Because he was the one thing in the entire world that she simply couldn't stand.
Tony Stark, for all he was smart and handsome, was a raging drunk. And Phoebe just couldn't deal with that.
"Why should I tell you how I managed to find my way in here? You are Tony Stark, after all. Surely you can find a back door all on your own." The comment was meant to be off hand. It came out challenging. And it earned her a considering look from the man.
Uncomfortable with his stare, she swiveled her seat back around to face the computer terminal she'd been assigned. It was a tedious, boring job Director Fury had assigned her. But it was keeping her out of jail, so she wasn't going to complain too much. Letting her eyes skim the words on the screen, her fingers found the keyboard and began typing once more.
Concentrating on what she was doing helped make the sensation of his eyes boring into her slip away. The first day of her new job, Stark had explained to her that HYDRA activity had gone way up and Fury wanted to know why. He was positive that some big, huge thing was going to happen, but he had no idea what or where or even why. His own people had proven adept, but not quite adept enough and seeking out the information he wanted. They'd managed to find a way into HYDRA's mainframe, but hadn't been able to get any farther.
She'd asked Stark why Fury hadn't assigned the job to him. Stark's reply had been a simple and to the point "He couldn't afford my fees."
Phoebe's task was to break into the HYDRA mainframe and find the information that Fury wanted. It seemed a straight forward enough job, but so far, she'd not made any headway. Whoever had written the security software for HYDRA had done a damned fine job. It was almost as impossible to get through as the security on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s system. It had taken her months to find her way into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files.
Something told her that she didn't have months to do the same with HYDRA's computers.
"You know what? You're absolutely correct, Miss Sinclair," Stark said, breaking her concentration. She sighed and turned to look at him. One brow lifted in a silent question. "I'm more than certain I can find the back door without your help."
"You do have that big brain, after all," she pointed out softly.
He gave her a slight twist of his lips. "Yes. I do." And he stared at her. Again.
She allowed it to happen for all of ten seconds before she heaved an annoyed sigh and turned once more to face him. "Is there some particular reason you seem to be unable to find something besides me to look at, Mr. Stark? Every time I turn around, you're staring at me. It is very disconcerting."
"Good disconcerting or bad disconcerting?" he asked her. "I'm only curious because I like to know what does and doesn't work." When she said nothing, he went on as if he hadn't paused. "I bother you, don't I, Miss Sinclair?"
"You make it very difficult for me to do the job that Director Fury has tasked me with," she told him truthfully. If he was going to ask, she was going to tell. Simple as that. He nodded as if he hadn't expected any other answer. Then he turned to the computer terminal before him and began typing at the keyboard.
"How about we make a wager?" he asked, not looking anywhere but the screen.
"What kind of a wager?" There was skepticism in her voice. It earned her a quick flash of that not quite so mocking grin of his.
"I will find that back door you used and in five minutes." She stared at him, waiting for the rest. There was obviously more because he'd said wager. That meant there would be agreed upon terms. He let her stew for a few moments before he went on. "If I can't find the backdoor in five minutes, I will quit hovering around you."
She frowned. That sounded too easy. "You'll leave me alone for the rest of my stay here?" she asked, needing the clarification before she agreed to anything. "No watching me over my shoulder. No lurking. Nothing. Just peaceful solitude?"
"You have my word," the man agreed.
"And if you do find the back door in under five minutes?" she queried, wondering what his angle was.
"You agree to accompany me to a function I have to attend on Friday." There was no hesitation in his words, leading her to believe that he'd had the whole thing planned. She stared at him, wondering if she dared make this deal. He was Tony Stark, after all. One of the smartest men on the planet. If he couldn't find a simple back door in five minutes, that would make him look terribly foolish.
But this was a government computer system with some of the tightest security in the world. A system that was extremely difficult to crack. She knew that first hand. And she was also aware of just how tiny that back door was. It was so tiny, so unnoticeable, that she'd made several invasions without being detected until after she'd left. It might be conceit on her behalf, but she was fairly certain that not even Stark could find that hole.
Should she do it? Should she say yes? She didn't really want to encourage him about any aspect of their relationship. Saying yes might give him the wrong idea. Then again, he hadn't said it was a date. Just that he needed a companion. She supposed she could stand at his side and look pretty. She knew how to rub elbows with the rich and pretentious.
Phoebe struggled with herself. Half of her demanded that she say no to the wager. She didn't want to be seen in public with the man. Didn't want to see him drink himself into oblivion. But the other half wanted to say yes. Perverse as it was, she kind of wanted to be seen on his arm. Even though she was positive that he'd never find her access point. He might be smart as hell, but she was that damn good.
"A function? Just a simple function as a companion. Nothing else?" she clarified.
"Nothing else, Miss Sinclair. Just a companion for one night at a simple function," he agreed.
She considered it for just a minute longer. Made him wonder if she was going to say yes to him or not. Some perverse part of her wanted to see him sweat. Only he didn't sweat. Just sat there and watched her, his hands still poised over the keyboard as if he planned on picking up his typing exactly where he'd left it off as soon as she gave him her answer. Phoebe sighed. She was probably going to regret this but... "Very well, Mr. Stark. I agree."
He said nothing. But one finger hit the enter key, then he pushed back from the desk and strode for the door. "The function is black tie. So I suggest something long and elegant. And maybe you should wear your hair down. I'll pick you up at seven sharp. Don't keep me waiting." Then he was out the door and she was left staring at where he'd just stood.
What the hell had just happened? She rose from her chair and moved to his, settling into the cloth office chair so that she could stare at his terminal. She stubbornly ignored the way his heat still clung to the material, how it seeped into her skin as she sat there and gaped at the computer screen.
The back door was gone and not a trace of it remained. Almost as if it had never been there in the first place. How the hell was that possible? He hadn't even taken two minutes to find it and fix it. He had to have cheated. That was the only explanation. He had to have known where it was all along and he'd used it as a way to get what he wanted. And now she had to go to some function with him. She had to play arm candy to him. Tony Stark. Womanizer and alcoholic. Some part of her was certain that he'd done it on purpose.
That arrogant son of a bitch!
~*~*~*~*~
She strained up just a little higher, her fingers just barely grazing the spine of the binder she was trying to reach. Why anyone would put a medical journal up so high was beyond her. Especially when her lab had at least a twelve foot ceiling. Even at her height and with the aid of the step ladder, she couldn't quite reach the damned binder. If she ever found out what idiot was responsible for putting this journal up there, she would have their ass in a sling. "Come on," she muttered to herself, stretching even further by going up on her toes. "Just a little more..."
"Do you need some help, Dr. Jones?" The voice sounded almost directly behind her. Elsa tried to turn and look over her shoulder at her visitor while still stretching for the blasted journal. Her fingers brushed the spine of the binder just as her toes slid off the rung of the ladder. She felt herself pitching backward and let go a high pitched, embarrassing, far too girlish squeak as she lost her footing. For a couple of frightening seconds, she was free falling through open air and heading straight for the floor.
Impact never happened. Instead, she felt a pair of arms catch her, strong and heavily muscled. Just like the chest she was pulled into. Elsa looked up into Captain Rogers' face and felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. A pair of amazing blue eyes stared down into her own and, for just a moment, she forgot to breathe. Her skin tingled everywhere it touched his, even through their layers of clothes. The world seemed to pause around them. Or it faded away. She couldn't be sure which it was. She couldn't be bothered to care, either.
Then everything came back into focus. She felt her lungs expand and Rogers pulled his gaze from hers. He set her on her feet, made sure she was going to remain on them, then stepped back from her and gave her a sheepish grin. "I remember your grandfather now."
She blinked at him and searched for an appropriate response. The comment seemed to come at her from out of the blue. "Oh?"
"Yes. He had the same problems with... " Steve trailed off, looking abashed. As if he didn't want to say anything that he thought might offend her. Elsa smiled and shook her head.
"My grandmother told me he was clumsy. I wish I'd gotten a chance to find out for myself."
"You never knew him?"
"He died when I was very young. I have a few dim, distant memories of him. But nothing really solid. I think I remember he had a rich laugh. And that he loved to laugh. I just can't be sure if its a legitimate memory or if its something I fabricated."
"Phillip Jones. He was one of Howard Stark's assistants." There was a kind of far away look on the man's face, as if he was remembering something. "He was a doctor of some kind, wasn't he?"
"Grandfather was a biologist." Elsa smiled and shook her head. "He's the one who kind of inspired my career. When I was younger, I used to go through his books and read his notes and wonder what he was talking about. What he'd been thinking when he'd written them." She paused and stared up at him. "What was he like? I know what Grandmother told me. He was a loving man who worked hard. He was smart. He would have been proud of me. He loved science and he went out of his way to learn everything he could about the subject. His personal library is filled with some pretty progressive thinking books. But those things that Grandmother told me were influenced by her love for him. And my father won't talk to me about him."
"I only met him a couple of times. And it was always in conjunction with the experiment." Steve paused and glanced up at the shelf of books. "Which one was it you wanted?"
"Oh." The change of subject startled her, forcing her to look up and think about which journal she'd been after. "The black binder with the red writing on the spine. There's some information in it that I need and I'm not quite tall enough to reach it."
"I'll get it for you," he told her. Before she could tell him that he didn't have to do that, he was on his way up the few steps of the ladder. Elsa found herself presented with his ass and couldn't stop herself from staring. The muscles bunched and flexed as he moved, the material of his trousers cupping the curve of his cheeks as if it had been made for just such a task. She had to fight off the urge to run her hands over them to see if they were as firm as they looked. "This is the one, right?"
His voice brought her out of her thoughts with a start. Her eyes rose up the length of his back, to his shoulder and then along his arm until she could see his hand curled around the book she needed. "Yes. That's the one. Thank you."
He pulled the journal off the shelf and carried it down to her. When she took it from him, her fingers brushed his and, again, she felt a tingle rush through her. "You look like him, you know," Rogers told her. Elsa nodded as she turned to put the book down by her computer. "You smile like him, too. He was nice to me when I was scared as hell. He tried to explain what was going to happen and I didn't understand a word of it. But it made me feel better."
"Grandmother always said he thought more of other people than he did of himself," Elsa confirmed. She couldn't quite help the touch of melancholy that filled her voice.
"How did he die?"
"He stopped to help a stranded driver whose car had broken down. It was cold out, the middle of winter. There was ice on the road and snow was blowing like crazy. He was tinkering under the hood, trying to get the engine to start again. The woman was trying to get home to her family." She stopped a moment and glanced at Captain Rogers. He was watching her intently, waiting in silence for her to finish her story. She had no doubt that he knew what was coming. But he waited for her to say it anyway. "An eighteen wheeler lost control on the ice. He was hauling steel pipes and his load shifted. The tie downs snapped and pipes went spilling across the road. The semi slammed into the car and shoved it through a guard rail. The car and the semi went over the edge. They took Grandfather and the woman he'd been trying to help with them."
He apologized immediately, his tone contrite. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm okay," Elsa assured him. "Like I said. I didn't know him. The story will always sting. But I don't think Grandfather would have been happy to die in his bed. Grandmother said he was a doer. That he was always doing something. I think he went the way he wanted to. Doing something. Helping someone."
Her story brought silence to life between them. She could see that he still felt bad about asking her about her grandfather. It was in the way his eyes skimmed the room, as if looking for something to latch on to. It was in the way his hand rubbed absently at the back of his neck, most likely an unconscious gesture that he made when he was unsure about something. She would have made a comment meant to assure him that things were okay, but he spoke before she could and, again, completely changed the subject.
"How are the experiments going?" He was staring at her work table, where papers had been strewn around haphazardly among slides, a microscope, a few test tubes laying on their sides and empty, and a Bunsen burner waited to be lit again. The microscope and burner were old pieces, gifts from her grandmother when she'd gotten her first degree. They'd been her grandfather's and, despite being old and out of date, she couldn't bear to get rid of them.
"The experiments?" Elsa parroted, blinking at her visitor in confusion. Rogers turned to look at her, an indulgent smile on his face. He motioned with one hand to himself. Her eyes followed the motion avidly before she understood what his gesture meant. The confusion washed away in a rush of realization and shame, bringing her previous blush screaming back to life.
"Oh. Those experiments," she said, then realized that it sounded stupid and fell back into her safe, comfortable area. Elsa let the confusion go, replaced it with science and knowledge. "They're coming along quite nicely. I've managed to finally start breaking down the different parts of your DNA so that I can get a picture of what parts of it were altered. This required procuring samples from your parents' remains, which took some time. There was miles of red tape to get through and then locating their graves, digging them up and..."
He was giving her a look that prompted her to stop talking. She suspected that he'd been unaware of that little bit and she felt horrible for dropping it on him that way. Then she was mad that he hadn't been consulted in the matter because they had been his parents and his permission should have been sought before they'd done anything. Obviously, no one had bothered to tell him that they'd needed a few samples to use for comparison. "I am so sorry, Captain Rogers. I didn't know that you... I had assumed that someone had told you... I never would have broken the news to you that way if I had known."
"No. Don't apologize. It isn't... " he stopped and heaved a sigh. "I'm still trying to get used to everything. Sometimes I forget that so much time has passed."
"I can't imagine how difficult this has all been for you," she offered quietly.
"What did you need from them?"
"We took some bone samples. Just a few small pieces to use for DNA extraction. Then they were returned to their graves and reburied. Everything was done with all they respect they deserved."
"Bone samples? That's all? You don't need blood or hair or tissue?" The question had genuine curiosity in it and Elsa warmed to the topic quickly.
"DNA is in every single cell of a person's body. Hair, skin, blood, bone, saliva. All of it. Most samples are taken from blood or saliva, but they can still be found in the bone and the skin. Your hair can tell an amazing story about your life, rather like the trunk of a tree. Science can tell where you lived, how you ate, and what kinds of things you did by looking at your hair. Its terribly fascinating what one can do."
"Really? Even someone who's been dead for a long time?"
"Depending on the state of the body when its studied," she smiled at him. "The better the condition, the easier it is for a scientist to discover all of these things about the person when they lived. You can't imagine the things that we've learned about ancient cultures through the study of their dead."
He said nothing to that, and they were once more surrounded by a gentle silence. It felt tenuous and fragile, easily broken by even the merest sound. Elsa held her breath and waited, sensing that something important was going to happen. Again, the man's eyes roved her lab, barely settling on anything before it move on to the next item. She suspected that he really wasn't seeing it, that he was going through the motions while his mind worked over something he wanted to say to her. Finally, after long minutes of listening to her heart pound in her chest, he turned his attention back to her. She could see deep determination in his gaze.
Something about that look stopped her heart in her chest, froze the breath in her lungs. She stared at him, waiting. It was right there. That important thing that was going to happen. It was just there and all she had to do was-- "Dr. Jones? Can I ask you a question?"
When his voice broke the tension, it felt as if she stumbled on her feet. She'd been so caught up in that thing building between them that she hadn't realized how strained she felt. And she couldn't begin to understand the sense of disappointment she felt. There was no reason for it. No reason at all. "Of course, Captain Rogers."
He opened his mouth, faltered for just a second, then made himself go on. "I was wondering if you would like to go out with me this weekend. Maybe dinner and some dancing. Or a movie."
Elsa stared at him, her heart suddenly doing overtime in her chest. "You mean on a date?" The moment she asked the question, she felt stupid. The blush stole back into her cheeks until it felt like her face was on fire.
"Yes. I mean on a date. I know we haven't known each other long, but you feel... " he trailed off, looking for the right words. After several long seconds, he offered her a weak smile. "Comfortable. I don't feel like I'm out of my element with you. You don't make me feel like such a freak."
The notion that he felt like a freak was news to her. It shouldn't have been because he was a man who had lost more of his life than he'd lived. He was displaced and though he did his best not to let it show, this world had to be confusing to him. Everything had to be confusing. He had to feel so vulnerable and... lost. Even though she was sure that he wouldn't see it in the same light as she did, Elsa couldn't help but think that his hesitation and the air of little boy lost that clung to him were endearing. Sexy. Appealing.
Say yes! Do it! Do it now, you idiot! Say yes! Cat's voice screamed inside her head. A slow smile spread across her face. "I would love to go out on a date with you, Captain Rogers. But on one condition."
Her words saw him hesitating, but only for a second. "What's the condition?"
"You need to stop calling me Dr. Jones. Call me Elsa," she invited warmly.
"Elsa." He nodded his head once. Just like that, the tension was gone. He offered her a bright, blinding smile that did funny things to her insides "And you should call me Steve. So. How does Friday sound? Seven?"
"It sounds perfect," she replied. Her answer saw him smiling again. He ducked his head, just a bit, then turned and headed for the door. Elsa couldn't stop herself from staring at his ass as he walked and imagining just what it would feel like under her hands. "I can't wait."
~*~*~*~*~
"I hope you don't mind." Thor's voice cut through Astrid's shock as she stared at the gleaming white carriage parked before them. She had to physically drag her attention from the horse drawn carriage so that she could give it to the man at her side. He was watching her anxiously, obviously waiting for her to say something. When nothing was forthcoming, he motioned with one hand toward the waiting ride. "I thought perhaps you would enjoy taking a ride around the park. I am told it is a romantic thing to do and that the view is spectacular."
She opened her mouth to say something, but little more than a breathy squeak of noise came out. So she pressed her lips together, prayed that he hadn't noticed the mortifying sound, and simply nodded her head. His smile was instantaneous, a broad thing that was infectious in its pure enjoyment. One of his big hands took hers while the other settled on her back. She realized with a start that he was going to help her up into the carriage, so she stepped forward and put her foot against the step.
Thor handed her up into the back of the carriage, taking great care with her, before he joined her. Astrid sank down onto the leather bench, grateful for the ability since her knees were starting to go just a bit wobbly. The driver glanced back at them to ensure they were seated, then he flicked the reins at the horses and the carriage started forward with a slight jerk.
She was at a loss for words. What had seemed to be some kind of elaborate prank to her was turning out to be anything but. Thor came to see her at least once every day. Sometimes it was to take her to lunch and, as he put it, drag her away from the drudgery of her assigned duties. Sometimes it was to take her to dinner. In the little more than a week since it had all started, she'd spent more time away from her job and home than she could remember doing in... well, ever. And every outing was spent with the man at her side.
Thor was an enigma to her. She'd truly never met someone like him before and doubted she ever would again. He was so sincere about every interaction he had with her that it made it hard to hold on to the notion that someone had set him up to play some kind of elaborate joke on her. And she was starting to think that she didn't want to hold on to that stupid notion. There was a certain old world elegance to him that she'd never encountered in other men she'd known. It was charming and enjoyable to have him treat her like the lady he often called her.
This whole night so far had been amazing. They'd gone for dinner, an upscale steak place that had a dress code. Her date had opted for a baby blue dress shirt paired with black trousers and a black suit coat. He hadn't worn a tie, had chosen to leave the top two buttons on his shirt undone. She'd found herself staring at the long column of his throat more than once during their meal. Wondered if the rest of his skin was as smooth as that patch that peeked through the vee of his shirt. Even with his hair left long against his shoulders, he looked devilishly handsome.
For their evening out, she'd chosen to wear a cocktail dress in emerald green. The neckline and sleeves were of a sheer material, while the rest of the dress was a heavy satin that was draped from right to left at an angle that started under the bust and ended at the hem. She'd paired it with black peep toe heels. They came with a three inch heel and a thin ankle strap to keep the shoes on her feet. When she'd realized that he was entirely serious about a dressy night out, she'd had to rush out and buy the dress and shoes, then get used to walking in them. The added height made up for the discomfort of wearing them, though, because he was so much taller than she was.
The meal had been exquisite. She'd had a filet mignon and Maine lobster tail served with a baked potato, steamed vegetables, and a house salad. There had been an expensive looking bottle of wine that had tasted both smoky and fruity and had gone straight to her head. There'd been an appetizer of something she hadn't been able to pronounce and there had been a rich, sweet, decadent chocolate dessert that had melted the moment it had settled on her tongue. He'd been attentive and polite. She'd honestly thought that the night couldn't have gotten any better.
She'd been so wrong.
He had one arm wrapped around her shoulder, hand curled around her arm, the line of his body touching hers to convey the heat and strength of him through their clothing and her skin. She'd never seen Central Park at night and found that it was absolutely stunning. Despite the lights of the city around them, she could see the stars overhead, twinkling down on them out of a clear expanse of velvety black night sky. The soft clip clopping of the horse's shod hooves against the paved path and the creaking of the wagon wheels as they turned was a gentle, wordless tune that served to help her relax into her surroundings.
"How like you the events of this evening?" he asked her. The question was quiet, his words spoken right next to her ear. She didn't dare turn to look him in the eyes because she knew, if she did, his gaze would pin her in place and he'd see everything she was thinking.
"Its been amazing," she whispered, conscious of the driver not so far away from them. "I've never done this before."
"Nor have I, Astrid. This is a night for firsts. I find I like this manner of travel. Its slow and relaxing." His body settled further against her own. The hand that had made its home on her arm slid down the length slowly, the sheer sleeve of her dress rasping lightly against her skin.
"It does have advantages over a car," she agreed.
"That it does. One cannot do this in a car," he replied, his arm tightening around her shoulder. They fell silent for a moment as the carriage moved through a broad expanse of trees. Darkness cloaked them and left them alone in their own little world for just a few minutes. Astrid let her eyes shift over the shadowed planes of his face, the occasional sliver of light filtering through the leaves over their heads to kiss his cheeks. When they emerged from the trees, he gave her a serious look. "I have learned many things about you these past days, Astrid. But you have yet to speak about your family and your life beyond your work. Why is this?"
"My parents and I don't get along. I haven't spoken with them in years. So there isn't really much to talk about where they're concerned. And work is my life. If I'm not building something at Stark Industries, I'm building something at home."
"And what of friends? Do you not have any friends with which to share your life?"
"I've always kind of been an introvert. So I don't have many flesh and blood friends." She shrugged and glanced up at the sky. The stars were tiny pin pricks of light far above them. "When I was a little girl and other girls my age were playing with Barbie dolls, I was taking apart cassette recorders so that I could find out how they worked."
"And you are not lonely?" he asked, genuinely concerned. She offered him a smile and shook her head.
"No. I'm not lonely. Because I'm surrounded by the things I've created. I'm not anywhere near the inventor Mr. Stark is, but I can still build robots that respond to verbal cues. There are plenty of those at my apartment and they keep me company. They're my friends and my family," she explained.
"You have a mechanical family?" The tone of his voice suggested that he was having a hard time imagining what she was talking about.
"Kind of. Maybe I'll introduce you to them one of these days."
He frowned, giving it consideration. "I've never met anyone who was clever enough to create a mechanical family. I think I would like that. And I think I would like to meet your mother and father. Its obvious that they have no idea how special their daughter is."
"Uh..." She felt stupid but she had nothing else to say to that. So instead, she said nothing, simply gave her attention over to their surroundings once again. He seemed content to leave it at that, the arm around her tugging her a little closer to him until it felt like they were glued together. She relished the heat of his body against hers, the darkness bringing a bit of a chill to the air. When the wind stirred through the trees, her skin broke out in goose bumps and a slight shiver raced along her spine.
"You're cold. Forgive me for not thinking of it earlier." His arm, and his heat, was suddenly gone. Astrid felt curiously abandoned. But that wasn't to last. Thor leaned forward on the bench seat so that he could shrug out of his suit coat, then he carefully draped it around her shoulders. Astrid offered a smile up to him while sliding her arms into the sleeves of the coat. It smelled of him, some spicy scent she suspected was an expensive aftershave, and a musky, masculine smell that was his alone. And it was so warm, the heat of his body retained by the cloth sinking deep into her skin. She tugged the coat around her and, when his arm slid around her shoulders again, snuggled closer to him.
"Thank you."
He said nothing, but she was okay with that. She didn't need words. The sounds of civilization were far enough away to allow her to think that they were in a small pocket of the past, a place where cars and technology didn't exist. A place where men wooed women. Again, the sound of the horse's hooves striking the paved path beneath them combined with the creak of the wagon wheels to create a song that neither had nor needed words. She thought she could happily stay in this place for the rest of her life.
They remained silent for a long time. Astrid lost track of everything but the rock and sway of the carriage, Thor's body beside her, and the soft tune the driver had started whistling under his breath. It was a jaunty thing that made her want to smile for no reason. Some part of her thought it would be a good song to dance to and, for a moment, she wondered if Thor danced.
"Lady Astrid," his voice cut across her thoughts, pulling her back to the here and now. She glanced up at him to find that he was staring at her intently. She waited for him to continue with whatever it was he wanted to say to her. But he didn't speak, simply stared at her. She gave him ample time and, when he still hadn't said anything, she opened her mouth to ask him what it was he wanted.
She never got the opportunity.
Thor reached for her, dragging her into his lap. She vaguely noted that he was incredibly strong because he made it seem to effortless. Then he had her crushed against his chest and all thought was lost as his mouth took hers.
The kiss was hard and demanding at first, his lips slanted across hers masterfully. Astrid found herself sliding her arms around his shoulders, uncaring that her skirt was bunched up around her waist so that the pale green silk of her panties were pressed against the black of his trousers. It was a shameless position, but that didn't matter at all. The only thing she cared about was the press of his lips on hers and the taste of him. The near frantic manner with which he was kissing her.
Slowly, so very slowly, the urgency in their caresses faded into something softer and gentler. The harshness of his kiss turned soft and tender, the press of his lips kinder but no less bruising. His hands lifted so that they could frame her head, hold it in position as he continued to feast on her lips. She responded by allowing her fingers to drift through his hair. Her body pressed closer to his.
Her brain, mostly out to lunch with the sensual assault of his mouth on hers, registered in a distant way that he felt hard. Everywhere. That knowledge saw her moaning, her mouth opening against his. His tongue dipped past her lips so that it could explore inside. She moaned again, let her tongue slide along his, dance with it. Let tension and pleasure spiral along every single nerve ending until she felt like a single stroke of his fingers against any of her bare skin would see her exploding.
The world faded away under the tender touch of his lips on hers, under the taste of him on her tongue. She could sit in his lap and kiss him all night. She wanted to. She wanted him to touch more of her than her mouth and her head. She wanted his hands to slide across her body and explore every inch of her. She wanted to explore every inch of him. Dropped her hands to do just that.
It was at that exact moment that Thor broke the kiss and leaned back, panting for breath. Astrid looked at him, waiting for more. There had to be more. She wanted more. She needed more. But he gave her an apologetic look that told her there wouldn't be any more tonight. "I should return you to your home before this night goes any further," he told her softly. His hands helped her from his lap and settled her on the bench beside him.
Astrid blinked up at him and nearly demanded more. But the look on his face suggested that he wouldn't give her anymore. Not tonight.
Which was a damned shame, because she was more than willing to give him more. In fact, much to her surprise, she was ready to give him everything he asked for. How the hell had that happened?
~*~*~*~*~
Miri had to force herself not to slam the door of her hotel room shut. The day's work had been long, more sorting and reading through files at the HYDRA base. More discovering a bunch of crap they already knew. Not that this trip wasn't a complete wash. She'd found a few things that would be helpful, but nothing to make it a screaming success. Not for the first time, she wished she was done here and was back home. Spending time with Phil. Or simply relaxing at home. Anywhere that wasn't near Pete bloody Wisdom.
She left a trail of clothing on the floor behind her as she headed into the bathroom for a quick shower. She needed to feel the pound of hot water against her skin to help soothe the knots of tension from her shoulders. And to wash away the memory of Wisdom's latest attempt at getting her to climb between the sheets with him. Ugh. Stupid ass couldn't take no for an answer.
By the time she had the water going, she'd stripped down to nothing. Taking her hair out of the bun she'd kept it in all day, she climbed into the tub and let the water wash over her. She couldn't wait for this job to be done. She missed Phil and her own bed. She missed Alex and dinner at the Quinn house on Sunday. She missed her life. Going home would mean getting it all back. It would mean getting away from Pete Wisdom's constant sexual innuendo and blatant passes.
Lathering shampoo into her hair, she considered the latest attempt. Tonight, when they'd reached the hotel, he'd cornered her in the elevator and asked her to join him for dinner. In his room. His hands had brushed lightly down her arms before landing on her hips. Had there not been so much fucking paperwork involved, she'd have shot him in the testicles and left him to bleed out on the floor.
She should have kneed him in the nuts. But something told her that he'd consider that foreplay. So she'd told him no and escaped to her room without inflicting any bodily harm on him. He just wouldn't give up, no matter how many times she turned him down. She'd even told him that she was seeing someone back home, but his response to that was that her man would never know what she did because he wasn't here. And the truly sad thing was, she still had to work with the arrogant shit.
There were still days of work to be done at the base. A team had swept it to be sure there were no HYDRA agents left behind as well as check for any booby traps. They'd found nothing but a treasure trove of files and information. Miri thought that it might be some kind of red herring because she'd never known HYDRA to leave so much behind when they cleared out of a base. But it wasn't her job to point such things out to the brass. Well, it was. She just hadn't because she knew they wouldn't listen to her. So she slogged through the crap and hoped for some golden nugget of information. She didn't know how much longer she'd be here.
Pushing work aside, Miri concentrated on getting cleaned up. She wanted to call Phil before she climbed into bed. She needed to hear his voice and reassure herself that he was still hers. Maybe he could help her drive the memory of Pete Wisdom from her mind. After rinsing the shampoo from her hair, she lathered in conditioner, then took the puff to her skin with a liberal coating of body wash and began scrubbing.
It was a quick shower, taking her less than ten minutes. When she was done, she stepped out and toweled dry. One towel was used to wrap up her damp locks. A second was used to wrap around her body. She left the shower, dug her cell phone out of her bag, and carried it with her as she headed for the bed.
The number dialed. The other end rang precisely three times. She settled down on the bed as she heard the other end answer. There was a hint of voices before his voice came on the line. "Good evening, Agent Grant. I'm surprised you called. Its late and I expected you would be in bed by now." He wasn't alone. Not that it mattered. They were talking shop. Sort of. And he'd keep it professional enough on his side that no one would know.
"I might be if I wasn't on the very edge of shooting my MI6 liaison. Can you get me out of the shit that will cause if it happens?" Her question brought a faint chuckle up his throat. "I'm not kidding. He's being a dick and it took everything I had to not shoot him in the nuts tonight."
"What's he doing? Perhaps you should make a formal complaint to his superiors," Phil suggested.
"I called you, didn't I?" she shot back. "And he's being a slimy git. He's been hitting on me pretty much since day one. And he won't take no for an answer. I know. I have an idea. Why don't you fly out here and shoot him for me? You're better at all the paper work. Because I'm sure there would be paper work. Would shooting him be considered an international incident?"
"Perhaps before you shoot your liaison, Agent Grant, you should go to bed and give yourself time to calm down. A good night's sleep should help with that," he suggested lightly. She waited to respond to him because she heard him say something to whoever was with him.
"But I am in bed, Agent Coulson," she told him softly, stressing his title. Doing so sent a familiar tightness through her. She undid the tuck in the towel and let it fall open. "I'm fresh from the shower, all dripping wet and naked, and I'm lying here on the bed with no one to keep me company. I wish you were here, Agent Coulson. Its been nearly a week since we were together and I really, really need to feel your cock inside of me."
"I'm sure you can wait a few more days. You'll be returning home soon," he reminded her. His tone said that he wasn't alone. Miri smiled to herself at that.
"No, Agent Coulson. I can't wait. I need you now." She let one hand glide up over her hip, across her stomach so that it could cup her breast. She stroked her thumb across her nipple and let go a soft sigh that she knew he heard. "You should feel my nipple. Its already hard and aching. Maybe I should pinch it." She did so, gasping loudly into his ear. Tendrils of pleasure were crawling through her, curling and coiling around nerve endings until she was on fire from the top of her head to the tip of her toes.
He was silent for some time. She let her hand tease at her breasts for a while, panting and moaning just loudly enough that he could catch the sound. Obviously he was still with company or he'd have already started issuing orders. He needed a reminder. "Maybe I should let my finger dip between my legs. I'm so wet for you. Only for you."
"That wouldn't be wise just at this moment, Agent Grant. Perhaps you should wait until I reach my office and I can look that information up for you." She smiled. She had him. There was a voice in the background, but she couldn't catch the words. Not that it mattered. Phil said something to the other person that suggested this was a delicate conversation and they didn't have the clearance necessary to listen in on it. A few moments later, she was sure she could hear the air stir around him as he made his way to his office. "It will only be a few seconds, Agent Grant. Can you hang on that long?"
"I think so," she told him, already breathless with the implications. She left her hand on her breast, her fingers only lightly stroking the nipple so that she gave an occasional moan of pleasure. There was a voice for a few seconds, a voice that Phil dismissed with a few curt words. A moment or two later, she heard the sound of a door opening and closing. A sharp metallic click let her know that he'd locked it.
She heard the distinctive creak of his chair as he settled into his. She imagined that the crotch of his pants was already tented with his erection. Picturing him sitting in his chair, legs stretched out before him and cock straining against his zipper was enough to make muscles clench with need. She wanted him to say something, but he was stubbornly silent. Once more playing the game. She wouldn't talk until he did. She wasn't going to break. Not yet...
An eon must have passed before she heard his soft sigh. During that time, her fingers drifted against her breast and belly, light touches that teased and tantalized. Touches that promised more. Touches she imagined to be his. "Now that we're alone, Miriam," he began, his tone all business. She gave a soft sigh and her limbs trembled. "Tell me."
She knew what he wanted so she didn't bother to ask him what she was supposed to tell him. She just launched right into it. "I'm fresh from the shower, Phil. My hair is still a wild, wet tangle in the towel I wrapped around it. I'm sprawled across the double bed in my hotel room, a towel spread under me. The air here is a little cool and crisp. My nipples are hard and aching."
He hummed his approval and she heard the chair creak a little more. He was leaning back, making himself more comfortable. She imagined him loosening his tie as he did so. "Tweak your nipples, Miriam," he said quietly. "In fact, use both hands. Situate the phone between your head and the pillow."
She did as he ordered, turning her head to the side while positioning the phone with one hand so that it was caught under her ear against the pillow. Then her hands found her breasts, fingers twisting and tugging at her nipples. Tweaking and pulling. Each touch sent sensation racing through her body, drew a soft moan or groan up her throat. Each sound she made went straight to him. She knew it, which made this all the hotter for her. She found enough brain cells to whisper a few words. "They're your hands touching my breasts, Phil."
A soft groan filled her ear and, for just a second, she thought she was imagining things. But that sound was followed by a harsh breath and another squeak of the chair. "When you get home, Miriam," he whispered. "The things I plan on doing to you... But only after you repeat this performance for me."
"Tease," she accused, need pulsing through her in time with the beat of her heart.
"I'm not the one who called and instigated phone sex," he reminded her lightly. Miri chuckled and tried to imagine what he was doing with his hands. "Put a hand between your thighs, Miriam. Stroke them up and down your lips. Do not touch anything else."
She sighed and sent her right hand creeping down over her belly. It slipped between her thighs and skimmed over the swollen flesh there. Her breath hitched in her throat, earning a response from him in the form of another humming sound.
"Are you wet, Miriam?" The question came out of the blue, making muscles clench tight in her body. Her answer was a soft gasp of sound. He chuckled softly. "Slip one finger inside."
"Are you hard, Phil?" she asked, letting one finger dip between her flesh. Moist heat enveloped that finger and she was tempted to stroke. But he hadn't told her to, so she kept her hand still. Besides, if she started masturbating now, she'd never hear his answer. "Does the sound of my pleasure make you horny? Does knowing that I'm following your orders give you an erection?"
"Miriam," he began, his tone chiding. She gave a short, soft laugh of triumph. He was definitely hard.
"I want to hear you orgasm, Phil. I want to hear it when you finally come. If I'm going to lay here an finger myself, I want to know that you're fisting your cock. Pretending its my hand. My mouth. My body. Do it, Phil. Please."
She held her breath, waiting in silence as he thought over her request. There was no sigh to let her know she'd won, but she felt him capitulate anyway. It was a hunch, but her gut said he was going to give her what she wanted. Then she heard the faint metallic clanking of his belt buckle. The rasp of his zipper as he pulled it down. A rustle of cloth. A sharply drawn breath. She could just see in her head the way he was sprawled in his chair, legs spread and stretched out before him while he leaned back against the seat so that he was semi-reclining. Could just see him sitting there in the quiet of his office with his hand gripping his erection, the phone held up to his ear, his eyes closed as he imagined her.
All it took was the image of him in his chair, pants undone and cock out, to send a small quake through her body. The orgasm barely rocked her, but the gasp it brought escaped. She heard the sharp intake of his breath. "What are you doing, Miriam?"
"I'm laying here, imagining what you must look like right now. Locked away in your office with your dick out and in hand."
He gave her a faint chuckle. "Just for that, you aren't allowed to finger yourself for five minutes. You'll have to listen to me stroke myself," he told her. Again she heard the faint rustle of cloth, no doubt his arm moving as he fisted himself, as he stroked up and down the length of his cock. There was the occasional heavier than usual breath as he struggled to control the sounds of his pleasure. He gasped and groaned and made her hornier by the second. Those five minutes were the longest of her life.
"You can finger yourself now, Miriam. Add a second finger." Those words nearly had her crying in relief. It had been so hard to ignore the breathless sounds of his pleasure. He'd occasionally murmured her name, turning it into a husky prayer that had seen her desire climbing higher and higher until she'd thought she was going to explode from the building pressure. She did as he'd told her, adding a second digit to the first before slowly stroking them in and out of her body.
Pleasure rippled and coiled in her belly, spread through her until it filled every inch of her, growing and growing until it felt like her skin was stretched too tight over it. Added to the sensations of her fingers plunging deep were the vocalizations of Phil's own mounting pleasure. Soft gasps filled her ear. Soft moans echoed through her mind. Harsh breaths rasped across the line and filled her with want. She needed relief in the worst way.
He whispered instructions to her, told her to shift her fingers this way or that. Ordered her to twist her nipples. Commanded her to tell him every dirty little thing she did to herself. Each sentence he spoke came a little harsher, with less control. He was closing in on his climax, doing his best to wait until he had her so wound up that the right touch would see her shattering like brittle glass struck by a rock. And she did everything he told her, knowing that he'd know if she did it or not. Knowing that her actions were turning him on, even though he couldn't see them. Knowing that she affected him just as much as he affected her.
"Are you ready, Miriam?" he asked her, voice breathless and pinched.
"Oh, god, yes. Please, Phil. I've been ready for so long," she whispered, trying hard to keep the moan out of her words. She felt she failed miserably when he chuckled one last time, a sound that was barely audible across the phone line and the miles between them.
"Then come for me, Miriam." He gave the order and her hand moved to obey. Her fingers barely touched her clit, stroked it once or twice, and the pleasure that had built swelled, hit a crescendo and broke over her like waves slapping up against the shore. Miri keened out her release, a high sound that lasted an age. She was vaguely aware of Phil letting go a long, low moan, then his chair was creaking as he shifted positions, cleaned up and righted himself. She simply melted into the mattress and tried to learn how to breathe again.
They listened to one another draw air for just a bit before he spoke again. When he did, he sounded entirely too normal. "Do you feel better now, Miriam?" he asked her.
"Much better. Thank you." She didn't bother to stifle her yawn, her bones all gone liquid with climax. He chuckled yet again.
"I'm glad. Now go to sleep. You sound in need of some rest. I imagine its been a long day," he told her. She shifted long enough to climb under the covers and turn off the lamp on the bedside table.
"Okay," she replied. "Good night, Phil."
"Good night, Miriam. Pleasant dreams." He disconnected.
Oh, yes. They definitely were.
Chapter Six: Distances
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. probably some drinking.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators,
dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers! - The Index
"Mr. Stark. Would you kindly stop staring over my shoulder like that? It is very distracting and, quite frankly, I'm growing annoyed by your presence." Phoebe tried to keep her jaw from clenching as she spoke the words but it was a close thing. Ever since she'd agreed to this joke of a job, he'd been her shadow during working hours. It was starting to drive her batty. Between her quarters at S.H.I.E.L.D. and Stark hovering over her while she worked, she was feeling antsy and cornered. Annoyed. She wanted to set her dogs on Stark, but she was more than certain that would get them shot.
"Am I annoying you?" he asked without backing off at all. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm just curious to see how you broke into the mainframe. I keep hoping that you'll show me the back door you used so that I can block it from further access."
Phoebe offered him a mocking smile. "It must burn you terribly to not know. Especially since you traced me back to my own place of residence. Surely you found the back door then?" There was a hint of suggestion in her tone. That he should have found the backdoor when he'd been tracking her. Stark said nothing, but he sank into a chair next to her at her work station. She considered ignoring him for her work, but decided that doing so would only prolong this torture. So she turned to face him and waited for him to speak.
"I was tracking you. I wasn't worried about the back door. Now that you're here, the hole you snuck in through needs to be plugged up so no one else can use it. You've only seen a fraction of the important and sensitive information that S.H.I.E.L.D. stores on its system. Most people can't make it through the firewall. You're one of the only people who has."
It was a compliment and she took it as such. Phoebe inclined her head in acknowledgement. Stark offered her a smile that should have been all flash. It wasn't. There was something to it that she didn't want to consider. Just like she didn't really want to consider that Stark wasn't quite the man she'd first thought him to be. Every article and television interview of him that she'd seen had led her to believe he was nothing more than an arrogant, spoiled, drunken playboy who didn't care about anyone but himself.
But over the past few days, she'd seen a deep thinking individual who cared about others almost more than he cared about himself. Yes, he was egotistical, but she supposed a man with an IQ like his was entitled to some egotism. He was frighteningly brilliant, which showed when he actually put thought into what he was doing and saying. And he wasn't spoiled. Not completely. He did have problems with women who told him no, but she suspected that was more because they usually didn't tell him no as opposed to the fact that he was simply spoiled. He'd worked hard to get where he was, even if some of it had come from his father's hard work. She'd been terribly impressed to discover that there was more to him than arrogance and entitlement.
It didn't hurt that he was handsome, either. That first day he'd shown up at her shop, she'd seen the suave and sophisticated man he projected to the world. Expensive clothing, all undoubtedly custom tailored for him. Expensive accessories from his sunglasses to his watch to the shoes he wore. Perfectly styled hair. Perfectly trimmed facial hair. He'd exuded the air of a well put together man who knew his value. And if that was the image she'd been presented with constantly, she might have kept that unflattering opinion of him.
But during their working hours, she'd seen a man who was as comfortable in sweats and a worn t-shirt as he was in Gucci and Armani. She found she liked that he could be sloppy and unkempt. She liked that he often had mussed hair and looked in need of a shave. She liked that he could be casual as much as he could be classy.
Those feelings disturbed her. Especially when she found herself watching his lips move and she imagined what they must be like to kiss. Some part of her was certain that a man who was as infamous for his womanizing as he was for his intellect had to know how to really kiss a person. And there was a tiny part of her, tucked away deep in the back of the shadows of her brain, that really wanted to know what it would be like to have him kiss her. Something told her that his kiss would be utterly jaw dropping. Toe curling. Amazing. Electrifying. It was a theory she wanted almost desperately to put to the test.
Phoebe mentally scolded herself. This was neither the time, nor the place, to allow such thoughts to take root and grow. And Stark was not the man to have such thoughts about. It didn't matter that he was a very handsome man. It didn't matter that he gave her respect and treated her as an equal. It didn't matter that he was funny and witty and charming. Any attraction she had for him didn't matter at all. Because he was the one thing in the entire world that she simply couldn't stand.
Tony Stark, for all he was smart and handsome, was a raging drunk. And Phoebe just couldn't deal with that.
"Why should I tell you how I managed to find my way in here? You are Tony Stark, after all. Surely you can find a back door all on your own." The comment was meant to be off hand. It came out challenging. And it earned her a considering look from the man.
Uncomfortable with his stare, she swiveled her seat back around to face the computer terminal she'd been assigned. It was a tedious, boring job Director Fury had assigned her. But it was keeping her out of jail, so she wasn't going to complain too much. Letting her eyes skim the words on the screen, her fingers found the keyboard and began typing once more.
Concentrating on what she was doing helped make the sensation of his eyes boring into her slip away. The first day of her new job, Stark had explained to her that HYDRA activity had gone way up and Fury wanted to know why. He was positive that some big, huge thing was going to happen, but he had no idea what or where or even why. His own people had proven adept, but not quite adept enough and seeking out the information he wanted. They'd managed to find a way into HYDRA's mainframe, but hadn't been able to get any farther.
She'd asked Stark why Fury hadn't assigned the job to him. Stark's reply had been a simple and to the point "He couldn't afford my fees."
Phoebe's task was to break into the HYDRA mainframe and find the information that Fury wanted. It seemed a straight forward enough job, but so far, she'd not made any headway. Whoever had written the security software for HYDRA had done a damned fine job. It was almost as impossible to get through as the security on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s system. It had taken her months to find her way into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files.
Something told her that she didn't have months to do the same with HYDRA's computers.
"You know what? You're absolutely correct, Miss Sinclair," Stark said, breaking her concentration. She sighed and turned to look at him. One brow lifted in a silent question. "I'm more than certain I can find the back door without your help."
"You do have that big brain, after all," she pointed out softly.
He gave her a slight twist of his lips. "Yes. I do." And he stared at her. Again.
She allowed it to happen for all of ten seconds before she heaved an annoyed sigh and turned once more to face him. "Is there some particular reason you seem to be unable to find something besides me to look at, Mr. Stark? Every time I turn around, you're staring at me. It is very disconcerting."
"Good disconcerting or bad disconcerting?" he asked her. "I'm only curious because I like to know what does and doesn't work." When she said nothing, he went on as if he hadn't paused. "I bother you, don't I, Miss Sinclair?"
"You make it very difficult for me to do the job that Director Fury has tasked me with," she told him truthfully. If he was going to ask, she was going to tell. Simple as that. He nodded as if he hadn't expected any other answer. Then he turned to the computer terminal before him and began typing at the keyboard.
"How about we make a wager?" he asked, not looking anywhere but the screen.
"What kind of a wager?" There was skepticism in her voice. It earned her a quick flash of that not quite so mocking grin of his.
"I will find that back door you used and in five minutes." She stared at him, waiting for the rest. There was obviously more because he'd said wager. That meant there would be agreed upon terms. He let her stew for a few moments before he went on. "If I can't find the backdoor in five minutes, I will quit hovering around you."
She frowned. That sounded too easy. "You'll leave me alone for the rest of my stay here?" she asked, needing the clarification before she agreed to anything. "No watching me over my shoulder. No lurking. Nothing. Just peaceful solitude?"
"You have my word," the man agreed.
"And if you do find the back door in under five minutes?" she queried, wondering what his angle was.
"You agree to accompany me to a function I have to attend on Friday." There was no hesitation in his words, leading her to believe that he'd had the whole thing planned. She stared at him, wondering if she dared make this deal. He was Tony Stark, after all. One of the smartest men on the planet. If he couldn't find a simple back door in five minutes, that would make him look terribly foolish.
But this was a government computer system with some of the tightest security in the world. A system that was extremely difficult to crack. She knew that first hand. And she was also aware of just how tiny that back door was. It was so tiny, so unnoticeable, that she'd made several invasions without being detected until after she'd left. It might be conceit on her behalf, but she was fairly certain that not even Stark could find that hole.
Should she do it? Should she say yes? She didn't really want to encourage him about any aspect of their relationship. Saying yes might give him the wrong idea. Then again, he hadn't said it was a date. Just that he needed a companion. She supposed she could stand at his side and look pretty. She knew how to rub elbows with the rich and pretentious.
Phoebe struggled with herself. Half of her demanded that she say no to the wager. She didn't want to be seen in public with the man. Didn't want to see him drink himself into oblivion. But the other half wanted to say yes. Perverse as it was, she kind of wanted to be seen on his arm. Even though she was positive that he'd never find her access point. He might be smart as hell, but she was that damn good.
"A function? Just a simple function as a companion. Nothing else?" she clarified.
"Nothing else, Miss Sinclair. Just a companion for one night at a simple function," he agreed.
She considered it for just a minute longer. Made him wonder if she was going to say yes to him or not. Some perverse part of her wanted to see him sweat. Only he didn't sweat. Just sat there and watched her, his hands still poised over the keyboard as if he planned on picking up his typing exactly where he'd left it off as soon as she gave him her answer. Phoebe sighed. She was probably going to regret this but... "Very well, Mr. Stark. I agree."
He said nothing. But one finger hit the enter key, then he pushed back from the desk and strode for the door. "The function is black tie. So I suggest something long and elegant. And maybe you should wear your hair down. I'll pick you up at seven sharp. Don't keep me waiting." Then he was out the door and she was left staring at where he'd just stood.
What the hell had just happened? She rose from her chair and moved to his, settling into the cloth office chair so that she could stare at his terminal. She stubbornly ignored the way his heat still clung to the material, how it seeped into her skin as she sat there and gaped at the computer screen.
The back door was gone and not a trace of it remained. Almost as if it had never been there in the first place. How the hell was that possible? He hadn't even taken two minutes to find it and fix it. He had to have cheated. That was the only explanation. He had to have known where it was all along and he'd used it as a way to get what he wanted. And now she had to go to some function with him. She had to play arm candy to him. Tony Stark. Womanizer and alcoholic. Some part of her was certain that he'd done it on purpose.
That arrogant son of a bitch!
~*~*~*~*~
She strained up just a little higher, her fingers just barely grazing the spine of the binder she was trying to reach. Why anyone would put a medical journal up so high was beyond her. Especially when her lab had at least a twelve foot ceiling. Even at her height and with the aid of the step ladder, she couldn't quite reach the damned binder. If she ever found out what idiot was responsible for putting this journal up there, she would have their ass in a sling. "Come on," she muttered to herself, stretching even further by going up on her toes. "Just a little more..."
"Do you need some help, Dr. Jones?" The voice sounded almost directly behind her. Elsa tried to turn and look over her shoulder at her visitor while still stretching for the blasted journal. Her fingers brushed the spine of the binder just as her toes slid off the rung of the ladder. She felt herself pitching backward and let go a high pitched, embarrassing, far too girlish squeak as she lost her footing. For a couple of frightening seconds, she was free falling through open air and heading straight for the floor.
Impact never happened. Instead, she felt a pair of arms catch her, strong and heavily muscled. Just like the chest she was pulled into. Elsa looked up into Captain Rogers' face and felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. A pair of amazing blue eyes stared down into her own and, for just a moment, she forgot to breathe. Her skin tingled everywhere it touched his, even through their layers of clothes. The world seemed to pause around them. Or it faded away. She couldn't be sure which it was. She couldn't be bothered to care, either.
Then everything came back into focus. She felt her lungs expand and Rogers pulled his gaze from hers. He set her on her feet, made sure she was going to remain on them, then stepped back from her and gave her a sheepish grin. "I remember your grandfather now."
She blinked at him and searched for an appropriate response. The comment seemed to come at her from out of the blue. "Oh?"
"Yes. He had the same problems with... " Steve trailed off, looking abashed. As if he didn't want to say anything that he thought might offend her. Elsa smiled and shook her head.
"My grandmother told me he was clumsy. I wish I'd gotten a chance to find out for myself."
"You never knew him?"
"He died when I was very young. I have a few dim, distant memories of him. But nothing really solid. I think I remember he had a rich laugh. And that he loved to laugh. I just can't be sure if its a legitimate memory or if its something I fabricated."
"Phillip Jones. He was one of Howard Stark's assistants." There was a kind of far away look on the man's face, as if he was remembering something. "He was a doctor of some kind, wasn't he?"
"Grandfather was a biologist." Elsa smiled and shook her head. "He's the one who kind of inspired my career. When I was younger, I used to go through his books and read his notes and wonder what he was talking about. What he'd been thinking when he'd written them." She paused and stared up at him. "What was he like? I know what Grandmother told me. He was a loving man who worked hard. He was smart. He would have been proud of me. He loved science and he went out of his way to learn everything he could about the subject. His personal library is filled with some pretty progressive thinking books. But those things that Grandmother told me were influenced by her love for him. And my father won't talk to me about him."
"I only met him a couple of times. And it was always in conjunction with the experiment." Steve paused and glanced up at the shelf of books. "Which one was it you wanted?"
"Oh." The change of subject startled her, forcing her to look up and think about which journal she'd been after. "The black binder with the red writing on the spine. There's some information in it that I need and I'm not quite tall enough to reach it."
"I'll get it for you," he told her. Before she could tell him that he didn't have to do that, he was on his way up the few steps of the ladder. Elsa found herself presented with his ass and couldn't stop herself from staring. The muscles bunched and flexed as he moved, the material of his trousers cupping the curve of his cheeks as if it had been made for just such a task. She had to fight off the urge to run her hands over them to see if they were as firm as they looked. "This is the one, right?"
His voice brought her out of her thoughts with a start. Her eyes rose up the length of his back, to his shoulder and then along his arm until she could see his hand curled around the book she needed. "Yes. That's the one. Thank you."
He pulled the journal off the shelf and carried it down to her. When she took it from him, her fingers brushed his and, again, she felt a tingle rush through her. "You look like him, you know," Rogers told her. Elsa nodded as she turned to put the book down by her computer. "You smile like him, too. He was nice to me when I was scared as hell. He tried to explain what was going to happen and I didn't understand a word of it. But it made me feel better."
"Grandmother always said he thought more of other people than he did of himself," Elsa confirmed. She couldn't quite help the touch of melancholy that filled her voice.
"How did he die?"
"He stopped to help a stranded driver whose car had broken down. It was cold out, the middle of winter. There was ice on the road and snow was blowing like crazy. He was tinkering under the hood, trying to get the engine to start again. The woman was trying to get home to her family." She stopped a moment and glanced at Captain Rogers. He was watching her intently, waiting in silence for her to finish her story. She had no doubt that he knew what was coming. But he waited for her to say it anyway. "An eighteen wheeler lost control on the ice. He was hauling steel pipes and his load shifted. The tie downs snapped and pipes went spilling across the road. The semi slammed into the car and shoved it through a guard rail. The car and the semi went over the edge. They took Grandfather and the woman he'd been trying to help with them."
He apologized immediately, his tone contrite. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm okay," Elsa assured him. "Like I said. I didn't know him. The story will always sting. But I don't think Grandfather would have been happy to die in his bed. Grandmother said he was a doer. That he was always doing something. I think he went the way he wanted to. Doing something. Helping someone."
Her story brought silence to life between them. She could see that he still felt bad about asking her about her grandfather. It was in the way his eyes skimmed the room, as if looking for something to latch on to. It was in the way his hand rubbed absently at the back of his neck, most likely an unconscious gesture that he made when he was unsure about something. She would have made a comment meant to assure him that things were okay, but he spoke before she could and, again, completely changed the subject.
"How are the experiments going?" He was staring at her work table, where papers had been strewn around haphazardly among slides, a microscope, a few test tubes laying on their sides and empty, and a Bunsen burner waited to be lit again. The microscope and burner were old pieces, gifts from her grandmother when she'd gotten her first degree. They'd been her grandfather's and, despite being old and out of date, she couldn't bear to get rid of them.
"The experiments?" Elsa parroted, blinking at her visitor in confusion. Rogers turned to look at her, an indulgent smile on his face. He motioned with one hand to himself. Her eyes followed the motion avidly before she understood what his gesture meant. The confusion washed away in a rush of realization and shame, bringing her previous blush screaming back to life.
"Oh. Those experiments," she said, then realized that it sounded stupid and fell back into her safe, comfortable area. Elsa let the confusion go, replaced it with science and knowledge. "They're coming along quite nicely. I've managed to finally start breaking down the different parts of your DNA so that I can get a picture of what parts of it were altered. This required procuring samples from your parents' remains, which took some time. There was miles of red tape to get through and then locating their graves, digging them up and..."
He was giving her a look that prompted her to stop talking. She suspected that he'd been unaware of that little bit and she felt horrible for dropping it on him that way. Then she was mad that he hadn't been consulted in the matter because they had been his parents and his permission should have been sought before they'd done anything. Obviously, no one had bothered to tell him that they'd needed a few samples to use for comparison. "I am so sorry, Captain Rogers. I didn't know that you... I had assumed that someone had told you... I never would have broken the news to you that way if I had known."
"No. Don't apologize. It isn't... " he stopped and heaved a sigh. "I'm still trying to get used to everything. Sometimes I forget that so much time has passed."
"I can't imagine how difficult this has all been for you," she offered quietly.
"What did you need from them?"
"We took some bone samples. Just a few small pieces to use for DNA extraction. Then they were returned to their graves and reburied. Everything was done with all they respect they deserved."
"Bone samples? That's all? You don't need blood or hair or tissue?" The question had genuine curiosity in it and Elsa warmed to the topic quickly.
"DNA is in every single cell of a person's body. Hair, skin, blood, bone, saliva. All of it. Most samples are taken from blood or saliva, but they can still be found in the bone and the skin. Your hair can tell an amazing story about your life, rather like the trunk of a tree. Science can tell where you lived, how you ate, and what kinds of things you did by looking at your hair. Its terribly fascinating what one can do."
"Really? Even someone who's been dead for a long time?"
"Depending on the state of the body when its studied," she smiled at him. "The better the condition, the easier it is for a scientist to discover all of these things about the person when they lived. You can't imagine the things that we've learned about ancient cultures through the study of their dead."
He said nothing to that, and they were once more surrounded by a gentle silence. It felt tenuous and fragile, easily broken by even the merest sound. Elsa held her breath and waited, sensing that something important was going to happen. Again, the man's eyes roved her lab, barely settling on anything before it move on to the next item. She suspected that he really wasn't seeing it, that he was going through the motions while his mind worked over something he wanted to say to her. Finally, after long minutes of listening to her heart pound in her chest, he turned his attention back to her. She could see deep determination in his gaze.
Something about that look stopped her heart in her chest, froze the breath in her lungs. She stared at him, waiting. It was right there. That important thing that was going to happen. It was just there and all she had to do was-- "Dr. Jones? Can I ask you a question?"
When his voice broke the tension, it felt as if she stumbled on her feet. She'd been so caught up in that thing building between them that she hadn't realized how strained she felt. And she couldn't begin to understand the sense of disappointment she felt. There was no reason for it. No reason at all. "Of course, Captain Rogers."
He opened his mouth, faltered for just a second, then made himself go on. "I was wondering if you would like to go out with me this weekend. Maybe dinner and some dancing. Or a movie."
Elsa stared at him, her heart suddenly doing overtime in her chest. "You mean on a date?" The moment she asked the question, she felt stupid. The blush stole back into her cheeks until it felt like her face was on fire.
"Yes. I mean on a date. I know we haven't known each other long, but you feel... " he trailed off, looking for the right words. After several long seconds, he offered her a weak smile. "Comfortable. I don't feel like I'm out of my element with you. You don't make me feel like such a freak."
The notion that he felt like a freak was news to her. It shouldn't have been because he was a man who had lost more of his life than he'd lived. He was displaced and though he did his best not to let it show, this world had to be confusing to him. Everything had to be confusing. He had to feel so vulnerable and... lost. Even though she was sure that he wouldn't see it in the same light as she did, Elsa couldn't help but think that his hesitation and the air of little boy lost that clung to him were endearing. Sexy. Appealing.
Say yes! Do it! Do it now, you idiot! Say yes! Cat's voice screamed inside her head. A slow smile spread across her face. "I would love to go out on a date with you, Captain Rogers. But on one condition."
Her words saw him hesitating, but only for a second. "What's the condition?"
"You need to stop calling me Dr. Jones. Call me Elsa," she invited warmly.
"Elsa." He nodded his head once. Just like that, the tension was gone. He offered her a bright, blinding smile that did funny things to her insides "And you should call me Steve. So. How does Friday sound? Seven?"
"It sounds perfect," she replied. Her answer saw him smiling again. He ducked his head, just a bit, then turned and headed for the door. Elsa couldn't stop herself from staring at his ass as he walked and imagining just what it would feel like under her hands. "I can't wait."
~*~*~*~*~
"I hope you don't mind." Thor's voice cut through Astrid's shock as she stared at the gleaming white carriage parked before them. She had to physically drag her attention from the horse drawn carriage so that she could give it to the man at her side. He was watching her anxiously, obviously waiting for her to say something. When nothing was forthcoming, he motioned with one hand toward the waiting ride. "I thought perhaps you would enjoy taking a ride around the park. I am told it is a romantic thing to do and that the view is spectacular."
She opened her mouth to say something, but little more than a breathy squeak of noise came out. So she pressed her lips together, prayed that he hadn't noticed the mortifying sound, and simply nodded her head. His smile was instantaneous, a broad thing that was infectious in its pure enjoyment. One of his big hands took hers while the other settled on her back. She realized with a start that he was going to help her up into the carriage, so she stepped forward and put her foot against the step.
Thor handed her up into the back of the carriage, taking great care with her, before he joined her. Astrid sank down onto the leather bench, grateful for the ability since her knees were starting to go just a bit wobbly. The driver glanced back at them to ensure they were seated, then he flicked the reins at the horses and the carriage started forward with a slight jerk.
She was at a loss for words. What had seemed to be some kind of elaborate prank to her was turning out to be anything but. Thor came to see her at least once every day. Sometimes it was to take her to lunch and, as he put it, drag her away from the drudgery of her assigned duties. Sometimes it was to take her to dinner. In the little more than a week since it had all started, she'd spent more time away from her job and home than she could remember doing in... well, ever. And every outing was spent with the man at her side.
Thor was an enigma to her. She'd truly never met someone like him before and doubted she ever would again. He was so sincere about every interaction he had with her that it made it hard to hold on to the notion that someone had set him up to play some kind of elaborate joke on her. And she was starting to think that she didn't want to hold on to that stupid notion. There was a certain old world elegance to him that she'd never encountered in other men she'd known. It was charming and enjoyable to have him treat her like the lady he often called her.
This whole night so far had been amazing. They'd gone for dinner, an upscale steak place that had a dress code. Her date had opted for a baby blue dress shirt paired with black trousers and a black suit coat. He hadn't worn a tie, had chosen to leave the top two buttons on his shirt undone. She'd found herself staring at the long column of his throat more than once during their meal. Wondered if the rest of his skin was as smooth as that patch that peeked through the vee of his shirt. Even with his hair left long against his shoulders, he looked devilishly handsome.
For their evening out, she'd chosen to wear a cocktail dress in emerald green. The neckline and sleeves were of a sheer material, while the rest of the dress was a heavy satin that was draped from right to left at an angle that started under the bust and ended at the hem. She'd paired it with black peep toe heels. They came with a three inch heel and a thin ankle strap to keep the shoes on her feet. When she'd realized that he was entirely serious about a dressy night out, she'd had to rush out and buy the dress and shoes, then get used to walking in them. The added height made up for the discomfort of wearing them, though, because he was so much taller than she was.
The meal had been exquisite. She'd had a filet mignon and Maine lobster tail served with a baked potato, steamed vegetables, and a house salad. There had been an expensive looking bottle of wine that had tasted both smoky and fruity and had gone straight to her head. There'd been an appetizer of something she hadn't been able to pronounce and there had been a rich, sweet, decadent chocolate dessert that had melted the moment it had settled on her tongue. He'd been attentive and polite. She'd honestly thought that the night couldn't have gotten any better.
She'd been so wrong.
He had one arm wrapped around her shoulder, hand curled around her arm, the line of his body touching hers to convey the heat and strength of him through their clothing and her skin. She'd never seen Central Park at night and found that it was absolutely stunning. Despite the lights of the city around them, she could see the stars overhead, twinkling down on them out of a clear expanse of velvety black night sky. The soft clip clopping of the horse's shod hooves against the paved path and the creaking of the wagon wheels as they turned was a gentle, wordless tune that served to help her relax into her surroundings.
"How like you the events of this evening?" he asked her. The question was quiet, his words spoken right next to her ear. She didn't dare turn to look him in the eyes because she knew, if she did, his gaze would pin her in place and he'd see everything she was thinking.
"Its been amazing," she whispered, conscious of the driver not so far away from them. "I've never done this before."
"Nor have I, Astrid. This is a night for firsts. I find I like this manner of travel. Its slow and relaxing." His body settled further against her own. The hand that had made its home on her arm slid down the length slowly, the sheer sleeve of her dress rasping lightly against her skin.
"It does have advantages over a car," she agreed.
"That it does. One cannot do this in a car," he replied, his arm tightening around her shoulder. They fell silent for a moment as the carriage moved through a broad expanse of trees. Darkness cloaked them and left them alone in their own little world for just a few minutes. Astrid let her eyes shift over the shadowed planes of his face, the occasional sliver of light filtering through the leaves over their heads to kiss his cheeks. When they emerged from the trees, he gave her a serious look. "I have learned many things about you these past days, Astrid. But you have yet to speak about your family and your life beyond your work. Why is this?"
"My parents and I don't get along. I haven't spoken with them in years. So there isn't really much to talk about where they're concerned. And work is my life. If I'm not building something at Stark Industries, I'm building something at home."
"And what of friends? Do you not have any friends with which to share your life?"
"I've always kind of been an introvert. So I don't have many flesh and blood friends." She shrugged and glanced up at the sky. The stars were tiny pin pricks of light far above them. "When I was a little girl and other girls my age were playing with Barbie dolls, I was taking apart cassette recorders so that I could find out how they worked."
"And you are not lonely?" he asked, genuinely concerned. She offered him a smile and shook her head.
"No. I'm not lonely. Because I'm surrounded by the things I've created. I'm not anywhere near the inventor Mr. Stark is, but I can still build robots that respond to verbal cues. There are plenty of those at my apartment and they keep me company. They're my friends and my family," she explained.
"You have a mechanical family?" The tone of his voice suggested that he was having a hard time imagining what she was talking about.
"Kind of. Maybe I'll introduce you to them one of these days."
He frowned, giving it consideration. "I've never met anyone who was clever enough to create a mechanical family. I think I would like that. And I think I would like to meet your mother and father. Its obvious that they have no idea how special their daughter is."
"Uh..." She felt stupid but she had nothing else to say to that. So instead, she said nothing, simply gave her attention over to their surroundings once again. He seemed content to leave it at that, the arm around her tugging her a little closer to him until it felt like they were glued together. She relished the heat of his body against hers, the darkness bringing a bit of a chill to the air. When the wind stirred through the trees, her skin broke out in goose bumps and a slight shiver raced along her spine.
"You're cold. Forgive me for not thinking of it earlier." His arm, and his heat, was suddenly gone. Astrid felt curiously abandoned. But that wasn't to last. Thor leaned forward on the bench seat so that he could shrug out of his suit coat, then he carefully draped it around her shoulders. Astrid offered a smile up to him while sliding her arms into the sleeves of the coat. It smelled of him, some spicy scent she suspected was an expensive aftershave, and a musky, masculine smell that was his alone. And it was so warm, the heat of his body retained by the cloth sinking deep into her skin. She tugged the coat around her and, when his arm slid around her shoulders again, snuggled closer to him.
"Thank you."
He said nothing, but she was okay with that. She didn't need words. The sounds of civilization were far enough away to allow her to think that they were in a small pocket of the past, a place where cars and technology didn't exist. A place where men wooed women. Again, the sound of the horse's hooves striking the paved path beneath them combined with the creak of the wagon wheels to create a song that neither had nor needed words. She thought she could happily stay in this place for the rest of her life.
They remained silent for a long time. Astrid lost track of everything but the rock and sway of the carriage, Thor's body beside her, and the soft tune the driver had started whistling under his breath. It was a jaunty thing that made her want to smile for no reason. Some part of her thought it would be a good song to dance to and, for a moment, she wondered if Thor danced.
"Lady Astrid," his voice cut across her thoughts, pulling her back to the here and now. She glanced up at him to find that he was staring at her intently. She waited for him to continue with whatever it was he wanted to say to her. But he didn't speak, simply stared at her. She gave him ample time and, when he still hadn't said anything, she opened her mouth to ask him what it was he wanted.
She never got the opportunity.
Thor reached for her, dragging her into his lap. She vaguely noted that he was incredibly strong because he made it seem to effortless. Then he had her crushed against his chest and all thought was lost as his mouth took hers.
The kiss was hard and demanding at first, his lips slanted across hers masterfully. Astrid found herself sliding her arms around his shoulders, uncaring that her skirt was bunched up around her waist so that the pale green silk of her panties were pressed against the black of his trousers. It was a shameless position, but that didn't matter at all. The only thing she cared about was the press of his lips on hers and the taste of him. The near frantic manner with which he was kissing her.
Slowly, so very slowly, the urgency in their caresses faded into something softer and gentler. The harshness of his kiss turned soft and tender, the press of his lips kinder but no less bruising. His hands lifted so that they could frame her head, hold it in position as he continued to feast on her lips. She responded by allowing her fingers to drift through his hair. Her body pressed closer to his.
Her brain, mostly out to lunch with the sensual assault of his mouth on hers, registered in a distant way that he felt hard. Everywhere. That knowledge saw her moaning, her mouth opening against his. His tongue dipped past her lips so that it could explore inside. She moaned again, let her tongue slide along his, dance with it. Let tension and pleasure spiral along every single nerve ending until she felt like a single stroke of his fingers against any of her bare skin would see her exploding.
The world faded away under the tender touch of his lips on hers, under the taste of him on her tongue. She could sit in his lap and kiss him all night. She wanted to. She wanted him to touch more of her than her mouth and her head. She wanted his hands to slide across her body and explore every inch of her. She wanted to explore every inch of him. Dropped her hands to do just that.
It was at that exact moment that Thor broke the kiss and leaned back, panting for breath. Astrid looked at him, waiting for more. There had to be more. She wanted more. She needed more. But he gave her an apologetic look that told her there wouldn't be any more tonight. "I should return you to your home before this night goes any further," he told her softly. His hands helped her from his lap and settled her on the bench beside him.
Astrid blinked up at him and nearly demanded more. But the look on his face suggested that he wouldn't give her anymore. Not tonight.
Which was a damned shame, because she was more than willing to give him more. In fact, much to her surprise, she was ready to give him everything he asked for. How the hell had that happened?
~*~*~*~*~
Miri had to force herself not to slam the door of her hotel room shut. The day's work had been long, more sorting and reading through files at the HYDRA base. More discovering a bunch of crap they already knew. Not that this trip wasn't a complete wash. She'd found a few things that would be helpful, but nothing to make it a screaming success. Not for the first time, she wished she was done here and was back home. Spending time with Phil. Or simply relaxing at home. Anywhere that wasn't near Pete bloody Wisdom.
She left a trail of clothing on the floor behind her as she headed into the bathroom for a quick shower. She needed to feel the pound of hot water against her skin to help soothe the knots of tension from her shoulders. And to wash away the memory of Wisdom's latest attempt at getting her to climb between the sheets with him. Ugh. Stupid ass couldn't take no for an answer.
By the time she had the water going, she'd stripped down to nothing. Taking her hair out of the bun she'd kept it in all day, she climbed into the tub and let the water wash over her. She couldn't wait for this job to be done. She missed Phil and her own bed. She missed Alex and dinner at the Quinn house on Sunday. She missed her life. Going home would mean getting it all back. It would mean getting away from Pete Wisdom's constant sexual innuendo and blatant passes.
Lathering shampoo into her hair, she considered the latest attempt. Tonight, when they'd reached the hotel, he'd cornered her in the elevator and asked her to join him for dinner. In his room. His hands had brushed lightly down her arms before landing on her hips. Had there not been so much fucking paperwork involved, she'd have shot him in the testicles and left him to bleed out on the floor.
She should have kneed him in the nuts. But something told her that he'd consider that foreplay. So she'd told him no and escaped to her room without inflicting any bodily harm on him. He just wouldn't give up, no matter how many times she turned him down. She'd even told him that she was seeing someone back home, but his response to that was that her man would never know what she did because he wasn't here. And the truly sad thing was, she still had to work with the arrogant shit.
There were still days of work to be done at the base. A team had swept it to be sure there were no HYDRA agents left behind as well as check for any booby traps. They'd found nothing but a treasure trove of files and information. Miri thought that it might be some kind of red herring because she'd never known HYDRA to leave so much behind when they cleared out of a base. But it wasn't her job to point such things out to the brass. Well, it was. She just hadn't because she knew they wouldn't listen to her. So she slogged through the crap and hoped for some golden nugget of information. She didn't know how much longer she'd be here.
Pushing work aside, Miri concentrated on getting cleaned up. She wanted to call Phil before she climbed into bed. She needed to hear his voice and reassure herself that he was still hers. Maybe he could help her drive the memory of Pete Wisdom from her mind. After rinsing the shampoo from her hair, she lathered in conditioner, then took the puff to her skin with a liberal coating of body wash and began scrubbing.
It was a quick shower, taking her less than ten minutes. When she was done, she stepped out and toweled dry. One towel was used to wrap up her damp locks. A second was used to wrap around her body. She left the shower, dug her cell phone out of her bag, and carried it with her as she headed for the bed.
The number dialed. The other end rang precisely three times. She settled down on the bed as she heard the other end answer. There was a hint of voices before his voice came on the line. "Good evening, Agent Grant. I'm surprised you called. Its late and I expected you would be in bed by now." He wasn't alone. Not that it mattered. They were talking shop. Sort of. And he'd keep it professional enough on his side that no one would know.
"I might be if I wasn't on the very edge of shooting my MI6 liaison. Can you get me out of the shit that will cause if it happens?" Her question brought a faint chuckle up his throat. "I'm not kidding. He's being a dick and it took everything I had to not shoot him in the nuts tonight."
"What's he doing? Perhaps you should make a formal complaint to his superiors," Phil suggested.
"I called you, didn't I?" she shot back. "And he's being a slimy git. He's been hitting on me pretty much since day one. And he won't take no for an answer. I know. I have an idea. Why don't you fly out here and shoot him for me? You're better at all the paper work. Because I'm sure there would be paper work. Would shooting him be considered an international incident?"
"Perhaps before you shoot your liaison, Agent Grant, you should go to bed and give yourself time to calm down. A good night's sleep should help with that," he suggested lightly. She waited to respond to him because she heard him say something to whoever was with him.
"But I am in bed, Agent Coulson," she told him softly, stressing his title. Doing so sent a familiar tightness through her. She undid the tuck in the towel and let it fall open. "I'm fresh from the shower, all dripping wet and naked, and I'm lying here on the bed with no one to keep me company. I wish you were here, Agent Coulson. Its been nearly a week since we were together and I really, really need to feel your cock inside of me."
"I'm sure you can wait a few more days. You'll be returning home soon," he reminded her. His tone said that he wasn't alone. Miri smiled to herself at that.
"No, Agent Coulson. I can't wait. I need you now." She let one hand glide up over her hip, across her stomach so that it could cup her breast. She stroked her thumb across her nipple and let go a soft sigh that she knew he heard. "You should feel my nipple. Its already hard and aching. Maybe I should pinch it." She did so, gasping loudly into his ear. Tendrils of pleasure were crawling through her, curling and coiling around nerve endings until she was on fire from the top of her head to the tip of her toes.
He was silent for some time. She let her hand tease at her breasts for a while, panting and moaning just loudly enough that he could catch the sound. Obviously he was still with company or he'd have already started issuing orders. He needed a reminder. "Maybe I should let my finger dip between my legs. I'm so wet for you. Only for you."
"That wouldn't be wise just at this moment, Agent Grant. Perhaps you should wait until I reach my office and I can look that information up for you." She smiled. She had him. There was a voice in the background, but she couldn't catch the words. Not that it mattered. Phil said something to the other person that suggested this was a delicate conversation and they didn't have the clearance necessary to listen in on it. A few moments later, she was sure she could hear the air stir around him as he made his way to his office. "It will only be a few seconds, Agent Grant. Can you hang on that long?"
"I think so," she told him, already breathless with the implications. She left her hand on her breast, her fingers only lightly stroking the nipple so that she gave an occasional moan of pleasure. There was a voice for a few seconds, a voice that Phil dismissed with a few curt words. A moment or two later, she heard the sound of a door opening and closing. A sharp metallic click let her know that he'd locked it.
She heard the distinctive creak of his chair as he settled into his. She imagined that the crotch of his pants was already tented with his erection. Picturing him sitting in his chair, legs stretched out before him and cock straining against his zipper was enough to make muscles clench with need. She wanted him to say something, but he was stubbornly silent. Once more playing the game. She wouldn't talk until he did. She wasn't going to break. Not yet...
An eon must have passed before she heard his soft sigh. During that time, her fingers drifted against her breast and belly, light touches that teased and tantalized. Touches that promised more. Touches she imagined to be his. "Now that we're alone, Miriam," he began, his tone all business. She gave a soft sigh and her limbs trembled. "Tell me."
She knew what he wanted so she didn't bother to ask him what she was supposed to tell him. She just launched right into it. "I'm fresh from the shower, Phil. My hair is still a wild, wet tangle in the towel I wrapped around it. I'm sprawled across the double bed in my hotel room, a towel spread under me. The air here is a little cool and crisp. My nipples are hard and aching."
He hummed his approval and she heard the chair creak a little more. He was leaning back, making himself more comfortable. She imagined him loosening his tie as he did so. "Tweak your nipples, Miriam," he said quietly. "In fact, use both hands. Situate the phone between your head and the pillow."
She did as he ordered, turning her head to the side while positioning the phone with one hand so that it was caught under her ear against the pillow. Then her hands found her breasts, fingers twisting and tugging at her nipples. Tweaking and pulling. Each touch sent sensation racing through her body, drew a soft moan or groan up her throat. Each sound she made went straight to him. She knew it, which made this all the hotter for her. She found enough brain cells to whisper a few words. "They're your hands touching my breasts, Phil."
A soft groan filled her ear and, for just a second, she thought she was imagining things. But that sound was followed by a harsh breath and another squeak of the chair. "When you get home, Miriam," he whispered. "The things I plan on doing to you... But only after you repeat this performance for me."
"Tease," she accused, need pulsing through her in time with the beat of her heart.
"I'm not the one who called and instigated phone sex," he reminded her lightly. Miri chuckled and tried to imagine what he was doing with his hands. "Put a hand between your thighs, Miriam. Stroke them up and down your lips. Do not touch anything else."
She sighed and sent her right hand creeping down over her belly. It slipped between her thighs and skimmed over the swollen flesh there. Her breath hitched in her throat, earning a response from him in the form of another humming sound.
"Are you wet, Miriam?" The question came out of the blue, making muscles clench tight in her body. Her answer was a soft gasp of sound. He chuckled softly. "Slip one finger inside."
"Are you hard, Phil?" she asked, letting one finger dip between her flesh. Moist heat enveloped that finger and she was tempted to stroke. But he hadn't told her to, so she kept her hand still. Besides, if she started masturbating now, she'd never hear his answer. "Does the sound of my pleasure make you horny? Does knowing that I'm following your orders give you an erection?"
"Miriam," he began, his tone chiding. She gave a short, soft laugh of triumph. He was definitely hard.
"I want to hear you orgasm, Phil. I want to hear it when you finally come. If I'm going to lay here an finger myself, I want to know that you're fisting your cock. Pretending its my hand. My mouth. My body. Do it, Phil. Please."
She held her breath, waiting in silence as he thought over her request. There was no sigh to let her know she'd won, but she felt him capitulate anyway. It was a hunch, but her gut said he was going to give her what she wanted. Then she heard the faint metallic clanking of his belt buckle. The rasp of his zipper as he pulled it down. A rustle of cloth. A sharply drawn breath. She could just see in her head the way he was sprawled in his chair, legs spread and stretched out before him while he leaned back against the seat so that he was semi-reclining. Could just see him sitting there in the quiet of his office with his hand gripping his erection, the phone held up to his ear, his eyes closed as he imagined her.
All it took was the image of him in his chair, pants undone and cock out, to send a small quake through her body. The orgasm barely rocked her, but the gasp it brought escaped. She heard the sharp intake of his breath. "What are you doing, Miriam?"
"I'm laying here, imagining what you must look like right now. Locked away in your office with your dick out and in hand."
He gave her a faint chuckle. "Just for that, you aren't allowed to finger yourself for five minutes. You'll have to listen to me stroke myself," he told her. Again she heard the faint rustle of cloth, no doubt his arm moving as he fisted himself, as he stroked up and down the length of his cock. There was the occasional heavier than usual breath as he struggled to control the sounds of his pleasure. He gasped and groaned and made her hornier by the second. Those five minutes were the longest of her life.
"You can finger yourself now, Miriam. Add a second finger." Those words nearly had her crying in relief. It had been so hard to ignore the breathless sounds of his pleasure. He'd occasionally murmured her name, turning it into a husky prayer that had seen her desire climbing higher and higher until she'd thought she was going to explode from the building pressure. She did as he'd told her, adding a second digit to the first before slowly stroking them in and out of her body.
Pleasure rippled and coiled in her belly, spread through her until it filled every inch of her, growing and growing until it felt like her skin was stretched too tight over it. Added to the sensations of her fingers plunging deep were the vocalizations of Phil's own mounting pleasure. Soft gasps filled her ear. Soft moans echoed through her mind. Harsh breaths rasped across the line and filled her with want. She needed relief in the worst way.
He whispered instructions to her, told her to shift her fingers this way or that. Ordered her to twist her nipples. Commanded her to tell him every dirty little thing she did to herself. Each sentence he spoke came a little harsher, with less control. He was closing in on his climax, doing his best to wait until he had her so wound up that the right touch would see her shattering like brittle glass struck by a rock. And she did everything he told her, knowing that he'd know if she did it or not. Knowing that her actions were turning him on, even though he couldn't see them. Knowing that she affected him just as much as he affected her.
"Are you ready, Miriam?" he asked her, voice breathless and pinched.
"Oh, god, yes. Please, Phil. I've been ready for so long," she whispered, trying hard to keep the moan out of her words. She felt she failed miserably when he chuckled one last time, a sound that was barely audible across the phone line and the miles between them.
"Then come for me, Miriam." He gave the order and her hand moved to obey. Her fingers barely touched her clit, stroked it once or twice, and the pleasure that had built swelled, hit a crescendo and broke over her like waves slapping up against the shore. Miri keened out her release, a high sound that lasted an age. She was vaguely aware of Phil letting go a long, low moan, then his chair was creaking as he shifted positions, cleaned up and righted himself. She simply melted into the mattress and tried to learn how to breathe again.
They listened to one another draw air for just a bit before he spoke again. When he did, he sounded entirely too normal. "Do you feel better now, Miriam?" he asked her.
"Much better. Thank you." She didn't bother to stifle her yawn, her bones all gone liquid with climax. He chuckled yet again.
"I'm glad. Now go to sleep. You sound in need of some rest. I imagine its been a long day," he told her. She shifted long enough to climb under the covers and turn off the lamp on the bedside table.
"Okay," she replied. "Good night, Phil."
"Good night, Miriam. Pleasant dreams." He disconnected.
Oh, yes. They definitely were.
