This chapter is way short... yet another example of how this story resists being chopped into chapters... /


She didn't speak to him. Two whole days had passed and she'd barely glanced in his direction. After breakfast, he found her sprawled out on the floor in the middle of her cell. Silently, she doodled on the floor, her legs gently rocking behind her as her cheek rested heavily on her wrist. Over the course of an hour he had migrated across the room trying to see what she was drawing. From where he now sat, slumped in his chair, legs slung over the ottoman, he could make out a few cartoonish figures and obscure abstract creations. Her hair concealed her current addition, but it had to be a mural considering how long she'd been working on said masterpiece. Occasionally, he thought he could hear her humming a tune he didn't know. Something disgustingly cheery.

She was intently focused on her work, until the door upstairs unlatched. It was a bit early for lunch, Loki thought. The lack of guards was also surprising, but he quickly recognized that step. He growled, slouching further into his slump. Thor. His cellmate glanced up when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "I come bearing lunch, brother." Loki didn't even look up, only continued to blankly stare at the other side of the cell. "Are you going to speak to me today? Or do you plan on ignoring me? As per usual."

"That depends," he said gruffly. "Do you intend to say anything worthy of my reply, brother?"

"So your mood has not improved then. Spectacular." He set the tray down, folding his arms over his chest.

"I don't know why you come down here," Loki growled.

"Because you're my brother," Thor quickly replied. He clenched his fist, still loathing that lie of endearment. "Perhaps it's pity."

"I don't need your damn sympathies, Thor!" He stood up, crossing the cell in two long strides, nearly knocking the chair over. "I am perfectly content rotting to my death down here. So until such time I need my corpse dragged out, I have little need of your self-indulgent visits."

"Thor?" A quiet word from the room's only other occupant broke the uncomfortable silence that followed. "You – you're one of the Avengers. You helped save New York. You helped save my planet," she continued, coming back to her feet. She came to where she could better see him, her face suddenly lit up with some foolish glimmer of hope. "I'm from Earth – I've been kidnapped." Loki watched the mighty Thor suddenly squirm. He wouldn't even look at her. He glanced, but just as soon turned his attention to the tray of food. Or something else unworthy of such attention. "Please – I haven't done anything wrong. Could you help me? Tell someone that this is a mistake. Please."

Loki pulled a wild grin, eagerly awaiting his brother's prosaic response, which he already saw brewing behind his shamefully averted eyes. "I'm sorry," he apologized solemnly, absently probing the food on the tray. "But it's not my place to help you. The order was not mine to make, I'm afraid." Loki frowned. That was a bit of an odd response. Not his usual drawl. It wasn't his place? Surely if he was this uneasy, modestly avoiding the question, he had somehow managed to get his hand stuck in whatever it was. Norn-forsaken oaf.

With a new sense of resolve, Thor shoved the tray through the glass, only slightly disturbing its contents in the process. "Perhaps you'll be more cheerful another time," he said quickly.

That was doubtful. Cheerful was a mood he did not often indulge. But seeing his brother so laughably befuddled was so amusing that it was almost possible.

He turned, his cape billowing in his wake and he hurried toward the stairs. So eager to escape their company all of the sudden. Loki turned back to her once he'd gone. "Well, so much for that fervent escape attempt." No response. "I should thank you. Never in my life have I gotten him to shut his gaping trap so quickly."

Once again, she hadn't really acknowledged him. Instead, he found her stare intently fixated on the tray of food set out on the table behind him. He heard her stomach give a single very loud growl. It had escaped his notice previously, but she hadn't been fed since being brought here. Glancing at the tallies scraped into the stone, he noted it had been nearly six days already. Considering that fact, she was fairing remarkably well. "Hungry?" he asked.

She shot him a dirty look in passing. She went back to her new spot on the floor, settling down on her belly and continuing to doodle without so much as a second glance. Certainly wasn't the impetuous quip he was expecting. She simply went back to her drawing, which he still couldn't identify. After a moment, he stood, puttering casually toward the glass wall between them. He nonchalantly examined her artwork. It wasn't the uniform masterpiece he'd been expecting; instead it was a mish mosh of a thousand tiny doodles. Swirls and animals and a hundred other things he couldn't identify. He spotted a few words written in an overly decorative script. Currently, she seemed to focus on what was possibly a horse. The angle was too odd to know for sure.

"Not to worry, darling, I'm sure they have to feed you eventually."

"Fuck. You." She etched a few more dark lines as her stomach growled again.

Loki smiled, having finally elicited a response. She'd held up even longer than he thought. "Perhaps they'd be more inclined to listen to you if you weren't so stubborn. Maybe there is a lesson to be learned here, little one."

"I have no shortage of humility, but I appreciate your concern, princess."

He felt the sting – the lash of a tongue as sharp-witted as his own. Though she remained entirely expressionless, her tone was dripping with sarcasm. But her wit was staggeringly dry. When her returns were thoughtful, she played the role of a worthy adversary. But only the role. "It's a shame," he thought aloud. "I would wager you look marvelous on your knees." The imagery was astounding. She quirked an eyebrow, but still withheld her gaze. "Begging for your life," he amended.

"Is that what you'd like?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. "To have dominion over anything willing to bow down at your feet? To be freely served by each and every petty creature that crosses your path?"

"Petty creature," he laughed. "Don't be so modest. You, my dear, are a prize." She finally looked up – a strange mix of confusion and disbelief all carefully masked with disdain. "In spite of your obvious lack of restraint, you have a strong heart, brimming with pride – a spirit not so easily swain or broken. It presents a particular challenge, but one well worth its results. Some day I'll see you in your rightful stead."

Her eyes were ever so challenging. She returned the cap to her pen and slowly sat up and in the most methodical way possible. He couldn't help but stare as she contorted back into a seated position, her hands gingerly fixing her hair and purposefully neglecting the collar of her shirt that was now remarkably lower than it was supposed to be, as she settled at last onto her knees. She looked up at him sideways, with a purely devilish look in her eyes. "Like this?" she asked coyly.

"Something like this," he returned with a grin.

She edged a bit closer, moving on her hands and knees until she was only an arm's length from the glass. "So this is what pleases the would-be-king?" Loki was silently wishing this pane of glass no longer stood between them. He could only imagine being locked in the same room with her for any amount of time. "And what would you have me do?"

If only she knew. His entire body tensed, though he did well to hide it, as his imagination ran of its own accord and his heart pumped white-hot blood through his veins until his pale white skin almost flushed. It nearly startled him – the vigor with which her mere suggestion took hold. She was stunning like this, gazing up at him oh so longingly. Her voice was like that of a siren, making him sway in her direction whether he wanted to or not. Who was controlling whom? She threw half a smile his way, her long eyelashes dusting her cheeks with every alluring blink of her eyes. Petty creature? She was a demon in disguise.

Visions of her naked form coursed through his brain – bound and gagged and his for the taking. His. He imagined her so utterly submissive, playing his game oh so perfectly. She would fight – but only just – and in the end, she would give in and love every single minute of it. His name would fall from her lips over and over again until her sultry voice was coarse like gravel. Such dulcet tones gave him chills. He could hear her gasp her allegiance to him, words broken by his every touch – his every whim. Only his. He could tease her until she came apart at his hands – her mind undone until her thoughts were solely focused on him. Until she knew nothing else. And then she would be his to control. His.

She made a small noise and his eyes found hers again. She was still awaiting an answer. He quickly reigned in his careening restraint. "You would serve me," he finally replied, "in every way that I see fit. You would do so loyally and without hesitation or question. You would make me the envy of the whole of my court. And I would make you mine – and only mine." He stared into her dark and doleful eyes.

"Only yours?" she questioned quietly.

"Mine," he growled.

She smiled, showing off a few of her pearly white teeth. And then all at once, she reverted back to her former self. She hopped back to her feet, casually strolling away. "Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but I belong to no one."

Even as she disappeared into the private bathroom, he saw the way she swaggered across the room. She had gotten through to him in a place he didn't think possible. Little minx. His entire existence here had suddenly become infinitely more interesting. The game was afoot.


Sexual frustration! O_o That is all.