Fic: The Pleasure in the Pain (Natasha/Loki, NC-17)
Title: The Pleasure in the Pain
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Natasha/Loki
Summary: "Oh, I think I'd like a night in," Loki says lightly. Without lowering his voice in the slightest, he adds, "Just you, me, and whatever delightful torture devices you've prepared for me this evening."
Content Notes: D/s, sensory deprivation, CBT, bondage, chastity play (full policy in profile)
Word Count: ~5300
Author's Notes: This is an installment of this series; it can be read on its own, but having the added context would probably help. It was written for Kink Bingo.
Natasha never was much of a sadist until she started sleeping with Loki.
She tells him this over dinner in a classy Manhattan restaurant, sipping on a glass of outrageously expensive wine, a pinot noir, earthy and floral.
"Liar," Loki says mildly in return. Natasha arches her brow at him, and his lips tilt in a smirk. "You like to take men's hearts and toy with them. Lead them on, tease them until they're half-mad for you, then break them to get what you want. You enjoy it, like a child pulling wings off flies."
He smiles again, takes a sip of his single malt. "Thus, a sadist."
Natasha doesn't try to hide the little grin tugging at her mouth. "All in a day's work," she says, and raises her glass to him in a mocking little toast.
Loki clinks his glass against hers, and she thinks, with thrumming anticipation, of how his lips will taste later tonight, like whiskey and secrecy.
Normally, they don't indulge in this sort of thing; there are some luxuries they can't afford, not if they'd like to keep their affair quiet. Loki may be relatively inconspicuous in his suit, but the right security camera catching his profile at the right angle could trigger S.H.I.E.L.D.'s facial recognition program, bringing the agency down upon them. As for Natasha - well, Natasha is the Black Widow, and though she takes pains to disguise herself, to wear light-colored clothing and contour her face to hide her high cheekbones and thin her full lips, there is always the chance she could be recognized. Still, tonight is somewhat of a special night, it being the first time in almost a month she's been allowed to leave the hospital, and she'd wanted to do something equally special to commemorate it.
Loki catches her running her tongue along the new implants where her back molars once were, and his eyes narrow. "Are you well?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." She shrugs, not wanting to dwell on it. "Just thinking that I have more fake teeth in my mouth than real ones, now."
"All in a day's work," Loki echoes. His mouth makes a moue of disgust. "I could have fixed those, you know."
"I know," she says flatly, leaving it at that. Loki rolls his eyes; he has nothing but disdain for Natasha's uneasiness with magic. It's less that she finds it unnatural, like he thinks she does, and more that she hates having outside forces work such changes in her body. Natasha prefers control in all aspects of her life.
Under the table, she slips off her shoe just as Loki opens his mouth to snap at her about the superiority of magic again, and presses her foot into his lap. Loki goes rigid; she moves her foot slightly, rubbing her toes along the metal bars of the cock cage she has him wear, and he swallows, fingers twitching on his glass; she sees him consciously force himself to relax, only to bite his lip again when she changes her movements from little caresses to deliberate, slow strokes.
Natasha did say all aspects of her life, after all.
"What would you like to do after dinner?" she asks him, light and friendly as if she isn't nearly giving him a footjob in public. One of Loki's hands drop into his lap, fingers circling her ankle passively, and he licks his lips. It's been a long month.
"Oh, I think I'd like a night in," he says, matching her tone. Without lowering his voice in the slightest, he adds, "Just you, me, and whatever delightful torture devices you've prepared for me this evening."
Natasha drains her glass, gives him a wicked look, presses down hard with the ball of her foot. Loki's jaw drops, his eyes slightly glassy, before he remembers himself, closing his mouth so hard his teeth click.
"I think I'd like that," Natasha says.
. . .
"These are pointless," Loki comments as Natasha fastens the four-point restraints around his ankles and wrists, binding him spread-eagled to the bed. He tugs on the leather bonds experimentally. "Snapping them would require no effort at all."
"That would be too bad if that was why I'm using them," Natasha retorts, and pushes him flat with a hand against his chest. He doesn't resist. She leans over him, drops a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, and whispers, "And how do you know these aren't enchanted against you? I know people who could do that. People who owe me a favor."
Loki's eyes widen and he takes in a sharp breath before he sets his jaw and forces himself to relax.
"Are they?" he asks sharply, quieter this time. Natasha crouches to secure the final strap tight around the bedpost, and says nothing. "Natasha? Are they?"
"No." She props her elbows on the bed and observes him, chin in her hands, eyes gleaming. Loki's brow creases, and he tilts his head, calculating.
"You're lying," he says, uncertain.
"Am I?" Natasha doesn't bother to hide her grin.
He licks his lips and shakes his head, not a gesture of negation so much as one of surrender. She adds, "Want to find out?"
"Please," he whispers, and cuts off the rest of his sentence, looking horrified at how easily he gave in to begging. Natasha smoothes his hair back off his forehead and kisses him there, too.
"I'm not lying," she tells him, though Loki would deny he needs the reassurance. She traces the sharp lines of his face, the angle of his jaw, and wraps her hand lightly around his throat. Loki's eyes fall shut. "It's more fun this way, anyway."
She glances down his body and sees his cock already straining in the confines of its cage, and adds in a murmur, "I think you agree."
"You are a wicked woman," he tells her, something he has said many times before. "I love it."
"You'll love me even more when I'm through with you," she says as she stands, and winces internally at the cliché. Loki doesn't seem to notice.
"Will I, indeed?" He peers at her from under half-shut lids, and lays down a challenge: "I believe you've grown complacent, Natasha. Prove to me you haven't."
"And what do I get when I do?"
Loki gives her a winsome smile. "My eternal respect."
"I thought I already had that," she says, and pulls her shirt over her head. "Or so you've told me."
Loki raises his eyebrows and shrugs as best as he can, conceding the point. His eyes trail her movements as she strips down in front of him.
"Something else, then," he muses, but Natasha sees a flash of frustration in his eyes as she bares more and more skin; he wants to touch her. She's not going to let him, and he knows it. "A favor. Would that suit?"
Now she's curious. Natasha sits on the bed, her thigh just barely brushing his, and inquires, "What are the conditions?"
"If you manage to - oh, let's say bring me to tears," he says idly, as if the thought is just now occurring to him, "you may collect one favor from me, of any kind within reason. And if I survive your undoubtedly savage ministrations…" He curls his tongue around the word like it's the sweetest of chocolates. "Then you shall owe me, Natasha Romanoff. What do you say?"
"Deal," she says immediately. He sighs in satisfaction, and she wonders if he thinks he slipped that little trick past her. There's no way Loki would so casually offer to cry unless he was trying to provoke her to make him do just that. Conveniently for him, this was her plan for the night, anyway; all she needs are her instruments of choice. "Give me a second."
She pads to the living room, where she pushes the throw rug to the side and pries up the floorboards underneath. Here, she stashes a collection of ammunition, poisons, tasers, and more, but what she plucks from the neatly-organized mess is a pair of noise-canceling earmuffs, the type used at shooting ranges. After a moment's thought, she takes a pair of earplugs as well, still in their original packaging.
"Natasha," Loki calls from the other room, a touch of impatience in his voice. "I'm waiting."
"I just bet you are," she mutters, and the smirk curling her lips is cold and sharp-edged.
Once in the bedroom again, she sets the earmuffs on the bed, and picks up the cotton sash she'd draped on the bedside table for this very purpose.
"What is this?" Loki frowns, craning his neck to look at the earmuffs.
"It's a pony," Natasha replies dryly. "Keep your head up."
Loki snorts, but does what she asks, letting her bind the sash around his eyes. His hands clench, then relax, and he exhales softly, dropping his head back to the bed when she's done.
"All right?" Natasha asks, and unfolds the earmuffs from their compact bundle.
"Why wouldn't I be?" he snaps, snotty as he so often is, then twitches as she slips the earmuffs over his ears. "Natasha!"
"Can you hear me?" she enunciates, pitching her voice slightly louder than usual; they keep out ambient noise, but he should be able to hear her speak. Loki nods, licks his lips. "Do you want to?"
Loki is perfectly still for a long moment, then he shakes his head, slowly. Natasha slides the earmuffs back, and says softly, "You can always tell me to stop."
"I look forward to the day when you push me to it," he snaps back. "If you ever do. Now cease your chatter, or at least save me from hearing it."
"That's just impolite," Natasha tsks. "You'll regret that in a minute."
Cellophane crackles as she pops the earplugs free, and she tucks them in Loki's ears with expert fingers. He twitches again, and she playfully runs tickling fingers down his neck until he shivers hard.
"I like toying with you," she breathes, the last thing he'll hear, and claps the earmuffs back on, letting them muffle all sound, leaving him in silence.
Loki freezes, and he moves his head from side to side, seeking stimulation. All he can hear, Natasha knows, is the thump of his heartbeat, the rush of blood in his ears, the rasp of his breath in his throat. Without leaning on the bed, moving with perfect grace, she bends down and blows a stream of air across his stomach. Loki twists, a gasp escaping his throat, and settles down, chest heaving. His cock, which had deflated slightly while she was trussing him up, is bulging against the metal again. She runs her finger along the metal bars, applying the slightest of pressure to hear the answering sigh from Loki, then flicks a patch of skin, catching it with her nail. Loki cries out, and she grins.
"Later," she promises, knowing he can't hear her. She takes his cock in its cage in one hand, and gives it a careful tug. Loki whimpers. Blood rushes to Natasha's face at the sound, and she bites his thigh hard, repeats herself, this time for her own benefit, and moves to sit on the bed, close to Loki's side. He turns his head blindly in her direction, shifting to press his skin against hers, taking frantic advantage of the senses she's allowed him to keep.
"Not so fast," she chides, and touches him, her fingers light on his hipbones, stroking up his torso and circling his nipples with the tips of her nails before dragging the pads of her fingers along his ribs, still with that tantalizing, tender touch, taunting him until he shudders like a fly-stung horse. So sensitive, Loki is, and so vocal, too. Natasha wants to hear him, wants to make him cry.
"I love you like this," she whispers. She trails a finger up the very center of his chest, stopping mid-sternum. "Vulnerable."
She takes her hands away and sits still, her only movement the blinking of her eyes and the steady, barely-noticeable rhythm of her breathing. Loki swallows hard and pants with his mouth open, his head lolling, searching for her. Natasha bites her lip and gives in, sliding her hands up his chest and rubbing his nipples hard, rolling them between her fingers, pinching, dropping her mouth to nip and lick at them, sucking them into her mouth, and Loki shrieks, an absolutely undignified sound, yanking at his bonds. So sensitive. Natasha moans and nuzzles against his skin before giving his nipples a last kiss, one per side, and sitting up. An inarticulate plea slips from Loki's lips, and he arches toward her, trembling. Natasha knows the feeling. How many times have they done this, or things like this? Dozens, but she can never get enough of him like this, so submissive, so needy. She's fucked and been fucked, and never once has she felt like she does now, powerful and cruel and protective all at once.
Her pulse rushing, she turns to his neglected cock, and smiles when she sees his erection hasn't flagged a bit. She taps it, and watches him twitch.
"It must hurt," she muses, and does it again, a thrill snaking through her body. "Being locked up like this. But you like it, don't you?"
Loki doesn't reply, not like she expected one, but when she lowers her mouth to him, he makes a pathetic, desperate little sound and jerks his hips up, seeking the warm heat. Natasha avoids him deftly, and doesn't bother to stifle her laugh when his face contorts in longing. This time, when she ducks her head and takes him in her mouth, she doesn't move away, and sucks on his cock through the steel bars, humming, the metal conducting the vibrations to his skin. She squeezes his balls lightly, and smiles. She has plans for those tonight, but later. Now, she takes the key from around her neck, holding its thin silver chain out of the way, and unlocks the small padlock keeping his cage shut tight.
"Natasha," Loki gasps, a broken sound, and she grins as she sets the cage to the side, making a mental note to clean it later. The cock ring she locks again.
His pre-come has been smeared along his shaft by the cage, so much that any additional lubricant is unnecessary. She spits on him anyway, more for the aesthetic effect than anything, takes him in hand, firm enough to make him squirm but too loose to make him come, and begins to stroke, twisting her hand in a slow rhythm. Loki thrusts against her, desperately seeking friction; she gives him just enough, and when he reaches a point where his back is arching, his moans thick and heavy, she draws back her hand and smacks his cock hard. Loki screeches and tries to roll away from her; she does it again, then scratches her nails up his shaft, pinching his foreskin until he's hissing between his teeth, his muscles bunching as if he's trying to crawl out of his skin. Natasha can see the moment when he decides not to break free of his bonds, his tendons bulging in his arms and neck, his fists clenching before he exhales sharply, a pleading whine, and collapses against the headboard.
"Good boy," Natasha praises, and takes him in her mouth to the hilt, her front teeth hitting the cock ring as her tongue soothes the hurts she's given him. Loki says something sharp and fervent, what Natasha can only assume is an Old Norse curse, and shudders, his fingers grasping at the sheets.
Natasha has heard people say fellatio is an inherently submissive position; she has no idea why, when it puts her sharp teeth directly in the path of a man's most sensitive parts. She takes advantage of that, and drags her teeth along Loki's cock on her way up.
"Sadist," Loki says with glee, his voice unmodulated and too loud. He throws his head back and hums, a half-moaning sound designed to remind himself that he can indeed still make noise. Natasha rubs the head of his cock comfortingly, and considers taking the blindfold off for this next part - but no, this will be even better if he's completely unprepared. She slides off the bed and kneels, pulling a small box out from under the bed, acknowledging Loki's questioning whimpers only by patting his leg, an assurance she hasn't left him. In the box are four things: a small bullet vibrator, a bottle of lube, a thick vibrating plug, and a bag of clothespins. This last item Natasha takes out, then shuts the box and slides it back under the bed. Time to instill a little apprehension before she begins.
Crouching at the head of the bed, she steadies Loki's head with one hand and lifts one side of the earmuffs with the other, gently taking out the earplug. He tries to turn his head, but she holds him still, and reminds him in a cool, deceptively soft voice, "I promised you I'd make you cry."
Loki smiles, a brief grimace that almost looks like pain, and says her name in a breathy, worshipful tone. Natasha deafens him again, and goes to sit in between his legs, the bag of clothespins in hand. This is her trump card, something certain to bring tears to his eyes. She cups his balls in her hand, massaging them with a delicate touch, watching Loki moan and raise his hips in response, his movements hesitant in light of her warning.
Natasha is so very gentle with him, lulling him into a relaxed state with the kindest and sweetest of strokes, and just as the tension starts to leave Loki's body, she takes a clothespin and clips it to Loki's scrotum. His reaction is immediate, struggling accompanied by a loud, furious yelp. Natasha shoves him down and leans her full weight against his thighs, trapping him, and lifts up his cock to add another clothespin. Loki whines and wriggles under her, but Natasha is merciless, marching clothespins in neat lines along his balls until they brush against the cock ring, and around that point Loki's struggles turn to pleasurable squirming as he tries desperately and with little success to control his moaning. She smiles, and leans back to take in the view, Loki's cock, swollen and pulsing pre-come from the tip, his scrotum bright red and bristling with pins. Utterly gorgeous. Natasha wishes she could take a picture, but she isn't that stupid.
She takes his cock in hand again, but this time, she only cups the head in her palm, pressing the pad of her thumb against his frenulum, and begins to massage him in small, slow circles. This spot is exquisitely sensitive on all men, and particularly on Loki; it doesn't take long until he's shaking, little sobs catching in his throat, and Natasha takes pity on him, taking him in a loose fist and speeding her rhythm until he comes all over her hand. His body goes limp and he sighs. Natasha just smirks, and says to his unheeding ears, "I'm not done with you yet."
In the box are more tools, and this one is her favorite. The plug is big, bigger than the strap-on she's fucked him with before, but Natasha is confident he'll take it admirably. She slicks up her fingers with the lube, and sets about preparing him.
"Natasha?" he asks, his voice lilting high as she touches him, pressing two fingers into his hole. She rubs his side, a silent reminder to relax, tilting her fingers to brush against his prostate. His breath hitches, and he says, anguished, "Natasha, please."
That veers too close to real distress for Natasha's liking (though part of her does wonder what it would be like to push him beyond his breaking point, to see him truly shattered - but she'll never do it), and she wipes the lube off her fingers, sits on the bed by his head, slips the earmuffs off his ears.
"You all right?" she asks, keeping her voice neutral, stopping herself from sweeping away the pieces of hair that cling to his forehead. Loki wouldn't appreciate being made to feel weaker than he does already.
"Why would I not be?" he rejoins snappishly, and stretches in his bonds. "I want to hear you."
Knowing full well he can't see her, Natasha smiles. Would it kill him to ask, instead of playing these games? Possibly. She doesn't mind them, anyway. Untangling the knotted mess of Loki's mind is a challenge, one she enjoys.
"All right," she says, and leaves the earmuffs and earplugs by the bed. "Do you want me to tell you what I'm going to do to you?"
His retort is cut off by a gasp as she runs her finger along the line of clothespins like the keys of a piano, setting them moving, and his body jerks. "Because I want to tell you what I'm going to do to you. I want to see your face when you realize just how thoroughly I'm going to take you apart."
That little smile flits across his lips again, and he cants his hips toward her invitingly. Natasha liberally slicks the plug with lube, still speaking.
"This is going to hurt," she tells him conversationally. "Maybe not at first. It might just sting a bit then. But after I've made you come again - " She pushes the plug inside him, a steady, insistent pressure. "And again - " Abruptly, the muscle gives and the plug slides home, startling a cry from Loki. "And again, you're going to be crying. Keep telling yourself you won't, if it makes you feel better. But you will. How does that feel?"
Loki is gnawing on his lower lip, and Natasha prods the plug again, a pointed reminder that she expects an answer. He exhales heavily and manages, "Fine."
"Good."
She curls her fingers around his cock again, teasing his slit with her thumb. Loki tosses his head back, sighing. In her hand, his cock swells again, and Natasha changes to a firmer grip. His hips rise, humping into the air.
"You really have an amazing refractory period, you know that?" she murmurs, and gives his cock a little yank before continuing. "Of course, I do keep you locked up all the time, so that might have something to do with it. Making up for lost time."
"Please, wait - " he gasps, and Natasha hums thoughtfully.
"No," she decides, and speeds her strokes until Loki shudders hard and comes again with a strangled sound.
"There," he pants, "there, are you finished, are you happy - "
"Not even close," Natasha says, and activates the vibrating plug.
Loki screams and arches off the bed, muscles straining, toes curling. Natasha touches her nipples lightly, shivering pleasantly, and watches.
"What is - what - I - " he whines, thrashing. "Please!"
"You'd think you've never seen a vibrator before," Natasha remarks mildly. "Or did you think they were just for women?"
"Nggh - "
"I bet you want me to touch you," she continues, and purposefully leans away from him, breaking all contact. "I don't think I will. I think I'm going to sit back, watch you squirm, and enjoy myself. How does that sound?"
Loki sobs and writhes, incapable of speech. Natasha licks her fingers and slides them between her legs, finding her clit and circling it steadily, her pressure light, teasing. An idea flickers in her mind, one she hadn't considered for tonight, but Natasha is nothing if not skilled at improvising.
She touches herself, fingers swirling and dipping inside her entrance before dragging that moisture along her folds. Loki is making the loveliest choked groans, his face red, his lip raw and swollen from his teeth, and she knows he's weeping under that blindfold. Time to make him sob harder.
"Taste this," she instructs, and presses her fingers into his mouth. Loki whimpers and shoves his head up to take them deep, making himself gag; Natasha raises an eyebrow, impressed. Normally she'd have to order him to do that. "Good boy."
Loki releases her fingers with a pop and a moan, leaning back as if she's finished with him. He couldn't be further from the truth. Natasha leans across his body, dancing her fingers along the length of his newly-erect cock - Loki mewls, and she smirks at him, at this new sound, wondering how deliciously painful her touch must be for him - takes hold of the nearest clothespin, and yanks it off unceremoniously. Loki howls, thrashes, bucks his hips, splutters something in his native language. She's noticing a theme tonight. Grinning, she plucks another pin from his balls, and another, until she has a neat pile lying on the floor and Loki is shaking and whimpering, his scrotum bright red and abused, his cock so hard it's flushing purple. She flicks it, and the sound he makes borders on inhuman.
Moving quickly, attempting to take him by surprise, Natasha swings herself over him, straddling him, letting his cock rub against her wet folds.
"N'tasha!"
"Hmm?" Reaching behind her, she wiggles the plug, pushing it three time with short, sharp thrusts. "What was that, Loki?"
He tries to speak, garbled and inarticulate, and Natasha leans forward to kiss him.
"Ready for me?" she murmurs, pressing his cock to her entrance, sliding down on it quickly. It's so good her eyelids flutter, and she gapes for a moment, rocking her hips mindlessly, struggling to regain control of her voice. Loki senses it and thrusts hard against her, trying to throw her off balance, to make her moan. She nearly falls forward, bracing herself with one hand on the bed, her breasts brushing his chest, and wraps her other hand around his throat, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
"If you come before me," she growls in his ear, "I swear to god I'll leave that thing on its highest setting and whip you 'til you bleed, do you understand me?"
Loki gasps a sound she takes for assent, and Natasha digs her nails into his chest, keeping one hand on his throat, and rides him hard, panting, grinding her hips at just the right angle so her clit rubs against his pelvis on each downward stroke. She'd brought herself close earlier, and now it's just a matter of friction, of using his thick cock like it's her favorite toy, of listening to Loki's breath hissing between his teeth as he tries to obey her, no matter how difficult she makes it for him with the hot slickness of her cunt and the merciless rhythm she needs to get herself off.
Natasha likes to make it very difficult for Loki.
She comes with a shudder, scraping red lines down his torso, her toes curling hard, her jaw clenching. Laying her head flat on Loki's chest, she listens to the frantic pounding of his heart and his desperate, wheezing whines as she catches her breath, and then, sitting up and letting him slip out of her, she cups his face, tracing his lips with a finger.
"You can come now," she tells him softly. "For me. You've done so well, Loki, so perfectly. I want to see you - "
His body seizes, every muscle drawing painfully taut, his jaw dropping, brows knitting together, eyes undoubtedly squeezed tight under the blindfold. Natasha watches his face avidly, taking in every twitch, every whimper, every little jolt of pleasure until he's spent, then quickly leans back to switch off the plug. No point in easing it out yet; his body won't allow her to do it. Still straddling him, she cradles his head and unties the blindfold, letting it drop to the side. His eyes remain shut, their corners crinkled, dried salt marking the paths of tears the blindfold hadn't soaked up.
"Loki," she whispers, kissing his forehead. Nothing but ragged breathing. "Loki. You still with me?"
He hums, and opens his eyes. They're bleary, dazed, red-rimmed, and Natasha cherishes the sight of them.
"I'm going to untie you now, okay?"
Loki blinks at her, then nods slowly, as if he's forgotten how. Natasha climbs off him and goes to each corner of the bed, releasing his wrists and ankles. His arms flop, and Natasha gently places them on the bed; his eyes have closed again, and his breathing has evened. It's not often she gets him to this place, an endorphin high that leaves him limp and stunned, still and quiet as he so rarely allows himself to be. Overwhelming tenderness threatens to choke her; Natasha ducks her head and spreads his thighs, guiding the plug out with careful hands. The only sign he notices its absence is a soft sigh. She leaves it on the floor with the intent of cleaning it later, and crawls back into bed with him.
"Hey," she whispers. Loki rolls over and tucks his face in the curve of her shoulder, his arm draping over her waist. Natasha holds him, pressing her mouth to his hair, marveling at his easy trust, this willing display of vulnerability, so much more potent than anything he could show tied up and beaten.
She loses track of time, lying curled around him with her mind blank. At last he sighs and says resignedly, hoarsely, "I suppose you win the wager."
Natasha smiles, resting her chin on his head so he can't see it. "I'm not going to say I told you so."
"You just did," he points out, and untangles himself from her arms. Natasha lets him go, feeling strangely bereft, but he comes back almost instantly, lying on his side to watch her with lazy contentedness. "What will it be, then?"
"My favor?"
"Mmm." His lips curve in a smile oddly free of malice. "There is little I couldn't give you. You could have wisdom. Riches. An armory full of secrets and spells no mortal enemy could resist." Natasha laughs, and he tilts his head, eyes tracing her features. "I could bring you the fruit of Idunn's orchards, if you asked it of me."
Natasha goes still. He watches her, unreadable.
"I don't think immortality would suit me," she says carefully, after a long, long moment. Loki gives her a crooked smile.
"No?" he asks. "You would turn down deification so quickly?"
"The god of lies position is already taken," she says with a sardonic twist to her words, running her fingers down Loki's ribs. He stiffens, his only concession towards ticklishness. "I'm not sure what else I would do."
"Well, I could always use a female counterpart." He shrugs, rolls onto his back, stretches. "Think on it. I'll be waiting for you to call in that favor, whatever it may be."
"I'll keep that in mind," she says. He entwines their fingers and looks at her hand, frowning a little at the scars on her knuckles. She realizes, with sudden, blank shock, that he's already fretting over her impending death; not something that hasn't happened before, with other people, but unlike them, Loki's worry isn't due to her risky choice of career. An Asgardian child grows from infancy into toddlerhood in the time it takes a human to live and die, after all; this is about her lifespan, its mayfly shortness compared to his.
That explains his stubborn insistence on trying to heal her, at least. She carefully chooses not to think about its other implications, nor those of his offer of apples.
"As nights in go, that was pretty fun, wasn't it?" she says instead, nudging him, hearkening back to their conversation over dinner.
"Yes," Loki says, and smiles, his eyes disconcertingly clear. "It was. Delightful tortures, indeed."
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