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marysuevirusTitle: The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers!
Chapter Twelve: Unpleasantness
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
It was raining when she opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch. Thunder rumbled ominous warnings overhead while lightning cut the sky with jagged fingers of electricity. Alex delivered wooden good byes to her parents and her brothers, hugging and kissing them all even though she wanted nothing more than to run screaming into the night. She stood by and watched absently as her mother dragged Barton into a tight, motherly hug and her brothers shook his hand. Obviously trying to intimidate him by squeezing his hand as tight as they could. Failing to scare him off. She stood through it all, waited until the door closed and left them standing on the dimly lit porch by themselves.
Without saying a word to him, Alex hurried down the steps. Hurried up the sidewalk to the gate in the white picket fence. Hurried up the sidewalk that ran parallel to the road, away from his car, and off into the night. "Alex?" he called after her, actually sounding concerned. She ignored him and kept going. As soon as she was out of sight of the windows in her parents' house, she broke into a run that carried her into the shadows.
She heard him curse behind her and, afraid that he'd give chase on foot, put on a touch of speed. She had the advantage here. This was her home turf. She knew every nook and cranny of the neighborhood. She didn't have to outrun him. She only had to find the right hiding place. The rain could only work to her advantage. And once she was rid of him, she could lick her wounds in private and try to figure out what the fuck she was going to do next.
Idiot that she was, she forgot that he had a car at his disposal. The engine came purring to life over the sound of water drops hitting the ground, then grew closer as he approached.
She couldn't outrun a fucking car. Not on the street. So she cut into an empty lot, intent on nothing more than escaping. If she could make it a few streets over before he caught up to her, she could catch a cab and take that home. Had logic been on her side, she'd have realized that her actions were stupid and futile. But she was mad, at him and at herself, and she needed to stay as far from him as possible or she was going to do something really fucking stupid.
She heard the tires on the wet pavement as the brakes were applied. A car door slammed shut. "Damn it, Alex! Will you stop and tell me what the hell is going on?" he growled over the rain. Like fuck she would. She didn't want to talk to him at all. She just wanted the whole fucking nightmare to end. She wanted it done so she could go curl up somewhere and lick her wounds. Maybe she could get reassigned to some other division so that she'd never have to see him again...
Alex was halfway across the lot when his hand curled around her arm and brought her up short, cutting off her chance of escape and taking away the last spot of dignity she had left to her name. This evening had been the biggest mistake of her life. Couldn't he just let her go so that it could all end? Did he have to keep rubbing her nose in the fact that her mother was going to be hurt when she found out it had all been a joke? That she'd never forgive her daughter for the ruse? Couldn't he just leave her the fuck alone? "You're soaking wet, Alex. Get in the car and let me take you home."
So calm. So rational. So completely everything she wasn't.
It wasn't really all that often that Alex gave in to her temper. Sure, there had been a few occasions, mostly long gone into history and her memory. She'd been younger then. Cockier. Quicker to anger. She liked to think she'd mellowed with age, that she was capable of holding on to her temper much better than she used to. But something about his calm rationale, about the sounds of genuine concern in his voice, about the way he seemed to have fit in so much better with her family than she had... All of it snapped her control and let her temper run free.
She turned, arm coming up as she did to throw a punch right into his smug face. The action surprised him enough that she only managed to graze his cheek, his head jerking to the side at just the last second. Her attack was enough to see him loosing his hold on her arm. She pulled away from him, stepping back and bringing her fists up. It didn't matter that she was soaking wet, her hair and clothes plastered to her skin. It didn't matter that water dripped into her eyes and sheeted down her face. Nothing mattered but letting him see that she wasn't someone to be played with.
This wasn't like their previous fight, when she'd just been frustrated. This was pure anger, the emotion boiling up and out of her. It flowed along her arms and legs, tensed her muscles in preparation of trading blows with the man. She was ready to knock him on his ass because he was there and she was hurt and confused about his reasons behind doing this. Hurt and confused by his acceptance with her family when everything she did was subject to review and criticism. Just plain ass hurt and confused. She wanted him to pay for all of her perceived short comings. She wanted to hurt him the same way he'd hurt her. She wanted to see him bleed. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
She had no answer for him. Part of her knew it wasn't his fault she felt so horrible. Her mother had never been able to accept that her only girl had wanted something more from life than just a husband and babies. Her mother had never really been able to accept her. Sure, she loved her daughter, would do anything for her. But she didn't understand her. Didn't fully accept that Alex was happy with her choices in life. In one night, Barton had managed to destroy the easy truce she'd reached with the woman who had brought her into this world.
Alex swung at him again, a right cross that saw him bobbing backward in order to avoid it. Lightning forked across the sky and imprinted upon her vision the image of him soaked to the skin, his hair laying wet and heavy against his scalp while his t-shirt hugged every inch of his chest and his jeans clung tightly to his thighs. He'd apparently ditched the button down in his car. Then it was gone and she was irrationally angry at herself for finding him so god damned attractive. She followed the right cross with a roundhouse kick.
He caught her foot in both hands and gave a shove, sending her tumbling to the ground. Mud sucked at her back when she tried to get up, holding her down for a few seconds longer than she liked. "Alex, you're soaked. Let me take you home before you catch your death," he insisted, voice steady and even. Almost gentle. It wasn't real. She knew it wasn't real. That made her temper boil over all over again and Alex forced herself back onto her feet.
"Don't call me Alex, Barton," she snarled and threw a fist toward him. He caught it and held it with one hand. He blocked the other fist with his forearm, shoved it away before he did the same to her. She slid in the mud but kept her footing. "Quinn is just fucking fine."
He settled his hands on his hips and glared at her across the shadowy distance between them. "Is there a reason that you're acting like this? You haven't been yourself all evening."
"You fucked it all up. All of it!" she snarled at him, not caring that she wasn't really making sense. She drove forward, fists and feet flying. He blocked each attempt she made, pushing her temper higher and higher. "All my life, all I wanted was for my mother to see me as something more than a girl child to give her grandbabies. You..."
She lashed out at him with a foot, put every last ounce of anger she felt into it. He caught her foot and jerked, sending her down into the mud again. When he didn't release his hold on her foot, she kicked with the other and knocked his feet out from under him. He let go of her foot, allowing her to roll and come to her feet. Or attempt to. She was still on her hand and knees when one of his hands caught her ankle. He tugged on it hard and sent her sprawling face first in the mud.
Alex rolled and kicked at him, one of her heels connecting with his chest hard enough to send him sprawling on his back in the mud. Moments ago, she'd wanted nothing more than to get away from him and everyone else. She'd wanted to go hide away somewhere and try to forget that all of this shit had happened. Now, seeing him flat on his ass in the mud, she wanted nothing more than to kick the shit out of him. If only to prove to herself that she was still in control of her life.
He freed himself from the sucking, clinging mud and rose to his feet, eyes locked onto her face. Waited for her to make the next move. Because he wasn't going to launch an attack. It was plain to see in the loose way he held himself, in his unguarded stance. Some part of her brain, some irrational part, insisted that he didn't think she was a worthy adversary, that she was nothing more than a girl to him. It whispered to her that she should show him who was boss. It only added to her mounting stupidity and drove her toward him with fists flying.
There was no opportunity to talk. Not that she had anything to say to him and not that she'd listen to anything he had to say. He was simply the enemy. She didn't question the designation. She didn't wonder why she felt that way. She simply did without thinking. And he did nothing to really stop her. When she threw a jab, he blocked it with the solid muscle of his forearm. When she struck out at him with her foot, she felt it impact with his thigh or calf. Every time the lightning flashed and she got a good look at his face, she saw that he was more confused by her actions than upset.
That pissed her off. And it saw her making a mistake that even rookies knew not to make. She allowed the anger to fully replace her training and lunged at him blindly. He caught her arm easily, because she'd over extended from her body, and pulled her into his chest. Took hold of her free hand and spun her until she found her back pressed to his chest, her arms held crossed over her torso. "Lexi. Listen to me." His voice was in her ear, quiet and sane and slightly pleading. She stomped down on his foot, hard enough that he let her go. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry."
"Apology not accepted." He didn't even know what he was apologizing to her for. She went at him one more time, determined to drop him where he stood. She was too blind to see her mistake until it was too late. One foot slipped out of place, sending her skidding in the mud. He caught her, trying to keep her from landing face first in the muck. She fought him, tried to hit him and shove him both at the same time. She lost her balance.
Her hand curled in his t-shirt, caught it between her fingers to try and stabilize herself. But she only succeeded in pulling him down after her. He landed on top of her, his body a heavy, warm weight against hers. For just a second, she lay still beneath him and let the rain wash away every last emotion she felt. But that passed the moment she realized that he wasn't moving and she could feel... This time it was panic that slid through her, panic that saw her struggling to dislodge him. Panic that saw her trying to get up and away.
That same edge of panic pushed away her training and left her with nothing but the will to drive him back. She lifted her hands and tried clawing his face. But his fingers were cuffs of iron that shackled her wrists. The strength in his arms saw her hands pinned in the mud, held up above her head. And the look in his eyes. It wasn't the concern she'd seen only moments ago. It wasn't anger or disgust. It wasn't anything that suggested she was weaker because she was a woman. It was a look of hunger and desire and she'd seen it in his eyes before.
No. This was not happening. Not again. She wasn't going to do it. She wasn't going to... Thoughts fled when he lowered his face to hers, when he pressed his lips against her own. Need, long suppressed and hidden, bubbled to the surface. Hunger. Desire. She tried struggling against him, but his weight settled more firmly against her and left her body stretched out beneath his in the mud. And still his mouth worked hers. Asking her to give in to him. Coaxing. Teasing.
The kiss was tender and gentle. Nothing like she'd imagined it to be. Everything she'd hoped it would be. Slowly, in minute increments, Alex felt the tension leak out of her muscles until she lay pliant under him. His hands released her wrists. Reluctantly, she lifted them until she could spear them into the wet spikes of his hair. The rain was cold but she didn't feel it, heat rushing through her from the touch of his mouth on hers, the length of his body pressed to hers. God above, he was so hard against her. She moaned softly, her mouth opening so that he could feed his tongue into it.
Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen when he finally pulled back. Alex lay under him, her body memorizing every single line and ridge of his own. He offered her a crooked smile, one hand dropping down to wipe at her face. "You taste like mud." Before she could think of a come back, he was on his feet and holding one hand down to her. There was no hesitance in her when she put her hand in his and allowed him to bring her to her feet. He tugged her into his chest, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her hard again. She clung to him when he lifted his head from hers. "Your place or mine?"
"I don't..." she shook her head. She knew she shouldn't, that she had reasons for wanting to keep him at a distance, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She couldn't even remember those reasons at the moment. "I don't care. Let's just go."
~*~*~*~*~
"Honestly, Miriam. I simply don't understand your chosen career path. You're an attractive young lady. You should be doing something feminine and soft. Something that attracts the right type of man to your side. Why do you insist on working for the military? If you don't re-prioritize your life, you'll end up dying alone. And unloved."
Miriam bit back her sigh and forced herself to count to fifty. Again. She wasn't in the mood for another of her mother's lectures-cum-laments about the way her only child chose to live her life. Not that Miri's lifestyle was the real issue. Deep down, her mother harped on her decisions because she was flat out embarrassed by what her daughter had done with her life. Was doing with her life. Following after her father into the military was a crime in her mother's eyes. The military was the bane of Marjorie Grant's existence.
"Really, Miriam. Do you like toting guns around and shooting people?"
"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm nothing more than a researcher? I will never be deployed to an active fight zone."
"But why the military? I swear you're just like your father," Marjorie sighed. Miriam heard the distinctive clink of ice in a glass. Her mother was empty. That meant she'd be pouring another one very quickly.
"We've talked about this, Mother. They pay well. I'm allowed to do what I love to do. They get what they need. Its a win-win situation."
"Miriam," her mother sighed. There was a faint liquid sound in the background, obviously her mother refilling her glass. For as long as she could remember, Marjorie Grant had hidden her unhappiness behind a tumbler of something alcoholic. It didn't matter what it was. So long as there was a burn to it, so long as it made her forget, she would drink it. "You can do so much better than some musty old job researching... whatever it is you research in some darkened back room for Uncle Sam. You're still young. You must have some prospects."
It was so hard not to just pop off with the first thing that came to her mind. Just because her mother had never been happy or satisfied with her father didn't mean that Miriam had to do better to vindicate the other woman. She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, letting go a litany of retorts in her head so that she wouldn't say them to her mother. She'd done that once and the resulting verbal fight hadn't been pretty at all.
She should be used to such calls by now. Her mother had been like this ever since Miri had joined S.H.I.E.L.D., had called a least once a month to harangue her about her prospects and the error of her ways. There was no love lost between her and her mother, but she'd like to just once have to endure the same kind of problems with her mom that Alex had with Mary Magdelaine. She wondered briefly how that meal had gone, wondered briefly if she should have insisted she go with to give Alex a little moral support.
"I don't think we should get into this discussion again," Miri told the woman softly. She couldn't tell her about Phil and the last time they'd had the "prospects" talk, it had nearly devolved into a shouting match about why Miriam was just as rotten and ungrateful as her father.
"Why not, Miriam? Why shouldn't we talk about this again?" Marjorie asked, tone going belligerent. Not for the first time, Miri wished she could just come right out and tell her mother that she wasn't going to get married to some guy with more brawn than brains just to make her mother feel better about her own disappointing choices.
"I don't plan on getting married unless I meet a man who stimulates my mind as much as my body. Someone who knows who and what I am and doesn't have problems with it. I don't need to be married to feel like I'm whole," Miri told her. She didn't mention that Phil had all the qualities in a man she found appealing. Her mother didn't know about Phil and likely wouldn't approve of him. Agent Phil Coulson was pretty much everything that her mother despised in a man.
"Yes. I thought I had that when I married your father," Marjorie snarled. Miri rolled her eyes and wondered how much longer she'd be forced to live through this again. Somehow, her conversations with her mother always came back to her father and what a disappointment he was in her mother's eyes. "If I had known that he was going to make the military his career, I would never have accepted his proposal."
"Dad was already in the military when you got married, Mother," Miri reminded her. It was kind of a low blow, but she was tired of this chat, tired of hearing her mother constantly rag on her father and treat him like he was the source of all her problems.
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady," Marjorie Grant snapped into the phone. Miri heard more alcohol being poured into her mother's tumbler. Once upon a time, she would have felt instantly contrite. No longer. And she wasn't going to apologize for speaking the truth. In fact, she didn't want to say anything else to her mother for a good long while. She just had to find some way to get the woman off the phone so that she could try and calm herself before she climbed into bed. Every call from her mother always took a toll on her muscles and the last thing she wanted to do was go to sleep tense.
"Forgive me. Perhaps we should simply cut this conversation short. Unless you have some other topic you feel you need to batter me with? I have to work tomorrow and I'd like to get some sleep."
Her mother gave a long, heavy sigh into the phone. "Honestly, Miriam. Must you make everything between us some kind of battle? You can be so melodramatic."
She wanted to say she'd learned it from the best. But she held her tongue and counted to fifty again. During the silence, she heard her mother take a deep drink off the favored alcoholic beverage of the night. The ice cubes clanked and rattled within the glass, letting Miri know it was down to the dregs or empty. Yeah. The call needed to end or else things would get really bad. Really fast. A knock at the door gave her the perfect out. "There's someone at the door. I need to go, Mother."
"You're going to answer the door at this time of night, Miriam? You must want someone to try and--" her mother began, but Miri cut her off.
"I'll take my gun with me. If anyone tries anything, I'll shoot them," she told Marjorie, her tone utterly serious and sincere. There was silence from the other end for the span of two heart beats, then her mother drew a breath and released it as a long suffering sigh.
"Very well, Miriam. Good night." Marjorie Grant didn't wait for Miri to respond. She just hung up, abruptly ending the call and offering Miri a bit of peace. Miri disconnected and cradled the phone, then got up and headed for the door. She gave a brief thought to picking up her weapon, but figured anyone stupid enough to try and do anything to her would earn the ass kicking she'd mete out.
The door opened to reveal Mrs. Goldman, the elderly lady who lived a floor down. She had her yappy little terrier with her, the animal pulling at its leash to be away from its owner. Miri offered the old lady a broad smile. "Good evening, Mrs. Goldman. What can I do for you tonight?" she asked politely.
The woman beamed a smile at her, showing off her perfect teeth, every one of them her own, if Mrs. Goldman was to be believed. "Nothing, dear. I just wanted to bring this up before I forgot. It was in my mailbox today." The woman handed her an envelope with her name written on it in cramped scrawl. Miri took the envelope from her neighbor's wrinkled grasp.
"Thank you. You didn't need to make a special trip up here. You could have just left it in my box," Miri told her. She knew the woman had problems with her arthritis.
"Nonsense, my dear. Kiki needed a walk, so I thought I'd come up and see how you were doing. We don't get many opportunities to visit, Kiki and I. Most of our friends are either dead or in a home. And this building is filled with young people."
"Of course, Mrs. Goldman. I'm sorry. Maybe I can find time one night this week to come by and visit for a while. I'm still trying to get settled back in after being gone for a few weeks. You know how work keeps me busy." Her words made the older woman smile brightly.
"I would like that quite a bit, dear. I can make my famous lasagne for you. Its fabulous. Mr. Goldman used to swear by it." Miri smiled in return, trying to imagine a little Jewish woman making perfect Italian lasagne. She suspected that Mrs. Goldman was as good as her word.
"Let me know when its convenient for you, Mrs. Goldman. I'll bring a loaf of garlic bread from the bakery down the street."
"And don't forget the wine, dear," Mrs. Goldman winked at her. Miri laughed at that, watching as the old woman tottered off with her terrier in tow. When they disappeared around the corner, Miri closed the door and headed into the living room to return her dirtied dinner dishes to the kitchen. She'd have to get them cleaned up eventually, but she just didn't have the energy for it this evening. Her mother had drained all of it from her. Thank God for Mrs. Goldman or she'd still be on the phone with her mother.
Miri was loading the dishes into the dishwasher when she heard the soft rap on the door. Had the old woman forgotten something else? Laughing, Miri headed for the door to her apartment once more. "I won't forget the wine, Mrs. Goldman," she said as she swung the door open. And blinked at her visitor in surprise.
"Making dinner plans with your neighbor, Miriam?" Phil asked with a half smile.
"She brought me a letter that ended up in her box by mistake. Then she invited me to dinner. I promised to bring garlic bread. And wine," Miri explained even as she stepped back from the door. With efficient motions, Phil stepped into the apartment and waited a few steps from the entry while Miri pushed the door closed and slid the lock home. He was wearing a suit and tie, despite the fact that she was pretty sure he hadn't worked today.
Normally, she'd show him into the living room and invite him to have a seat. But this wasn't a normal occasion. He'd dropped by unannounced and she couldn't recall a single time since they'd gotten together that he'd ever done that. So she just stood there in the hallway and stared at him. Blinked once in confusion. "Did we have plans tonight? If we did, I seem to have forgotten them."
"No. We didn't have plans. I just happened to be in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd drop by," he told her. His smile was still in place but she could see it wilting a little at the edges. Had she offended him? She hoped she hadn't. It was just that her mother always left her scattered, made her feel as if she was distinctly lacking in mental capacity. "That's okay, isn't it? You don't have other plans?" This time, there was uncertainty in his words. Something she rarely ever heard from him.
"I'm sorry, Phil. No. There are no other plans. But my mother called tonight and--" she began. But the moment she mentioned her phone call, he lifted a hand and brought her words to a halt.
"Don't apologize. I understand completely. She left you rattled, didn't she?" he asked. That little smile of his was starting to make a come back and it went a long way to easing some of the tension in her. Some, but not all.
"She always leaves me rattled. Its always the same thing with her. Sometimes I wish I could just snap back at her," she sighed and let her shoulders slump. "Or maybe see if I could sic Director Fury on her."
"That would be worth seeing," Phil told her, chuckling softly at the mental images it must have conjured. He was right. It would be worth seeing. Miri was more than sure that Fury could make her mother wet herself in fear. The man had a way about him.
For the first time in a long time, she struggled to find something to say to him. For much of their association with one another, there'd been no need to seek out topics of discussion. They'd almost always met for sex. That hadn't needed any words. Not really. But his sudden arrival only furthered the notion that their relationship had changed somewhere along the way. And she was too emotionally drained to really grasp what it meant. "Can I get you something to drink? I think I've got some wine in the fridge. And Alex left some beer after her last visit. I can make coffee."
"Beer would be good, assuming it won't upset Alex." For a second she thought he was serious, then belatedly realized that he was joking. Miri offered a smile and cursed herself for not being more on the ball.
"I doubt Alex would say anything about you drinking one of her beers. I think she's afraid of you," she told them, then headed for the kitchen and her fridge, where the beer lay waiting.
"Are you afraid of me, Miriam?" The question was asked so softly that she thought she hadn't heard him correctly at first. They stopped her in her tracks, prompting her to turn back to him. The look on his face was so serious that she realized she'd heard him just fine.
"Why would you ask that?"
"You haven't been yourself lately. It leaves me to wonder--" he began. She cut him off, rushing to reassure him.
"I'm not afraid of you, Phil. But things have changed between us and that scares me because I don't know what's going on." She saw him open his mouth to speak, so she hurried to get it all out before she lost her nerve. The reserve that she had where her mother was concerned had disappeared and all kinds of things were fighting to be said. Miri couldn't seem to stop herself, either. "You're different and I have to wonder if we're... I mean, after the explosion and you were there and I realized that maybe I feel something more intense for you than I originally thought I did and I'm afraid that it isn't real and that all of this will go up in flames or end up being some kind of dream and..."
His chuckle brought her words to a halt. She'd been rambling and they both knew it. Talking to her mother always left her in such an unbalanced frame of mind. She tried to go back and replay in her head what she'd said to him, but he reached out and took her hand in his. "Its okay, Miriam. I think I understand now."
She blinked at him.
"Go take a seat on the couch. I'll get the beer and join you there." It wasn't an order, yet it was. So she nodded and headed back the way she'd just come, feeling a flash of heat as his fingers brushed against her arm when he passed her. The touch was brief and lingering all at the same time, a gesture meant to ease her confused mind. It shut her thoughts off for as long as it took him to retrieve beer from the fridge and join her in the living room.
He handed her one of the bottles he'd brought, then set his down on her coffee table and shucked his suit coat. It landed with careless ease in the arm chair nearest him. He took a seat on the couch beside her, his thigh brushing her own as he leaned forward to pick up his beer. She watched as he swallowed some of the cold brew down, his throat working as he did so. The bottle was returned to the table before he looked at her. "Turn just a little, Miriam. Put your back to me."
Like his previous statement, it was and wasn't an order. She turned so that her back was to him, vaguely wondering what he had in mind. The touch of his fingers against her shoulder was brief before he laid his hands flat against her back and began slowly working the kinks from her muscles. Miri sighed out a moan and let her head fall forward.
There was strength in his ministrations as he worked up and down her back, kneading at the tension her mother had brought to life with her call. Occasionally, his hands would shift forward and work at the muscles that ran down her sides. If his fingers grazed the outer swell of her breasts, she said nothing. Simply enjoyed the pleasure she got from his touch and his presence. Basked in the uncomplicated nature of his actions.
Eventually he shifted behind her, inching closer to her until he could lay his mouth against the back of her neck. Feather light kisses were brushed up and down and all around while his hands continued kneading at her lower back and her sides. He kept up until she was limp in his hold, weak as a kitten. Then he pulled her fully into his embrace, molding his chest to her back. She submitted to his hold, relished the head of his body wrapped so securely around hers.
"There's no need to worry, Miriam," he whispered against her ear, his hands stroking down her belly until they rested in her lap. "I promise you. This is very real."
~*~*~*~*~
A large hand reached over her shoulder and tugged the drawing from her grasp. Astrid scrambled to take it back, but Thor was faster than she was. She failed to capture the pad back from him. "Leave this puzzle for those who know more about it, Astrid. I did not share it with you to see you spend more time with it than with me. I am in need and you possess that which I need." Thor made sure he put a hint of persuasion in his voice so that it would catch her attention. Astrid let her gaze shift from the drawing he'd taken from her to him, her gaze skimming his naked frame to take in the growing erection he was sporting. It worked every time, damn him.
"There's something about it. I know I can figure it out if I try," she replied, mostly just to annoy him. As expected, he frowned at her words.
"This isn't your problem to solve, Astrid. My colleagues have people already attempting to decipher its meaning. Allow them to do their job. And allow me to spend the night pleasuring you." He ended the sentence with a wicked smile that saw her knees go weak.
"You're just trying to distract me," she accused, even as he took hold of her hand and tugged her without fight toward the bed. The pad of paper was tossed haplessly into the corner. It landed in a flutter of pages, like the flapping wings of a disturbed mourning dove, then settled down to become simply a white blot against the wooden floor.
"Is it working?" he asked, his grin going wider.
"Maybe," she hedged. "But I don't know if I like the idea that you think using sex to distract me is okay. It suggests you don't think I have a brain in my head."
Thor looked completely taken aback at her statement. He urged her down onto the bed and settled beside her, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek. She could see honest confusion in his beautiful blue eyes. "Astrid, do you really believe that I would use such an intimate act to turn your mind away from something?"
She frowned at the genuine sound of pain in his voice. Why should he be hurt by her statement? Wasn't it the truth? Granted, her experience with men was kind of limited, but she was sure that sex was a great way to distract anyone. She said nothing, simply shrugged her shoulders. He frowned at her before reaching up with his other hand and framing her face between the two of them. There was a touch of sorrow in his gaze as he stared at her. "I would like to meet the man who made you think that such petty tricks were acceptable. I would teach him otherwise."
"I don't think I understand, Thor."
He leaned toward her, pulled her close so that he could press a soft, tender, almost chaste kiss to her lips. When he drew back, her eyelids fluttered open and she saw he wore the softest expression she'd ever seen on his face. "Do you believe that I've spent these weeks wooing you just so that I might lay with you?"
She didn't answer right away, her brain sifting through the somewhat antiquated words to translate his statement into something she understood. He had such an odd way of speaking at times that she sometimes wondered just who and what he really was. When he saw that she had grasped his meaning, he leaned in and kissed her again, this one just as chaste as the last. "Had that been all I wanted, I would have enjoyed a night of pleasure at your side, then I would have found someone else with whom to spend my time. But I want more than that with you. I have been wooing you. And what we've done here in your bed is not simply sex. We've been making love to one another all these nights."
Making love? Astrid was stunned because she hadn't been expecting that. She hadn't really considered their nights spent together, had simply enjoyed them. Always, at the back of her mind, had been the thought that this would all come to an end. Not that she'd thought he was as shallow as some of the other men she'd met. He'd long ago proved he wasn't. She just hadn't considered that what was happening between them was something much deeper than a simple sexual relationship. Kind of a friends with benefits type thing.
But his previous statement completely blew that out of the water. Making love suggested a deeper level of intimacy, a shared connection. A bond. She was left stunned by the very idea. She had to know what was going on with them. Between them. "Thor?" she asked in a whisper. She hoped he understood the full question because she knew there was no way she could actually put it into words.
"Astrid, you are..." he stopped and frowned, obviously searching for the right words. She felt like she was hanging on the edge and one wrong move would see her plunging over. She knew, waiting for him to finish his statement, that her very sanity lay in the balance. Because sitting there staring at him, seeing the emotion in his eyes, she realized that this had been much more than sex for her. The truth had been staring her in the face for days now, but she'd deftly ignored it. How was such a thing possible? How did two people who had been complete strangers only a month ago become so much more important to one another?
"I've never met a woman like you, Astrid. Thoughts of you consume me the moment I wake in the morning and they continue to plague me through the entire day until I climb into bed to rest at night. You're smart and witty. You're beautiful and fiery. You're filled with passion and sweetness. You're absolutely amazing. I have no desire to return to my life as it was before you entered it." He paused and considered things for a few more seconds. "I'm no poet. I'm no good with words. I'm a man of action. A man of deeds. So I ask you to consider my deeds. I ask you to consider the pleasure I've brought you. And I ask you to consider the fact that my life would be empty and meaningless if you were not in it from this day forth."
"You... I... We... " she stammered, trying to find the right words. Something that wouldn't sound silly. Childish. Nothing came. Nothing but one question. She stared him in the eyes as she reached out a hand to trail her fingers down his cheek, let them sift through the short, abrasive length of his beard. "Are you saying that you love me?"
"If this desire I have to be at your side all hours of the day and night is love, then yes. I love you. If wanting to hold you in my arms and feel the silk of your skin against mine is love, then yes. I love you. If wanting to spend my life with you is love, then yes. I love you." He said it so simply. So easily. As if he made such intense admissions all the time. She was slightly disappointed that there was no trumpeting fanfare that sounded with his words. Something like that should be accompanied by something loud and stark so that everyone knew what was happening. So that they recognized the importance of it.
There was no big to do. There was simply a warmth in the pit of her stomach that expanded and grew. He loved her. She believed him, had no reason not to. There was such sincerity in his eyes and his voice. She could feel it in the touch of his hand. She was filled with it. "Oh, wow." The words spilled from her lips with reverence and awe. Thor watched her, obviously not sure yet that her reaction was a good thing. "You really love me."
"I really love you," Thor repeated with a single nod of his head. His eyes searched hers. Whatever he found there obviously displeased him because he frowned. And his temper spiked just a bit. She heard it in the harshness of his voice when he spoke again. "Why do you insist on thinking the worst of me? Of yourself? Your eyes say you expect disappointment at every turn. Why can you not believe that my feelings for you are genuine and not driven by some hidden agenda? Why do you not believe that I am genuine?"
"I believe you. I just..." she began, only to fall silent. She couldn't explain it to him anymore than she could really explain it to herself.
"What, Astrid? Why is this so difficult for you? You are a woman who knows her mind. How can you not know this?" When she didn't answer him right away, Thor rose from the bed and paced to where his clothes had been left piled on the floor. It didn't really register what was happening until she watched him step into his jeans.
"You're leaving?" she asked. The idea that he'd walk off and leave her after making such a confession sent a shaft of pain through her. Sliding from the bed, she approached him in the hopes that she could convince him to stay. Maybe if they talked this over...
"I just poured my heart out to you. Yet you say nothing of it. You say nothing of your own feelings. And you continue to doubt my sincerity. Tell me why I should stay!" he snarled at her. Astrid actually took a step back because he'd never unleashed his temper upon her before.
"I thought..." she began, only to fall silent when he turned a piercing stare her way. His jeans were buttoned and zipped, the t-shirt he'd been wearing tugged down over his head.
"Whatever you thought was wrong, Astrid. Perhaps you should think again," he told her. She watched as he sat down heavily and put his socks on, then slipped his feet into the tennis shoes he'd worn. "I will leave now and give you time to do so. When you can decide what your feelings for me are, then we will talk again." He turned and stalked from the room.
She trailed after him, taking note of the tension in his shoulders. It ran down the length of his spine. It collected in his hands so that his fingers curled into fists. He didn't look at her when he reached the door, when he brought a hand up to clasp the knob and turn. He didn't look at her when he stepped through the door into the hallway. He didn't look back when he pulled the door closed.
Astrid felt tears roll down her cheeks. But it was nothing next to the feel of her heart shattering in her chest. That alone was enough to tell her she'd known the answer to his unasked question all along.
She should go back, find her robe and slip into it. Find him. Tell him she loved him. But he wouldn't believe her if she did. He'd think it a ploy. With her emotions so jumbled, she wasn't sure he wouldn't be right.
Heart heavy in her chest, she locked the door and retraced her steps to her bedroom. Curled up under the covers and pulled them around her. Inhaled his masculine scent. Cried a little harder. Until she was so exhausted, she couldn't avoid sleep.
And drifted off wondering what the hell she'd just done.
~*~*~*~*~
The car ride was little more than a blur. She saw lights and sensed motion, but that was it. Every single nerve, every sense, was tuned to him. She was hyper aware of each move he made, of each drop of water that traced its way down his cheek or arm. Of the sizzling attraction between them that had seemingly always been there without her realizing it. How had she not felt it before?
Something burned under her skin each time his hand left the wheel so that it could rest on her knee. He didn't try anything in the car, eyes carefully focused on the road. God knows she wished he would. Half of her was tempted to tell him to just find a place to park the car so she could pull him into the back seat. Now that she recognized that she needed him, her body made it clear that it needed and wanted him now. She didn't, though. Just sat there, dripping on his seat, barely taking note of the world going by them.
He kissed her again after they climbed from the car, pinned her against the passenger side door and pressed his full length up against her so that she couldn't move. As if he knew she was skittish. But her mouth met his eagerly and she melted under the insistent pressure of his lips. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, clung to him shamelessly as she fell into his kiss. Rain still poured down around them, chilling her all over again. She didn't care. He was hot enough to keep her warm.
He pulled back when she shivered against him, water dripping down her back and between her breasts. Alex let her legs drop to the ground, but kept her arms around him. His eyes searched hers before giving her a rueful smile. "You're cold and you need to get out of those wet things. I'm sorry. I should have controlled myself better. Its just that I've waited a long damn time to do that."
"That is the cheesiest pick up line I've ever heard, Barton," she slapped his arm playfully. Her words saw his smile faltering. Just the slightest bit.
"Clint," he corrected her. Alex blinked up at him for a second or two. He went on. "My name is Clint. I think, given present circumstances, you should call me Clint."
She nodded at him. "Fine. That is the cheesiest pick up line I've ever heard, Clint."
He grinned at her familiarity, then ducked his head and kissed her again. She melted into it, every cell in her body screaming for his touch. She was vaguely aware of movement, of his body herding hers in what she assumed was the direction of the door. Hell, he could have been taking her to her death and she wouldn't have cared. Not with his mouth on hers. Not with his hands resting just on the upper curve of her ass. Not with his body hard and firm against hers.
There were stairs. She was vaguely aware of her heels hitting the bottom one. But it didn't matter because his mouth moved against her and she practically floated up the stairs. She didn't even know how. Then her back was against a door as he fumbled for the keys to his place. Their kisses had grown more urgent, deepened and lengthened until they broke away from one another to gasp for air and then start anew. His hands had roamed everywhere, tracing her curves and molding her to him.
The door gave way behind her and only the hold she had on him kept her from tumbling back into the darkness of his apartment. She heard the jingle of keys as he tugged them from the lock, then the wooden panel closed and left them in the dark. The keys jangled again, hit something hard and went silent. Not that she cared, because his hands were busy tugging the wet shirt from her body even as he kept herding her back, deeper into the apartment. The idea appealed, her hands reaching for his t-shirt.
They left a trail of soaked clothing behind them until, finally, they stood in the bathroom in underwear and socks. He went to work on her bra while she fussed with the boxer briefs that seemed fused to his skin. The lacy scrap was gone before she'd managed to budge his underwear and he'd dropped to his knees to remove her socks and tug her panties off. When she was naked, he stared up at her, eyes dark with desire. A shiver raced through her that had nothing to do with being chilled. "Clint..."
"God, you're beautiful," he whispered. His hands lifted to cup her ass, to press her hips forward toward his face. She moaned when his lips seared kisses into her belly and roamed, her fingers curling into his hair. Another shiver raced through her, this time from the cold rain, and he rose to his feet. He gave her a smile, then leaned in to start the water in the shower. His briefs hit the ground with a splat and he toed his socks off so that they lay in puddles on the floor. Then he had her in his arms again and they were in the shower.
He held her close and dragged her under the spray, his hands roaming her skin to memorize contours. Alex leaned into him, ran her lips across his flesh so that she could taste him. Let her hands trace his spine and the muscles that worked under his skin. Shaped them to the curves of his ass. He groaned, the sound loud over the thunder of the water rushing over them. She found herself spun around, her back slammed against the wall of the stall. His mouth took hers again, the kiss positively on fire. She opened to him, wrapping her legs around his waist even while she gave him access to her mouth.
Clint was suddenly just buried inside of her. There was no warning at all. One second, she was sucking at his tongue. The next, he was thrusting up into her body until she was fully impaled on his cock. He ate the sound she made, his mouth never breaking from hers as his hips found a quick, hard rhythm that gave her no opportunity to move at all.
Tension filled her, pulling every part of her tight in anticipation. Pleasure spiraled up and out, flooding her limbs with growing hunger and need. Sweet friction ate at her will and stole rational thought. Their coupling was hard and fast, wild with pent up desire. His hips thrust against hers, his mouth feasting from her own as he worked them both toward climax. It had been such a long time since she'd felt like this. Since she'd felt this.
Caught up in his embrace, lost in the sensations of his body moving within hers, she realized that this had been building between them for a very long time.
It was all over way too fast. He shoved himself deep inside of her, pressed her hard against the wall. Came with a low groan in her ear that was all pleasure. Alex clung to him, gasping for breath while her body shuddered and tingled. He held her body to his, face buried against her neck as he worked at slowing his breathing.
He lifted his head and gave her a look of contrition. "Lexi. Baby, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to... I wanted to make it last. Make it good. But its been so long and... I'm sorry."
She smiled at him, then leaned in to offer him her lips. He took them, kissed her hard even while he turned them so that they stood directly under the spray of water. His hands roved briefly, fingers cupping her ass so that he could pull her into him. They broke only when the need to breathe became too great. "Its okay, Clint. Its been a long time for me, too."
"Next time will be better. I swear it." He sealed his words with a kiss, then set about soaping her up. She allowed it, stood and drifted with the sureness of his ministrations. He washed every inch of her skin, making sure that no mud remained. When his hands cupped her breasts, she leaned into him and sighed. His fingers scissored her nipples, teasing them with the promise of things yet to come. His hands made long, slow strokes across her ass and thighs. Dipped between her legs to carefully wash the swollen flesh he'd so recently filled. She sighed and moaned when a finger dipped inside of her and stroked across her clit until she shuddered and cried out with orgasm.
By the time he was done lathering her up and rinsing her off, she was so lost that she couldn't manage words. He rinsed himself off, his hands taking every opportunity to get to know her skin. Then the water was shut off and he was helping her out onto the rug. The towel was big and fluffy and buffed her skin so sensually that she thought she'd die from the sensation. He didn't even bother with more than a cursory dry for his own skin. Alex found herself swung up into his arms and he carried her from the bathroom to his bedroom.
He spilled her across the bed, followed her down onto the mattress so that she found herself pinned under his weight. Once again, his mouth ate from hers and all she could do was wrap her arms around him, slip her fingers into the wet spikes of his hair, and kiss him back. Gone was the frenzied need, replaced with a slower, gentler burn that was no less destructive in its tenderness. His tongue touched her lips, slid into her mouth when she opened it to him, danced with her own. She moaned into his mouth, shifted her hands so that they could trail down the curve of his spine to his ass.
She was all languid, liquid heat. Her thighs shifted wider, let him fit his hips between them. God, he was killing her. Where sex in the shower had been quick and hard, his lips moved across hers with slow determination, as if he planned on learning every line and arch of them before he moved on. She wanted to writhe beneath him, wanted to do her own exploring. But his weight kept her pinned where she was.
He broke the kiss so he could turn his attention to her throat. The touch of his lips against her neck saw her turning her head to the side, exposing the length of it to his questing mouth. One hand came up off the mattress so that it could trail lightly down her side, over her ribs to the flare of her hip. She whimpered when those fingers grazed the side of her breast ever so slightly before finding her hip, before moving on to her thigh. His fingers traced patterns against the silk of her leg before he took hold of it and lifted until her leg was up around his waist. Then those same fingers found her ass and cupped one cheek, urging her closer to him.
"God, Clint. Please," she moaned, her voice husky with the need that ripped through her from his touch. Her words saw him lifting his head so he could look at her.
"Oh, I plan on it, Lexi. Trust me. I'm going to please you all night long."
His head dropped so that his mouth could take a nipple into it. She gasped, arching her back to press more of the sensitive flesh into his caress. Time lost meaning as he spent what felt like hours paying homage to her breasts and nipples. He suckled them, licked them, bit them. His mouth and tongue were hot against her flesh, his teeth sharp. His hands kneaded them. His fingers tweaked and twisted.
Only after he'd spent an unbelievable amount of time lavishing her breasts with attention did he turn to the rest of her. Hands, tongue, teeth, and lips touched and tasted and kissed and nipped. Even his eyes feasted on her flesh, his head occasionally lifting so he could simply look at her. Those looks seared her skin, left her hot and aching. Tension and need pooled low in her belly, bubbled as they came to a very slow boil.
He learned every inch of her body, his lips pressing kisses at the joints in her elbows, to each fingertip, behind the bend of her knee, on the tip of each toe. His hands glided along her skin, his fingers mapping every line and curve. Sensation cascaded through her, notched her need up higher and higher until it felt as if she was a wire strung so tight that a pluck of fingers would see it snap. Would see her snap. She wanted to snap so badly.
Clint kissed his way up the inside of one leg, his hands going before him to slowly, gently press her thighs further apart. To make room for his head. She bent her knees, put her feet down against the mattress, spread her legs and exposed herself to him. There was a hot gust of air across her skin that saw her shivering. Then a tongue pressed between her lips, touched her clit.
Her entire body clenched, spine arching up off the mattress as she came. She shattered around him, keening out her pleasure in a high pitched cry that echoed loudly in the room. Kept crying and begging when his tongue worked at her in order to prolong her orgasm. By the time he finished torturing her, she was limp against the bedding, shaking and so incoherent that she couldn't remember where she was.
He crept up her body, fitting himself between her thighs only seconds before he slid deep inside of her. She groaned with him and somehow found the strength to reach up so she could grab hold of his head and pull him down to her. Their bodies fell into a timeless rhythm that shook the bed and slapped the headboard against the wall. No doubt whoever lived on the other side wouldn't get any sleep but she didn't care. Couldn't bring herself to care about anything but how fucking right it felt to have him hold her. Kiss her. Thrust himself into her time and again.
Alex wrapped herself around him and encouraged him with softly whispered words, with kisses and licks and bites. With her body, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust. Each time. Every time. Until they were both finally too spent to do anything but lay panting. Then he flopped into the empty space beside her, pulled her in against his body so that her head rested on his shoulder. She fell asleep listening to the sound of his heart thumping in his chest.
~*~
She didn't sleep long. The sun was just barely breaking the horizon when Alex opened her eyes. For a few moments, she simply laid there and allowed herself to enjoy the heat of his body and the pleasant aches that riddled her muscles. But only until the contents of her dreams filtered into her waking memory. Twinkling blue eyes in a handsome face mocked her. Twinkling blue eyes that had been dull and lifeless the last time she'd seen them.
Dear God in heaven, what had she done? She'd promised herself she'd never do this again. Not after what had happened the last time. And yet, here she was. Naked. In Barton's bed. Shame filled her, followed rapidly by guilt. How could she have forgotten? And she had. She'd forgotten all of it. Every last god damned bit of it. She'd even forgotten him.
Barton... no, Clint. Clint lay on his back, one arm curled limply around her shoulders. His head was turned toward hers, his nose buried in the thickness of her hair. A hint of shadow graced his cheeks and chin while his hair stuck up in wild spikes. He looked so peaceful. So handsome. And she'd slept with him. She'd broken a cardinal rule. What the fuck was she doing?
She told herself to get up, to get her ass in gear and get the fuck out of there before she did something fucking stupid like confessing to emotions for him. Agreeing to be his girlfriend. Falling in love with him. She just couldn't...
Pain tugged at her heart as she slowly, oh so carefully, slid out of his loose hold and across the bed to the edge. He stirred once, just long enough to turn over on his side. She was given a perfect view of his backside. She couldn't help herself. She had to stare. And she wanted to stay so badly. Wanted to climb back into that bed and wake him up.
God damn it! Get the fuck out of here! she told herself sternly. Nothing good could come of this. Nothing at all. She backed toward the door, her eyes still locked to the length of his body. It took every last bit of her will to force herself out of the bedroom. She tugged on cold, clammy clothes as she went, starting with her underwear and socks in the bathroom. By the time she found his door, she was back in her jeans and t-shirt. She slipped out of the apartment on silent feet and hurried down the stairs.
Out on the street, she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of her apartment as she threw herself into the back of the car. The cabbie didn't say a word about the wildness in her eyes or the dried mud on her clothes. Thankfully, he didn't say anything at all. Which was just fine by her because she didn't think she could make any kind of conversation with him when her heart was shattering in her chest.
Alex barely waited for the cab to come to a halt in front of her building before throwing open the door. She tossed a handful of soggy bills at the cabbie even as she was making a mad dash for the front door. She didn't stop until she was locked safely away inside of her apartment, a bottle of Killian's Red in her hand and every last phone turned off. She didn't stop until she was behind the door of her bedroom, stripped of her dirty clothes and curled up under the covers on her bed. Then she stopped and thought and drank.
And she refused to let the tears fall. Because they were there. Because her heart ached and demanded she go back to his apartment. Because her body couldn't let her forget the memory of his hands and mouth against her skin. Because she knew she'd made a big mistake. Because something told her she'd just fucked up the best thing she'd ever had in her life.
Chapter Twelve: Unpleasantness
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
It was raining when she opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch. Thunder rumbled ominous warnings overhead while lightning cut the sky with jagged fingers of electricity. Alex delivered wooden good byes to her parents and her brothers, hugging and kissing them all even though she wanted nothing more than to run screaming into the night. She stood by and watched absently as her mother dragged Barton into a tight, motherly hug and her brothers shook his hand. Obviously trying to intimidate him by squeezing his hand as tight as they could. Failing to scare him off. She stood through it all, waited until the door closed and left them standing on the dimly lit porch by themselves.
Without saying a word to him, Alex hurried down the steps. Hurried up the sidewalk to the gate in the white picket fence. Hurried up the sidewalk that ran parallel to the road, away from his car, and off into the night. "Alex?" he called after her, actually sounding concerned. She ignored him and kept going. As soon as she was out of sight of the windows in her parents' house, she broke into a run that carried her into the shadows.
She heard him curse behind her and, afraid that he'd give chase on foot, put on a touch of speed. She had the advantage here. This was her home turf. She knew every nook and cranny of the neighborhood. She didn't have to outrun him. She only had to find the right hiding place. The rain could only work to her advantage. And once she was rid of him, she could lick her wounds in private and try to figure out what the fuck she was going to do next.
Idiot that she was, she forgot that he had a car at his disposal. The engine came purring to life over the sound of water drops hitting the ground, then grew closer as he approached.
She couldn't outrun a fucking car. Not on the street. So she cut into an empty lot, intent on nothing more than escaping. If she could make it a few streets over before he caught up to her, she could catch a cab and take that home. Had logic been on her side, she'd have realized that her actions were stupid and futile. But she was mad, at him and at herself, and she needed to stay as far from him as possible or she was going to do something really fucking stupid.
She heard the tires on the wet pavement as the brakes were applied. A car door slammed shut. "Damn it, Alex! Will you stop and tell me what the hell is going on?" he growled over the rain. Like fuck she would. She didn't want to talk to him at all. She just wanted the whole fucking nightmare to end. She wanted it done so she could go curl up somewhere and lick her wounds. Maybe she could get reassigned to some other division so that she'd never have to see him again...
Alex was halfway across the lot when his hand curled around her arm and brought her up short, cutting off her chance of escape and taking away the last spot of dignity she had left to her name. This evening had been the biggest mistake of her life. Couldn't he just let her go so that it could all end? Did he have to keep rubbing her nose in the fact that her mother was going to be hurt when she found out it had all been a joke? That she'd never forgive her daughter for the ruse? Couldn't he just leave her the fuck alone? "You're soaking wet, Alex. Get in the car and let me take you home."
So calm. So rational. So completely everything she wasn't.
It wasn't really all that often that Alex gave in to her temper. Sure, there had been a few occasions, mostly long gone into history and her memory. She'd been younger then. Cockier. Quicker to anger. She liked to think she'd mellowed with age, that she was capable of holding on to her temper much better than she used to. But something about his calm rationale, about the sounds of genuine concern in his voice, about the way he seemed to have fit in so much better with her family than she had... All of it snapped her control and let her temper run free.
She turned, arm coming up as she did to throw a punch right into his smug face. The action surprised him enough that she only managed to graze his cheek, his head jerking to the side at just the last second. Her attack was enough to see him loosing his hold on her arm. She pulled away from him, stepping back and bringing her fists up. It didn't matter that she was soaking wet, her hair and clothes plastered to her skin. It didn't matter that water dripped into her eyes and sheeted down her face. Nothing mattered but letting him see that she wasn't someone to be played with.
This wasn't like their previous fight, when she'd just been frustrated. This was pure anger, the emotion boiling up and out of her. It flowed along her arms and legs, tensed her muscles in preparation of trading blows with the man. She was ready to knock him on his ass because he was there and she was hurt and confused about his reasons behind doing this. Hurt and confused by his acceptance with her family when everything she did was subject to review and criticism. Just plain ass hurt and confused. She wanted him to pay for all of her perceived short comings. She wanted to hurt him the same way he'd hurt her. She wanted to see him bleed. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
She had no answer for him. Part of her knew it wasn't his fault she felt so horrible. Her mother had never been able to accept that her only girl had wanted something more from life than just a husband and babies. Her mother had never really been able to accept her. Sure, she loved her daughter, would do anything for her. But she didn't understand her. Didn't fully accept that Alex was happy with her choices in life. In one night, Barton had managed to destroy the easy truce she'd reached with the woman who had brought her into this world.
Alex swung at him again, a right cross that saw him bobbing backward in order to avoid it. Lightning forked across the sky and imprinted upon her vision the image of him soaked to the skin, his hair laying wet and heavy against his scalp while his t-shirt hugged every inch of his chest and his jeans clung tightly to his thighs. He'd apparently ditched the button down in his car. Then it was gone and she was irrationally angry at herself for finding him so god damned attractive. She followed the right cross with a roundhouse kick.
He caught her foot in both hands and gave a shove, sending her tumbling to the ground. Mud sucked at her back when she tried to get up, holding her down for a few seconds longer than she liked. "Alex, you're soaked. Let me take you home before you catch your death," he insisted, voice steady and even. Almost gentle. It wasn't real. She knew it wasn't real. That made her temper boil over all over again and Alex forced herself back onto her feet.
"Don't call me Alex, Barton," she snarled and threw a fist toward him. He caught it and held it with one hand. He blocked the other fist with his forearm, shoved it away before he did the same to her. She slid in the mud but kept her footing. "Quinn is just fucking fine."
He settled his hands on his hips and glared at her across the shadowy distance between them. "Is there a reason that you're acting like this? You haven't been yourself all evening."
"You fucked it all up. All of it!" she snarled at him, not caring that she wasn't really making sense. She drove forward, fists and feet flying. He blocked each attempt she made, pushing her temper higher and higher. "All my life, all I wanted was for my mother to see me as something more than a girl child to give her grandbabies. You..."
She lashed out at him with a foot, put every last ounce of anger she felt into it. He caught her foot and jerked, sending her down into the mud again. When he didn't release his hold on her foot, she kicked with the other and knocked his feet out from under him. He let go of her foot, allowing her to roll and come to her feet. Or attempt to. She was still on her hand and knees when one of his hands caught her ankle. He tugged on it hard and sent her sprawling face first in the mud.
Alex rolled and kicked at him, one of her heels connecting with his chest hard enough to send him sprawling on his back in the mud. Moments ago, she'd wanted nothing more than to get away from him and everyone else. She'd wanted to go hide away somewhere and try to forget that all of this shit had happened. Now, seeing him flat on his ass in the mud, she wanted nothing more than to kick the shit out of him. If only to prove to herself that she was still in control of her life.
He freed himself from the sucking, clinging mud and rose to his feet, eyes locked onto her face. Waited for her to make the next move. Because he wasn't going to launch an attack. It was plain to see in the loose way he held himself, in his unguarded stance. Some part of her brain, some irrational part, insisted that he didn't think she was a worthy adversary, that she was nothing more than a girl to him. It whispered to her that she should show him who was boss. It only added to her mounting stupidity and drove her toward him with fists flying.
There was no opportunity to talk. Not that she had anything to say to him and not that she'd listen to anything he had to say. He was simply the enemy. She didn't question the designation. She didn't wonder why she felt that way. She simply did without thinking. And he did nothing to really stop her. When she threw a jab, he blocked it with the solid muscle of his forearm. When she struck out at him with her foot, she felt it impact with his thigh or calf. Every time the lightning flashed and she got a good look at his face, she saw that he was more confused by her actions than upset.
That pissed her off. And it saw her making a mistake that even rookies knew not to make. She allowed the anger to fully replace her training and lunged at him blindly. He caught her arm easily, because she'd over extended from her body, and pulled her into his chest. Took hold of her free hand and spun her until she found her back pressed to his chest, her arms held crossed over her torso. "Lexi. Listen to me." His voice was in her ear, quiet and sane and slightly pleading. She stomped down on his foot, hard enough that he let her go. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry."
"Apology not accepted." He didn't even know what he was apologizing to her for. She went at him one more time, determined to drop him where he stood. She was too blind to see her mistake until it was too late. One foot slipped out of place, sending her skidding in the mud. He caught her, trying to keep her from landing face first in the muck. She fought him, tried to hit him and shove him both at the same time. She lost her balance.
Her hand curled in his t-shirt, caught it between her fingers to try and stabilize herself. But she only succeeded in pulling him down after her. He landed on top of her, his body a heavy, warm weight against hers. For just a second, she lay still beneath him and let the rain wash away every last emotion she felt. But that passed the moment she realized that he wasn't moving and she could feel... This time it was panic that slid through her, panic that saw her struggling to dislodge him. Panic that saw her trying to get up and away.
That same edge of panic pushed away her training and left her with nothing but the will to drive him back. She lifted her hands and tried clawing his face. But his fingers were cuffs of iron that shackled her wrists. The strength in his arms saw her hands pinned in the mud, held up above her head. And the look in his eyes. It wasn't the concern she'd seen only moments ago. It wasn't anger or disgust. It wasn't anything that suggested she was weaker because she was a woman. It was a look of hunger and desire and she'd seen it in his eyes before.
No. This was not happening. Not again. She wasn't going to do it. She wasn't going to... Thoughts fled when he lowered his face to hers, when he pressed his lips against her own. Need, long suppressed and hidden, bubbled to the surface. Hunger. Desire. She tried struggling against him, but his weight settled more firmly against her and left her body stretched out beneath his in the mud. And still his mouth worked hers. Asking her to give in to him. Coaxing. Teasing.
The kiss was tender and gentle. Nothing like she'd imagined it to be. Everything she'd hoped it would be. Slowly, in minute increments, Alex felt the tension leak out of her muscles until she lay pliant under him. His hands released her wrists. Reluctantly, she lifted them until she could spear them into the wet spikes of his hair. The rain was cold but she didn't feel it, heat rushing through her from the touch of his mouth on hers, the length of his body pressed to hers. God above, he was so hard against her. She moaned softly, her mouth opening so that he could feed his tongue into it.
Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen when he finally pulled back. Alex lay under him, her body memorizing every single line and ridge of his own. He offered her a crooked smile, one hand dropping down to wipe at her face. "You taste like mud." Before she could think of a come back, he was on his feet and holding one hand down to her. There was no hesitance in her when she put her hand in his and allowed him to bring her to her feet. He tugged her into his chest, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her hard again. She clung to him when he lifted his head from hers. "Your place or mine?"
"I don't..." she shook her head. She knew she shouldn't, that she had reasons for wanting to keep him at a distance, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She couldn't even remember those reasons at the moment. "I don't care. Let's just go."
~*~*~*~*~
"Honestly, Miriam. I simply don't understand your chosen career path. You're an attractive young lady. You should be doing something feminine and soft. Something that attracts the right type of man to your side. Why do you insist on working for the military? If you don't re-prioritize your life, you'll end up dying alone. And unloved."
Miriam bit back her sigh and forced herself to count to fifty. Again. She wasn't in the mood for another of her mother's lectures-cum-laments about the way her only child chose to live her life. Not that Miri's lifestyle was the real issue. Deep down, her mother harped on her decisions because she was flat out embarrassed by what her daughter had done with her life. Was doing with her life. Following after her father into the military was a crime in her mother's eyes. The military was the bane of Marjorie Grant's existence.
"Really, Miriam. Do you like toting guns around and shooting people?"
"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm nothing more than a researcher? I will never be deployed to an active fight zone."
"But why the military? I swear you're just like your father," Marjorie sighed. Miriam heard the distinctive clink of ice in a glass. Her mother was empty. That meant she'd be pouring another one very quickly.
"We've talked about this, Mother. They pay well. I'm allowed to do what I love to do. They get what they need. Its a win-win situation."
"Miriam," her mother sighed. There was a faint liquid sound in the background, obviously her mother refilling her glass. For as long as she could remember, Marjorie Grant had hidden her unhappiness behind a tumbler of something alcoholic. It didn't matter what it was. So long as there was a burn to it, so long as it made her forget, she would drink it. "You can do so much better than some musty old job researching... whatever it is you research in some darkened back room for Uncle Sam. You're still young. You must have some prospects."
It was so hard not to just pop off with the first thing that came to her mind. Just because her mother had never been happy or satisfied with her father didn't mean that Miriam had to do better to vindicate the other woman. She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, letting go a litany of retorts in her head so that she wouldn't say them to her mother. She'd done that once and the resulting verbal fight hadn't been pretty at all.
She should be used to such calls by now. Her mother had been like this ever since Miri had joined S.H.I.E.L.D., had called a least once a month to harangue her about her prospects and the error of her ways. There was no love lost between her and her mother, but she'd like to just once have to endure the same kind of problems with her mom that Alex had with Mary Magdelaine. She wondered briefly how that meal had gone, wondered briefly if she should have insisted she go with to give Alex a little moral support.
"I don't think we should get into this discussion again," Miri told the woman softly. She couldn't tell her about Phil and the last time they'd had the "prospects" talk, it had nearly devolved into a shouting match about why Miriam was just as rotten and ungrateful as her father.
"Why not, Miriam? Why shouldn't we talk about this again?" Marjorie asked, tone going belligerent. Not for the first time, Miri wished she could just come right out and tell her mother that she wasn't going to get married to some guy with more brawn than brains just to make her mother feel better about her own disappointing choices.
"I don't plan on getting married unless I meet a man who stimulates my mind as much as my body. Someone who knows who and what I am and doesn't have problems with it. I don't need to be married to feel like I'm whole," Miri told her. She didn't mention that Phil had all the qualities in a man she found appealing. Her mother didn't know about Phil and likely wouldn't approve of him. Agent Phil Coulson was pretty much everything that her mother despised in a man.
"Yes. I thought I had that when I married your father," Marjorie snarled. Miri rolled her eyes and wondered how much longer she'd be forced to live through this again. Somehow, her conversations with her mother always came back to her father and what a disappointment he was in her mother's eyes. "If I had known that he was going to make the military his career, I would never have accepted his proposal."
"Dad was already in the military when you got married, Mother," Miri reminded her. It was kind of a low blow, but she was tired of this chat, tired of hearing her mother constantly rag on her father and treat him like he was the source of all her problems.
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady," Marjorie Grant snapped into the phone. Miri heard more alcohol being poured into her mother's tumbler. Once upon a time, she would have felt instantly contrite. No longer. And she wasn't going to apologize for speaking the truth. In fact, she didn't want to say anything else to her mother for a good long while. She just had to find some way to get the woman off the phone so that she could try and calm herself before she climbed into bed. Every call from her mother always took a toll on her muscles and the last thing she wanted to do was go to sleep tense.
"Forgive me. Perhaps we should simply cut this conversation short. Unless you have some other topic you feel you need to batter me with? I have to work tomorrow and I'd like to get some sleep."
Her mother gave a long, heavy sigh into the phone. "Honestly, Miriam. Must you make everything between us some kind of battle? You can be so melodramatic."
She wanted to say she'd learned it from the best. But she held her tongue and counted to fifty again. During the silence, she heard her mother take a deep drink off the favored alcoholic beverage of the night. The ice cubes clanked and rattled within the glass, letting Miri know it was down to the dregs or empty. Yeah. The call needed to end or else things would get really bad. Really fast. A knock at the door gave her the perfect out. "There's someone at the door. I need to go, Mother."
"You're going to answer the door at this time of night, Miriam? You must want someone to try and--" her mother began, but Miri cut her off.
"I'll take my gun with me. If anyone tries anything, I'll shoot them," she told Marjorie, her tone utterly serious and sincere. There was silence from the other end for the span of two heart beats, then her mother drew a breath and released it as a long suffering sigh.
"Very well, Miriam. Good night." Marjorie Grant didn't wait for Miri to respond. She just hung up, abruptly ending the call and offering Miri a bit of peace. Miri disconnected and cradled the phone, then got up and headed for the door. She gave a brief thought to picking up her weapon, but figured anyone stupid enough to try and do anything to her would earn the ass kicking she'd mete out.
The door opened to reveal Mrs. Goldman, the elderly lady who lived a floor down. She had her yappy little terrier with her, the animal pulling at its leash to be away from its owner. Miri offered the old lady a broad smile. "Good evening, Mrs. Goldman. What can I do for you tonight?" she asked politely.
The woman beamed a smile at her, showing off her perfect teeth, every one of them her own, if Mrs. Goldman was to be believed. "Nothing, dear. I just wanted to bring this up before I forgot. It was in my mailbox today." The woman handed her an envelope with her name written on it in cramped scrawl. Miri took the envelope from her neighbor's wrinkled grasp.
"Thank you. You didn't need to make a special trip up here. You could have just left it in my box," Miri told her. She knew the woman had problems with her arthritis.
"Nonsense, my dear. Kiki needed a walk, so I thought I'd come up and see how you were doing. We don't get many opportunities to visit, Kiki and I. Most of our friends are either dead or in a home. And this building is filled with young people."
"Of course, Mrs. Goldman. I'm sorry. Maybe I can find time one night this week to come by and visit for a while. I'm still trying to get settled back in after being gone for a few weeks. You know how work keeps me busy." Her words made the older woman smile brightly.
"I would like that quite a bit, dear. I can make my famous lasagne for you. Its fabulous. Mr. Goldman used to swear by it." Miri smiled in return, trying to imagine a little Jewish woman making perfect Italian lasagne. She suspected that Mrs. Goldman was as good as her word.
"Let me know when its convenient for you, Mrs. Goldman. I'll bring a loaf of garlic bread from the bakery down the street."
"And don't forget the wine, dear," Mrs. Goldman winked at her. Miri laughed at that, watching as the old woman tottered off with her terrier in tow. When they disappeared around the corner, Miri closed the door and headed into the living room to return her dirtied dinner dishes to the kitchen. She'd have to get them cleaned up eventually, but she just didn't have the energy for it this evening. Her mother had drained all of it from her. Thank God for Mrs. Goldman or she'd still be on the phone with her mother.
Miri was loading the dishes into the dishwasher when she heard the soft rap on the door. Had the old woman forgotten something else? Laughing, Miri headed for the door to her apartment once more. "I won't forget the wine, Mrs. Goldman," she said as she swung the door open. And blinked at her visitor in surprise.
"Making dinner plans with your neighbor, Miriam?" Phil asked with a half smile.
"She brought me a letter that ended up in her box by mistake. Then she invited me to dinner. I promised to bring garlic bread. And wine," Miri explained even as she stepped back from the door. With efficient motions, Phil stepped into the apartment and waited a few steps from the entry while Miri pushed the door closed and slid the lock home. He was wearing a suit and tie, despite the fact that she was pretty sure he hadn't worked today.
Normally, she'd show him into the living room and invite him to have a seat. But this wasn't a normal occasion. He'd dropped by unannounced and she couldn't recall a single time since they'd gotten together that he'd ever done that. So she just stood there in the hallway and stared at him. Blinked once in confusion. "Did we have plans tonight? If we did, I seem to have forgotten them."
"No. We didn't have plans. I just happened to be in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd drop by," he told her. His smile was still in place but she could see it wilting a little at the edges. Had she offended him? She hoped she hadn't. It was just that her mother always left her scattered, made her feel as if she was distinctly lacking in mental capacity. "That's okay, isn't it? You don't have other plans?" This time, there was uncertainty in his words. Something she rarely ever heard from him.
"I'm sorry, Phil. No. There are no other plans. But my mother called tonight and--" she began. But the moment she mentioned her phone call, he lifted a hand and brought her words to a halt.
"Don't apologize. I understand completely. She left you rattled, didn't she?" he asked. That little smile of his was starting to make a come back and it went a long way to easing some of the tension in her. Some, but not all.
"She always leaves me rattled. Its always the same thing with her. Sometimes I wish I could just snap back at her," she sighed and let her shoulders slump. "Or maybe see if I could sic Director Fury on her."
"That would be worth seeing," Phil told her, chuckling softly at the mental images it must have conjured. He was right. It would be worth seeing. Miri was more than sure that Fury could make her mother wet herself in fear. The man had a way about him.
For the first time in a long time, she struggled to find something to say to him. For much of their association with one another, there'd been no need to seek out topics of discussion. They'd almost always met for sex. That hadn't needed any words. Not really. But his sudden arrival only furthered the notion that their relationship had changed somewhere along the way. And she was too emotionally drained to really grasp what it meant. "Can I get you something to drink? I think I've got some wine in the fridge. And Alex left some beer after her last visit. I can make coffee."
"Beer would be good, assuming it won't upset Alex." For a second she thought he was serious, then belatedly realized that he was joking. Miri offered a smile and cursed herself for not being more on the ball.
"I doubt Alex would say anything about you drinking one of her beers. I think she's afraid of you," she told them, then headed for the kitchen and her fridge, where the beer lay waiting.
"Are you afraid of me, Miriam?" The question was asked so softly that she thought she hadn't heard him correctly at first. They stopped her in her tracks, prompting her to turn back to him. The look on his face was so serious that she realized she'd heard him just fine.
"Why would you ask that?"
"You haven't been yourself lately. It leaves me to wonder--" he began. She cut him off, rushing to reassure him.
"I'm not afraid of you, Phil. But things have changed between us and that scares me because I don't know what's going on." She saw him open his mouth to speak, so she hurried to get it all out before she lost her nerve. The reserve that she had where her mother was concerned had disappeared and all kinds of things were fighting to be said. Miri couldn't seem to stop herself, either. "You're different and I have to wonder if we're... I mean, after the explosion and you were there and I realized that maybe I feel something more intense for you than I originally thought I did and I'm afraid that it isn't real and that all of this will go up in flames or end up being some kind of dream and..."
His chuckle brought her words to a halt. She'd been rambling and they both knew it. Talking to her mother always left her in such an unbalanced frame of mind. She tried to go back and replay in her head what she'd said to him, but he reached out and took her hand in his. "Its okay, Miriam. I think I understand now."
She blinked at him.
"Go take a seat on the couch. I'll get the beer and join you there." It wasn't an order, yet it was. So she nodded and headed back the way she'd just come, feeling a flash of heat as his fingers brushed against her arm when he passed her. The touch was brief and lingering all at the same time, a gesture meant to ease her confused mind. It shut her thoughts off for as long as it took him to retrieve beer from the fridge and join her in the living room.
He handed her one of the bottles he'd brought, then set his down on her coffee table and shucked his suit coat. It landed with careless ease in the arm chair nearest him. He took a seat on the couch beside her, his thigh brushing her own as he leaned forward to pick up his beer. She watched as he swallowed some of the cold brew down, his throat working as he did so. The bottle was returned to the table before he looked at her. "Turn just a little, Miriam. Put your back to me."
Like his previous statement, it was and wasn't an order. She turned so that her back was to him, vaguely wondering what he had in mind. The touch of his fingers against her shoulder was brief before he laid his hands flat against her back and began slowly working the kinks from her muscles. Miri sighed out a moan and let her head fall forward.
There was strength in his ministrations as he worked up and down her back, kneading at the tension her mother had brought to life with her call. Occasionally, his hands would shift forward and work at the muscles that ran down her sides. If his fingers grazed the outer swell of her breasts, she said nothing. Simply enjoyed the pleasure she got from his touch and his presence. Basked in the uncomplicated nature of his actions.
Eventually he shifted behind her, inching closer to her until he could lay his mouth against the back of her neck. Feather light kisses were brushed up and down and all around while his hands continued kneading at her lower back and her sides. He kept up until she was limp in his hold, weak as a kitten. Then he pulled her fully into his embrace, molding his chest to her back. She submitted to his hold, relished the head of his body wrapped so securely around hers.
"There's no need to worry, Miriam," he whispered against her ear, his hands stroking down her belly until they rested in her lap. "I promise you. This is very real."
~*~*~*~*~
A large hand reached over her shoulder and tugged the drawing from her grasp. Astrid scrambled to take it back, but Thor was faster than she was. She failed to capture the pad back from him. "Leave this puzzle for those who know more about it, Astrid. I did not share it with you to see you spend more time with it than with me. I am in need and you possess that which I need." Thor made sure he put a hint of persuasion in his voice so that it would catch her attention. Astrid let her gaze shift from the drawing he'd taken from her to him, her gaze skimming his naked frame to take in the growing erection he was sporting. It worked every time, damn him.
"There's something about it. I know I can figure it out if I try," she replied, mostly just to annoy him. As expected, he frowned at her words.
"This isn't your problem to solve, Astrid. My colleagues have people already attempting to decipher its meaning. Allow them to do their job. And allow me to spend the night pleasuring you." He ended the sentence with a wicked smile that saw her knees go weak.
"You're just trying to distract me," she accused, even as he took hold of her hand and tugged her without fight toward the bed. The pad of paper was tossed haplessly into the corner. It landed in a flutter of pages, like the flapping wings of a disturbed mourning dove, then settled down to become simply a white blot against the wooden floor.
"Is it working?" he asked, his grin going wider.
"Maybe," she hedged. "But I don't know if I like the idea that you think using sex to distract me is okay. It suggests you don't think I have a brain in my head."
Thor looked completely taken aback at her statement. He urged her down onto the bed and settled beside her, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek. She could see honest confusion in his beautiful blue eyes. "Astrid, do you really believe that I would use such an intimate act to turn your mind away from something?"
She frowned at the genuine sound of pain in his voice. Why should he be hurt by her statement? Wasn't it the truth? Granted, her experience with men was kind of limited, but she was sure that sex was a great way to distract anyone. She said nothing, simply shrugged her shoulders. He frowned at her before reaching up with his other hand and framing her face between the two of them. There was a touch of sorrow in his gaze as he stared at her. "I would like to meet the man who made you think that such petty tricks were acceptable. I would teach him otherwise."
"I don't think I understand, Thor."
He leaned toward her, pulled her close so that he could press a soft, tender, almost chaste kiss to her lips. When he drew back, her eyelids fluttered open and she saw he wore the softest expression she'd ever seen on his face. "Do you believe that I've spent these weeks wooing you just so that I might lay with you?"
She didn't answer right away, her brain sifting through the somewhat antiquated words to translate his statement into something she understood. He had such an odd way of speaking at times that she sometimes wondered just who and what he really was. When he saw that she had grasped his meaning, he leaned in and kissed her again, this one just as chaste as the last. "Had that been all I wanted, I would have enjoyed a night of pleasure at your side, then I would have found someone else with whom to spend my time. But I want more than that with you. I have been wooing you. And what we've done here in your bed is not simply sex. We've been making love to one another all these nights."
Making love? Astrid was stunned because she hadn't been expecting that. She hadn't really considered their nights spent together, had simply enjoyed them. Always, at the back of her mind, had been the thought that this would all come to an end. Not that she'd thought he was as shallow as some of the other men she'd met. He'd long ago proved he wasn't. She just hadn't considered that what was happening between them was something much deeper than a simple sexual relationship. Kind of a friends with benefits type thing.
But his previous statement completely blew that out of the water. Making love suggested a deeper level of intimacy, a shared connection. A bond. She was left stunned by the very idea. She had to know what was going on with them. Between them. "Thor?" she asked in a whisper. She hoped he understood the full question because she knew there was no way she could actually put it into words.
"Astrid, you are..." he stopped and frowned, obviously searching for the right words. She felt like she was hanging on the edge and one wrong move would see her plunging over. She knew, waiting for him to finish his statement, that her very sanity lay in the balance. Because sitting there staring at him, seeing the emotion in his eyes, she realized that this had been much more than sex for her. The truth had been staring her in the face for days now, but she'd deftly ignored it. How was such a thing possible? How did two people who had been complete strangers only a month ago become so much more important to one another?
"I've never met a woman like you, Astrid. Thoughts of you consume me the moment I wake in the morning and they continue to plague me through the entire day until I climb into bed to rest at night. You're smart and witty. You're beautiful and fiery. You're filled with passion and sweetness. You're absolutely amazing. I have no desire to return to my life as it was before you entered it." He paused and considered things for a few more seconds. "I'm no poet. I'm no good with words. I'm a man of action. A man of deeds. So I ask you to consider my deeds. I ask you to consider the pleasure I've brought you. And I ask you to consider the fact that my life would be empty and meaningless if you were not in it from this day forth."
"You... I... We... " she stammered, trying to find the right words. Something that wouldn't sound silly. Childish. Nothing came. Nothing but one question. She stared him in the eyes as she reached out a hand to trail her fingers down his cheek, let them sift through the short, abrasive length of his beard. "Are you saying that you love me?"
"If this desire I have to be at your side all hours of the day and night is love, then yes. I love you. If wanting to hold you in my arms and feel the silk of your skin against mine is love, then yes. I love you. If wanting to spend my life with you is love, then yes. I love you." He said it so simply. So easily. As if he made such intense admissions all the time. She was slightly disappointed that there was no trumpeting fanfare that sounded with his words. Something like that should be accompanied by something loud and stark so that everyone knew what was happening. So that they recognized the importance of it.
There was no big to do. There was simply a warmth in the pit of her stomach that expanded and grew. He loved her. She believed him, had no reason not to. There was such sincerity in his eyes and his voice. She could feel it in the touch of his hand. She was filled with it. "Oh, wow." The words spilled from her lips with reverence and awe. Thor watched her, obviously not sure yet that her reaction was a good thing. "You really love me."
"I really love you," Thor repeated with a single nod of his head. His eyes searched hers. Whatever he found there obviously displeased him because he frowned. And his temper spiked just a bit. She heard it in the harshness of his voice when he spoke again. "Why do you insist on thinking the worst of me? Of yourself? Your eyes say you expect disappointment at every turn. Why can you not believe that my feelings for you are genuine and not driven by some hidden agenda? Why do you not believe that I am genuine?"
"I believe you. I just..." she began, only to fall silent. She couldn't explain it to him anymore than she could really explain it to herself.
"What, Astrid? Why is this so difficult for you? You are a woman who knows her mind. How can you not know this?" When she didn't answer him right away, Thor rose from the bed and paced to where his clothes had been left piled on the floor. It didn't really register what was happening until she watched him step into his jeans.
"You're leaving?" she asked. The idea that he'd walk off and leave her after making such a confession sent a shaft of pain through her. Sliding from the bed, she approached him in the hopes that she could convince him to stay. Maybe if they talked this over...
"I just poured my heart out to you. Yet you say nothing of it. You say nothing of your own feelings. And you continue to doubt my sincerity. Tell me why I should stay!" he snarled at her. Astrid actually took a step back because he'd never unleashed his temper upon her before.
"I thought..." she began, only to fall silent when he turned a piercing stare her way. His jeans were buttoned and zipped, the t-shirt he'd been wearing tugged down over his head.
"Whatever you thought was wrong, Astrid. Perhaps you should think again," he told her. She watched as he sat down heavily and put his socks on, then slipped his feet into the tennis shoes he'd worn. "I will leave now and give you time to do so. When you can decide what your feelings for me are, then we will talk again." He turned and stalked from the room.
She trailed after him, taking note of the tension in his shoulders. It ran down the length of his spine. It collected in his hands so that his fingers curled into fists. He didn't look at her when he reached the door, when he brought a hand up to clasp the knob and turn. He didn't look at her when he stepped through the door into the hallway. He didn't look back when he pulled the door closed.
Astrid felt tears roll down her cheeks. But it was nothing next to the feel of her heart shattering in her chest. That alone was enough to tell her she'd known the answer to his unasked question all along.
She should go back, find her robe and slip into it. Find him. Tell him she loved him. But he wouldn't believe her if she did. He'd think it a ploy. With her emotions so jumbled, she wasn't sure he wouldn't be right.
Heart heavy in her chest, she locked the door and retraced her steps to her bedroom. Curled up under the covers and pulled them around her. Inhaled his masculine scent. Cried a little harder. Until she was so exhausted, she couldn't avoid sleep.
And drifted off wondering what the hell she'd just done.
~*~*~*~*~
The car ride was little more than a blur. She saw lights and sensed motion, but that was it. Every single nerve, every sense, was tuned to him. She was hyper aware of each move he made, of each drop of water that traced its way down his cheek or arm. Of the sizzling attraction between them that had seemingly always been there without her realizing it. How had she not felt it before?
Something burned under her skin each time his hand left the wheel so that it could rest on her knee. He didn't try anything in the car, eyes carefully focused on the road. God knows she wished he would. Half of her was tempted to tell him to just find a place to park the car so she could pull him into the back seat. Now that she recognized that she needed him, her body made it clear that it needed and wanted him now. She didn't, though. Just sat there, dripping on his seat, barely taking note of the world going by them.
He kissed her again after they climbed from the car, pinned her against the passenger side door and pressed his full length up against her so that she couldn't move. As if he knew she was skittish. But her mouth met his eagerly and she melted under the insistent pressure of his lips. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, clung to him shamelessly as she fell into his kiss. Rain still poured down around them, chilling her all over again. She didn't care. He was hot enough to keep her warm.
He pulled back when she shivered against him, water dripping down her back and between her breasts. Alex let her legs drop to the ground, but kept her arms around him. His eyes searched hers before giving her a rueful smile. "You're cold and you need to get out of those wet things. I'm sorry. I should have controlled myself better. Its just that I've waited a long damn time to do that."
"That is the cheesiest pick up line I've ever heard, Barton," she slapped his arm playfully. Her words saw his smile faltering. Just the slightest bit.
"Clint," he corrected her. Alex blinked up at him for a second or two. He went on. "My name is Clint. I think, given present circumstances, you should call me Clint."
She nodded at him. "Fine. That is the cheesiest pick up line I've ever heard, Clint."
He grinned at her familiarity, then ducked his head and kissed her again. She melted into it, every cell in her body screaming for his touch. She was vaguely aware of movement, of his body herding hers in what she assumed was the direction of the door. Hell, he could have been taking her to her death and she wouldn't have cared. Not with his mouth on hers. Not with his hands resting just on the upper curve of her ass. Not with his body hard and firm against hers.
There were stairs. She was vaguely aware of her heels hitting the bottom one. But it didn't matter because his mouth moved against her and she practically floated up the stairs. She didn't even know how. Then her back was against a door as he fumbled for the keys to his place. Their kisses had grown more urgent, deepened and lengthened until they broke away from one another to gasp for air and then start anew. His hands had roamed everywhere, tracing her curves and molding her to him.
The door gave way behind her and only the hold she had on him kept her from tumbling back into the darkness of his apartment. She heard the jingle of keys as he tugged them from the lock, then the wooden panel closed and left them in the dark. The keys jangled again, hit something hard and went silent. Not that she cared, because his hands were busy tugging the wet shirt from her body even as he kept herding her back, deeper into the apartment. The idea appealed, her hands reaching for his t-shirt.
They left a trail of soaked clothing behind them until, finally, they stood in the bathroom in underwear and socks. He went to work on her bra while she fussed with the boxer briefs that seemed fused to his skin. The lacy scrap was gone before she'd managed to budge his underwear and he'd dropped to his knees to remove her socks and tug her panties off. When she was naked, he stared up at her, eyes dark with desire. A shiver raced through her that had nothing to do with being chilled. "Clint..."
"God, you're beautiful," he whispered. His hands lifted to cup her ass, to press her hips forward toward his face. She moaned when his lips seared kisses into her belly and roamed, her fingers curling into his hair. Another shiver raced through her, this time from the cold rain, and he rose to his feet. He gave her a smile, then leaned in to start the water in the shower. His briefs hit the ground with a splat and he toed his socks off so that they lay in puddles on the floor. Then he had her in his arms again and they were in the shower.
He held her close and dragged her under the spray, his hands roaming her skin to memorize contours. Alex leaned into him, ran her lips across his flesh so that she could taste him. Let her hands trace his spine and the muscles that worked under his skin. Shaped them to the curves of his ass. He groaned, the sound loud over the thunder of the water rushing over them. She found herself spun around, her back slammed against the wall of the stall. His mouth took hers again, the kiss positively on fire. She opened to him, wrapping her legs around his waist even while she gave him access to her mouth.
Clint was suddenly just buried inside of her. There was no warning at all. One second, she was sucking at his tongue. The next, he was thrusting up into her body until she was fully impaled on his cock. He ate the sound she made, his mouth never breaking from hers as his hips found a quick, hard rhythm that gave her no opportunity to move at all.
Tension filled her, pulling every part of her tight in anticipation. Pleasure spiraled up and out, flooding her limbs with growing hunger and need. Sweet friction ate at her will and stole rational thought. Their coupling was hard and fast, wild with pent up desire. His hips thrust against hers, his mouth feasting from her own as he worked them both toward climax. It had been such a long time since she'd felt like this. Since she'd felt this.
Caught up in his embrace, lost in the sensations of his body moving within hers, she realized that this had been building between them for a very long time.
It was all over way too fast. He shoved himself deep inside of her, pressed her hard against the wall. Came with a low groan in her ear that was all pleasure. Alex clung to him, gasping for breath while her body shuddered and tingled. He held her body to his, face buried against her neck as he worked at slowing his breathing.
He lifted his head and gave her a look of contrition. "Lexi. Baby, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to... I wanted to make it last. Make it good. But its been so long and... I'm sorry."
She smiled at him, then leaned in to offer him her lips. He took them, kissed her hard even while he turned them so that they stood directly under the spray of water. His hands roved briefly, fingers cupping her ass so that he could pull her into him. They broke only when the need to breathe became too great. "Its okay, Clint. Its been a long time for me, too."
"Next time will be better. I swear it." He sealed his words with a kiss, then set about soaping her up. She allowed it, stood and drifted with the sureness of his ministrations. He washed every inch of her skin, making sure that no mud remained. When his hands cupped her breasts, she leaned into him and sighed. His fingers scissored her nipples, teasing them with the promise of things yet to come. His hands made long, slow strokes across her ass and thighs. Dipped between her legs to carefully wash the swollen flesh he'd so recently filled. She sighed and moaned when a finger dipped inside of her and stroked across her clit until she shuddered and cried out with orgasm.
By the time he was done lathering her up and rinsing her off, she was so lost that she couldn't manage words. He rinsed himself off, his hands taking every opportunity to get to know her skin. Then the water was shut off and he was helping her out onto the rug. The towel was big and fluffy and buffed her skin so sensually that she thought she'd die from the sensation. He didn't even bother with more than a cursory dry for his own skin. Alex found herself swung up into his arms and he carried her from the bathroom to his bedroom.
He spilled her across the bed, followed her down onto the mattress so that she found herself pinned under his weight. Once again, his mouth ate from hers and all she could do was wrap her arms around him, slip her fingers into the wet spikes of his hair, and kiss him back. Gone was the frenzied need, replaced with a slower, gentler burn that was no less destructive in its tenderness. His tongue touched her lips, slid into her mouth when she opened it to him, danced with her own. She moaned into his mouth, shifted her hands so that they could trail down the curve of his spine to his ass.
She was all languid, liquid heat. Her thighs shifted wider, let him fit his hips between them. God, he was killing her. Where sex in the shower had been quick and hard, his lips moved across hers with slow determination, as if he planned on learning every line and arch of them before he moved on. She wanted to writhe beneath him, wanted to do her own exploring. But his weight kept her pinned where she was.
He broke the kiss so he could turn his attention to her throat. The touch of his lips against her neck saw her turning her head to the side, exposing the length of it to his questing mouth. One hand came up off the mattress so that it could trail lightly down her side, over her ribs to the flare of her hip. She whimpered when those fingers grazed the side of her breast ever so slightly before finding her hip, before moving on to her thigh. His fingers traced patterns against the silk of her leg before he took hold of it and lifted until her leg was up around his waist. Then those same fingers found her ass and cupped one cheek, urging her closer to him.
"God, Clint. Please," she moaned, her voice husky with the need that ripped through her from his touch. Her words saw him lifting his head so he could look at her.
"Oh, I plan on it, Lexi. Trust me. I'm going to please you all night long."
His head dropped so that his mouth could take a nipple into it. She gasped, arching her back to press more of the sensitive flesh into his caress. Time lost meaning as he spent what felt like hours paying homage to her breasts and nipples. He suckled them, licked them, bit them. His mouth and tongue were hot against her flesh, his teeth sharp. His hands kneaded them. His fingers tweaked and twisted.
Only after he'd spent an unbelievable amount of time lavishing her breasts with attention did he turn to the rest of her. Hands, tongue, teeth, and lips touched and tasted and kissed and nipped. Even his eyes feasted on her flesh, his head occasionally lifting so he could simply look at her. Those looks seared her skin, left her hot and aching. Tension and need pooled low in her belly, bubbled as they came to a very slow boil.
He learned every inch of her body, his lips pressing kisses at the joints in her elbows, to each fingertip, behind the bend of her knee, on the tip of each toe. His hands glided along her skin, his fingers mapping every line and curve. Sensation cascaded through her, notched her need up higher and higher until it felt as if she was a wire strung so tight that a pluck of fingers would see it snap. Would see her snap. She wanted to snap so badly.
Clint kissed his way up the inside of one leg, his hands going before him to slowly, gently press her thighs further apart. To make room for his head. She bent her knees, put her feet down against the mattress, spread her legs and exposed herself to him. There was a hot gust of air across her skin that saw her shivering. Then a tongue pressed between her lips, touched her clit.
Her entire body clenched, spine arching up off the mattress as she came. She shattered around him, keening out her pleasure in a high pitched cry that echoed loudly in the room. Kept crying and begging when his tongue worked at her in order to prolong her orgasm. By the time he finished torturing her, she was limp against the bedding, shaking and so incoherent that she couldn't remember where she was.
He crept up her body, fitting himself between her thighs only seconds before he slid deep inside of her. She groaned with him and somehow found the strength to reach up so she could grab hold of his head and pull him down to her. Their bodies fell into a timeless rhythm that shook the bed and slapped the headboard against the wall. No doubt whoever lived on the other side wouldn't get any sleep but she didn't care. Couldn't bring herself to care about anything but how fucking right it felt to have him hold her. Kiss her. Thrust himself into her time and again.
Alex wrapped herself around him and encouraged him with softly whispered words, with kisses and licks and bites. With her body, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust. Each time. Every time. Until they were both finally too spent to do anything but lay panting. Then he flopped into the empty space beside her, pulled her in against his body so that her head rested on his shoulder. She fell asleep listening to the sound of his heart thumping in his chest.
~*~
She didn't sleep long. The sun was just barely breaking the horizon when Alex opened her eyes. For a few moments, she simply laid there and allowed herself to enjoy the heat of his body and the pleasant aches that riddled her muscles. But only until the contents of her dreams filtered into her waking memory. Twinkling blue eyes in a handsome face mocked her. Twinkling blue eyes that had been dull and lifeless the last time she'd seen them.
Dear God in heaven, what had she done? She'd promised herself she'd never do this again. Not after what had happened the last time. And yet, here she was. Naked. In Barton's bed. Shame filled her, followed rapidly by guilt. How could she have forgotten? And she had. She'd forgotten all of it. Every last god damned bit of it. She'd even forgotten him.
Barton... no, Clint. Clint lay on his back, one arm curled limply around her shoulders. His head was turned toward hers, his nose buried in the thickness of her hair. A hint of shadow graced his cheeks and chin while his hair stuck up in wild spikes. He looked so peaceful. So handsome. And she'd slept with him. She'd broken a cardinal rule. What the fuck was she doing?
She told herself to get up, to get her ass in gear and get the fuck out of there before she did something fucking stupid like confessing to emotions for him. Agreeing to be his girlfriend. Falling in love with him. She just couldn't...
Pain tugged at her heart as she slowly, oh so carefully, slid out of his loose hold and across the bed to the edge. He stirred once, just long enough to turn over on his side. She was given a perfect view of his backside. She couldn't help herself. She had to stare. And she wanted to stay so badly. Wanted to climb back into that bed and wake him up.
God damn it! Get the fuck out of here! she told herself sternly. Nothing good could come of this. Nothing at all. She backed toward the door, her eyes still locked to the length of his body. It took every last bit of her will to force herself out of the bedroom. She tugged on cold, clammy clothes as she went, starting with her underwear and socks in the bathroom. By the time she found his door, she was back in her jeans and t-shirt. She slipped out of the apartment on silent feet and hurried down the stairs.
Out on the street, she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of her apartment as she threw herself into the back of the car. The cabbie didn't say a word about the wildness in her eyes or the dried mud on her clothes. Thankfully, he didn't say anything at all. Which was just fine by her because she didn't think she could make any kind of conversation with him when her heart was shattering in her chest.
Alex barely waited for the cab to come to a halt in front of her building before throwing open the door. She tossed a handful of soggy bills at the cabbie even as she was making a mad dash for the front door. She didn't stop until she was locked safely away inside of her apartment, a bottle of Killian's Red in her hand and every last phone turned off. She didn't stop until she was behind the door of her bedroom, stripped of her dirty clothes and curled up under the covers on her bed. Then she stopped and thought and drank.
And she refused to let the tears fall. Because they were there. Because her heart ached and demanded she go back to his apartment. Because her body couldn't let her forget the memory of his hands and mouth against her skin. Because she knew she'd made a big mistake. Because something told her she'd just fucked up the best thing she'd ever had in her life.
