Shoes

Note - Quick drabble for a dear friend.

Trailing a long silk scarf, Natasha swished past Loki in the hall. Despite Thor's pleas, the god of mischief had refused to join the team in the latest op, saying such things were below him. He was meant to rule planets, not grubble after nasty little gunrunners with blue chins and paunchy bellies. "But all will go much more smoothly with your help," his brother had argued. The only response was a resolute No.

When he saw the fiery-haired agent in the hall, however, Loki began to wonder if he might have made the wrong decision. Obviously she had dressed to convince someone – tight blue dress, loose curls, bare legs, long scarf… and shoes. Oh, those shoes.

The sight of her toes (with his favorite black nail polish) in peep-toe pumps made his skin quiver with electricity. He had seen many women in what were called high heels on Midgard, of course, but none affected him so strongly as Natasha. Why was that? Was it her skin, so luminous even under the artificial light of Stark Tower, next to the soft black leather? Whatever the answer, Loki knew he had to have more.

Of its own volition his mouth opened, and he heard his voice, hoarse with desire, request her company. Natasha didn't flinch, but the corner of her mouth curled slowly with amusement.

Loki was entranced. Stars seemed to explode before his eyes, even in the hallway humming with recycled air and harnessed energy. "Please, Natasha," he repeated. Was that really his voice, pleading for the graces of a mortal?

"No way," Natasha said pleasantly. "You left us high and dry today, and we had a tough time hitting our mark."

"Did you succeed in getting the ugly little gunrunner?" Loki was curious. Her response was to glance at the ceiling and shake her head slightly – of course she had. "Well?" he demanded, impatient. "Will you grant my request or not?"

"Will you help us next time Thor asks?" she shot back. He was about to say no, when Natasha crossed one leg over the other, drawing attention to the crazy shoes and those black toenails.

And he heard himself say Yes, yes he would.

In her apartment Natasha sat and started to remove one pump, but Loki surged forward. "Please leave them on. Please."

She sat back and clasped her hands loosely at her waist, a sly grin blooming on her perfect face. "Loki of Asgard, do you have a shoe fetish?"

He didn't answer – her question made no sense. Besides, he was too busy nuzzling her knee, the smooth skin of her calf, kissing her ankle. With her other foot, Natasha dug her high heel into Loki's back, and he groaned. "These heels are really high," she said in an offhand voice. "Plus I've been on my feet all night. Go and get me a glass of wine."

Prince Loki – being ordered like a lackey or a servant. He meant to blast her with magic and leave, but she dug the heel into his thigh, and his wits fled. Loki rose, went to her kitchen, and poured them both a drink.

When he returned, he nearly dropped the glasses in his hand. Natasha had removed the blue dress and sat in nothing more than the scarf and her shoes. "Come here, Loki," she purred.

He hastened to her side, put the glasses on the low table, and surged to kiss her lips, thumb her nipples, bite her neck. Natasha stopped him with her foot in his chest and shook her head. "No. You don't get any sugar unless you give us your magic whenever I want."

"What?" Outraged, Loki sat back. "Absolutely not! Magic is part of me. You cannot command it."

"But I want you too. I want you at my beck and call, whenever I need you." Absently she wriggled her toes against his knee.

"No."

Natasha sat up, picked up her dress, and started to put it on. "We're done here, then."

"Wait!" Loki pulled her dress off again, ripped it in half and cast the pieces on the floor. "I will offer my services to you – no one else. Not Stark, not Fury. Certainly not Thor. You will be the only one to command – I mean request my help." He couldn't help slide one hand down her legs, and when he felt the leather under his fingertips his erection quivered.

"I like that. I'm going to want a new dress later, though," Natasha said.

"Oh, yes." Loki captured her hands against his chest and tried for a kiss again, but she shook her head.

"Nope. Get in my bed, all clothes off. And," she took the scarf off her neck, "do something creative with this."

Loki lay on his back, his wrists tied together over his head. Natasha was moving around in the apartment – he could hear the clink of her earrings going into a ceramic bowl in her bathroom. The hiss of the brush through her hair. Water as she washed her hands, the rough sound of the towel. And under it all Natasha's heartbeat, slightly quicker than usual.

Those thoughts disappeared when she walked into the bedroom, still wearing the shoes. Loki arched up and gasped with desire at the sight of her prowling over the bed to sit on his hips, toes digging into his thighs. "Natasha," he gasped.

"You're mine, now," she said. Those full lips curled in her signature smile, slightly off-center, rife with mischief. She flipped herself up in the air, turned a lightning aerial, and landed with her knees on either side of his head. "Now you know what comes next, right?"

Loki did. He tongued her slit, reveling in her musky flavor. She tasted like smoke, subtle but intense. Quickly he found the rhythm she liked best, edged back to make his ministrations soft – so soft. She seemed to enjoy his teasing as he licked one side of the little pearl, moved the other, just ghosting the sensitive hood. He made her wait until she screamed his name, dug her fingernails (also painted black) into his hair before he allowed her release, delighting in the rush of fluid, the fluttering of the delicate flesh.

Natasha collapsed onto Loki's shoulder and, more gently than he could ever have imagined, licked her juices from his face. He tried to capture a kiss, but she nudged his bursting prick with her foot, just touching the sensitive head with the tip of her high heel. "Just relax," she whispered. "Enjoy it. Feel what I'm going to do to you." Her toes, framed by the luxurious leather, wriggled against his shaft. "Next time I'll slick them up with oil," she promised. "It will be even more exotic. I have a pair of sandals, Loki, nothing more than ribbons holding up ridiculously high pumps. Or boots, laced up the back…"

The feeling turned white hot, along with the things she whispered in his ear. Loki felt a rush of lava inside, and he was unable to hold back. A thick stream of white shot up and coated her toes in the shoes, covering the black leather and white flesh. Natasha watched with sparkling eyes, murmured with pleasure when another jet coated her legs, ruining the shoes.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I didn't mean to."

"I'm not sorry," she laughed. "That was really hot, baby." Natasha sat up, removed the shoes, and tossed them onto his shirt where it lay on the floor. "Too bad about the shoes, although I must say I do like this side of you."

Loki ripped the scarf holding his wrists and tossed the scraps into the pile of ruined clothing. Firmly he rolled her onto her back and crushed his mouth to hers, nudging her lips open so he could taste her tongue, explore her mouth at his leisure. She had said Next time, he exulted. He would see the ribboned sandals, the boots, and… "I will purchase a new dress for you," he promised. "And shoes. I want to sit in the store while you try them on, and parade for me, and I will imagine you as you are now, so naughty and naked, open to my touch. I want to leave the store with you on my arm, carrying shoes you will wear for me like this." The very thought made him hard again, longing for more of her.

"You're mine," she repeated. "Mine, Loki."