Lightning Bolts (Kate/Thor)
As the leader of her team, there are a lot of things Kate is willing take on. Things she will happily do for her teammates. Things she isn’t happy to do, but will do anyway. Things she will do in order to keep everyone else from bitching about having to do them.
And then there are things Kate is willing to do with the full knowledge that her teammates are aware that they will owe her for this until the end of time.
Such as being Loki’s escort to his trial on Asgard.
Yeah, and the list of people who fucking owe her for this one encompass all of her team, most of the Avengers, a few members of Alpha Force, and some of the X-Men.
And she is going to cash in on those favors like damn.
…
Just for future reference: court on Asgard is every bit as boring as court on earth, just with flashier outfits.
Well, and Thor.
Most courts on earth don’t have Thor.
Who is currently looming over her (he’s so big it doesn’t seem possible for him not to loom so she doesn’t take it personally), staring at her with striking blue eyes.
“What do you think of the proceedings thus far, Lady Kate?”
She leans against a wall, narrowing her eyes at him. “I can’t tell if I should be polite or honest,” she admits.
“Well, I cannot tell you what to do with the majority of your life, but here? With me? I would much prefer honesty.”
Kate pulls her sigh up from the bottom of her toes. “Well, I’m bored. And my butt hurts from sitting, those seats look cool but they’re hideously uncomfortable. I feel underdressed but everybody else’s clothes are great to look at, so that’s nice, except, you know, I feel like I’m getting judgey eyes from the peanut gallery over there,” she gestures vaguely to the entire seating area in front of them. "And honestly? I feel like the judgement’s already been made. Loki’s going to wind up in chains or a dungeon or whatever place you put criminals here.”
He looks at her with those very blue eyes, appraising her. “And you do not agree with that conclusion?”
“Look, Thor—do I call you Thor, or does a title get tacked on there somewhere?”
“Thor is fine,” he smiles at her and the corners of his eyes crinkle a little.
Kate assesses their surroundings, making sure nobody is close enough to overhear them before sighing and rolling her eyes skyward. “If you ever tell Loki I said this, I will deny it. But—I think that if he’s got a firm hand—and I mean a really firm hand—he could be a productive and contributing member of any society. He’s—he could be a good man, Thor. I think he doesn’t always know what that means, and he needs to be told or shown what it means, but,” she trails off and looks him right in the eyes. “He’s done damage to me and mine, and I don’t forget that or absolve him of that, but deep down—really, really deep down, he wants to be good.”
“And you truly believe this?”
“I really do.”
Thor regards her, his gaze carrying a weight that, while a little unnerving, is also oddly comforting. As if he’s really listening to her, and whatever she says, he’ll act on it, regardless of whether or not he agrees with it.
The fact that it takes Kate so long to land on the word respect is a little sad.
“Thank you,” his voice is soft in a way Kate’s never heard before, honest and a little raw. “For your honesty. I appreciate it.”
Kate smiles in spite of herself. “Anytime.”
…
Four hours later Kate’s about twelve times crankier and her low back aches from the worst chairs that might be the worst chairs in any universe. Four hours of Asgardian marshals or whatever they’re called droning on and on and on about laws and bylaws and statutes and codes of conduct and by about hour three everything starts to sound the same and by the time they call for recess for the day Kate is ready to start shooting things.
She walks herself through a few five-counts of breathing as the room slowly empties, squeezing her eyes shut and making an effort to relax her shoulders. By the time she’s done, every chair is empty and there’s a gold-armored guard glaring at her.
Kate takes a moment to glare right back before sweeping out. Well, as much as a person can sweep in combat boots, leather, spandex, and Kevlar in varying shades of purple.
It’s impressive until she exits the room and realizes she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do or where she’s supposed to go, and for a half-second she’s completely lost—
Which is when Thor jogs down the hall, grinning at her. “I thought I’d missed you.”
“Just waiting until the crowd cleared out. I can’t believe there’s at least another day of that.” She rolls her neck, the silence swiftly growing awkward. “So, I guess I should try and figure out where my room is. Try not to go crazy.” She gives him a thin smile, bobs her head a little. “So, um. Bye?”
Kate’s maybe ten feet past Thor when he calls out to her--“Lady Kate, is there anything I can do to make the remainder of your stay here comfortable?” She swings around to see Thor with arms wide like he’s willing to offer her half of the palace if she asks.
She’s just about to politely decline when she realizes that there is something she wants.
“Is there maybe someone I could spar with? I just feel restless from sitting all day, you know?”
Thor’s answering grin is ridiculous, nobody should be able to smile like that, warm and dazzling like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. The god of thunder shouldn’t have a smile like that in his repertoire.
“My dear Lady Kate,” he says, somehow not sounding at all ridiculous as he says it. “I understand completely.”
...
Thor isn’t exactly taking it easy on her, which makes it easier to not take it easy on him. It’s nice to not be treated as breakable, she thinks as she sails over his shoulder and lands with a whump, earning her a few groans from their spectators--Sif, she thinks, and Hogun, who seem to be cheering for her; Kate is pretty certain that Sif and the Warriors Three are betting on their fight at this point, which explains their cheering sections.
She takes a moment to catch her breath, panting on the packed ground and feeling dust stick to her sweaty calves, as Thor crosses over to her, prepping for his next onslaught—just a bit closer—and then he’s in range and she twists over and cracks the backs of his knees with both of the staves clutched in her left hand.
Thor crumples and Kate feels a tiny bit of pride as he goes down to his knees. Which is actually a good height for him. The whole kneeling thing is pretty attractive, too, but that’s something to think about later.
Kate backs away, swinging the staves a little aimlessly as Thor rises. A crack to the back of the legs like that usually has her opponent completely down and out-- getting the backs of your knees kicked in is awful, and Thor is handling it impressively, as promised. She keeps swinging the staves through the air, more as a misdirect than anything, because if nothing else, Kate is certain that she could beat on Thor all day and at the end of it the person sustaining the most damage would be her.
Kate wants to toss Thor over her shoulder now. She lets him charge her, taking a blow to her shoulder that already hurts like fuck-all. She lets the force of the punch spin her as Thor’s momentum blows him past her, and she takes the opportunity to rush him from behind, crouching and catching him behind the knees—already compromised from her earlier attack—as she stands, and tilts. His legs are longer than she calculated, and his heel catches on her shoulder, so she goes down with him, but Kate was prepared for that possibility, and manages to roll with the impact, landing more on her ass than her back.
God, Kate loves doing that. Loves driving guys two or three times her size into the ground. Tossing Cap is usually the most fun for her, but doing it to Thor is so much better—probably because he’s bigger. The thud as he greets the earth is louder, and the way the air rushes from his lungs with a confused sort of guh?
Pretty much makes this whole trip worth it.
Kate presses her advantage, swinging her leg up and over and landing on his chest. She settles her weight on his ribs—which impedes his breathing approximately zero percent—and presses her staves against his throat.
Thor is spread-eagled under her with a grin that is only slightly inappropriate for the situation. Kate attempts to wipe the smirk off the demigod’s face by squeezing her knees against the sides of his ribcage—kind of like riding a horse, Kate thinks. Lord knows he’s as big as one.
His smile gets, if anything, bigger. She squeezes a little harder, not just from her knees but from her thighs as well, and presses the rough wood of her borrowed staves a little harder against his windpipe.
“So, obvs if this is real life I was dead before we started—“
“I will concede with good grace, my Lady,” Thor grins at her, his smile so big it feels like it’s trying to invade her face; the force of it spreads to her and Kate grins back.
She sits back on his chest, letting her arms fall to her sides and the tips of her staves scrape the ground.
“Seriously,” she bounces up and down on Thor’s ribs. “Thor, seriously, I am sitting on your chest. I am supporting absolutely none of my own body weight and you aren’t even struggling to breathe. That’s just—I don’t know if that’s just a huge ego boost or if I’m insulted that I can’t even crush your lungs.”
“Is crushing my lungs something that you may need to do?”
“You never know. I like to be prepared.”
The grin he gives her is slow, sort of smug, and Kate suddenly doesn’t get why everyone thinks of Thor as an overgrown golden retriever because there is something distinctly wolfish about this smile. It makes Kate very aware of the fact that she is not just sitting on Thor’s chest, she’s straddling it, which isn’t exactly, you know, what she typically does during a sparring session. Thor, bless him, is still staring at her face, which she is sure is getting redder by the minute.
The smile gets smaller, smirk-ier. It makes Kate want to slide up the few feet to sit on Thor’s face. It’s the kind of smirk that says he wants her to sit on his face.
“Um, I think I’m going to need some help getting up,” Kate drops her eyes to a point slightly to the right of Thor’s shoulder.
“Indeed. Allow me.” Thor is probably grinning at her again as he braces his arms against her upper legs, elbows against her knees and hands at precisely the right point that he’s not quite grabbing her ass. At this point, Kate isn’t sure she’d mind.
But then Thor is frowning at her and Kate becomes aware of an almost-uncomfortable heat everywhere Thor’s skin is touching hers, all along the outside of her thighs, from where his elbows are pressed to the sides of her knees, along his forearms pressing into her, to where his hands grip right where her leg becomes hip.
Thor stares at where they touch, at the golden glow, what the fuck that their bodies are emitting. Thor stares and he pulls one of his arms away—Kate cages the strange noise she wants to make, fights the urge to pull it back, fights to not touch every bit of his exposed skin that she can—and looks at his forearm.
“Oh,” the word slips past Kate’s lips as she takes it in. From the crook of his elbow to the tips of his fingers, a purple design shot through with red, not quite mod but also not exactly regal and Asgardian. Still, it—it looks right on Thor. Makes Kate feel proud as she reaches to trace the lines. But before she can touch him, she snatches her hand back. “Um,” she tries again, as Thor braces his left hand back against her leg and removes his right arm, where the pattern is mirrored.
It starts to click, then, and Kate slides her leg away from Thor’s side, stretching it out so she can see the outer side of her thigh.
It’s kind of spectacular; brilliant scarlet with shades of purple and a few glimmers of silver in an intricate design that is jagged and sharp. And maybe a little irreverent, though Kate isn’t sure what makes her think that.
She traces the lines, around and around, trying to get a handle on what’s just happened. She thinks Sif&Co. are laughing, shouting, and she’s about to tell them off when Thor’s hand appears in her eye line. Hovering above her thigh.
“May I?” he asks, voice rough.
“Only if I can,” she nods at his other hand, still not looking at his face.
“Of course,” he offers his hand to her, and Kate traces the lines on Thor’s arm as he ghosts the rough pads of his fingers to the pattern on her leg. He’s so gentle, which is funny considering that not ten minutes ago he was tossing her over his shoulder into the dirt.
His fingers still and then they’re gone, leaving Kate feeling bereft and she struggles to not snatch at his hand, press it to the mark, his mark, on her leg.
She keeps her head tucked to her chest, instead.
“La—“ Thor begins, then cuts himself off. “Kate. Are you—“
“I’m fine,” Kate finally looks back up at him. “I think I’m a little shell-shocked.”
“I have been waiting a very long time to meet you,” his eyes are soft and they’re doing strange things to Kate’s stomach.
“Thor, I think I’d like to kiss you, if that’s—not going to go against some Asgardian soulmate custom?”
Thor answers her with a grin and slides her back so that she’s leaning against his bent knees and he can actually sit up.
One of his massive hands cradles the back of her head, curling up into her loose hair. Kate has one last glimpse of his grin before his lips press against hers.