Evil to Him Who Evil Thinks

by Dark Rabbit

This was seriously intended to be a fluffy, domestic story, about the established relationship between two super-villains who, logic suggested, could not possibly spend their whole time screwing with people. The further I went with it, the more I discovered that that's exactly what they do. Only behind the doors of the castle, the people they screw with are each other.

1. Pop Tarts

"...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.

Victor strips the bloodstained rubber gloves away as he leaves his laboratory. An unnecessary move, Loki does not know why he bothers. There has been enough and to spare of blood between them both already. That he still does it though, is a small bit of mortal vulnerability that pleases him. This is a mortal with very little that is vulnerable about him.

Loki looks up at him from the comfortable green-plush sofa, that goes so ill with the rest of the décor of the castle. It was purchased, so Victor admits, specifically for him. He would like to think that another bit of vulnerability, but it is not. Victor is generous with all his allies, as long as he has use for them.

"Your experiments..." He murmurs greeting. "How go they, Victor?"

"Satisfactory." Victor hands the gloves to a subordinate, who takes them away. "I need more test subjects." Victor always thinks he needs more test subjects. "And your own machinations, Loki: Do they prove successful?"

"Of course. Balder is trusting, and I am..."

"And you are Loki." Victor finishes the sentence.

Loki sits up. He stretches limbs that are cramped from too long sitting. Life in Latveria has proven pleasant in many ways, but it lacks challenge. There are not enough things to hunt here.. "I hunger, Victor."

Victor sits. On his throne, though Loki pats the sofa beside him so enticingly. "A subordinate could bring you something surely?"

"You bring it. Bring... – What were those flat things with the sugar on them called?"

"The Pop Tarts? That your brother's friends brought from Broxton?" Victor frowns. "Are you sure you want those?"

Loki smiles. He wants them. The food on Midgard intrigues him, the more so, the further it diverges from that in Asgard. He craves its strong tastes of salt, and sugar, and fat. The thing called a "Big Mac," which came also from Broxton, was e'en more pleasing than the tarts. So far however, Victor has not been able to procure such for him in Latveria.

"Pop Tarts." He allows an edge to come into his voice. "Bring them, Victor."

The tarts are brought, and by Victor's own hands.

"Strawberry." Loki opens the box. "It was Hot Fudge Sundae flavor I wanted, but these will do for now." He bites into a tart, savoring the, pinkish flavor of the filling, the cloying-sweet taste of the frosting on top. Then he offers it to Victor. "Take a bite?"

Victor bites, notably, right on top of where Loki bit before. He chews. When he speaks again, there is pleasure in his voice. "It tastes of lies." He bites again, then again. Eventually Loki takes out another tart; this one, apparently, belongs to Victor now. "You stamp your imprint upon everything you touch, don't you?" Victor says. "Upon the furniture, upon the food even..."

Loki puts out a hand, stroking the mask that hides his face. "And upon you too, Victor?" He makes his voice caressing.

But Victor pulls away. "Doom remains Doom. Best eat your tarts, Loki. They at least, belong to you only."

Thinks he so? Victor is smart, but he is mortal and limited. He knoweth not the extent of the control of the Trickster.

"Yes, Victor," Loki murmurs gently. And takes another tart.