"I haven't screamed your name, yet."

His hands twitch at his sides and she allows herself a moment to mentally catalogue the sensation of long, icy fingers wringing her climax from her.

They both know the knife won't kill him, but an opened femoral artery will cost the demi-god precious seconds to heal. They both know she'll have time to kip back to her next contingency plan.

It doesn't matter, not with that kind of statement still ringing in the air.

His eyes flash and for a second she wonders if her challenge has been unwise, if his petulant nature will lead him to snarl and snap and flee. Perhaps months ago it would have. Perhaps he'd choke out another insult, falling back to childish snark and word barbs aimed at her gender, her profession, her past and his unearned knowledge of it. Perhaps he'd simply disappear, leaving her plans unfulfilled and body aching.

Her hand holds the knife steady as she studies his face, unreadable in the dark light, the only sound his low breathing. The heat in the apartment in stifling, her only respite glaring down at her furiously, viciously.

Hungrily.

She shifts slightly and suddenly the stillness disappears. One cold hand tangles in her hair, pulling her head back as the other knocks away the knife with little hesitation. He pulls her closer to his face, the height difference forcing her en pointe as his words come out in a ragged, harsh whisper.

"And if I have a different use for your mouth?"

It sounds like a question but she still swallows thickly, feeling his erection straining against her hip through his pants. She schools her face into a calmer mask.

So simple, such a plain and pretty trap, such an opportunity.

"Such as?"

He begins to move her backwards, her feet scrambling to keep up as he strides to her bedroom, turning to slam her against the closed door, a grin on his face as the movement forces a grunt from her chest.

An approving smirk as he draws her closer, lips grazing hers as he utters one word.

"Kneel."

If only one order had ever been given in the history of the universe, it was this. She feels heat coil in her stomach, inhaling sharply at the intensity of his eyes.

She finds herself pushed down, suppressing a sigh of disappointment as his clothing vanishes. Intricacy and beauty of Asgardian armour was one thing, but the lean body encased in that suit had been quite a sight.

The disappointment fades instantly when she hits the floor, the sensation of icy skin against her heated torso forcing a moan from her lips.

She looks up to where he's leaning against her dresser, broad shoulders and flat planes of muscle. He lacks his brother's bulk but not presence; the muscled leanness highlighted in the shadows of her darkened bedroom, eyes flashing from where he towers above her.

She holds his gaze and reaches up, slipping her hands over strong thighs, nails trailing over hipbones and skimming up iliac crests. It's like sliding her fingertips over ice, the sensation a relief from the suffocating air. She sees him grit his teeth as she draws her heated cheek along the same path, refusing to drop her eyes from his as her hand wraps around the base of his thick cock.

As her lips close around him his head tips back, a groan slipping through clenched teeth as his hand returns to tangle in her hair. She smiles around him, taking her time to draw in his icy length, cold and rock hard. Her jaw twinges at the intrusion, the length and thickness above what she's used to by any means.

She continues to watch his free hand gripping the dresser top, his stomach muscles clenching as she gags on his length. A moan escapes her throat, humming against him as she works him harder. She's overwhelmed, the feel of his cool leg against her torso, breasts pressing against hard flesh, the feel of his hand tangling and tightening in her hair, icy and unforgiving, sending heat pooling between her legs once more. She grips him tightly, desperate for the respite his cool body brings, another groan vibrating in her throat.

"Fuck."

She's never heard him swear before, the word sounding like a throwing knife in his cultured voice. She looks up again to find his eyes locked on her, the sight of full pink lips encasing his length turning his eyes black as his pupils blow out. Sharp cheekbones are made sharper when he sucks in a breath, and she mimics the sight by hollowing her cheeks and releasing him with an obscene pop.

The height difference means she can't lower herself, leaving her knees aching as she lets her nails sink into muscular ass cheeks.

She grinds her torso against him tightly, immediately going back to work as the hand in her hair begins to change from a tight grip to movements in time with her wet sucking. She pumps him with one hand, making a show of holding his eyes as the other slips down his leg and over her own waist.

The stool beside her knocks against her shoulder as she shifts subtly.

"People don't change."

Thor's smile is sharp.

"Had you ever truly believed that, no person in this room would be considered a hero."

Fury's single eye was narrowed.

"This is not the time to quibble over semantics. What you're saying, what you're asking me to believe…you understand it's insane, right?"

Thor glanced around the room.

"I understand why this would be hard to believe-"

His statement was cut short as Clint pushed his chair back far too quickly, striding out of the room without looking back. Bruce shot a glance a Natasha, who shook her head.

No need to follow, she'd see him soon enough.

Thor swallowed but continued, and Natasha took a moment to appreciate what maturity had done to his face. So much of his fresh joy was tempered now by something darker, but his fierce belief was no less evident. She felt a pang of envy at his faith, immediately doused by her cynicism.

Natasha let her mind drift as Thor reinterated his story, only coming back to the room once the demi-god had left and 9 eyes all focused on her.

Maria's voice was clipped and professional as always.

"Sir, do you believe this?"

Fury shook his head. "No. Maybe. I don't know. But I know Thor believes it."

Stark snorted. "Yeah, well, he's always been quick to want to see the best in little brother psychopath. Who, by the way, I think Clint would have preferred stay dead."

Bruce was watching Natasha carefully as he addressed the room.

"Bag of cats aside, he could have gotten away with this without Thor knowing. Could have continued pretending to be dead, enjoyed the throne without any hindrances except the necessity of staying in Odin's form."

Steve shook his head.

"It's not enough. There's too much we don't know for sure." His brow was furrowed as he continued. "Even if it's true, even if the information is good, no one here is going to believe it just on Thor's word."

It obviously pained him to say it, which didn't make it any less true.

The room was silent for a moment. Not one inhabitant doubted Thor's belief; they just doubted the justification.

Fury finally nodded.

"Which is why we're going to need to find out for ourselves."

Bruce, having already guessed Fury's play, continued to study Natasha.

"Will it work?"

The Black Widow nodded once, slowly.

"I think so."

Tony shook his head.

"No offence, Tasha, because I've seen you in action myself…but haven't you already played the mind game angle on Loki?"

Steve nodded in agreement.

"That's true," he said. "It's not going to be so easy to get the jump on him this time. I don't even know how you'd go about arranging a sit down."

Natasha's eyes met Fury's, already well aware that he wasn't asking her to employ just one of her skill sets at this particular time. Her boss' expression was unreadable, but they both knew what was at stake here.

Both knew what had to be done.

Fury's voice was calm and careful as he spoke.

"Don't think a sit down is going to be our best angle here." His eye locked with Natasha's. "You know I wouldn't ask-"

He was silenced by a wave of her hand, dismissive and uncaring of the sentiment. He should have known, of all people, that she has no issues with the morality or use of any of her skill sets. But she still needed a plan.

"What can you give me?"

The vial was small, inconspicuous, but she's wasn't fool enough to underestimate the contents. A quick glance at Banner confirmed that this particular concoction had been tested, and that meant more than any other lab tech's involvement.

The larger box he placed on the table, however, was somewhat more reassuring. She flicked open the lid, an unspoken question as she regarded the contents.

Stark sighed. "They'll hold. Thor reckons they're designed to suppress and contain. I haven't found a flaw in them."

Steve's voice was quiet. "He…he knows?"

Bruce chuckled darkly.

"He's not stupid; he knows SHIELD will need more information before consenting to anything," he said, watching Natasha's face remain cool and passive, a sure sign she was working to hide the true nature of her involvement from the others. "But I doubt he has all the details."

Fury shook his head.

"He knows we'll need to question, doesn't know quite how we'll go about it."

Natasha ran slim fingers over the metal in the case, feeling the coolness seep into her fingertips.

Steve, for all of his tactical ability, was still not grasping the core concept.

"If the mind angle won't work again, why are we sending in Natasha?"

She looked up, brow quirking slightly, another pang of guilt appearing in her stomach as she removed the last of his naiveté.

"To cloud his mind."

Head tipped back, fingers tangling tighter, breathing erratic and other hand gripping the dresser top hard enough to dent. She enjoys the power on her knees, the way his eyes find hers and lock on intensely, expression warring between pained and agonised as she brings him closer and closer to the edge.

The words came faster now, a heady mix of English ("Fuck..your mouth…lips…"), Latin ("Lupa…Cupio te meam mentulam sugare…Et possidebunt te...Ducam te undique"), what she thinks is Norse and another language she assumes they speak on Asgard. His cultured voice is rough, words interrupted by pants, groans, hisses and growls.

More heat pools between her legs as her rhythm speeds up.

His sounds are punctuated by her own, mewling and groaning against him as she sucked all of him, gagging on his length again and again, allowing her free hand to briefly skim against her heated core before slipping under the stool.

His control vanishes as he begins to thrust, his hand securing her hair, forcing her to dig in nails and reset the pace. Icy blue eyes hold hers as she relishes the cold length of him in her mouth, of his body pressed against her own, and as her eyes lock on his she watches his lips form her name.

"Natasha."

A prayer as his head tips back and he tumbles over the edge.

The cool semen spurted into her mouth and she swallows greedily as his muscles quake. She brings her other hand from under the stool-

*CLICK*

The sound echoes through the room as she gives herself a moment to enjoy his satiated shock, licking the last remnants of him from her lips, swallowing thickly and smiling as she stands. He's slouched against the bench, eyes hooded as he slowly comes back to himself.

She watches the slow realisation, the way his head cocks to one side as he becomes aware of the heavy cuffs locking his hands behind his back.