Prompt Post No. 2

[norse_kink]

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Attention: All new and continuing fills to this round should be posted in the Overflow Post.

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Re: Fill: Though The Rift 2/?

[anonymous]

Jack is many things, but he is not heartless or cold, so he takes the stranger home. If Jack puts him in his own bed, it is only because Jack only has one bed. He cleans him up, because Jack isn’t one for blood, it stains, and it sends a shudder down his spine. Jack Harkness is not afraid to admit his age, he’s merely lost track of it. He knows he can’t die, and he loves a good mystery, if only because like knows like when it look’s itself in a mirror. Jack’s a mystery to many, but this stranger is a mystery to him.

That’s all it is, he tells himself.

As if it isn’t fate or subconscious want that the man (the boy?) sleeps in his bed the first night he lands (roughly) on Earth.

Loki wakes to humming and music he hasn’t ever heard the likes of. His eyes flutter open, halfway, peering though his lashes in a cautious and curious way. All around him is plaster and stone, man-built. This is no rich place of smooth marble and precious metal and jewels.

He is alone all the same. Loki stands, sways, steadies. He takes a step, and another, and makes his way to the door. There stands the source of the humming (but not, Loki thinks, the music) and he is cooking. It’s something like bread in a pan, and eggs already cracked and scrambled on a plate beside bacon. Loki does what has known is best, he watches, he waits.

There are two plates on the table.

The man, tall and broad and dark (Loki has known the first two all his life, the last was his alone until this meeting) and when he turns his eyes are dark blue, but he is smiling. The smile does not really meet his eyes, and this is the first time Loki has ever seen such countering features.

“Where am I?” Loki demands, quietly for his whole head and body aches.

“You shouldn’t be up and about.” Blue eyes measure Loki, look him up and down, and something sparks in those eyes. It’s lust, Loki thinks. His skin crawls a warning he won’t heed.

“I’m Jack…you are…?” The blue eyed man, Jack, gestures to the plates on either side of the table. There are seats there, small wooden things, and if Loki were anyone else - anyone bigger, or more…in truth, Asgardian, he might hesitate. He trusts his pride to sticks and at least knows it is not stone below him to break his bones. He feels that frail.

“Loki.” He says, as he nibbles at the bacon. His grey eyes flash to Jack when he laughs. It startles him, that loud sound of mirth when inside Loki’s skull rings solemn and silence.

“You’ve got to be joking?” Jack’s blue eyes swim with mirth, but Loki shakes his black head, and he grows solemn and distant.

“You’re really not.” He muses, and Loki eats in silence, taking note that Jack has not answered his first question. He repeats it between bites of egg, licking his fingers. Jack watches, and seems hungry, but he doesn’t touch the food he’s made. Loki, belatedly, wonders if it’s poisoned: if he should be worried and wary of this blue eyed man who’d had offered him shelter (for Loki was sure he had not fallen here).

“Where am I?” This time sharper, a demand - Jack’s smile is wide and mocking.

Fill: Though The Rift 3/?

[anonymous]

“Why, I’d guess if you’re a god like in the Norse myths, you’d call this Midgard. Cardiff? Wales? Great Britain?” Loki nods, for the way his life is shaping, this makes ironic sense - the place his brother was banished has become a making of his own exile. He had meant to die.

“Much has then changed since those of Asgard mingled among the mortals of Midgard.” Loki recognizes none of those place names, only that this is Midgard.

“I’d say.” Jack snorts, and then frowns. Jack’s passion is for the stars, but that does not mean he’s made himself ignorant of the myths of ancient man - the lore as they know it here is much closer then the vague and scattered sentences his own time places proper importance on. It’s though myth that history was first figured, and come of what history won’t take for fact, Jack suspects is just that.

“So there was mingling?” Jack is leering, and to that Loki’s smile is as strange and full of mystery as ancient history.

“Oh, yes.” Loki finds himself purring, content and fed. This is Midgard and here no harm can come to him. He quite likes the daring of this stranger.

“Damn, did you hit you’re head in that great fall?” Jack asks, touching Loki’s cheek. He’s aware of the sting of it, the likely blood. He wonders if his blood is still red. Under Jack’s watchful gaze, Loki’s cut heals, skin stitching and mending, leaving the blood dry and flecking off his skin in disgrace.

Loki is still smiling, and something in it promises.

“No.” Jack’s thumb runs down the side of Loki’s face, absently, petting. Loki licks his skin; it is salty and smells of grease and heat. Jack’s indrawn breath is shaky. There is something of Loki’s own broken heart and body in this man; he can see it in the dark blue eyes that hold his own grey.

“You’ve put me back together - given me shelter, food, how shall I thank you?” Loki’s voice is pure purr, wondering aloud wicked things.