Chapter Text
“Lift your arse for me, love.”
This voice is bound to make you commit sins.
Your legs are shaking from underneath you as you struggle to push onto your knees. The blush on your face spreads as you think about the view that he has of yourself, as exposed as you’ve ever been to anyone before.
“Higher.”
It only takes one word, one whispered suggestion, for you to comply. And you do it gladly, willingly. It’s all just a game of seduction and time stretched thin. It’s all just for one night.
Even though you never could have imagined how it all started.
Asgard is a magnificent city. The palace towers resemble a humongous organ coated in gold, and it reminds you of how small and insignificant you are every time you lay eyes on them.
You still have trouble processing that you’re here. What began as a simple jest soon turned out to be the holidays of a lifetime.
When the Avengers assembled almost eighteen months ago, the Earth as you came to know it plunged into chaos. Other worlds and the creatures that came with them ; people with god-like powers ; magic, fear and blood. Death and hope all around. Your life was turned upside down in less than twenty-four hours, and it only took a group of six people to right every wrong.
Or, at least, most of them.
Portals opened and bridges were created between places that were never supposed to connect, and what you had always believed to only belong to Norse mythology books unravelled in very real, very tangible ways.
You had learned of Asgard, had read about Odin, Thor, Loki and Yggdrasil, but you never could have pictured being transported into those legends. Or that they would knock at Earth’s doors, uninvited.
Contacts between Earth and Asgard had been lacking after what happened in New York, but a few weeks ago, the doors between the two worlds seemed to burst wide open. Dark elves were spotted in Greenwich, close to London, and the images streamed on international television showed a well-known blonde thunder god battling them back to their realm.
When peace was brought back, Asgardians started visiting Earth (or, as they like to call it, Midgard), and they were soon noticed by humans whose eyes were attracted to their peculiar sense of fashion.
You were one of those humans, and one Asgardian quickly grew fond of you and your “strange ways” ; you chose to consider those words as a clumsy attempt to bond with you, and Ingram chose to immerse themselves in your everyday life for a couple of months. The two of you grew close, and their impulsive nature quickly grew tired of Earth, when they suggested that you should visit their own world.
Three days later, you were transported through a thunderous beam of light that gave you the uncomfortable impression you had left your innards behind, and you erupted in a half-spherical room. There, an impressive muscular man (who Ingram referred to as Heimdall), clad in an armour as golden as the eyes he planted on you, rose an eyebrow at your sight, as if your presence was the most peculiar thing he had seen all day.
Ingram quickly intervened, arguing that you were their “personal guest”, that they “vouched for you”, and that “if Asgardians were allowed to visit Midgard, the opposite should also be allowed.” You didn’t know if it was the tone that they used, the sensibility of their words, or the pressure that other people queuing near the Bifrost (Ingram had told you the name of the device as soon as you had left the premises) put on the tall guardian’s shoulders, but he allowed you both to pass, glancing pointedly at you as you walked away. Ingram had brushed off the whole affair, but had also insisted that you needed to change if you wanted to attract less attention.
As soon as you arrived at their house, they lent you some garments, mostly made out of layers of long drapes that flowed at each of your movement; you spent more than ten minutes running around the place, marvelling at how light and smooth the fabric had felt, and they quickly joined you, laughing all the while.
The days that followed had been a blur; Ingram wanted to show you every marvel that Asgard had in store, and they brought you everywhere with them, whether it was for a hike in the most dazzling and breath-taking landscapes, or parties that they loved attending every single night.
This was the most fun you’d had in a while; you discovered delicacies that made Earth food taste bland, heard sounds and saw colours your brain couldn’t have mustered on its own. You were truly grateful of the chance that was given to you on a silver platter.
But your introverted nature also ached for some tranquillity and calm.
Days of dancing, drinking and meddling had quickly emptied your social battery, but you hadn’t yet found the courage to tell Ingram, whose enthusiasm was so contagious that you always ended up coming along. You almost managed to inform them of your decision to stay at their house that evening, professing a rising headache, but you were once again convinced to tag along. Ingram insisted that “you simply couldn’t miss it”, and added, with a face that suggested they hadn’t meant to spoil the surprise but that you had left them no choice, that “Thor was back in Asgard, and it was your chance to meet him.”
You were intrigued, and you let yourself be swept away in another of Ingram’s makeovers that they dearly enjoyed. Each party was an opportunity for them to “play doll” with you, as they put it, and you had to admit they were pretty gifted at it.
After adorning you with a long flowy gown with intricate layers of light blue-green colours, they added a golden belt that crossed around your waist, rising under your breasts to underline them. Ingram also added a couple of golden bracelets and a necklace that also served as support for your whole dress (unclipping it would simply reveal your naked chest). One last touch was the thin braided headband, also golden, that Ingram rested against your forehead ; it complimented your hair that you always kept in a pixie cut, which, according to Ingram, was a complete waste. They even went as far as to suggest that you wore a wig for this special night, but you politely declined.
Looking in the mirror, you gasped at the outfit and marvelled at the subtle sparkling golden wings Ingram had drawn at the corners of your hazel eyes. You were “positively glowing”, Ingram cried, even though you paled in comparison to their natural grace and gorgeous suit, made out of immensely large pants that swayed with each of their measured steps. Ingram looked like they were the sovereign of the party, and you felt both proud and self-conscious when you entered the palace a couple of hours ago at the arm of your friend.
All guests were charming, and you managed to exchange a few words with Thor ; he laughed heartily when Ingram introduced you as their “Midgardian friend”, and gave a knowing look to the woman who remained by his side. The woman, Jane, and you shook hands and the conversation quickly turned towards the god’s last adventures. You usually would have found those fascinating, but you could feel your focus slipping and excused yourself to fetch something to drink.
Ingram apparently judged you could handle yourself, and, apart from a few waves and winks, didn’t seek you back ; they hopefully understood you needed some alone time.
And here you are, now, in the most magnificent palace you’ve ever seen, filled with people chatting, dancing, drinking in the name of Thor, who’s, once again, saved the day. And maybe it is the mead that you’ve consumed last night, or the buzzing noise of conversation and music filling your ears, but you find yourself exhausted and impossibly… bored.
You know that any person back on Earth would actually kill to be in your stead, but you simply can’t find the energy to care. The only prospect that excites you is the heavenly comfortable bed awaiting you at Ingram’s place, but considering that they’ve now started a drinking contest with a group of guests, they’re clearly not ready to go back home.
So you decide to walk around the room, arms crossed, one finely crafted cup of water in your hand, and look at people. You like to imagine who they are, what they do for a living, what their dreams could be made of, when your eyes land on a silhouette that appears oddly familiar.
Your eyebrows lower as you study the man’s features : long raven hair that is pulled back above a tall forehead. Light blue eyes that scrutinise the crowd around him. Sharp cheekbones and well-drawn jaws that tighten every time someone grazes him. He’s dressed in a long toga which splits a few inches above his navel in a deep neckline that shows enough skin to make any onlooker curious about the rest of it. The sleeves disappear under rigid shoulder pads that barely curve upward, and his forearms are clamped with long golden cuff bracelets, matching the belt resting on his hips and the long necklace dipping on his front.
It doesn’t require a lot of effort for you to conjure up a picture of that man wearing a long-horned helmet and smirking at a panicked crowd while wreaking havoc in the middle of a street. A street you tried to run away from, a few months ago, as he claimed humans were made to be ruled.
His presence here surprises you ; from humanity’s point of view, this man is a villain, and he was the one Avengers united against. But here he is, mindlessly sipping at his cup, the pleasant smile he addresses the crowd turning into sneer as soon as they look away.
Somehow, you don’t feel anger or fear when you look at him ; if anything, you’re mostly curious about that god who looks like a bored man waiting for everyone to leave so he can go back to whatever doesn’t require any social skills. Without considering it, you find yourself walking towards him ; this night might still have some amusement to provide, after all.
Reaching the buffet he is standing close to, you pop a grape into your mouth and look him up and down. He’s quick to notice the unwanted attention and shifts his stance towards you ever so slightly. His eyebrows rise in question and you grin at him as you say : “You’re Loki.”
The corner of his mouth twitches upward and his chin lifts a little higher after the mocking bow he offers.
“It is I.”
His voice carries the same cocky tone he used when addressing the crowd he’d tried to subjugate, and you feel a bout of irritation flaring inside you. Once again, your eyes draw along his body, from head to toes, and you lean on the sturdy piece of furniture, drinking your water that somehow tastes better than on Earth.
“I thought you’d be more impressive,” you go on, gliding your gaze on the crowd, even though your whole focus is on him. You hear a small scoff before his words reach you.
“Oh, I can be impressive.
- I know that.”
You chew on another grape and take your time to elaborate.
“But without all your flare and magic tricks, you look… different. Almost… vulnerable.”
You hear a sniff, and you wonder if getting on the nerves of a powerful god was the best idea you could have tonight. From the corner of your eyes, you see him turning towards the centre of the room, and he sighs, studying the swirling content of his glass. Mirroring your thoughts, he adds :
“You must be as bored as I am if you try to pick a fight with me in lieu of enjoying this extravagant party.” He empties his glass and rests it on the table. “Too bad for you, I’m rather used to the condescension.”
Even though he deserves no sympathy, regarding what he’s done to Earth and its inhabitants, you feel a twinge of discomfort at his words and your eyebrows narrow slightly.
“To whom do I owe the pleasure ?” he asks, even though he doesn’t seem to truly care.
“You wouldn’t know me.
- Who says that ?
- I’m of no importance to you.
- Nobody is of importance to me.
- Or so you like to say.”
At those words, he chuckles humourlessly, and leans his hand on the table to turn towards you.
“You sound as if you know me better than I do.”
You shift on your feet to rest your hip against the buffet, your arms resolutely crossed on your chest. You tilt your head to the side and glare at him, though you make sure to keep your voice poised and polite.
“I know what you’re capable of. And I know that people with megalomaniac ambitions usually hide severe lack of self-worth and a pathological need for attention.”
He holds your gaze and it takes you a great deal of will not to look away. After a few tense seconds, he eventually shakes his head, a rigid smile on his features, and takes an assertive step towards you.
“And does this megalomaniac deserve to know the name of the girl who’s decided to blatantly insult him in his house ?”
You consider his question and offer the piece of information he requests.
“I was in New York,” you add afterwards, and you see a glimmer of realisation light up his eyes. He runs his blue-green irises along you, studying you closer, and the understanding seems to turn into cautious interest.
“I see.”
He turns away, grabbing the glass that’s magically been refilled, and crosses his arms.
“And you think apologies might be in order,” he states.
“I do.” You mirror his stance, pressing another grape between your thumb and forefinger. “But I have to admit I don’t harbour the hope of you offering them.
- You do seem to know me, after all.”
Humour pulls at your lips, and you make sure he doesn’t notice the ghost of a smile floating there by emptying your own cup.
“So… What does a Midgardian such as yourself do in Asgard ?”
You drop the grape into your empty cup, and twirl it around.
“You could call it an unexpected vacation.
- I didn’t know Midgard organised this kind of trip.
- Only if you know the right travel agent.”
You find Ingram in the crowd, howling with laughter, their arm wrapped around another person’s neck, and they raise their glass at you, spilling most of its content.
“I see Ingram have found themselves a new pet,” Loki comments, waving at your friend, and you can notice a not-so-subtle frown on their face as they mouth a silent-yet-not-discrete “Everything okay ?”
You wave them off and tilt your head toward Loki, your eyes still directed at Ingram.
“Pet ?
- You heard me,” he croons.
“If this is how you perceive and treat every person you deem below you, it’s no wonder you can be found alone in the midst of the said extravagant party, which actually takes place in your own home.
- Do my eyes deceive me, or are you alone, too ?
- The difference between us being that I choose to be.”
Your eyes meet again and you notice his jaw tightening and a flash of bright green invading his irises. You are playing with dark, cold fire, but you don’t want to stop ; this verbal jousting has somehow brought you more excitement than you’ve felt in the past week.
He leans a bit closer, and you stand tall and still, refusing to forfeit your ground. He whispers, his voice reaching your ears in a low and humming wave.
“You actually are witty, aren’t you ?”
Your throat feels dry and you absentmindedly wish you didn’t finish your drink.
“You sound impressed,” you say.
“No. Just…” he pauses, his eyes detailing your face, your body. “Pleasantly surprised.
- You didn’t believe a human could go up against you ?
- I know you can’t ; but it still amuses me to see you try, little mortal.”
The tension between you is cut by a roar from Thor who’s apparently decided it is time for a game of arm wrestling. Guests clink their glass and clap their approval, while Loki sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Mindless brutes,” he huffs, taking another sip of his drink.
“People seem to like him.
- Oh, they do,” he admits, unimpressed. “Who doesn’t like the almighty, glorious Thor ?”
He raises an eyebrow, contemplating the scene unfolding before you ; a table is brought in the middle of the room, as the blonde god rests his elbow atop it, challenging everyone around to try and defeat him.
“You sound like you envy him,” you note, reaching a copper pitcher to fill your cup, but finding it empty.
“A jester made to amuse thoughtless cretins ?
- He’s close to his people. He speaks their language.
- You’re making a poor job defending his case.”
You exchange a glance, and you notice the soft upward curve of his lips. Loki seems quite fond of mocking the strong, guffawing man. Which shouldn’t be that surprising, considering the nature of their bond. Somehow, you want to draw more of his smile and teasing facet.
“I guess you’re right,” you huff. “When it comes to looks, he certainly has the upper hand, but when it comes to brains… He seems to be a bit lacking, doesn’t he ?”
His eyes widen and his eyebrows raise higher, creating some wrinkles of disbelief on his noble forehead. Not the reaction you were going for, but still satisfactory.
“Are you actually insulting my brother in front of me ?” he scoffs, but you see beyond his pretence that he enjoyed that thoroughly.
“Oh.” You bring your hand to your mouth in an exaggerated coy gesture, your voice a higher pitch than before. “Is it not allowed between those walls ?”
His nose exhales softly as he grits his teeth into a sharp smirk. He slightly bends towards you, reminding you of how tall he towers over you.
“I don’t know if you’re brave or just stupid,” he wonders, his eyes drifting slowly on your whole posture. You feel your heart miss a beat at the sudden proximity, but refuse to let it show.
“And I don’t know if you’re arrogant or if you just need to put down others to reassure yourself of your own worth,” you retort.
Another spark of light green ignites his eyes, and his smile turns ruthless. You feel that you’re about to be dismissed from the palace, in a most terrible and creative way, but he reaches for the glass that you left unattended and hand it to you. You hesitate before taking it, your fingers grazing his, and you try to ignore the electricity that flares at that touch. Loki clinks your cup with his own and you notice that it’s heavier than before.
“Congratulations, little human,” he says only for you to hear. “You’ve managed to not make me despise you entirely.”
He then proceeds to drink his whole glass and turns back towards the joyous crowd who is cheering for the next contestant.
You’re left speechless for a few moments, and you rest your pelvis against the buffet to support you slightly. You now realise how far you just went, and the potential repercussion your behaviour might have on Ingram. You gulp down a good portion of your cup, tasting the sweet and tangy note of an unknown fruit, and try to compose yourself.
“Be at ease, girl,” he chides. “I like your honesty, however brazen it may seem.”
He takes another sip at his bottomless cup. “It’s refreshing to see a mortal who doesn’t cower at the smallest of challenge.”
Your shoulders relax a bit, and you finish your drink that replenishes instantly. You wish to find words to offer, but being kicked out of your throne of pretentiousness left you winded. Fortunately for you, Loki seems to have no trouble conjuring them.
“Let’s look at the current situation : you’re bored. So am I. You amuse me, and you’re keen on welcoming any distraction from this boisterous crowd.”
A wave of his arm engulfs the whole room ; though the noise is getting more and more deafening, Loki’s voice rings clear around you.
“I’ll cut you a deal : I enjoy our banter far more than any potential surprise this grotesque party could offer.” He tilts his face towards you, slowly raising his hand as he utters his suggestion : “I offer you a visit of this place, far away from this senseless clamour, and you grace me with your small presence, so this night doesn’t end up being a complete bore.”
You can feel a nerve in your neck twitch at the word “small”, but you say nothing of it. You study his well-manicured nails and long fingers, and take your time turning towards him, reaching out your hand without taking his.
“Add a few anecdotes and secret passageways, and I’m yours to bicker with for the whole evening.”
His eyes narrow slightly in an expression that could be both mirth and irritation, but he seizes your hand in a swift gesture that startles you.
“I accept your conditions, little mortal.”
A swirl of shimmery green light surrounds you and, after a sudden pull emerging from your chest, you discover a completely different scenery. You’re in a stately hall, a forest of columns paving the way that links a magnificent garden and the throne room where the party is held. From here, the music and sound of loud chatters aren’t so invasive, and you take a deep breath that steadies you. Silence. Welcome and soothing.
Loki is still looking at you as he eventually frees your hand. The scent of flowers and the caress of a warm breeze allow you to truly settle down.
“Are you impressed ?” he asks, his tone bumptious and his face proud.
You take your time to reply, looking him up and down the same way he did with you. You take a meticulous care to use the tone he used earlier.
“No, just… Relatively curious.”
The small smile elevating his features lets you know he noticed. But his next sentence manages to steal the air from your lungs.
“I guess that makes two of us, Midgardian.”
He takes a step towards the garden and halts at your side, offering you his arm.
“Shall we finally start the more civilised part of this evening, little mortal ?”
You dare not look back at the party booming in the background, nor do you allow yourself to consider if Ingram will worry about you. You only feel the excitement coursing through your veins, throwing out the window any doubt that this might be the worst idea of all time.
You wrap your fingers around his cuff bracelet, feeling the cold metal and the smooth texture of skin. You both start walking towards the garden, your steps trying to slow the cadence of your quickening pulse. As you pass a first tree, its leaves glowing in the starlight, Loki turns towards you, a sudden bout of inspiration spurring him to talk.
“Has anyone ever told you about the time I convinced my brother to wear a wedding dress and make him believe it actually was a good idea ?”
You try to stifle a snort, but you fail entirely.