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Darcy's used to being second best. Jane's usually everyone's first choice – professors, men, even the government agents who take away research and don't tell you why – but it doesn't usually bother her. (She wasn't second best for her job, but that was only because no one else applied and she's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.) Loki, she thinks, is the same as she is. He's always played second fiddle to his brother, who was Odin's favourite son, who was always chosen first by friends, women, destiny.
She's not Loki's second choice, and she's not second best this time (she thinks), and her iPod's digging into her hip when he presses her back against the desk – quiet, they have to be quiet because Thor and Jane are downstairs, and this is going to go very bad, very quickly if they get caught; Jane still doesn't trust Loki, but Thor loves his brother and Jane loves Thor, so he gets to stay. Darcy digs her iPod out of her pocket and throws it towards the bed (if it misses, she hopes it lands on the rug and not on the wooden floor like the last one, because she just downloaded a dozen albums and there's no way she's buying them all again.)
The jeans were a bad idea, they're too tight, but Loki still manages to push his hand down inside them and slowly slip one long finger inside her. Too slowly. She arches up against him, fumbling with his belt and then the button on his jeans -- Loki doesn't look quite right in jeans, always a little awkward – and he hooks the fingers of his free hand over her panties and jeans, pulling them down in a series of jerky movements (it's not fast or graceful, and she really should have put on different jeans.)
She expects him to say you're wet, or you're so hot, like the guys usually say when they've got her naked (or half naked, because they're going to be leaving soon and she's not spending time looking for her bra) and have their hands all over her, but he just looks at her, running her fingers across her skin and thrusting his finger into her in a way that’s weird but nice (has he ever done this with someone before, or were the women he had sex with, well more like fingered, just different?)
"Thor has always been the one chosen first," Loki says and, okay, that's really weird. Can he read her mind? Can Thor read their minds? That's probably something she should ask someone – maybe Sif, who's pretty cool even when she's not taking down men stupid enough to think three women out on their own are easy targets. Anyway, talking about your brother when you're half naked and standing between someone's legs with one finger in them? It's weird and sort of rude and creepy at the same time. She doesn't care about him being rude when he lifts his hand and sucks on his finger – the same one that was inside her a minute ago and, yeah, that's hot, much hotter than it should be. "He always got to choose first. You’re... lovely."
Somehow, ‘lovely’ is better than ‘beautiful’ (and much better than ‘fuck, you’re so wet’), and Darcy smiles, spreading her legs around his hips, tangling her fingers with his while he touches her in ways that made her gasp and moan, his fingers finding ways to make her whimper and twitch, momentarily forgetting that the desk is digging into the back of her legs and there are people downstairs.
Loki’s not as cut as Thor, but Darcy can feel the strength he carries in the long, lean lines of his body – pretty deceptive, and she's pretty sure a lot of people have thought he'd be an easy target and have been really, really wrong – even before he pins her between the desk and his body – one hell of a rock and a hard place situation. He’s hard, but he’s making no move to try anything, just watching every single reaction like her coming is the most important thing in the world.
The taser, left on the edge of the desk to be picked up when it's time to leave, slides off the edge and bangs against the floor. They freeze, waiting for Thor or Jane or (please, no) Erik to come upstairs and ask what's going on, but there's nothing, just the murmur of conversation beneath the sound of her own ragged breathing.
"Why me?" she asks, taking advantage of Loki’s still hands, the way he pushes just a little closer, like something in his mind wants to be inside her, even when he knows that it’s a bad idea. "Why me and not Jane?"
Jane, who knows more about Thor and the gods and everything that Darcy's never been that interested in -- Loki's interesting, though, the adopted (stolen) son who was always second best and destroyed the world over it, and she really hopes that he doesn't destroy the world because how bad would that be? Oh, him? He made me come harder than any guy ever has and then he killed a lot of people.
"I chose you." It's not even an answer, but Darcy digs her fingers in to his back, feels the unsteady twitch of his muscles as he sinks into her, his breath hitching, and doesn't care, not even when he stops, like he doesn't know what to do, because he's choosing her over Jane, over all the other women who eye him up in the street, but he’s hard and almost desperate for her, eyes wide and the closest to innocent she’s ever seen him. She wraps her legs around his hips and pulls him closer.
Second best isn’t so bad, but being someone’s first choice wins every time.