Current mood:	okay
Entry tags:	fic:fandom:avengers, fic:poly

From a prompt left by some_stars at the prompt post. Slowly working my way through the list, hooray!

he bade the game go on
Avengers (2012)/Thor (2011). Thor/Jane Foster/Tony Stark. Title from "Casey At The Bat". ~550 words. Contains a completely gratuitous reference to Alexander Ovechkin and, as a warning, Tony Stark makes a super-tasteless joke about the Sandusky case. IDEK, you guys, IDEK.



Natasha and Clint have taken him to the ice, Natasha muttering, then shouting, in Russian. They must finally leave when one of the fellows in white, whom the crowd calls Ovi and she calls Sasha, begins shouting back. Steve has introduced him to the long and glorious tale of the Mets and the Yankees. Tony could tell him nought of the full length of the tournament, but takes great pleasure in his tickets for the Final Four, "right on the free-throw line, buddy, I have so many jokes about the things we'd be able to see if Penn State were playing and also this were football, but even from me, America will only put up with so much." This is a world that knows and loves games, that treasures its sports, that understands the many things its athletes might mean.

But in all his time in Midgard, Thor's favorite sport thus far is this: lying (well sated and then some) with Jane and Tony sprawled (likewise) on either side of him, tossing ideas back and forth as fiercely as any athletes Thor ever saw. They are as wizards to him, of course, arguing on the feasibility of this or the likelihood of that, but Thor understands very well the way Jane's voice climbs just a rung on the ladder of pitch, the better to counter Tony's ever-faster banter.

For his own self, Thor can't imagine how they still have the energy for it, expects every time that they will only lull him to sleep.

"Look," Jane says, "you don't pay me to agree with you. I don't know, maybe that's why everyone's let you get away with working on the idea that -- "

"Oh, I'm getting away with things? Tell me, Doctor Foster, how many grants have you -- "

Thor has his strength back. Gasps from Jane and Tony -- her warmth against his left hand, his first two fingers sliding into the damp of her -- his right curled about the length of Tony, his thumb finding the head of Tony's cock -- Thor grins, pleased to remind them that he mustn't be counted out of the game just yet.

"Hey there," Tony mumbles, dropping his mouth to Thor's throat. "Aw, hi. Sorry. Did we wake you, sweetie?"

Jane's laughter drips onto them both like rain. Her nails slide along his thigh, tightening, digging into his skin when he pushes his fingers deeper, one still rubbing against the lush, warm skin and one pushing still further, curling into her as into a glove. Thor shivers with her clenching nails as Jane gasps with the brush of his finger against some spot inside of her. Thor lifts his chin, but before he can kiss her, Tony is there -- or nearly there, his mouth so near to Jane's that if Thor weren't here, below the two of them, he'd think they were kissing already.

"Doctor Foster," Tony breathes.

"Mister Stark," Jane answers.

Thor tightens his hold on both of them, and they do kiss, then. He's taken both of them by surprise, but he feels the most exposed now, watching them. The warmth of their skin, of their meeting mouths, their flushed faces, flows onto him, sure as Tony's metal heart casts them all in cool blue light.

And then -- because of course that was the point of this, that they realize he ought not be counted out just yet -- then, their breathing heavy, they turn to look at him.