Clueless, or: How I Learned to Stop Being a Selfish Prick and Love a Capsicle - withthepilot (2024)

Chapter Text

The next day at school, everyone—and I mean everyone—is talking about Hottie McHotterson, formerly known as Thor Odinson or That Weird Guy in the Cape. All eyes are on him as we walk down the main pathway to school and Thor's totally eating it up, flashing a brilliant smile to every girl and guy who waves or swoons as he strides past.

"We have the magic touch, Agent Coulson," I tell him. "Just look at this bitch strut."

"I know, I'm kvelling," he says, with a completely straight face. It's moments like this when I realize I truly love him.

"Thor! Thor!" someone calls out. A girl with giant co*ke-bottle glasses runs up to Thor to hand him a neon flyer, then quickly scurries away again. I take the opportunity to snatch the paper out of his hand. I know he's big man on campus today but how the hell is he getting handed flyers and I'm not?

"A party, huh. The nerds are throwing a party, guys."

"I enjoy a good, raucous celebration!"

Coulson scans the page quickly. "It might be fun. The science geeks tend to throw great parties. They work hard; they play hard. And they make their own everclear."

"Do you imagine Jane will be in attendance?" Thor asks, looking between us hopefully.

"Listen, enough about Jane already," I say. "You're officially the most interesting guy in this hellhole. You're hot, you're mysterious...you could have anyone you want. Why settle?"

"Loki is single now," Coulson suggests.

"Single best idea ever," I say, pointing at him. "Holy sh*t. You guys would be the hottest couple in the entire school. Even I would be jealous. You might have to let me join in a threesome. At least one. One little threesome."

Thor squints at us but I can tell he's intrigued. "Yes, Loki. You pointed him out the other day. I know of him well."

I look between the other two in surprise. "Wait, you do? How?"

"Our fathers are enemies. Growing up, we were forbidden to ever consort." He squints and looks around at all of the other kids roaming around the grass. "It has puzzled me, since I first saw him, why he has come to reside in Midgard."

"Thor," I sigh. "I keep telling you, this is Long Island."

"I'll admit, he's one of our more attractive classmates," Coulson says. "Kind of a raging dick. But attractive."

"Yes, I have heard many tales of his dickishness," Thor says.

"No, you know what? I like this. I like it a lot. It's just like the Montagues and Capulets! Forbidden love, guaranteed to piss off some overbearing parents!"

"How?" Coulson butts in. "How is Romeo and Juliet something worth emulating? Did you forget the part at the end where they die? Or have you actually been asleep in English class for the past three years?"

I turn and walk backwards, grinning at Thor, who's looking more and more interested by the second. "Whatever, this'll be great. Loki is a pal of mine. And I happen to know that he was scoping you out. I believe his words were, 'Who is that studly blond guy with the rippling biceps and why aren't we doing it yet?'"

It's unreal, but Thor actually blushes at that. I'm grateful that Coulson is also there as a witness because no one would ever believe me otherwise. I'm not too subtle about planting the seed but it doesn't matter because soon enough, Thor is close to sporting over a stiffy over a guy he's never even met. He's in the middle of writing Loki an "epic poem of passion in a time of great strife" during lunch when Coulson nudges my shoulder and leans close.

"So you're a matchmaker now, too? For all we know, Loki doesn't even know Thor exists. Or he does, and he won't be interested because of family histories that are none of our business."

"Details. Loki won't know what hit him when he meets this guy. I got this, Phyllis."

Coulson narrows his eyes and holds up his spork. "I'm still working on the straw, but I definitely know how to murder your ass with this."

"I'm aroused and piqued. A dash of terrified for flavor."

"I don't need another reason to stab things," he says. "So don't give me one."

That day after school, we go out for pizza with Loki, Clint, Darcy, and the rest of our little gang. Loki seems entirely unimpressed with Thor, but Darcy is fascinated by the amount of food he's capable of consuming. When Loki does regard Thor, his expression is cool and distant with a touch of amusem*nt. But then again, Loki looks at everyone that way—like he's mentally taking stock of the amount of acceptable humiliation that can be hurled at said person.

"So, what do you think?" I ask Loki, when we're sitting together. In another booth, Darcy and Clint are videotaping Thor as he tries to eat as many slices of pizza as possible, the result of a bet no one has a chance in hell of winning. Coulson just stands there and shakes his head, pressing his palm to his forehead, which is pretty much his default position.

Loki sips his soda slowly. "Of this brash and boisterous creature?" he asks. He pauses and smiles slowly. "He is...intriguing."

"Intriguing, yes." Exactly the reaction I was hoping for. I pluck a piece of pepperoni from my slice and eat it. "And not bad to look at either, right? The guy has muscles on top of muscles."

Loki's eyes seem to follow my fingers as I lick away the lingering grease, but then he glances back at Thor and smiles. "I admit the view is quite pleasant from here."

"Well, let me know if you want me to pencil you in. Not to brag, but I do have access to the man's Google calendar, seeing as how I created it, and it's filling up pretty fast. So if you want a piece, you need to get in on the ground floor here, Laufeyson."

Loki tilts his chin up and gives me another calculating stare. "You seem very invested in him, Stark. What's in it for you?"

That gives me pause. Yet another person who thinks I'm doing something nice for my own dastardly purposes. I hadn't realized my reputation had gotten so low. Makes me wonder if Steve is coming around the school and handing out "Don't Trust Tony Stark" pamphlets or something. An email blast or online petition seems too advanced for him.

"Just being a good friend," I say, trying not to sound defensive. "He's a great guy. Once you get past all the constant eating."

"Yes, the eating." Loki looks down for a moment, the gears clearly turning, though I can't quite tell what he's thinking. "Darcy," he calls out suddenly. "Send me that video when you're done."

Hey! Progress! It's a good sign. I give Thor a thumbs-up from across the room when no one else is looking. He smiles back at me, right before he slides almost an entire slice of pizza down his gullet. Loki bites his lip and crosses his legs.

The cunning mating rituals of the Scandinavian man-beast. Peculiar, yet effective.

*

Fury tries to force us into a pseudo "family dinner" a few nights later but he gets distracted by...I dunno, aliens hanging off the Seattle Space Needle or something. So Thor and I decide to make a cameo at the nerd party instead. It's in Queens, which is sort of out of the way, but Clint claims to know how to get there. That doesn't stop Coulson from being a backseat driver, as usual.

"Google Maps is telling me that the Long Island Expressway would be faster than the Grand Central."

"They both go to the Cross Island, okay? I know what I'm doing here. Just tell me the exit number."

Coulson sighs and crosses his arms. "Why should I? You know what you're doing."

"Phil, don't start."

"No, no, clearly you're smarter than Google Maps. I'm just going to shut my eyes and I know that when I open them again, I'll be at the party with a drink in my hand because you're just that good, Clinton."

Clint grips the steering wheel with both hands, the veins in his arms bulging as he grunts in frustration. Thor looks between them and smirks.

"You people are so petty. And tiny."

"Who you calling tiny?" Clint says, whipping his head around. He steers the car with one hand as he gives Thor a death glare. "Do not f*ck with the driver. I will plow this car into a tree."

Meanwhile, Coulson is just sitting there, cool as a cucumber. "Phil, you get your panties in a bunch when I miss a stop sign, but you don't mind this?"

"He's got good aim," Coulson says mildly. "And I can assure you both, he's not tiny."

"Okay, I officially need all the alcohol," I mutter.

When we finally, thankfully get to the party, Clint and Coulson head off somewhere, likely to bone in someone's bedroom closet. I sling an arm around Thor's broad shoulders and pull him close.

"So, listen, big guy," I say. "Don't come on too strong with Loki, okay? Make sure he sees you and gets a nice look at the goods, but don't say hi first. He's pretty aloof so you need to out-aloof him."

"Out-aloof," Thor repeats, his brow furrowed in severe concentration.

"Right. Don't be afraid to show off, though. Do whatever it takes to get his motor running. Toss that golden mane around. Feel free to go down on some phallic-looking foodstuffs in his line of sight."

"I will endeavor to do so."

"Hey, Thor!" we suddenly hear. Jane waves frantically, standing on the lawn. She's surrounded by a bunch of fellow nerds and some intense stargazing equipment. "We're charting constellations! Want to join us?"

I reach up and slap my hand over Thor's mouth before he can respond. "Sorry, Thor has to wash his hair tonight. At the party. All the cool kids are doing it. Excuse us."

Thor makes a muffled noise of protest and punches me in the shoulder when we get inside the house. Man, that stings. "I do not appreciate your act of deception, Tony Stark."

"It doesn't have to be a lie. We can find a bathroom right now, if you want. But I'd rather drink. And mingle. And drink some more. Where's this everclear I've heard so much about?"

Turns out there's no everclear but rather an impressively large bowl of punch, with an impressively large amount of alcohol swimming inside it. I lean down to take a sniff and the overpowering scent of rum nearly singes my eyelashes. Jackpot. I use the ladle to give myself a large helping when, right on cue:

"Thor! Do you want some—oops!"

Jane knocks into my left side and I spill my extra-large helping of spiked punch all over my sneakers. My extremely expensive sneakers. My hand flies to my chest and I have to shut my eyes so as not to go all Bruce Banner on the girl.

"Okay, those were three-hundred dollar shoes. Do you own anything worth three-hundred dollars? Have you ever even seen that much money in your life?"

"It was an accidental incident," Thor says. I ignore his put-upon frown in favor of glaring at Jane. She cringes and babbles her way through an apology.

"I'm so sorry, Tony! Oh, god. Those are really nice shoes. I'm sorry."

"Problem?" Loki says, sidling up to us. He has his hands behind his back and the usual mischievous look in his eyes. Thor lights up immediately.

"Loki! You are looking dashing tonight," he says. Loki just smiles, while Jane bites her lip and slinks away. I'd feel bad for her, but whatever, she owes me hundreds of dollars.

Darcy walks up to us, waving a playing card. I can see it's a joker. "Hey, everyone! Let's play Suck and Blow."

Suck and Blow is a simple game, really, a favorite of these simple folks. You keep the playing card afloat by sucking in air so it stays against your lips, until you pass it to the next person. I'm not nearly drunk enough for it and I'm still pissed about my shoes, but I try to be a team player. Darcy passes the card to Thor, who eagerly passes it to Loki, and then it's bestowed upon me. When I turn around to approach the next person, Loki is suddenly there again. My lips part in surprise, the card falls, and Loki's mouth descends upon mine.

It's not awful, I'll tell you that much. Still, I push him away, all too aware that Thor is watching. Loki laughs like a hyena.

"God, Loki, can't you suck?" I say in a huff.

He grins wolfishly at me. "I can, and very well at that. Thank you for asking."

I'm still wondering how in the hell Loki got from point A to point B so quickly, when I suddenly hear a loud string of expletives from another room. "Phil," I say, turning away from Loki and the very distracting, pale line of his throat.

"How can you tell?" Thor asks.

"No one else I know curses that loudly and that creatively," I say, dragging him along with me. "It's his special gift."

We find him in the bathroom, hovering over Clint, who appears to have a new, shiny metal hoop hanging off his left eyebrow. It's not an improvement. Coulson's arms are folded over his chest and he looks like he's going to pop, gesturing at Clint in clipped, fleeting movements.

"How could you do this to yourself? You look like an extra from an Avril Lavigne video. You look like 1997 hocked a lugie onto your face. S.H.I.E.L.D. is never going to accept you with that thing!"

"Phil, we're still in high school. S.H.I.E.L.D. is a long time away! Plus, Sitwell has one. Isn't it cool?"

"Sitwell isn't the one who has to look at your ugly ass all day."

Clint growls at that and goes for his bow, which Coulson neatly kicks out of his grasp. Everyone around them scatters as they go tumbling to the floor, wrapped up in each other. The resulting chaos is fun to watch for like, two seconds, but then I make a point of leading Thor away.

"We should go. They'll be humping like jacked-up bunnies on that floor in about fifteen seconds."

"This sounds promising," Thor says. He immediately turns back toward the bathroom and I have to drag him away, both arms around his tree trunk of a waist. "I wish to observe your coital rituals!"

*

After a while, I'm delightfully buzzed off that spiked punch and I don't even care that much that my shoes are still ruined, or that Coulson and Clint tried to steal everyone's thunder with that gross spectacle in the bathroom. I do seem to have lost track of Thor, however, which is difficult to do, considering that he's the size of Mount Everest. It's a real kick in the ass when I do find him and he's talking to Jane, of all people, as opposed to the guy he's supposed to be going after. Clearly, I have to do everything around here. I stalk over to where they're standing and hear a bit of their scintillating conversation.

"This drink is good. I like it." Thor holds up his cup, now empty of punch, and then flings it behind him. "I must procure another."

"You know, it's better for the environment if you recycle," Jane says.

"Whose environment?"

"Well, you know, like...the whole planet."

"My only wish is for Midgard to be safe," Thor says, very seriously. "Therefore, I will 'recycle,' as you say, for the sake of protecting this realm. And anyone who does not will answer to my hammer."

"Thor!" I say, gripping his shoulder. "Good buddy, old pal. The environment can wait; it's lasted this long. Come with me."

I guide Thor away from that inane and utterly confusing conversation and point him toward the new and improved object of his affection, Mr. Loki Laufeyson. The guy is charming the pants off a small group gathered around him, his hair and teeth gleaming in the light. He's waving around that golden walking stick he sometimes carries around with him. He probably picked it up at an antique or consignment shop in Brooklyn, the pretentious asshole.

I don't quite expect it when Thor leaves my side and barrels toward Loki, shouting his name in excitement. Loki doesn't seem to expect it, either. He's in the middle of telling a story, still gesturing, when he whips around in surprise and brains Thor with the walking stick, right in the forehead.

If a brick sh*t house falls to the floor in the middle of a party and everyone is watching, does he make a sound? Yes. That sound is thud.

Somehow, Loki and I wrangle Thor into an armchair. I wave Jane away when she tries to help. She's ninety pounds soaking wet, so let's face it; she isn't going to be of much use when dealing with the dead weight of an over-sized golden retriever that's just been clubbed in the head.

"What the f*ck was that?" I ask Loki. "You could put someone's eye out with that thing!"

"He startled me," he replies calmly, brushing his hair back.

"He could have a concussion. Keep him conscious, whatever you do. Because I am so not in the mood to go to the hospital today. Or ever."

Loki pauses, his gaze flickering over Thor's body. "He'll be fine."

"And how do you know that?"

But Loki is right. Thor blinks and shakes off the blow instantaneously, his eyes clearing. He doesn't have a bump on his forehead or even any light bruising. He's totally fine. The two of them exchange this weird look that I don't quite get—which is odd, because I'm a master at reading other people, most of the time—and they clasp each other's wrists like old comrades in arms.

"You're well now?" Loki asks.

"Indeed."

"You're quite sure? Can you do this?" And then he f*cking sings along with the music playing, cupping his hands together and fluttering his fingers: "Hands up, they're playing my song, the butterflies fly away?"

Thor blinks and fumbles to mirror him, clapping his hands together. "Butterflies fly away," he repeats, off-key.

And...I can't, you guys. I just f*cking can't. Because, honestly. What.

But hey, whatever. The way I see it, I'm one hell of a humanitarian here, between what I did for Banner and Potts and now Thor and Loki. I'm like Cupid, except I leave the bow and arrow stuff to Clint because it's dumb. I let the two lovebirds have their moment and head to the backyard, taking in the splendor of the debauched nerd party, complete with future leaders of the free world dry humping on lounge chairs and barfing their dinners into the hot tub. In a way, it's a beautiful sight. Maybe a little disconcerting if you think about these people with their fingers on the panic button one day, but I try not to.

Suddenly my phone buzzes in my pocket. When I look at the display, my buzz is completely shot to hell.

"Good evening, Cyclops," I answer.

"Stark. Do you have any idea in your fool head what time it is?"

"I said 'good evening,' didn't I?"

"You'd better get your dumb ass back to the mansion right now. I expect to see you through the surveillance cameras, walking through the front door in a half hour, tops. If not, I'll have JARVIS put a security code on your bedroom door that even you can't break, boy genius."

Who the f*ck are you, my dad? I want to say. I roll my eyes and squelch the urge. "Hate to break it to you, Nicholas, but it's probably gonna take a skosh longer than that. I'm a very busy man. Got a lot on my plate right now. Sorry to disappoint."

"Disappoint my ass. Come home right now or else."

He hangs up abruptly and I smirk at the phone. Disappoint my ass? What does that even mean? I glance up at a sudden loud noise and spy a police chopper overhead. Someone starts yelling through a megaphone that we should all vacate the property immediately or be subject to arrest. I figure it's a good of a sign as any that it's time to leave. It's not at all because of Fury's ultimatum. Not even a little bit. I'd kinda love to see his face if he had to post bail for me, but I'm sure there'll be plenty of future opportunities for that.

*

I'm not quite sure how it happens, but somehow I end up getting a ride home from Loki. Clint and Coulson are still off together somewhere, soiling other people's belongings, so they can't take me, and try as I might to foist Thor upon Loki, apparently they live nowhere near each other. I actually had no idea where Thor lived before tonight. I think I was expecting it to be under a bridge somewhere.

Loki's driving and humming along to that godforsaken "Somebody I Used to Know" song playing on his iPod, which, I swear to god, will be in my head for a week as a result. He keeps giving me these indulgent smiles and it's creeping me out. It's like there's a joke that I'm not in on. Though, granted, that's how Loki always looks.

"Sooooo," I say, with the urge to actually twiddle my thumbs. "Thor Odinson. Dude is smokin', am I right?"

Loki just smirks at me. "But you didn't have to cut me off," he sings. I've never wanted to smack him more.

"Please, I'm begging you, put on some music that doesn't make me want to stick needles into my eyeballs. I'm trying to have a conversation with you about Thor."

"What about him?" Loki asks. He looks bored by the subject matter, which is definitely a change from earlier, when he and Thor were making eyes at each other.

"I thought you two made a connection tonight."

Loki glances at me again and pushes a button on his steering wheel, changing the music. Thank f*ck. "You're a loyal friend, Tony," he says. I'm not sure where that came from but I go with it.

"Well, you and Thor are both great guys and you'd make a blisteringly hot couple, so I figured, why not help?"

Now, that seems to catch his interest. "So, you find me attractive?"

"Well, sure. I mean, I'd have to be dead not to—"

There's a loud screech of the car's tires as Loki veers to the side of the road, and I grab the dashboard as if it's going to stop me from hurtling through the windshield. I'm so distracted by sheer panic that it takes me a second to realize that I've got a lap full of Loki and he's kissing me and…and, oh my god, that tongue. His tongue is everywhere, skimming the backs of my teeth and the roof of my mouth and tangling with mine in a way that awakens all of my natural and unnatural urges. I think it might actually be growing longer in my mouth, if such a thing were possible. I grab Loki's arms, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Then I remember the person who I originally wanted to be in this position: Thor.

"Loki," I gasp, pulling away. "Seriously, what the f*ck?"

"I knew it, Stark," he purrs. He nuzzles—yes, nuzzles my jaw, and runs his hands over my chest, trailing his fingertips over the outline of the reactor. "I knew you were only attempting to distract yourself from your true desires."

"Granted, I desire a lot of things and a lot of people, but this really isn't what I had in mind."

"Nonsense. I could feel your urges when you kissed me."

"Suck and Blow is a game, Loki."

"Indeed," he says with a grin. "Though I would much prefer to play my version of it."

Loki's hand dips between my legs and ooookay, yeah, this game is progressing very quickly. Maybe too quickly, but don't tell anyone I said so. I push him away, albeit reluctantly. Now he looks pissed.

"Why are you denying yourself of this?" he hisses. Then, he gets that mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Would you prefer if I took on a different, perhaps more pleasing form? Something like this?"

You guys, I sh*t you not—the guy shape-shifts, right there in the seat beside me. And suddenly, it's not Loki gazing at me; it's Coulson. I may or may not shriek like a girl and throw myself back against the passenger side door.

"Jesus, god, NO!" I shout. But Loki—Coulson—whoever, leans toward me and runs a finger down my chest, making me freeze in place.

"Are you quite sure? You two seem awfully close."

"Okay, first of all, how did you do that? Secondly, holy god, no. I love Phil; don't get me wrong. But no, never, not in a million years. Instant boner death."

Loki frowns at that and returns to his own form, which is a relief. Then he cups me through my jeans and squeezes. "On the contrary; it seems to be very much alive."

"It's CONFUSED!" I wriggle away from him again and huff. I'm starting to get annoyed by all the pushiness and magic tricks. Especially the pushiness. I'm Tony f*cking Stark; no one bosses me around. "Look, I wasn't trying to hook you up with Thor to sabotage myself. I really thought you'd be a good couple!"

"Thor? Why would I ever consider such a preposterous idea? Don't you know who my father is?"

"Yeah, yeah, Thor told me all about how your dad and his dad don't get along."

"If you consider years of war and bloodshed 'not getting along,' then yes, they do not get along."

"War and…" I blink, swallowing hard. What the hell did I get myself into here, exactly? "But you were flirting with him!"

"I was flirting with you. You misinterpreted. Not as smart as you look, apparently." Loki tilts his chin up primly and looks away. "My father is Laufey, king of the Frost Giants. He and Odin have been at war for years. Thor and I have rarely crossed paths and when we did, he never saw me in this form. I never expected him to show up in Midgard but…here he is, in all his bumbling glory. Hooray," he adds sarcastically.

"Frost Giants? Okay, wait a minute, wait a minute." I throw my hands up and mentally fit together the puzzle pieces. Loki's jokes about conjuring things. The instant healing. Thor's armor and hammer, his booming declarations about realms and sh*t. "So, you mean to tell me that you're both actually Norse gods? Like, for realsies?"

"For realsies," Loki confirms. He tilts his head and grins. "Does that make my proposal more appealing?"

I hesitate because, hell, when am I ever going to get another offer to have sex with a god? Seems like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. On the other hand, this is all very unexpected and I'm creeped out as hell and I want to go home to my mean S.H.I.E.L.D. director and my talking artificial intelligence unit and other things that I can actually understand.

"Not really, no," I say with a shrug. "As nice as the tongue was. Sorry, big boy."

"Very well," Loki says mildly.

Then, with a flash of green light, I'm suddenly standing outside of the car, looking in on Loki. I blink and try to open the door, but it's locked. Loki, the unbearable sweetheart, laughs loudly, flips me the bird, and drives away.

Well, sh*t.

*

So, this is awesome. I'm stranded somewhere in the middle of Queens and there are zero cabs around. I can access JARVIS through my phone but I don’t know where the phone is; I must have left it in Loki's car. I walk down the road until I come across a gas station and find myself confronted by a device I've never seen: a payphone. I hadn't even known they still existed.

"How in the hell are you supposed to use this thing?" I mutter, picking up the receiver. Just hitting the buttons doesn't work. It takes a moment before I realize you need a quarter to get it to work. It's a miracle that I happen to have one in my pocket. I exhale and dial one of the only two phone numbers I know by heart.

"Steve Rogers speaking," he dutifully answers, after a number of rings. Steve still has trouble figuring out how to use his phone, even though we took him to a Verizon store and even had an employee explain the basics to him. See the buttons that say Answer and Ignore? she'd asked him. If you want to answer, press Answer. It was like someone had turned on a light bulb in his head.

"Steve. Listen, um. It's Tony."

"Tony? Why aren't you calling me from your cellular telephone? I don't recognize this number."

I spare a moment to roll my eyes. "I sort of got abandoned by my designated driver. Was trying to set him up with someone and it turned out he wanted me, which, you know. Can't blame him. But it went a bit too far and hey, he's actually a Norse god—did you know Norse gods are hanging out on Earth now? Because I had no idea. And I left my phone in his car and Fury is pissed at me and I can't access JARVIS and…" Oh, god. I take a shaky breath and realize how alone I am. Ever since the hostage incident, I'm not big on putting myself in vulnerable situations. I'm so far away from the city; I can actually see stars in the sky. Where the f*ck am I? I steel myself to do the one thing I swore I would never, ever do: ask Steve for help. "I just didn’t know who else to call."

"All right, Tony, I understand. I'll help you." Steve sounds like he's getting ready for battle, which is kind of cute. I have to stop myself from sighing in relief. "Where are you?" he asks.

"Um. Somewhere in Queens."

Steve makes a low, annoyed grunt. "Fantastic," he says.

It doesn't take him too long to find me, luckily. With a little coaching, he employs JARVIS in tracking the payphone's coordinates and then finds his way over with "the GPS location box." I've never been so happy to see the human popsicle in my life.

Weird thing is, there's another guy in the car with him. I go to open the passenger door and Steve motions for me to get in the back instead. Huh.

"Tony, this is Bucky," he says. "He's, uh…a friend from school."

Bucky looks a little peeved about Steve's choice of words but he turns and smiles. And f*ck, he's really attractive. Classic good looks. I tend to forget that Steve is kind of a dreamboat and can probably attract the same level of men as I do, if not higher. I thought maybe he was just into women—he once showed me a photo of the woman he left behind during the war and she was a looker, too—but I guess there are some things I don't know about him.

"Sorry if I interrupted your evening," I say to them.

"Apology accepted," Bucky says, at the same time as Steve says, "Don't apologize! It's not your fault."

They exchange a tense look and Steve blushes. Awkward.

"What? It wasn't his fault."

"But we were having a nice evening together," Bucky says.

"Tell you what," I say. I take out my wallet and hand Bucky a hundred-dollar bill. "For tomorrow night. You can have another nice evening together. Or you can use it to see a proctologist and have the stick in your ass removed."

Steve snorts, then shakes his head, trying to recover. "Tony, that's—that's offensive," he says. Bucky gives him a death glare.

"Sorry," I say, and put the money away. "About the stick, that is."

In the rearview mirror, I can see Steve bite his lip to keep from laughing. I smile for the first time since the party.

We have to drop Bucky off on campus before Steve can take me home. The guy leaves in a huff and Steve sighs as he looks back at me. "I'm going to say goodnight to Bucky. Try not to blow up my car while I'm gone, or turn it into a hovercraft."

Well, well, looks like Steve grew a sense of humor somewhere along the way. I resist cutting him down with a nasty reply, if only because he did pick me up in Bumf*ck, Queens. I watch out the window as he follows after Bucky. It looks like they're going to kiss but then at the last minute, Steve smooches the back of Bucky's hand instead. Bucky looks surprised for a moment; then he shoves Steve's shoulder and yells at him. No room for gentlemen in the twenty-first century, it seems.

After some more bickering, Bucky pulls Steve in for a real kiss. I only watch for a few seconds before I get depressed and look away.

When I get home, Steve explains everything to Fury and I hide in my bedroom, where my phone is sitting and waiting for me. I guess Loki conjured it back over. There's a message on it that says, I'd apologize for pilfering your phone, but I do what I want. Why no naked pics? LL

A quick look through my gallery tells me that he didn't even have the courtesy to leave a few naked pics of his own. Swell. Now I'm even more depressed.

*

"It is my hips, is it not?"

Coulson and I share a look of distinct skepticism.

"Uhh, Thor, didn't you hear what I just said? I'm pretty sure the main reason Loki isn't interested is because of the whole centuries of war thing. I don't think it has anything to do with your hips or any other body part."

"They're very shapely hips," Coulson adds.

Thor sighs and pushes a French fry through the giant puddle of ketchup on his plate. "I suppose I have always known it could never be. His human form is especially appealing, however. Perhaps that is why I was drawn to the idea."

"Yeah, you were pretty drawn, at that." I glance over at Coulson, remembering how Loki changed into him for that one terrifying minute in his car. I shudder and decide to never tell him about that, ever. "Anyway, f*ck it, right? We'll find you someone better. And hotter."

"I desire no one else, Tony Stark."

"Oh, come on. How about our waiter? Check out those guns."

Coulson smiles dreamily, which for him is a slight, almost unnoticeable upturn of one corner of his mouth. "Puny. Barton's are much nicer."

"I'm going to vomit into my nachos," I groan.

Thor smiles through a mouthful of food. "You are fortunate to have found a mate so promising, Son of Coul. Perhaps one day, Tony Stark and I will find such mates of our own."

"Thanks but no thanks," I say, waving a hand. "I'm not into the whole 'mating for life' thing. I thought we established this. I'm more of a sex connoisseur."

"More like amateur," Coulson mutters. I elbow him in his side but he barely flinches. Thor, perhaps for the first time in his life, seems to be quick on the uptake.

"Tony Stark, you are pure?"

"For f*ck's sake. I wouldn't say pure, no. I've just…been through some things. It hasn't exactly been my number one priority. I'm not ashamed of it, but you know. Don't spread it around." I shoot Coulson a nasty look. It's true that I'm not ashamed but that doesn't mean I need the entire school to know I've been spending the past few years locked away in my lab, building robots and flying suits, rather than adding notches to my bedpost. Coulson was never supposed to be so forthcoming with that information. I'm so going to sic a pointy robot on him later. Or, better yet… "Anyway, I wouldn't talk if I were you, Phil."

"I'm not really comfortable—"

"Once again, I am puzzled," Thor says. "I assumed you and Clinton Barton were indulging in coitus, Son of Coul."

"We—ugh." Coulson shuts his eyes briefly, clearly uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation. I lean in closer and pay avid attention. "We have…pretty much done everything but. However, Barton has no reason to complain. But technically, I am a…yes."

"You're a yes?" I ask.

"I'm sixteen," Coulson says, looking furious and/or constipated. "It's still socially acceptable to be a virgin at sixteen."

Thor sighs. "I am not pure of body myself, but then, I am much older than you. I am left to wonder, after three-thousand years of fervent searching, if I will ever find a love of my own."

Coulson and I don't know what to say to that, so we keep quiet, letting Thor have a few moments to sulk. Then he starts banging his head against the table. The entire thing rattles from the force of it and Coulson dives for a plate that nearly falls off the edge. When we finally get him to stop, there's a huge crack in the Formica. Thor's forehead, on the other hand, looks fine.

Clearly, I need to find a replacement for Loki, and stat. There's nothing more pitiful than a sad Norse god, wandering around Earth, trying to give himself a concussion.

*

Problem is, there's a distinct lack of hot, worthwhile people enrolled at Avengers Academy. Sure, Loki is good-looking and fun to banter with, but that's probably due to the fact that he's ancient and otherworldly. He's had a long time to sharpen his conversation skills, and he can look however the hell he wants to look. Coulson and Clint are both semi-attractive, in their ways, but blech. Everyone else is nothing to write home about. I'm telling you, I'm surrounded by mediocrity. No wonder I'm more interested in my lab experiments.

I'm sitting in Banner's class, contemplating the whole depressing scenario and ignoring whatever's being discussed, when there's a knock on the front door. I turn and lay eyes on the most ridiculously attractive woman I've ever seen. She's gorgeous, with sinfully red hair and an amazing body, and she's wearing this little leather jacket over a skintight cat suit. Definitely not an outfit you'd find in the JC Penney back-to-school catalog. She looks right at me, gives a mysterious little smirk, and I grip the edges of my desk with both hands.

Banner goes over to greet her and I bolt upright, as stiff as a meerkat. I've never been so excited to pay attention to class in my life.

"This must be the elusive Natasha," Banner says. "Done infiltrating that drug cartel?"

The woman—Natasha—shrugs easily. "For the moment."

"Well, have a seat and acclimate yourself to the much less exciting world of debate class."

Banner motions to an empty desk, which happens to be right next to me, oh blessed day. Natasha walks over—well, more like a strut, really—and I can't take my eyes off her. I know my mission was to find some new tail for Thor but you know what? He's cool. He's been cool for three thousand years. What's the rush? Natasha sits and crosses her legs slowly as she makes eye contact with me. It's electric.

"Nice stems," I murmur, glancing at her powerful legs.

"I know forty ways to kill a man with them," she murmurs.

Okay, I'm in love.

"Tony, it's time for your oral," Banner says. My dick jerks to attention at that.

"My…my what?"

"Your original oral," Banner says, looking greenish. "On violence in the media?"

Oh, right. I get up and head to the front of the classroom, glancing at Natasha, who winks at me before I begin.

"So, okay. It seems like every other year, there's some jerk-*ff in the government who says there's too much violence on TV and in movies, and frankly, that's a load of crap, because violence is awesome. Seriously, everyone I know loves violence. Even people who say they don't actually do. Come on, it's not like people are watching the nightly news to hear stories about fluffy kittens getting saved from trees. They want to hear about the murders and the robberies and all that jazz, because it's way more interesting. So until humanity as we know it stops being so obsessed with dark subject matter, we should keep glorifying violence on TV. Also, explosions are cool. The end."

There's a round of applause and I smile when Natasha claps as well, maybe a little less enthusiastically than the others.

"That was…something. Any comments?" Banner asks the class.

"I'm bored and want to flay something," Loki says.

"Not exactly the constructive feedback I was looking for, Loki. But I suppose you've proven Tony's point. Thank you for your contribution."

"What'd you think?" I whisper to Natasha, when I'm back in my seat.

"It was completely nonsensical and yet I agreed wholeheartedly." She gives me an enigmatic smile. "Very impressive, how you managed that."

After that, I'm pretty sure Natasha likes me. Consider me emboldened. I spend the next few days preening and sending myself gifts to make it seem as though there are thousands of other women and men after me. And, hey, it's not far from the truth. I may or may not know of a couple of Tony Stark fansites out there. Clint eats most of the Belgian chocolates I send myself one day, but that's okay because I'm wearing the tightest pair of jeans I own and I probably couldn't consume more than a couple hundred calories before the button popped off. What can I say? They make my bulge look great. And, as expected, Natasha takes notice.

"Are you sure you can breathe in those things?" she asks. "I'm feeling sympathy for the little guy trapped inside."

"What makes you think he's little?" I ask, peering at her over my sunglasses. "Not that he doesn't appreciate your concern and attention. Say, listen: What are you doing this weekend? There's a party going on at my friend's—well, this guy I know, at his college campus. Maybe we could cause some mayhem."

"I do enjoy mayhem," she says.

"Who doesn't?"

You guys. Get this: I actually have a date.

*

Suddenly, S.H.I.E.L.D. has some kind of top-secret case to take care of—which is hilarious, because it's not as if JARVIS can't tell me every single word that's uttered within these walls—so the mansion is filled with agents who get in my way and use up all the peanut butter. Fury also taps Steve to help out, since I guess he's special, what with his colorful past of fighting some bad guy who had a nasty sunburn.

I'm glancing at the confidential files that JARVIS has helpfully copied into my main directory when he pipes up with an alert.

"Sir, a female intruder—your companion for the evening, I believe—is currently being held at gunpoint in the main S.H.I.E.L.D. conference room by Director Fury, Captain Rogers, and four other agents."

My head whips up at that. I'd been in the middle of a very interesting memo, too. "You've got to be f*cking kidding me. Is she okay?"

"She appears to be holding her own. Shall I offer her a cup of tea?"

"STARK!" Fury suddenly yells through the surveillance feed. "Get your ass down here and explain to me why a notorious assassin is standing in the middle of this goddamn mansion!"

Oh, boy. "Coming, dear," I say, blowing a kiss to the feed.

When I get downstairs, I find Natasha in a tense standoff with Fury, Steve, and the rest of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, just as JARVIS described. Everyone's weapons are drawn, their fingers placed firmly on the triggers. I glance around the room, my gaze landing on Natasha.

"What did you do, track mud inside?"

Natasha smirks, looking pretty calm for someone with a dozen guns pointed at her. "Stark, will you please tell your bodyguards that I have no qualms with S.H.I.E.L.D. whatsoever? I was just finding my way inside."

Fury's eye looks ready to pop. "Bodyguards?"

"Look, guys, cool it with the dramatics, okay? Miss Romanoff here and I are going out tonight."

"Tony, this is your date?" Steve asks.

"She's in my debate class!" I say, throwing my hands up. "You guys. I'm telling you, she's not here to cause trouble. We're going to a party, for Christ's sake. You know how teenagers do that? Go to parties? Drive around town?"

"We did have intel that said the Black Widow was planning to attend Avengers Academy," Fury says. "What I should have known was that our flyboy here was going to make a pass at her the moment he laid eyes on her."

"Um, objection! I was a complete gentleman. Well, mostly."

"How did she get past all the souped-up security in this mansion?" Steve asks, still frowning deeply. "I know I don't understand all the lasers and doohickeys you use to control it, Tony, but last time I checked, it was pretty impenetrable."

Natasha gazes at him coolly. "And what would you know about penetration, Mr. Rogers?"

"God, I'm torn between kissing your feet and hating you for thinking of that comeback before I could," I say. I glance at Steve, who's looking pretty red in the face. Who knew recently thawed super-soldiers could blush? "He does bring up a good point, though. We do have a doorbell on the front door of this place, you know."

"What fun would that be?" Natasha looks to Fury and the others and tilts her head. "I apologize for interrupting your meeting, gentlemen. Old habits die hard."

Steve looks skeptical but he's the first to lower his weapon. After a tense moment, Fury exhales and does the same, the rest of the agents following suit. Natasha holsters hers as well, with the look of someone who's got it all under control. I don't doubt that she could have taken them all out in seconds flat. It's safe to say that I'm thoroughly titillated by the idea. I do enjoy a dangerous woman.

"That's more like it," I say. I walk over to Natasha and brush a kiss to her cheek. "Hello, gorgeous. Black Widow, huh? Where you hiding the venom?"

"Hello, Stark," she says, all venom included. She glances down at my too-tight pants. "And little Stark."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Steve whisper something to Fury, who then erupts with, "Stark, what in the goddamn hell are you wearing?"

I glance down at myself. "Definitely not underwear, I can tell you that much."

"Both of your outfits leave nothing to the imagination," Steve says, frowning. I swear, all he needs is a corncob pipe and a cane he can shake at the neighbor's kids playing in his yard.

"Yeah, well, welcome to the 21st century, Gramps. Listen, you guys enjoy playing Space Invaders or whatever it is you're doing. We're going out into the world to be amongst the humans. Don't wait up."

"Miss Romanoff," Fury calls, making us pause. "The kid's a royal pain in my ass, but if anything happens to him, I've got a few dozen more of these agents on call, and an underground cell in the Appalachia with your name on it."

"Sounds like fun," Natasha says, turning on her heel.

I can feel Steve's eyes on me as we leave, continuing to judge. It's pretty hilarious that he's so concerned. Fury's the one who's responsible for me, sort of, and he's already back to playing Sudoku on his iPad.

"Sorry for the, uh, confusion," I say as we walk outside. Natasha's sweet ride is waiting for us. "Fury can be a little scary."

"I wasn't scared." She gets into the car and tosses her hair back. "If you hadn't walked in, he might have lost that other eye."

"Please spare the eye. It's already hard enough to look at him."

"He worries about you. It's…nice." She glances at me and smirks. "Now put on your seatbelt so I don't have to go to war with S.H.I.E.L.D."

I wrinkle my nose and do as she says. "Yes, ma'am."

*

The party is totes ridic, if I do say so myself. Makes sense that Steve's friends would be a lot cooler than him. There's a DJ who I'm pretty sure is famous, at least in underground circles, and everyone is sweating and grinding and looking sexy in the way that college students tend to do. Natasha and I are the hottest couple in the club and I know I'm the envy of every guy and gal there. She's an amazing dancer, too. I wonder if they taught her those moves in Soviet spy summer camp, or wherever she was trained.

I told Thor about the party, so it doesn't surprise me when I see him at the top of the stairs, walking into the club in a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and board shorts. I know Coulson didn't tell him to wear that. Maybe it was a gift from Clint, who I'm pretty sure lives in PacSun. He waves wildly to us, then proceeds to fall on his ass when someone bumps into him.

Remember that sound? If not, let me refresh your memory: That sound is thud.

I excuse myself and head over to make sure the big guy didn't dent his butt or anything, and he looks at me, abashed.

"This is a great humiliation," he mutters, rubbing his ass.

"I'm sure no one noticed," I say. It's a total lie, considering that Thor is pretty hard to miss, even when he's not falling down a flight of stairs.

To make matters worse, we notice Mr. Giggles himself, Loki Laufeyson, dancing in the crowd with that other pain in the ass, Darcy.

"I see he has found another amusem*nt," Thor sighs, looking on woefully. "They make a very becoming pair."

"No way," I scoff. When Natasha wanders over to join us, I point them out in the crowd. "Hey, Romanoff. What do you think of Loki and Darcy over there?"

She levels her freaky glare at them. "Why is that girl dancing with a scarecrow?"

"See?" I say. Thor shrugs but we score a chuckle out of him.

"I'm going to get a drink," Natasha announces. "Got any cash, Mr. Monopoly?"

"Sure thing, babydoll."

Natasha sashays toward the bar with a crisp twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and it's worth the cost just to get a glimpse of her walking away. Thor makes a low rumble in his throat, which I recognize as approval, loud and clear.

"She is a fine specimen, Tony Stark," he says.

"She's the hottest thing going on two legs, is what you mean. And let me tell you, Thor: The Stark charm is working wonders." Just then, some guy tries to get close to Natasha by the bar, cupping her elbow, and she retaliates by ramming said elbow into his nose. "See how she ignores every other guy?"

"Ignores or maims?" Thor asks.

"Potato, potahto."

Just then, we spot Steve standing by the railing on the above floor. Seriously, Steve. I'm guessing that Fury sent him to spy on us, because this place is so not his cup of tea. He's talking to someone extremely old—the janitor, it looks like—who needs to hang onto his broom with both hands in order to stay upright.

"That is your acquaintance, Steven Rogers, is it not?" Thor asks.

"Yeah. I see he found the one person here in his age category. Kudos to him."

"Come on, Stark," Natasha says, walking up and handing me a shot. "Let's dance." I down the whiskey quickly and oblige her.

I feel kinda bad for leaving Thor all alone, standing there with his long hair and stupid shirt, scaring the children. But seriously, I'm on a date here—a very hot date, at that. My guilt is alleviated when Steve wanders over to Thor and strikes up a conversation with him. An awkward conversation, sure, but it's something. And Thor lights up like a Christmas tree from the unexpected attention.

I nudge Natasha to look as they move onto the dance floor. Steve touches Thor's waist, takes his hand, and…starts slow dancing with him. To a LMFAO song.

"I've seen a lot of awful things in my life—murder, battlefields, torture cells. But that, right there, may be the worst," Natasha says.

"Give the guy a break," I murmur. "He missed Elvis."

*

Natasha gets wind of some after-party and desperately wants to stay, even though she's my ride. Steve is nice enough to offer to take us home, good soldier that he is, so I end the night sitting next to him in his dinky little Prius, on loan from S.H.I.E.L.D. It's a far cry from where I thought I'd end up—namely, writhing around with Natasha in my giant bed, slowly being suffocated by her shapely thighs. A glorious death, to be sure.

But there's a breeze drifting in through the windows, Cole Porter is playing as Steve hums along, and I suppose it could be worse. Steve fills out that sky blue polo shirt nicely, too.

"It was nice of you to dance with Thor," I say, breaking the silence. "He's, um…special. As you can see."

"He's awkward," Steve says, smiling. "I can understand awkward. I live awkward."

I suppress a laugh and shake my head. "You do all right, Cap."

Steve reaches out and turns down the volume of the CD. I've tried to teach him the joys of iPods, I really have, but Steve prefers CDs because they don't involve computers. I suppose it's better than having to install a phonograph in the car.

"I'm surprised you didn't want to go to that party with the Black Widow," he says. "Staying out all night, dancing and drinking with a beautiful girl—seems like that's right up your alley."

"You're not wrong about that. But I'd rather not be there to witness when Fury's good eye pops out of its socket."

"You really do know how to paint a horrific picture, Tony."

"I'm an artist with words."

Steve laughs at that, glancing at me, and it makes my heart stutter momentarily against the reactor. I swallow and tell myself that it's not an unreasonable reaction. Even I can admit that a smile from Steve Rogers is like a burst of sunshine right between the eyes. They built him that way.

"Thing is, you probably would have gotten away with it. Fury's going to be distracted by that new mission all night."

I take a moment to consider this. "You know what we should do? Get some crazy good takeout and bring it back for Cyclops and the other agents. It would be totally awesomesauce and win me some major brownie points."

"And since when are you in the market for brownie points?"

"For the next time I cause an explosion in one of the labs."

"So, tomorrow," Steve jokes, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He smiles at me again. "Well, I guess it would be pretty…awesomesauce of us."

The noise I let out is somewhere between a guffaw and a wail of agony. If only JARVIS had been here to record that. I could turn it into a ringtone and make a fortune.

After we stuff the S.H.I.E.L.D. folks full of burgers, pizza, and fries, it's pretty late, so Steve decides to spend the night. I've got a room all set up for him, designed to look like something out of the forties: simply decorated, without too many tricky devices. There's even an old-timey radio, made of wood with a bisected speaker and little black knobs. I think he's getting used to the perks of modern technology, though, because lately he spends more time in the main rec room, where the ninety-two-inch TV lives. I park on the couch with him once I'm in my PJs and scope out tomorrow's schedule on my phone.

"Ugh, three hours in the gym. Maybe I can reward myself after with a soak in the jacuzzi and a bottle of gin. You know, gym gin. It's a thing."

"Why do you spend so much time in the gym if you don't like it?"

"Some of us aren't human tanks with super serum running through our veins, Steviekins."

"Poor puny humans." Steve uses the Schwarzenegger accent he learned how to do a few months ago, when he found out who Schwarzenegger is. He's no longer allowed to borrow my copies of the Terminator movies.

"You are the most ridiculous," I say. There's a big bowl of popcorn between us and I grab a handful. "So what are you doing for spring break, Steve-o?"

He shrugs and looks at the TV. "Oh, you know. Hanging out on campus. Getting some work done for my classes."

"Hanging out on campus," I repeat. "Which will be a ghost town. Because it's spring break."

"Well, I mean…" Steve gets an adorable little furrow between his eyebrows. "It'll be good. The solitude. It'll be peaceful."

"Right, like how Chernobyl was peaceful after the fact."

"Okay, I know that reference, and I don't think it's very appropriate."

I sigh and turn to face Steve on the couch, poking his gargantuan bicep. "You're being a dummy. And I don't mean like my pet robot, though you might be equally dense right now. Steve, staying on an empty college campus is the dumbest idea ever. You have a perfectly nice room in the mansion that I decorated just for you, with the ancient radio and the manual typewriter and everything. Just hang out here for the week. No big."

"You sure?" Steve asks, tilting his head. "I know how important your social life is to you. You might not like having a—a big brother type around."

"Steve, you are not my brother," I say, with all the horror I can muster. "You are the oversized, Aryan galumph they fished out of the ice and then brought to my house, to eat all the food in my fridge and then some."

"Seventy years without food leaves you feeling kind of peckish, okay?" Steve says. He flicks a popcorn kernel at me and I shove him playfully. It's kind of…charming. In a weird way. "Okay, I'll stay," he says, after a moment. "If you insist, Mr. Stark."

"I do insist. Now shut up and watch the TV."

Steve and I turn back to what's on: an old episode of America's Next Top Model. He watches for a few minutes, munching on popcorn and looking confused.

"Is 'smizing' one of those things I'm going to have to look up in the Urban Dictionary Internet page?"

"Considering it's a word that Tyra Banks invented, I'd spare yourself the effort and do something more useful with your time, like gargling with Ajax."

Steve blinks and eats another handful of popcorn.

"Well, that doesn't sound like fun at all."

*

After the party, I'm really looking forward to seeing Natasha again. So naturally, I don't call her for a week. All part of the game, you see. But when I do, I invite her over to Casa de Stark for a romantic evening alone.

I don't have to tell you guys that this is a big f*cking deal. I haven't had a hot girl alone with me in my house since…forever. And even though we won't be entirely alone—Fury and Steve are puttering around their respective areas and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are still taking up valuable space—I don't plan on exposing Natasha to them again. It's going to be just her and me. Lovely, gorgeous her, and smoking hot me.

I waste no time in calling for reinforcements. Not thirty minutes later, Coulson is sitting on my bed, trying to choose between the seventeenth and eighteenth outfit options I've shown him.

"Oh, my god," he moans, falling back onto the mattress. "Isn't this why you have a robo-butler? To dress you for special occasions?"

"I can assure you, Mr. Coulson, I am not a robot, nor a butler," JARVIS answers.

"Yeah, show some respect," I say. "Seriously, though. I need to look like a suave motherf*cker for this date. My tight pants aren't going to cut it this time. And you're the best dresser I know."

Coulson peers at me through one eye. Flattery always does the trick with him.

"Go with the eggplant shirt. It's a good color for you. Dark-rinse jeans, too. Slim fit. And those Italian leather loafers that I covet."

I hope JARVIS caught that bit. Now I know what to get Phil for his birthday this year. "See, was that so hard?"

"Tony, you're never this nervous about a date. Why is this one so special?"

"Because." I turn toward the mirror and hold the dark purple shirt up to my chest. It's risky, but it is a nice color on me. "Natasha's the hottest woman I've ever met in my entire life. And, you know. I'm thinking about giving her the big V."

Coulson arches a brow. "Venereal disease?"

"The big V that you and I have in common," I snap, turning around quickly.

"That should make for a juicy journal entry. 'Dear Diary: I gave my flower to a dangerous assassin tonight. She was tender but her gun kept digging into my hip.'"

Okay, never mind. No birthday present for Phil this year. Not unless it's tube socks.

When Natasha arrives, I give her a tour of the mansion and keep her far away from any area where armed government agents currently reside. I take her through the rec room, the bowling alley—everywhere but my laboratory—and it's safe to say she's not impressed by any of it. That is, until we get to the S.H.I.E.L.D. shooting range. Natasha's got a great poker face, probably honed by years of practice, but I'm pretty sure I can see a momentary flicker of genuine excitement in her eyes.

"Can we do some target practice?" she asks.

"Sure." I lead her inside and fetch us some earmuffs and protective eyewear while she scopes out the gun selection. "Technically, I'm not supposed to use the range without Fury's permission, but I'm sure he won't notice."

"That's silly," Natasha says. "He's training you to work for his agency, is he not? Like your father did? You should learn how to shoot."

I want to ask how in the hell she knows about my father, but the guy was one of the most famous people in the world at some point. Plus, if Natasha is any good at being a spy, she probably knows everything about S.H.I.E.L.D. and its colorful history. I shrug and hand her the supplies she needs.

"f*ck, no. I'm not out to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm not exactly a team player. Not so much into following rules, either."

"And yet you let the agency continue to use your family's mansion as its headquarters?"

I don't say anything in return as a signal for her to drop it, and she does. I wonder if Natasha knows about the hostage incident; she probably does. Either way, I don't feel like explaining the ramifications to her. Not right now, anyway. I pick up a handgun and she touches my hand, but only to take it away from me. She gives me another weapon instead.

"Well, if he won't teach you, I will."

And, hey, wow. Did you guys have any idea how arousing it is to let someone teach you how to shoot a gun? I'm not a complete amateur but Natasha's aim is sick—she even rivals Clint in that area. She demolishes five targets before she sets to work on helping me, and that happens to involve her body pressed very close to mine as she positions my arms and straightens my stance.

If she did have a gun on her person, it would definitely be digging into my hip. Damn Coulson for putting that thought into my head.

"It's all about follow-through," she murmurs after I shoot a few rounds, her breath warm against my neck. "Nice shirt, by the way. Interesting color."

"Thanks," I say, my voice a little raspy. My dick is definitely taking notice of all the close attention and the gunplay isn't doing anything to help matters. I just wish Natasha wasn't making me so nervous. I'm never this nervous. But, then again, I've never tried to seal the deal with another person before. "Hey, you want JARVIS to fetch us a drink? I've got a bottle of wine chilling downstairs."

"I'm not much for alcohol."

"Coffee, then? Or anything. We could drink it upstairs in my room."

There's a noticeable pause, during which I hope Natasha is checking out the situation below my belt, because hellooooo, nurse. Ready, willing, and able. Big V, it was nice knowing ya. But then? Disaster. She steps away, takes off her protective gear, and shakes her head.

"Actually, I think I'm tired."

"Tired?" I say, squinting at her. "From what, a half-hour of target practice? You mean to tell me you don't get assigned missions that are longer than this all the time?"

Natasha turns on her heel and gives me a look that shuts me right up.

"I said I'm tired. Now stop asking questions and see me out."

The situation in my pants abruptly deflates. I manage a nod and put down my gun.

We're both pretty quiet until we get to the front door of the mansion. Natasha kisses my cheek and takes my hand in hers. All these mixed signals are making my head hurt.

"It's not often that I get to make friends," she says, her voice soft. "Can we do that? Can we be friends?"

"Sure," I say, faking a smile. "Friends. No problem."

"Good." She gives my hand a squeeze. "Because I would like that."

Then she's gone. I look up to the ceiling and sigh.

"JARVIS, what the f*ck was that?"

"I believe it was you retaining your 'big V,'" he says. "That is, for the time being."

"It was the shirt, wasn't it? I knew it was bad."

"It would not have been my first choice, sir."

*

I tell everyone the tale of woe in my convertible the next day. It's a good distraction from all of the signs and traffic lights that I usually try to avoid anyway. Thor keeps glancing around, not listening to what I'm saying. He seems…nervous. Which is silly, because I'm an ace driver and he's safe and sound in the passenger seat beside me. I suppose that New York City traffic would make any inexperienced driver nervous, but I'm no average inexperienced driver. As far as I'm concerned, the road belongs to me. Everyone else can get the f*ck off it, if they don't like it.

"Maybe she really was tired," Coulson suggests from the backseat. "Granted, she's an internationally known assassin who's probably had to stay awake on missions for days at a time, but…she could be off her game."

"Probably just as well," I say. "It would have taken me forever to figure out how to peel off that skintight outfit. Not that I wouldn't have enjoyed trying."

"Where are we even going?" Clint asks. "Why are we on the West side?"

"Because Shake Shack," Coulson whines, nudging their knees together.

Thor makes a low rumble in his throat. "Tony Stark, I am unsettled by all of these vehicles vying for control of the roadway."

"Traffic, buddy. It's called traffic."

And it's driving me nuts. As soon as the lane beside us opens up, I make a split decision and swerve into it. Naturally, everyone else in the car seems to have some kind of a problem with that.

"Are you crazy?" Coulson yells. "What am I talking about? Of course you are. Dumbest question I've asked all year."

"Debatable."

"I swear to god, Stark," Clint says, laughing. "You can't drive for sh*t."

"This is most nerve-wracking," Thor mutters. He's holding onto his seatbelt so tightly, his entire hand is white.

"Anyway," I drawl, trying to get back to the business at hand. These people need to get their priorities in check. "The point is, I really liked her and if she'd just given me a chance, I would have been totally down to have sex with her."

"Have sex with who?" Clint asks, suddenly joining the conversation.

"Natasha Romanoff."

Clint's laughter is deafening. Not to mention obnoxious. "You, have sex with Natasha? That's f*cking rich. She's obviously gay."

"What?!" My hands jerk on the steering wheel and the car skids a little, making Thor jump. "No f*cking way!"

"I did see her staring at Coach Hill the other day," Coulson says. "And she tends to maim guys who hit on her."

"Tell me about it," Clint says. "The other day, she roundhoused me just for asking what time it was."

Coulson rolls his eyes. "You're so obvious."

"Maybe she just doesn't like attention," I offer. "She's usually undercover, right?"

I'm caught between how much Natasha being gay actually makes sense and how amazing the idea of some Natasha-on-Hill action would be when someone honks behind me and I veer into the turn lane without thinking.

"Wait, Tony, what are you doing?" Coulson asks. "This isn't the way."

"Holy sh*t; we're heading toward the tunnel," Clint says.

Thor and I repeat in unison. "Tunnel?"

"Yeah, the Lincoln Tunnel?"

"f*ck my dick," I mutter.

It's pretty much the worst thing that could happen. While I normally love driving fast, it seems like a really bad idea while encased in a concrete tube that's surrounded by a body of water. It doesn't stop everyone else from driving fast around us, zooming by at speeds that feel like they're breaking the sound barrier. Everyone in the car is freaking the f*ck out and that doesn't help matters any. I'm suddenly trying to remember every stupid driving rule Steve ever told me when I totally wasn't listening. I check every mirror I have and keep my hands at ten and two, my heart racing. All of the yelping and growling around me really isn't helping.

"You just had to go to Shake Shack, didn't you, Phil?" I shout over the roar of the wind.

"Who told you to drive into the Lincoln f*cking Tunnel?" he counters, and okay, fair point.

"TONY STARK, WHAT IS THIS CHANNEL YOU HAVE STEERED US INTO?" Thor booms. It's the first time his outside voice has been appropriate in the given situation. He looks like he's going to sh*t himself. "THIS SITUATION IS MOST DANGEROUS AND UNWELCOME."

"What the f*ck do you want me to do, go in reverse?"

"Jesus Christ, no!" Clint yells. "Tony, just drive! And for f*ck's sake, go faster! Why aren't you going one-twenty like you usually do?"

"I keep telling my foot to hit the gas, but it doesn't want to!"

"I MUST NOT MEET MY END IN THIS MANMADE METAL CONTRAPTION. I MUST DEPART IMMEDIATELY."

I smack Thor hard on the shoulder. "Keep your hairy, Norse ass in the car!"

"Tony, keep your hands on the wheel at all times!" Clint instructs me.

Then he turns and gets a load of the giant tour bus barreling down on us. And screams like a girl.

"Not helping!" Coulson hisses.

Thor's hair starts whipping into my face as I accelerate, so I flip the switch for the convertible top to go up. He grabs my arm in panic and Jesus f*cking Christ; the man's got a grip like a trash compactor. I can already feel a bruise forming.

"Watch the arm!" I yell over all the honks, trying to steer straight.

"THESE VEHICLES ARE EXTREMELY ANGRY! THEY SEEK REVENGE UPON US! I WILL NOT HAVE YOU ENCASE ME IN THIS TOMB!"

And no one will ever believe us when we tell this story, but I swear to the Christian, monotheistic god that Thor lifts his hammer and an actual bolt of lightning crackles inside the convertible, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. Just like that, Thor is gone, having made his exit through the f*cking roof of my car. If I didn't believe he was a Norse god before, I've definitely got the picture now.

"Oh, my god," I mutter. "Fury's going to kill me." I'm trying desperately to stave off a f*cking panic attack, what with this situation now utterly and completely out of my control. My hands are shaking on the wheel and I don't know how to make them stop. The passenger seat is singed. Someone says my name but I can't really acknowledge him, not until a hand grasps my shoulder and squeezes.

"Yeah," I say. "I'm—I'm here."

The next thing I know, Phil is climbing over the seat and unbuckling me, urging me into Thor's vacated seat. Somehow, we manage to keep the car moving and relatively steady. There's a dull roar in my ears but I can sort of hear Clint coaching from the backseat. Phil looks like an absolute badass as he takes control of the situation and drives us out of the tunnel, toward the nearest exit. They're a good team, those two, and one day they'll make excellent S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and I swear to all that's holy that I'll never make fun of them ever again for how sickeningly in love they are.

Of course, when we're finally parked and out of danger, I realize I may have to revise that thought. I'm still trying to catch my breath, the adrenaline finally wearing off, when I notice in the rearview mirror that Coulson's made his way back to Clint and there is a lot of sex going on. Right there in the backseat. Of my car.

Ick.

Rather than watch Coulson's virginity go from technical to nonexistent, I get out of the car and promptly puke in the gutter. It's not the first time I've vomited in Jersey and it probably won't be the last. But what's strange is when I realize, sitting on the curb and waiting for them to be done, that this time I wouldn't mind having someone there beside me. Someone to lean against, just a little, who can tell me it's going to be okay. Not that I need that, but yeah.

That could be nice.

*

The next day at school, everyone's talking about "Thor's brush with death in the Lincoln Tunnel." Never mind that we were all there, too. The local news channels all picked up on these "human rocket" sightings that were being reported and then Clint had to go and open his big, gossipy mouth and tell everyone what happened. People are mostly just shocked that someone like Thor would be afraid of anything. Plus, they're lapping up the brand new information that Thor can fly. I can't help but think back to that conversation we had in my lab, when he told me that my own attempts to create a flying suit were "unnatural." Like anything is natural about a dude zipping around the Lincoln Tunnel, hanging onto a magical hammer.

Thor seems to be enjoying the attention, now that everyone knows he's a god. During lunch, he's surrounded by people who have never looked twice at him, regaling them with tales of Asgardian lore. He pauses when I walk up to his table and waves me over, seemingly happy to see me. I guess I can still be in the Thor Odinson fan club.

"Tony Stark! Please, sit and dine with us!"

"Hey, Thor," some jackass says. "Isn't this the guy who almost got you killed?"

"The guy?" I repeat. As if everyone in this school doesn't know exactly who I am.

"It was an error in judgment," Thor says. "He has learned from it, I'm sure. Please, friend Tony; sit."

I do, but I'm not happy about it. "Yeah, well. What I learned is never to drive on the West side again. People are crazy over—"

"Excuse me," Sir Jackass says again. "Thor, you were saying?"

"My story was complete," Thor says, laughing amiably. "My fellow warriors and I slayed the mighty Frost Giants and then celebrated with a feast of wild boar and overflowing cups of mead!"

"Yeah, buddy, that is riveting. Listen, getting back to planet Earth for a sec, do you wanna go to Nordstrom with me today? I was thinking of getting Coulson a pair of those Italian loafers he wants, to thank him for being a BAMF the other day. What do you think?"

"Son of Coul is indeed a BAMF," Thor says. "It would give me great joy to accompany you, my friend, but I am otherwise engaged this afternoon. I will be going to Roosevelt Field with Darcy Lewis."

Across the table, Darcy pops her gum and grins at me. "We're going to Roosevelt Field."

"Hey guys," Coulson says, walking over and sitting on Thor's other side. "Sorry, had to go pee. What'd I miss?"

I look at him with a faint sneer. "Et tu, Phil?"

"What? Come on. You have to admit that was pretty cool, what Thor did the other day."

"He destroyed my car and I almost had a panic attack. Remember?"

"Thor!" Jane scurries over to the table and smiles wide at Thor. "Hey, so, I was wondering…do you want to be partners on that astronomy project? I was just thinking, with your knowledge of other realms—which is so cool, by the way—we could come up with something really amazing. What do you think?"

A funny thing happens, then. Unlike every other time he's laid eyes on Jane, Thor actually looks displeased to see her. He turns his nose up and regards her with an air of honest-to-Norse-god disdain.

"I do not care to assist you, no," he says. "Now please remove yourself from this area. It is reserved for those whom I deem worthy of sitting here."

Holy sh*t. When exactly did Thor get so full of himself? I look up at Jane and she glances back at me in shock, her eyes filling with humiliated tears. It's only for a second, before she turns and runs off.

"Thor, what the f*ck was that?" I ask.

"My friend, you have said yourself that she is unworthy of my company! I have merely come to agree with you."

"So, Thor," Coulson whispers, inching closer. "Have you ever done it in water?"

"Indeed!" he says, lifting his glass. "I have fornicated in the sea upon several occasions! It is a very rewarding experience! But you must beware of coral reefs."

I shut my eyes and rub my temples carefully. Surely, I've tripped into some kind of alternate universe here. I half-expect Loki to jump out from under the table and tell me I've been punk'd. Or Loki'd, as the case may be.

*

As if I didn't have enough bullsh*t going on right now, Fury's also scheduled my driver's test this week. I keep telling him that I don't need a license to drive, but after he saw what Thor did to my car, he insisted.

"JARVIS, do I need a tie to wear my driver's test?"

"I don't believe so, sir. It's an informal occasion."

I hum to myself, posing in front of the mirror. "But what if the instructor is hot? I need to be at my most dashing and charming."

"I'm sure you will perform admirably in that area, sir. It's the driving bit that worries me."

"Har har. Since when do I pay you to make jokes?"

"You don't pay me at all, sir."

"Exactly."

Steve pops his head into the room, always the busybody. "Tony. I heard that. Please tell me you don't plan on flirting your way through your driving test."

I sigh and play with my collar. Popped or not? I decide on not. "Not that it's any of your business, Old Man Rogers, but I'll do whatever it takes."

"That's not what Fury is trying to teach you by making you do this," Steve says, frowning. I roll my eyes at him.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Brosicle, but I'll handle things my way, okay?"

"You know, you're a real brat, Tony."

Stern words from Captain Butthole, ladies and gents. I can't stop thinking about them as I head over to the DMV, which is really annoying. For one thing, where does Steve come off talking to me like that? We've already established the fact that he's not my big brother. And furthermore, why do I even care what Steve thinks? Just because he got stuck inside an ice cube for a few decades doesn't make him the authority on anything—except maybe cryogenics.

To make this day even worse, my driving instructor looks really familiar, and in a way that gives me this odd feeling of dread. It's not until I see his nametag that I realize exactly who he is: Obadiah Stane, this guy who used to be my dad's number two, who tried to take over Stark Industries back when I was a kid. My dad had him fired and blacklisted across the board, and I guess this is where he landed. I'd laugh at the rightness of it all, if not for the fact that I'm at his mercy right now.

"Tony Stark," Stane says, when he reads my paperwork. "Well, I'll be damned." He looks me up and down and smirks. "Never thought I'd see the day when a Stark would come through these doors. Guess even the high and mighty need to walk amongst the commoners, once in a while."

"Look, Obie," I say. It was my dad's nickname for him, back when they were pals. I can tell he doesn't much care for it now. "Whatever happened in the past is just that—the past. Right? All I want to do is take my test."

"And I'm pleased to conduct it," he says. "More than pleased."

There's no way I can sweet-talk my way out of this one. Even if I wanted to flirt with Stane, which I really, truly don't, he's more interested in seeing me crash and burn than anything else. And I oblige him nicely, missing stop signs—because really, who cares?—and nearly hitting a biker—honestly, get off the f*cking road, hippie, I'm trying to pass a test!—and being a terrible driver in general. Steve would either be disappointed or laughing at me if he could see me now, and I'm not sure which one would be worse.

"I was planning on watching you like a hawk, but look at this; I don't even have to." Stane says. "What is this mark on the headrest?" he adds, glancing at Thor's scorch mark.

"Uhh. Makeup. My date the other night, she was wearing a lot of eyeliner."

He scoffs and makes a note on his stupid sheet. "Playboy in training. Just like your father."

I stop paying attention to the road in favor of glaring at him. "And what the hell would you know about my father?"

"I know that I spent years being pissed off at him for ruining my career and now it turns out that his genius son, the budding CEO who was going to revolutionize the industry, can't even drive a goddamn car."

"Hey, I'm the—"

I have to pause when I almost run over a group of schoolchildren crossing the street and manage to hit the brake at the very last second. Stane just laughs and writes more notes. He tricked me, the asshole. He tricked me into not paying attention to the road and I fell for it. By talking sh*t about my dad, of all people. As it is, no one talks more sh*t about my dad than I do.

I can't believe I fell for it.

"All right, pull over, Stark. You'd already failed a few blocks back, but that was icing on the cake."

"Failed?" I say, gaping at him. "You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious, Stark. You can't make turns, you can't switch lanes, and you almost turned a pack of kindergarteners into a short stack of pancakes. Even if I liked you, I couldn't pass you."

"Look, Stane," I say, feeling a hissy fit coming on. I grip the wheel with both hands and exhale through my teeth. "I know you have a massive grudge against me, or my dad, or who the f*ck ever, but you can't fail me. I can buy the f*cking DMV if I want to, and demote you to the job of the guy who takes everyone's license photos. Seriously, this is an outrage. I want to talk to your supervisor. Hell, I'm going to call the mayor about this. Because I am Tony f*cking Stark, and I've done a lot of things in my life, but not once, not ever once, have I ever failed anyone's stupid f*cking test."

Stane, the ugly, smug bastard, just smirks and rips a sheet from his pad and hands it to me.

"Welcome to the real world, kid. Enjoy your stay."

*

I can't believe that I failed. I failed something I couldn't talk my way out of. What would Howard say to me now, I wonder? Not that any of this would have happened if he hadn't pissed Stane off. But then, where would I be now? Just thinking about all of the possibilities makes my head hurt.

Naturally, Steve and Thor are both there when I get home, putting together a behemoth sandwich in the kitchen, all giggles and smiles. They're the last people I want to see right now, Steve especially.

"Friend Tony!" Thor exclaims. "You return from battle."

"How does it feel to be a licensed driver?" Steve asks, patting me on the back.

"No idea, Cap," I murmur. "I failed."

Both of their faces fall. Thor's brow furrows together, in this way that says, How could you let us down?, which is really, incredibly helpful; you have no idea. As for Steve, he just stands there awkwardly, gazing at me with genuine sadness and pity in his eyes. It sets my teeth on edge. This is so not how I need my day to end. Passed out on the couch in my lab with a bottle of gin sloshing around in my stomach would be much preferable.

"Tony, jeez," Steve says, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't…I don't know what to say."

"What's there to say? I'm a crap driver. It's not like this is brand new information. Just say, 'I told you so,' and we'll be done with it."

"No, I didn't—"

"Spare me, Rogers," I mutter. I don't even have the energy to think of a funny nickname right now, so I just turn and walk out of the kitchen. Unfortunately, Thor decides to follow me, all the way to the lab.

"I am sure you fought valiantly and showed great courage, my friend," he says, bounding down the stairs. "However, I require your assistance at this time."

Good lord. "With what?"

Out of nowhere, Thor produces a giant sack that he flings onto the worktable with a bang. It sounds like there are all sorts of breakables in there.

"These are items I have amassed that remind me of Loki Laufeyson. I wish to set them ablaze and send the fiery pyre down the nearest waterway."

"So…what, the East River?" I blink and peer into the sack, out of curiosity. There's a perfectly good iPod in there, the newest model, which I pull out and inspect. "Thor, you can't throw this away, it's—wait. There's only one song on here."

"Indeed. 'Party in the USA' by the young songstress, Miley Cyrus."

"That's…sweet." I put it back in the bag, even though I fully intend to swipe it for myself later. "So, you're purging."

"Yes," Thor says, grinning. "For I have found a new potential mate who outdoes Loki in every conceivable way. He is a true match for an Asgardian prince such as myself."

Okay, so maybe Thor's excitement is a little infectious. I almost crack a smile as I pull a flask and a tumbler from a nearby drawer and start to pour. "Well, don't leave me hanging in suspense. Who's the lucky guy? Or girl?"

He sneaks a peek toward the stairs and then beams at me. "I desire your compatriot, Steven Rogers."

The flask goes tumbling out of my hand, getting liquor everywhere. sh*t. Well, Dummy will clean it up.

"Steve? You desi—you like Steve?"

"Very much so. He is a worthy mate. His strength rivals that of the gods and he has a fine palate for sandwiches."

Dummy whirs and squeaks beside me as he cleans up my mess and I all but collapse into a chair, grabbing the flask and taking a quick swig of what's left. Steve. Of all the frozen lunkheads in all the world, Thor had to go and choose mine. Or, well, not mine, but the one I'm acquainted with.

"Well, uh. Do you think the feeling's mutual?"

"I have come to believe so. He is quite an affectionate mortal. And he was benevolent enough to attend to my needs at his friends' raucous celebration. I do not forget such acts of kindness."

"I dunno, Thor," I say, trying to speak around the growing lump in my throat. "You and Steve? Doesn't exactly seem like a match made in heaven to me."

"'Heaven' is a Midgardian construct, designed to distract mortals from the truths of our many realms."

"You know what I mean. I just don't think you'd…mesh well together. You get what I'm saying?"

Thor narrows his eyes at me. "I would very much like to mesh with Steven Rogers. Verily, this is the crux of what I am saying to you, Tony Stark."

"No, Thor, you don't get it. What I'm saying is—"

"You do not approve?" Thor's lip curls in anger and he flings his hand out in the air, like something is going to happen to it. Sure enough, two seconds later, there's a crashing sound and his hammer comes flying out of nowhere, the handle landing right in his palm.

Um. f*ckballs. That's gonna cost me.

"Calm down, Thor, Jesus!" I hold both of my hands up, to show that I'm backing off from, well, whatever this is. "What, I'm not allowed to have an opinion?"

"Your opinion matters not," Thor says, spittle flying everywhere, "for you are insignificant and futile and small. You are no more than a virgin who cannot drive."

What. Now it's my turn to be offended. Except the only thing I can manage to say is, "…That was way harsh, Thor."

He grunts and turns away from my desk, taking back the sack of Loki memorabilia before I can even grab the iPod.

"We will speak again when my anger has subsided, but no sooner," he says. "Farewell."

Then he trounces up the stairs, with all the grace of a pack of elephants, leaving me to my misery and my half-empty flask of gin. I take two sips before I realize I don't even really want it. I feel sick to my stomach. I've created a monster—a swaggering, seven-foot-tall version of me with a weapon forged out of stone from another universe—and there's nothing I can do about it. Steve warned me about this, didn't he? In his backward, Cro-Magnon way? Goddamn it. f*cking Steve.

I take a deep breath, touch the arc reactor lightly, and turn to look at the latest model of the suit. I put the finishing touches on it the other day, just before school, and it's gleaming at me invitingly.

Think I'll take it for a spin.