AN: I am apparently the chapter summary writer, behold my wonderful wit.

Thor and Loki visit the Musketeers' garrison and Porthos pouts about it. - K


CHAPTER TWO

Aramis found himself watching the dark haired man out of the corner of his eye as they walked. What had he said his name was again? Loki? He smiled at the thought, recalling the myths he had read once in a dusty tome. Loki and Thor were pagan gods. He wondered why their parents had chosen the names.

Then he decided it really didn't matter what they were called as he ran his eyes approvingly over the angle of the man's shoulders. They could've named him 'Tree Stump' and he would still be beautiful. He itched to dig his teeth into the spot where neck met shoulder and-

Porthos' elbow to his ribs stalled his train of thought and he glared. Porthos met his glare with one of his own.

"Where exactly are we taking them, Aramis?" he hissed, glancing furtively at the two men. "I don't want two madmen in my lodgings, no matter how attractive you think they are!"

Aramis flashed him a charming smile, wondering if Loki was watching. "Why Porthos," he purred, "A man would think you were jealous!"

Porthos' glare could have killed a man. Aramis smiled wider. "We will take them back to the garrison. We both still have rooms there, officially, no? They can stay there while we try and help them!" he finished triumphantly. He liked the idea of the handsome stranger sleeping in his bed. He idly wished he could be in it too.

"Treville isn't going to want them staying there, Aramis. Who the hell are we going to tell him they are?"

"You worry too much, my friend," Aramis said breezily, offering Loki a charming smile as he swept past. The man raised an eyebrow in disdain, lip curling. Aramis heard the bigger one, Thor, reprimand him for being unsociable. He fought the urge to chuckle.

It didn't take them long to make it back to the yard. It was deserted, so with a defiant look at Porthos, Aramis ushered the two strangers through the garrison and into his private rooms. He wasn't sure why they had these when they didn't live at the garrison, but he wasn't about to complain of Treville's generosity when it had just come in handy.

He shut the door behind his guests and turned a smile on them. Porthos sulked against the wall, glaring at him.

Their guests were examining the room. The bigger one was looking around with a broad smile, but Loki was peering at the furnishings critically.

"I'm afraid I must apologize for the state of the rooms," he said, staring directly at Loki. "They haven't seen much use. Judging by your fine clothes, I'd imagine you are used to finer accommodations."

"My clothes are probably worth more than this building," Loki said, but there was no real venom in the words. He sounded bored.

Aramis merely smiled at him. "That reminds me. You'll need to get out of those clothes." He enjoyed the blush that crept over Loki's pale features, highlighting the man's sharp cheekbones.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded. Thor looked totally unconcerned and indeed had even begun removing his fine armor. A heavy hammer hung at his waist.

"Your clothes draw too much attention, my friend. I gather you have lost your way. Until you know where you are going, it would be wise to pass unnoticed. Therefore, I advise you to strip." He smirked at Loki's outraged expression.

"I will not-" Loki began, sputtering, but Thor cut him off.

"We are among the Midgardians, brother. We must follow their ways."

"What do you expect us to wear?" Loki asked archly, lips pressing into a thin line. Aramis stared, entranced for a moment. Then he shook himself and moved across the room to the wardrobe. He flung it open and pulled out a clean shirt and a pair of breeches. Then he glanced contemplatively at Loki, admiring the way his own breeches fit his lithe legs snugly. He stuffed the spare pair back in the wardrobe, emerging with only the shirt.

"Porthos, can you fetch something for Thor?" he asked, eyeing the large man. Porthos sighed heavily and rolled his eyes but obeyed, disappearing into his own room next door.

"This should fit you," Aramis said, holding the folded shirt out to Loki, who stared at it as one might stare at a dead rat.

"I am not wearing that."

"Brother," Thor rumbled remonstratively. Loki rolled his eyes heavenward, his head falling back slightly. Aramis traced the length of his throat with hungry eyes.

"Fine. Give them to me," Loki snapped, an air of command in his tone. Aramis shivered, struggling not to flush.

"Can we not have some of those fine blue cloaks you wear?" Thor asked eagerly just as Porthos re-entered the room with a pile of clothes.

"Those are for Musketeers," he grunted, passing Thor the bundle.

"What is a Musketeer?" Thor asked curiously, piling his armor on the bed. Loki made no move to change, much to Aramis's chagrin. He hoped the man would change while they were in the room, but he seemed determined to wait. A shame.

"We're Musketeers," Porthos told him, indicating himself and Aramis. "We're elite soldiers. We serve the King."

Thor's eyes had lit up, and even Loki looked interested despite himself. "Soldiers!" Thor boomed. "That is fantastic! You must be excellent warriors!"

Porthos smiled at him, and Aramis knew he was softening towards their guests. It was hard not to like Thor, who was now questioning Porthos about the weapons he was proficient in.

Loki was another matter. Aramis liked him… well, lusted after him might be a better way to phrase it, but he could tell the man wasn't nearly as open as his brother. Thor was an open book, but Loki was a locked room. Aramis wanted to break inside and see what treasures those walls might be hiding.

Loki's eyes snapped around to meet his as if he could read his thoughts and Aramis fought to smile charmingly as the blood rushed to his cheeks. Those emerald eyes could well be his undoing.

He might be in trouble here.


Thor was blabbering on to that taller Midgardian about weapons or some such nonsense, and Loki was growing bored. The hungry brown eyes of the shorter man – Aramis– were beginning to make him self-conscious and hyper alert.

"Yes, yes, it's all very fascinating," he said, cutting through Thor's babbling. "But if we are going to change into these 'clothes'-" his lip curled on the word, "then I would appreciate some privacy."

"Of course," Aramis said, flashing another of those smiles that seemed to be comprised entirely of straight, white, sparkling teeth. He followed Porthos from the room with a grace that was almost enough to make Loki forget he was trying to hold onto his disdain for this planet he had become stranded on.

Loki could feel Thor grinning idiotically at him, so he ignored his brother completely and began changing out of his fine shirt and tunic into the simpler shirt Aramis had handed him.

He felt an odd, but not unwelcome, warmth inside at the thought that this was Aramis's shirt, but he stopped himself before he could follow that particular line of thinking. They were apparently trapped on Midgard with no way to get home. He didn't have time to dally with Midgardians, however handsome and charming they might be.

"I don't suppose you have a plan regarding how we will get home, brother?" he asked when he had finished changing. The material was coarser than he was used to, and it was unpleasantly loose on his slim frame, the neck gaping to reveal his collarbones. He pulled at it irritably.

Thor looked up from where he was struggling with his boots. "I'm sure Father will find us eventually," he shrugged.

Loki stared at him. He really shouldn't be surprised by Thor's more ridiculous ideas at this point. This whole trip had been his idea, had it not? And now they were stranded on Midgard, cut off from their home, perhaps forever, and Thor's brilliant plan was to wait?

"You think we should just wait for Father to swoop in and rescue us?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his words. "What shall we do in the meantime? What do we tell the Midgardians? They'll want to know where we came from and why we are here."

Thor shrugged, the very picture of unconcern. "We tell them we're travellers and we got lost. We're not really heading anywhere specific, so we would be grateful if they would allow us to stay with them until we get our bearings in this strange country."

"That is a terrible plan, brother," Loki hissed, though a voice in the back of his mind said it wouldn't be such a tragedy to be stuck on Midgard for a time. Not when he was so blatantly desired.

"Do you have a better one?" Thor asked earnestly. Loki sighed heavily because no, he did not have a better plan. "Then we shall stay until you think of something or Father comes for us," Thor said, smiling broadly. He grabbed his cape from the floor and hung Mjolnir from his belt before heading to the door to beckon their hosts back in.

Loki sighed, swirling his own cloak about his shoulders. The familiar weight of the garment lent him strength, and he raised his head proudly, determined not to appear weak in front of these strangers.

He didn't miss the way Aramis's eyes roved appreciatively over his body when they re-entered, lingering on his exposed collarbones. He scowled at him so as not to betray the way his chest seemed to warm beneath the gaze.

"You two finished?" Porthos grunted, glancing askance at their bright cloaks. Loki stiffened, his chin rising to jut out proudly. He would not be judged by a mere mortal, no matter how handsome his friend.

"Yes, thank you!" Thor said happily. He looked like a puppy with a new toy as he smiled at the large man. "What shall we do now?"

Porthos frowned at him speculatively. "What do you mean? Don't you know what you're doing here? Why are you here, by the way?"

Loki spoke up before the oaf could spill some ridiculous story. "We are simple travellers. We came to meet some relatives of ours, but we seem to have become quite lost, and now we aren't sure where we are meant to go. We hoped to find somewhere to stay until our relatives find us." He glared at Thor, daring him to try to add anything to the story. Thor took the hint and stayed silent.

"You'll stay here, of course!" Aramis cried. Loki glanced over at him, somewhat surprised by the sincerity in his tone. Warm brown eyes smiled at him, and he looked away quickly.

"Just a minute," Porthos said, a warning in his voice. "Where are you from, anyway? You sound English."

Loki heard the edge to his tone and decided being English would not be good. "We were stationed there for a time," he said smoothly, thinking fast. He noted a large map pinned to the wall and caught the name of a city near the top. "We've just come from Calais."

He worried for a moment that Aramis might notice his deceptions, as he was watching his every move hungrily, but it seems the man was more concerned with making a good impression than analyzing Loki's motivations. Loki shot him a long, calculating gaze, noting the way the man stood up straighter and shot him a charming smile. He seemed worried about being found wanting.

Or, perhaps, not being found wanted.

"What do you mean, 'stationed there'?" Porthos asked curiously. "You soldiers?"

Thor answered before Loki had finished mentally cursing himself for his poor word choice. "We are part of a special regiment too," he informed them proudly.

"Mercenaries," Loki added quickly, worried these men would assume they served their king or worse, an enemy ruler. Aramis and Porthos shared a long look before Porthos shrugged.

"I got nothing against mercenaries as long as they aren't fighting against me," he said. "I suppose you can stay." Aramis grinned like a child with a piece of candy and Porthos shot him a long suffering look. It said, quite clearly, you owe me.

Thor smiled happily. Loki merely scowled, hoping they found some way to get home soon. He did not wish to stay on this world with its small chambers and scratchy clothes, and this man who stared at him with such lust that it made Loki feel too warm inside.

"I'm sure you'll be very comfortable here," Aramis said, voice silky. Loki fought to keep his expression neutral as the man smiled at him again. This was going to be difficult. He followed as the others filed out of the room, trying to ignore the way Aramis's eyes roved over his body as he fell in behind Loki.

What had he done to deserve this?


AN: Still liking it? Let us know! Bonus points for anyone who can tell just by our styles who's who. (Hint: we both have other stories in the Musketeers fandom, but we're not telling you who we are!) For reference, odd chapters are written by K and evens by L :)