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brovengers2012-04-19 12:48 pm
clint_barton) wrote in brovengers2012-04-19 12:48 pm
Entry tags:
Arc 3, Chapter 1, Steve's Party: Jane & Thor
Thor and Jane talk and get handsy; Thor goes to mingle with Steve, Natasha and James.
Thor is lounging comfortably in one of the neighbor’s dying lawn chairs, sprawled out like a great dane enjoying a bed that is at least two sizes too small. His arms can’t find the armrests and dangle leisurely over the sides instead, and his feet go so far past the end of the weathered old thing that they’re touching the ground.
He observes the guests as they arrive through half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile, and in truth he couldn’t be happier— all things considered. Loki is back to the way he was before Thor’s exile, Jane, Darcy and Erik are at his side once more, and true, Steve is his newly appointed shadow, but if he is to have anyone trace his every action, he would rather it be a friend like him.
Unfortunately, Jane’s mood is not nearly so relaxed and optimistic as that of her company. Aside from her continued confusion—and burgeoning irritation—at Thor’s inability to outline his feelings in clear and sober words, she’s also troubled by a powerful, aching exhaustion. Images from her recent dreams haunt her daylight hours; they chase at her footsteps like so many quiet spiders and run up her spine when she stands still. For the past week or so, the dream has been the same, ending always in front of that endless staircase, with the ascent into waking marked by a snake’s hiss.
And, on top of everything else, she still does not have her research back. Her life is a confused tangle of frustrations; her purpose, a moot point. The universe seems to be playing with her, and she’s not sure why. Jane pays her taxes. She donates to charity, volunteers at the hospital when she can, and she obviously has a penchant for taking in strays. She’s staring at one of them right now.
“You look pretty comfortable,” she says. “Can I get you anything?”
“Jane Foster,” Thor says, extending his hand towards her, though not bothering to rise from his seat. “You can come here and offer me your company.”
“There is much I need to discuss with you.”
After a few moments’ hesitation, Jane takes the outstretched hand. She’s always been a soft touch. “I’ll say.”
Admittedly, Jane isn’t entirely sure what Thor intends to do with her hand, given that there isn’t much space on his chair for two, but she likes the strong, warm feel of his fingers entwined with hers regardless.
With her fingers locked in his, Thor pulls her down so that she’s forced to settle on his stomach. His muscles support the weight of both armor and weapon with ease, and Jane, by comparison, is far lighter than either. He’s almost afraid she might break if he isn’t careful, but most mortals seem that fragile to him, even if he has long since left that strength behind.
“You must understand why I have said very little on the matter of how I feel about you, Jane.” His tone softens, voice low and brimming with an unusual amount of courtesy. “All that Loki has done to torment us pales in comparison to what he would do if I were I to make you my own. His jealousy always burns, and it burns brightest when there is someone else in my life.”
Jane shrieks in surprise and braces herself against Thor, frowning at him indignantly when she replies, “Given what’s already happened, I think we’re past the point of stoking his jealousy, Thor. Besides, you keep talking like we’re together, anyway! And in a very … very paleolithic era fashion, too.”
Thor’s head tilts in confusion, his nose crinkling subconsciously as he attempts to process what she’s just told him. “Pale…pale-what?”
“Nevermind,” He says as his other hand clasps over hers. “Jane, I am trying to tell you that I love you.”
He had said it before, drunkenly, after a night of bad movies and booze with Erik and his brother, and Jane had dismissed it then. She knows she can’t dismiss it now. Her heart tightens; the air in her lungs temporarily fails to circulate. Her elbows—dug against Thor’s chest to give her leverage—shake.
Because, as she has for months now, Jane loves him, too.
“That’s what I needed to hear,” she exhales. She moves to embrace him as best she can in the chair, presses her forehead against his, and adds, “I love you, too.”
He lifts his chin so that their lips meet, keeping her fingers wound tight around his own, pulling her ever closer. She smells of perfume and coffee, of things both foreign and comforting. She is an alien creature; a complex, resplendent enigma that challenges his reality and shatters his perceptions. It was Jane who breathed life into him when he thought he had nothing left. She’d stayed by his side, throughout everything, in spite of everything. He needs her. He’s not afraid to admit it anymore.
So when he kisses her, he does not hold back.
Jane sinks into the kiss like it’s a warm bath, closing her eyes and letting the feeling overwhelm all of her anxiety, letting it mute her fraught dreams. The moment is not completely pure, however, as the memory of her other recent kiss comes to the fore. An automatic, subconscious comparison is inevitable: where Loki was needing and desperate, Thor is careful and assured. Loki’s passion was rough, jagged in its intensity; Thor is no less intense, but he is at ease. He kisses like a man who believes in the connection he’s offering, who knows it will not be refused.
The differences are striking, but Jane’s hardly in a mood to consider them. If she’s honest with herself, she’s wanted to kiss Thor—the real Thor—almost ever since she and Darcy first hit him with their van. Definitely since the second time.
She’s not about to let Loki’s gaunt face, already fading to the recesses of her mind, ruin the moment. With her palms flat on Thor’s chest, she gives as good as she gets.
He moves to encircle her with his arms, to wrap her around him and let her warmth seep into his skin with every touch. She does not seem so delicate to him anymore, meeting his intensity with ease.
The kiss slows; Thor smiles winningly against her lips. He is content, and far too distracted to notice the rest of the world.
As good as this is, and as long as she’s waited for it, eventually they do both have to breathe. She pulls away from him, dazed both from the experience and from what feels like a slight alcoholic buzz (which she attributes to an excess of endorphins or dopamine, perhaps, as she’s sipped nothing but water today). Resting her head on his chest, Jane scratches his skin lightly through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and mumbles, “That was nice.”
“Indeed.” He responds, leaving his heavy arms around her waist to ensure that she doesn’t decide to move.
A momentary twinge of guilt hits him as he leans down to press another kiss against Jane’s scalp. He knows it will hurt Loki when he finds out. Loki, who was always jealous when Thor’s attention was divided. Loki, who also seems to carry some kind of affection for Jane— though whether his feelings are real, or his usual vain, possessive urges, Thor can’t begin to tell. Breaking the news to him won’t be easy, but it’ll have to come. He won’t lie to his brother. He can’t.
“I am only sorry it took me so long to find the courage to say it.”
“Courage?” she says, finding it hard to accept that Thor has ever felt more than passing twinges of fear in his life. She glances up at him—as best she can, given the steel cage of his arms—and purses her lips. “What was holding you back, exactly?”
Her surprise isn’t unexpected, and he can’t help the soft chuckle that bleeds into his words.
“All creatures are capable of fear, Jane. Even gods.” Thor lifts his arms enough to let her shift. “But it is acting in spite of that same fear that makes us courageous and fearless, not the absence of the emotion itself.”
“And I have told you. Loki’s jealousy will only worsen with this news. It always has.”
Jane flicks a lock of his thick blond hair and says, “You’ve been spending too much time around Erik.”
She buries her face in the crook of his neck, chilled by the rest of his reply. “What do you think he’ll do, then? And do you really think that not being with me would stop him, either way?”
A little time has passed since that night in the break room, and while Jane cannot claim much—if any—knowledge of Loki’s heart, she’s seen enough from him to feel that almost nothing will abate his hostility towards Thor. Desperate hunger haunted his eyes even when he wore Thor’s features, a hunger that Jane mistook at the time as need of her. She believes still that Loki suffers from an overwhelming sense of need, but she can’t name what would satisfy it. She is not certain that a nameable solution exists.
The sound of Stark’s crew forcibly restructuring their little backyard get-together distracts Thor from his lazy, contented conversation in the corner. Jane’s company is both warm and welcome, and he could forsake everything else in favor of burying himself in it. But when the sound of tables clattering with platters catches his ears, he is reminded of his other love and calling: food. Something he is missing at the moment.
“I need another ale,” He grunts out as he rises, gently sliding Jane down off his chest to settle on the chair’s haggard plastic surface. “We will continue where we left off in a moment, yes?”
Thor’s broad grin is quick and reassuring. He means to finish it off with a wink, but the thought leaves him as the sky tilts sideways, equilibrium struggling to compensate for a sudden dizzy spell. Probably just a bit of the withdrawal still wearing on him.
Tony Stark delivered as promised. The assortment of food and spirits remind Thor of the banquets back home. It’s an unusual sight in the little town, and the locals are already busy gathering at the edges of the party as they try to sneak in photographs. Perhaps Stark is royalty, he thinks, or at least the American equivalent of such a thing.
One of the servers attempts to offer Thor a plate as he begins picking through the line with his bare hands, but it’s barely the size of his palm; hardly sufficient for an Asgardian appetite. Still, it would be rude to disregard the customs of Midgard, and the last thing he would want to do is insult his friends…
When Thor wanders over to intercept Natasha and James, he carries a full serving tray of food on one arm, contents threatening to spill over the sides. He pulls a roasted turkey leg from the top of the pile and waves it in greeting before taking a bite.
“An excellent celebration, is it not?”
Thor is lounging comfortably in one of the neighbor’s dying lawn chairs, sprawled out like a great dane enjoying a bed that is at least two sizes too small. His arms can’t find the armrests and dangle leisurely over the sides instead, and his feet go so far past the end of the weathered old thing that they’re touching the ground.
He observes the guests as they arrive through half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile, and in truth he couldn’t be happier— all things considered. Loki is back to the way he was before Thor’s exile, Jane, Darcy and Erik are at his side once more, and true, Steve is his newly appointed shadow, but if he is to have anyone trace his every action, he would rather it be a friend like him.
Unfortunately, Jane’s mood is not nearly so relaxed and optimistic as that of her company. Aside from her continued confusion—and burgeoning irritation—at Thor’s inability to outline his feelings in clear and sober words, she’s also troubled by a powerful, aching exhaustion. Images from her recent dreams haunt her daylight hours; they chase at her footsteps like so many quiet spiders and run up her spine when she stands still. For the past week or so, the dream has been the same, ending always in front of that endless staircase, with the ascent into waking marked by a snake’s hiss.
And, on top of everything else, she still does not have her research back. Her life is a confused tangle of frustrations; her purpose, a moot point. The universe seems to be playing with her, and she’s not sure why. Jane pays her taxes. She donates to charity, volunteers at the hospital when she can, and she obviously has a penchant for taking in strays. She’s staring at one of them right now.
“You look pretty comfortable,” she says. “Can I get you anything?”
“Jane Foster,” Thor says, extending his hand towards her, though not bothering to rise from his seat. “You can come here and offer me your company.”
“There is much I need to discuss with you.”
After a few moments’ hesitation, Jane takes the outstretched hand. She’s always been a soft touch. “I’ll say.”
Admittedly, Jane isn’t entirely sure what Thor intends to do with her hand, given that there isn’t much space on his chair for two, but she likes the strong, warm feel of his fingers entwined with hers regardless.
With her fingers locked in his, Thor pulls her down so that she’s forced to settle on his stomach. His muscles support the weight of both armor and weapon with ease, and Jane, by comparison, is far lighter than either. He’s almost afraid she might break if he isn’t careful, but most mortals seem that fragile to him, even if he has long since left that strength behind.
“You must understand why I have said very little on the matter of how I feel about you, Jane.” His tone softens, voice low and brimming with an unusual amount of courtesy. “All that Loki has done to torment us pales in comparison to what he would do if I were I to make you my own. His jealousy always burns, and it burns brightest when there is someone else in my life.”
Jane shrieks in surprise and braces herself against Thor, frowning at him indignantly when she replies, “Given what’s already happened, I think we’re past the point of stoking his jealousy, Thor. Besides, you keep talking like we’re together, anyway! And in a very … very paleolithic era fashion, too.”
Thor’s head tilts in confusion, his nose crinkling subconsciously as he attempts to process what she’s just told him. “Pale…pale-what?”
“Nevermind,” He says as his other hand clasps over hers. “Jane, I am trying to tell you that I love you.”
He had said it before, drunkenly, after a night of bad movies and booze with Erik and his brother, and Jane had dismissed it then. She knows she can’t dismiss it now. Her heart tightens; the air in her lungs temporarily fails to circulate. Her elbows—dug against Thor’s chest to give her leverage—shake.
Because, as she has for months now, Jane loves him, too.
“That’s what I needed to hear,” she exhales. She moves to embrace him as best she can in the chair, presses her forehead against his, and adds, “I love you, too.”
He lifts his chin so that their lips meet, keeping her fingers wound tight around his own, pulling her ever closer. She smells of perfume and coffee, of things both foreign and comforting. She is an alien creature; a complex, resplendent enigma that challenges his reality and shatters his perceptions. It was Jane who breathed life into him when he thought he had nothing left. She’d stayed by his side, throughout everything, in spite of everything. He needs her. He’s not afraid to admit it anymore.
So when he kisses her, he does not hold back.
Jane sinks into the kiss like it’s a warm bath, closing her eyes and letting the feeling overwhelm all of her anxiety, letting it mute her fraught dreams. The moment is not completely pure, however, as the memory of her other recent kiss comes to the fore. An automatic, subconscious comparison is inevitable: where Loki was needing and desperate, Thor is careful and assured. Loki’s passion was rough, jagged in its intensity; Thor is no less intense, but he is at ease. He kisses like a man who believes in the connection he’s offering, who knows it will not be refused.
The differences are striking, but Jane’s hardly in a mood to consider them. If she’s honest with herself, she’s wanted to kiss Thor—the real Thor—almost ever since she and Darcy first hit him with their van. Definitely since the second time.
She’s not about to let Loki’s gaunt face, already fading to the recesses of her mind, ruin the moment. With her palms flat on Thor’s chest, she gives as good as she gets.
He moves to encircle her with his arms, to wrap her around him and let her warmth seep into his skin with every touch. She does not seem so delicate to him anymore, meeting his intensity with ease.
The kiss slows; Thor smiles winningly against her lips. He is content, and far too distracted to notice the rest of the world.
As good as this is, and as long as she’s waited for it, eventually they do both have to breathe. She pulls away from him, dazed both from the experience and from what feels like a slight alcoholic buzz (which she attributes to an excess of endorphins or dopamine, perhaps, as she’s sipped nothing but water today). Resting her head on his chest, Jane scratches his skin lightly through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and mumbles, “That was nice.”
“Indeed.” He responds, leaving his heavy arms around her waist to ensure that she doesn’t decide to move.
A momentary twinge of guilt hits him as he leans down to press another kiss against Jane’s scalp. He knows it will hurt Loki when he finds out. Loki, who was always jealous when Thor’s attention was divided. Loki, who also seems to carry some kind of affection for Jane— though whether his feelings are real, or his usual vain, possessive urges, Thor can’t begin to tell. Breaking the news to him won’t be easy, but it’ll have to come. He won’t lie to his brother. He can’t.
“I am only sorry it took me so long to find the courage to say it.”
“Courage?” she says, finding it hard to accept that Thor has ever felt more than passing twinges of fear in his life. She glances up at him—as best she can, given the steel cage of his arms—and purses her lips. “What was holding you back, exactly?”
Her surprise isn’t unexpected, and he can’t help the soft chuckle that bleeds into his words.
“All creatures are capable of fear, Jane. Even gods.” Thor lifts his arms enough to let her shift. “But it is acting in spite of that same fear that makes us courageous and fearless, not the absence of the emotion itself.”
“And I have told you. Loki’s jealousy will only worsen with this news. It always has.”
Jane flicks a lock of his thick blond hair and says, “You’ve been spending too much time around Erik.”
She buries her face in the crook of his neck, chilled by the rest of his reply. “What do you think he’ll do, then? And do you really think that not being with me would stop him, either way?”
A little time has passed since that night in the break room, and while Jane cannot claim much—if any—knowledge of Loki’s heart, she’s seen enough from him to feel that almost nothing will abate his hostility towards Thor. Desperate hunger haunted his eyes even when he wore Thor’s features, a hunger that Jane mistook at the time as need of her. She believes still that Loki suffers from an overwhelming sense of need, but she can’t name what would satisfy it. She is not certain that a nameable solution exists.
The sound of Stark’s crew forcibly restructuring their little backyard get-together distracts Thor from his lazy, contented conversation in the corner. Jane’s company is both warm and welcome, and he could forsake everything else in favor of burying himself in it. But when the sound of tables clattering with platters catches his ears, he is reminded of his other love and calling: food. Something he is missing at the moment.
“I need another ale,” He grunts out as he rises, gently sliding Jane down off his chest to settle on the chair’s haggard plastic surface. “We will continue where we left off in a moment, yes?”
Thor’s broad grin is quick and reassuring. He means to finish it off with a wink, but the thought leaves him as the sky tilts sideways, equilibrium struggling to compensate for a sudden dizzy spell. Probably just a bit of the withdrawal still wearing on him.
Tony Stark delivered as promised. The assortment of food and spirits remind Thor of the banquets back home. It’s an unusual sight in the little town, and the locals are already busy gathering at the edges of the party as they try to sneak in photographs. Perhaps Stark is royalty, he thinks, or at least the American equivalent of such a thing.
One of the servers attempts to offer Thor a plate as he begins picking through the line with his bare hands, but it’s barely the size of his palm; hardly sufficient for an Asgardian appetite. Still, it would be rude to disregard the customs of Midgard, and the last thing he would want to do is insult his friends…
When Thor wanders over to intercept Natasha and James, he carries a full serving tray of food on one arm, contents threatening to spill over the sides. He pulls a roasted turkey leg from the top of the pile and waves it in greeting before taking a bite.
“An excellent celebration, is it not?”