Dream Below, 1/8. NC-17.
Title: The Dream Below
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: *deep breath* Steve/Bucky, Steve/Natasha, Steve/Bucky/Natasha, Clint/Natasha, Loki/Natasha, Tony/Pepper, Maria/Natasha, Jane/Thor.
Disclaimer: Not mine! Not even by a little bit.
Spoilers/Warnings: MCU AU. Based off of this AU gifset on Tumblr. Come on, a mashup of Inception and the MCU. *drools* Did you really think I could stay away from this? No, I didn't think so either. :D Title and chapter titles from Linkin Park's "Castle of Glass."
Summary: Thor of Odin Corp. hires Steve Rogers' elite dream sharing team to perform inception on his brother, Loki, and a shade of their ex-resident thief Bucky (who was killed when the team's last job went horribly wrong) tries his best to sabotage it.
Or: Steve extracts, Tony builds, Clint runs point, Natasha's a master of impersonation, Bruce concocts, Thor's a tourist, and things happen.
Act One - Setting the Stage
One - Through The Secrets That I Have Seen
Thor Odinson approached Steve Rogers at the table in the back of the restaurant. He was built like a classic Norse god: blonde hair, blue eyes, square jaw, built arms and chest, tall, and with presence enough to dominate others. The business suit he wore was tailored, or close to it, and only served to enhance the sense of power that Thor possessed. He had a ready smile, though, and clasped Steve's hand in a firm grip. Steve at six feet tall was three inches shorter than Thor, but he was fairly strongly built as well. His waist and legs weren't as massive as Thor's, but Steve was more of a runner and swimmer. In his line of work, it was a necessity.
"I'm pleased you're taking me up on my offer," Thor said, his voice as strong as the rest of him. It wasn't too loud for the area, and didn't carry a pompous undertone the way some conglomerate CEO's did. It seemed more like his natural exuberance not being able to be contained within his frame, not a calculated ploy to impress or intimidate.
Steve smiled easily, aware of his off the rack suit jacket and trousers. "I'm here to consider the offer," he corrected. It was an easy mistake to make, one he had corrected often enough in the last few months.
Few months? He knew Clint or Natasha would berate him and say it was over a year. But he couldn't think of that now.
"Mr. Rogers," Thor said, leaning forward somewhat earnestly. "I have come to you for aid. There are rumors. Whispers that you can make the impossible happen, that it can be like magic."
A chill ran down Steve's spine. Isn't that what Cobb and his crew had promised the community just two or three years ago? Magic unlike any other. And then most of them dropped right out of sight, never to be seen again.
"What's the job?" Steve asked. He was also blonde and blue eyed, but he had this earnest kind of face that made him appear trustworthy. Natasha once said that it made him look like he should be a superhero, that he was perfect for the job, and could easily represent truth, justice and the American way. If he wasn't so busy breaking the law, that was.
Thor didn't seem to be put off by his demeanor, however. "It's your particular expertise with the mind that I'm interested in," he said, lips twisting in a sardonic smile. "If you get my meaning."
Steve had assumed this was a dream share referral, so he merely nodded. "You seem to have an understanding about the field."
"I've a number of associates who have partaken of that particular modality." He smiled at Steve, appearing friendly enough. "I'm hoping you could help me."
"With?" Steve prompted. His voice was a bit harsh, and it wiped the smile right off of Thor's face.
"My brother," Thor sighed, not able to get around this any longer. "He is angry, so very angry. Our father had kept many secrets in his time, some relating to the family business, and some apparently relating to us. Loki went through his papers after he died, and he discovered that he was adopted. It seems to have upended everything he knew about himself."
Frowning, Steve looked at Thor. "What is he doing?"
Thor sighed again. "Our father brokered some kind of deal with other businesses, so he didn't have to take them over. The actual clauses and contracts are quite complicated, I won't bore you with them. But Loki started breaking contracts. It was particularly bad with Jotunheim. That was nothing short of a hostile takeover, with the bulk of the employees summarily turned out as soon as the ink on the contracts dried. It was devastating, and not what our father would have wanted."
"Some would say he's simply doing business. That there's nothing wrong with him."
"No. This is not my brother. We played together, fought others together, and he normally confides in me. No longer. His half of the company is constantly doing battle with mine. He seeks to undermine my authority, belittle and trick me at any turn." Thor frowned deeply. "This isn't him. Normally Loki can calm down my temper, and I used to be the family hothead. Since father's death two years ago, I haven't touched a drop of alcohol and I haven't been so angry."
"But he is," Steve said quietly. "If this is how he's processing his grief, though, what he needs is a therapist. And by no stretch of the imagination am I a therapist."
"Therapists are no use anyway. He despises them."
Thor didn't elaborate even with an arched brow. "Listen, Thor, take it from me, dreams are not the way to go if he's still grieving."
"I want him to let go of the grief and anger," Thor said, leaning forward slightly and looking at Steve intently. "I want him to live, to be the man my father thought he could be. He's a shadow of himself, a lost little boy, and it pains me to watch him flounder this way. He won't take my help, he won't even accept that I might truly call him brother, that I'm not mocking him."
"Family counseling," Steve offered.
Shaking his head, Thor leaned back in his chair. "I need you to change his mind. I need you to make him let go."
Steve sat very still. "You can't change people. That isn't what this is for."
"I heard you could."
"You heard wrong," Steve replied coldly. "I think we're done here."
Thor grew desperate, reaching out to grab Steve's arm. "I'll pay you whatever you ask, give you whatever you want. Just name your price, and I'll get it for you, no questions asked. Do you want money? The charges against you dropped? Whatever you want, Mr. Rogers, I promise you, I'll make it happen, no matter what it takes. Just fix my brother."
Feeling like an utter hypocrite, Steve shook off his grasp. "Maybe you should accept him for who he is, Mr. Odinson."
"This isn't him. You don't know him, you don't know what he was like before. Please," Thor asked, begged really. "I want my family together again. Mr. Rogers, I don't know where else to turn. I would do anything, give anything, to have my family back together again. My mother still mourns my father, and to lose her son as well... Our family is broken. Please. I need your help to fix it, whatever you can do..."
Steve frowned deeply at Thor. "I think you're expecting more of this than what is possible."
"There's talk," Thor said quietly. "Not just getting information, but changing minds and influencing them, of helping people be better than they were before. I don't want him to be different. I know it sounds that way, but I just want him to stop being so angry, so full of grief."
At Steve's sigh, Thor leaned forward again. "I know grief changes us. I know it forces us to be different people, to value different things. But he's so full of rage that he's harming others. I can't allow that to continue. I can't let him destroy everything our father worked to build. I can't let him go on destroying everything because he doesn't know how to let go."
Thor's words made Steve feel more and more uncomfortable, and he wanted him to shut up, to stop, but he wouldn't do that. Steve knew the determined businessman type. So he said the words that would shut his mouth, no matter the consequences.
"Let me see what I can do."
***
Clint was jerked out of a sound sleep by the sound of his phone; the ringtone was the one that meant dream share business, and he fumbled to slide the lock off. "Yeah."
"You shouldn't agree to things before you know what they are."
At the familiar sound of Steve's voice, he shot upright in the bed and was instantly awake. He looked over to his companion, who was bundled under the covers and hopefully still asleep. "It's been close to a year," Clint said, glad that he achieved a neutral tone.
"Has it? I haven't kept track," Steve replied.
"I have," Clint muttered.
Ignoring the remark, Steve continued. "I might have a job lined up for us, but it'll be complicated. We'll need the best for it. So you on point, maybe Nat on forging... Could you find her? She's not answering my calls."
"Don't you have her current number?" Clint asked icily. Steve in fact did not, and Clint was very aware of that fact.
Steve at least sounded awkward when he sighed and admitted "Probably not."
"And I wonder why that is?"
"Clint, please. I was in no shape to go under."
"At least now you admit it."
"Look, I-"
"We all lost someone. You don't have the market on grief cornered."
Steve remained silent for a long time. "I guess I deserved that," he said finally.
"Yes, you did," Clint replied.
"Can you find her? And see if she knows a chemist? A good one, capable of doing multiple layers with sedation. I tried getting a hold of Yusuf, but he flat out refused to take this one on. He said the last time he went into the field, it cured him of curiosity."
"Sounds like Yusuf," Clint said, scrubbing his jaw tiredly with the heel of his hand. "I make no promises," he said quietly. "If she says no and tells you to fuck off, I won't help you either."
"What? You come as a pair now?" Steve asked, sounding incredulous and jealous at once.
Once upon a time, Clint would have explained the situation. Right now, he wanted to flip Steve off and say fuck you over the way everything had fallen apart. "Let's just say the history with you soured. You don't have the pull you once did."
Blowing out a breath, Steve began "Look, if I say I'm sorry-"
"Just text me a possible meet up point. I'll text you back if we're interested enough to show up."
"You don't even know what the job is yet."
"It's complicated, Yusuf took a pass and it's you that we'd be working with. That tells us plenty enough to start with," Clint shot back. "Just text me. I'll text you."
He hung up on Steve and dropped his phone back on the nightstand. The lump beneath the blankets stirred, and a delicate hand snaked out to grasp him around the waist. "Oh. Hey. Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."
A shock of red hair appeared as Natasha Romanoff propped herself up on her opposite elbow and looked up at him. "It's okay. Who were you talking to? Someone in the business, if you mentioned Yusuf not going near the job that was offered."
"I didn't even let it be offered."
"Why? Who was calling?"
"Steve."
Natasha was so surprised that her jaw dropped and she nearly fell back onto the bed. She then pushed herself back up into a sitting position, the blanket and sheet falling off of her. It exposed the graceful curve of her spine, the flawless skin, her pert breasts, flat stomach and neatly trimmed curling red hair between her thighs. Her bright red hair fell in messy waves to her shoulders, and her green eyes took in Clint's stiff posture. Her own body language was expectant. The two of them had worked together for far longer than they had been sleeping together, and Clint knew how clever she was in reading people, projecting what she wanted them to see, and manipulating them. With him, however, Natasha was always open and easy to read. Even before they had gotten together in the aftermath of The Disaster, they had always trusted each other.
"What does he want?" she asked, a slight tremor to her voice.
Clint would have felt insulted or jealous if he was a lesser man. As it was, he simply pulled her into his arms and let her rest against him. He was solidly built, taller than she was, with impressive arm and chest muscles. His thighs weren't too bad, either, if Clint had to voice an opinion. He worked out and ran regularly, if only because jobs didn't always go smoothly.
"I didn't let him tell me about the job, remember? He wanted me to find you, and for you to find someone as skilled as Yusuf, but not Yusuf."
"It's been a year, Clint."
"I know," he said softly, rubbing her back gently when a chill rolled through her.
"That-" Her voice broke off abruptly.
"The shade," he said for her. "It's okay. He shot me, too."
"Tortured you," she corrected, that core of steel obvious again. "Ripped into us, laughed as he did it..." She pushed away from him, shaking her head. "Hell, no. Not again. I will never let that happen to you again, Clint."
"Natasha," he said patiently, pulling her back into bed. "You don't have to feel bad about it. I walked into those jobs knowing full well what was going to happen to me. I'm the point man, remember? It's my job to know these things, to be prepared. I kept the shade occupied, I kept the projections off your back and off of Steve..."
She ran her hand over his, then linked their fingers tightly. After a moment where she pressed her lips together, Natasha looked up at him. "What do you want to do?"
"I'd love to fuck you again," he replied flippantly, enjoying the flash of irritation in her eyes. "After all, if you want to take the job, there might be some seduction involved. I want to stake my claim before you con some sucker into falling in love with you."
Rolling her eyes, she swatted his shoulder. "Stupid."
"I know, I know, part of the job description. And we're not exclusive, anyway," Clint said, grinning at her. He let his hand slide up the curve of her ribs until he could cup the back of her neck. "But you come back to me, and I come back to you. That's the important part."
Kissing him rather than answering in words, Natasha leaned over him and rubbed her bare breasts against his chest. He groaned, and pushed her onto her back on top of the covers. "You want to take it," she said when the kiss broke.
He pulled her hands over her head and pinned them down with one hand. The other cupped a breast, his thumb abrading her nipple gently. "You're saying you don't?"
Tilting into his touch, Natasha's lips curled into a seductive smile. "I didn't say that."
"So say what you want, Nat."
"Maybe I do want you to fuck me."
"Considering I just did that a couple hours ago..."
"I'm overdue for my fix," she purred in reply, hooking one of her legs around his waist. She let out a squeak when he pinched her nipple a little harder than she liked. "Clint!"
"You didn't answer me."
"Maybe I'll be a bad girl and not answer."
"Then you need to be punished." Clint grinned and pressed harder on her wrists. "But then, that's answer enough for me, isn't it?"
Natasha's breath caught, and she looked up at him. For a moment, her expression was vulnerable and pained. But then he bent down to kiss her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, and her body relaxed completely beneath him. "Clint..." she moaned into his mouth.
"We're in this together, no matter what happens," he returned, his free hand caressing her. "We'll watch each other's backs, and whatever the shade does, we'll be ready."
It was exactly what she needed to hear. Natasha kissed him with greater fervor, tongue sneaking out to touch his lips and teeth. He palmed her breast, then let his fingers trail down to between her legs, teasing her a little before sliding into her sheath. Once his fingertips were wet, he stroked her clit, just enough to get her gasping but not enough to have her bucking against him with need. This time, Clint wanted it slow and steady. Nothing too hard or fast, nothing to remind Natasha of the past if he could help it. Though this would remind her, too. Everything would, if he was honest with himself, but they were together now. Sort of. It was complicated.
Clint moved slowly and deliberately, teasing her with his fingers as he kissed her. He laughed when she whined and shifted her hips up toward his hand or let her restless legs move apart wider, fairly unsubtle hints that she wanted him to speed things up. "C'mon, c'mon," she urged, letting a whine come into her voice. "Clint..."
"Sh, Nat," he murmured. "I've got you."
He slid his fingers into her and thumbed her clit now. She clenched down hard around them, moaning and arching her back. Unable to resist, Clint ducked his head down and took one pert breast into his mouth, laving the nipple with his tongue. Natasha's throaty moans filled his ears, and he wanted so much to sink inside her wet heat and fuck her into oblivion. Instead, he sucked and licked the nipple to a peak, then let it go to give the same attention to its twin. All the while, he kept a steady rhythm pumping into her and rubbing her clit. It was the kind of delicious sensation she loved, yet was just under the threshold to make her come. He waited until her gasping "Please, Clint, please, I need you inside me" to enter her. It always felt exquisite, the slick, soft slide of skin against skin, how wet and ready she was for him. Just for good measure, Clint licked his fingers a little, enough to get the taste of her on his tongue, then he pressed them against her lips. Natasha opened them for him readily, sucking his fingers with the same attention she would give his cock if he gave her the opportunity.
Natasha locked her legs around his waist to keep him from drawing all the way out of her, grinning around his fingers when he tsk'ed her.
"Maybe I want to tease you," he complained. "I wanna make you come."
She moved her head to the side, and Clint got the hint to remove his fingers from her mouth. Her gaze was hot as hell, her lips curling into a sensual smile. It was all he could do not to come from that alone. "Maybe I just want you in me, all the way in."
"Shit, keep talking that way, and I just might do that."
Clint laughed along with her, and she practically purred as she told him how she wanted to suck on his cock and lick a stripe up his skin, how she wanted to take him in hand and stroke him until he was even harder than before, how she wanted to pin him down and ride him, how she wanted to tie his wrists and ankles down to tease him until he came from that alone.
"Jesus, you know how to turn me on," he growled, beginning to move faster. Her throaty laughter egged him on, and he kept going until he came. He slowed down, shooting her a questioning look. "Did you...?"
"Yeah. A little while ago."
"Oh. Good. 'Cause I don't think I've got another one in me today."
"I could get a strap on and take care of you," she taunted, laughing and stretching out when he moved his hand from her wrists. "We'll see how quick that gets you going again."
Pulling out, he stretched out beside her, an arm covering her stomach. The sheets needed a good washing anyway.
Nipping her shoulder playfully, Clint propped himself up on an elbow to look at her. "You know who you're going to ask, don't you?"
"Good as Yusuf, but isn't Yusuf?" Natasha replied, stretching again just so Clint could get an eyeful of her breasts as they moved. "There aren't too many people on that list." She shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find someone. We'll need a good architect, too. You'll be point, of course."
"You're going to behave, aren't you?" Clint asked.
She grinned at him, a spark of playfulness in her eye. "Where's the fun in that?"
"Tasha..."
"Cli-int," she sing-songed back at him.
"Who are you gonna call?" he asked, curious. There really weren't many good chemists out there now that some countries were cracking down on dream share.
"Ghostbusters," Natasha replied with an unrepentant grin.
Rolling his eyes, Clint dropped his bulk down on top of her lithe frame. "Seriously."
"I was thinking Banner."
"Banner? Really? Doesn't he have the rage issues?"
"We want his mind, not his personality."
"It'll matter if he drops down with us."
"Most chemists don't."
"He's not most chemists."
Natasha conceded the point. "We'll see how it plays out. With Cobb and his usual team out of the mix, it might be picking and choosing."
"They've been out for a while. Years, I think."
"Three," Natasha replied immediately. "Like you don't know that."
"It's not like I liked him."
"Self-absorbed asshole, I think you called him."
"Yeah, well, it fits."
"So it does," Natasha agreed. "When do you want me to call? Now?"
"You call Banner, I'll drum up an architect?" he offered.
She grinned and leaned over to give him a filthy kiss. "Deal."
***
Clint walked into the bar, jeans slung low on his hips, his T shirt ratty and the striped shirt over it unbuttoned. He hated the heat in Morocco, but there wasn't much else he could do but grin and bear it behind massive sunglasses. There weren't many public places to meet in the tiny town; couldn't the go between ask to meet in an actual city? Nodding at the bartender, he ordered a cold beer and hoped the ice wasn't made from local well water. It would be a shame to die of dysentery or some shit like that.
The only other white man in the bar got up and ambled toward him. he wore hipster glasses tinted purple and the same flowy clothing that the locals wore. The lighter neutral shades looked striking on their darker shades of skin. It made this man look sallow.
"You must be Barton," he said without preamble, plopping into a seat beside him. "I hear you need an architect."
"Depends. How good are you at skyscrapers?"
He laughed, but it was a sound tinged by bitterness. "Wanna go so high you touch the clouds, is that it? Getting off on dangerous things?"
They both fell silent as the waiter returned with Clint's beer. He drank deeply, then contemplated the dark haired man in front of him. The goatee was trimmed neatly, the hair was carefully trimmed and mussed. There were circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well in a long time, as if haunted by something.
"Maybe there are still some things worth dreaming about," Clint murmured.
The man remained silent for a while, then lifted his glass. "Some things are, yes. Most things, no. Most things are very no, as a matter of fact."
"Even with a big enough price tag?"
"Some things? You couldn't pay me enough to do."
"You build, Mr...?" Clint asked, tone leading him to introduce himself.
"Tony Stark," he replied, holding his hand out for a shake. "I heard from One Eyed Nick you were angling for a builder. So here I am."
"Why should I pick you?"
"I'm the only one here."
"Says you."
"The other guys here are here for the beer. They sure as hell aren't here for your stunning personality. Or mine." Tony smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Tell me why I should get you on board with this rather than someone else."
"If One Eyed Nick sent you in my direction, you need someone good, flexible, possibly multiple layers, able to reconstruct on the fly if I'm under." Tony was all business, shooting the words out as utter fact. "I'm a genius, and I'm a bitch to work with, but I'm good. You want to play with someone that can puff up your ego, there are a few good architects I can direct you to. I've been told I don't play well with others. Give me a good enough reason to, I might give it a try."
"Your cut would be six figures."
Tony paused with his drink about two inches from his mouth. His lips twisted, considering, and then he nodded. "And the rest of the team?"
"I'm point. Natasha Romanoff is the forger. Steve Rogers the extractor." No need to mention that Clint didn't know the details of the job yet.
"What's the job?"
Okay, he would have to mention it after all. "We're just getting a team together. Details and work comes after that."
"Is it that bad?"
"Could be."
If anything, the uncertainty of the job seemed to appeal to Tony. "Huh. Well. I wasn't doing very much anyway, and my girlfriend constantly tells me I need to get out more."
"Where is she?"
"Paris right now with a friend of hers. One of the architects I'd send you to, if I wasn't taking the job. But Ariadne likes knowing what bullshit she's heading into."
"Not a fan of uncertainty?" Clint asked in surprise.
"She's worked with Cobb before his retirement," Tony explained. "The man was nothing but bullshit. It's why she started meeting others in the field. Sort of like a club. Or a support group, truth be told."
Clint nodded, a smile on his lips. "We're a hard bunch."
"Yeah, well, you don't stay in it if you plan to live forever. So when do we start?"
***
***
To Chapter Two - Wash The Poison From Off My Skin
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: *deep breath* Steve/Bucky, Steve/Natasha, Steve/Bucky/Natasha, Clint/Natasha, Loki/Natasha, Tony/Pepper, Maria/Natasha, Jane/Thor.
Disclaimer: Not mine! Not even by a little bit.
Spoilers/Warnings: MCU AU. Based off of this AU gifset on Tumblr. Come on, a mashup of Inception and the MCU. *drools* Did you really think I could stay away from this? No, I didn't think so either. :D Title and chapter titles from Linkin Park's "Castle of Glass."
Summary: Thor of Odin Corp. hires Steve Rogers' elite dream sharing team to perform inception on his brother, Loki, and a shade of their ex-resident thief Bucky (who was killed when the team's last job went horribly wrong) tries his best to sabotage it.
Or: Steve extracts, Tony builds, Clint runs point, Natasha's a master of impersonation, Bruce concocts, Thor's a tourist, and things happen.
Act One - Setting the Stage
One - Through The Secrets That I Have Seen
Thor Odinson approached Steve Rogers at the table in the back of the restaurant. He was built like a classic Norse god: blonde hair, blue eyes, square jaw, built arms and chest, tall, and with presence enough to dominate others. The business suit he wore was tailored, or close to it, and only served to enhance the sense of power that Thor possessed. He had a ready smile, though, and clasped Steve's hand in a firm grip. Steve at six feet tall was three inches shorter than Thor, but he was fairly strongly built as well. His waist and legs weren't as massive as Thor's, but Steve was more of a runner and swimmer. In his line of work, it was a necessity.
"I'm pleased you're taking me up on my offer," Thor said, his voice as strong as the rest of him. It wasn't too loud for the area, and didn't carry a pompous undertone the way some conglomerate CEO's did. It seemed more like his natural exuberance not being able to be contained within his frame, not a calculated ploy to impress or intimidate.
Steve smiled easily, aware of his off the rack suit jacket and trousers. "I'm here to consider the offer," he corrected. It was an easy mistake to make, one he had corrected often enough in the last few months.
Few months? He knew Clint or Natasha would berate him and say it was over a year. But he couldn't think of that now.
"Mr. Rogers," Thor said, leaning forward somewhat earnestly. "I have come to you for aid. There are rumors. Whispers that you can make the impossible happen, that it can be like magic."
A chill ran down Steve's spine. Isn't that what Cobb and his crew had promised the community just two or three years ago? Magic unlike any other. And then most of them dropped right out of sight, never to be seen again.
"What's the job?" Steve asked. He was also blonde and blue eyed, but he had this earnest kind of face that made him appear trustworthy. Natasha once said that it made him look like he should be a superhero, that he was perfect for the job, and could easily represent truth, justice and the American way. If he wasn't so busy breaking the law, that was.
Thor didn't seem to be put off by his demeanor, however. "It's your particular expertise with the mind that I'm interested in," he said, lips twisting in a sardonic smile. "If you get my meaning."
Steve had assumed this was a dream share referral, so he merely nodded. "You seem to have an understanding about the field."
"I've a number of associates who have partaken of that particular modality." He smiled at Steve, appearing friendly enough. "I'm hoping you could help me."
"With?" Steve prompted. His voice was a bit harsh, and it wiped the smile right off of Thor's face.
"My brother," Thor sighed, not able to get around this any longer. "He is angry, so very angry. Our father had kept many secrets in his time, some relating to the family business, and some apparently relating to us. Loki went through his papers after he died, and he discovered that he was adopted. It seems to have upended everything he knew about himself."
Frowning, Steve looked at Thor. "What is he doing?"
Thor sighed again. "Our father brokered some kind of deal with other businesses, so he didn't have to take them over. The actual clauses and contracts are quite complicated, I won't bore you with them. But Loki started breaking contracts. It was particularly bad with Jotunheim. That was nothing short of a hostile takeover, with the bulk of the employees summarily turned out as soon as the ink on the contracts dried. It was devastating, and not what our father would have wanted."
"Some would say he's simply doing business. That there's nothing wrong with him."
"No. This is not my brother. We played together, fought others together, and he normally confides in me. No longer. His half of the company is constantly doing battle with mine. He seeks to undermine my authority, belittle and trick me at any turn." Thor frowned deeply. "This isn't him. Normally Loki can calm down my temper, and I used to be the family hothead. Since father's death two years ago, I haven't touched a drop of alcohol and I haven't been so angry."
"But he is," Steve said quietly. "If this is how he's processing his grief, though, what he needs is a therapist. And by no stretch of the imagination am I a therapist."
"Therapists are no use anyway. He despises them."
Thor didn't elaborate even with an arched brow. "Listen, Thor, take it from me, dreams are not the way to go if he's still grieving."
"I want him to let go of the grief and anger," Thor said, leaning forward slightly and looking at Steve intently. "I want him to live, to be the man my father thought he could be. He's a shadow of himself, a lost little boy, and it pains me to watch him flounder this way. He won't take my help, he won't even accept that I might truly call him brother, that I'm not mocking him."
"Family counseling," Steve offered.
Shaking his head, Thor leaned back in his chair. "I need you to change his mind. I need you to make him let go."
Steve sat very still. "You can't change people. That isn't what this is for."
"I heard you could."
"You heard wrong," Steve replied coldly. "I think we're done here."
Thor grew desperate, reaching out to grab Steve's arm. "I'll pay you whatever you ask, give you whatever you want. Just name your price, and I'll get it for you, no questions asked. Do you want money? The charges against you dropped? Whatever you want, Mr. Rogers, I promise you, I'll make it happen, no matter what it takes. Just fix my brother."
Feeling like an utter hypocrite, Steve shook off his grasp. "Maybe you should accept him for who he is, Mr. Odinson."
"This isn't him. You don't know him, you don't know what he was like before. Please," Thor asked, begged really. "I want my family together again. Mr. Rogers, I don't know where else to turn. I would do anything, give anything, to have my family back together again. My mother still mourns my father, and to lose her son as well... Our family is broken. Please. I need your help to fix it, whatever you can do..."
Steve frowned deeply at Thor. "I think you're expecting more of this than what is possible."
"There's talk," Thor said quietly. "Not just getting information, but changing minds and influencing them, of helping people be better than they were before. I don't want him to be different. I know it sounds that way, but I just want him to stop being so angry, so full of grief."
At Steve's sigh, Thor leaned forward again. "I know grief changes us. I know it forces us to be different people, to value different things. But he's so full of rage that he's harming others. I can't allow that to continue. I can't let him destroy everything our father worked to build. I can't let him go on destroying everything because he doesn't know how to let go."
Thor's words made Steve feel more and more uncomfortable, and he wanted him to shut up, to stop, but he wouldn't do that. Steve knew the determined businessman type. So he said the words that would shut his mouth, no matter the consequences.
"Let me see what I can do."
***
Clint was jerked out of a sound sleep by the sound of his phone; the ringtone was the one that meant dream share business, and he fumbled to slide the lock off. "Yeah."
"You shouldn't agree to things before you know what they are."
At the familiar sound of Steve's voice, he shot upright in the bed and was instantly awake. He looked over to his companion, who was bundled under the covers and hopefully still asleep. "It's been close to a year," Clint said, glad that he achieved a neutral tone.
"Has it? I haven't kept track," Steve replied.
"I have," Clint muttered.
Ignoring the remark, Steve continued. "I might have a job lined up for us, but it'll be complicated. We'll need the best for it. So you on point, maybe Nat on forging... Could you find her? She's not answering my calls."
"Don't you have her current number?" Clint asked icily. Steve in fact did not, and Clint was very aware of that fact.
Steve at least sounded awkward when he sighed and admitted "Probably not."
"And I wonder why that is?"
"Clint, please. I was in no shape to go under."
"At least now you admit it."
"Look, I-"
"We all lost someone. You don't have the market on grief cornered."
Steve remained silent for a long time. "I guess I deserved that," he said finally.
"Yes, you did," Clint replied.
"Can you find her? And see if she knows a chemist? A good one, capable of doing multiple layers with sedation. I tried getting a hold of Yusuf, but he flat out refused to take this one on. He said the last time he went into the field, it cured him of curiosity."
"Sounds like Yusuf," Clint said, scrubbing his jaw tiredly with the heel of his hand. "I make no promises," he said quietly. "If she says no and tells you to fuck off, I won't help you either."
"What? You come as a pair now?" Steve asked, sounding incredulous and jealous at once.
Once upon a time, Clint would have explained the situation. Right now, he wanted to flip Steve off and say fuck you over the way everything had fallen apart. "Let's just say the history with you soured. You don't have the pull you once did."
Blowing out a breath, Steve began "Look, if I say I'm sorry-"
"Just text me a possible meet up point. I'll text you back if we're interested enough to show up."
"You don't even know what the job is yet."
"It's complicated, Yusuf took a pass and it's you that we'd be working with. That tells us plenty enough to start with," Clint shot back. "Just text me. I'll text you."
He hung up on Steve and dropped his phone back on the nightstand. The lump beneath the blankets stirred, and a delicate hand snaked out to grasp him around the waist. "Oh. Hey. Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."
A shock of red hair appeared as Natasha Romanoff propped herself up on her opposite elbow and looked up at him. "It's okay. Who were you talking to? Someone in the business, if you mentioned Yusuf not going near the job that was offered."
"I didn't even let it be offered."
"Why? Who was calling?"
"Steve."
Natasha was so surprised that her jaw dropped and she nearly fell back onto the bed. She then pushed herself back up into a sitting position, the blanket and sheet falling off of her. It exposed the graceful curve of her spine, the flawless skin, her pert breasts, flat stomach and neatly trimmed curling red hair between her thighs. Her bright red hair fell in messy waves to her shoulders, and her green eyes took in Clint's stiff posture. Her own body language was expectant. The two of them had worked together for far longer than they had been sleeping together, and Clint knew how clever she was in reading people, projecting what she wanted them to see, and manipulating them. With him, however, Natasha was always open and easy to read. Even before they had gotten together in the aftermath of The Disaster, they had always trusted each other.
"What does he want?" she asked, a slight tremor to her voice.
Clint would have felt insulted or jealous if he was a lesser man. As it was, he simply pulled her into his arms and let her rest against him. He was solidly built, taller than she was, with impressive arm and chest muscles. His thighs weren't too bad, either, if Clint had to voice an opinion. He worked out and ran regularly, if only because jobs didn't always go smoothly.
"I didn't let him tell me about the job, remember? He wanted me to find you, and for you to find someone as skilled as Yusuf, but not Yusuf."
"It's been a year, Clint."
"I know," he said softly, rubbing her back gently when a chill rolled through her.
"That-" Her voice broke off abruptly.
"The shade," he said for her. "It's okay. He shot me, too."
"Tortured you," she corrected, that core of steel obvious again. "Ripped into us, laughed as he did it..." She pushed away from him, shaking her head. "Hell, no. Not again. I will never let that happen to you again, Clint."
"Natasha," he said patiently, pulling her back into bed. "You don't have to feel bad about it. I walked into those jobs knowing full well what was going to happen to me. I'm the point man, remember? It's my job to know these things, to be prepared. I kept the shade occupied, I kept the projections off your back and off of Steve..."
She ran her hand over his, then linked their fingers tightly. After a moment where she pressed her lips together, Natasha looked up at him. "What do you want to do?"
"I'd love to fuck you again," he replied flippantly, enjoying the flash of irritation in her eyes. "After all, if you want to take the job, there might be some seduction involved. I want to stake my claim before you con some sucker into falling in love with you."
Rolling her eyes, she swatted his shoulder. "Stupid."
"I know, I know, part of the job description. And we're not exclusive, anyway," Clint said, grinning at her. He let his hand slide up the curve of her ribs until he could cup the back of her neck. "But you come back to me, and I come back to you. That's the important part."
Kissing him rather than answering in words, Natasha leaned over him and rubbed her bare breasts against his chest. He groaned, and pushed her onto her back on top of the covers. "You want to take it," she said when the kiss broke.
He pulled her hands over her head and pinned them down with one hand. The other cupped a breast, his thumb abrading her nipple gently. "You're saying you don't?"
Tilting into his touch, Natasha's lips curled into a seductive smile. "I didn't say that."
"So say what you want, Nat."
"Maybe I do want you to fuck me."
"Considering I just did that a couple hours ago..."
"I'm overdue for my fix," she purred in reply, hooking one of her legs around his waist. She let out a squeak when he pinched her nipple a little harder than she liked. "Clint!"
"You didn't answer me."
"Maybe I'll be a bad girl and not answer."
"Then you need to be punished." Clint grinned and pressed harder on her wrists. "But then, that's answer enough for me, isn't it?"
Natasha's breath caught, and she looked up at him. For a moment, her expression was vulnerable and pained. But then he bent down to kiss her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, and her body relaxed completely beneath him. "Clint..." she moaned into his mouth.
"We're in this together, no matter what happens," he returned, his free hand caressing her. "We'll watch each other's backs, and whatever the shade does, we'll be ready."
It was exactly what she needed to hear. Natasha kissed him with greater fervor, tongue sneaking out to touch his lips and teeth. He palmed her breast, then let his fingers trail down to between her legs, teasing her a little before sliding into her sheath. Once his fingertips were wet, he stroked her clit, just enough to get her gasping but not enough to have her bucking against him with need. This time, Clint wanted it slow and steady. Nothing too hard or fast, nothing to remind Natasha of the past if he could help it. Though this would remind her, too. Everything would, if he was honest with himself, but they were together now. Sort of. It was complicated.
Clint moved slowly and deliberately, teasing her with his fingers as he kissed her. He laughed when she whined and shifted her hips up toward his hand or let her restless legs move apart wider, fairly unsubtle hints that she wanted him to speed things up. "C'mon, c'mon," she urged, letting a whine come into her voice. "Clint..."
"Sh, Nat," he murmured. "I've got you."
He slid his fingers into her and thumbed her clit now. She clenched down hard around them, moaning and arching her back. Unable to resist, Clint ducked his head down and took one pert breast into his mouth, laving the nipple with his tongue. Natasha's throaty moans filled his ears, and he wanted so much to sink inside her wet heat and fuck her into oblivion. Instead, he sucked and licked the nipple to a peak, then let it go to give the same attention to its twin. All the while, he kept a steady rhythm pumping into her and rubbing her clit. It was the kind of delicious sensation she loved, yet was just under the threshold to make her come. He waited until her gasping "Please, Clint, please, I need you inside me" to enter her. It always felt exquisite, the slick, soft slide of skin against skin, how wet and ready she was for him. Just for good measure, Clint licked his fingers a little, enough to get the taste of her on his tongue, then he pressed them against her lips. Natasha opened them for him readily, sucking his fingers with the same attention she would give his cock if he gave her the opportunity.
Natasha locked her legs around his waist to keep him from drawing all the way out of her, grinning around his fingers when he tsk'ed her.
"Maybe I want to tease you," he complained. "I wanna make you come."
She moved her head to the side, and Clint got the hint to remove his fingers from her mouth. Her gaze was hot as hell, her lips curling into a sensual smile. It was all he could do not to come from that alone. "Maybe I just want you in me, all the way in."
"Shit, keep talking that way, and I just might do that."
Clint laughed along with her, and she practically purred as she told him how she wanted to suck on his cock and lick a stripe up his skin, how she wanted to take him in hand and stroke him until he was even harder than before, how she wanted to pin him down and ride him, how she wanted to tie his wrists and ankles down to tease him until he came from that alone.
"Jesus, you know how to turn me on," he growled, beginning to move faster. Her throaty laughter egged him on, and he kept going until he came. He slowed down, shooting her a questioning look. "Did you...?"
"Yeah. A little while ago."
"Oh. Good. 'Cause I don't think I've got another one in me today."
"I could get a strap on and take care of you," she taunted, laughing and stretching out when he moved his hand from her wrists. "We'll see how quick that gets you going again."
Pulling out, he stretched out beside her, an arm covering her stomach. The sheets needed a good washing anyway.
Nipping her shoulder playfully, Clint propped himself up on an elbow to look at her. "You know who you're going to ask, don't you?"
"Good as Yusuf, but isn't Yusuf?" Natasha replied, stretching again just so Clint could get an eyeful of her breasts as they moved. "There aren't too many people on that list." She shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find someone. We'll need a good architect, too. You'll be point, of course."
"You're going to behave, aren't you?" Clint asked.
She grinned at him, a spark of playfulness in her eye. "Where's the fun in that?"
"Tasha..."
"Cli-int," she sing-songed back at him.
"Who are you gonna call?" he asked, curious. There really weren't many good chemists out there now that some countries were cracking down on dream share.
"Ghostbusters," Natasha replied with an unrepentant grin.
Rolling his eyes, Clint dropped his bulk down on top of her lithe frame. "Seriously."
"I was thinking Banner."
"Banner? Really? Doesn't he have the rage issues?"
"We want his mind, not his personality."
"It'll matter if he drops down with us."
"Most chemists don't."
"He's not most chemists."
Natasha conceded the point. "We'll see how it plays out. With Cobb and his usual team out of the mix, it might be picking and choosing."
"They've been out for a while. Years, I think."
"Three," Natasha replied immediately. "Like you don't know that."
"It's not like I liked him."
"Self-absorbed asshole, I think you called him."
"Yeah, well, it fits."
"So it does," Natasha agreed. "When do you want me to call? Now?"
"You call Banner, I'll drum up an architect?" he offered.
She grinned and leaned over to give him a filthy kiss. "Deal."
***
Clint walked into the bar, jeans slung low on his hips, his T shirt ratty and the striped shirt over it unbuttoned. He hated the heat in Morocco, but there wasn't much else he could do but grin and bear it behind massive sunglasses. There weren't many public places to meet in the tiny town; couldn't the go between ask to meet in an actual city? Nodding at the bartender, he ordered a cold beer and hoped the ice wasn't made from local well water. It would be a shame to die of dysentery or some shit like that.
The only other white man in the bar got up and ambled toward him. he wore hipster glasses tinted purple and the same flowy clothing that the locals wore. The lighter neutral shades looked striking on their darker shades of skin. It made this man look sallow.
"You must be Barton," he said without preamble, plopping into a seat beside him. "I hear you need an architect."
"Depends. How good are you at skyscrapers?"
He laughed, but it was a sound tinged by bitterness. "Wanna go so high you touch the clouds, is that it? Getting off on dangerous things?"
They both fell silent as the waiter returned with Clint's beer. He drank deeply, then contemplated the dark haired man in front of him. The goatee was trimmed neatly, the hair was carefully trimmed and mussed. There were circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well in a long time, as if haunted by something.
"Maybe there are still some things worth dreaming about," Clint murmured.
The man remained silent for a while, then lifted his glass. "Some things are, yes. Most things, no. Most things are very no, as a matter of fact."
"Even with a big enough price tag?"
"Some things? You couldn't pay me enough to do."
"You build, Mr...?" Clint asked, tone leading him to introduce himself.
"Tony Stark," he replied, holding his hand out for a shake. "I heard from One Eyed Nick you were angling for a builder. So here I am."
"Why should I pick you?"
"I'm the only one here."
"Says you."
"The other guys here are here for the beer. They sure as hell aren't here for your stunning personality. Or mine." Tony smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Tell me why I should get you on board with this rather than someone else."
"If One Eyed Nick sent you in my direction, you need someone good, flexible, possibly multiple layers, able to reconstruct on the fly if I'm under." Tony was all business, shooting the words out as utter fact. "I'm a genius, and I'm a bitch to work with, but I'm good. You want to play with someone that can puff up your ego, there are a few good architects I can direct you to. I've been told I don't play well with others. Give me a good enough reason to, I might give it a try."
"Your cut would be six figures."
Tony paused with his drink about two inches from his mouth. His lips twisted, considering, and then he nodded. "And the rest of the team?"
"I'm point. Natasha Romanoff is the forger. Steve Rogers the extractor." No need to mention that Clint didn't know the details of the job yet.
"What's the job?"
Okay, he would have to mention it after all. "We're just getting a team together. Details and work comes after that."
"Is it that bad?"
"Could be."
If anything, the uncertainty of the job seemed to appeal to Tony. "Huh. Well. I wasn't doing very much anyway, and my girlfriend constantly tells me I need to get out more."
"Where is she?"
"Paris right now with a friend of hers. One of the architects I'd send you to, if I wasn't taking the job. But Ariadne likes knowing what bullshit she's heading into."
"Not a fan of uncertainty?" Clint asked in surprise.
"She's worked with Cobb before his retirement," Tony explained. "The man was nothing but bullshit. It's why she started meeting others in the field. Sort of like a club. Or a support group, truth be told."
Clint nodded, a smile on his lips. "We're a hard bunch."
"Yeah, well, you don't stay in it if you plan to live forever. So when do we start?"
***
***
To Chapter Two - Wash The Poison From Off My Skin