Archive of Our Own ^beta

It surprised me
as I sat on my suitcase
waiting for the train of days
I forgot the days
I traveled with you
to the land of wonder

-- Nizar Qabbani, Excerpt of an excerpt of Between Us

1.

They met in a bar.

He was a mess, but the thing about meeting someone in a bar while undercover is that there's no ties to make, not really, and how messy a person is makes little difference when she knows she won't see them again. Natasha flirted with him while keeping an eye on her mark, noted the way he was clever and his tongue flitted between languages nearly too fast for her to keep up with.

Another time. She didn't often meet them clever and messy, with what promised to be a submissive streak a mile wide.

Loki, he said.

xxx

She's got downtime and Boda is who knows where--the Russian steppes, unless she's surfaced and vanished again--and she's a touch bored. She sees someone at the airport who looks that same knife sharp as a certain too quick mess in a bar; the eyes are wrong, but it's enough to make her hum Loki and go looking.

She finds him the second time via his website--an interpreter and sometime translator. That explains the languages and makes him easy to find because, unlike her, he needs to be.

Natasha smiles, plans her route, and three nights later finally manages to bump into him at a bar in France.

He doesn't recognize her (good, she hasn’t lost her touch), but he still smirks the same knife smile and his pride is as easy to bait as it was before.

He also begs beautifully when his skin's covered in fresh blooming bruises, and while she holds back a little, it's not half so much as she expected to need to. He's not Boda (then again, who is?), but he's good.

She sticks around.

2.

Loki prefers one-offs. There's no expectations, no needing to let people in (excepting, of course, the physical meaning). No one expects him to be around the next morning, or even in the same country. It's safe. Better, he doesn't have to deal with getting invested and the inevitable disappointment.

That's why this is a problem.

"I am not a hotel," Loki tells Natasha, like he's told her nearly every day for three weeks even as he can’t bring himself to kick her out. "I have work to do. I don't have time for this."

Natasha hums, takes a bite of a violently pink macaroon that clashes terrible against pale skin and red hair, and entirely ignores him in favour of her laptop.

He stares at her a few minutes--which of course doesn't affect her--before stalking off to his bed, trying to remember why exactly he thought a loft apartment wasn't an idiotic idea. He should never have brought her back to his place. He should never have let her in that second time she stopped by, no matter how charming her smile was and how wonderful the sex had been. Was. Is.

(It's not every day someone is willing to beat him as a bloody as he wants, nor that he wakes up so bonelessly, deliciously sore.)

He sets himself down on the bed, digs around for his own laptop, and tries to pretend there isn't someone else in his apartment. It gets easier once he's only thinking how to say this in English, how to say that in Sami, trying to find some way to convey essences between two tongues that couldn't be more different if they tried.

At some point, he's putting food in his mouth, realizes it, realizes he has no idea what he's eating or where it came from, and he's back in the now, in this space, cramped and sore from too long curled inward.

He blinks a few times, lost, then there's a hand on his neck--calloused, small--and a thumb stroking the side of his throat, and Loki realizes that Natasha had moved to sit by him at some point, that there's bread covered in jam next to him, that it's far past dark outside and his eyes ache and his shoulders ache more.

"Careful," he tells her after a few long moments of sorting for words in the right language. "I might start to think you're attached."

She makes him cry for that.

But in the quiet, curled against her side after the shower, loose and easy and the only soreness the bruises she left, he knows it's not her. It's him getting attached, and he wonders when she'll leave.

3.

I might start to think you're attached.

He isn't wrong--Natasha is attached. It just means something different for her. She gets by on knowing the person she cares about is doing well, that they're happy. It's why it's never gotten under her skin that Boda disappears for months at a time for research, why she doesn't mind Loki's quiet when he gets working on his pet project at the end of the day when he finally gets home. She just needs the mental assurance they're doing well.

And Loki is doing well. A little under two months, and he's calmer, more stable, sharp words playful more often than acidic. It's fascinating how submissive he is, how cathartic the release and permission to break is for him; Natasha never thought she'd find a sub that wanted to be hurt half so much as she wanted to hurt, has always preferred doms because the fight substitutes well enough.

She doesn't see a reason he can't keep all that when she needs to leave for her next op.

"You know I don't do exclusive, right?" she asks him.

Loki shrugs.

"Why would you?" he says, aloof and flippant. He's rough around the edges today, already pulling his suit jacket off with a hand yanking at his tie, eyes bright off the high he gets from hours of interpretation done well. A business meeting, he said. In a few hours he'll start to wind down; when he does, he'll slip between languages without realizing. For now, though, his Russian is impeccable. "I know this. Why are you telling me this? Are those danishes?"

Natasha smiles, offering him one. When he grabs it, she doesn't let go--waits for him to look up at her, semi-irritated, clearly trying to decide whether she's about to make a game of this or not.

"Do you?" she asks.

4.

Boda--Angrboda, but Boda to those who know her--always forgets how loud civilization is. She feels about like an owl looks in daylight as she steps off the plane, breathes in air tinged with fumes and sun reflecting off the pavement, and scowls when she realizes she's being stared at.

Civilization.

Her only solace is she's back in time for the best heavy metal music festivals of the year.

She navigates her way to a cafe, then to an empty seat, and pretends not to notice when her tablemate decides to leave not so long after because she's more interested in the outlet than she is the company. It's a miracle her laptop even works anymore with all the ways she's dropped it, but that's why she spent the extra on it.

She buys a hot chocolate and a bag of macaroons--she'll admit she missed them--and by the time she gets back the old beast has managed to start up. She browses for what festivals are on the continent this season, picks a few. She's pleased to see an email from her agent that some of her wildlife articles got picked up while she was away--it's been happening more lately.

Better, there's a three day old email from Natasha.

Remember that idea we keep tossing around? Come and see.

There's an address somewhere in France; pity, because Boda's French is terrible, but at least the food won't be too bad.

Besides, if it's the idea Boda thinks, the language barrier will be more than worth it. She smiles, wolfish, and turns the laptop back off.

xxx

It is the idea Boda thinks; more, she already likes Natasha's Loki. Clever green eyes dart and assess her even as he grins like he's not at all taken aback by her. He's her height but less broad, black hair slicked back and copper-coloured skin clear.

"Where are you from?" she asks in Finnish--Natasha mentioned he knew his languages, and between his name and looks he might be from the north.

"Here and there," he shoots back casually, Finnish accented not so far north of where she was raised, his eyes still taking her in. "You probably haven't heard of it."

Boda laughs.

"Sami?"

"Haven't been back in years. How did you guess?"

"Your name and your skin."

"Mmm." He meets her eyes finally; not cowed or too intimidated to withdraw despite her bluntness. Boda grins at him, and the edge of his lips twitch upwards in kind.

"I'm trans," she says. "Is that a problem?"

"Do you want it to be?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow and smirking. "I'm happy to accommodate."

"I like him," Boda tells Natasha, finally switching back to Russian, just as Loki says, "She's alright."

Natasha grins at them both--her small one, the private one, the one she reserves for personal triumphs. It's the most honest of all her smiles, and it gentles Boda's a little from wolf to lazy.

"Bartender, three vodkas," Natasha says in flawless French. Well, Boda assumes that's what she says, she heard a three in there, and the glasses they get most certainly have vodka.

xxx

No one fucks anyone, mostly because Natasha's leaving in two hours and Loki is so drunk Boda ends up picking him up and carrying him bridal-style back to his and Natasha's place.

"It's mine," he protests, near whining. "It's not a hotel."

"He always says that," Natasha confides. "Stay as long as you want."

5.

Boda does.

She likes Loki--Natasha's not wrong that he breaks beautifully, though she imagines Natasha means something different than what Boda gets from him. He's smart, long-limbed and pretty in a sharp-edged way, not afraid to sass back to her.

Whenever he seems like he's assessing more than being, she calls him kissa, cups a hand around the back of his neck, and watches the way he eases right back down, eyes no less sharp but drooping, lazy. She always smiles when he leans into her, kisses his temple.

He needs the space to be. Boda understands the sentiment, and she doesn't mind his silence as he reads and writes and forgets about her because she doesn't need the noise anyway, just the company.

xxx

When Natasha gets back, they've moved to Germany. Boda's leaving back to her research and her wilds in another day.

"Let's wait," Boda says when Natasha casually brings up them both fucking Loki at the same time.

"You just want me to yourself," Natasha says, smirking. "You think I'll go easy if he's there?"

"Maybe," Boda agrees, smirking back, bumping shoulders with Natasha and casually putting an arm around the smaller woman's shoulders. "I mean, so much lost time to make up for."

Natasha elbows her in the ribs, laughing.

"I'd rather not leave him with only one of us after that," Boda says, leaning back. When Natasha raises an eyebrow, she adds, "You know how he gets. You know how we are. I don't want to leave if he's not whole."

Natasha considers a moment, then nods.

"Maybe next time," Natasha agrees. "Now I heard something about making up for lost time?"

6.

"I am really, truly not a hotel," Loki says as Boda steps in, still smelling like arctic and pine. He glares as Natasha ruffles his hair before she steps up to Boda, stretching on tiptoe to kiss the other woman before she heads out the door.

Never them both at the same time, always one stepping out the door as the other comes in. He should start charging--Loki's home for stray doms.

Then again, most are terrible, and he'd rather not risk more people.

"Of course not, kissa," Boda says, setting her bag down by the door; without thinking, he relaxes a little at the name, tilts his head back as she comes closer. He'd forgotten the feel of her hand while she was gone; it's heavy, broad, wraps around his neck easily. Calloused, but different from Natasha's.

He tries to remember what why he was so irritated.

xxx

He remembers, later, when he steps into his apartment (Spain for the next few months) and realizes it's empty because Natasha is who knows where--what does she even do? something to do with the government, he thinks--and Boda's taken off for a music festival. Something loud, metallic.

Empty like it's meant to be, like it always was before this past year.

He shakes himself--he hasn't been that dramatically melancholy since high school (he doesn't think), and he's got better things to do. He'll use the emptiness to his advantage, get real progress done on the grammar he's been writing. Not have to deal with anyone distracting him from his emails and forums with the handful of other people he's been coordinating with. Be productive.

It's too quiet. No food magically appears at his elbow for him to eat before he notices he's hungry. He keeps glancing up around the room, trying to place what's startling him before he realizes it's the absence of someone else's movements.

He grits his teeth, snaps his laptop closed, and heads out to the bar down the street. There is no reason to be this unsettled by not having anyone in the apartment. There is no reason at all. It's not like it won't be empty again.

He has no idea how long he stays, only that world's gone hazy around the edges and he feels more bitter than he has in a ye--in a long time. He's flirting with a woman who looks pretty enough (who won't yank his hair just so soon), trying to drunkenly feel his way back to how things used to be, when she goes a little quiet and there's a broad calloused hand on his neck that has him relaxing before he's even heard the voice that goes with it.

"Who's this, kissa?"

"Exclusive isn't part of the deal," he snaps. He twists, tries to straighten, pushes Boda's hand away and glares at her. She looks back at him evenly, but she doesn't try to touch him--how he hates her for it, that she won't give him an excuse to snarl at her, to stop whatever this is before they can.

(He's not an idiot, he knows it, he knows they only come back because he keeps them occupied while the other's away, why did he agree to this.)

"Finnish," Boda says, accent all wrong, and it takes a moment before he registers she said it in Sami, that he slipped in front of her. His face feels half-caught fire and he can't decide whether to shrink back or snarl at her (himself). "Sorry."

"Go away," he says when he finally manages to get through the twisted up shame and loathing to Finnish. He leans over his drink, presses his forehead to the rim of the thankfully cool glass. "Go away. You will anyway."

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't know." He draws in a breath. "I don't know. I'm tired, Boda."

"I'll carry you home."

Loki thinks about that, thinks about pretending a little longer he'll be alright, that he won't lose this, that his stability won't topple when she leaves, when Natasha leaves, leaving him back where he was before.

"Okay," he says. "Okay."

7.

"Do you want me to go?" Natasha asks.

"What?" Loki says, looking up from the book he's been pouring over all night, blinking at her in a way that reminds her distinctly of Boda stepping off a plane. Perhaps they've been spending too much time together.

"Do you want me to go?" Natasha asks again.

"Why would you think that?" Loki asks.

"Mmm," Natasha says, and lets the topic go.

xxx

The thing is, it isn't a no. She knows Loki well enough, knows how he'll dodge the question instead of say what he's thinking--it's one of his more irritating habits, if she's honest.

The thing is her job is noticing behaviour, and Loki's keeps changing from hot to cold. There's something eating him, and if he won't tell her, she'll put it together herself.

It turns out not to be so hard as all that; Natasha's been grounded for months anyway because of an injury--not that she couldn't go back in the field right now, but the higher ups want her best, so she'll take the medical leave. It gives her time, but more, it lets her notice when they get an email from Boda saying she's headed back how Loki goes quiet, how the night before Boda's flight comes in he curls around her even quieter, forehead pressed to her breastbone like he's clinging to a memory already.

Loki's got somewhere to be--he's always working, even when they aren't--so Natasha makes her way to the airport alone, smiling when she sees the other woman and trading hugs.

"How's Loki?" Boda asks. Another warning on top of the pile, because it's not like Boda to ask after Loki--it's always some joke or complaint about the city, about so-called civilization, and a demand for macaroons and hot chocolate before everything else.

"I believe you'd say 'assessing' instead of 'being,'" Natasha says neutrally.

Boda's frowns at Natasha.

"You're supposed to take care of him when I’m gone," she says as they head out of the airport.

"I'm not you to soothe strays," Natasha says back easily; after all, it's one of the reasons they'd never tried this before.

"Loki isn't a stray, even if we took him in. And point made." Boda shakes her head. "Has he gotten himself so drunk he had to be carried home?"

"No?"

"Good."

"What's that about, then? You can't say that and not explain."

Boda smiles like she can (she would) and hails a taxi.

"Let's get macaroons and hot chocolate. Only decent thing about the city."

Natasha just laughs and shakes her head.

8.

He can't focus. In the space between going from one meeting to another, he checks his phone for the time. Checks the clocks on the walls as they pass through halls, tries to focus on the words he's meant to be transitioning because at least it's not the swelling dread in his chest.

(Ten minutes until--)

Loki pushes through it. It's what he does. He's rootless and always has been and soon he will be again; nothing new here, nothing changed.

(Fortunate he never let them pay him, that he's only ever depended on his checks; somewhere in the past, he knew they were and are better together than they are with him.)

Competing plants, or something like--he doesn't know. He's only ever lived in the city since his uncle's family took him in.

He pauses when he reaches the stairwell of the apartment.

(He should go, he should let them be, he should--)

Nonsense. It's his apartment. Annoyed with himself, he pulls his coat off as he stalks up the stairs. He'll tell them it's been a pleasant year (the best year he's had since--), but seeing as they likely have little need of him now that Natasha will be around for months on end (she's already been driving him up the wall anyway), it's best for everyone involved if--

He opens the door and nearly runs directly into Boda. She growls, deep and filling the space, already crowding his space and he's on autopilot before he's entirely aware of it, tilting his head back, sinking to his knees so he's not so tall as her, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth--

(he will miss this so much

--and then shakes, wide-eyed, as he feels Natasha's hand slide along his neck, calloused and small, thumb pressing lightly just behind his ear.

"Someone's upset," Natasha notes, cool and distant. Observing; he shivers and her nails bite into his skin.

He stills, then he stops breathing as he catches a glint of silver in Boda's hands. A metal collar, he thinks, maybe, she always talks about it, teases him with the idea, she can't be--

"Shh," Boda says, gentle where Natasha is clinical, and vaguely he realizes the whimpering breath is his, and he tries so hard not to shiver because Natasha's still there, still watching and waiting and the pressure of her nails is kind now against his skin and he mustn't--should he even be making any noise, Natasha wouldn't allow but Boda--

"Shhhh," Boda quiets again, pressing a finger to his lips. "Shh shh. You're okay. You're okay. Breathe, kissa. You can make noise." She glances up to where Natasha is at his shoulder, just behind him, smiles her wolf's smile that makes him grateful he's on his knees so they don't give out. "We talked about this. Do you understand?"

He nods, flinches as Natasha's fingers twist in his hair and tug so tears sting his eyes, croaks out, "Yes." He mustn't move, not yet, but he can make noise.

Boda smiles, warm and kind, and the tips of Natasha's fingers soothe the hurt, run through his hair so his eyes droop but don't leave what Boda has in her hands.

"We were talking," Natasha says, so so different than Boda, remote and star distant to warmth and earth, how he is supposed to survive them bo--, "and you've been keeping a secret."

"No," he says, mouth dry.

"Mmm," Natasha hums (he'll suffer for that later, he will, but it's not a secret if they know--

"Luckily," Boda says, amused "we're more interested in why you're keeping secrets."

"We got you something."

"And now we need to know if you want it," Boda says, holding the chain in her hands so he can see from where he's at. Loki sucks his breath in, sways a little. Distantly realizes there's a steadying pressure on his shoulder, but he can't bring himself to care, to notice, not with what she's--they're--offering.

It's a thin chain that ends with two o-rings, a small lock looped through one and unfastened. He can see it's monogrammed--two initials.

"Do you want it?" Natasha says, pulling back a little, and he closes his eyes, swallowing.

He nods, just slightly, and he can hear them both smile, shivering as Natasha whispers against his ear, "Good," and Boda laughs, rich and deep and home.

xxx

"Say that again," Natasha hisses in his ear, metal digging into his throat as she hauls him back; the words filter down, down, slow, and he lets himself go limp against her, shuddering as Boda's hands slide up the insides of his thighs.

"Please," he says, thinks he says--

--but it mustn't be, because Natasha is frowning, glancing at Boda, and then they're talking too rapid for him to follow, and he wonders desperately what he's done wrong, why she's frowning, trying to turn his head, tugging at where his wrists are tied behind his back because he wants to touch, wants to show her he's sorry but he can't move like this, what's wrong, what's wrong--

"Shhh," Boda says, fingers soothing as they run from his thighs to his hips, and he stops struggling for a moment to gasp in air, staring at her and shaking. "Shhh."

"You need to show me that trick," Natasha says.

"You couldn't do it."

"Mmm." The metal (collar, theirs)(he shudders) stops biting into his neck, and Natasha's hands slide along his collar bone and down his chest until his head is resting against her, held against her. She kisses his temple. "We're going to stop now, Loki."

He blinks, disoriented at the shift, he thought--

"Shh," Boda says, pressing a kiss to the base of his breast bone, just beneath where Natasha's hands are resting, and Natasha says, "Nothing's wrong. You're very good for us, Loki."

"Very," Boda agrees.

He trembles and glances between them for a moment, but their hands are still stroking, they're still gentle, holding him, he's okay, he's safe, he didn't upset them, and he relaxes against them, letting his eyes droop and breath even out.

They're okay.

He doesn't remember dozing, only wakes warm and untied and residual ache bone deep that is more reminder than sore, red at his throat, blinks sleepy as Boda smiles at him, drinks the water Natasha gives him only after Natasha nods, moves when they push him, uncoordinated and slow and relaxed, peaceful. Hums at their praises, buries his face against Boda's stomach when she sits by him, and falls asleep as they murmur, warm and safe and home.

9.

"Safeword," Natasha prompts.

"Lemon," Loki says, eyes flicking to her where she stands just out of reach. His eyes are a little bright--he knows why she says safeword when they aren't playing already, what it promises.

He's still so deep, and Natasha marvels at it. She and Boda have been timing, seeing how long it takes for him to come up on his own, and it's like they can hardly breathe on him without him slipping under again.

He's beautiful this way.

"And in Sami?" Natasha asks.

Loki tenses, sitting up, but Boda still hasn't moved from where she's been watching TV on her laptop and she casually reaches over to put a hand on the back of his neck. It doesn't make Loki relax, exactly, but he doesn't keep pulling back. His eyes flick between them, a little less sub blissed out and a little more aware.

"In Sami?" Natasha repeats.

There's a shamed flushed starting to creep across his checks, because even in subspace he's clever, knows she wouldn't be asking unless she had a reason to need to know. If it were only her, she'd keep pushing, turn it distant so he'd have the space he needed to tell her.

But it's not--it's her, and Boda.

Boda tugs, just slightly, pulling Loki closer. She doesn't look over, just pulls at the collar he's still wearing, that his hands keep touching without noticing; he goes, eyes still on Natasha. Boda kisses his temple, makes nonsense endearments of his name, deft and warm and close in all the ways Natasha isn't with Loki or her because that's for marks and targets and missions--not the people she loves.

Loki settles, slides a little more down, eyelids drooping.

"In Sami?" Natasha asks one last time.

She and Boda talked about this idly while he slept, how if he's going to slip so far down he'll default to his mother tongue when they share him this way, then they need to know how to hear him say stop.

But Loki is Loki, and while neither know what is entirely involved with his shame when he slides back to Sami, Boda has her guesses and Natasha has his past. Between the two of them they have a picture they don't particularly like--they agree the most important thing is not to let Loki know when he does it, to avoid the risk that he associates it with wrong.

"Sitrovdna," Loki says, shoulders tensing.

Natasha smiles, steps close enough to touch, and kisses him as he tips his head back. She drags a finger in the space between his throat and collar while they kiss before sliding her hand behind his head to grab a fistful of his hair, turning his head for Boda to do the same as Natasha focuses on sucking and biting a line of bruises down his throat.

"Good boy," Boda murmurs before she kisses him, and Natasha smiles into Loki's skin as she catches the other woman's eye for a moment, feeling the way Loki's already unwound in their hands.

"And when it's 'hurt need a moment'?" Natasha asks. Loki doesn't even tense this time, just whispers, "orange," shivers as she scrapes her teeth over his breastbone, whining into Boda's mouth.

"In Sami?" Boda prompts so Natasha doesn't need pull away from where she's sunk between his knees, keeping his hips still with her hands as she glances up to meet Loki's gaze. Oh how he wants to refuse--still that shamed little flush--but it's a fight he's losing as she breathes over his erection, nails digging into hips.

"Appelsiidna," he chokes out with a shudder.

xxx

Natasha might not be given to the nonsense endearments and idle touch, to the gentle that is so much part of how Boda takes control, but it doesn't matter to Loki (doesn't matter to Boda). As they work Loki over, reward him for telling them what they needed to know, Natasha meets Boda's eyes over his skin; they let their fingers brush, and it's enough, for now, because Boda smiles a way Natasha's never seen, like they're home a way they've never been and didn't realize they weren't.

Natasha smiles back.

10.

"We can't just leave it at that," Boda points out quietly in the morning, after her coffee. Loki's still asleep in the bed, half-burrowed into the pillows and blankets now that neither Boda nor Natasha are there, little glimpses of bronze skin against green, the soft white of the bottom of his foot hanging off the edge of the bed.

"Mmm," Natasha hums without glancing away from the stove. "You have a plan?"

"I do," Boda says. Natasha glances at her and Boda smiles, gets one back, and smiles wider for it. This feels new again, like when she first met Natasha, and she doesn't remember losing the feeling but she's glad to have found it again.

"Good," Natasha says. "I always like your plans."

xxx

Natasha handles the phone calls to get extensions on Loki's deadlines--she's very good at talking to people--and Boda handles buying the supplies and plane tickets they'll need. They leave loopholes, just in case Loki refuses.

It'll be good for both of them--Natasha and Loki. Boda only told Natasha what she was thinking with Loki, how they know him, he'll need to be sure it's not just a one off; what better way than to include him in something that screams a them activity?

But Natasha's restless too, itching to get back in the field, to do because Natasha's like Boda, and there's only so much idle downtime either of them can stand.

xxx

"It's winter," Loki says flatly, just the way Boda expected he would, and she can't help it--she laughs.

"And?" she asks.

"You want us to go camping when it's winter. In Finland."

"That is where my cabin is, yes," Boda says, still smiling.

"It's winter," Loki repeats. "I'll freeze to death. I can't go! I have work to do! And deadlines, I'm not like you two, I can't just take off whenever I please."

"Took care of it," Natasha pipes up. "You're nearly done with the article, you'll have time to wrap it up, the rest like your work enough they don't mind giving you the extra two weeks."

"You planned this."

"When's the last time you took time off?" Natasha replies.

"You've been complaining about Natasha being restless all week; don't you want to help burn it off? Besides, it'll be good for you," Boda adds, ruffling his hair as she heads back to the couch.

"I'm going to die. You both are trying to kill me. I'm going to be eaten by a wolf or fall down a cliff or--," Loki says.

This time, it's Natasha who laughs.

11.

He is going to die. There's not much point in bringing it up with either of them--they just laugh and tell him he's too uptight, that this is good for him.

He has no idea what's so good about freezing to death to tromp through kilometers of snow. What's so fabulous about being so exhausted by the time they set up camp at night he's being woken up to Natasha's hand on his shoulder to eat, pen dropped to the floor of the tent and not a single word read of his manuscript.

Worst is waking up in the mornings, burrowed between the two of them, warm (if not comfortable, there's a reason humans invented beds), and then having to do it all over again.

xxx

"You should have left me at home if you wanted to go hiking," he complains the second night. He swallows around except you are home that wants to follow, only just, and shoves the battle at Natasha because clearly he's had too much to drink.

"Why would we leave you behind?" Natasha asks.

"I'm clearly ill-equipped for this--this--nonsense."

"What Natasha's saying," Boda says, leaning close and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, "is that it's not a vacation for us if part of us isn't here." She smiles, kisses his temple, and takes the bottle from Natasha.

"Exactly," Natasha says, hooking a finger under the (their) collar to tug him over for a kiss and he's glad, because it means he doesn't look half so bewildered as he feels.

12.

It's a good trip. The cold is like waking up, and Boda's missed having a good proper outing in the winter, long thought she'd likely not have the chance to go with the people she cares about since Natasha needs to leave at the drop of a hat. After all, she'd not risk taking Loki out in this without Natasha--Boda can't remember the last time she went into the wilds with someone as, well, city boy as Loki.

Natasha, though, is far more familiar with adjusting for the skill level of those around her. They have nearly an entire repertoire of minute gestures so Loki doesn't notice Natasha saying they should slow down for him, when they can risk speeding up, on and on.

They don't have one for when Loki's wonder struck. They don't need it.

Natasha teases him, sometimes, when he's standing and staring at the way the sunrise hits the valley they've climbed out of, but Boda doesn't. She prefers to watch his face, the way his eyes widen and mouth parts just slightly, like he's seeing a little of why she loves these spaces.

She doesn't need his approval, and doesn't care if he never wants to do this again, but she won't deny that both would be appreciated.

"Come on, kissa," she says that morning, him still staring after the fox they startled. "Nearly to the top."

He blinks, glances up at where she and Natasha are waiting, then smiles.

"Right," he says. "The good bit."

"Going down is harder than up," Boda says dryly.

"When you're as tall as we are, it's certainly worse on the knees," he deadpans, and Boda finds herself barking a laugh before she can help it.

"Filthy," Natasha says, laughing, and a quick flick of her hand--let's hurry, he'll make it.

"Always," Boda and Loki chime together. "Race you," Boda tells them, then takes off, laughing at the protests she hears behind them before they start to scramble and follow, crunch and joy of breaking snow beneath their feet.

13.

Boda might have had a point about needing the vacation. Not that Natasha's telling her, not now that she has a stitch in her side and her injured knee is aching enough to remind her why she's still benched, and especially not after Boda shoved her into a snow bank. But as she gets back to her feet and catches sight of Loki pelting Boda with handfuls of snow for the foul play, Natasha can't help but smile at them both.

She makes sure neither are paying attention and starts to assemble a set of snowballs to pelt them both with, waiting right until they're wrestling in the snow to line up the shots and hit them both in the face. They fall apart like wet cats, Boda laughing and Loki sputtering at the betrayal.

"Not out here now," Natasha says, wagging a finger at them both. "I'm not treating any awkward frostbite." She smirks, jerking her thumb at the slope next to them, the one that was the whole reason behind the climb. "Shall we?"

That shuts Loki up, his attention shifted to the larger joy. His eyes light up as he pulls his gear off to get his snowboard, probably the only thing they won't need to help him with.

Well. Outside, anyway.

"Sure you can find the way?" Natasha asks Boda as they both start to do the same.

Boda grins, wild and toothy.

"Always," she promises, low and rough, and it lights a fire low in Natasha's belly to see Boda so comfortable, so in her element. So happy--she always knew this is what brings Boda joy, keeps her well, but it's another thing entirely to see it.

"Good," Natasha says, leaning in to steal a kiss, nipping at Boda's bottom lip right up until a ball of wet and cold explodes on the side of her head and she whips around to glare at Loki. He grins at them, obnoxious and snotty.

"Turnabout's fair play," he says, and, "Race you," then he's pushed himself off to go down the hill with a whoop.

"Well we can't let him win now," Boda points out, and follows after him. Natasha rolls her eyes, adjusts her pack one last time, and chases them both.

14.

They very nearly overshoot the cabin; Boda doesn't mention it, only calls them back and leads them the last distance. If Loki knew, he would complain endlessly--maybe. The three days have worn away whatever misgivings he had to only the occasional 'I'm cold' and 'why is there so much snow' that she's started to use more as indicators he's alright than actual complaints.

As soon as they get in, stomping snow off their boots and beginning to pull off their gear, Loki notices the bed and moments later is face down on it, kicking his boots the rest of the way off and curling around every pillow he can lay hands on.

"You'd think he has a problem with sleeping on the ground," Natasha says, pausing long enough to watch him cocoon himself.

Loki says something, muffled by the pillows, but it’s distinctly unpleasant. Boda pretends not to notice and doesn't mention it to Natasha. Anyone would be grumpy, she thinks, if they'd never slept on the ground before.

xxx

"He won't get up," Natasha informs Boda. Boda glances away from the wood stove for a moment, eying where Natasha is now sitting on Loki's back.

"I don't think he can," she says delicately.

Natasha snorts, and starts pushing blankets away to try to get to Loki. Fascinated, Boda watches as Loki ends up gripping one of the edges tight enough to indicate he very much isn't asleep but is very much annoyed by Natasha's persistence.

"Let it go," Boda suggests.

"Bed," Loki agrees from under the blankets; at least that's what it sounds like.

Natasha frowns at them both; Boda realizes it's not entirely a need for Loki's attention--if it ever was--but more concern that Loki's been wrapped up and sleeping since they arrived and there may be something wrong.

"He'll be grumpy if you get him up now," she says; Loki woke up and fought Natasha's prodding quickly enough she doesn't doubt he is fine. "Let him have his affair with the bed a little longer."

Natasha frowns another moment, then gets up, making sure to prod Loki in the ribs one last time.

"He's fine," she murmurs, wrapping an arm around Natasha's waist when she gets close enough. "No one with hypothermia wakes that quickly."

"If you say so," Natasha says. "Now what's this?"

xxx

Boda wakes aroused and blinking and meeting green eyes that look a touch too full of themselves and wonders why she showed him any compassion at all.

"Boda," Loki whines, skin hot against hers, nuzzling against her neck--like he can just bait her into giving him what he wants after he woke her up in the first place. She always forgets that a well-rested Loki is a trouble-making Loki.

"Loki," she says back evenly, and notices Natasha already awake, one eyebrow raised in amusement. It changes the question slightly; if Natasha put Loki up to this wake-up, then she'll need to focus more on getting even with her and (a little) less on Loki.

"He woke me up too," Natasha says, answering the question before Boda can think of a more subtle way to ask. She can feel Loki grin against where he's kissing her throat, pressing against her.

Tempting, but he also knows better than to pull stunts like these.

"No," Boda says, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling his head back.

Loki pouts, as if that would change her mind.

"What do you think?" Boda asks Natasha.

xxx

Natasha always has the best ideas, when it comes to inventive punishments. Not that Boda can’t think of them on her own, but, well, there's just something so satisfying about Natasha’s suggestions.

Not to mention it's been a while since it was just her and Natasha, and Boda realizes they might still be holding back (a little) with Loki because she's grinning up at Natasha where the other woman has her pinned between white thighs, feels half-feral as she digs her teeth into the muscles and hears the other woman give a breathless laugh, hands pulling at Boda's hair.

"Give up?" Natasha asks, then sucks her breath in as Boda shoves her face between her thighs, licks along her labia, ends with a flick against her clit. The distraction has Natasha's death grip easing up enough Boda can shove up, flipping their positions and pinning her down.

Her eyes catch Loki's where he's tied to the foot of the bed, half-sulking and still aroused, and her grin widens. It's almost enough to let Natasha get the upper hand again--or at least snake loose--but Boda won't let things go quite that easily.

"Give up?" Boda parrots back to Natasha; Natasha only snorts.

15.

"How did you know he had a thing for watching?" Boda asks Natasha later.

"Oh, it came up at the bar once." Natasha brushes some of Loki's hair away from his face. "He babbles when he's drunk."

"Doesn't he though," Boda says, voice warm and fond. She leans over Natasha's shoulder, nudging at Natasha's face until she turns her head for the kiss Boda so clearly wants. Natasha savours it, a more tender slick and slide that her bruised lips appreciate; the corner her mouth ticks up as Boda pulls away and reaches down with the damp cloth she'd brought over to clean up Loki's face. He shivers, blinking slow and dazed, and before she notices Natasha rubs a thumb along the back of his neck even as Boda hums a quiet, "Shh."

He says something neither of them get, but it's not one of his safe words and Boda doesn't say anything about it being the handful of Sami words she knows, so Natasha lets it go, just keeps stroking his neck as Boda comes around the couch to finish cleaning him up, keeping him quiet and eyes glazed. When she glances up, she realizes Boda's stopped to watch her, makes a face because she knows what Boda's thinking. This isn't gentle, certainly not like the easy comfort Boda offers, no matter how close they look.

"I know," Boda says, eyes going a little serious and resting her hand on Natasha's own. "I know. But you have to admit it's a touch gentler than you normally are."

"Maybe," Natasha says. "You're a bad influence."

The corners of Boda's eyes crinkle, and she presses a quick kiss to the back of Natasha's hand. It's ridiculous, Natasha thinks, how warm the gesture makes her feel, how easy this is between them, how understood.

Loki murmurs again, twisting to curl closer to Natasha, and instinctively Natasha curls her hand around the back of his neck even as Boda rubs her hand along his now exposed spine, both watching as he quiets and stills beneath their hands.

"How about," Boda says, "we get some sleep?"

xxx

Quietly, watching them both sleep--how quickly they both fall asleep, how easy--she thinks she wouldn't mind staying, just a little longer, and wonders when the thought first occurred.

Not forever--she can't do staying in one place so long--but she's got vacation she never uses and money she's doing nothing with since Loki won't let her give it to him, and the world won't end if she stays a little longer than her medical leave.

Just long enough to keep this in her skin, sink it into her bones, to remember when she leaves again and to have it call her home.

16.

He won't risk saying this out loud, but he's starting to think that perhaps this wasn't just a ploy.

That he might fit in the spaces that he thought were only theirs.

Not outside--Loki still isn't sure how they managed to convince him that a hike would be a 'good time'--but inside, in the quiet while they go to check the traps and fish, there's space for him to breathe, space to work on the manuscript he thought he might have more finished (that is more finished without a thousand other projects he needs for a paycheck eating his time).

When they're back, there's warmth enough that he worries he might overheat, twined between the both of them, but he refuses to move because he might miss part of Natasha's ridiculous stories she claims are from work but sound more like trashy spy thriller novels. They drink like fish--both Boda and Natasha; sometimes, in the fuzzy half-memory that comes with his hangovers neither seem to be affected by, he wonders if he's remembering near sappy love-making correctly or not, but then Boda nips his lip when tries to push at those boundaries again and he settles back because he must be misremembering.

And yet, he doesn't mind.

(He feels safe here. Grounded. Solid, and he doesn't remember the last he time he felt that way, the last time he woke in a bad mood and fell asleep with a smile.)

"You know," he says, as they pack up to leave, glancing around the cabin one more time, "maybe this isn't so bad after all."