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Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief
“D-don’t,” she managed, once the seizure had run its course. “C-can feel that too. Ah god it /hurts/!” Biting her lip, she strained against a resurgence, fists clenched. “‘s not your fault, L-loki. I called it … t-to me. Should have ex—expected this.” Every breath shuddered in and out, shaped by force of will.
Finally, finally, the spasms ran their course, and she sagged against him, limp and aching. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she whispered.
His hands reached out towards her face, shaking a bit. He pulled them back to hide that unfortunate weakness. ”No, I should not have involved you in my…” he shook his head. ”Please…what can I do?” he asked quietly. Helplessness was not something he could tolerate.
Summer rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the lingering ache. “Are you good enough to give me a massage? I’ll beg, if you want. Gods, OW.” A swift circling of her head on her neck yielding a series of pops and a sigh of relief. “And don’t let me hear you telling me what to choose again. I could have let you go. Remember that, and don’t say you involved me.
“If nothing else, please just hold me for a moment, and let me pretend you care.”
Loki said nothing to that, only frowned. For some unknown reason, he was bothered by his reputation; that was a first.
Careful hands worked over her shoulders, down her back, gently gathering her hair out of the way, and then he was holding her to him, quietly. Like it or not, he had involved her. And he had been involved with worse.
Summer stifled whimpers when he hit particularly sore points, burying her face in his chest. After a moment, she came back up for air, and murmured, “Let me guess. You think I said that because of who you are.” Her voice was a little raspy, a little tired. “You think, because you’re the ‘God of Lies’,” the quote marks were audible, “I believe you can’t care.”
Suddenly, she was hugging him, fiercely. “Did I not say, about your light? Of course you can care.” Muffled against him, she added, very low, “But no one cares about a firechild.”
Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief
“Mother of unholy things!” Summer swore. “Gods of all th—” The paroxysm seized her unawares, jerking her spine into a bowed arc and clamping her teeth together on the end of the phrase. One hand, clawed with tension, reached out, flailing at nothing. Her breath hissed out between her teeth, choking on a cry.
Loki’s gaze turned desperate as he clutched at her. ”Summer!” he demanded, frenzied. ”Summer, come back to me!” If he panicked, that would be worse, wouldn’t it? She would feel it…
He forced himself to calm down and held her closer. ”I’m so sorry…” he muttered, beginning to feel the familiar pangs of self-loathing.
“D-don’t,” she managed, once the seizure had run its course. “C-can feel that too. Ah god it /hurts/!” Biting her lip, she strained against a resurgence, fists clenched. “‘s not your fault, L-loki. I called it … t-to me. Should have ex—expected this.” Every breath shuddered in and out, shaped by force of will.
Finally, finally, the spasms ran their course, and she sagged against him, limp and aching. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she whispered.
His hands reached out towards her face, shaking a bit. He pulled them back to hide that unfortunate weakness. ”No, I should not have involved you in my…” he shook his head. ”Please…what can I do?” he asked quietly. Helplessness was not something he could tolerate.
Summer rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the lingering ache. “Are you good enough to give me a massage? I’ll beg, if you want. Gods, OW.” A swift circling of her head on her neck yielding a series of pops and a sigh of relief. “And don’t let me hear you telling me what to choose again. I could have let you go. Remember that, and don’t say you involved me.
“If nothing else, please just hold me for a moment, and let me pretend you care.”
Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief
Too late for ‘should have’s. Summer hurled herself forward, desperately grasping for skin contact. “Give me your hands!” she hissed, dragging and dragging at the emotions she’d been trying to shut out only the moment before. Every shield she’d ever constructed would have to pale in comparison to this one, so she fed the fire inside with everything she could reach — and flung it around both of them.
“You shall /not/ have him again,” she growled, eyes wide and unseeing.
Loki’s eyes rolled wildly as he tensed all over. He felt heat—unbearable heat—spread over and around him. It burned like a wild fever killing off his infection. He felt the connection to Thanos weakening, but not before he heard the words grate through his mind:
I will be back for both of you…
He snarled and snapped back into consciousness, gripping onto Summer like a madman. He struggled to catch his breath. ”What must I do?” he managed finally.
“Mother of unholy things!” Summer swore. “Gods of all th—” The paroxysm seized her unawares, jerking her spine into a bowed arc and clamping her teeth together on the end of the phrase. One hand, clawed with tension, reached out, flailing at nothing. Her breath hissed out between her teeth, choking on a cry.
Loki’s gaze turned desperate as he clutched at her. ”Summer!” he demanded, frenzied. ”Summer, come back to me!” If he panicked, that would be worse, wouldn’t it? She would feel it…
He forced himself to calm down and held her closer. ”I’m so sorry…” he muttered, beginning to feel the familiar pangs of self-loathing.
“D-don’t,” she managed, once the seizure had run its course. “C-can feel that too. Ah god it /hurts/!” Biting her lip, she strained against a resurgence, fists clenched. “‘s not your fault, L-loki. I called it … t-to me. Should have ex—expected this.” Every breath shuddered in and out, shaped by force of will.
Finally, finally, the spasms ran their course, and she sagged against him, limp and aching. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she whispered.
Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief
“So it’s you who needs his inhibitions lowered,” she laughed softly. “Shall I climb you like a tree, or will you come down to me?” Every other word was punctuated by the touch of her mouth on skin: throat, collarbone, pulsepoint, jawline.
He smiled into the kiss and turned her so she leaned against the wall. ”We could…possibly…” And then, a searing pain shot through his being and he stumbled backwards, gripping hands through his hair wildly.
He hissed in pain, and tried to block the inevitable; Thanos was pulling at his mind, trying to transport Loki into his presence. But he would not go without a fight.
“He’s…agh! He’s in my mind again!” He growled to Summer, as if she could do something.
Too late for ‘should have’s. Summer hurled herself forward, desperately grasping for skin contact. “Give me your hands!” she hissed, dragging and dragging at the emotions she’d been trying to shut out only the moment before. Every shield she’d ever constructed would have to pale in comparison to this one, so she fed the fire inside with everything she could reach — and flung it around both of them.
“You shall /not/ have him again,” she growled, eyes wide and unseeing.
Loki’s eyes rolled wildly as he tensed all over. He felt heat—unbearable heat—spread over and around him. It burned like a wild fever killing off his infection. He felt the connection to Thanos weakening, but not before he heard the words grate through his mind:
I will be back for both of you…
He snarled and snapped back into consciousness, gripping onto Summer like a madman. He struggled to catch his breath. ”What must I do?” he managed finally.
“Mother of unholy things!” Summer swore. “Gods of all th—” The paroxysm seized her unawares, jerking her spine into a bowed arc and clamping her teeth together on the end of the phrase. One hand, clawed with tension, reached out, flailing at nothing. Her breath hissed out between her teeth, choking on a cry.
Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief
“Such a shadow must be thrown by a powerful light,” she responded. Her fingers curled into his scalp. “Let’s go find it, shall we?” Stretching up on her tiptoes, reaching with her whole body up the height difference, she pulled his head down and brushed her lips over his. “Forget destruction,” she whispered into his mouth. “Try creation.”
Loki mentally counted the drinks he had taken and used that to excuse himself falling into her embrace, kissing her hesitantly, then more and more forcefully. His hands pressed against the small of her back, and he revelled in the pressure of her slight body against his. He felt as if perhaps he had been bewitched; an enchantress possibly? Powerful magic…? He didn’t honestly care at the moment. A faint sense of heat glowed from her, and he tasted it eagerly.
“So it’s you who needs his inhibitions lowered,” she laughed softly. “Shall I climb you like a tree, or will you come down to me?” Every other word was punctuated by the touch of her mouth on skin: throat, collarbone, pulsepoint, jawline.
He smiled into the kiss and turned her so she leaned against the wall. ”We could…possibly…” And then, a searing pain shot through his being and he stumbled backwards, gripping hands through his hair wildly.
He hissed in pain, and tried to block the inevitable; Thanos was pulling at his mind, trying to transport Loki into his presence. But he would not go without a fight.
“He’s…agh! He’s in my mind again!” He growled to Summer, as if she could do something.
Too late for ‘should have’s. Summer hurled herself forward, desperately grasping for skin contact. “Give me your hands!” she hissed, dragging and dragging at the emotions she’d been trying to shut out only the moment before. Every shield she’d ever constructed would have to pale in comparison to this one, so she fed the fire inside with everything she could reach — and flung it around both of them.
“You shall /not/ have him again,” she growled, eyes wide and unseeing.
Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief
“Only almost?” she murmured, tipping her head to the side. “I must be doin’ it wrong, then. Tsk-tsk, all out of practise.” One hand came up to cup the back of his head, slipping her own fingers into his hair. A little shiver ran down her spine.
He leaned into the touch, as much as he tried to hide it. The wine swirled and clouded his balance. It had been so long…
Loki struggled vaguely to regain his composure, his dominance. He tilted his chin up, looked down at her through lustful eyes and lightly pressed his fingers around her waist. ”You…who know my secrets. You who feel the very destruction of my soul…what could you possibly want with a man like me?” he whispered.
“Such a shadow must be thrown by a powerful light,” she responded. Her fingers curled into his scalp. “Let’s go find it, shall we?” Stretching up on her tiptoes, reaching with her whole body up the height difference, she pulled his head down and brushed her lips over his. “Forget destruction,” she whispered into his mouth. “Try creation.”
Loki mentally counted the drinks he had taken and used that to excuse himself falling into her embrace, kissing her hesitantly, then more and more forcefully. His hands pressed against the small of her back, and he revelled in the pressure of her slight body against his. He felt as if perhaps he had been bewitched; an enchantress possibly? Powerful magic…? He didn’t honestly care at the moment. A faint sense of heat glowed from her, and he tasted it eagerly.
“So it’s you who needs his inhibitions lowered,” she laughed softly. “Shall I climb you like a tree, or will you come down to me?” Every other word was punctuated by the touch of her mouth on skin: throat, collarbone, pulsepoint, jawline.
Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief
She picked her glass back up, toying with it, running a finger around the rim. The smile returned, crinkling around her eyes, and deliberately she licked her lips. “And how would you like to be distracted, darlin’? I am absolutely at your service.” She leaned forward, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Show me some mischief, luv.”
“I believe that wine may be getting to you,” he murmured, running slender fingers through her hair, making it fall over her face again. ”It almost seems as if you desire me.” He spoke into the side of her neck as he laid a feather-light kiss against her skin.
“Only almost?” she murmured, tipping her head to the side. “I must be doin’ it wrong, then. Tsk-tsk, all out of practise.” One hand came up to cup the back of his head, slipping her own fingers into his hair. A little shiver ran down her spine.
He leaned into the touch, as much as he tried to hide it. The wine swirled and clouded his balance. It had been so long…
Loki struggled vaguely to regain his composure, his dominance. He tilted his chin up, looked down at her through lustful eyes and lightly pressed his fingers around her waist. ”You…who know my secrets. You who feel the very destruction of my soul…what could you possibly want with a man like me?” he whispered.
“Such a shadow must be thrown by a powerful light,” she responded. Her fingers curled into his scalp. “Let’s go find it, shall we?” Stretching up on her tiptoes, reaching with her whole body up the height difference, she pulled his head down and brushed her lips over his. “Forget destruction,” she whispered into his mouth. “Try creation.”
Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief
Her eyes were level. “Such things often leave behind … marks. Scars, where the hooks were set in. Places in your heart that ache, for reasons you cannot remember; things once you loved but cannot now. I can find them. Ease them.” A quick smile flickered over her lips. “Or I can just try to distract you.”
He leaned closer, studying the flecks of colour in her eyes. ”Astonishingly,” he purred, “I am rather more interested in the latter.” And, he added to himself, he was certain there was no power, however strong, that could erase the burdens he carried. Distraction, however, was one of his favourite pasttimes.
She picked her glass back up, toying with it, running a finger around the rim. The smile returned, crinkling around her eyes, and deliberately she licked her lips. “And how would you like to be distracted, darlin’? I am absolutely at your service.” She leaned forward, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Show me some mischief, luv.”
“I believe that wine may be getting to you,” he murmured, running slender fingers through her hair, making it fall over her face again. ”It almost seems as if you desire me.” He spoke into the side of her neck as he laid a feather-light kiss against her skin.
“Only almost?” she murmured, tipping her head to the side. “I must be doin’ it wrong, then. Tsk-tsk, all out of practise.” One hand came up to cup the back of his head, slipping her own fingers into his hair. A little shiver ran down her spine.
Drinkin’ with the God of Mischief
Her hands curled into fists, and every trace of pleasure or happiness was wiped from her face. “Such a truth, from the god of lies.” A sharp, short breath, and she relaxed, all over. “Will you … let me look?”
He raised an eyebrow, turning to meet her eye to eye.
“Look?” He felt far too exposed at this point. There wasn’t enough wine on Asgard to make Loki Laufeyson feel comfortable exposing his secrets.
Her eyes were level. “Such things often leave behind … marks. Scars, where the hooks were set in. Places in your heart that ache, for reasons you cannot remember; things once you loved but cannot now. I can find them. Ease them.” A quick smile flickered over her lips. “Or I can just try to distract you.”
He leaned closer, studying the flecks of colour in her eyes. ”Astonishingly,” he purred, “I am rather more interested in the latter.” And, he added to himself, he was certain there was no power, however strong, that could erase the burdens he carried. Distraction, however, was one of his favourite pasttimes.
She picked her glass back up, toying with it, running a finger around the rim. The smile returned, crinkling around her eyes, and deliberately she licked her lips. “And how would you like to be distracted, darlin’? I am absolutely at your service.” She leaned forward, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Show me some mischief, luv.”