A bit of Loki's POV before he's gone for Hel

Chapter 3

While in Earth, Loki believed it was easier to pretend he wasn't going out of his way to please her. The lost child, the helpless girl, the victim – yet she barely filled those roles. But later, in this strange world of dark skies and grandeur, he was incapable of ignoring it. He couldn't simply not acknowledge it when, amidst the hostility, his concern for her was like a blinking red light; when no one cared for the girl, it was easier to look at himself in the mirror and realize, yes, he was the odd one for even allowing her into his thoughts.

He hated to care for menial, insignificant things, for things that were of no consequence to his plans. Alas, he didn't need to bother with the little stares of disapproval she got, and, while she shrugged them off, he couldn't help to glare back. It was quite the itch he couldn't ignore. It was a sickening impulse that he did not wish to grow accustomed to.

When did it become like this? When, since he lost a brother, he went so far down, he slipped and broke, incomplete now, a morsel tore from him and sewn to another? He only allowed himself to dwell in the gravity when the darkness crept around them, painting her skin in the blue veil of nighttime. And the more he fondled and caressed the prospect with guilty desire – for he desired and refused the idea equally –, it suddenly became crystal clear: it did not worry him as much that he carved out his flesh to make her alive, but the morbid possibility that it would become alive and corrupt her, make her more like himself.

But he had let her feed off his magic, let her see his power, and his ambition, and it was all well, for she had craved it, even if for a second.

He rarely had time to brood in such dark thoughts, though. Darcy took so much of his time, and he permitted it so.

"What is this?" she asked, holding the small golden plate, admiring the spiraling designs carved on it.

"An excuse," he answered. "I commissioned a new armor to be forged. It will take them, at least, a week."

Yes, he paved the way on which she trod.

He managed to remain the sole owner of his composure, then Darcy let the plate down on the table, and he lost all of it, whatever it was, it lost all meaning. He was hers.

There was no doubt whether he could overpower her, but it was more of a matter concerning enthusiasm and, in that particular area, he wholly agreed Darcy was unbeaten, and would remain so.

She had never been exactly quiet, but then, as they simply let go, she became shamelessly loud and vocal. And he liked this kind of approval; he found he sorely preferred the shouts and foul language to soft and quiet reactions; it filled him with a pride that threatened to make him explode. There was no wondering when she was so explicit on voicing her opinions clearly.

Sometimes, though, it took so much in him to fight the urge to gag her. Like that one time they failed to get to bed, and just fell to the floor, too close to the door. It was an honest mistake to think they could walk in a straight line while taking off their clothes. He barely registered the scarce distance between them and a possible audience outside the thick doors, but she clearly had no time for worrying about such trifles when his tongue was "in the right spot".

He definitely put a hand on her mouth after she came, yelling she was building him a shrine once she got back to Earth. It definitely earned them some judgmental looks from the guards when they walked out of the room the next morning.

No, the loud approval was not what was wrong. The instructions, on the other hand…

She wasn't shy about sharing what she liked and how she liked it, but she shouted it with such urgency it was impossible for him not to act accordingly. And it definitely put a stain on one's reputation as conqueror of worlds to have a girl yelling orders.

He remembered how he could just gape at her, indignant at first. Obedience came later, when he discovered how he delighted in turning her into a small, writhing creature.

And, despite her insistence that it made her feel like an object, he was proud to have her and let others notice. They envied her because she was fragile and ephemeral, but burned brighter and hotter, with an intensity that did not coincide with the lethargic endurance of a god; she was like a shooting star. But on the outside, they would treat her with disdain, sneered to show the aversion to the difference that she presented.

She was so strangely different he was fascinated by discovering her. And so she lay in calmness so perfect he knew to appreciate for its rareness. She let him inspect with total freedom. She was unabashed and willing to please this quirk of him, if only during the pause between the times he was willing to please her in return.

He put his hand under her chin, pushing her head back, deeper into the pillow, to stare at her neck. She swallowed under the strain and he kissed her throat. He did not dare disturb the way her hair fell on her chest, in dark tendrils that concealed her nipples; no, he found it painted her skin, her skin of milk, luminous with a powdery quality in its softness. He put his mouth between her breasts, and descended down her ribcage to rest on her bellybutton, smirking as he noticed her stomach quivering. She softly whined, disappointed that he stopped there.

Then he came back up to look at her face, and she laughed, looking to the side. It was a nervous laugh. It took her great effort to hold his gaze when they were so close and so naked. She breathed out, nodding, readying herself for the inspection, one that surpassed the intimacy of having him look at her body. Grateful, he kissed the beauty spots, the plush mouth sticking out in a pout, and her cheekbones rose as she smiled.

"It's so creepy when you're like this," she said to attenuate the awkwardness, but turned to lie on her side all the same.

He kissed her shoulder, and went down, running his mouth against her sides, plummeting when he caressed the curve of her waist, and then up her hip. Her figure was full and soft, and warm and he strove to best it, and he became warmer inside her and she gasped. She was open and fearless; she was not afraid of him, she knew what he was capable of, but she took it.

At times, she stopped smiling, like reality dawned on her and she remembered what he'd done, but he was adamant on distracting her from that line of thought. He kissed and pressed on that spot that made her go rigid. She trembled, letting out a soft moan, forgetting again.

It was then, by the third day, that she started to look spent, preferring to lie, busy as she played with his helmet. He even ordered a new one; the weight was almost unbearable, like she had dreamed, but she wore it for some time as she sat with her knees bent, legs underneath her, shoulders back, rear sticking out, her silhouette creating a beautiful S.

The maid almost tripped on her way inside when she saw the girl naked wearing the helmet and Loki next to her, caressing the girl's back absentmindedly. At least Darcy had enough decency to quickly cover herself with the sheets, a courtesy that the god wouldn't show to please anyone under his station.

Darcy waited, wrapped in the sheets, while he paced stark naked without shame. Two large men carried inside a large bronze tub. Darcy disapproved of this caprice, but he couldn't be bothered to walk out while their week was rapidly being consumed to the kisses and touches.

Hand in hand, they would step into the tub, and lowered while staring into each other's eyes.

This was one of those times when she seemed so strangely speechless.

He stretched, relaxing, letting the nape of his head rest on the brim, while his feet were propped up outside the water. He was entirely too tall to fit in the tub.

"At some point we'll need to take a real shower," she said.

"Why?" he asked, and she couldn't find the words to counter it.

She straddled him, and he watched, without moving, resting his arms against the rim of the tub. She lowered herself, taking him with one hand to guide him inside her. Her hands glided over his chest, resurfacing out of the water to grasp his shoulders. She grinned, moving her hips forwards, moaning as the tip reached the very brink. Her hips moved, back and forth, their cheeks together as they made small sounds. He let her set the pace.

He found he also liked her when she was quiet, stifling the sounds, because she knew the maid was standing outside, close to the door, waiting for them to finish, and Darcy had modesty yet.

He gripped her hip and pulled her roughly, making them clash, and she cried out. He expected the punishment; he sought it by doing things like that. She punched him on the chest, and his smile was almost rewarding. She bit down on her lip, resuming the slow pace that she knew would build it up gradually, would take her maddeningly slow to the orgasm. She teased the edge this way, made the tingling linger by dragging them slowly to an end, but, when it finally came, spreading slowly down her legs, it was devastating with its shattering spasms and the subsequent and fast drop from the highest of highs.

Then, as she was all out of strength, he took her head, brushing his fingers up her forehead to push her hair back completely, and disclose her face to really look at her. Her eyelids were about to close, the lashes thickened by the wetness ghosted over her cheekbones, and her lips, red and swollen, wanted to form some sort of complain, but they merely parted. He let her go and she curled over him, her face pressed on his neck, and they remained until the water grew cold.

The maid was over the shock when she entered again, gazing at the pair. Loki took both cloths to wrap the girl, while he himself dripped wet and staid naked. She whispered something to him, and he, in response, carried her to bed.

Actually, the looks they warranted were no longer of surprise; they gradually changed to deadpan acceptance.

There were some things that she passed on him, like the laughs and smiles, no longer driven by anything but the simple pleasure of enjoying a good time.

She persuaded him to read to her. She insisted upon it. She couldn't read those strange symbols and, as she pointed out, there was no cable TV. She did it if only to feel the closeness of resting her head on his shoulder as she linked one arm around his, letting the rumble of the prose lull her.

He hadn't forgotten about her fear. He pushed her outside into the balcony. She lost all color as she stared down into a distance that was so great it appeared blurry. She thought themselves so high, higher than anyone, but Loki took her chin and made her look up to the highest point, where the king resided. His smile was too wide as he talked of this, and she silently disapproved of his hunger for power.

They resided in shameless decadence and hedonism. For seven days, they existed for eating, fucking and engaging in debates that were heated in all except for the volume, for they spoke with a peace product of the afterglow and haze. It was an absolute pause, and, therefore, it was easy to ignore the passage of time.

He thought it was a strategy of her to slow down time by forcing themselves to slow down as well.

Everything seemed to halt. Her gaze became more forlorn, and she held it longer. She stopped laughing or shouting at him. Then, when he took her, she exhaled a shaky moan that curled around his neck. She rarely moved her hands from around his neck. She rarely moved at all. She stared into his eyes, and let him stay on top. It has become slow and lingering to the point it became only an embrace.

The day before his departure, Darcy wasn't looking at him, but didn't complain when his hands roamed up her side, cupping her breast. She closed her eyes when he kissed her cheek. She silently rolled over on her back and parted her legs, pushing the back of her head further into the pillow, the trail of his seed still running down her thighs.

He got angry by this.

Loki jumped off the bed, taking the closest thing to throw it against the wall, which happened to be a chair. Darcy watched the explosion of splinters as the pieces fall.

She couldn't make him calm down, she herself felt so tired, so robbed of the energy to soothe him when she felt the staggering and crippling weight of the imminent farewell. She wished to please him anyway, she needed to please him, and so she took his hand, surprising him. He turned around, his shoulders rapidly rising and falling with his panting. She took him to bed, and made him forget, took him into his mouth, and he couldn't even fight back.

Loki smiled when the glimmer of a fight shone through the cracks of the bleakness. It was when he tried to take her hair, and she stopped, slapping his hand away.

Darcy hadn't seen him stutter, not until that point when he trampled on the sounds and words, letting them out too fast. She put her closed lips on the tip, and smiled, and then her head descended, her lips opening gradually to press hard and tight against the girth.

He was confused when she asked him to hold her, but complied. He couldn't bring himself to tell her how ridiculous she was, letting her feelings get the best of her, when he himself found comfort in their closeness.

For some time, he had managed to ignore the itch, but he couldn't help console her, assure her it would take Odin's power itself to end him. She nodded, knowing they wouldn't see each other again.

She thought of Jane as he kissed her entire body. This sacrifice was for her, for the shadow of a friendship that she treasured. Darcy was human and giving, willing to sacrifice the patronage and company of a god for a relation that had shriveled to an acquaintance.

The night seemed to elongate, and she pled for a fatigue that would take her for good, so he indulged her this last time. He took her until she could no longer stay awake, until the pleasure had been exhausted, and there was only rawness, tenderness and bruising. Last thing she saw before falling asleep was his clear gaze holding her own, and she closed her eyes, contemplating the option not to open them again as to never let the picture fade, locking it away in the darkness.

So she'd fallen in love. What a fool, Darcy Lewis, what a fool she was.

When Thor appeared, he found Loki still holding her, her naked body partly resting over his, her cheek on his chest, their legs intertwined. Loki sat upright, and she rolled off him, flopping on her back, her breasts waggling in the most enticing manner. Thor had to look away, but couldn't help to take another peek when she hummed, her naked figure stretching.

Darcy awoke, blinking in the darkness, alarm brewing in her expression at seeing the bigger silhouette of Thor. Loki hushed her, and placed a hand on her head, and she became soft, collapsing back on the bed.

Thor gazed upon her naked form. When he heard Loki chuckle, he looked away, swallowing.

Loki pulled the sheet up to her chin slowly, his knuckles brushing her curves. She stirred and moaned softly, hugging the pillow.

"Celibacy does not agree with you, brother," said Loki.

Thor was too distracted to acknowledge the fraternal term. "Hurry. It is time," he said. Thor scowled when Loki just proceeded to put on the armors pieces that lay on the table. "You are not saying goodbye."

"She has accepted it already. I do not wish to torment her with words of consolation that she knows are lies, to torture her with the hope that we might see each other again," Loki replied, his tone bordering on anger. "I am not yet as cruel as you."

"I will take her back," Thor said. "As soon as you depart."

"No," Loki snapped. "She will remain here, until I have returned and made sure that I did not fail." He buckled the gauntlet with force. "Besides…" He turned to look into Thor's eyes, smirking, gloating in his past mistake. "I fear your gross incompetence might result in her demise once more, and that will, most regrettably, reverse all my endeavors."

"You are aware that, by keeping her here, you are allowing her to hope?" Thor shook his head. "Father would not approve."

Loki smirked. "Ah, yes, have you come here to affirm what the Allfather has so plainly insinuated? Perhaps the phrasing escaped you, God of thunder, heir to the throne of Asgard," he spat vilely. "You forget I am but the bastard son of a monster. Whatever the Allfather requests of me, he does not so in my benefit, but to attempt to correct my nature, my legacy. I am afraid, as you can see, that I refused to follow his express command. I am sorry to disappoint you, Thor, but my bedding with a mortal has not provoked Ragnarök to arise."

"No, but from the sound of it, one could have been fooled," Thor said, smiling.

The end… lol kidding. Though no more Loki for some time. ):