Chapter Three

Mercurial

His sentence had been delivered before the accumulated might of the Asgardian nobility. Men, women and children: they all gathered to gawk at the broken prince. Many did not even bother to adopt an heir of dignity, their mouths open in silent shock at the pale, chained creature being dragged through their midst. It was not as though their hostility surprised him. Unlike Thor, Loki had never bothered to rouse favour within the nobility. He was the youngest son, and despite his father's cryptic words, he knew he would never be chosen as heir. As the years passed, a reputation grew around the dark prince. His penchant for magic inspired distrust; his mischief earned him enemies, while his involvement in the deflowering of many of their daughters resulted in their hatred. Those that gathered on the day of his sentencing were not present out of indignation for his actions on Midgard, or even for his stint as king. Rather, they were there to see him punished for their own personal slights.

Even now, weeks later, he would lock eyes with those he had wronged. Some were happy to stand back, perhaps basking in the sight of the prince chained, his silver tongue imprisoned behind jagged stitches. Others were more inclined toward action. The blows were nothing compared to what he had endured at the hands of the Hulk. The cruel words barely registered. He had even coped when one cuckolded husband (Loki remembered this man's wife very fondly) drove a steel capped boot deep into his groin. Blinking back tears of pain, he had promised himself that upon his release, he would flay the man within an inch of his life.

Yet none of these visitations meant anything. The moment the slighted individual left, Loki would forget them. They were inconsequential.

With one notable exception.

Loki had to admit, he would have been content with the mere memory of Agent Alexandra Beckett writhing against him. She had provided a welcome distraction from the monotony of his daily incarceration, and he would not deny that she was a delectable morsel – for a mortal. Unlike the maidens of Asgard, she was all curves. Her hair was like spun gold, silken between his fingers. He yearned to corrupt her, but the chit had fallen so easily. He delighted in the power play between her mind and body. It was clear he repulsed her, yet she spread her legs for him regardless. Enjoyable though the conflicted little whore was, he had little intention of visiting her again, despite his parting words.

That was until she appeared in the courtyard.

As she knelt before him, he could not help but ponder what it would be like to have her kneel in an entirely different fashion. To have those plump, defiant lips wrapped around him. His cock twitched at the very thought.

"Never again, Loki." Her voice was low, almost husky. "You will not visit me, you will not speak to me. What happened last night was a mistake. Do I make myself clear?"

Despite the venom coating the words, Loki could see the conflict within her pale eyes. What an enigma this little mortal was. Her words basically screamed invitation, while their meaning conveyed the complete opposite. Had his lips been freed, he would have smirked.

And then she struck him. It had happened so many times before, but as her soft little hand collided with his cheek, Loki almost groaned. He was glad for the loose slacks he was expected to wear, for he could feel his arousal growing. Perhaps the little chit would be worthy of another visitation?

Perhaps it was boredom, or maybe it was the fact she was the only one who acknowledged his existence? He was not entirely sure. It hardly mattered. Surely he deserved some pleasure, for what was punishment without a balm? The pain meant nothing if he did not have anything to compare it to.

The imprint of her hand still psychologically scored on his cheek, Loki watched as the sun ducked below the ragged horizon. As all light dissolved unto the coming of night, so too did the stitches that marred his lips. The chains dropped away, leaving him kneeling, alone. As always, he found it difficult to get to his feet, and once he did it required even more effort to walk the few steps toward a nearby stool. A few people remained within the yard, but as was the wish of the All-Father, they ignored Loki.

His routine was etched in tedium, and he followed through the movements as though they were as natural as breathing. Willing his ragged walk into a stride, he followed the familiar path to his chambers. The lanterns were lit, a nutritious, yet unappealing, platter of food placed on his desk. After gulping down the provided jug of water, he picked idly at the food. It was dry and tasteless. For a second, he found himself pondering what they were eating in the banquet hall. No doubt his little mortal strumpet was there, indulging herself on the finest cuisine. He imagined her to have a healthy appetite, eating as though every meal were her last, unlike the priggish Asgardian women who took dainty mouthfuls of only the healthiest morsels.

Wiping thoughts of the silly girl from his mind, he bathed, covering his sun-tinted body in the many layers of his casual armour. It provided sanctity, and for a few minutes he could pretend that he was himself.

It was only once he had donned this veneer that the God of Mischief left his chambers...

oOoOoOo

Impatience, he had once told his brother, is not a virtue.

Thor had laughed at him then, slapping him on the back with a hearty wink. "Wait, brother, until you have something to be impatient about."

At the time, Loki thought that Thor was simply being obnoxious. It was not an uncommon trait for the God of Thunder. Yet now, as he lay reclined on the soft amber-toned coverlets of her bed, he thought his brother may have had a fair point. Where was she? The pile of books and study tools meticulously placed upon her desk were a clear indication that the girl preferred the company of parchment over people. Perhaps she was nestled within the library, or better yet, sprawled across the Rainbow Bridge?

It was only as he readied himself to leave that the door burst open. She did not look inside, merely closing the door. It was clear that she had been drinking, from her slight stumble to the red flush on her pale cheeks.

Perfect. Ripe for the taking.

Loki lunged forward. "Did you honestly believe you could escape me, mortal?"

oOoOoOo

He is mercurial. He is psychotic. Do not trust him, Agent Beckett. Never let down your guard.

It had seemed a strange warning at the time. Not because it was not true. On the contrary, Alex knew every word that had left Fury's mouth was accurate. Rather, it was the fact that Fury deemed it necessary to point out the obvious that struck Alex as unusual. Rather than open her mouth, the young agent had nodded, leaving the bridge.

The Cage Room, as it was colourfully known aboard the helicarrier, had become an area to which few agents wished to be assigned. The prisoner had been aboard the carrier mere hours and already there was a competition as to who could withstand his presence the longest. Perhaps it was her youth, or maybe it was the natural competitive streak that came with being Australian, but Alex desperately wanted to win.

As the doors hissed open, Alex's predecessor, Agent Greyjoy, almost hurdled toward the door, a therapeutic cup of coffee clutched within his fingers.

His eyes had met Alex's.

"He gets into your mind."

How true Agent Greyjoy was. Upon seeing the prisoner behind the glass, Alex knew she was lost. It was not his physical beauty that drew her in, nor the sultry voice, but rather the eyes. Glazed with cruelty, she could see within their depths a great contradiction: anger, pain, yearning and an almost gut wrenching sadness. Beneath the psychopath was a young boy rejected by his father, an adopted son that had cowered too long in the shadow of his older brother. He reminded her so much of a certain little girl, a weak thing whose existence had been ruled, was still being ruled, by the men in her life.

The moment words spilled from Loki's lips, Alex knew why they called him Silvertongue. His words were not just gurgles of sound, strung syllables, but delicate fingers that swept into one's mind and started to knead. His own mind was sharp as a tack, brimming with mischief, overflowing with knowledge. His intelligence was staggering.

She knew then that she should be absolutely terrified of this man and his cruel, manipulative silver tongue.

She still was, despite the fact that this silver tongue was now between her legs, manipulating her in a completely different fashion.

In the past, she barely tolerated this kind of caress, her previous 'lovers' lapping at her like a cat with a saucer of milk. Loki was a completely different story. He took his time, savouring her, alternating between delicate licks and languid swishes of his skilled tongue. Her fingers tangled in his raven locks, heels digging into his leather clad back, brain seemingly incapable of registering the multitudes of sensation he was doting upon her. Smirking against her clit, the god of mischief slipped two long fingers deep within her, eliciting the kind of wanton groan she did not even think herself capable of. Climax threatened, yet as her back arched and stars dashed before her eyes, he pulled away – robbing her of coveted release.

He chuckled, a cruel jab that added ice to the fire in her veins. Weak fingers surrendered their grip on the silken sheets, grasping at him, physically begging him to continue his actions. Much to Alex's disgust, she felt her lips press into an involuntary pout, dark eyes searching his face for any indication of his intentions.

"Patience, little whore. You made me wait; now I shall return the favour."

His trademark smirk still in place, Loki sat up, slowly undoing the leather ties of his pants. She could do nothing but watch, captured by the sight, gaze alternating between his pale green orbs and the bulge at his groin. Her tongue slipped across her lips as he freed himself, running a slim hand down the length of his shaft. She yearned to touch it, but once more he slapped away her roving fingers.

"Not yet, little one."

Alex barely registered the tears dripping down her cheeks. "Stop – fucking – teasing me, you bastard."

"Your lewd tongue is hardly endearing." By now his fingers were wrapped tight around his length, pumping it slowly. With his spare hand, he grabbed her arm, yanking her so that she straddled him. Fingers clutched her hips, leading her down upon his cock, guiding the rhythm of their movement.

The smirk disappeared, replaced now by the delicate gasp of pleasure. It was a look that did not look out of place on Loki's face, and in Alex's opinion only made him more ridiculously beautiful. Her moment on top was short lived as he drove her into the mattress, grabbing the headboard as his hips rolled against hers.

His movements were torturously slow, as though he were determined to have her as long as possible. She groaned against him, running her tongue across his perfect jaw. More than anything she wanted his clothes removed, so her fingers could dance across ivory skin. As her climax came, his thrusts roughened, finally eliciting his own jagged release. Red flushed his usually pale cheeks, eyes livid.

"You are mine," he hissed, burying his face within the valley of her breasts.