"Get out."
Thranduil's voice came hoarse but distinctly haughty, forearm strewn over his eyes to block out the sunlight. The sheets were tangled completely round one of his legs, he was bloody hot and completely hung over; at the opposite end of the room, Loki remained unamused, stood elegantly before the crystalline display that held the liquor, satin robe hanging loosely and open at the front. His aristocratic hands decanted the wine bottle over his goblet with elegant grace, he huffed slightly with repulsion.
"I'm afraid you're not quite at liberty to issue commands," he said without turning around— then sneered on adding, "my liege."
They both were far from home.
Thranduil regarded Loki from in-between his fingers, just as appalled; why he'd slept with him, he did not know, but they were equally unhappy about it.
"Fasten your robes," he snarled arrogantly, "I wish not to look upon such a thing in the morning."
Loki remained stood where he was, faced the other way; his lips stretched in a sinister smile and he gave a dry laugh. "All while you are strewn like a cheap harlot, marked and bruised all over," he said, finally turning around.
They despised each other thoroughly.
The night before had been an unspoken contest in the perverse, they had taken turns debasing and degrading each other to unfathomable depths, and they fucking loved every minute. It had become clear to both they'd been matched in shameless depravity, they had called each other horrible names even as they fought to outdo one another.
Thranduil did not much move to inspect himself for bruises; he now remembered the diplomatic matters of state that bound him to this man.
"Have your advisers speak with mine," he said venomously, "I'm in no state to attend to such things."
Loki could have summoned a disguise to appear more presentable, but he didn't fancy it; he moved toward the open balcony with dignified composure, all diabolical precision and immaculate planning inside.
"You even think of taking it, and I'm afraid you'll find yourself outsmarted, Prince of Lies," Thranduil said without opening his eyes.
For the most fleeting moment, Loki's expression faltered; his hand tightened momentarily on the goblet, and then he relaxed and turned his head to Thranduil with a languid smile.
"Not in my wildest dreams," he said, enunciating every word— like he desired the prized item he'd come here to claim about as little as he desired a second go at the Elven King of Mirkwood.
They had fucked each other unconscious. They had had at each other to their very last ounce of strength, their voices echoed base and raw very late into the night, frustrated they couldn't exhaust one another, and couldn't exhaust themselves.
Now, they were frustrated tenfold there was unfinished political business that left them inexorably bound, they each wished they could pay the other to get the fuck out.
To be continued…
XXX
A/N: If anyone likes RPing Thor/Loki, Thranduil/Loki, Hiddlesworth, or Elrond/Thranduil, please send me a message!