"Tell me about this," she says, unsheathing the blade and tossing the leather pouch aside. Loki's eyes snap open, and go very wide when he sees what she's holding to his chest. He licks his lip.
"A dwarven-made knife," he says, hoarse. "Forged in the hearth of Eitri, a master of weaponry." A little smirk touches his lips. "I stole it."
"Why?" she asks, curious despite herself.
"I didn't want to pay for it."
She laughs, and he smiles, faltering only when she lightly drags the flat of the blade along his cheek; his breath catches, and he swallows convulsively.
"Did they catch you?"
His eyes shutter, blank and cold. "They sewed my lips shut."
"Hmm." She keeps her face neutral, and traces the curve of his lips with the tip of the blade. "People are cruel."
"Yes, so we are. I - ah!"
Loki twitches, and blood wells in the long slice she makes along his cheekbone, cutting through the mark her hand left there, a few fat red beads sliding down his cheek and dripping on the floor. His face - Natasha squirms a little at the look on his face, stunned and pained and aroused, and she eases down to lie flat against his chest, tucking her face into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. He makes a little pleading noise, and Natasha presses her thigh between his legs, his cock stiff and warm against her body. Gently, she presses down upon it, and Loki gasps and clutches her hips.
"I - Natasha," he says, shocked, and twists to look her full in the eyes. Warmth floods her at the sound of her name in his mouth.
"Yes, Loki?" She nips at his earlobe, kisses his neck, not sparing him her teeth. He bucks against her, and she smiles. "If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"
"Possibly," he whispers, and shivers as she drags her nails down his chest, clawing red lines into his flesh.