When she brings it up to Darcy one morning over cereal and a strawberry yogurt they split between them, Darcy laughs loud and long, and by the time Darcy wipes the tears from her eyes Jane doesn't want her opinion anymore. But Darcy, struggling to get her giggles under control, just says, "Oh, I've already given this a lot of thought. Purely subjective, mind you. And I've come to the conclusion that he's going to rip you apart. I'm talking Vlad the Impaler here—you're gonna be done rotisserie style. I'm so jealous."

At the time, Jane had been so grossed out by the image—she paid attention in Art History, one of the useless humanities courses that had been forced upon her when she was an undergrad—that she grabbed the faucet hose and fired at will. But she can't help but think that maybe she didn't give Darcy enough credit.

'Impaled' is a good word.

"Oh god, god, fuck," she hisses, half-panicked, her head dropping down onto his stupidly broad shoulder, and no matter how many gasps of air she drags in, it's not enough; she can't breathe. He reaches up, his hand engulfing the small of her back, and tilts his mouth to pant harshly into her hair.

"I am hurting you," and it's like the words have been torn from his throat, leaving split flesh and spilt blood in their wake. He makes a sound like he's choking. "I cannot—Jane, we should not—"

"No, don't, you're—" Jane clenches her teeth and sucks air through them, hhsssh hhsssh, and can't help but laugh, high-pitched and tight. "Jesus Christ, you're so big. I can't believe I just—nggh—said that. I sound like bad porn, I know I do, but oh my god, you're huge."

"I do not know what porn is," Thor grits out, but he sounds amused anyway, and he says something else but it's lost where her ear and jawline meet. He tries again. "… so tiny. I feel as if—as if I will break you if we continue."

He doesn't move an inch, has been holding himself perfectly still ever since she told him not to move until she says so, but his cock twitches inside her once, twice, and the minuscule amount of air she's managed to keep in her lungs punches out of her lungs. She clamps down in surprise.

"Jane," he moans.

She loves it, loves the way her plain name, plain Jane, sounds in his mouth, and she clenches around him on purpose this time, groaning deep in her throat as her body lights up in response. He says something in a language that she's never once heard, but the context clues are there, and she follows them until his tongue is in her mouth and she can get her teeth into the soft skin of his bottom lip.

He spent hours—or what felt like it—preparing her, and even that was almost too much. His are the hands that wield a weapon made in an actual star, and she'd felt every battle won in the calluses that scraped against the mouth of her cervix. God, his fingers are so thick; they'd have to be to grip Mjolnir with such ease, but they stretched her nearly to the point of breaking, even with all the lube she insisted on using. Thor better be in this for the long run because his touch alone has ruined her for anyone of the mortal persuasion.

She rocks against him, helpless, caught between the need to accept him further into her body—which is impossible; she can feel him in her throat, and she laughs, because rotisserie style is right, A-pluses all around for Darcy—and the instinct in her lizard brain demanding she get away from the intrusion, run, flee, save yourself.

Thank every god they're doing this on the floor. The bed never would have survived.

Thor rears back suddenly, eyes wild, and she bites down on a cry as he cups his hand between her shoulder blades and leans forward until she reclines against his arm. He dips his head to press hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses to the skin stretched across her sternum.

"Like a bird," he mutters into the goose bumps that rise to meet him. "With such breakable bones. How can—how can something so small hold so much knowledge?"

Her hands fly up into his hair and hold on as he moves to lick at her breasts, suckling her nipples and pulling shivers out of her by stroking the curve of them with his too-large fingers, and she's never been more grateful for her tiny, sensitive breasts than she is right now, because every touch of his fingers and tongue sends electric pulses between her legs. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was funneling actual lightning into her.

"Move," she whispers and allows her head to fall back, still holding onto his hair like it's the last thing keeping her from flying apart. She punctuates her demand by clenching around him again.

"No. I will not hurt you," he whispers back, but he rolls his hips gently as if to test the waters.

Jane gulps for air, but nothing makes it into her lungs, and her mouth is gaping open, tongue out, and she wants to just fuck down on his cock until it overwhelms her to the point where everything is space and she achieves the kind of out-of-mind-and-body experience she's always wanted. She forces herself off of the comfort of his arm and curls forward, clenching.

"You are burning inside," Thor whines, rolling his hips again, and she rides it out helplessly, eyes rolling back, lungs cramping with envy for air. "Like a star."

"Have a thing for stars?"

"I would not send one from my bed, no," Thor agrees, and she laughs and laughs as he rolls into her like so much cosmic radiation, getting into every part of her until her DNA crumbles and her cells die one by one. "Jane, you—"

"If you stop, I will kill you," she chokes out, removing her clawed hands from his hair and using his shoulders to lever her up, and the drag of his cock makes her keen. His big fingers drop to trail over her clit before prodding where she's stretched around him and sinking back down. It's too much, too big, too everything, and she feels the burn of tears in her nose. "Oh. Oh—"

He stares at her through lashes clumped together by sweat, his mouth slack, wet with spit and maybe even with traces of her from when he pushed open her thighs and ate and ate and ate until she was squealing like an animal and begging him to stop and let her catch her breath.

"He asked me to give you up." Thor presses an off-center, sloppy kiss to her mouth, then sets the bridge of his nose under her jaw. He rocks into her so, so gently. "I could not. I will not."

"Don't talk about your dad when you're inside me, please," Jane says, and Thor laughs and says nothing else on the subject.

But she knows. She gets it. She would have used everything science had to offer to tear open a door through nine worlds in order to find him again. And now that she has him, she'll do what she must to keep him.

"You can go faster," Jane breathes against his mouth and is cut off by a groan as he complies readily, his thick cock making a home inside her, practically knock-knock-knocking on Heaven's door, and for a fleeting moment she thinks of the condom stretched hilariously around him and hopes it will hold. "Fuck. Fuck, yes, god, keep doing that—"

"Like this?" His hands slide down to cup her hips and he guides her into each of his thrusts, growing just a little harder, just that much more wilder. "You—you take me so well. I have never met a person more accommodating than you."

She clenches her eyes shut and tries to breathe. The slow burn inside her stokes into something hotter, higher. "That's—ngh—me. Accommodating."

He pushes up into her hard, sinking somehow deeper, and she bites down on a wail. Her thumb delves easily down, sliding over where her body struggles to hold him, the mouth of her opening well and truly stretched beyond all measure. It feels incredible, hot and tight and soaked with lube and her own fluids.

"I am—I am close—"

She presses against the skin of his cock and rubs at the base, too much to fit inside her, and Thor roars unintelligibly, thrusting up hard and sudden, and the rhythm breaks. Even through the condom, she can almost feel it when he comes.

Jane's mind dissolves into white noise and she thinks she might be drooling, but her thumb moves from him to her swollen clitoris, the labia flushed huge with blood, and everything's so slick, so easy to touch, and she swirls the pad of her thumb in circles over her clit, hard, fast.

"Yes," Thor groans, still thrusting, still impossibly huge inside her, hot and unyielding. "Yes, Jane, my star—"

Her nerve endings pause, inhaling to scream, and then ignite, starting from where she and Thor are joined, the focal point, and spreading outward in search of relief, hydrogen, anything, but there is nothing to be found except light and heat.

This is how we die, Jane thinks, endless, and goes nova.