Lollipop

A/N: This was a prompt fill for the Naughty Loki Confessions Stories tumblr. It involved Loki licking lollipops. Short, sweet, and to the point. Rating for language.

.

"You look like an infant."

The statement is not made in jest. Loki eyes you from the sofa adjacent to your seat. The television is on, and you are in control of the remote (as it should be). Loki doesn't know about television, anyway, and therefore hasn't the authority to choose a show.

He is constantly obnoxious. It isn't just you, it's everyone. You're not sure why he lives in the Avengers tower at all, or how even Clint has gotten more or less used to his presence. Being an intern (a highly paid, highly trusted intern), you can't say much in opposition to your bosses. But you can say whatever you like to Loki.

"What does that even mean?" You ask irritably, shifting your eyes back to the screen.

"It… there isn't a way to say it simpler, is there? It means precisely what it means."

You sigh dramatically and work on your sucker. Banana flavor, good lord, only the best. "Well, you're an idiot." Deflection, a fine art honed by being too lazy to engage in something. Something like the argument he is trying to brew. He snorts and you look back in time to watch him roll his eyes. You're positive he knew you'd look. "You're such an ass."

"Says the infant. Only an infant would require a pacifier."

Now it's your turn to laugh. "This is candy, you fuckin' nimrod. Do they not have that in Asgard?" Waiting a beat, you add, "or, wait, in Jotunheim?"

It's difficult to keep a straight face as you watch his reaction to the mention of Jotunheim. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but his eyes are filled with rage. They said, you will regret that.

"Ask me about Jotunheim again," he says. His tone is nearly conversational but for 'Jotunheim', which he spits at you. After a pause, he leans forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows over his knees. Legs spread wide. The most casual and patient predator. "Go on," he says, grinning. "Ask again."

The journey your sucker has taken to your mouth freezes in place, as it seems the air has left your lungs. "N-naaaahhh." Goddamn, that stutter. He reclines once more with victory sparkling in his eyes.

"To answer your previous question, small mortal, yes. We have things like candy in Asgard. Apparently not the same as yours. Would you not share with your god?"

You thought there may have been sexual tension inside of you when he'd asked you to 'say it again'; now that 'your god' had been introduced to the conversation, you knew it was coiling inside of you like a traitorous snake. You sneer at him. "And risk whatever alien infections you have in your saliva? That's very selfish of you. How dare you."

He rolls his eyes once more. You smile. Sometimes having this mean kind of back-and-forth was nice. "Just fetch me the confection, you insolent child."

"Yes, master," you mumble. On your way to the table, he grabs your thigh. You look down at him. You wonder idly if he can feel the warm, electric zings running up and down your thigh. His smirk is knowing, and though you can control your expression, you cannot control the flood of warmth high on your cheekbones. "Be sure to get me a good flavor, pet." He holds your gaze as his fingers slide off your leg. You grab him a red one - cherry, maybe? - and thrust it toward him.

He unwraps and inspects the treat as you reclaim your chair. He licks it tentatively and, approving of the flavor, laps at it with pleasure. His lips brush the candy and he licks the flavor off of them. Without so much as a glance in your direction, he says, "Staring is rude, you know."

"I… wasn't?" you mutter, unable to keep your voice from rising. He graces you with another smirk and eyes you as he licks the candy. Some of the red stains his lips and tongue, making him look animalistic. It does nothing to quell the heat in your belly. "Come," he invites you, "let me have a taste."

"Let you…?"

"Of your candy." The corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. His eyes are intense, and you remember the predatory feeling he exuded before. You rise and force your weak knees to drive you toward him. He grasps your hand and brings your lollipop to his lips, licking a slow stripe up the side of it. You can't remember how to blink. He draws his lips over it , just enough to kiss it, really, and seems to nibble it. His tongue swipes over his top lip as he pulls back. Jesus. Jeeeesus. "Now, won't you lick me?"

"What did you just say?" Your voice won't rise above a whisper.

"Won't you lick mine?" His glittering eyes. The smirk. You know he said something else. While you contemplate this, he yanks your hips forward, and - how convenient - you slide over his lap. You're straddling him. he grins openly, daring you to call him out or climb off of him. For this reason, you don't. Yes… For this reason only. Probably.

He holds his lollipop to your lips. It's silly and overtly sexual, but you taste it. You've tasted it a million times before, cherry candy, a classic and among your favorites. Not as good as banana. Not normally. He pulls it from your lips with an audible pop, and runs two fingertips over the surface of it. He parts your lips and slides his fingertips over your tongue. It takes no thought on your part; you close your lips around those slender fingers and suck on them. He manages to smirk and bite his lip simultaneously. Your hips buck slightly of their own accord, and his other hand takes your hip with practiced authority. He presses up against you, rolling his own hips, and you can't deny his smooth expertise.

"Darling," he sighs, removing his fingers.

"What?" Still nothing above a whisper. You feel feverish. His hips keep rolling, fluid and teasing, and he leans up. His eyes are trained on your lips, and they part willingly.

"Darling, you -" he shoves you to the floor and you yelp as you make contact with the hardwood.

"- you really should clean that up. And for the record, Asgardian treats are far better tasting than those." He gestures at the lollipops lying on the floor, one of them shattered. You glare at him as you stand and stomp off.

"Fuck you," you growl.

"Infant," he calls after you. Even after slamming the door, his laughter trails behind you.