Story for Dirj
Title: Sunshine
Fandom: Marvel Universe
Characters: Loki, Victor von Doom
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
“...And to everyone else as well just on general principles.”
- L. Laufeyson
The Fantastic Four, and Thor, and The Avengers, and all situations and characters thereof, belong strictly and solely to Marvel Comics. This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.
“Namor will consider our presence here a threat” Victor seems pleased, ridiculously pleased, at the thought. It matters little, in Loki's estimation, what one mortal thinks of another.
“You would destroy him?” He keeps his voice silky, playful, appropriate tone for the discussing of lesser beings. “He who was your ally so recently?”
Victor frowns. “Of course not.”
Of course not, Loki thinks. This is a demonstration of power merely, as when Victor wore the Demon's cloak to meet with the Cabal. Petty mortals must have their petty plotting; they must ever intrigue, one against the other. Off to one side and unnoticed, run Laufeyson's plans, which will come to fruition in their own time. In his own way, he will gain what he craves most, power, and freedom from the cursed hand of fate. But that time has not yet come, and for now he is here with Victor.
It is an island, set in the ocean called the Pacific, where Victor has brought him. A warm place, and green. - Greener, e'en than the hills of fair Asgard, or the tangled woods around Victor's castle in Latveria. A breeze, fragrant with ocean salt, rustles trees that look not like any trees Laufeyson has seen in the past, and music sounds softly from the mortal hotel, some distance away.
In truth, it is too hot, for one such as he, who was born amid the ice in Jotunheimr. Loki finds his battle armor wearisome. Then too, after he has shed it, doth he find wearisome the tunic and trousers beneath. He conjures what he has seen the mortal visitors here wearing, a short garment, bright-colored, to cover only the most private of areas, and nothing more.
Victor frowns. “The sun will burn you.”
He is jealous, Loki thinks, for he cannot remove his own heavy and burdensome garb. The armor he wears is a part of his nature now, and no mere garment, and Victor would as soon give up his very throne, as to forsake the green cloak and tunic that indicate Kingship. He laughs coolly. “You know it will not.”
The chair the mortals have placed near the sand for him is comfortable. The striped umbrella overhead is pleasant, but its shade insufficiently cooling. Loki indicates the mortals sitting nearby. “I would have a drink such as theirs, one large, and plentiful with ice and fruit. Get me one.”
He watches not, while Victor performs the deed. Death may be involved, or terror. Mayhaps he only goes to the kiosk and orders one like any common mortal. When he returns with the glass, Loki rewards him with a kiss. Then he takes a sip and the coolness is pleasurable on his tongue.
“Poisoned?” He teases with sarcastic words. They are beyond that now, he and Victor.
“Of course not.”
Loki laughs. “You would get me drunk then.” There is the faintest intake of breath from Victor, scarce perceptible. A mortal would not have heard it, but Loki's ears are sharp. He sits up, cups Victor's chin with one long-fingered hand. “What would you do with Laufeyson drunk, Victor? Would you violate him?”
Blood spurting. Terrorized screams. His own screams, willed... - Or better still, un-willed? The walls spattered, his body spread apart. This mortal will know him. -- Can anyone know him? Is there an inner essence at all, to the Trickster?
Victor's laugh creaks. “Asgardians cannot get drunk on our human liquor.”
No, but they can pretend, Loki thinks, and he savors the prospect of the night ahead.
Fandom: Marvel Universe
Characters: Loki, Victor von Doom
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
“...And to everyone else as well just on general principles.”
- L. Laufeyson
The Fantastic Four, and Thor, and The Avengers, and all situations and characters thereof, belong strictly and solely to Marvel Comics. This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.
“Namor will consider our presence here a threat” Victor seems pleased, ridiculously pleased, at the thought. It matters little, in Loki's estimation, what one mortal thinks of another.
“You would destroy him?” He keeps his voice silky, playful, appropriate tone for the discussing of lesser beings. “He who was your ally so recently?”
Victor frowns. “Of course not.”
Of course not, Loki thinks. This is a demonstration of power merely, as when Victor wore the Demon's cloak to meet with the Cabal. Petty mortals must have their petty plotting; they must ever intrigue, one against the other. Off to one side and unnoticed, run Laufeyson's plans, which will come to fruition in their own time. In his own way, he will gain what he craves most, power, and freedom from the cursed hand of fate. But that time has not yet come, and for now he is here with Victor.
It is an island, set in the ocean called the Pacific, where Victor has brought him. A warm place, and green. - Greener, e'en than the hills of fair Asgard, or the tangled woods around Victor's castle in Latveria. A breeze, fragrant with ocean salt, rustles trees that look not like any trees Laufeyson has seen in the past, and music sounds softly from the mortal hotel, some distance away.
In truth, it is too hot, for one such as he, who was born amid the ice in Jotunheimr. Loki finds his battle armor wearisome. Then too, after he has shed it, doth he find wearisome the tunic and trousers beneath. He conjures what he has seen the mortal visitors here wearing, a short garment, bright-colored, to cover only the most private of areas, and nothing more.
Victor frowns. “The sun will burn you.”
He is jealous, Loki thinks, for he cannot remove his own heavy and burdensome garb. The armor he wears is a part of his nature now, and no mere garment, and Victor would as soon give up his very throne, as to forsake the green cloak and tunic that indicate Kingship. He laughs coolly. “You know it will not.”
The chair the mortals have placed near the sand for him is comfortable. The striped umbrella overhead is pleasant, but its shade insufficiently cooling. Loki indicates the mortals sitting nearby. “I would have a drink such as theirs, one large, and plentiful with ice and fruit. Get me one.”
He watches not, while Victor performs the deed. Death may be involved, or terror. Mayhaps he only goes to the kiosk and orders one like any common mortal. When he returns with the glass, Loki rewards him with a kiss. Then he takes a sip and the coolness is pleasurable on his tongue.
“Poisoned?” He teases with sarcastic words. They are beyond that now, he and Victor.
“Of course not.”
Loki laughs. “You would get me drunk then.” There is the faintest intake of breath from Victor, scarce perceptible. A mortal would not have heard it, but Loki's ears are sharp. He sits up, cups Victor's chin with one long-fingered hand. “What would you do with Laufeyson drunk, Victor? Would you violate him?”
Blood spurting. Terrorized screams. His own screams, willed... - Or better still, un-willed? The walls spattered, his body spread apart. This mortal will know him. -- Can anyone know him? Is there an inner essence at all, to the Trickster?
Victor's laugh creaks. “Asgardians cannot get drunk on our human liquor.”
No, but they can pretend, Loki thinks, and he savors the prospect of the night ahead.