Loki quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, near enough my idea, I'm sorry to say.”
Near enough. Not entirely, though. “I wasn't coerced. Not to start, in any case. Arrangements were made, though, yes. I was to retrieve and deliver an object and in return, the consolation prize. All he had to do was convince me that I truly did want a throne, which under the circumstances wasn't a particularly difficult task.”
He shrugs. “It's entirely possible I wasn't in my right mind, but it's entirely possible I'm not most days. Only marginally better. Really, though, what would I do with a kingdom?”
A question he probably ought to have asked himself sooner, in retrospect, before it became more about the statement and less about the reality of the thing. There were other ways, surely. “I already have one, technically, or could have if I bothered to go and claim it, but frankly I can't say I am. This is better. No pretending to be something other than I am, unless I want to.”
Which, clearly, he sometimes does. “As for you, I told you, I find you interesting. An audition for the right to know - and for the record, I don't trust you entirely, that would be stupid; but what can you really do to me in the end? Tell that lot up in the tower where I am? I can be out of here before you make it to their front door. No, you do as you like; there are no strings. I'm simply fond of a bit of company on occasion, though I suppose some might say that my company is its own downside.”
He doesn't seem particularly bothered, though, given the lazy stretch.
It's not terribly different than forgiving Bo's slightly-murderous past in favour of a murder-free future. She can't just make an exception for a human-eating fae and not have the same policy with this formerly-power-hungry god. That would be totally unfair. Kenzi was all about fair.
When it suited her.
She's quiet as she thinks it over, eyes downcast and fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm that only seems to make sense to her. After a moment, she stops, downs the rest of her drink, and makes a face as she focuses on the burn in her throat.
"Well... Obviously you're pretty freakin' interesting yourself and I think I might be hooked." On him. On the magical stuff. On the potentially dangerous situation and the thrill she gets just thinking about it. The 'no strings' was like music to her ears, along with most of the other stuff he was saying.
"Okay, so what do we do? Just keep hanging out like this until I stop being interesting? Obvi the whole me not being here permanently isn't an issue unless your less-than-awesome teleportation trick has a limited range. But what's the deal here? Can I tell Bo? Or are you like... my new imaginary friend."
And what is this going to cost her? His company being a downside can't be all there is to it. No one gets something for nothing. Everything has a price. Maybe she'd figure it out later. Right now, she was just trying to process all this new information.
She slipped the killer heels off her feet and folded her legs up on the couch next to her. The shoes were painful and she just got comfortable. Kenzi had no plans to go anywhere for a while.
“Well, you can call me whatever you like, I suppose, but that is my name. Not terribly reverent, using my name outright, though. Your Illustriousness would do.” He inclines his head, eyes turning ceilingward, and strikes a regal pose. “His Imperial Highness, Loki, Son of Laufey, First of His Name, Supreme Ruler of Buggerall. Occasionally some of you funny little animals do call me 'oh my God' but I find that off-puttingly proprietary to be entirely honest.”
The fact that he deadpans his way through the lot of it, posturing aside, labels it as the joke it is, as does the grin he breaks into when he turns back to her. “So the name will do nicely, yes, unless you had something better in mind.”
The rest Loki has to think about for a few moments, sipping at his Scotch thoughtfully. “To be entirely honest I didn't think you'd be keen on sticking around after all of that. I've no plans, so you tell me: either we keep playing the game and you find out what other areas I've a great deal of experience in, or we keep on as we have been.”
He closes his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Or you can tell me to piss off, of course. I'll probably listen.”
Loki runs his tongue experimentally over the cut in his lower lip, debating whether or not the novelty of being injured outweighs the annoyance. For the moment it does, and so for the moment it can stay, even if it brings back memories of things rather less pleasant. “Regardless of your choice I suppose you can tell your friend what you like, providing you trust her to keep it a secret. My life here is comfortable, which is a pleasant change from the usual and I'd like it to remain that way. Meddling won't be tolerated.”
That is the regalest damn pose she ever did see. And by regal, she means adorable, which is probably why she's laughing. Despite how fucked up this whole thing is, there's still that familiarity. It's comfortable. It probably shouldn't be, but she's slowly getting used to the idea just like she got used to there being a secret world of fae hidden to most humans. People aren't supposed to get used to this kind of shit. Maybe she's cracked, too. Slightly unhinged. A sane person would have ran away with the rest of the crowd.
A sane person would get the hell out of here.
"Probably listen?" She smirks. "Not so sure about those odds."
If she wasn't crazy before, this could certainly be a turning point. She presses her fingers to her left temple and sighs at her own stupidity. Not because she got herself into this, but because she wasn't getting herself out while she still had the chance. Kenzi, you idiot. Bad news bears! He's giving you an exit and you just want to stay. To know more. She really should tell him to piss off.
But she stands up, shorter without the heels, and moves over to his chair, crouching next to the arm and reaching out to take his free hand in both of hers. Still cool. Not even just cool, it's cold. Every time she's ever touched him, he's been cold. Even his lips. She stares at it, brows knitting together, ever-curious.
"Is this normal for you? I was gonna just chalk it up to bad circulation. No meddling, I promise. Scout's honour. Bo's good at secrets." And Kenzi's still never been a scout.
Loki turns his hand over to curl his fingers about her wrist, looking down at their joined hands dispassionately. “No, normally I'm much colder than this. I am not, however, in the habit of wearing my true face in the presence of others for a host of reasons. It would be inadvisable to touch me if I were, that's one, though I suppose I could mitigate that with magic. It's rather obvious, for another. I'd never be able to pass unnoticed on the street.”
A pause. “It's not entirely a lie, in case you're wondering. I was lead to believe this was my face for most of my life until now; it's nearer real than what I truly am.”
Still, it fades. Odin's magic fades, and as it does, Loki grows ever colder. For the time being, he tolerates it. Soon he'll have to remake his Asgardian appearance of his own accord. He sighs heavily.
“I am not of a species with the Æsir, to elaborate further, though I was raised as one. I am Jötunn, what your people once called hrimþurs, a... giant of the rime, I believe is the translation.” He smiles faintly. “Though I'm not. Giant, I mean. Large, maybe, but well within reason, I promise.”
And that's how he does it, these days. Derails himself with humour and self-deprecation whenever things touch too close to something that might make him angry, might send him over that particular edge and put him in a mood to start breaking things in earnest. It doesn't make him feel terribly good, this method, but it's safer. How long it'll last, though, he doesn't know.
That part sounded familiar. A frost giant had almost killed Bo, but she was almost positive that it wasn't the same thing. Loki was an entirely different case. The fae were separate. While they both pulled from myths and bedtime stories, he was nothing like she'd ever seen before.
But that expression... she'd seen that before. The faint smile couldn't cover up what this line of questioning was doing to him. She could tell that there was far more to this story and now was not the time to get into it. Maybe someday. He'd already revealed more than enough for one night. Pushing wouldn't help anyone. There was no doubt in her mind that if he wanted to talk about anything, she'd be there to listen. It was much more preferable than talking about herself.
"I'm gonna kiss you now, and it has less to do with that 'large' comment and more me not wanting to say something stupid. Just so you know." And it just might also be because he said she looked lovely, but mostly because talking never ends well for her. Kenzi looks serious for all of a second before breaking into a warm smile of her own.
She straightens only to lean over him slowly, one hand still holding his while the other finds his neck and her fingertips brush lightly over his jawline. She presses her lips to his with a little more urgency than he'd used the day before, but it's just as tender. Even if that part had been a lie. The tenderness. Hers was true despite quite a few reasons why it shouldn't even exist.
She'd meant what she'd said. It does take a lot to offend her. He hadn't completely screwed her over, and she'd told worse lies in her lifetime. As short as that lifetime likely is in comparison...
The cut on his lip was still a minor concern. Aren't gods supposed to be indestructible? Bo could heal. Dyson was never scraped up for very long. Maybe it was one of those deals and the human should just stop worrying about everyone else and focus on her own fragility. Ha. Not gonna happen any time soon.
For all his stubbornness and rage Loki is in some areas a pliant creature, and this is one of them. He moves for Kenzi, leans in, tilts his head to accomodate. A cool palm runs down the side of her neck to the shoulder, where his thumb traces gently over her collarbone. Seven pounds of pressure, isn't it? Didn't he read that somewhere? Seven pounds of pressure to break the human clavicle and the pressure of his grip can bend iron; it'd be nothing, like snapping a twig, the easiest thing in the world.
But he worships that fragility instead, holds it in his mind like holding wine in one's mouth. It makes him feel powerful. He likes feeling powerful.
“You are very small,” he murmurs with a smile against her lips. “There's nobody like you on Asgard.”
Which means, obviously, that he likes it, though that really should be readily enough apparent by the fact that she's here and he's catching her lower lip gently between his teeth. A low, amused sound escapes him before he lets it soften into a kiss again.
Which is all well and good, and Loki is equanimous enough that he'd be more or less content to keep at it for some time, but he pulls away nonetheless, grinning. “Jæja, lílli, álfsveiðikona, we've spoken much about me and what I want, but what about you, hm? Tell me true and it might just be yours.”
Providing, that is, that she wants more or less what most people want from him, and though he doesn't think he has to worry there, she certainly is an odd one. What she thinks of him he really can't tell, why she's still here he really doesn't know, and that's part of the interest. While it wouldn't be remotely the first time a human being threw all good sense and moral decency to the wind to have a bit of a snog with him, somehow he doesn't think that the pursuit of bragging rights (a god, after all, in some fashion or another) is what's at work here. Not wholly, or so he thinks, cynical as he is. Strange. Very strange.
She's heard the small thing a million times before, but he definitely redeems himself with the second part. Asgard sounds pretty boring in her opinion, but she's not one to diss an entire new place just because they're severely lacking in tiny, awesome humans. Besides, she's a little busy right now.
The question catches her off guard, but she mirrors his grin. What does she want? That's a loaded question, and one that she actually has to stop and think about. Her gaze shifts skyward as she lets out a soft hum and sinks against him, settling herself in his lap like he's some messed up version of Santa Claus. Before Bo, her wants had been very clear; Money, security, a warm place to sleep and not having to feel that constant fear that had taken hold of her early on. She'd gotten all that and more. Now there was just one thing she couldn't get enough of.
"Adventure. Lots of it. New things. Weird things. Scary things! ... Not too scary. What can I say? I'm pretty low maintenance." It summed everything up pretty nicely. Why she was still here, why she did what she did, why she'd noticed him in the first place. There was a reason there were no humans in her life currently. She'd chosen to cut herself off from that. Kenzi had experienced enough of the cruel reality that was a normal life. The fae were glamorous, new, exciting, and as savage as they could be...it was a different kind of savage. Kenzi would choose getting lost in the woods and devoured by the big bad wolf over getting shot in a dirty alley any day.
"Do you really care about what I want?" Her voice is soft and genuinely curious.
“Of course I do,” Loki responds with an affronted air, settling a hand on her waist. “A bit, at least.”
Not that it's easy to care about humans in more than a vague, abstract way. There are so very many of them, and however far they've come over the centuries they still haven't changed that much. Their preoccupations are depressingly predictable. They're still organic, still do what they need to do to survive as a species. Eat. Drink. Piss. Shit. Fuck. Think often about all of the above. Love. Hate. Kill. Die. On and on and on, generation by generation, until they're all a blur.
He does get tired of that. He's not entirely certain it's possible not to get tired of that. It makes them so easy to disregard, to dislike, to murder, no matter how much he respects them as a species. No matter how curious they can sometimes be.
Still, for the time being they're all he really has left. He's no choice but to try to concern himself with them.
There is, of course, the darker side of that. There always is. He wants also, though he tries to avoid it, tries to refrain from admitting it to so much as himself, to be loved. More than that. Adored. Feared, too, yes, but fear is easy, and a temporary thrill. To be adored is something else entirely. Not quite right, never quite right, never enough, but it's a good start.
“All of that I can provide, and more besides,” he says, tracing her lips with one cool fingertip, “but how about now, hm? Where do things turn? You're being very friendly--” he gestures at the two of them, her, on his lap “--but I hesitate to assume.”
Or perhaps he just wants to hear her say it. “Do you want me, yes or no? I'm not asking; it really doesn't matter. I'm much too old for that. But I am offering.”
A bit, huh? Better than nothing. Likely a big thing for someone so removed from humanity. Even if it's just because she's some small, not-from-Asgard freak or whatever the hell that means. No, you know what? She freakin' likes him. A lot. He's weird, too. And kind of scary... but mostly just awesome. In... a scary way. Yes, the fear is definitely easy but mostly she likes him. Right now. Hard to tell if she'll keep liking him considering his track record with breaking stuff, but that is totally in the past. Why not give him a shot?
He is offering and it's incredibly difficult to form coherent thoughts when he's touching her, or talking, or just in his presence in general, actually. But she manages something kind of intelligible after getting over the dreamy, spaced-out state of mind.
"Hmmm, let's see. You did just fight Iron Man, which was totally hot by the way, and it is technically our third date. Then there's the whole you being ridiculously charming thing that I have to factor in, but you do bring up a very good point with the age difference that can still totally be countered by the fact that you look totally hot for an ancient dude." Hesitate to assume-- freakin' bullshit right there. It's so obvious. Might as well just give them what they both want. "Gonna go with yes. But only if you think you're up for it in your old age."
“Third date. Yes. You see? I'm not entirely discourteous.” Of course, all of this now is more a service to her than anything Loki himself would go out of his way to pursue for any reason other than a temporary lark, an opportunity to laugh at the gullibility of human beings. There's a remarkable amount of arrogance in that, he's well aware. He just happens to think he's earned it, not merely by virtue of his birth, as Thor would no doubt accuse, but also the long life he's lead since then.
“In the interest of full disclosure, though--” He settles a hand on her hip. Long dresses. Such a hassle. “--not only am I up for it, age notwithstanding, but I intend to exhaust you as thoroughly as I can reasonably manage with whatever time you see fit to give me.”
Up his palm drifts. At least the fabric is fine, pleasant under his fingertips as they drift along the curve of her waist, ghost the curve of her breast, up to the shoulder, collarbone, interclavicular notch, stop. “Though I promise, I do--” he traces a line with his forefinger down her sternum, a faint green glowing about the contact point as he toys with her nerve endings as one might the strings of a violin “--that god willing - and I assure you I am - you will enjoy every last moment of it.”
There's an art to this, a balance to the way he sparks at her nerves, fine fibres lighting up beneath her skin. Pleasure, yes. Obviously. But that's nothing if it doesn't hurt just the slightest bit first, doesn't sting just so, just so, so that what comes after is all the lovelier. Loki hooks two fingers in the neckline of her dress and pulls her closer, bending his head to run his tongue in an icy trail back up the path that his fingertip had just traced. She burns, she does, and he wants more.
There's probably something wrong in that, in the willing seeking out of punishment, in the desire to steal her warmth for himself, fill his absence with her presence, but it doesn't register. These things rarely do.
“If you've no objections to that idea, then I think we ought to get this lovely thing off of you, no?”
Near enough. Not entirely, though. “I wasn't coerced. Not to start, in any case. Arrangements were made, though, yes. I was to retrieve and deliver an object and in return, the consolation prize. All he had to do was convince me that I truly did want a throne, which under the circumstances wasn't a particularly difficult task.”
He shrugs. “It's entirely possible I wasn't in my right mind, but it's entirely possible I'm not most days. Only marginally better. Really, though, what would I do with a kingdom?”
A question he probably ought to have asked himself sooner, in retrospect, before it became more about the statement and less about the reality of the thing. There were other ways, surely. “I already have one, technically, or could have if I bothered to go and claim it, but frankly I can't say I am. This is better. No pretending to be something other than I am, unless I want to.”
Which, clearly, he sometimes does. “As for you, I told you, I find you interesting. An audition for the right to know - and for the record, I don't trust you entirely, that would be stupid; but what can you really do to me in the end? Tell that lot up in the tower where I am? I can be out of here before you make it to their front door. No, you do as you like; there are no strings. I'm simply fond of a bit of company on occasion, though I suppose some might say that my company is its own downside.”
He doesn't seem particularly bothered, though, given the lazy stretch.
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It's not terribly different than forgiving Bo's slightly-murderous past in favour of a murder-free future. She can't just make an exception for a human-eating fae and not have the same policy with this formerly-power-hungry god. That would be totally unfair. Kenzi was all about fair.
When it suited her.
She's quiet as she thinks it over, eyes downcast and fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm that only seems to make sense to her. After a moment, she stops, downs the rest of her drink, and makes a face as she focuses on the burn in her throat.
"Well... Obviously you're pretty freakin' interesting yourself and I think I might be hooked." On him. On the magical stuff. On the potentially dangerous situation and the thrill she gets just thinking about it. The 'no strings' was like music to her ears, along with most of the other stuff he was saying.
"Okay, so what do we do? Just keep hanging out like this until I stop being interesting? Obvi the whole me not being here permanently isn't an issue unless your less-than-awesome teleportation trick has a limited range. But what's the deal here? Can I tell Bo? Or are you like... my new imaginary friend."
And what is this going to cost her? His company being a downside can't be all there is to it. No one gets something for nothing. Everything has a price. Maybe she'd figure it out later. Right now, she was just trying to process all this new information.
She slipped the killer heels off her feet and folded her legs up on the couch next to her. The shoes were painful and she just got comfortable. Kenzi had no plans to go anywhere for a while.
"Am I supposed to call you Loki now?"
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The fact that he deadpans his way through the lot of it, posturing aside, labels it as the joke it is, as does the grin he breaks into when he turns back to her. “So the name will do nicely, yes, unless you had something better in mind.”
The rest Loki has to think about for a few moments, sipping at his Scotch thoughtfully. “To be entirely honest I didn't think you'd be keen on sticking around after all of that. I've no plans, so you tell me: either we keep playing the game and you find out what other areas I've a great deal of experience in, or we keep on as we have been.”
He closes his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Or you can tell me to piss off, of course. I'll probably listen.”
Loki runs his tongue experimentally over the cut in his lower lip, debating whether or not the novelty of being injured outweighs the annoyance. For the moment it does, and so for the moment it can stay, even if it brings back memories of things rather less pleasant. “Regardless of your choice I suppose you can tell your friend what you like, providing you trust her to keep it a secret. My life here is comfortable, which is a pleasant change from the usual and I'd like it to remain that way. Meddling won't be tolerated.”
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A sane person would get the hell out of here.
"Probably listen?" She smirks. "Not so sure about those odds."
If she wasn't crazy before, this could certainly be a turning point. She presses her fingers to her left temple and sighs at her own stupidity. Not because she got herself into this, but because she wasn't getting herself out while she still had the chance. Kenzi, you idiot. Bad news bears! He's giving you an exit and you just want to stay. To know more. She really should tell him to piss off.
But she stands up, shorter without the heels, and moves over to his chair, crouching next to the arm and reaching out to take his free hand in both of hers. Still cool. Not even just cool, it's cold. Every time she's ever touched him, he's been cold. Even his lips. She stares at it, brows knitting together, ever-curious.
"Is this normal for you? I was gonna just chalk it up to bad circulation. No meddling, I promise. Scout's honour. Bo's good at secrets." And Kenzi's still never been a scout.
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Loki turns his hand over to curl his fingers about her wrist, looking down at their joined hands dispassionately. “No, normally I'm much colder than this. I am not, however, in the habit of wearing my true face in the presence of others for a host of reasons. It would be inadvisable to touch me if I were, that's one, though I suppose I could mitigate that with magic. It's rather obvious, for another. I'd never be able to pass unnoticed on the street.”
A pause. “It's not entirely a lie, in case you're wondering. I was lead to believe this was my face for most of my life until now; it's nearer real than what I truly am.”
Still, it fades. Odin's magic fades, and as it does, Loki grows ever colder. For the time being, he tolerates it. Soon he'll have to remake his Asgardian appearance of his own accord. He sighs heavily.
“I am not of a species with the Æsir, to elaborate further, though I was raised as one. I am Jötunn, what your people once called hrimþurs, a... giant of the rime, I believe is the translation.” He smiles faintly. “Though I'm not. Giant, I mean. Large, maybe, but well within reason, I promise.”
And that's how he does it, these days. Derails himself with humour and self-deprecation whenever things touch too close to something that might make him angry, might send him over that particular edge and put him in a mood to start breaking things in earnest. It doesn't make him feel terribly good, this method, but it's safer. How long it'll last, though, he doesn't know.
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But that expression... she'd seen that before. The faint smile couldn't cover up what this line of questioning was doing to him. She could tell that there was far more to this story and now was not the time to get into it. Maybe someday. He'd already revealed more than enough for one night. Pushing wouldn't help anyone. There was no doubt in her mind that if he wanted to talk about anything, she'd be there to listen. It was much more preferable than talking about herself.
"I'm gonna kiss you now, and it has less to do with that 'large' comment and more me not wanting to say something stupid. Just so you know." And it just might also be because he said she looked lovely, but mostly because talking never ends well for her. Kenzi looks serious for all of a second before breaking into a warm smile of her own.
She straightens only to lean over him slowly, one hand still holding his while the other finds his neck and her fingertips brush lightly over his jawline. She presses her lips to his with a little more urgency than he'd used the day before, but it's just as tender. Even if that part had been a lie. The tenderness. Hers was true despite quite a few reasons why it shouldn't even exist.
She'd meant what she'd said. It does take a lot to offend her. He hadn't completely screwed her over, and she'd told worse lies in her lifetime. As short as that lifetime likely is in comparison...
The cut on his lip was still a minor concern. Aren't gods supposed to be indestructible? Bo could heal. Dyson was never scraped up for very long. Maybe it was one of those deals and the human should just stop worrying about everyone else and focus on her own fragility. Ha. Not gonna happen any time soon.
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But he worships that fragility instead, holds it in his mind like holding wine in one's mouth. It makes him feel powerful. He likes feeling powerful.
“You are very small,” he murmurs with a smile against her lips. “There's nobody like you on Asgard.”
Which means, obviously, that he likes it, though that really should be readily enough apparent by the fact that she's here and he's catching her lower lip gently between his teeth. A low, amused sound escapes him before he lets it soften into a kiss again.
Which is all well and good, and Loki is equanimous enough that he'd be more or less content to keep at it for some time, but he pulls away nonetheless, grinning. “Jæja, lílli, álfsveiðikona, we've spoken much about me and what I want, but what about you, hm? Tell me true and it might just be yours.”
Providing, that is, that she wants more or less what most people want from him, and though he doesn't think he has to worry there, she certainly is an odd one. What she thinks of him he really can't tell, why she's still here he really doesn't know, and that's part of the interest. While it wouldn't be remotely the first time a human being threw all good sense and moral decency to the wind to have a bit of a snog with him, somehow he doesn't think that the pursuit of bragging rights (a god, after all, in some fashion or another) is what's at work here. Not wholly, or so he thinks, cynical as he is. Strange. Very strange.
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The question catches her off guard, but she mirrors his grin. What does she want? That's a loaded question, and one that she actually has to stop and think about. Her gaze shifts skyward as she lets out a soft hum and sinks against him, settling herself in his lap like he's some messed up version of Santa Claus. Before Bo, her wants had been very clear; Money, security, a warm place to sleep and not having to feel that constant fear that had taken hold of her early on. She'd gotten all that and more. Now there was just one thing she couldn't get enough of.
"Adventure. Lots of it. New things. Weird things. Scary things! ... Not too scary. What can I say? I'm pretty low maintenance." It summed everything up pretty nicely. Why she was still here, why she did what she did, why she'd noticed him in the first place. There was a reason there were no humans in her life currently. She'd chosen to cut herself off from that. Kenzi had experienced enough of the cruel reality that was a normal life. The fae were glamorous, new, exciting, and as savage as they could be...it was a different kind of savage. Kenzi would choose getting lost in the woods and devoured by the big bad wolf over getting shot in a dirty alley any day.
"Do you really care about what I want?" Her voice is soft and genuinely curious.
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Not that it's easy to care about humans in more than a vague, abstract way. There are so very many of them, and however far they've come over the centuries they still haven't changed that much. Their preoccupations are depressingly predictable. They're still organic, still do what they need to do to survive as a species. Eat. Drink. Piss. Shit. Fuck. Think often about all of the above. Love. Hate. Kill. Die. On and on and on, generation by generation, until they're all a blur.
He does get tired of that. He's not entirely certain it's possible not to get tired of that. It makes them so easy to disregard, to dislike, to murder, no matter how much he respects them as a species. No matter how curious they can sometimes be.
Still, for the time being they're all he really has left. He's no choice but to try to concern himself with them.
There is, of course, the darker side of that. There always is. He wants also, though he tries to avoid it, tries to refrain from admitting it to so much as himself, to be loved. More than that. Adored. Feared, too, yes, but fear is easy, and a temporary thrill. To be adored is something else entirely. Not quite right, never quite right, never enough, but it's a good start.
“All of that I can provide, and more besides,” he says, tracing her lips with one cool fingertip, “but how about now, hm? Where do things turn? You're being very friendly--” he gestures at the two of them, her, on his lap “--but I hesitate to assume.”
Or perhaps he just wants to hear her say it. “Do you want me, yes or no? I'm not asking; it really doesn't matter. I'm much too old for that. But I am offering.”
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He is offering and it's incredibly difficult to form coherent thoughts when he's touching her, or talking, or just in his presence in general, actually. But she manages something kind of intelligible after getting over the dreamy, spaced-out state of mind.
"Hmmm, let's see. You did just fight Iron Man, which was totally hot by the way, and it is technically our third date. Then there's the whole you being ridiculously charming thing that I have to factor in, but you do bring up a very good point with the age difference that can still totally be countered by the fact that you look totally hot for an ancient dude." Hesitate to assume-- freakin' bullshit right there. It's so obvious. Might as well just give them what they both want. "Gonna go with yes. But only if you think you're up for it in your old age."
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“In the interest of full disclosure, though--” He settles a hand on her hip. Long dresses. Such a hassle. “--not only am I up for it, age notwithstanding, but I intend to exhaust you as thoroughly as I can reasonably manage with whatever time you see fit to give me.”
Up his palm drifts. At least the fabric is fine, pleasant under his fingertips as they drift along the curve of her waist, ghost the curve of her breast, up to the shoulder, collarbone, interclavicular notch, stop. “Though I promise, I do--” he traces a line with his forefinger down her sternum, a faint green glowing about the contact point as he toys with her nerve endings as one might the strings of a violin “--that god willing - and I assure you I am - you will enjoy every last moment of it.”
There's an art to this, a balance to the way he sparks at her nerves, fine fibres lighting up beneath her skin. Pleasure, yes. Obviously. But that's nothing if it doesn't hurt just the slightest bit first, doesn't sting just so, just so, so that what comes after is all the lovelier. Loki hooks two fingers in the neckline of her dress and pulls her closer, bending his head to run his tongue in an icy trail back up the path that his fingertip had just traced. She burns, she does, and he wants more.
There's probably something wrong in that, in the willing seeking out of punishment, in the desire to steal her warmth for himself, fill his absence with her presence, but it doesn't register. These things rarely do.
“If you've no objections to that idea, then I think we ought to get this lovely thing off of you, no?”
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