shorinai: Loki's never seemed to care whether or not they've had an audience for sex, so: People walk in (and out) of places where Loki & Jane are having sex, while they're having it. This does not bother Loki. It very much bothers Jane.

carollinali: Thor and Darcy miss popcorn and pop tarts and etc, and try to make the cooks at the castle do midgardians dishes.

Wherein the palace staff is very confused. (Humor/Crack. R.)

Dregnr is a guard in the royal palace of Asgard. His father was a guard before him, and his father was a guard before him. To listen to them, one would think the palace had been attacked every season by wild frost giants and bloodthirsty elves, saved only by how the valiant homeguard fought to the last man, and as a child Dregnr would sit wide-eyed at their feet, absorbing each tale of bravery and daring, cunning and courage. One day, he would think, one day I will be a guard as well, and I will tell my sons of my heroic deeds.

But Dregnr has long since learned that a guard's life does not yield nearly as many heroic tales as his forebears implied. Especially not in the middle of the night. "My prince?" he calls, knocking on Prince Loki's chamber door. "My prince, I bring you a message."

There is no reply… or rather, no reply directed at Dregnr.

"My prince?"

If only they were a bit quieter, Dregnr could return and say in good conscience that he knew not whether the prince had been within his rooms, and without that knowledge he had of course no right to enter. Unfortunately, Dregnr was cursed at his birth with both an honest nature and excellent hearing, and so he opens the door and steps inside. "My prince," he says a fourth time. Loudly.

Though a Midgardian mortal she may be, it would seem Prince Loki's new consort is possessed of quick reaction. She squeaks, says a number of words Dregnr doesn't recognize but suspects based on tone are better suited for a tavern brawl than a royal bed, squirms out from beneath her lover's body, and a moment later is hidden under the dark Alfheim silks.

Prince Loki sits up and glares at Dregnr. "What is it?"

Dregnr can only bow. "My apologies for the interruption, my prince. Your brother has sent me with a message."

"In the middle of the night?"

"Yes, my prince."

"He needs to discover a new hobby." Prince Loki prods the silken lump at his side. "Come out, Jane Foster. It is only a guard."

"I'm naked!"

"He'll not mind."

"I mind!"

"I'm not finished with you yet."

"Yes, you are!"

The look Prince Loki gives Dregnr contains more words than many spoken sentences. Now see what you've done? "Give me your message," he sighs, "and be on your way."

"Prince Thor and the Bestie Darcy Lewis—"

"You people really have no idea what that means, do you."

"—request your assistance, and the assistance of your lady—"

A snort from under the blankets.

"—in the kitchens."

"Ah. I see." Prince Loki places his hand on a covered curve, stroking lightly. "Tell Thor I said to buzz off."

"…my prince?"

"Colloquialism." The fingers resting on the silks glow with a soft green light, but Prince Loki gives no outward reaction as the hidden lady squirms and emits a soft whimper. "We are entirely too occupied to attend whatever nonsense is currently underway in the pitiable chef's domain."

"Yes, my prince." Dregnr swallows. "But, ah… the Bestie Darcy Lewis said you would reply in such a way, and wished to convey — I quote, my prince — that 'boning needs calories, and sexaholics don't get Pop-Tarts'."

"I see. Well, I am not hungry at present." Prince Loki's lips curve into the sort of smile that has made more guards than Dregnr back away. The mischief it portends rarely bodes well for those in the prince's presence. "And you, Jane Foster? Are you hungry?"

The green light brightens in one, two, three pulses; the long, low feminine noise that follows is hardly muffled by the sheets.

"I'll take that as a 'no'. Are you ready to cease your inane hiding?"

"Only if we're alone," moans the lady, "and if you tell me how you do that."

"Does not a demonstration suffice?"

"No."

"Greedy creature," Prince Loki complains, though his manhood twitches in response to his lady's words.

Dregnr, being a professional, remains stoic in the face of this bizarre display — but he will have to relate the tale to some of his fellows at a later time. What sort of woman, let alone a consort, is ashamed to show herself in a royal bed? Or, for that matter, is foolish enough to respond to a prince in such a manner — and not just any prince, but Loki Odinson, who is well-known to tolerate impertinence from no one but his brother's favorites?

Perhaps witchcraft is still alive on Midgard after all.

Prince Loki is speaking again. "Thor and Darcy Lewis will manage just fine on their own," he says. He moves his fingertips against the blankets once more. The golden light spreads. The response is both loud and soaked in need. "Now get out."

Dregnr bows and makes for the door — but pauses when the prince adds: "Come back if they figure out coffee."

"Yes, my prince."

The noises that follow Dregnr down the hall can surely be heard in Jotunheim itself.

When Dregnr returns to the kitchens and relates the message, Prince Thor rolls his eyes. "Those two," he says disparagingly, "need to discover a new hobby."

"Eh, they had their space science stuff back home." The table is covered in half a dozen dishes, all holding pastries of varying size and design, each of which are missing two bites. Bestie Darcy Lewis pushes the one before her towards the prince. "Now that's gone. They'll probably find something new soon… if they don't die of starvation first."

"Loki is of Asgard. Jane Foster will perish long before he runs out of energy. We must look after them."

"I swear, they'd be lost without us."

"Indeed." Prince Thor tastes the pastry; his expression turns dissatisfied. "No, this is wrong as well. It's too… too—"

"—good, right?"

"Exactly. This one is fresh, and light, and flaky. It should be—"

"—kind of cardboard-y. Like it's been sitting on a shelf for two years."

"This is not a Pop-Tart."

"Nope."

The chef sends Dregnr a look of absolute despair.

Bestie Darcy Lewis takes another thoughtful bite. "I really think it's the preservatives," she says, speaking with her mouth full. "It doesn't have that 'these chemicals are probably going to give me cancer but I don't care' feel to it."

Prince Thor suddenly brightens. "What we need, Darcy Lewis, is the greatest expert on culinary delights in all the nine realms." And he turns to Dregnr. "My friend, wake Volstagg, and inform him his insight is needed at once."

These are not the stories Dregnr's father told.