The Art of Lore: Chapter 7: Who thee a necklace gave
Author: starhawk2005
Fandom: Marvel's Avengers
Date: Sept 2020
Pairing: Loki/ Jane (Lokane)
Rating: Adult (18+).
Summary: Loki and Jane's adventures in Nidavellir continue.
Author's Note: Still most definitely AU.
Disclaimer: Marvel owns it all, except for the occasional OC.
The new contingent of dwarves stops, blocking Jane and Loki's path. They don't look welcoming at all. "Loki of Asgard," a silver-haired dwarf at the head of the column addresses them sternly.
"Brokkr," Loki replies with chilly politeness. He's still holding Jane's hand, but she's pretty sure his free hand has moved to hover over a hidden knife-blade; she can hear it in his voice. "How pleasant to see you again. I see that among your many other estimable talents, you've been promoted to the Guard since last I visited?"
Wait a minute, is that the same guy that Loki tricked? Oh crap.
"Aye. My sons run the smelter now. 'Tis no place for a man who's getting on in his years. I hear ye've been married." The dwarf eyeballs Jane, then shakes his head. "Poor, poor lass," he adds.
Jane feels her cheeks redden as Loki raises a brow, but Brokkr goes on before either can reply. "The King will grant ye audience. Now."
"Of course," Loki concurs with a courtly bow. He seems utterly at ease to Jane, but she wonders whether it's an act. He can teleport us away in a heartbeat, she reminds herself anxiously, as six dwarves, including Brokkr, take the lead. The remaining dwarves all fall in behind Loki and herself as they walk past.
No, wait- she then remembers, he said the Dwarves are blocking his teleportation magic, right? Oh crap. We could be in real trouble here. She glances at Loki but he's still radiating confidence and nonchalance. Sensing her tension, he looks over at her and squeezes her fingers reassuringly. It helps settle her a little. Loki wouldn't deliberately lead her into danger, she's pretty sure of that.
Yeah, but he's made mistakes before, right? pipes up the annoyingly negative little voice in her head.
There's nothing I can do about it either way, Jane realizes. So she does her best to copy Loki's serene manner.
They move along at a fast clip, depriving Jane of gawking at any further sights (and she sees several she wishes she could examine further). After several minutes the tunnel bifurcates and they take the path to the left, and the largest building is now directly in front of them.
Eventually they and their escort reach a graceful archway of the 'glass' and stone, with the familiar shimmery curtain across it. Once they pass through it, the long room they enter is a bit of a disappointment after all the grand Halls Jane has seen so far. Maroon banners with a large silver Celtic-like symbol worked into them hang from the walls, between the large windows. Those are the sole decoration, and the ceiling is so low that Loki has to stoop a bit. For the first time Jane feels claustrophobic.
Luckily this seems to only be an atrium or something; their escort doesn't pause, but leads them the length of the room. The ceiling gradually slopes upwards as they get closer to the other end.
On the other side of the atrium are two doors made of what appears to be a silver-toned wood. Four stories high, they silently and automatically swish open as the group approaches.
OK, colour me impressed now. The new room in front of them is obviously the throne room. It's fully as tall as the building itself, as far as Jane can judge, with hundreds of columns stretching from floor to crazily-high ceiling. More maroon banners hang from the walls and pillars, but more interesting to Jane is how the walls and pillars have been etched and carved by astonishingly talented stone-workers.
Most of the scenes seem to be depicting great battles, and even Jane, normally not impressed by bling, has to resist the urge to stop and admire all the jewels worked into the scenes at strategic points – a red ruby-like stone set in the belt of a dwarf smashing his axe through the skull of an enemy, sapphire-coloured stones in the eyes of a dwarf in another scene, kneeling as he accepts what looks like a crown from another dwarf. There are a few small gems similar to the one Loki offered to the dwarves as a bribe earlier; What did the dwarf call it? A 'fire-gem'?
Turning her attention finally to the throne, she can see it's very reminiscent of Asgard's. At least in the sense that it is perched at the top of a flight of stairs a story high. Its colour scheme is more complex though, with gray stone, shimmering crystal, and threads of gold, silver, and an iridescent blue-green metal all coming together in a way that Jane would almost describe as organic. As if the throne had grown from the sea floor, rather than was built.
At least until she gets close enough to observe the fine, subtle lines in the structure, showing how each is a block that dovetails perfectly with the next one.
"Wow," she breathes.
"The dwarves are indeed master craftsmen of the highest order," Loki agrees in amiable tones, loud enough that the dwarves escorting them can overhear, as well as the ones standing nearby; two lines of dwarven guards stand silent and stoic on either side of the walkway leading to the stairs at the base of the throne. Jane has to wonder if this is their usual show of force, or if all this has something to do with Loki's presence specifically.
"Do not think that sweet words will ever more curry ye favour here, Liesmith. I will tolerate no more of yer mischief," a voice booms from above them on the throne.
Jane looks the long way up to the throne again. She hadn't noticed before, but there had been a small group of dwarves standing on the dais just to the side of it. Now one of them, the speaker, moves to sit on the throne. He settles into its seat, which is covered with the hides of what's probably some scaled sea creature, as far as Jane can guess.
The dwarven king's hair is long and white, and intricately braided, and his armour is of dark gray, chased with angular patterns that match the hues of the throne. He also wears a crown of surpassing metalwork, with gold, silver, and blue-green metals woven together, with fin-like protrusions on either side. His staff of office completes the ensemble; it's spiked at the top, with two sets of fins on either side of the wicked-looking point. He's peering down at them with a stern expression on his face.
They come to a stop at the foot of the stairs and Jane curtseys nervously as Loki bobs his head in brief recognition of the other man's rank, but the King doesn't pay her any attention. His gaze is focused with laser-like intensity on her husband.
"Forgive me, my King, but I fear our past troubles were all an unfortunate misunderstanding, and it seems that time has not served to make that more apparent-"
"'Misunderstanding'? Hah! Do not take us Dwarves for fools, Odinson." Jane glances sideways at Loki in time to see his jaw clench. She wonders if Loki will ever come to terms with what's happened between him and his adopted family.
"I would never, my King," Loki answers silkily. "In any case, I assure you my highly esteemed wife would not tolerate me angering my hosts. May I present Jane Foster of Midgard," he pauses for a dramatic beat, "The Deathkiller?"
She barely manages to suppress her grimace. I suppose I'm going to have to get used to this, because Loki is obviously not going to let it go.
Somewhat refreshingly, the Dwarf King appears as unimpressed by this title as Jane is. He turns his attention to her now, looking her up and down. "Another of your lies, Odinson?" the King scoffs. "Yer lass looks barely strong enough to lift a sword."
Laughter echoes in the cavernous room, and she grinds her teeth. OK, I may not like the title, but I did do it.
"Funny, that's what Thanos thought too," Jane snarls before she can think better of it, annoyance making her reckless. "He thought it right up until the moment I stabbed him to death."
The laughter dies almost immediately, the King's eyes narrowing as he studies Jane again.
"Appearances can so often be deceiving, my King," Loki jumps in before Jane can say something less diplomatic. "Have not your people been underestimated in battle before? Many, I fear, judge the dwarves merely by their size. My lady too, as it were. Besides being directly responsible for the Titan's demise, in her own Realm my wife is a renowned scholar, having been the first to build a Midgardian Bifröst."
'Reknowned'? Yeah, that's a stretch. But then again, Loki hadn't been around in the early days, when she'd been the laughing-stock of the scientific community, so maybe this is not so much more of his lying but more a reflection of his lack of knowledge of her past.
At least the King finally looks somewhat impressed. In a guarded sort of way. Probably he still thinks Loki is lying. "If such is true, your lady would be quite the lass indeed, for a Midgardian."
"Thanks," Jane says, though it's impossible for her to hide the edge of sarcasm in her reply. And she'd thought having to deal with Odin had been difficult!
"Given all that, I could hardly deny Jane when I learned she wished to see the wonders of Yggdrasil," Loki continues, reaching decorously to take her hand. "Especially after Thanos destroyed her Bifröst."
"Did he? Ah, no wonder ye stabbed him, then!" The King smirks, shifting to settle back comfortably into his throne, and despite her lingering irritation Jane has to smile a bit. Milder, much less mocking laughter filters through the Hall from the onlookers this time.
"So believe me, my King, when I say that I am not here to aggravate any past resentments. In addition, I have brought a rare gift. Perhaps this will also ease matters between us?"
Loki conjures the large orange stone again and the King's jaw goes a little slack, greed dancing in his black eyes now. Jane watches a little wistfully as Loki hands the stone off to an attendant, who carries it hurriedly up to the King.
"I've not seen a Muspel stone of such size before! Where'd ye come by it?"
"A long tale better told over some Asgardian ale. Of which I have also brought two casks." Again, Loki motions with a hand and two barrels as tall as Jane materialize in front of them. Wow, he really must have pissed them off in the past.
The King smiles broadly. "Well, ye've at least earned yerself and yer wife a place at the High Table tonight. Welcome to Brmiir, Loki Odinson and Jane of Midgard."
Loki inclines his head graciously and Jane curtseys again, hiding her relief. This is all quite a bit more…unsettling than Alfheim!
They are of course given a palace room to stay in, easily two times the size of Jane's new apartment. The view of the ocean life through the many windows is so captivating that she spends nearly an hour just taking it in (and documenting it). It's like living in the middle of a personal aquarium! she marvels.
When she later turns her attention to the finer details of their rooms, she notices that, to her surprise, nearly every piece of furniture and every piece of bric-a-brac, is made of either metal, or something which Jane realizes is carved coral. The table and chairs are of metal that appears to have been braided together, and the four-poster bedframe is of carved coral. The floors and walls of their rooms are stone, again so fine in craftsmanship that it all appears to be one smooth piece, and Jane has to search hard to find the tiny seams between one block of stone and the next.
After a thorough search of the suite of rooms, she turns to Loki. Initially, during her exploration of their rooms, he'd been busy checking over and oiling his armour and weapons, but now he's doing little more than lounging on the silky sheets of their bed, his gaze tracking her activities. "There's hardly any wood at all in here."
He nods. "As you can imagine, with so small a landmass above the waters, there are few forests. Oh, the dwarves cultivate them on the flanks of the Spires where they can, and they have even created several forests, of sorts, in protected domes under the waves, but as a whole, wood is rare in Nidavellir. Many times in the past, my fa- the Allfather has gifted them with large shipments of wood, rather than gold, for their services." He smirks. "They are also loathe to waste any wood, of any kind, that they encounter. I am certain that once they have emptied the casks of ale I brought, they will turn the materials of the actual casks themselves to some new purpose."
Jane's brow furrows as she fingers the delicate seaweed fronds carved into one of the bedposts. "That boat we were on was made of wood, I'm pretty sure. And aren't the torches made from wood, too?"
Loki nods again, interlacing his fingers on his belly. "Wood is prized by the dwarves for its buoyancy, and so any wood that they grow or is gifted to them, is usually primarily employed to build boats. A secondary, though still important, use is in weapons. Like the wood used in the haft of Mjölnir."
"So that isn't wood?" Jane asks, pointing to the closest sconce, in which a torch smokily flickers.
He shakes his head. "No. It is of a similar material to wood, mind you. But it comes from a plant they cultivate under the sea. It burns well enough, but it shatters easily, and therefore is unsuitable for ship-building and weapon-crafting."
"Huh," Jane answers, completing another full circuit of their rooms to see what other curious facts she can glean about the dwarves and their lifestyle. It's all very similar to Asgard and Alfheim. No computers or obvious technology, of course. No kitchen or dining area, since that's all communal. One difference, though – "Um, unless they've hidden it really well, there's no shower or bathtub. Do the dwarves think they don't have to wash up, since they live in water all the time?"
Loki chuckles. "The dwarves bathe communally, and it is a highly ritualized practice. I shall enjoy demonstrating it to you…later tonight." His eyes gleam speculatively as his gaze moves from the top of her head to her feet, and Jane blushes.
Then his words sink in. "I am so not bathing naked in public, with other people. And don't even think about starting in on me about how I'm a prude because of my 'Midgardian upbringing'."
The corner of his mouth quirks slightly, then smooths out again. "I would not even dream of it, esteemed wife."
"Oh really?" Jane retorts, eyes narrowing at him. That's a first.
Loki rises from the bed, unfolding languidly. "In any case, we have a meal with the King to attend to first. Which raiment catches your fancy the most?" With a swirl of his hand three insanely elaborate dresses appear in a flash of light on the surface of the bed he just vacated.
She shakes her head at the complex patterns of embroidery, each dress more ornate than the next.
"Does anyone dress simple, on any of these worlds except Earth?"
He grins widely, amused at her reaction. "Come now, even on your little world, there are artisans who create wondrous works of beauty and art, some of which are intended to be worn, are they not? And as a representative of Asgard, which you are now, by marriage to me, you must look the part."
Jane sighs and fingers the hem of the nearest dress, a confection of black and green with accents of a deep orange.
"What was that stone you gave to the King?" she asks, the colours of the dress reminding her of that gorgeous gem.
"A Muspel stone, from the Realm of the Fire Giants. You found it fair, did you?" He smirks down at her, then makes that motion with his hand again. Out of thin air a chain of similar, though much smaller, stones falls into Jane's hand, startling her.
"Wow," she breathes, raising her hand to her face to study the gems closely, admiring their changing, dancing colours in the torchlight.
"Oh, but I am not done yet." Still grinning, he produces matching earrings. "I meant to wait and give them to you once we visited Muspelheim proper, but why not now?"
He pours the earrings, which are like miniature versions of the necklace, into her palm as well. Staring at the pile of wealth cupped in her hands, Jane finds herself feeling a familiar sensation; discomfort at his largesse. Yes, she's effectively married into royalty, and her husband's a (self-proclaimed) god. Still, she's just not used to being on the receiving end of such…generosity.
"OK, but," she starts hesitantly, looking for any out she can, "won't the dwarves go green with envy when they see me wearing half of this 'Muspel' place's treasures?" She's quite happy to just wear her usual snake necklace and her two (two!) wedding rings, and draw the line there.
Loki barks a short laugh, though his eyebrow raises inquisitively at her reluctance. "'Muspelheim'. And never fear, beloved. It was not the type of stone that raised the dwarves' ardor, but its size. Small stones like this are much more commonplace. Some are even worn by the King's Guard, though I suppose you must not have noticed at the time."
She hadn't really been worried about the reaction of the Dwarves, it was more that it was the first excuse that had popped into her head, but…there's no point arguing with him, she realizes. It's been very obvious to her, since she had to very strenuously insist that he not buy her an Alfheim bicorn to bring back to Earth with them, that he's intent on spoiling her.
Why does that bother her so much? She's not sure. Is it because I've spent so much of my adult life chasing after grant money and funding that was never made available to me? From famine to feast?
She turns from Loki to absently pour the pile of gems into a bowl shaped like an iridescent seashell (no wait, it's probably an actual seashell) on the table by the bed as she ponders the question.
No. I'm more uncomfortable with the inequality between us. He's given her so many gifts, many of them obviously expensive, and what has she given him in return? A pair of jeans. Which he hasn't even worn yet.
Yes, that's the central problem. It really bothers her, that she is so severely limited in what she can give him. He's a god and a prince, and what could she give him that he can't already have, want, or need? A laptop, so he can search the Internet? It's seems so lame, but…what else?
It also reminds her just how little she actually knows him, even after all they've been through together.
Then again, I do have a couple inside tracks - I can always pick Thor or Frigga's brains, right? She'll have to remember to do that the next time they're in Asgard.
She dresses quickly, then winds her hair into a long braid (Why not? They're obviously popular among the Dwarves), and shortly after they are once again seated at a massive table, in the midst of a throng of strangers. It's fairly similar to her Alfheim experience; strange but tasty foods, alcoholic beverages that are so strong that she limits herself to a few small sips, and multiple conversations going on at once.
And yet, it's different. Unlike Alfheim, they apparently aren't guests of honour here. Instead of being seated at the King's right hand, this time they've been placed more towards the middle of the long table. They can still talk with the King, but only if they raise their voices…not that he has bothered to acknowledge them since they sat down to eat.
Indeed, nobody is really talking to them at all, everyone too intent on their own conversations. If they talk at all. More than half the dwarves are more focused on the food than in joining the discussions. Civilized, but not friendly, right, Jane thinks, hiding a grin behind her hand.
It's really hard for her not to stare at the dwarves. Some of them have enough crumbs of food lodged in their beards, that it could feed a human family for a week. The sheer length of their beards themselves puzzles her; most of them hang to their owner's waists, and a few dwarves have beards so long that they nearly brush the floor.
"I don't get it," she whispers to Loki, after waiting for a heated discussion to erupt between two of their neighbors so that she won't be overheard and give offense. "What's with the crazy-long facial hair? How can they fight and wave those swords and axes around, without tripping over their beards or getting their arms tangled up?"
"Tradition, of course. In the past, Dwarves have been known to use their long beards to strangle their enemies," he murmurs in reply. But there's a glint in his eyes, and Jane can't tell if he's putting her on or not.
She finds herself trying to imagine Loki with a waist-length beard of his own, using it to strangle a Chitauri, and she has to smother giggle into a piece of roast fowl of some kind.
Her eye next is caught by the bright metallic glints on the sleeve of the dwarf next to her, who is deep in conversation with the dwarf to his left, and paying her absolutely no attention. Nobody is wearing heavy armour, but everyone other than Jane is either wearing leather (like Loki, of course), or clothes like the dwarf next to her, which are so thickly embroidered in that bright thread that it must be as stiff as armour.
"How do they get thread to shine like that? It looks just like it's made of metal."
Loki takes a deep swig from a stein before answering. "That is because it is of metal."
Jane blinks. "They use actual metal to sew with?"
"The dwarves are masters of smithing and metalwork, as I informed you," Loki reminds her, perhaps a bit more loudly than is needed. Some of the dwarves around them break off their conversations and turn their attention towards the two of them, including the King. "Spinning metal into hair-fine wires as flexible as the finest Asgardian silks is no obstacle at all, to those of Nidavellir. A dwarven child of a mere handful of years could accomplish it."
"Ever with the sweet words, Loki of Asgard," the King scoffs, though his mood seems relatively better than when Jane first met him. He must've really liked that gem Loki gave him. The King then fixes Jane with a level, measuring stare. "I would lay odds he did the same with ye, Jane of Midgard, to win yer hand."
Jane snorts. "Yeah, pretty much. But he also saved my life a couple times, too. That sealed the deal, actually."
"Did he?" The King's suspicious air doesn't change. Jane suspects he's thinking that her life had only been in danger because of Loki. Which isn't wrong, but-
"Yes," Loki cuts in smoothly, "Perhaps you have heard some of the tale of our battle against Thanos? It began-"
The King emits a loud sigh and sits back in his seat, thoroughly unimpressed. "Tell the tale if ye must, Liesmith. But let it not take up all of our time. We Dwarves have actual, important matters to attend to this night."
Loki's eyebrows pinch together in irritation at that, but so quickly Jane isn't sure anyone notices but her. Inclining his head graciously in the King's direction, he replies humbly: "Of course, your Majesty," and he launches into a very abridged version of the story they told the Queen and her Matrons on Alfheim. Which is fine by Jane, as she's always happier to not be the centre of attention.
When Loki's tale concludes, the Dwarf King nods. "An honourable death for the Asgardians who fell," he acknowledges gruffly, and at that all the dwarves in the room lay a hand on their chests and briefly bow their heads in respect.
"Ye, Jane of Midgard, I imagine y'intend to rebuild yer World-Gate?"
He must mean my Einstein-Rosen bridge. "Yes, as soon as possible." SHIELD permitting, anyway.
The King nods slowly. "We have had little in the way of dealings with Midgard over the centuries. If yer people people wish to trade with us, Nidavellir will be welcome to that."
Jane bites her lip, all too conscious that she is once more serving unwillingly as an ambassador for her planet. "I'll, uh, let them know?"
"But," the King adds in a threatening tone, "If they should be so foolish as to come here looking to conquer us, be warned that they will discover to their detriment how fierce the race of Dwarves can be!"
"I assure you, the Midgardians have little interest on that front. They do not even yet possess a singular leader who speaks for them all. Certainly no one who could galvanize them into such a rash action," Loki promises the King.
"Good," the King pronounces. With an air of finality, he turns to the dwarf sitting on his left, and the Dwarves' attentions once again turn away from the two foreigners.
"Well that went well." Jane mutters under her breath to Loki.
"About as well as can be expected, with Dwarves," he breathes back at her, and there's that tiny smirk on his lips again. Jane has to squash a smirk of her own, taking another bite of her fowl.
They manage to make it through the remaining two hours or so of the meal without (Loki) pissing off any of their hosts. This is likely due to the fact they spend most of their time listening to the Dwarves discuss 'actual, important matters'. This seems to involve primarily things like what is due to be harvested, which stocks of fish are to be culled from next, and what shipments of raw materials they are preparing to send, and expecting to receive from, Alfheim and Vanaheim.
Jane is still called upon at one point to share the 'Midgardian' versions of the myths relating to Loki and Asgard that she knows. Luckily she hasn't actually read that many of them – she's been just too busy in her recent past to read up on all that, considering how all hell had broken loose! – so it's a relatively brief recitation, and that's fine with her.
As much as the Dwarves' guffaws (and Loki's chuckles) made her feel slightly more at ease, the truth is there's a simmering tension at the long table that sets her teeth on edge. The Dwarves are not fans of her husband, and probably never will be.
After a dessert that is made from a local jellyfish, and which reminds Jane rather comfortingly of lemon Jello, to her relief they finally thank their hosts and get up from the table. She can almost physically feel the hostility in the room decrease as a Dwarven guard shows them out.
Back safe in their rooms, she's now aware of just how tense she feels. "That was…just so welcoming, wasn't it? You really, really must've pissed them off in the past."
Loki smirks. "As always, beloved, I can only point out the obvious. I am the God of Mis-"
"Yeah, yeah, got the memo, thanks. I've got a Ph.D., remember? I can be a quick study sometimes."
He grins widely but Jane is already turning to look out the windows at the stunning views, as she starts to strip off her finery. Amazing, just amazing, what the Dwarves have accomplished on this waterlogged planet.
The necklace and earrings of Muspel stones come off easily enough, but her fingers fumble with the complex lacings and catches of her dress, and Loki sidles over to help. Once freed from the confines of the fancy clothing, and wearing only a thin silky shift and her panties, Jane groans and massages at the tight spots at back of her neck and in her shoulders. I really hope we don't get too many more invitations to the Dwarven High Table.
"Are you well, my love?" Loki deposits her discarded dress carelessly on the bed, then moves behind her, long strong fingers taking over for Jane's. She sighs and leans into him. She hadn't noticed him undressing, but he must have; he's down to his usual leather pants, and a long-sleeved shirt of dark green.
"I'm OK. Just feeling on edge. I'm not comfortable in big social events at the best of times, even when the people are friendly. And the dwarves are…not exactly that!"
His chuckle brushes lightly against her ear. "Believe it or not, they have always been thus. Even had I comported myself in the past with full decorum, the Dwarves have ever been mistrustful of outsiders. As I alluded to earlier, there have been those impetuous enough to think the Dwarves would make for an easy conquest, based on their small stature. This lead to many long years of war between Nidavellir and Vanaheim, and for a time between Nidavellir and the Dark Elves, and Nidavellir and Jotunheim. But the Dwarves prevailed, due to their ferocity and their ingenuity with weaponry and machines, and treaties were eventually drawn up with Vanaheim. The Dark Elves, as you know, were removed from contention by Asgard. And the Jotuns now cleave to their own world, effectively in exile from the other Realms." His face darkens then, and Jane turns in his arms to weave her fingers in his hair, stand on her tiptoes, and pull him down for a kiss.
Once she moves back, she adds: "Yeah, I guess I'd be pretty antisocial too, after years of that!" Heck, I already am!
Loki cocks his head, his fingers sliding up her back to continue working along the muscles of her shoulders. "Should you still wish to bathe? It will soothe away our evening."
Jane snorts and wriggles out from under his fingers. "That whole public bathing thing? Not a chance, mister."
"Never fear, esteemed wife. As you have observed the dwarves are, in their avarice, easily won over." He gestures with his left hand, and a small pile of Asgardian gold materializes in his palm. He grins at her toothily, then vanishes entirely in a muted flash of white light.
Jane shakes her head. "Yeah, OK, whatever," she mutters to the empty room. Trust Loki to give her as few clues as possible as to what he's up to.
He's gone about ten minutes by her watch, then materializes again, startling her into almost dropping the faceted bottle of scented oil – beard oil? She wonders – she'd noticed on the side-table of the bed.
He glides over, plucking it from her hand and setting it down as he leans to her ear. "All is in readiness, fairest of wives," he purrs into her ear.
The familiar shiver runs up Jane's spine, but she plays coy. "Oh?" she asks in an innocent tone, though it comes out slightly breathless despite her efforts.
Loki's hand splays against the small of her back, the warmth of it seeping through the thin fabric. He chuckles low in his throat, and presses his face into the side of her neck. "I have secured privacy for our…activities. I pledge you that."
"Have you?" Jane teases, already responding to the promise in his voice. Her body is tingling, tightening in the deepest of places. "And what 'activities' would those be?"
A husky laugh, and his arms curl around her waist. "Come with me, little one, and find out."
He whisks them away in a swirl of light before she has a chance to reply. The warm, torchlit room he takes her to – well, it's more like a massive cavern. There are a few intricately carved sections of stone on the lower walls, and the pool, which takes up almost half the floor-space, is obviously man(dwarf)-made, but the rest of walls and ceiling have been left rough and unworked.
Jane examines the room curiously. There's the huge pool of gently bubbling and steaming water set into the floor, and in one corner of the pool a small, trickling waterfall tumbles down from the ceiling into it. She squints upwards, but between the faint torchlight and the height of the cavern, she can't see where exactly the waterfall starts from.
The scenes carved into the walls seem to be depicting a regular day in the life of a Dwarf. Here's one of someone cooking, one of a dwarf cleaning his armour, a third displaying a dwarf working in one of those harvester-pods she saw earlier, and yet another frieze showing a dwarf bathing in the pool itself. Jane wishes briefly that she had her camera on her to record these scenes. Maybe later.
She turns to scan the rest of the room. Off to one side of the pool is a broad stone table, with a stack of neatly folded towels, and there are a couple low stone benches as well. There's one opening into the room, but it's darkened and silent, without even the flicker of a torch to reveal what lies beyond it.
Jane hopes they indeed won't be walked in on.
"I could do laps in that 'bathtub'," Jane marvels aloud as she wanders over to the rim of the pool. She's fairly sure it's taking up as much space, if not more, as her entire apartment back on Earth! Noting how the water bubbles mildly, she asks him: "Is it fed by an underground volcanic vent, or is it magi-"
Her question is cut off by a searing kiss from her husband.
"Enough of your research, wench," he growls, fingers locking like a manacle around her wrist as he pulls her in the direction of the stone table. She doesn't resist (what would be the point anyway?) but allows him to steer her until she's standing at its foot. He spins her to face away from him, then presses up against her back. Jane can feel him against her lower back through her thin shift and his leather pants, hard and hot and urgent, but his movements are unhurried and deliberate. He kisses the spot behind her ear that makes her knees loosen, and his hand coils loosely around her throat above the snake necklace she still wears.
She shivers and groans his name as his teeth worry at the edge of her ear, as his hand slides down, over the curve of her breast. Her hands grasp at him, try to caress him through those tight pants of his, until he snarls softly and his free hand catches both of hers, imprisoning them behind her back. "I am the one in control right now, lovely wife," he intones into her ear.
Sighing, Jane relaxes into his grip. It's not like fighting him and winning is even a possibility…if she even wanted to!
"Very good," he rumbles, then his tongue snakes wetly around the lobe of her ear. A gasp is wrung out of her as he drags the blunt edge of a fingernail around and around her nipple through the thin shift, stiffening it.
She pushes back against him, arching, pushing her chest out to offer more of herself, and he takes that offer, spinning her and bending to fasten a hungry mouth onto her other nipple, sucking it hard through the fabric. Her knees weaken and sag as fire races up and down her spine, and now he moves a hand between her legs, cupping her, palm rubbing against her clit through the two slippery, sliding layers of fabric.
"Loki," she whimpers before she can help it, her wrists pulling reflexively against his hold.
"My Jane," he whispers possessively back, releasing her nipple from between his teeth. He spins her again until she's facing away from him once more, steadying her as her knees threaten to unhinge. Both his hands move to the end of her braid and begin to unravel her hair. After he's freed the whole fall of it, he combs his fingers gently through it, before his hands move to cradle her skull, fingers massaging her scalp gently. She shudders and leans into him, closing her eyes.
"Are you feeling more at ease now, beloved?" he asks. She nods, her voice cracking a little as she assures him, "Oh, y-yeah."
"Excellent." He lets go of her and backs away. "Now, strip."
She blinks for a second, her muddled brain taking a moment to catch up, then she turns to face him. His smoldering gaze is locked on her, and it looks like he wants to literally eat her alive right now, but at least she's learned to move past it. And to revel, just a little, in the power she seems to have over him.
So she takes her time, her hands moving to her waist to slowly gather the material of her shift, drawing it up until her legs are bare and her flimsy panties are visible.
"Yesss," he hisses in encouragement, unlacing his own shirt, though his eyes still track her movements. So she continues, raising the material as slowly as she can, up her belly, up her ribs, then baring first one breast, then the other, then pulling the shift at last up and over her head. The spell breaks a little as she pauses, looking around and wondering what to do with the ball of material in her hand.
Moving in that spookily speedy way he sometimes has, he's suddenly next to her and plucking the crumpled shift from her hand. He tosses it and his shirt unceremoniously onto the floor, then he unfolds two of the towels, draping them over the table. He tests the thickness with a finger, then drapes two more towels over the first two. He eyeballs his work critically, then folds one end of the towels up and over themselves, nodding in satisfaction at the result.
His gaze rests on her speculatively while he works, while she fidgets and resists the urge to wrap her arms around her breasts. Because it's still possible anyone could saunter through that opening into the cavern any secon-
"Lie down on the table," he orders in another low growl that sends a thrill up her spine. "No, on your front," he corrects her as she moves to obey him. "Yes, lay your head on that side. Good."
The towels underneath her are soft, the folded edge creating a comfortable pillow. "You think of everything," she sighs happily.
He chuckles. "The benefits of centuries of experience," he boasts, and Jane has to laugh and shake her head at his smug tone. Men are the same everywhere.
She can't see him, but she can hear the soft noise of his bare feet on the stone as he circles the table. What is he doing?
He stops, and Jane tenses in anticipation. Will it be two (or three, or four?!) pairs of hands on her? An icy touch? Something els-
A little gasp snaps from between her lips as she discovers; cool droplets of some kind of liquid, falling one by one along her spine before sliding down her sides. Then his hand, the palm large and warm, rubbing the slippery liquid into her skin. She can detect a scent now, both floral and vegetal.
She sighs contentedly, as Loki massages her back and neck with expert strokes. The oil doesn't have just a nice scent; it also brings with it a mild sensation of tingle and warmth, and Jane stretches luxuriously, bathing in the experience. Loki moves onto her arms and hands, the oil first dripped in an unhurried manner onto her flesh, and then rubbed into skin and muscle.
He knows her well, knows where to use a firmer pressure and where to use a softer touch, and Jane feels like she's melting into the table, dissolving into relaxation in a way she rarely does. "God, that feels so amazing."
He laughs huskily, just like she knew he would. The oil is dripped down the back of first one of her legs, then the other. It tickles pleasantly and she shudders. His deft hands restart at her feet, working the oil carefully between each toe, into the sole (more tickles!), the heel. Then up the leg, towards the panties she's still wearing.
She can't stop herself; she squirms as his touch inches upwards. And then, entirely predictably, away. Jane bites down on a groan and makes herself sink back down onto the towel. He'll likely make her wait. And wait.
But not this time: strong fingers abruptly knead her backside, working her through the thin fabric of her panties, and she squeals and arches up into his touch, digging her nails into the toweling underneath.
Loki laughs huskily, then orders her to turn over. Biting her lip, Jane obeys, acutely aware of her stiffened nipples and the dampness of her panties, feeling just so deliciously exposed as she lays back.
"Spread those divine legs wide, my love," he commands. "Close your eyes. And, whatever happens, do not move."
Jane's pretty sure she has no way to follow his last command – he'll make sure of that, won't he? In fact, she realizes she's already pressing her fingers and heels down hard into the towels, struggling not to squirm, and he hasn't even touched her yet. This is a lost cause if ever there was one.
Stillness envelops the room once more, except for the quiet bubbling and splashing of the pool, and the occasional soft hiss and pop of flame of the sconces.
Then cool drops patter against her throat, but by pressing down even harder into her fingerprints and her heels, Jane manages not to move. They are followed by Loki's touch, and Jane marvels at the delicacy in those fearsomely strong hands, carefully working the oil into the fragile column of her throat. He attends to her shoulders and arms next, and she continues to manage to stay still, though a quiet gasp still squeaks out of her as he runs a thin line of oil between her breasts.
I'll bet he's going to- Yep. He spreads the oil down her chest, then along her ribs and over the ticklish soft rise of her belly, and now she does move, flinching slightly, though he says nothing. But as she predicted, he's ignoring her most tender areas right now. Saving the best for last, as usual.
He's unpredictability personified, but he certainly does have his preferred habits, especially in the bedroom!
The silky-slippery droplets trail next down her shins, though he starts unexpectedly with her feet, his slick fingers pressing firmly into the tender instep, and Jane again flinches before she can help herself. He does scold her this time, but from the amusement in his tone, Jane is reasonably sure she's not about to wind up facedown over his lap…Maybe.
He works the oil between each of her toes, then skims his fingers over her ankles to move in lazy circles up her shins. She has to squeeze the towel between her trembling fingers, trying to calm her breathing as he pours the oil drop by slow drop on each of her thighs, switching leg for each individual droplet.
When his hands settle firmly on her knees Jane's pretty sure she's done for. She's concentrating so hard on lying still as his hands inch up her legs, massaging and caressing, that she's not expecting him to press a hard kiss to her clit, through the panties, and her hips jerk as she utters a short squeal. "So wet already," he purrs, "and as always, all for me."
"'Centuries of experience'," she echoes back at him, daring to crack her eyes open and smirk.
"Indeed," he says mildly enough. Then he effortlessly tears her panties off in one flick of his wrist.
Her heart pounds in her ears as he eyes her exposed, wet skin, licking his lips in the most predatory way imaginable. Then his laser focus returns to her face. "I believe I ordered you to close your eyes, did I not? Do you require me to take your sight too, beloved wife?"
"No," Jane screws her eyes shut again, tensing in anticipation.
"Good. Now spread your legs wider." She tries to obey, unable to halt the soft whimper that sneaks out of her lungs. Staying still is going to be impossible.
His next touch takes her by surprise; it's a soft, tender, nearly chaste kiss that he presses to her mouth. Oh wait a second, no, there's his wicked tongue, flicking against her lips, and despite his order she knows he's requesting entry and she allows it, sliding her tongue against his.
He groans this time, but pulls away a moment later. Another pause during which quiet falls over Jane and the room, but not for long. Teeth graze her nipple, and she arches. Another pause, Jane's ragged breaths rasping now in her ears, then teeth delicately pinch her other nipple.
"Loki!" she gasps, clenching white-knuckled at the towels, Loki's orders be damned.
Dark laughter brushes across her ears. "Are you relaxed yet, beloved? You seem yet more tense than before. I must be going about this the wrong way. Shall we try this?" Both his hands settle on her, caressing the curves of her breasts, rolling her nipples gently between his fingers, squeezing harder at random intervals, and Jane gives up entirely right then, releasing her death-grip on the towel to slide her hands up his arms and shoulders and neck, to seize his hair in a death grip and pull his mouth down to her breast. He resists just long enough to let her know he's still the one in charge, then he takes her nipple into his mouth, suckling hard, then teasing the tip with his tongue.
She gasps his name again, twisting her fingers tighter into his hair. It's a completely inept attempt to control him; he moves to her other nipple as easily as if she weren't trying to guide him at all. He sucks on it hard, then releases abruptly with a soft popping noise.
He moves back, grinning down at her, and moves to tenderly untangle her fingers from his mane. He shushes her when Jane starts to growl her frustrations at him. "So impatient," he scolds, but he's still smiling. This time he pours the oil directly into his hands, then rubs his hands in achingly. slow. circles. He watches her watching him, smirking as she writhes in impatient displeasure.
But eventually he leans to kiss her softly on the mouth, waiting until she melts into his kiss to set both hands back on her flesh, spreading and caressing the oil into the softness of her breasts, circling her areolas with slick fingers.
At least until she growls again, wrapping her slippery legs around his waist and squeezing. He chuckles, his hair tickling her face and neck, but at least he finally takes the hint, those dexterous fingers working the oil and sensation into her nipples again.
He lingers this time, kissing her throat while he toys with her. Gentle squeezes and tugs, and sometimes he drags blunt nails over the throbbing tips, until Jane thinks she'll just go insane unless he does something about the scalding ache between her legs. "Loki, please-" she starts to beg at last, though he steals her breath and words with another deep, devouring kiss.
"Certainly, my love," he replies, eyes still glinting with amusement at her difficulties. Iron fingers seize her knees, peeling her legs away from him, and she finds herself with her legs pinned, spread wide open and exposed to him once again.
His kisses sear their way down her body – throat, collarbone, each nipple, the underside of each breast, a long line down the center of her belly. At long last his heated breath strokes against her soaked core. Then he allows her to feel his tongue, sliding torturously slowly, from her entrance to the aching bead of her clit, over and over until she's twisting desperately under him, a hair away from begging him for release.
Which is the exact moment when he stops. Of course!
Sweating and squirming, she swears at him crossly, though if anything this display amuses him even more. He rolls off the table to stand beside it, and Jane discovers she's can't move; he's bound her with his magic.
"Patience, my little warrior," he says in response to her glower. He raises the oil container high, tips it, and allows droplets to patter down onto the top of her mound. They tickle as they drip through the hair, and then down the pulsing lips of her sex. She can't squirm, his magical bindings won't let her, but she can groan loudly.
Loki touches her again, massaging the oil into her folds, brushing with maddening randomness over her throbbing clit now and then.
It goes on long enough that Jane's sure she's soaking the towel underneath her, long enough for her legs to start to ache from the effort of fighting against whatever magic he's using to hold her down.
Then just like that, she's free. Loki guides her shakily to her feet. "Wha-?" she asks in a daze, clutching onto his supporting arm. He's naked now, she realizes. When did he have time to lose those pants?
"It is time to bathe. That is the reason we are here, is it not?" His teeth flash at her whitely as he leads her to the rim of the pool. Steps are carved into the stone, leading down to the bottom.
The water is deliciously warm, exactly the right temperature for her, and the tiny bubbles lightly stroke her body, soothing even her frustration at Loki's teasing.
Unwilling to let the sheer size of the pool go to waste, Jane spends a few minutes swimming languidly. She pauses every now and then to allow a jet of bubbles to massage her muscles, before dog-paddling slowly on, making several meandering circuits. All the while, Loki drapes himself over the stone shelf/ seat carved into the sides of the pool, observing her progress with half-lidded eyes.
At last Jane makes her way back to him and sits beside him. For once, the pool is actually at the perfect depth for her. The surface of the water is playing around her neck once she's seated, and she doesn't have to slouch or to sit up ramrod straight. Loki, of course, is too tall to say the same. One point to the Dwarves, Jane thinks with a smirk.
Loki shifts close enough to her that their sides touch, his fingers sliding around her throat to trace the edge of her snake necklace. He leans and kisses the tender area below her ear again, but Jane's not ready to submit to him again, not yet. Pulling away, she very pointedly looks him up and down. "It's your turn now," she insists, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the stone table, indicating the bottle of oil he abandoned there.
"As my lady wishes," he smirks. He motions with his hand and the bottle snaps out of existence, then reappears on the pool's rim near Jane. Handling it carefully, because her own hands (and indeed, all of her) is still silk-slick with the oil, she carefully pours a generous amount into her palm. Rubbing her hands together as she approaches Loki, she weaves her hands first around his neck.
His eyes fall closed as she massages, his long body slouching even more (if that's possible) against the pool's wall, his arms extended out along the rim of the pool on either side of him. He makes a low purring sound in his chest, rumbling quietly as Jane finishes drawing tiny circles with her fingertips along the back of his neck. Her next target is the rock-hard muscles of his lean shoulders, then she works along his left arm, followed by his right.
She stops to pour more oil into her hand, then applies it to his collarbone, following the graceful, smooth curve. Next her hands glide down over his pectoral til she can feel his heart thudding quickly under the heel of her hand.
His eyes slit open a little then, watching her in that hungry, predatory way. But he makes no other move, so she continues, working the slippery liquid into skin and muscle, drawing little circles around his areola (his smirk widens slightly). Smirking herself, Jane gives his nipple a soft pinch, before she does the exact same pattern on the other side.
Jane pauses to oils her hands up again. The rest of him is still under water, so she waits, eyebrows raised, until he takes the hint. In no apparent hurry, he hoists himself until he's sitting on the rim, the water sliding off of him and dripping from the ends of his hair to make trails through the sheen on his chest and arms.
Kneeling on the stone shelf between his legs, Jane returns to her work, rubbing the oil into his belly, over the taut, iron muscles of his thighs, his calves, and she even coaxes him into letting her work the oil into his feet.
She works her way gradually back up, noticing how he tenses ever-so-slightly as her hands move closer to his throbbing, reddened length. But she's been schooled by the best, so just as her hands seem inevitably on their way to cupping him, she pulls away and stands up.
"Turn around," she orders, ignoring his annoyed growl. They lock gazes for a second but Jane knows better by now than to drop her eyes. After what feels like eternity, the amused leer surfaces on his lips again, and he stands and obeys.
With exaggerated slowness, Jane tilts the bottle of oil, letting droplets of it fall on his shoulders, to run down his lower back, and finally over that delicious backside of his. She also takes her time working the oil in, rubbing and squeezing, pressing her fingers into the hard muscle, and Loki groans softly under his breath, fingers turning white-knuckled on the pool's rim. "Vixen," he snarls when she stops.
Fully aware she's playing with fire, Jane smacks him playfully on the ass. As usual, it makes her palm sting. Ouch! They make them out of iron in Asgard! "Too bad for you that I'm such a quick study," she answers him snarkily. "OK, time to turn around again."
He does, looming over her in a way that makes her just a little nervous. But she's killed bigger monsters than her hubby, right? So she makes a show of ignoring how he looks like he wants to devour her, as she pours one last batch of oil into her hands. Slowly rubbing them together, she steps up to him and finally wraps her fingers around the steely length between his powerful thighs.
A harsh sound grinds out through his teeth and his fists clench, his breathing turning ragged as Jane strokes the hot skin, trailing her fingers over the thick, pulsing veins, then massaging the tender spot under the flaring head. For long minutes she works him, and it's only when her hands slide lower, moving to spread the oil over the tight sac of his balls, that he finally stops her, moving like a striking snake to catch her wrist. "Enough!" he rasps.
"Oh? Are you relaxed now?" she asks with faux innocence, looking up at him through her eyelashes. He grins then, dangerously.
The next thing she knows, Jane is being picked up and then effortlessly tossed into the middle of the pool in a huge splash.
She shrieks laughter and splashes water at him as he swims up to her. It doesn't faze him at all, even when she gets a huge comber of a splash square into his handsome face. He merely coils his fingers around her wrist and drags her into his arms, shakes water out of his mane, and crushes his mouth down on hers.
Jane whimpers, digging her nails into his biceps without realizing it. Her knees melt when his tongue slides sensuously across hers, but it doesn't matter because he's holding her up.
By the time he finally releases her, she's seeing stars. "Should you wish to swim, beloved? We are not pressed for time," he suggests. Still dizzied by his kiss and the pounding of her heart, Jane nods.
Loki swims laps far too quickly for Jane to keep up, so she doesn't even try. It's been a long time since she swam (Could it even be over a decade? Yikes.), so experimentally she tries every stroke she remembers – front crawl, backstroke, breaststroke (that last one makes her smirk, given the circumstances) – but soon enough she's back in the middle of the pool, floating on her back and once more trying to make out where the waterfall's source is.
Water splashes over her as Loki surfaces next to her, wiping the water out of his face. Jane feels calm, relaxed, but there's still that cheated need, dialed down but not gone. So as he drifts closer, Jane reaches up and trails a single slow fingertip down his body, from the hollow of his throat to just where the dark thatch of his pubic hair starts…and then she pulls her hand away, smirking at him.
He grins. "Soon enough, my Jane. First, shall I show you another enjoyable feature of the oils we employed earlier?" Curious, she nods.
Loki motions and an entirely different bottle appears in his hand. He pours some of it into his palm, and Jane detects a different, mintier scent than before. He caps the tightly bottle and lets it float in the water, then reaches out his hand to her.
Jane takes it and lets him draw her in and guide her to her feet. His hands wind around her neck, and at first it feels like he's applying another oil, and Jane wonders what the big deal is. Then her skin under his fingertips becomes somehow even more slick, as he changes to a scrubbing motion. Wait, is it changing into-? She puts her fingers to her neck above the snake necklace, and they come away soapy. "Well, I guess that's one way to wash off the oil."
He echoes her grin, his hand scooping her arm out of the water to continue washing her. Even though he didn't order her to close her eyes, she does, the better to enjoy the feel of his hands caressing the soap over her skin.
He coaxes her back into floating on her back, which is easy to do with one of his strong arms holding her up, before soaping up the rest of her…and avoiding the key bits once more. Jane bites back a frustrated sigh. Yes, in some ways her unpredictable husband is very predictable.
His fingers rub and caress her in slow circles, his touch careful along her ticklish belly, but then he presses a little more firmly into her skin to wash her hips, her thighs, her lower legs and her feet. Front (mostly) done, he turns her over, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow so her face is out of the water. Conjuring the bottle again, he drips the second oil across her back, like a slow series of wet kisses along her spine. Then he cleans her shoulders and back as she moans happily into his arm.
Loki's palm curves warmly over her behind, squeezing appreciatively, before washing her there, his hand moving in torturously slow, ever-widening circles, until his fingers are just brushing against that part of her that's starting to burn for him again.
She grips his supporting arm and squirms, trying to encourage him in that direction. He laughs low in her ear, then rolls her over onto her back again. "What is it that you want, my love?" he asks, eyes gleaming with silent laughter.
"I want you to stop being such a tease," she rasps impatiently at him. She grabs at his hand, placing it on her breast. "I want you to finish washing me. Or," she continues, only half-seriously, "you can sleep alone on that fancy couch in the corner of our rooms tonight."
Loki cackles so loudly it echoes off the stone ceiling and walls. "As delicately filigreed as that chaise is, it is not worthy of someone of my rank…therefore, I suppose I had best satisfy your insatiable demands, wife."
"Damn good id-" she retorts, and it breaks off in a whimper as Loki drips the second oil right onto one of her aching nipples. His fingers circle the areola with deliberate slowness, working the oils into a slippery suds, then he gives her nipple a firm tweak.
She tilts her head back until the warm water is lapping at her eyebrows, baring her throat, and Loki covers the length of it with kisses and soft bites as his fingers work the lather into the softness of her breast.
He rinses the soap away with palmfuls of water, his hand cradling her skull as he shifts position, those clever lips and tongue now teasing at her nipples instead. First one and then the other, until she's groaning and clutching at his hair again, trying to push him lower.
"Spread those luscious legs wide for me again," he purrs, raising his mouth from her breast at last. Thank God, Jane thinks with relief, obeying without question. He releases her to reposition himself between her thighs, one hand splayed against the middle of her back to help her stay afloat.
Of course he's not done tormenting her, not by a long shot. He raises the bottle of oil high over her body, then tilts it. Drip by agonizingly slow drip of oil falls on her mound, running through her hair, then ticklishly down the outer lips.
Jane groans and tries to wrap her legs around him, to urge him on faster, Goddamn it. Loki gives her one of his trademark evil grins, and Jane finds herself pinned to the surface of the water. She somehow isn't sinking, which is good.
But she also can't move, again!
He's still wearing that sinister grin as he bends over her, spreading her folds wide, and the slippery droplets tickle the tender insides of her inner lips. Biting her lip, Jane moans, trying to move, to release the tension that's building inside her. But she can't do anything except whimper and squeeze the water between her fingers.
The first drip, a large one, that impacts against her clit yanks the loudest sound out of her throat, and Loki's grins widens, if that's even possible. He allows a few more droplets to kiss that sensitive spot, then finally, finally he performs his favourite magic trick and makes the bottle vanish, and, still holding her throbbing center fully exposed, he begins to caress the oils into a slippery lather.
"Christ," she grits out between clenched teeth, because of course he's diligently washing every single nook and crevice…except for that exact spot where she's burning for him to touch.
But of course he won't, not for several agonizing and deliciously long moments. Then at last, when she's about to start screaming at him, he scoops up water and dumps it over her body, rinsing the soap away.
Two fingers spear effortlessly into her, thrusting slowly, and he takes enough pity on her to release her from paralysis, an arm sliding beneath to support her once more. Eyes squeezing shut, she's hyperaware of the feeling of the ends of his hair dragging along her inner thighs as he bends over her. The delightful feeling of her most secret places being bared, open to the air, as he spreads her lips even wider.
When his skilled tongue finally rasps against her clit, it's just that final push she needs to send her shooting through her own personal rainbow bridge. Colours speed across the insides of her eyelids, and the pleasure curls over her to drown her in a second pool.
Loki's arms slide around her, holding her protectively until she is fully aware of her surroundings again. For a time she leans into him, panting, sweat trickling down her face to plunk into the pool.
When her heart stops threatening to burst out of her chest, she pushes herself out of his arms. "Time for me to return the favour," she declares, ignoring the fact her knees are still a bit wobbly. He chuckles softly as he conjures the second oil bottle, passing it to her. Then swimming strongly, he returns to the edge of the pool to sit, Jane following.
Again, she starts with his neck, stroking in small circles as she works up a frothy suds. Arms, hands, chest (she lingers to massage the soap into the flat discs of his nipples). He shifts up on the bench, kneeling so she can wash his belly, then he lifts each lean leg out of the water, resting it on the shelf-seat so Jane can soap up each one. He shifts back to kneeling on the bench, amusement written all over his face, so she can soap up his steely backside.
At last he drapes himself face-up on the stone shelf, his length exposed and rampant against his belly. There's no question Jane is going to repay him in kind, taking care to pour the oil in such a way that each drop lands on the head of his cock, then drips down the veiny shaft and his balls, finally disappearing into the water.
He's grinning again, as if her teasing is merely entertaining him, but his hands are white-knuckled on the rim of the pool.
A low growl begins to rumble in his chest, and before he pounces, she quickly sets the bottle down and wraps her hand around him, smoothly stroking up and down. He groans loud, head tilting sharply back on his neck, thrusting up into the slick press of her fingers. Jane has to admit, the sense of power she feels is exhilarating. If she slows her strokes, he moans and his hips push helplessly up at her, if she speeds her strokes his muscles clench tighter, spiraling towards the edge…
When she moves to rinse the soap from his sac with her other hand, his eyes snap open and in a whirl of motion Jane finds herself being carried bodily towards the little waterfall in the corner of the pool.
His hot breath sears the side of her neck in little blurts. "I believe I am quite clean enough now, thank you, beloved wife." He raises her with no obvious effort, pinning her to the surprisingly smooth cave wall right under where the waterfall is drizzling down. The water is much cooler than that of the pool, and Jane gasps, fingernails digging into his shoulders and her nipples tingling and tightened under the onslaught.
Loki doesn't let her go. The gentle shower washes over them, rinsing away the last of the lather, and then he's pressed up against her, thrusting himself into her at last. It feels so good, so right, to welcome him into her body. Jane wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him in even deeper.
He allows it for a few moments, then takes control again, his magic now pasting her in place against the wall so he can peel her legs off him, loop a hand under each of her knees, and hold her wide open again.
He moves, slowly at first, jaw clenched tight for control as he rocks into her. The waterfall continues to wash over them both, the fine droplets teasing at Jane's skin.
Her arms are still free, and she slides her hands up his shoulders and neck, tangling her fingers into his dripping hair. She pulls, and again he chooses to oblige, leaning into her to press his heated mouth to hers, to her throat, to her breasts.
Loki picks up the pace so gradually that Jane isn't sure when it started, but it seems like all at once he's thrusting rapidly, hard enough to drive the breath out of her. Her back and hips are shoved hard against the wall behind her on each thrust, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she's going to regret this later, but right now all she can concentrate on is the mix of hot and coolness and pleasure washing over her.
His breaths rasping and echoing in the room, Loki slows down slightly, but before Jane can protest he crushes his mouth down on hers again, reaching between them to rub her clit. Another sharp thrust or two, and Jane is coming apart, drowned in sensation, washing away in the fall of the water.
Loki's harsh pants ring in her head as he stops, shuddering as he pulses deep inside her. His head drops and he buries his face in her neck until his control returns.
Jane realizes at that moment that she's been digging her nails deep into his shoulders, but as he lets her carefully down into the water again, she's happy to see his skin is unmarked. And speaking of- She reaches a hand behind herself to investigate, but her shoulders and the backs of her hips are similarly unscathed. She should be scraped up, or bruised, at the very least, but everything feels fine. Magic again? Probably.
He smiles at her tenderly as he lowers himself into the water up to his neck. "So, my Jane, are you sufficiently relaxed now?"
She laughs and splashes water right into his gorgeous face.
