Pranked
Notes
Prompt from Ione - haircut, revenge prank, Jane finding Loki with short hair super attractive, Loki pranking her before a conference, Loki deciding not to change his hair, extra – bored, spite, arguing
#myfirstLokanefanfic and I'd be grateful for some feedback - thank you, sweet fandom, Salmoneili
-
Ch. 1
Loki was bored, he'd been on Midgard for two months and for most of that time Jane had been working on her upcoming presentation of the underlying forces of the Convergence, causes and effects, occurrences in history and blah, blah blah …
In a week, she was going to present to …
Hmm, his perfect brow creased for a moment, no, try as he might … he didn't care enough to search the crevices of his vast brain for the answer, rather settling on 'some extremely important people in the top scientific circles.'
Jane had excitedly told him in great, crushing detail over dinner one night, her words had tumbled out as if being chased down by a dark elf or a frost beast.
He was pleased she was so thrilled, and he loved that she was so well thought of, proud even, but the problem was, it took her attention, all of her attention away from the most important thing in her life, namely, him.
He was jealous.
Completely green with envy.
Not that he understood why green was considered 'bad'.
It was his favorite color after all.
He'd told her, but she'd snapped at him and told him to 'stop being a baby and grow up.'
'A baby' of all things! 'Grow up?' To him, a being so very much older than her.
He hadn't taken it well, and he sulked and brooded, silently.
She should have known better than to put him on a lease, he thought darkly, there were certain indomitable consequences that she'd have to face.
At the restaurant, he'd feigned interest by leaving copy of himself at the table playing the actively listening, attentive, perfect boyfriend while he actually roamed the restaurant, creating havoc, well a little havoc.
He didn't want Jane to notice and get another tongue lashing or worse still, no access to her soft form and warm bed.
So, for a deity as powerful as the God of Mischief was, his pranks were exceedingly … lame.
The wrong soup here, too much spice, not enough spice there, a trip of a waiter carrying a laden tray, a spill of red wine down a white Chanel suit, the change of a Rolex into a Swatch …
Tiresome pranks for children.
He felt like a magician at a 5-year-old's party, reduced to pulling a bunny out of a hat when he wanted to make the rodent grow and devour the audience.
It didn't sit well with him.
Another problem was now he had begun to develop - and he actually seethed blood-red as he thought about it - a conscious.
He, the Trickster God, after a millennium of antics, much more heinous than he'd ever (well, mostly ever) unleashed on Midgard.
That was Jane's fault too.
She'd made him find out the result of one of his small pranks, that of replacing a man's underwear with a women's, a high end matching set of bra and panties in scarlet silk with red lacy trim, very sexy.
While he still was in them.
A classic.
The man had spilt a coffee on Loki's shoe, and it was less than he'd deserved for the deed.
He smiled broadly, and then his jaw tightened as thought of what Jane's opinion had been, and her assurance that even small things had far-reaching consequences.
He begged to differ, and she'd told him she'd prove it. So he'd had to monitor the man and check.
Annoyingly, to his surprise, she'd been right.
He initially been unrepentant, but she'd been incandescent to find out he'd thrown himself off the Brooklyn Bridge few months later, after his wife, who just so happened to be the love of his life, found them discarded in his car and accused him of having an affair.
How bloody typical, he thought.
She'd made him reverse time and undo the damage, causing him considerable inconvenience as it seriously drained his powers.
He'd had a headache for days.
And to add insult to injury, she hadn't let him near her for a week.
A solid week.
Out of curiosity, he'd looked into some other of his tricks, none of which, irritatingly, had had any fatal repercussions, but they still hadn't been, according to Jane's phrase, 'a bed of roses' for the recipients.
He tried to woo her and gain her forgiveness with that self-same 'bed of roses' and that seemed only to enrage her further.
Sometimes, Milgardian idioms were completely beyond him.
The upshot of all this was, he thought more about the ramifications to his tricks. He made sure none of the waiters or chefs got fired and reigned himself in from making too much mischief.
But there were ramifications of that too. Mainly, he felt trapped, he was 'a God in a box', a plaything, a laughing-stock (to who, he didn't know), but he knew he was. He wasn't free to do as he wished.
There wasn't even any reward for his good behavior, Jane was either too busy or too exhausted for any romance, let alone sex.
He thought she'd be happy that he could magic away her exhaustion and soothe her every ache with some very fun and highly distracting erotic play, making her forget the presentation, if only for a few scant hours.
But that hadn't gone down well either, apparently being so distracted, it'd taken her half a day to remember where she'd been and she wasn't prepared for that keep happening.
What the hell was he doing here, if not to enjoy himself?
Slowly, but surely his anger narrowed its focus and settled squarely on Jane.
Boredom, jealously, anger and loneliness were not good bedfellows, and they twisted his love for her.
His plot was hatched one morning as she completed her toiletries and got cross with her hair.
He'd watched, transfixed from their bed as she came in from the ensuite and talked to, him? Herself? Or her hair? He wasn't really sure, but she was … angry, beyond angry.
Hmm, see how she likes it, he mused to himself.
Jane was never vain, but sometimes her hair would dry and fall just perfectly, according to her rantings, but only on one side. The other would stubbornly refuse to do as she bid, curling and kinking 'the wrong way' despite her re-wetting and attacking it violently with her brush and the deafening hot-air blowing device.
He wondered why it got her so riled as when she was working, she just tied it up anyway.
He smiled, all teeth and his green eyes gleamed brightly, finally, gleefully full of the mischief for which he was famed.
He wedded his fingers behind his head and gazed up at the over-ornate light hanging above their bed, he'd start tomorrow.
Jane rose early as normal, Loki, as was normal for him, was still sleeping soundly next to her.
She studied his handsome features, his pale complexion contrasted dramatically with the wild tangle of sable locks that spread out over his pillow.
She shielded the hair with her hand and tried to decide what he'd look like with it short. Hmmm, better, she thought. Maybe she'd suggest a haircut when he was in a more favorable mood.
Not that he ever was these days.
She felt a pang of guilt, she knew he was bored, and she knew he was an egotistically S.O.B. and that she was neglecting him, but, she told herself, chances like this just didn't come along every day and after the presentation, things would be better.
A little voice inside begged to differ, citing focus groups, symposiums, further research, on and on it would go.
She forced it to shut up.
Before all of that she would have a vacation, she told herself firmly.
Just her and him, together, go somewhere nice, of his choosing, maybe another world, she thought hopefully.
She smiled at the thought of surprising him with the idea.
That would cheer his depressingly dour self up.
She even caught him tidying one morning and had jokingly teased him. He'd snapped, actually snapped at her for the state of her study.
He'd snottily suggested that she cease her experiment into what kinds of mould grew in a domicile environment.
When she'd furrowed her brow, he pointed to the array of mugs scattered about the room. She didn't understand, if it bothered him so much why he didn't just magic them clean?
He'd looked at her pitifully, sighed and with a shake of his pretty head, stomped off.
He was very good at stomping.
No, he did not do well with boredom. That was one thing they both could agree on.
She deserved a vacation. They deserved a vacation, together.
Then she would lavish her God with all the attention his demanding jealous little heart desired.
She was, however, forever grateful to him for providing her numerous copies of various Asgardian texts in English on the Convergence. Having a member of an alien royal family, who also was a magician, and had a healthy dislike of following rules, as a boyfriend did have some distinct advantages, she figured.
She went to the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth.
She'd showered yesterday and did so usually every other day. She didn't like to waste water unnecessarily, and it wasn't as if she'd done anything that worked up a sweat, more was the pity.
She picked up her hairbrush, turned her head to the side, tilting it and set about vigorously brushing it, allowing her eyes to close.
It relaxed her.
After the third time, she stopped not because she meant to, but because her brush was stuck, and it pulled on the roots as she tried to move it.
She opened her eyes and they narrowed in confusion at the clump of hair clogging her brush and hanging down from it.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror and screamed.
Dear God, her beautiful hair was falling out, en masse.
End Notes
I'll aim to get the next, probably final chapter out next week.
I'd love some feedback, please. This is my first Lokane and I'm excited!
I hope you enjoy this, Ione - thank you for the prompt and for your love and support 333
