Thor Pwns Wal-Mart

"C'mon Thor, get dressed," she says, sitting on the edge of the wreck of her bed and hunting for her boots. He makes a damn fine picture, framed in the open doorway of the camper, the morning sun gilding the fine hairs of his body, limning his outline in molten gold and bronze. He shifts one arm and pushes his hair back out of his face, the other hand clutching the top of the doorframe (and he doesn't have to reach up very far to do it, either). She admires the way the muscles in his arms and back flex as he stretches, is pretty sure she hears the doorframe creak ominously. His incredibly fine ass clenches as he lifts himself up on his toes, completing the stretch, and looks back over his shoulder at her. His eyes catch some wayward sunbeam as he turns and they flash, electric blue and hot as a live wire. For about half a minute she really seriously contemplates forgetting this idea and just keeping him naked like that for the rest of her life. Fuck, but he's magnificent. He grins at her, and it manages to be both exuberantly, charmingly boyish AND feral at the same time. How does he do that? Her insides clench and his nostrils flare slightly. She thinks it likely that he can actually smell how turned on he makes her, even from 8 or 9 feet away and with the hot baked scent of New Mexico sand coming in through the open doorway.

"Why should I don my clothing, Jane Foster," he purrs, moving towards her across the shattered remnants of her dinette set without stumbling, his body flowing lazy and boneless like a great hunting cat, his gaze intent upon hers. God, that fucking smile. "When I would only have to remove it again? I find that you yourself are entirely too clothed for my liking…"

"Oh god Thor, again?" she asks breathlessly.

They haven't left the camper for 3 days. This time she scrambles to shuck the jeans and t-shirt she just put on, as the state of her wardrobe is one of the issues they'll be dealing with later. She can't afford to lose any more clothing, no matter how much it thrills her to her toes when he rips it off her, as she's sure he's prepared to do now. She's not quite fast enough with the underwear, but it's hard to mourn their loss as he shreds her panties, shoves her backwards on the bed, and fastens his mouth between her legs like he's starving and she's an all-you-can-eat buffet. She whimpers and fists her hands in his hair. He's been…very thorough…and she's so sore. Everywhere, but especially inside where he's fucked her so hard and so raw it feels like she's been bludgeoned. Which, she thinks, she really has. He growls softly against her clit when she tries to tug his head away, and his teeth! And she's gone, coming so hard it hurts and she just doesn't care. Then he's in her, and she's sobbing for him, and it aches like hell but her pussy grasps him like she'll die without him in her.

"Am I hurting you, Jane?" he whispers, his fingers gentle on her face, his lips tender on her throat, so soft. Her breath hitches.

"Yes," she whimpers. He lifts a hand, a finger brushing a tear from her cheek, and he puts it to his mouth and licks it from his fingertip, tasting her lust and pain. His mouth quirks in a wicked smile.

"Good," he says, and powers into her like a jackhammer and she's screaming his name and struggling, she can't help it, though she can't tell if she's struggling to get away or to get him deeper into her. Does it matter? She was shocked to discover this about herself, a brilliant and independent astrophysicist, a modern woman who had been standing on her own two feet for years now, who had defied the laws of the universe to find a way to bring him back to her, who believed firmly in gender equality….That she melted into a puddle of helpless lust when he ravished her, that her traitorous little heart beat faster when he took instead of asking, that she could come and cry at the same fucking time, that being brutalized by him just flat did it for her.

It's a lot later than she intended when they finally do hit the road.

"Where are we going, Jane?" he asks, munching on what she's pretty sure is the last of the dozen boxes of pop tarts she had stocked up in hopes of his return. The family sized boxes. She can tell he doesn't really care where they're going. She loves this about him, that he's so clearly happy to just be here, that he's up for absolutely anything, that there doesn't seem to be anything he'd refuse her. She wonders briefly if it would charge her up as much to tie him to her bed and use her mouth and her teeth and her nails on him until he just shattered for her, because she's pretty sure he'd let her and that he'd love it just as much as he loves every damn thing they do. She thinks it would, and her breath hisses between her teeth when abused parts of her clench in anticipation.

"We're going to Wal-Mart," she says, shutting that train of thought down firmly for another time.

"What is a wall mart?" he asks curiously, licking crumbs off his fingers. She's momentarily distracted by his tongue and drives off the road into the scrub, then overcorrects and they careen off the other side too. He laughs, and she blushes. Funny that she can still do that, when he's seen every part of her body and tasted most of it, when he's stripped her soul bare to his gaze and never once made her feel ashamed.

"It's a store. A big one."

He frowns a little bit, thinking about this. He knows what a store is, they bought him clothes at one on his first visit, after he ruined the old ones of Donald's in the mud at the hammer site.

"What need have we of a store that sells walls?" he asks finally. She tries not to laugh.

"It doesn't sell walls," she says gently when he glares at her. "It sells….well, a little bit of everything, and since that's kind of what we need, that's where we're going."

"I do not understand why a place of business would claim to sell walls if they did no such thing. That is misleading and not very helpful. Does the store which indeed sells walls call itself…" He's trying to think of an earth term, and he's so damn cute that she grins like a loon. His face clears and he beams triumphantly, having supplied himself with a word he likes. "…Coffee Mart?" So she explains to him who Sam Walton was and how the word is really spelled and he's satisfied.

"Of what do you have need at this Wal-Mart?" he asks.

"Oh let's see. We're completely out of food. That was the last pop tart…"

"Yes!" he bellows enthusiastically. "We must have MORE pop tarts. They please me!" Jane resolves to buy every damn pop tart in New Mexico if he wants them.

"We both need clothes. You sort of didn't come with many, and I don't think you want to run around in that magic armor all the time, it makes people nervous."

"Ah. Yes, I see. I should endeavor to blend with the denizens of Midgard while I am here. But you have clothing, Jane. I have seen you in many different types of garments."

"I *had* clothing, Thor. Most of it has been torn to shreds. By YOU."

"Then you should learn to stop donning it if you do not wish me to remove it from you with relish. The garments of your world show shoddy workmanship. Your tailors should be flogged!"

She's momentarily transported by the "with relish" comment but manages to snap out of it.

"We don't flog people anymore, Thor," she says patiently.

"Why not? It is most effective. You should try it."

Where the hell does he come up with this shit? Is he doing it on purpose? Her foot eases off the accelerator so she doesn't drive off the road again and he looks at her sharply. She blushes again and stares determinedly at the road. A male sound she's coming to associate with possessive satisfaction and interest rumbles in his chest. She is NOT going to look at him.

"Does Wal-Mart sell scourges?" he asks, and his voice has gone to dark, dangerous and fucking hot.

"Wh…what the hell does that mean?" she asks, cursing mentally at the squeak in her voice.

"Tis a whip. A wooden handle covered with braided leather, from which descend a number of leather lashes. For flogging. Some of them have bits of metal braided into the lashes. We would not need one such as that," he says earnestly.

"Of course not," she whispers faintly.

"We shall procure one," he decides firmly. "Do not be afraid. I shall use it only to bring a blush of heat to your flesh, my Jane. When used skillfully, the kiss of the lash can heighten one's sensations beyond belief. You will see." How the hell is she even supposed to respond when he says shit like that?

"Ah…and….are you?" she manages weakly.

"Am I what?"



Of course he is. Abso-fucking-lutely he is. She concentrates on driving and desperately steers the topic back to shopping for things that don't make her want to stop the camper and just BITE him.

"I have to buy some new sheets. You ripped my last set last night. Or this morning. Whatever." This is a safer topic? Way to go Jane. "Uh…and we have to buy a new dinette set too…" Well screw it. Everything they're going to Wal Mart to buy is tied to fucking him. Being fucked by him. Except the food. Oh…nevermind. She remembers that thing with the honey and the chocolate syrup and now the fucking groceries are sexy too.

"I am sorry, Jane," he says, and there is real remorse in his voice. "I have damaged your posessions in my enthusiasm and my hunger for you. There is no honor in that. I will try to control myself. And I will repay you."

"NO!" she yells fiercely at him, and he's startled. "I love who you are, exactly the way you are. Thor…it was like I was sleeping my way through my life until you crashed into it and woke me up. I don't care if it trashes the entire camper, I don't want you to change a thing!" she's passionately furious at the thought of him trying to conform himself to the boring rules of her world. She doesn't care if she has to replace everything she owns twice a week. This thing they're doing, what they are together, it's like waking up on Christmas every day. It's like coming alive when you didn't even know you'd been dead before. She'd rather live in a box under a bridge than lose this, lose him just the way he is.

His smile is male satisfaction and a little bit smug, and she smacks his arm and they both laugh, and it's ok, he's not going to change. She doesn't think he really could anyway. He's just so honest with it, everything about him an open book, even the dark parts. She notices he's spinning a coin of some kind in his fingers, a big one, bigger than a silver dollar and twice as thick. It's gold, and she's certain it's real.

"Very well Jane Foster," he says. "I will continue to wreak whatever destruction I desire, but I *will* recompense you for the damages. Will this do? I have more." She can't even imagine what a gold coin that size is worth. It's really pure too, she realizes, as she notices that the strength in his fingers warps it a little, it's so soft. Thousands? Probably.

"I have money Thor," she says. "You don't have to pay me."

"Do not make it sound as though you are some kept doxy, Jane. Do not." His voice is dangerous now. "You are the moon and stars to me, the very breath in my body. That I would offer to help replace what I destroy is only my honor speaking. Do not belittle it."

"I don't. I mean, I'm not. I just mean, you're my guest. And I don't need your money. I can afford stuff. SHIELD pays me pretty well now." At the look on his face she rushes on. "But thank you. Really. I….it's probably more than enough."

She has a bad moment when they pull into the Walmart parking lot, seeing all the cars, but she reminds herself he's been in *New York City* for heaven's sake, even if he was pretty preoccupied with battling Chitauri invaders to the death at the time. This isn't going to intimidate him. Oh hell, who is she kidding, nothing intimidates him. She bets there's not even a word for it in his language. If he has one. She's only ever heard him speak hers.

He follows her obediently enough through the parking lot, but as soon as she enters the first set of doors into the shopping cart area, she quickly realizes he's not behind her anymore. She looks over her shoulder to find him standing transfixed in the doorway, taking short steps back and forth to make the doors open and close, peering around him with an expression that manages to be amazed and suspicious at the same time. Laughing, she goes and takes his arm, pulling him into the store with her.

"What sorcery is this?" he demands, looking over his shoulder at the doors as they slide soundlessly open and closed for other customers.

"They're just automatic doors honey," she says under her breath. "It's no big deal."

"No big deal?" He shakes her hand off his arms and points accusingly at the offending glass. "Hundreds died, almost including the Captain of America and Man of Iron, and this….this….Mart of Walls employs such wizards that they can waste power on something so trivial as bespelled entrance halls? Where were their magics when the Chitauri invaded this realm? I demand to speak to the proprietor of this place. I will tell him what I think of his selfishness!"

The greeter, a tiny retired grandmotherly woman who looks ninety if she's a day, peers nearsightedly at them through coke-bottle glasses.

"We…welcome to Walmart,"she quavers in a creaky voice, and smiles at them, clearly a little confused. Thor cuts himself off in his rant and looks down at her. His face clears and he takes one of her papery, spidery hands in his huge paw, and places a gentle kiss on the liver-spotted skin.

"Forgive my manners, little mother," he says grandly. "I thank you for your hospitality, you are most gracious! Allfather's blessings upon you and your family. Where, pray tell, may I find the proprietor of this establishment?"

"Oh my," says the little old lady, fanning herself faintly with her free hand and gazing at the god of thunder in fascination.

"Thor," hisses Jane, jerking on his arm again. "Stop flustering the nice lady and let's GO."

"Did you want me to call a manager?" asks the flustered greeter as she tugs him after her into the store. Jane smiles cheerfully over her shoulder.

"No thank you, we're fine! Have a nice day!" She smacks Thor on the arm again when she feels him drawing in his breath to respond. "Shut. Up." She hisses under her breath. "The doors are not magic. They are just electricity. With an infrared sensor. Maybe pressure plates. No magic!"

He grunts doubtfully at this but his attention is quickly riveted by a young man in a Walmart smock who is taking inventory of some shelves of summer picnic supplies.

"Excuse me, my good shopkeeper!" Thor booms heartily, planting himself in front of the guy and smiling infectiously. The kid, who can't be more than twenty, and has streaks of red and orange in his bleached hair, stares at Thor a little apprehensively.

"How can I help you sir?" he asks politely, setting down his barcode scanner and smiling gamely back.

"We have need of a quality scourge. Direct me to the correct sector of this Mart of Walls at once!"

"A what now?" the clerk asks in confusion. Jane is too momentarily stunned to stop this particular train wreck from happening.

"A scourge, man. A flogger. A whip. You know, for the disciplining of one's…." he cuts those wicked blue eyes at Jane. "…ahem."

The poor kid goggles at him and Jane's mind races for something to say that will make this not sound like loony-bin time.

"I…ah…don't think we have any of those, Sir. Maybe at Halloween time…"

"It's okay," Jane says brightly. "He's only kidding!" and she grabs Thor by the ear before he can say another word and yanks. Hard. He stifles a yelp and the look he gives her promises dire retribution. This look does nothing whatsoever to help the state of her jeans, because she left her last clean pair of panties in pieces on the floor of the camper.

"What was the meaning of that, woman?" he growls, rubbing his ear.

"You can't buy whips at Walmart. You were confusing that poor kid. You can't just SAY things like that to people."

"Why not?"

"Because it freaks them out!"

"Are you ashamed of what I do to you, Jane Foster?" he purrs silkily.

"Of course not! It's just….nobody else's business, that's all. Especially Walmart employees!"

He grunts, but seems to accept her answer.

She grabs a shopping cart and steers them towards the grocery section, thinking that's got to be safer. Thor likes to eat. That should distract him from all this disturbing talk of floggers. She's right. The grocery section fascinates him. He gives the produce section only a passing glance, as nothing there seems very different from some of the foods he has back home. An apple is an apple, right? But it's patently obvious there's no such thing as prepackaged….well….anything, on Asgard, because they don't even make it down the first aisle before he's stopped dead in front of the cart holding a package of cookies and shaking it in her face.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demands. Horror and outrage are etched on his features. Jane looks closer at the package and wracks her brain to decipher what about it is bothering him so. He's mortally offended by processed sugar and preservatives?

"Uh…what do you mean?" she asks cautiously.

"Twice now I have risked my life to save your people, and thought it would be well-spent were I to die in the risking! How then, can you stand here with me and tell me under whose laws is it acceptable to commit such atrocity?"

"Um," she says faintly. They REALLY have a problem with preservatives?

"What kind of monsters package and consume their children!" he yells in fury and despair. Jane goggles at him, speechless. Then she takes a closer look at the package. On the front of it are two smiling, blond haired children playing hopscotch. Aha. She finally has to tear open the package and shove a cookie in his mouth to get him to believe her. The reaction is worth a look or two. For a few seconds, he's gagging in horror and trying to get the cookie out of his mouth while she claps her hand over his lips and struggles gamely to hold on. He freezes. His jaws move once, meditatively. His eyebrows slowly go up and he chews again. She can tell when he registers the chocolate chips by the way his eyelids flutter closed for just a second. Then she's grasping air as he slaps the package of cookies out of her hand and single-mindedly devours the entire package, his other hand emptying the shelf of the rest of the boxes into their cart. She reflects that they're going to need another cart sooner than she thought. In fact, this one only makes it through the second aisle and while she can't imagine that much junk food could possibly be good for him….well, look at him. He can have all the ding dongs he wants. She's damn sure not going to stop him. She's remembering the chocolate syrup and the effect cocoa beans in any form seem to have on him. Yay chocolate!

However, recognizing that their track record up until today is going to require some protein if she's going to keep up, she parks him in front of the meat counter with the full cart and orders him to stay while she goes to get an empty one.

"Thor, I mean it. Wait RIGHT HERE, okay?" she says, backing away from him and doing her best to look stern. He waves her away absently with one hand while tearing singlemindedly into a package of gummy bears and laughing when the fistful he pulls out feel squishy in his hand. Good, he's pretty well occupied.

She hurries anyway, not liking to leave him alone very long. He's kind of like a kid with ADHD when it comes to earth culture and stuff. She's waylaid by a man asking if she knows where the feminine products are, and he looks so embarrassed that she can't help feeling sorry for him, so she shows him where to go. Clearly his wife or girlfriend has sent him and he has no clue what he's doing. He gets kudos for being willing to try though! She's laughing to herself when she wheels the new cart back towards where she left Thor. Where. She. Left…..Thor.

Oh god. Someone is screaming. She starts to run, nearly bowling a family of four over in her haste. She skids to a halt in front of the meat section where she left him. The cart is still there, undisturbed. She looks around wildly in a panic, because she doesn't see him. Then her brain registers where the screaming is coming from and she looks PAST the meat counter to the butcher shop area behind it. One terrorized girl has her back pressed up against a stainless steel meat locker, screaming like a bad horror movie. Another employee, in a blood-stained apron and white hair net, waves his hands and shouts ineffectually. Standing at a huge counter, wielding an enormous cleaver with gleeful abandon, is her boyfriend, the thunder god, loudly explaining to the butcher shop staff how one must put ones SHOULDER (thwack) INTO (crunch) THE (crack) JOINT (splat) when butchering oxen. She screams at him and he freezes in midswing to look at her. There are tiny flecks of cow blood and bone on his face and in his hair.

"Hello Jane Foster!" he cries happily, thwacking the cleaver down into the hunk of meat in front of him once more. "I am showing my new friends how we butcher oxen in Asgard!"

"Thor," she hisses through her teeth, looking around wildly to see if anyone has called security yet. "Get. Out. Of. There."



He rolls his eyes at the butcher, in one of those "what're you gonna do" kinds of looks guys have been sharing for centuries, but the butcher just stares at him, and makes a small alarmed noise in the back of his throat when Thor grasps his forearm and pumps it enthusiastically, thanking him for his time. Then he puts one hand on the top of the meat counter and vaults over it like it's about as tall as a sidewalk curb. She can't even be mad at him because oh my god, who does that kind of stuff? Even with blood in his hair he's just fucking gorgeous. She remembers his face as she knelt above him, not being able to breathe because the deathly stillness in his features was killing her, only it was his blood on his face then, the day he died to save her. So beautiful, so peaceful, the tiny smile he'd had for her at the end still lingering, his last words "It is all right now" hollow in her ears because it was NOT all right, nothing could ever be all right again. Not with him lying there, his blood on his face, broken, gone.

Suddenly she doesn't give a shit if he wants to hack up raw meat for fun and the stupid Walmart butcher can just go hang. Thor can have all the dead oxen he wants and she's damned if she'lll make him feel bad about it. She takes his hand and smiles at him, and he looks confused for a second but then he smiles gamely back at her, probably just chalking it up to weird earth customs and her being female. They take the carts and manage to get through the grocery section without further incident. Well, there's that one little thing with the coffee aisle and her trying to convince him that it really isn't something you can eat out of the bag like the cookies. She has a feeling Thor hopped up on that much caffeine might be more than she could handle in one day. Or ever.

Choosing sheets with Thor is both easier and more embarrassing than the grocery section, because he wants the red ones. She tries to explain to him that red sheets stain everything you wash them with a nice bright pink color and that lighter colors are easier to get clean. There are two middle-aged women next to them in the aisle, and from their conversation, she can tell they're using church funds to purchase linens for some kind of outreach program. They smile at the young couple but don't pay much attention, discussing how many beds are in the shelter and how much is in the budget and whether they should just go with the sheets or try to pick up some towels too. Jane mostly ignores them too, arguing goodnaturedly with Thor over the sheets. Then he leans in and stops her words with a kiss.

"Jane, " he says, raising his voice over her protests. "When I bring you to your completion and you scream your pleasure to the stars, your fingernails are like small knives In my flesh and I feel that red bedding would be a better choice as I know from long experience that it is simply impossible to truly get bloodstains out of white sheets!"

The silence from the church ladies is like thunder in her ears. She's sure she turns an interesting shade of puce, grabs two extra sets of the red sheets, and flees the aisle in mortification. He follows her, demanding in what is most definitely NOT his inside voice,

"What is the problem? Surely you must admit that you are a hellkitten when I bring you pleasure. I don't mind, Jane. You cannot truly hurt me. See here? The scratches are already healed!"

Oh for the sake of all that is holy, he is pulling up his shirt to show her his back, and all that ripped expanse of abs and the long clean line of his spine framed by muscles too perfect to even be real. I mean, the man looks fucking airbrushed but she knows he's not, that every inch of that warm golden skin is packed with power so heady it makes her head spin that he's hers. She walks to him on legs that only tremble a little bit and tugs at the hem of his t-shirt, trying to pull it down because a lot of people are staring. And really, who wouldn't? But if he doesn't cover himself up and she means right NOW, she's just going to take a bite out of some part of him right fucking here and damn the consequenses. He looks in her eyes when she's close to him, tugging at his clothes, and his fathomless blue eyes are concerned, upset that he has offended or embarrassed her yet again, but when he sees the expression on her face, his concern melts to male satisfaction and he lets go of his shirt and one strong arm goes around her waist and pulls her to him and it's like WHAM, when their bodies touch, a circuit being completed, and her blood hums in her veins when he leans down and kisses her. And who the hell would have ever thought that an ancient Norse god would be such a good kisser, she just wants to know. If she'd been asked, before him, she'd have guessed the god of thunder would kiss like a jock, all hard thrusting tongue filling her mouth and lips devouring, and a little sloppy. But no. He kisses like….well, like a girl, kind of. Soft brushes of lips, teasing tongue flicks, little nips at her bottom lip, a quick suck on her tongue like she's candy, his breath warm in her mouth. She makes an inarticulate sound and he steps back with a wicked grin. She stumbles a little as they head for the furniture section. She's pretty sure she hears applause as they walk away, but the buzzing in her ears is too loud for her to be sure.

Choosing a dinette set with Thor is an adventure in and of itself. There are six of the right size for her camper, little two-seaters that will fit in her tiny breakfast nook. Thor has to try them all before he approves one. To people…normal, sane people, trying out a dinette set involves actually sitting at them. This thought is almost plaintive in her brain as he picks her up and sets her down on top of the first table, forcing her knees apart to nestle himself between them. She stifles a shriek of surprise. He frowns a bit and does a little hip roll that makes her drool, but he lifts her off the table and moves to the next one.

"Too short," he says briefly in explanation. Of course. The next table is too tall, and the one after it is again too short. The fourth table is an unfortunate shade of mustard and he bypasses it altogether, which is just as well. The fifth table is just fucking right, of sturdy butcher block construction, and when he settles himself between her thighs she feels the ridge of his erection pressing directly against her center when he snugs up against her, and it's like licking a nine volt battery or biting tin foil. Current sings though her body but at the same time it hurts like a bruise, and she whimpers. His eyes darken and something flickers in them, something that looks like flashes of distant heat lightning. He smiles in satisfaction.

"This one, I think," he says in a voice gone just a little rough around the edges. She nods wordlessly and he lifts her effortlessly. His head turns to the last dinette set. "But we should try the last one too. To be certain. And fair," he says virtuously. She can only agree helplessly.

This turns out to be an unfortunate choice, as the sixth table's performance is as lackluster as her own late and unlamented table. It crashes apart with a loud crack and she is saved from falling on her ass only by the reflexes of a god, who snatches her off the collapsing piece of furniture in the nick of time, glaring at the offending piece while two alarmed Walmart employees come running. She has to do a little fast talking to get them out of this one, but at last they escape, claim ticket for the sturdy new table and chairs clutched in her hand and her face flaming with chagrin.

She already knows his size (boy does she) from buying clothes for him on his first visit, so all she really has to do is toss a few pairs of jeans, and some packs of Hanes t-shirts into the cart. She picks royal blue because she knows they will make his eyes look like gleaming pools of Caribbean sea water, and purple because she's seen them glow like electric amethyst in the darkness while he rises above her, and white because it looks so good against the golden heat of his skin. He doesn't really pay attention at this point, he doesn't care what she chooses, so she tosses in a couple of packs of socks and calls it done. He flatly refuses to wear underwear, calling it restrictive and pointless. She's ok with that. When he thumbs open the top button of his jeans with his eyes boring into her like gleaming shards, she's not disappointed that it will take him a few seconds less to be in her, deep and hard and hers. Only, you know, later. As in, not right here in the men's clothing aisle of Wally World. He finds a pair of work boots he approves of, and spends a few minutes clomping around in them in satisfaction while she laughs, ignoring the consternation of the shoe department girl who is eyeing all the discarded pairs of boots glumly. Jane doesn't care.

When it comes to replacing her own clothes though, she's not as sure. She hasn't shopped for them in a long time, and she's pretty sure she lost some weight, all those nights spent staring at the stars, all those days buried in her lab with her nose in her calculations, going over and over and trying to find that one missing piece that would bring him back to her. She grabs several packs of comfortable cotton panties and sports bras. Thor doesn't really care about underwear. He doesn't pause long enough to appreciate it. Disposable is probably better. She thinks about this and then tosses in another couple of packs. He finds the pictures on the front of the packs of panties very interesting. She leaves him absorbed in this wonder for just long enough to snatch a half dozen pairs of jeans off the racks and a few t-shirts and blouses, then tows him and all of the pile towards the dressing rooms. She doesn't really want to take the time, but she's just not sure exactly what size she needs now, so she'd better make sure. She takes the clothes in her arms and begs him earnestly to just stand still, right here, and not move at all, until she is done. She promises to be quick. He smiles good-naturedly and agrees. She hurries into the dressing room, thankful that there's no attendant on duty, and shimmies out of her pants. Then she remembers that she's not wearing any underwear. She just finds it a little squicky to try on pants other people may have tried on too, when her parts are unprotected. She sighs and picks her pants up off the floor to put them back on. Then she pauses. There's no one in the dressing room, and no sign of an attendant.

"Thor," she hisses in a loud whisper. There is no answer. "Thor?" she repeats, still in a loud stage whisper. When he still doesn't say anything, she starts to panic a little and cracks the dressing room door open a tiny bit to peer out at him. She utters a small shriek of surprise when the door knob is wrenched from her hand and she finds herself nose to…pecs…with a broad expanse of male chest. She thinks inanely that it's a good thing he's so damn broad, or she'd be flashing her biscuits at anybody who happens to be walking by.

"Yes Jane?" he asks, simply not budging while she tries in vain to slam the door in his face.

"What are you DOING? Get OUT of here!" she squeaks, peering past his impossibly muscular arm at the women's clothing section behind him.

"Did you not call for me?" he asks in confusion.

"NO! I mean….yes….I mean, wait!" he has already started to stomp back to the unattended cart, shaking his head and muttering, and turns back to her when she says this. A few steps of distance between them and he's able to look her up and down, slowly, and his scowl slowly transforms into a smile, while his eyes take on a glint of appreciation. "I need one of those packs of underwear," she whispers furiously. He raises one eyebrow as he gazes at the distinctly naked lower section of her person, and she gestures urgently at the cart. He chuckles and reaches into grab one of the plastic packages. She gestures at him to just toss it to her, but he ignores this and in a couple of long strides he's in front of her again, and when she tries to take the package from him, his hand just fists around it and she might as well be trying to pluck at a block of iron.

"I need those," she whispers at him in frustration. "I have to try on these jeans!"

And oh god what is he doing? He uses his body to crowd her backwards into the dressing room and follows her, closing the door behind him with a click that is somehow ominous. She's babbling something about how he can't be in here and they're gonna get in trouble, but then he's kissing her again. Only this time there's nothing teasing about it. This time he takes her mouth like he's staking a claim, like he's going to devour her. It's all hot bruising lips and teeth and he's sucking on her tongue like he does on her clit and her knees are shaking. One of his hands is fisted tight in her hair, holding her head still, just where he wants it, and the other skims down her body, over her hip and a finger slides between her legs. She makes a noise into his mouth that is a lot more pleading than protest when the pad of his finger brushes her clit. It circles lightly for a few seconds, then abruptly stabs deep into her sopping pussy and she whines into his mouth when her abused muscles rearrange themselves around his finger. He drags his mouth off hers and presses her head against his chest, tilting it a little to the side so he can bend his face close to her ear to whisper.

"I can feel how swollen you are inside, Jane…" he purrs, his breath warm on the shell of her ear, the sound trickling into her brain like warm caramel. "Have I used you one too many times? Would another coupling cause you real pain?"

"I…I'm afraid so," she gasps, because though his finger makes her sore insides ache, it still sends zings of crippling lust pumping through her body. He makes a humming sound in the back of his throat that doesn't sound very sorry.

"Jane. I'm so hard for you I feel I shall burst if I do not have you again soon," he goes on, and she's peripherally aware that they're in the DRESSING ROOM at Walmart, but she can't make herself care. "And so, when we return to your lab…Jane, I will have you." She scrabbles to yank up his shirt because she has to have his skin, and buries her face in his chest and whines. He keeps on. "But I would rather die than harm you, my heart. Shall I confess it fires my blood when you weep for me? Oh yes. Jane, perhaps it makes me a monster, but oh…I do love hurting you."

She shakes her head as much as she's able with him holding it captive. He's not a monster. A beast, oh yes, but never a monster. He has to know she loves it too. But still, the thought of taking him inside her again this soon does make her quail a bit. She doesn't think she can, she really doesn't.

" I do know the difference betwixt hurt and harm, and I fear to take you as I have thus far would indeed cause you harm. But as I will have you.." his finger twists a little and her body jerks against him. "I shall have you in a new way." She's momentarily confused, because she has sucked him off already, though it wasn't easy, he's just a little big for comfortable oral sex, though he wasn't complaining at the time. What does he…..

Oh. Oh no.

His finger withdraws slowly from her dripping cunt and slides backwards between the cheeks of her ass where it lightly circles the tiny crinkle of her asshole. She shakes her head in negation, fighting his fist in her hair. Nonononono!

"Yes," he hisses, and his finger spears into her asshole with one vicious stab. She squeals into the hard muscles of his chest and sinks her teeth in, muffling the noise she's making. It doesn't hurt, precisely, but it does feel strange, and very vulnerable. He withdraws a bit and then thrusts it in again and her hips jerk against him. Ok, this is actually really fucking hot but then she thinks about the size of him.

"It won't fit," she whispers in a tiny, scared voice. He's chuckling, she can feel his chest shake with it, and he removes his finger and goes back her her swollen clit, which throbs as he strokes it, and she goes back to biting him, whimpering helplessly.

"It will," he assures her. His voice is rough with need. "But Jane? You'll scream. When it burns, when it makes you feel as though you'll be torn asunder, you'll scream, Jane. And I won't stop. I'll never harm you, but I'll have you, any way I wish. You're mine, Jane Foster. And when we have returned from this place….my love….my heart…." His finger presses and swirls and strokes and her breath is hitching in her chest while she muffles her helpless wanton mewling in the hard muscle of his chest. "…I'm going to fuck you. In your tight little ass." God, he's never said that word before. His command of English is quite good, but his speech is so courtly, so formal, and slang mostly just escapes him. Of course, he's been listening to her spout incoherent filth at him for several days now. But the obscenity, whispered soft in her ear, just wrecks her, and she shatters, her hands clutching helplessly at his arms, her cries (she hopes) swallowed by his chest. He holds her close while she shudders, and the fist in her hair loosens, to stroke her head gently. He lowers her to the bench behind her where she sits for a new minutes, gasping. He's smiling down at her and the look on his face is possession, and need, and not entirely sane, but behind it there is still love. And while what he's promised scares the hell out of her, she could never really be afraid of him. When the blood stops beating in her brain so hard she can't see, she focuses on him and realizes that sitting here in front of him like this, she's just exactly at eye level with his groin. And he has a definite problem. It looks as though he's GOT to be having circulation issues, because she can't figure out how there's even ROOM in his jeans for a hard on like this. She leans forward and presses her mouth to the rough denim, breathing out so her warm breath filters through the fabric. His body stiffens. She looks up at him and smiles. Oh, turnabout is SO fair play.

She reaches for the waistband of his pants and tugs him towards her a little. He takes half a step, until he's within easy reach. She pops the button of his fly loose and slides the zipper down slowly, one tooth at a time, while he makes a growling noise she can feel in her bones. When his cock springs free of the confining denim, it is rock hard, quivering with mindless need, leaking at the tip and oh he's just so yummy. She darts out her tongue to lick at the bead of moisture on the head. He sucks in a breath and throws his head back. She takes him into her mouth, sucking hard, and presses her teeth slowly into the shaft. She's learned he likes this, likes pain, and it's a heady feeling to hold him helpless like this, just a hairsbreadth away from unmanning him, and have him shudder and gasp for her. As much as she'd like to, she cannot take all of him down her throat. He's just too big. So she uses her lips and mouth and tongue and teeth, while her hand wraps tightly around his shaft and she jerks him off. She isn't gentle. He doesn't need that, and he likes it rough. She rolls her eyes up and watches him, watches his face while she shreds his control. He's leaning forward a little, his arms braced on the flimsy walls of the dressing room, head dropped forward as he pants heavily. His gaze is intent on her face, blue eyes wide and wild and mindless with need. The muscles in his belly quiver, his thighs braced as far apart as the confines of his jeans around his ass will allow. Ragged gasps shake him, and his hips roll forward urgently. It doesn't take long, because what he's done to her has him so so ready, and after only a few minutes his body falters and his breath hitches in his chest and his cock twitches in her hand and she swallows him down, his seed in her mouth hot and salty. He groans deeply through clenched teeth and one hand comes down to rest on her head, trembling, but just resting there, not grasping or forcing her, just letting her devour and destroy him. She giggles a little when she finishes, pulling back to let him tuck himself back into his pants. He grins weakly at her and they both stagger drunkenly against the prefab walls as he helps her to her feet, and they walls heave and buckle alarmingly.

Suddenly she becomes aware of someone banging on the dressing room door. A voice is calling.

"Ma'am? Sir? You need to open this door right now and come out of that dressing room! The police have been called! Come out now, and keep your hands where I can see them! Sir? Ma'am! Open the door!"

She stares at him wildly in panic, and starts to scramble into some pants. She doesn't even stop to see if they're hers, or one of the pairs she brought in to try on, because he's already reaching for the door knob, and he's laughing. She's mortified, but she's laughing too, as the pounding grows more insistent. She's barely decent when he sweeps open the door and steps out with his arms wide.

"My friends," he says grandly.

Friends? As in plural? She peeks around him and squeaks in dismay. There are at least 20 people outside the dressing room, from security guards to store management and employees, to curious shoppers who are craning to get a look at what's going on. She covers her face with her hands and wishes she could sink through the floor, but at the same time she can't stop the giggles because he's just so damned magnificent that she doesn't care.

"I am sorry for the disturbance, friend," he goes on, addressing the slightly overweight security guard who was banging on the door. "We shall be glad to make reparations. Please, forgive me."

His smile is so open and friendly that she can't imagine how anybody could resist him. But resist him the guard does, grabbing his arm and yanking him out of the fitting room area. Or, tries to. Nobody yanks Thor anywhere he doesn't want to go. The guard might as well be tugging against a brick wall, for as far as he's able to force Thor. Oh god, she thinks wildly, don't TOUCH him. Thor likes certain kinds of touch. A lot. But he doesn't like strangers grabbing him. He looks down at the hand on his arm and she sees his muscles flex. He looks slowly back up at the security guard, and she thinks that look is surely enough to make ANYBODY let go and step back.

"Unhand me sir," says Thor slowly and carefully, biting off each word. The security guard is either blind or stupid, because instead of heeding this polite warning, he tightens his fingers and yanks again. Jane makes sure she's well behind Thor, and starts looking up apprehensively. Thor's free arm shoots up in the air. She drops to the floor and covers her head with her arms. There is a distant sound of shrieking metal and a crunch, and Mjolnir drops into his open palm with a sturdy smack. Bits of ceiling tiles and insulation plop to the floor a few seconds later. Mjolnir falls faster than plaster, Jane thinks inanely, and collapses in helpless giggles at the stupid rhyme. Thor's hair is blowing around him like its being tossed in a storm. There's a rumble from above. His eyes flash at the guard, who hangs on stubbornly.

"I SAID," roars the god of thunder. "UNHAND ME, MORTAL!"

A drop of water plops onto Jane's face, then another. It's raining in Walmart. There's a blinding flash and people shriek in terror, then the store goes dark.

He's sitting at his desk, like an admiral at the helm of a ship. A gleaming black helm surrounded by glowing holographic screens, and his busy hands reach out to them all, tapping, expanding and collapsing images, manipulating, tossing, rearranging. It's almost like a dance, and it's one he knows very well. He's intent on his task, and doesn't take notice when one of the monitors flickers and a sound chimes. He's deep in his work, because though the tesseract is gone, he's driven to understand how it worked, and he's pretty sure they haven't seen the last of the Chitauri. He's damned if they'll take him by surprise again. JARVIS clears his throat insistently and says, invisibly, "Captain Rogers to see you sir."

"I'm busy," growls Tony Stark, frowning at an image he's manipulating. He's trying to replicate how they made that portal work, and it's pissing him off.

"He's quite insistent, sir. Says Director Fury sent him and that he must see you at once."

"Fury can suck it," says Tony absently.

"Great, Tell him that yourself," says Steve, stepping off the elevator. "But for now, suit up. We're needed."

Tony glances up at him and frowns.

"JARVIS, remind me to have your programs deleted later. Slowly and painfully."

"Certainly sir," says the A.I. agreeably. Tony looks up at the Captain and glares,

"WHAT? I'm busy!" he barks

"It's gonna have to wait. We're needed in New Mexico. Now."

Tony ponders this for a second.

"Isn't New Mexico where that Foster chick lives?"


"Isn't Goldilocks there with her? Whatever it is, let HIM handle it." Tony flaps his hand dismissively at Steve and goes back to his screens.

"Ah…yeah. See, Thor IS the problem, Tony. We need to hurry."

Tony pauses for a second and cocks his head to the side, and a slowly a grin splits his features.

"Yeah? What'd the big guy do now? Open the bifrost in the middle of a mall or something?" He's gotten to his feet and pads barefoot to one of the cabinets that house one of the multitude of Iron Man suits he keeps available for any occasion. Steve chokes back a laugh.

"Um, no. It's my understanding that there's some kind of major disturbance happening at a big store of some kind, I think the Director said it was called Wally…something…."

The cabinet slides open and Tony steps into the recess, and the suit slides and snicks and clicks as it encases his body. Iron Man steps out of the cabinet and turns to look at Captain America.

"Well what do you know," he laughs, while ordering up a jet copter to wait for them on the roof.

"Thor pwned Wal Mart!"