Chapter Text
The single most embarrassing moment of your life took place in this very room. It's an old cringeful memory that wouldn’t even have entered your head, if you hadn’t just seen a familiar silhouette.
If there’s someone you never thought you’d see here tonight, it’s Loki.
This is a celebration - the return of the forces from Vannaheim - and among the revelers and music is where where you feel the most at home. You’re in your element. And everyone is here.
But Loki?
You heard that Odin had thrown him into the dungeons. An ironic fate, little more than a year after all Asgard had mourned his loss.
Yet there he is. He’s standing near a crowd of other partygoers and you catch his eye. He smiles in recognition, but doesn't approach. There’s a peal of laughter from your left and you glance over to see Fandral, your ex, in animated conversation with a curvaceous blond woman. She finds him highly amusing or would like him to think so. That’s great, he clearly finds himself highly amusing too. What do you care?
When you turn back, Loki is gone. But he was surely there and you find yourself somehow glad about that.
A little later, you notice him again. He hasn’t seen you yet, so you watch him for a while. He’s wearing an understated but well cut moss green jacket over a darker shirt. All the fabrics are soft-looking without a hint of leather, metal, or anything of a warrior. Unlike those around him. Everyone is eating and he’s a short way away, behind another table, not the kings table, but a quiet corner.
So he’s been allowed out, but is not honored, only tolerated. Most here are weary from battle but happy, Loki is drinking it all in. It’s just a party. They’re not rare in Asgard, but this one crackles like a eager fire with happy voices, fine food and the glow of friendship. Loki looks on as if mesmerized, but you don’t see him speak with the people around him. You wonder how long he’s been free… days, hours? You want to know what happened to him, and not just the rumors. You want to hear it from him.
They shift the tables aside for the dancing. This is the best part. The room becomes a haze of faces and finery as people move to the floor. You always have many willing partners, but not Loki. He wouldn’t ever want to dance with you again, surely. You will never forget the time, that terrible humiliating time, when you were both much younger and had to dance first at such a dinner. You trod all over his feet, which raised a few laughs, but then you succeeded in tripping him up. He would have fallen over had you not held onto him; except then you both went careening into the dessert table together in front of the whole company, your fall only broken by a sumptuous cream cake that you landed over the pair of you. Which apart from the laughter and round of applause was kind of a shame, because you did like that dress. Thereafter, Loki shunned the dance floor and you shuffled, wore long skirts to hide your treacherous feet and didn’t dare dance too close to your partners. You dance much better now and never want for partners, and not only for dancing.
Not Loki though. It was never like that between you. Still you wonder what happened to him. So recently, you thought you’d never see him again. You can still feel the hole it punched in you when they told you he’d fallen from the Bifrost. A hole that had no reason to be.
Across the ever-moving swarm of dancers you catch a glimpse of him again, this time with Thor, or rather not with Thor. Thor walks right past Loki and totally ignores him. It’s horrible. Alright, so you knew they had some conflict or other offworld connected with Loki’s imprisonment, but to see him blank his brother like that just makes you angry… Why let him out to treat him like that. Then Loki’s eyes meet yours instead.
The way he looks at you is familiar. You know that look on a man, but you’d never expected to see it on him and certainly not aimed at you. It’s unexpected but not unwanted. You won’t ignore him. You move his way, driven by the wish to ask, to know, to touch, to comfort, but the crowd swirls and he’s lost again.
“And we now present the star attraction.” Volstagg booms, rising to his feet, his eyes toward the kitchens. “A hand for the chef.” he cries and starts clapping. Everyone imitates him and clapping and whoops rise from the crowd as two cooks carry in the cake. Nowadays they don’t bring the deserts out until after the dancing - a precaution against the kind of messy accident you and Loki caused that one time, and a recurrent reminder.
The dessert is a mountain of cream and fruits from the far reaches of the kingdom and beyond, decorated with firecrackers that light up peoples’ faces on its way to the main table. It’s lavish, enough to feed everybody here and more. But when you lift your gaze from the shining slopes of sugar and cherries Loki is there, just the other side. This time you meet and hold his regard. There’s a moment of complicity, the embarrassing memory you share, then its chased by something else entirely. That look there’s no mistaking. He licks his lips and you know he’s not thinking about food and then, under the weight of his gaze, neither are you.
He’s watching you for your reaction and you wonder what you must look like to him. Tonight you chose a midnight blue robe. Though some might say sophisticated, its perhaps a little serious for you. That’s why you paired it with a shock pink scarf to brighten it up.
Its sure that you’ve changed, as has he, since the cake incident. His metamorphosis from boy to man is complete. Its something you’ve wondered about perhaps more than you should.
Between your adolescent wars and him growing into something quite beautiful, you never became close again. You can still see the prankster child in him, it’s easier for you to see that than a criminal. Loki has turned out very well indeed. It happened sometime when your attention was elsewhere, probably on Fandral. That too was over a year ago. One you’re proud you haven’t wasted on moping.
Loki’s still looking at you, staring even, not caring who else sees. Your heart thumps and you don’t know where to look. At him? That’d be giving a definite yes. At the cake again, with its eternal associations? At everyone else? No one has noticed your confusion. You look at Loki again, he’s smiling softly, gazing at you and only you. He gives a sign with his head for you to follow him and slips away toward the door, with just a brief glance over his shoulder to see if you are coming.
He could charm anyone with words if he wanted to. But he’s not speaking now, just looking and it’s enough. Something tells you you will not be getting the answers to your questions tonight.
In the palace corridors, he moves fast and you have to chase him through winding passages and up and down stairs. He leads you on a route you’ve never known about until you burst out into area of the royal apartments. How did you get here without meeting a single guard?
At what must be his room, there’s a heavy oak door with a face of a scowling goblin in the very center. Loki gets up close to the door and grins wide-mouthed into the goblin’s face. Without him saying a word or touching the woodwork, he door swings open. Beyond, there is only darkness.
You follow him into the chamber as he beckons with that soft smile, stepping backwards, not letting his eyes off you. With a snap of his fingers a soft glow starts to grow from a lamp in a corner, another hanging from the ceiling and a third sitting on a desk by the far wall. If there was a color of light you could eat, then it’s this one. It coats everything it touches in a peachy-gold haze - pale things particularly - the counterpane of the bed, some flowers on a low table and the pages of a book lying open on the desk, but particularly Loki’s skin. It must be magic.
“Stay right there.” His smile seems as much for himself as for you. One filled with amusement at his own cleverness. It’s not the moment to be remembering this, but some of the things you’ve heard about him aren’t good at all. He was in the dungeon for a reason. But you won’t think of that now. This is also the Loki you once knew grown into a beautiful man who is about to make love to you.
He reaches for you with one arm and you step toward him, ready for him to make good on the promise burning in his eyes. But he doesn’t touch you, at least not directly. With a casual flick of his fingers he tugs off your scarf. He’s not actually holding it, but directing it with his magic. It dances in the air around your head before brushing past your face, the sheer of the silk tickling your cheek and sending a shudder down your spine. All the time he never breaks eye contact.
The scarf caresses you a last time and floats down to the bed, where it rolls itself up like a contented cat.
“Now then.” He makes a complicated gesture, weaving his long fingers between one another, and the laces at the back of your gown untie themselves and release you. The dress starts to shift and pull itself from your shoulders.
Loki himself remains fully dressed, while you feel more and more exposed by the second, your dress obeying his command and abandoning you, pooling on the floor at your feet. He circles you, inspecting every inch of your bare flesh. Still he won't make his move. And how you long for it.
Yet the waiting has something undeniably erotic about it - to be there, under his gaze, in just a petticoat. You feel a caress over your bare arm - the scarf again - it snakes around you, lets its tassels tickle you before trailing one edge across your lips. A ghost of a kiss. You sigh.
Loki smirks.
“Come here.” you say. You want it to be commanding, but it comes out more like a whine.
He takes a step forward and with a great gesture spreading both arms he splits the petticoat clean in two and it falls from you body.
“On the bed,” he whispers. It’s quietly spoken but nonetheless a command. You step backwards, never taking your eyes off him and he follows. He wets his lips as you saw him do downstairs and there’s is no doubt to his intentions, you go to free the last undergarments but he tuts and they simply vaporize, leaving you naked and breathless, your calves against the bed. He only needs to push and you would fall there. You feel your heartbeat thudding in all the places you want him to touch you. What is he waiting for? You reach to pull him down with you but he steps back.
“No. Oh no no no no.” The grin is back. “We’ll do this my way. Lie down.”
Still watching, on your guard, you comply.
Over on the desk, the quill posed in its stand gives a little jump as though someone was tugging at it and it was reluctant to move. Then it takes flight and you watch, mind full of questions as it wends its way towards you.
“What! You’re going to write on me?”
“Is that what you fancy?” Loki raises an eyebrow. “I’ll have to remember that. No. I was thinking of something that leaves less of a trace.” The feather strokes up your naked leg, barely touching… but enough for you to feel it. You shiver. You have no idea what he’s playing at.
“I want to know how sensitive you are.”
You swallow, and he must hear it. He’s going to drag this out. But you won’t beg. You won’t lower yourself. You want his lips on yours and all over you, if possible. How can he show such restraint? If he wants you he will come to you and it’s for sure that he wants you. You can see how a faint flush has spread over his fine cheekbones.
The feather comes back, sliding up your leg and over your bare hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Then it draws a circle around your navel and flies up to alight on your right breast. You gasp. Then it twists and starts flicking over your left nipple with its soft side. You body reacts instantly as a flood of desire gathers deep inside you, the tiny movement sending surges of warmth though the whole of you. Loki looks on knowingly but still doesn’t approach. What is this? Why is he doing it? And worse, why are you letting him?
Because its good and because you can see that your reactions, bared for him, to see are sparking ones in him. Even from here you see that he’s starting to lose his composure. Soon he will come to you.
You sink back into the mattress, your head on the pillows, watching for the sign that he will pounce. The feather continues its relentless task, pausing only to swap sides. One nipple is peaked and hard, the other only just waking. You sense your breathing growing heavy and the dampness between your legs.
He should be here with you. Instead of doing it all by magic. The show-off! Then your view of him is blocked as your scarf rises above you like a snake.
“Come here, Loki.” Your voice has gone rough and breathy. And shouldn’t that be more enticing. You rise to go to him but the scarf moves also, diving to entwine your feet in a second.
“No.” you cry. You wont have him bind you.
He waves his hand and the scarf releases you instantly, but then starts twining up your leg.
“Take it easy, good things come to those who wait.” He says with a laugh. Already your heart is pumping fast just with the thought of what’s coming. You want his mouth, not his words. And you want to give him something in return.
“Come here." you plead. "Don’t tease.”
He takes one silent step toward you.
“I can give you everything you need from right here.” The confidence in his voice I enough to still you.
The quill resumes its work and the scarf runs itself softly around your legs edging higher on each pass, flitting between them. Exploring.
You lie back and watch him, little shivers running over you as the seconds pass. His composure. You’d so like to break that. Exchange your places. See him on the point of begging.
The scarf finds your most sensitive spot and starts a back and forth rhythm, sliding between you legs, as he looks on, captivated. You want to complain. That’s your new scarf. How dare he. But the movement is just too good that you don’t want to distract him from his work. As the friction builds, you moan. It’s fast becoming very good indeed. You look at him imploringly. The feather quickens and Loki talks in time with the movements.
“I’m going make you come without even laying a hand on you.”
You want to yell at him, beg him to join you on the bed, but this seems more important to him. And its starting to get difficult to form words anyway. You’re caught between wanting him in the bed right now and simply just wanting him to continue this exquisite stimulation. But, just as you think you will climax simply from this abuse of everyday things, the quill flutters away and the scarf stills. It unpeels itself slowly, as if with regret. You’d second that. You lay there panting. The scarf is sodden, dark from the wetness it drew from you. Even if it survived, it's not as if you could ever bear to wear it again. This has to be hands down the most debauched thing you’ve ever done. Loki looks decidedly pleased with himself.
Then he raises his hands in front of him and turns them as though rolling something between them that you can’t see. He seems concentrated, not on you but on what he’s doing. There’s a ball of shimmering orange light forming in the space between his hands. Its center swirls with patterns of yellow and red as though it were constantly forming from the inside. He bounces it from one palm to the other. You wonder what it does, though you think you can guess.
He tosses it over to you but, shaky as you are, you can’t catch it and it rolls over your stomach leaving a trail of heat. It circles your belly before bouncing back to his hands where it burns brighter an instant, lighting up his face. He gives you a mischievous grin, then he throws it back. It settles on you now, and you can feel your body start to absorb it, bringing a host of sensations. It sends a fire through you and, though you long for his real touch, you think now that you won’t actually need it.
The ball of light must be made from pure pleasure. This is no animal sexual act, this is magic. This is why Loki doesn’t touch you - he knows something better. He made this. He’s a genius. You try to focus on him but your vision is getting blurry with the wave of heat. The warmth spreading inside you makes you buck and stretch. You fling out an arm and it grazes your breast, and it’s so sensitive that it’s enough to send a shudder though the whole of you. Can this get any better? You can feel your climax building and crave it, but neither do you want this to end, ever. You don’t try to stop the sounds that escape you - whimpers, moans - you are beyond shame for this, only the feeling matters and the intensity just keeps on growing.
“Loki,” you cry, one part in desperation that he come to you, one part in helpless gratitude.
“Right over here.” He replies with a chuckle. He’s half way across the room.
Your limbs would not hold you up if you tried to go to him now. You can no longer control the movements as your body twists and waves of pleasure break over you. You can’t resist what you know is coming and caress one swollen nipple yourself until the explosion wracks through you, drawing senseless words from your tongue, every one an enamoured distortion of his name.
Finally, the storm calms. You want to draw him to you, want to give him this too, but you have neither the strength nor the coordination. And Loki, though he’s moved closer, stays just out of reach. His eyes are dark, his skin flushed and though your judgement may be more than a little skewed, you think you catch a flicker of wonder cross his expression. You can’t get to him and that seems to amuse him. There’s an aloofness too, despite his obvious arousal. You want to make him lose that composure. Want to see him lying here as conquered as you feel.
Your breathing slows as you lay weak, floating in a cocoon of the afterglow. He comes to sit by you.
But you’re not quite spent and the idea comes to you that you can grab him if you’re quick. There’s no plan, just the need get him on to the bed and see if he has any actual desire beyond toying with you. You refuse to let him have all the control.
So you throw yourself up to grasp him and drag him down. But, to your horrified surprise, instead of the longed for connection, you pass straight though him and your lunge almost lands you on the floor.
Loki’s projection steps back and gives a peal of laughter. But the smile he gives you, the instant before he disappears, is more sad than mocking.
You continue to stare incredulous at the empty space. You can’t believe it. He was never there. You lay down again, sated, but exhausted and alone in this strange place. The truth is clear. You’ve been played.
But to what end?
You close your eyes and sigh. Your throat is sore from the cries and moans he tore from you and that is real enough. So is the latent heat in your limbs and warm hum in you head that stretches right down into core of you. That was better that any real sex you’ve had in a very long time. As for Loki’s reasons, in this very instant, you can’t bring yourself to care.
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