No Time For Us
I recently gave myself Khoki (Khan and Loki) feels, so I thought I'd share the pain. Enjoy the blurb.
Prologue: No Time
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, infiltrating the vault of the dwarf king Eitri and stealing one of the ancient relics.
Loki was tired of running, tired of covering his tracks wherever he went, hiding from the many enemies he had easily made since escaping Odin's prison. Friendless, alone, and drained to the very core of his bones, the young god knew he was in a desperate state. If his reserve of magic depleted any further, there will be nothing shielding him from Heimdall's all knowing eyes.
All he needed was a little time, one night's rest without the fear of being hunted, just to catch his breath. So he gambled and used his last smidgen of magic to break into Eitri's vault. And once he reached the ancient sands, he would stop time right then and there, and sleep until regaining enough energy to leave the place alive. Or at least, that was the plan.
What Loki hadn't anticipated was for the relic to be utterly obstinate, rejecting his magic even as his back hits against the walls of a dead end.
"Wretched thing," he growls through clenched teeth, tears of frustration welling in the corners of his eyes, as he channels his magic through the sands of the hourglass one last time. "I need you to work. You must work! I refuse to die this way!"
And Loki very well could have died that day, if it hadn't been for some strange miracle that suddenly triggered the sands to glow an ethereal blue. The light engulfs him, seeps to every crevice of the treasure room, and the Mischief God can only gape in awe as axes and arrows suspend in midair, the dwarf soldiers frozen in their combat stances.
He breathes a sigh of relief as the chaos momentarily halts, and a long moment passes before he builds the audacity to rest his eyes. Pressing against a pillar for support, he kneels to sit, feeling his muscles protest and ache now that the rush of adrenaline is no longer dulling the pain. Loki leans his head against the marble, gripping loosely to the enchanted hourglass at his side, but before he can even teeter into weary, dreamless sleep, the ground is suddenly pulled from beneath him.
Loki startles awake, feeling the clench and twist of his stomach too familiar, as he is sucked into the unmistakable distort of a portal. He wonders if this is the end. Has Heimdall finally caught up to him, returning him to Odin's wrath without even a moment's hesitation? But his terrors are soon blown to confusion, as he is suddenly released into black emptiness. Loki lands on something curved and metal and hears a resounding crack. He hopes it's none of his ribs.
The young god musters enough magic to cast a small light, revealing the contents of the windowless chamber. The walls are made of metal, and there is nothing else in its confinements other than the large, cylindrical object on which he is currently sitting.
He runs a hand along the cool surface, feeling the dents he had left from his fall, until his fingernails scrape against smooth glass. He brings the light closer to examine this object, and his breath is caught in his throat once he realizes a man is inside, his face ghostly and obscure beyond the cracked window.
Loki watches him for a long time until the frantic beating of his heart subsides. He isn't sure if the man is dead or sleeping, eyes closed and features relaxed in his frost-tinted chamber. His dark hair is smoothed back, although a few rebellious strands curl along his temple. And Loki—in his surreal, depleted state—is strangely captivated by the pale skin, the long face, sharp cheekbones, soft bowed lips—until piercing quicksilver eyes are staring into his.
He fails to muffle a cry as the glass between them shatters.