Disclaimer: I don't own anything here, I just like to play here.
A/N: This is a little one-shot that popped in my head after too many hours on Tumblr, and is my first foray into this fandom. HI EVERYBODY. Please don't hurt me. I like my Loki like I like my coffee - evil but sexy.
The gala was even more boring than she'd expected it to be, but the booze, at least, was good. Only the best, for this crowd. Lily snorted into her champagne, watching the ladies in their glittering gowns, and tried to keep her disdain from showing too blatantly on her face.
God she hated this. Her unruly hair was already trying to fall from its carefully restrained coiffure, and of course there wasn't a ladies' room on the ground floor. Sometimes she was certain that her uncle just enjoyed watching women in heels try to navigate marble staircases. Thankfully, Lily was tall enough that heels tended to make her taller than the prospective dance partners her uncle was constantly sending her direction, so she was in flats tonight.
Unfortunately, speed was not conducive to maintaining a precarious hairstyle, and by the time she reached the balcony above the ballroom, it had mostly fallen, thick brown curls spilling over her shoulders. She swore under her breath, with an inventiveness that would have surprised her uncle, had he been able to hear her. She twisted both arms above her head, struggling to remove the rest of the pins, and more curls tumbled down over her face.
Perhaps that was why, rounding a corner, she crashed into the man coming down the stairs.
The impact knocked her back, and she would have fallen, had an iron-hard hand not gripped her elbow. She struggled to regain her balance, grateful for his aid, and shoved her hair from her eyes.
The man before her was...beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, dark hair smoothed back from a high, clear brow, but his eyes - there was the real beauty. Blue and cold and sharp. He wore a mocking smile, lips stretched across white teeth in something that was not quite amusement. For a moment, Lily was struck dumb, caught in those too blue eyes, the hand on her elbow fever-hot.
And then something moved, in his eyes, and she felt a frisson of fear.
"Forgive me," she breathed, remembering her manners at last, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. Instinct told her that to reveal her fear would earn her something terrible - the madness in this man's eyes was dangerous. "I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you all right?" The lips twitched, baring more teeth, and the grin was not mocking but predatory.
"I am quite well," he murmured, and his voice was softer than she expected. She expected anything but the smooth, cultured vowels and moderate tone. She expected screams, from that grinning face. He hadn't let her go - and she wanted him to. Desperately wanted to be far, far away from him. Her pulse leapt as his eyes swept across her figure. "Such a lovely little thing...what shall I do with you, hmm?"
Her resolve crumbled, terror seizing her throat.
"Oh please," she whispered, horrified to feel tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. "Please, please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't hurt me, please please please just let me go..." The grip on her elbow tightened suddenly, a sharp, painful shock, and she bit her lip to keep the flood of entreaty at bay.
"Silence, pet," he said, still grinning. The thing in his eyes was dancing. "Much as I...appreciate...hearing you beg for your miserable life, I have no time to waste this night." His eyes flicked over her again, and she trembled. He leaned closer, and she caught a flicker of an expensive cologne, laid over hot metal. His voice lowered, and she felt his breath on her cheek. "I have an appointment with your uncle. Or at least, his eye."
"You're a monster," she whispered. He released her elbow abruptly, but only long enough to seize her chin in a punishing grip, dragging her up to stand on tiptoe. He had pulled her close, close enough that she was draped across him. All pretense of civility was gone. No matter how well-dressed he was, no matter how expensive the cologne, the man whose fingers were leaving marks on her skin was not sane, not safe. His eyes flashed, wicked and taunting and utterly, utterly mad. His mouth was stretched in a sneer, his lips so close she thought for one heart-pounding second that he was going to kiss her.
"Yes, I am. And you want me anyway, you sentimental little idiot. I could rip you limb from limb, tear out your insides, and make you beg for the privilege while I do it, and yet you want me to be a monster. You need it, you snivelling little maggot." He stared at her, teeth bared, those mad eyes wide and staring, and Lily shuddered, hating herself for her terror, for her revulsion. His tongue darted out, sweeping across her bottom lip, and then he had shoved her away, tossing her down to the cold marble floors.
And as she trembled, scrubbing her mouth with one hand, the man laughed.
"You will always kneel."