As soon as he teleported back to Asgard, Loki sank to his knees and magicked a cup of cold water, which he emptied so fast his head spun. He was hot all over, and not merely because Muspellheim's temperature was always way above Asgard's average. There had been this… issue with his temperature spell again. The runes were right, he'd checked many times, but the glow of his magic was still the strange blue it had been weeks before, back when he'd accompanied his brother on his crusade to reassert Odin's claim on those fiery lands.
He didn't know why his magic was reacting that way, but it worried him. Even his mother's reassurances that it was all right, merely a glitch in an otherwise perfect system, didn't appease him. The rebel tribes on Muspellheim had finally been brought to their knees, but Loki didn't feel any satisfaction.
What he wanted was answers, and the will to fight the unavoidable.
Three days later, Loki was still bothered by that little disturbance in his magic, but his recent reunion with a much bigger disturbance in his life (and for a short time, in the fabric of space and time as well) pushed back that minor concern to the back of his mind.
He'd been reluctant to leave Jarnverr alone, but his mother had promised to keep an eye on him, and more importantly, on the people who might disapprove of his presence on Asgard. Still, Loki hadn't slept well until he'd returned to the workshop and seen for himself that the mortal was all right, and busy like he always was.
That first night after his return from Muspellheim, Loki had barely spent a handful of minutes in the man's company before teleporting in his own quarters. The mortal had been happy enough to see him, and his passionate speech about his armor was as endearing as ever.
But days away from the mortal had made him all the more sensitive to every note of the mortal's heady scent.
The fear, that neither of them could quite explain, but that permeated Jarnverr's scent whenever they shared a room.
The desire, that Loki couldn't remember being so potent. Oh, Jarnverr had tried to hide it, but his eyes had betrayed him. Loki had just stood behind the mortal and already he had smelled it on him. His nose had burnt with it, and his chest ached. Listening to Jarnverr point out different parts of the suit and explain in details what he'd built and how it would be useful had been all the motivation Loki needed to throw the man in his bed and suck every last rational thought of his through his cock.
Truly, it had taken a great deal of self-control not to lock everyone (at the moment, one dwarf and a maid) out of the forge and ravish that infuriating, fascinating, unbearably attractive mortal right there on his work table. He wanted to fuck him just right, so that Jarnverr would limp only slightly, but would remember, with every stroke of his hammer, every return trip from the fireplace to his worktable, who had taken him.
As Loki was loath to lose control over his own body, he'd sought the appropriate distraction in a more… discreet part of the realm. He'd had to maintain his illusion as a woman, because he couldn't be bothered to wait until he found a man who shared his interests, but the rough use of his cunt, and the man's tongue licking it clean of cum, had helped a little.
Going back twice more in as many days had helped a little more.
Of course the pleasure worker he'd chosen was small and well-built, with stunning brown chocolate eyes and hair. The hands that had spread his female legs and caressed his folds had to be calloused as a result of manual work, and the mouth that plunged deep into him had to be framed by a small mustache and a beard. The scratch of that coarse hair against his inner thighs, still very sensitive in his female form, had been enough to give him a second orgasm.
It wasn't the fact that the man resembled Jarnverr that disturbed him the most, even if it did annoy him; what unsettled him was the knowledge that many of the men he'd taken to bed before meeting the amnesiac, lost mortal also looked like said mortal, and while the trend might simply hint at personal preferences, Loki was almost sure that the pang of familiarity he felt whenever he laid eyes on Jarnverr meant that they'd met long before Loki had started to collect brown-haired, brown-eyed lovers... which meant that he'd chosen those men based on his liking of the mortal.
Whom he'd never met until a few weeks ago.
With whom, his guts told him, he'd shared something of importance in a past he couldn't remember any more than Jarnverr could.
And yet Loki refused to think that his memories could have been altered. He was a sorcerer whom the Norns had bestowed with fantastic abilities, and a simple self-diagnostic would show him if someone, or something, had tempered with his mind. Everything seemed to be fine on that regard.
As for Jarnverr's mind, it had definitely been altered, but Loki wasn't going to try and break in again. Not when the result was so much pain and the prospect of madness and death.
In the wide hallway where he stood, Loki allowed himself a moment of weakness and leaned into the wall, eyes turned towards the ceiling. The scenes of many a fight were depicted there, and he recognized himself in a few places, riding a white horse, two matching knives in his fists.
Foreboding, green eyes; that's about what I remember from this dream.
If anyone else beside a member of his direct family had attacked him, even upon walking up from a nightmare, Loki would have done much worse than break their wrist… and he most certainly wouldn't have used healing magic. But Jarnverr had gotten under his skin, and Loki had let it happen, and he wanted to blame Seeress Frigga's prophecy, or even that disturbance in the fabric of space-time he'd picked on before seeing the Midgardian, but the truth was that, when he lay in his bed awake at night, the pang in his chest, that hint of an ache he wished with all his might to repress, was there because of the man's wit, and the passion that shimmered around him like a halo whenever he worked on that damned armor.
Whenever he worked on his past.
Loki resumed his walk, hands clasped behind his back, chin held high. Odin wanted to meet with him about their intervention on Muspellheim, but he was now with Thor, and would signal him when his turn would come.
He would make a little detour by the workshop, and then go back to his books on magic. His mother had added a couple of tomes of her private collection, and he was eager to parse them for a possible answer to his many questions.
"… interesting thing you're working on, Midgardian."
"It is an armor, not a thing."
"How long have you been working on it?"
It was definitely Fandral's voice, decided Loki, which meant that his brother's friend was with his pet, and…
Loki teleported straight into the doorway of the workshop and crossed his arms, glaring unwelcome sight.
Fandral was hovering over Jarnverr with a pleased smile. He must have come straight from the training arena, because he wore his armor and reeked. From his vantage point, Jarnverr didn't seem overly bothered by either the proximity or the smell.
He comes from so far away, the one who shall help, the one who absolves you of your crimes.
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps his crime would be to kill Fandral in single combat for daring to infringe on his property, for looking at his pet like he had rights to his body, and touching him with such familiarity. And then Jarnverr would help him hide the body and forgive him, because for some reason, Loki would feel guilt at having lost his temper over so casual an interaction.
If wishes were horses.
He strode into the workshop like he owned it, which was stretching the truth a bit, but not much.
"What can I do for you, Fandral? Are you looking for Thor?"
Fandral, the rascal, leaned even closer to Jarnverr. Loki was immensely pleased to note the flicker of unease on his pet's face and had to rein in the sudden urge to grab the warrior by the throat and shove him into the blazing fireplace.
"Oh, I've seen him already, I was just curious to meet the mortal everyone's been talking about."
Loki arched a brow. Inwards, he was fuming.
"Well, Fandral, I believe you've seen him now."
Jarnverr looked distinctly agitated now. For the life of him, Loki couldn't understand why his intervention was making the Midgardian so nervous, whereas he'd seemed relieved to see him mere seconds ago.
Loki turned his full focus on him.
"You still had a lot of work to do, don't you? Urgent work."
Jarnverr blinked twice, then nodded. "Yes, exactly. I haven't even taken a break yet."
"It is a beautiful suit of armor," Fandral complimented him.
"It is a gift to his god," Loki said, not quite successful in repressing his anger.
Jarnverr's eyes zeroed on his face, and Loki fought even harder to keep his temper in check. He'd had millennia to practice, and no mortal would cause him to lose his cool if it wasn't his intent.
"Why would you need another armor, Loki?" Fandral prompted curiously.
With a quick look, Loki warned Jarnverr to stay silent. Thankfully, the mortal kept his mouth shut and resumed working on his armor.
"It is the Allfather's wish to learn about Midgard's technology," Loki lied smoothly. "My task lies in supervising his work."
"I thought he was a guest," Fandral said, showing concern as he looked down at Jarnverr. "Unless I was mistaken, my Prince?"
"He is neither a slave or a prisoner, Fandral." And if he was, he would be mine, and mine only, he thought fiercely. "I need to speak with him now. Alone."
The warrior's eyes twinkled with amusement. Loki had half a mind to ask for the pointy tool in Jarnverr's hand and gouge those eyes out. The possessiveness that mortal inspired him knew no bound, apparently, and Loki would have been mad at him if he hadn't been so busy mentally torturing Fandral.
"I will let you two… talk," Fandral said, and the way he said that last word made it clear that talking was the very last thing he expected them to do. "Will I see you later at the training arena?"
"I might consider going a few rounds... to warm up."
Loki's tone was pleasing, but the murderous look he directed towards Fandral (and the few words he leaned in to whisper in his ear) caused the warrior to hurry out of the room. Once he'd made sure that Fandral was not eavesdropping (a spell took care of that), Loki returned his attention to Jarnverr.
Jarnverr was looking at him with a mixture of puzzlement and… was it awe? Loki couldn't quite help the satisfied smile that tugged at his lips.
"I believe we shall establish visiting hours, lest you never get anything done in your little playroom."
"He'd been distracting me for two minutes, top." The mortal gestured at his armor, defiant in his demeanor. "Would you call that nothing, prince Loki?"
The use of his honorific, which Jarnverr so seldom bothered to use (or conveniently forgot), went straight to his groin. Loki laid his hand on the shoulder Fandral had touched him and squeezed it. The muscles seemed to spasm, and the skin was definitely sweaty, the fabric of the shirt clinging to it.
Content for now, Loki looked at the suit of armor lying on the table. Helmet, boots, leg and arm protections, breast plate… All made out of dwarfish metal, and well done at that. Each piece would fit Jarnverr's body, if not perfectly, well enough. Loki could still adjust it with magic.
"What about padding?" he prompted.
And with just one question, the unease on Jarnverr's face was gone, and the mortal was back to his talkative, enthusiastic self. Loki found himself unable to resist the temptation that was listening to him, and magicked one of the tall stools closer. He sat on it with his legs crossed, wearing one of his more familiar masks: indifference. Jarnverr wasn't deterred, however, and spoke a mile a minute as if his life depended on the numbers of words he could squeeze in his little talk.
"It would be nice to test it, even if I understand why I can't," Jarnverr concluded with clear melancholy.
The Jarnverr from before (or whatever he'd been called) would have used the creating he'd built. His hands attested to it.
"We shall test it," Loki said, smiling as the mortal froze on the spot, wonder shining in his eyes. "It is interesting, and beautiful. Furthermore, it will reassure my people that you can't harm them."
Jarnverr didn't look as bothered as Loki would have expected. He discovered why the next time the mortal opened his mouth.
"I don't think your father really wants me to build anything that could be considered offensive," he said on a light tone that might have fooled some people, but Loki knew better.
"It is nevertheless the official story," Loki said firmly, raising a hand to prevent further objections. "Mortals need to… earn the privilege of staying on Asgard."
"Are you always this superior to other species, or is condescension a unique trait you possess, Loki?"
The fiery look in Jarnverr's eyes made him glad he'd taken care of his body's needs that morning. His lips curled in a smirk. Jarnverr reacted so fast, so well to Loki's taunts. If the mystery that mortal personified hadn't been so dangerous, if his own fate hadn't been so tightly bound to the mortal's, Loki would have made his move by now, because he had to know if Jarnverr would lose his mind under his skilled mouth and cock as easily as he'd lost his cool just now.
"I merely wish to discover if you are as skilled with your hands as you pretend, pet."
"I am not a pet, damn it."
"You can be Jarnverr, and still be my pet," Loki countered easily.
Jarnverr scoffed. "And you can be a god and a smartass, I get it."
"You would do well to watch your tongue, mortal."
"I am not afraid of you."
They both knew it was a lie. Loki let it go.
"We shall test that armor as soon as you're done with it," he said in a neutral tone. "When do you think you will be done?"
"But-" Jarnverr laid a hand on the breastplate, brow furrowed. "You're a prince. What if I hurt you?"
Jarnverr had assumed that Loki would be his opponent, and suddenly, Loki couldn't imagine the fight going any other way.
"I can protect myself. You can't hurt me, but I…"
Two sets of eyes fell upon the once broken wrist. Loki opened his mouth, but Jarnverr was faster.
"It's fine. I still believe-"
"Don't say it."
Loki backed him against the table. The expression in Jarnverr's eyes had to go away, now.
"Loki-"
"Don't say it," he hissed. "Don't dare imply I would hurt you on purpose. If I wasn't-"
If he wasn't so afraid of himself, the mysterious prophecy his mother had made and the hold that mortal had on him, Loki would chain him to his bed and fix everything wrong in his body, fuck him like a Midgardian had never been fucked, but gently, and then find the key to his locked memories. In that order.
The mortal was a fool, if he thought that Loki had meant to harm him, and Loki was a fool for not wanting any ill to befall him.
"If you weren't what?"
Jarnverr's brown eyes were wide, wide open in an invitation to sample his emotions. His cheeks were tinted red, and his lips parted slightly, showing a hint of tongue. He looked… subjugated.
And Loki just couldn't seem to bring himself to back away. There were mere inches between their mouths, and even less between their noses. One step was all it would take to bring their lips together and turn Loki's world on its ear.
"Finish that armor," he said in a low purr that tore a gasp from Jarnverr's throat. "And get some sleep before you collapse again."
He teleported away before the mortal had a chance to reply.
