A/N - Ok, so this just popped into my head during a dream a few nights ago (Mr. Hiddleston and foreign languages? Yes, please!) and it wouldn't leave my sleeping or waking moments alone until it escaped the confines of my twisted brain. It's definitely AU and probably slightly OOC with a healthy sprinkle of crack. But, I love it and I can't help it….I'm sprung and I don't care. :)
Also, I apologize if the translation is incorrect, but I believe, with my limited understanding, that it is accurate.
Disclaimer - I do not own any of the characters portrayed in this story.
He moved swiftly through the empty, drab corridors of the building as he made his way towards his destination. This section of the concrete behemoth that he was currently navigating housed the work of Jane Foster, one of a select few humans that he had found some worth in during his recent interactions with their kind. Ultimately, he decided not to hold it against the human that she returned the affections of his "brother"—in a very minute way, Loki could admit that Thor's charms worked well on the fairer sex. Regardless of her lack of sense in that regard, he valued that the woman had impressive zeal for what she termed "science," which was really nothing more than childish, rudimentary magic. So, while stuck in this inferior realm, he opted to help her in her studies in his own unique way. Truth be told, which he was loathe to do, he could have just explained to her the hows and whys. But, he was fairly certain that Jane, as she told him to call her, would neither understand the complexities and nuances of his instructions, nor appreciate being given the answer. So instead, he crafted his words into clues that could lead, if the scientist had the desire to seek, and he doubted that Thor's woman lacked in that virtue.
Most of the humans that resided in SHIELD's facility still cast him a wide berth, and at this late hour, he expected he would see no one. But, he knew that working well into the night was commonplace for Jane and her lofty ambitions, so he thought he might find her. He rounded the final corner, turning into the narrow hallway that led into the workspace and opened the door. The mundane and incessant hum of machines met his ears, along with the sound of primitive, Midgardian "bass," and he instantly hated himself for recognizing it. He closed the door behind him, stepping further into the space.
Foster's laboratory was one of the larger in the facility, and as he crossed the cavernous room filled with computers and mechanisms of all shapes and sizes, the cause of the ruckus became apparent. Five feet and five inches of troublesome energy stood with her back to him, the copier in front of her diverting her attention as it spit out paper. The raven-haired assistant had given him nothing but fits since his return to her world, and she went out of her way every day to remind him that she would have "tazed his ass all the way back to Asgard" if not for the dual intercession of Thor and Jane. Still, it had taken many months before Darcy ceased threatening him in some manner, but in her defense, he had never really tried to placate her. He planned no repetitive, imploring apologies for his previous behavior; she would either eventually accept the single offering he made or not.
Eventually, they bonded over their shared affection for languages, after he heard her curse in Spanish under her breath. He had commiserated in kind, and that was the beginning of a tense, and rather reluctant, ongoing interaction of some sort. What he shared with Darcy was volatile and difficult to describe, even for a wordsmith, but he enjoyed the chaos they mutually created. She taught him about Pop Tarts, Jeopardy, and various other human nonsense, and he in turn schooled her in the languages of Midgard. She was fluent in three, but she wanted him to teach her more, and he gladly obliged her exuberance.
Glancing around, he realized they were alone. Apparently, his brother did know how to get and hold onto Jane's attention for at least one night. In his periphery, Darcy began to move in time with the beat, her spine twisting as her body swayed rhythmically. He withheld the laughter that threatened to escape, waiting for the human to notice his presence. Instead, she started to sing, her voice surprisingly seductive, "So, you wanna play with magic…"
Her hands ran along the outside of her thighs up to her waist as she shook her ass in circles, and he stared, transfixed by the unsuspected vixen and her raunchy grace. Her fingers, shoulders, hips...all of them flowed together smoothly in a way that stirred him, reminding him that at most base, every living thing succumbs to desire. It was a tease, her tone cloying yet challenging, and Loki would almost beg to be on the receiving end of this torment.
"Boy, you should know what you're falling for. Baby, do you dare to do this? Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse…"
His eyes never left her form, feasting upon the wanton display—the hunger he felt overpowering their many differences and all of the things that separated them. If not for the knowledge that Darcy simply tolerated him, he might have found himself brought to heel by her passion. The dance halls of Asgard had never really appealed to him, they were far too stuffy and formal. But, if there had been "dancing" like Darcy's, he definitely would have made time to visit them more often. He found himself wishing that she would never notice him, and he was just about to avail himself of an invisibility spell when she startled, spinning around, "Holy shit!"
Her scream jumbled his thoughts, and he had no time for a response before she continued, "What the hell, Loki? Are you trying to give me a heart attack!?"
"No, Darcy, I am not."
"Why did you sneak up on me?"
Her implication scratched at old wounds and he lashed out, "Sneak? I did nothing of the sort. Maybe if you were able to hear over that blaring garbage…"
Just the quickest flash of pain crossed her face, before she masked it with a look of annoyance. She grabbed for her Ipod, yanking it from its cord, and then started stomping towards him without a word, her eyes focused beyond him towards the door. Clearly, he had pissed off Darcy Lewis.
He could not allow her to leave like this; their "friendship" was far too fragile, and he hated to admit it, but his time with Darcy was a bright spot amongst the darkness of this dull planet. His fingers acted on their own accord, wiggling in the air, and her precious machine appeared amongst them. She growled in annoyance, stopping in her tracks as he stepped in front of her casually, making sure that his body language was non-threatening. "Please, Darcy, let's not be hasty."
"Give me back my Ipod or I guarantee that you'll be walking funny, alien anatomy or not."
He ignored the empty threat, "I will, once you tell me what I said that has angered you so much."
"You called my taste in music garbage…"
"Guilty as charged," he offered, and her narrowed eyes meant there was something more, "But, I've done that many times. What really upset you? "
She glared at him, her body mere inches away from his as she lifted her defiant chin, "I can't believe you just stood there and let me make an ass out of myself. Not cool, Mr. Magic."
He could hardly believe that she was embarrassed. He could not fathom a reason for her to be so, and he had been more than entertained by her little show. Really, if there was shame to be had, he should bear it for his reaction, but there was no need to mention that. Better to lie with the truth, "I was amused by what I saw. So little here in this realm, brings a smile to my face."
"You're a real prick, Loki."
He looked down at her filthy mouth, smirking at the insolence, "I am the God of Mischief, Darcy. Being a prick goes with the title."
"How's this for mischief," she spit as her lips crashed forward into his. The angle was awkward—she had to be standing on her toes, and still he could feel the ferocity of her kiss. Repressed lust, bothered affection, emotions that matched his own bubbled beneath the surface, and it took his godly reflexes all of a mere second to respond. He wrapped his hands around her waist, lifting her up and in deeper against his chest.
She groaned softly, and broke away, her mouth hovering next to his cheek, "That usually shuts up a smug human. Wanted to see if it would work on a big, bad frost giant."
He sighed, "It worked regrettably well. But, your dancing would do a much better job."
Her cheeks reddened even more, and he pulled away enough to lean his forehead against hers, their eyes meeting in the process. "I'm not sure why you are so ashamed, Darcy. I'm hardly a novice at viewing the female form, and you looked incredible to me."
He felt her shrug her shoulders, "I was just really into the song. Music can make me feel so much, and the first time I heard it, I thought of you."
The realization hit him hard, like a thousand mighty swings dealt by Mjolnir. Magic, a dark horse, an enemy...the obvious now had been all too easily ignored then. Eyes wide, she quickly continued, "I know that's probably so stupidly Midgardian of me, but its true…"
He brought a finger to her lips to quiet her as he focused on the Ipod in his other hand, and when he looked at Darcy again, the beginning notes were coming through the speakers. He felt her tense in surprise, and he offered in response, "I think I may have been horribly wrong about your music."
The kiss he received this time was gentler, and he was thoroughly enjoying it, but there was something else he had in mind when he replayed the song. He gently pulled back, sliding his hands to her hips and holding them there as he whispered, "Baila para mí, Darcy..."