Work Header


Work Text:

There's something about SHIELD debriefings, Jane decides.

She's not a warmonger in the least. Sure, she's girlfriend to a man who could either start or end a war with his wild strength and cunning and hammer skills. She respects that conflicts are often resolved with physical violence.

Yet there's something primal and raw about hearing how the bad guys got their asses handed to them by the good guys.

That's as far as she wants to examine her motives for jumping Thor the moment they're alone in his quarters.

"An ambush," he exclaims, once he drops Mjolnir on the floor and frees his lips from hers, momentarily. She grins and does a little hop, which is his cue to grab her by the backside while she gets her arms and legs around him. It's the only way she can kiss him while standing up and still get her whole body pressed against him.

Against the leather and buckles and discs that proclaim him a warrior of Asgard, a fighting man.

"It's a good look," she'd said when he first appeared before her in full raiment.

She feels him shift to hold her with one arm as he fumbles to get his other hand up under her shirt, stroking up her spine, quickly unhooking her bra, which he doesn't see the point of ("you should free these beauties, not confine them," he said once), then turning to prop her against the wall, her legs still around his waist, as he makes short work of the shirt and bra, pulling them off and dropping them on the floor.

"Thor," she moans. He grabs her ass and hikes her up to get her breasts on a level with his mouth. Jane sinks her fingers into his thick hair, tugging and twisting and arching her back while his tongue lashes her nipples into stiff morsels.

When he frees a hand to tug down the back of her sweat pants, she lets go of his hair and braces her hands on his shoulders, clutching at the crimson epaulets that rise to curve over his back, a fall of metallic red, the color of war.

"Hold tight, love," he tells her, yanking her sweatpants down and off, one leg at a time while they wrestle for balance against each other and against the wall. Her panties go along for the ride, and now she's naked, bare skin in his hot hands, her mouth on his, her ankles crossed at the small of his back.

"Like this," she gasps in his ear. "Take me. Like this. Right here."

"As my lady commands," her lover replies.

Jane wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him; she feels his hands working at the fastenings of his trousers. With one hand he shoves them down to his knees, the other gripping her ass, kneading. She can feel the head of his cock nudging between her legs, seeking.

He braces his spread feet, bends his knees a bit, his head finds her heat, she tilts her hips just right, and he pushes up into her while letting her body slide downward in his hands.

Jane sucks in a breath and shudders. It's always like this; he's so damn big, it's like being fucked by an oak tree, solid, thick. She squirms a little and he waits, panting, watching her face. He doesn't ask any more if she's all right; he knows she'll speak up if she needs to, she's no dainty flower or glass figurine. When she says she wants it hard, he doesn't hold back.

He doesn't now. She breathes one word in his ear, "Now," and the mighty Thor starts his rhythm, slowly at first, quickly picking up the pace as Jane grinds her body into him, pulling her knees as high as she can, taking him in balls deep.

The music of their coupling is the harsh sound of gasping and groaning and muttered encouragements, accentuated by the sound of leather flexing and the wetness between their bodies where they're joined. Thor's mouth is all over her skin, wherever he can reach, cheeks, throat, lips, ears.

Tilting her head to give him better access, Jane catches a flash of red in a mirror beyond the bathroom door. Her own face peers back at her, flush and slack, as Thor pumps into her, harder, faster. She can see only his disheveled hair and the vast sweep of that cape, her own hands gripping his shoulders and arms, her legs hidden under the fabric.

There's something barbaric about the brief glimpse, the naked damsel taken against a wall by a young god, and she throws herself harder into the act, meeting his thrusts with all her strength until he slams into her, plastering her body to the wall, big hands digging convulsively into her ass as orgasm overtakes him.

"Jane," he shouts, groans, finally whispers, holding her in place as he regains his senses. She rotates her hips, the sensation of his cock impaling her too good to end.

"Jane," he says, looking in her eyes. "Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes, oh, yes," she murmurs. He lifts her up, slips out of her body, stifling her protest with his mouth and carrying her the few feet to the bed. She can barely lift her head to watch as he shucks off his pants and kneels on the floor, between where her legs are dangling limply.

He lifts one thigh, gently, kissing the places on her buttock and thighs where bruises will most likely bloom, then lays her leg over his shoulder. He repeats the treatment on her other leg, then shifts her down a bit until her backside is at the edge of the bed and her legs are hooked over the leather and epaulets, calves rubbing against the soft cape.

He bends his head, golden hair and red cloak, nuzzling in to part her lips, soaked with her honey and his seed; his tongue presses into the cleft that leads up to her womanhood and she trembles and spreads her thighs even wider.

"Thor," she cries out, right before his tongue lands firmly on her clit, swirls around and over it, as she keens and thrusts into his mouth, filling it with her climax. And again, and again.

The surge of adrenaline leaves her shaking and enervated. Thor leans up over her, licking his lips, smiling a bit smugly. She can only gaze drunkenly at him, her mouth half open, one limp hand coming up to draw his head down for a kiss, wet and spicy with both their flavors.

"Here, love," he says. "Don't catch a chill."

He detaches the red cloak from his shoulders and lays it over her, up to her chin, then removes the rest of his suit and crawls into bed beside her. The cape is big enough to cover them both.



All characters and settings are the property of their respective copyright holders. As far as the author is aware, this work is not based on, adapted, copied, or derived from any other work in any medium.