Honeyed Moon
Cynara wasn't sure how the musk ox got into her office, but she was pretty sure who was responsible.
She clung to the doorway for a long moment, staring at the shaggy beast that was casually nosing through the papers on her desk, and tried not to breathe in the scent of hair, hide and hay that rolled off him in waves.
"Husband?" she called into the air, trying to keep her voice from panicking. That was the trick; sounding like it was sweet to find a huge ungulate in her workplace.
"A gift," came the voice from behind her. "For you."
She jumped, and peered over her shoulder, instantly irritated that he was smiling at her, dimples deep despite looking tired and pale as well.
"A . . . gift," Cynara repeated, resolving to stay calm. "Thank you. I did not know I needed a musk ox."
"It is a husband's duty to provide," Loki intoned.
Cynara stared at it, and then back at him. "He's not . . . your son, is he?"
Loki looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm fairly sure he is not. I would have remembered calving him, and my attraction to shaggy females was . . . just a youthful phase."
"Too much information," Cynara chuffed, trying to squeeze into her office around the hairy mass. "Husband, what do you expect me to do with a musk ox, and answer that question carefully, because while you may like gallivanting around with creatures, I'm not that sort of wife."
"Sven-the-Fress will be a guardian," Loki intoned, waving airily. "A varon-ox of sorts."
"Sven-the-Fress? Fress means tomcat. He's NOT a tomcat!" Cynara darted forward, yanking away the ream of paper the ox had begun to nibble.
"You don't like him," Loki deflated, looking genuinely hurt and Cynara took a deep breath.
"He's the best-looking musk ox I've ever seen," she announced truthfully. "And nobody has ever given me one before."
"I can get more-"
"No! Ah, no, one is more than enough, husband. One is almost too much. I'm pretty sure the lease has a restriction on pets larger than thirty pounds, which means I won't be able to ah, keep him."
Loki tipped his head, looking at the musk ox in a calculating way. "Thirty pounds . . ."
He waved a hand, and instantly the musk ox shrunk, compressing until it was the size and shape of a corgi. Cynara blinked, and crouched down, reaching a tentative hand out to touch the miniaturized musk ox. The animal permitted the petting, then began to nose around the toe of her leather boot. "Uhhh, okaayyy."
"You will not get as much wool from him this way," Loki sighed. "It may take years to gather enough to knit."
"I'll buy you socks," Cynara assured him, and rose, looking up into his face. She laid a hand on her husband's cheek, which was cool under her fingers. He leaned into her touch, and she noted tinges of green around his eyelids. "Are you ill?"
"I am merely tired and require your care," Loki murmured, and promptly quashed the tender feelings rising up inside her by adding, "therefore I order you to wait on me until I am healed."
"Hold on a minute, I'm at work, Husband—I have projects to do. You can't just whisk me-"
Apparently he could, Cynara sourly realized a moment later as the two of them materialized outside the front steps of the house on Yetman Avenue. Loki had Sven-the-Fress tucked under one arm, like a shaggy football. Cynara looked around, hoping nobody had noticed them, but unfortunately old Mrs. Calufrax from across the street was watering the flowerbeds in her yard and staring at them suspiciously.
Cynara waved. "Oh, hi. Your ah, zinnias are looking nice . . . see you . . ." she linked an arm through Loki's and hustled him into the house, fumbling with her keys and growling under her breath. "Honestly, of all the people to see you!"
"She has forgotten already," Loki replied, setting Sven-the-Fress down and straightening up with a groan.
Cynara looked at him again, and stepped closer. "You're in pain. Tell me what's wrong."
"A scratch," he sighed, "or two." He moved to open the jerkin he wore, pulling away the edges to reveal pale skin scored with long oozing gashes. "Apparently dragons make outstanding sentinels."
"Dragons? As in more than one? Oh God . . ." Cynara began to pull the rest of his clothing open, studying the wounds with horror.
"Only one clawed me," Loki pointed out, a flicker of a smile crossing his mouth. "While I have a fair measure of speed, he had just a bit more. Ow." This last came as Cynara lightly touched one of the marks.
"Out of your clothes," she commanded quietly. "These gashes need to be washed and you need to lie down somewhere."
Loki raised an eyebrow. "I am a god; you do not order me around like some minion."
Cynara chuffed, looking up at him mutinously. "I am a wife; my duty is to take care of you."
He thought this over and then nodded imperiously. "Proceed."
"Oh thank you," she muttered under her breath even as she helped him out of the ornate green leather gear he generally wore. Cynara wasn't sure what everything was called, but once Loki was down to skin, she tried not to lick her lips.
He was still gorgeous, despite the oozing gashes along his ribs, pale and lean muscle, and even shirtless he projected the lazy grace of a long tomcat. Cynara couldn't help herself and reached out to smooth her fingers along his chest, pretending she wasn't when Loki caught her and grinned.
Of course it was his devastating one; the grin that sent heat through her stomach and lower. It had been nearly two months since Cynara had last seen her husband on their wedding night in Las Vegas and her body was letting her know it remembered him. He caught her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze. "We both burn," he murmured, and Cynara blushed.
"Yes, well we need to get you healed before anything else, Husband. Those slashes don't look very good, and I don't want you getting any worse . . ." she told him firmly, but he pulled her close and looked down at her, green eyes smoldering.
"Healing comes in many forms," Loki intoned hoarsely. "Where is our bed?"
Cynara thought hard, trying to figure out what best to do. From the look of his injuries, anything as strenuous as sex would be sure to either worsen the gashes or force whatever infection/poison was in them to act faster, but at the same time she knew it had been an act of trust for Loki to come to her in his need. Any rejection now might send him into a rage, or worse, merely send him away, and that wouldn't bode well for anyone in the long run.
An option came to mind; something she knew would probably appeal to him. Smiling, she batted her eyes up at Loki. "Oh lord and master," she cooed, snickering to herself even as the words slipped out. "Allow me to pleasure you here and now, as befits a god."
He looked confused, as well he might, Cynara thought. She'd never played the concubine card before.
Loki arched an eyebrow again, but she slid her hands down to his trousers, noting the tented ridge as she undid the fastenings as deftly as she could. Oh he was a god; of that there could be little doubt, and she began to kiss her way down his chest and stomach, making her intention clear.
Over her head she heard him give a startled gasp. "What . . . ohhhhhh. Yes. Yes, befitting a god . . ."
She settled on her knees, grateful that the living room shades were closed; the last thing she needed was to give Mrs. Calufrax a heart attack. The sweet musk of Loki's skin made her sigh, and she tugged the leather trousers down, freeing his prick and taking it in her two hands happily before nuzzling it.
Fun. This was fun, Cynara thought. She'd always liked giving pleasure, and the playful talent of performing a good blowjob was very satisfying. Carefully she licked his length, gratified when Loki shuddered. God he might be, she thought, but he was just as basic in his drives as she was. That was her last deliberate thought as she bent her face and slowly slipped his thick shaft into her mouth.
He tasted of salt, leather and citrus, and Cynara took her time in toying with the thick head of his cock, kissing it playfully as she caressed his heavy silky balls, making pleased little sounds whenever he reacted. There was something endearing about hearing Loki breathe heavily, and when one of his hands slid through her hair, long fingers weaving into her fluffy curls, she gave a hum of approval.
"Bride, you are . . ." he groaned, "worthy . . ."
She nearly smiled, but instead quickened her pace, savoring the sudden swell of his prick as she did so. Cynara squirmed a little, aroused herself, but put her focus back on pleasuring him, gliding her tongue around the sensitive underside, lightly raking her teeth on the topside—not hard, just enough to tease.
It worked; the fingers in her hair tightened. Cynara slid one hand around the back of his thigh to brace him and began to move steadily, losing herself in the rhythm of this pleasure. After a while his groans deepened and grew louder, and she felt the warning throbs against her tongue before Loki came, the heated spurts tasting of anise and cream.
Cynara swallowed, surprised at the mild taste, and licked the rest of him clean, feeling absolutely smug. She was still horny as hell herself of course, but doing mischief to the god of the same had been a true triumph, one she intended to savor a bit. The fingers in her hair loosened and slipped free, moving around her head to stroke her cheek and lift her chin. She looked up the long torso of her husband to his face.
His pale, oh-so-vulnerable face. They stared at each other a long moment, and she felt a rush of something fiercely joyful rise through her as she stood again, slipping her hands up to cup his face.
"My goddess," Loki whispered. Then he smiled again, the vulnerable expression gone, replaced by a slightly dazed look. "I fear I shall need our bed after all . . ." he swayed and Cynara slipped an arm around him, guiding Loki up the stairs and wondering if Sven-the-Fress would try to follow them.
The wounds looked worse in good light, and Cynara steeled herself before unpacking the first aid kit. All S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had triage training to some degree; it made sense considering how random and dangerous the job could be. Case in point: dealing with oozing dragon-claw gashes. She pulled out gauze and hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic ointment, then looked at Loki's face.
He lay quietly—already an indication of how much pain he was in—on his right side, eyes closed. Cynara spoke softly. "I'm going to clean these and put something over them to help heal and protect them. I think you ought to try and sleep, Husband."
"You may carry on," he murmured, not opening his eyes, his voice sleepy. With care, Cynara cleaned each gash, wiping the gummy blood and sticky ichor away before applying the ointment and taping gauze over them. He would probably have a scar or two, she thought; not typical for a god, but then again dragons were powerful too, in their own right.
"Why were you messing around with dragons?" she asked in a low voice, trying to make the question sound unimportant.
"I was not 'messing around' with them," came his terse reply. "They were a minor difficulty I encountered while attending to matters best left unshared with you."
"Hmmm."
"It is far better for all concerned that you remain ignorant, Wife," Loki assured her through gritted teeth. "Trust me."
Cynara said nothing, figuring he was probably right; anything involving dragons was probably something she didn't really want to know about. On the other hand she had no doubt that Fury probably knew Loki was here and would be asking questions very soon. "Fine, fine. Try and get some sleep."
He gave a murmur of agreement. Cynara finished with the dressings, and then moved to pull a blanket over him and kiss his temple; it was cool against her lips.
At least he didn't have a fever, she noted.
Tiptoeing downstairs, she came upon the sight of her avocado tree being stripped of leaves by a very determined Sven-the-Fress. Two small and steaming piles of fresh manure in the hallway assured her he'd made himself at home, and grumbling, she went to get paper towels and wipes, wondering if it was even possible to house-train a musk ox.
After cleaning up and washing her hands, Cynara picked up her phone. She hesitated, wondering what she was going to say, but was saved the trouble when it rang in her hand. A peek at the screen made her flinch, but Cynara answered it calmly. "Sir."
"Special technician Sigyn-Laufeyson," Fury rolled out impatiently. "Since you're generally not in the habit of importing livestock or leaving work without authorization, I'll assume your husband is around."
"He did stop in at the office, and um, brought me a present," Cynara agreed. They'd left in a hurry; she wondered if Sven-the-Fress had left anything behind that she hadn't noticed.
"Flowers are a present," Fury pointed out. "Chocolates are a present. Fifteen hundred pound musk oxen are NOT a damned present!"
"Well culturally speaking they sort of are, sir," she replied. "I mean, given the template of Asgardian civilization, livestock were and are considered status symbols to show off personal wealth-"
"Save the cultural justification for someone else," Fury snapped. "What's he doing here?"
"Eating my avocado plant," she blurted, before realizing her mistake. "Oh, um, you meant Loki. Errr . . . conjugal visit?"
Eloquent silence greeted this, and Cynara squirmed. At her feet, Sven-the-Fress ambled over, making little snorty sounds.
"This is how this is going to go," Fury told her in flat tones. "He stays with you, period. If he makes one move anywhere across the planet without you by his side accounting for his actions, there won't BE any more visits, conjugal or otherwise. Do I make myself clear?"
"As a windowpane, sir." Cynara waited a beat before adding, "Um, I do have one little request though—could you please get a message to Thor to ah . . . call me? I have some questions . . ."
"Questions."
"Yes sir." She hesitated.
"About?" Fury wasn't going to let her off the hook.
Cynara gave a gulp. "Um . . . Asgardian anatomy?"
Another silence, this one twice as painful for her. Cynara could just imagine Fury's unblinking one-eyed stare, his completely un-amused expression. Then—
"I'll see he gets in touch with you."
The click of disconnection let her breathe again. Cynara bent down to pet Sven, feeling relief. She scooped up Loki's clothing, wondering if any of it was safe or washable.