Singles
When the letter arrived, Loki and Natasha were sitting on the couch cross-legged eating gelato out of a carton and playing Operation; there was a great deal of cheating going on between them involving tickles and sexual innuendoes. The knock on the door startled Loki, and his tweezers hit the side of the red-nosed man. Instantly the game board buzzed loudly, and he let fly a score of rude words.
"Nice move, Dr. Loki," Natasha taunted as she got up. "It's my turn now."
"This is not fair at all. I get another turn because of the interference." He stopped speaking when he saw who it was at the door: his own brother, bearing a large envelope sealed with swathes of purple ribbon and a heavy seal stamped in wax with the figure of a raven.
"My apologies," Thor said as he handed the letter to Loki. "This had to be delivered at once." He cast a quizzical look at Operation.
"Would you like to play a round with us?" Natasha asked.
Loki twitched his brows together. The last thing he wanted was Thor's presence; his plans were to turn Operation into Seduction very shortly.
Perhaps his brother caught the frown. "Alas, I must return to my chambers. Brother, come and see me once you have read the message." With a deep bow, Thor closed the door behind him.
"That was odd. And I thought you had no contact with Asgard any longer. What does it say?" Natasha leaned over him to see.
Loki tossed it on the ground unopened. "I do not know. Let us return to our game – and I still want to redo my turn."
As he had hoped, the game ended up in their bed – Loki on his back, Natasha prowling over him with her usual tiny smile. By that point he knew her micro-expressions betrayed the passionate nature within. He tilted up his chin as a command for her to kiss him and she complied willingly, knotting her fingers in his hair before sitting up to ride him again. She undulated like a snake, a wave, a flame. He lay back and watched her, hands on those luscious hips to steady her movements, and he wondered if he ever had such a tender lover in all his centuries. Not that they ever spoke words of love, but that seemed unnecessary. Their bodies did all the talking.
His breath quickened, panting as he approached his climax, and he tried to hold back so he could wait for her, for the perfect moment. "It's okay. I'm ready," Natasha groaned and jolted her pelvis in a hidden rhythm, one he picked up instantly. It was their own little song.
And later as she slumbered in his arms, Loki whispered a few of those words into her hair - only when he was certain she couldn't hear.
"This is unusual…" Natasha seemed surprised as he brought her breakfast. Coffee, just the way she liked it. One of those chocolate croissants she enjoyed, as well as raspberries.
"Enjoy it, Agent." Loki felt in the pocket of the silk robe she had brought as a gift from Korea. "We are celebrating. Look at this!"
Natasha's eyes widened at the thick sheaf of bills he pulled out of a crumpled envelope. "Where did you get all that money? Did you pull off a heist? Or did Tony talk you into playing poker again?"
"No. I have withheld this from the checks from Fury."
She touched the pile of dollars with one finger. "You're telling me you saved this up out of your pay?"
Carefully he gathered up the stack of what she called Singles. "Exactly so. There are ninety-three of them. When we reach one hundred I will take you to dinner again." Loki hesitated and added, "I was forced to spend some on your pastry and fruits this morning."
Natasha picked up a raspberry and put it between his lips; she grinned when he bit her fingertip. "You're starting to get the hang of this Midgard thing, aren't you?" She checked the time on her phone. "Damn – I have to eat and get dressed. Otherwise I would reward you thoroughly right now."
He couldn't stop himself from grinning widely. "I will hold you to that promise, Agent."
The hang of the Midgard thing; yes, he thought he had accomplished it. Loki sat in front of his shabby laptop and started his job, analyzing data with home-written programs any underground agency would have sacked cities to own as he ate the last of the raspberries. He had just discovered an interesting trail of data when he remembered the message Thor had brought the night before.
It still lay beside the Operation game. Loki broke the wax seal and smoothed the parchment within; as he read his mind bubbled with surprise and confusion.
Natasha entered the room, fiddling with one glove and muttering something about Fury. She looked up and saw the letter. "Hey! Everything okay? You look sort of shell-shocked."
Loki met her eyes and held up the letter. "It is a writ from the upper echelon in Asgard. They are demanding my return to the palace."
His rooms in Asgard: he had almost forgotten their scale and luxury. Objects worth many of the Singles he had saved so carefully hung on the walls or were casually strewn over shelves made of rare wood and bilgesnipe ivory, themselves beyond price. A collection of daggers inset with precious stones lurked in one drawer. Huge volumes bound in leather and teak sat on tables and by his immense bed. Clothes worked with fine stitching and embroidery were folded into huge chests between sachets of sweet herbs.
A tunic and breeches were already laid out on a chair for him, awaiting his bath. In the far corner an attendant waited, several linen towels over her arm. "Your water is ready, my prince," she said.
"Oh, for heaven's sake. I can do it myself," Loki snapped.
"Heaven's sake?"
"A Midgard phrase – do not mind it. Now, be off." He wanted to lie in the water and forget a recent argument, filled with words like Please and You Do Not Understand and I Cannot Go With You and Damn You to Hel Natasha.
"Have I done something to displease you?" The attendant, he saw, looked terrified. Her arm under the fine towels shook slightly, and the whites of her eyes showed, like those of a nervous horse.
"No – all is well." Loki peered closer at her. "Have I lain with you before, maiden?"
"Yes, my prince." Her desperation became more apparent; he recognized it from himself during those times on Midgard when he had no money. Probably there was a harsh landlord or failed crops on her parents' farm. He could see it in her worried eyes.
"And rewarded you with coin after?"
"Yes, my prince."
"It shall not happen again. Take yourself back to the kitchens..." His voice died off as she nodded and put the linens on a rack. Under a mass of dark hair, her shoulders looked like the folded wings of a defenseless bird.
"Hold one moment." Loki went to a casket, opened it, and lifted a double handful of gold pieces stamped with the likeness of the late Queen Frigga. "Take these with you and tell your mother to put them away carefully. They are yours, and you do not have to lie with anyone for silver ever again. You may go to your home this instant to deliver them – inform the palace housekeeper I have granted you a holiday. She may come to me if she does not believe you, but tell her I will be extremely displeased at her interruption."
Her mouth opened in shock. "But this is a great deal of money! Are you certain there is nothing I can do to make you more comfortable? I truly do not mind."
"No. Return to your family."
After she left, he climbed into the bath. Loki closed his eyes and realized he had just shut himself off from one of his relentless pursuits when he was younger – that of seduction. Now there was only one person he wanted to seduce, but she existed on another realm. What wouldn't he give to hear Natasha's shouts to get his feet off the sofa, to complain about his old laptop while she laughed at his curses with her smooth thigh pressed against his, to count the pile of Singles he had saved so carefully and press them into her hands? Such tiny moments seemed insignificant at the time but were, he mused, more precious than gold pieces once they were gone. Because gold could be hoarded, but time slipped through one's clutches with no way to save it.
There was no more seduction. There were no more games of Operation rife with cheats and laughter.
And so, as he lay among the clouds of steam and fresh lavender, his mind turned inexorably to the one thing always present in his life: Mischief.