cake-over-flowers asked you: Jane Foster seduces Loki with bad intentions, instead of the other way around.
mujaki said: Loki showed up in Midgard later than Thor did looking as though he had seen a ghost. What happened to him between his landing and showing up at the diner (as he clearly wasn't creamed by an oncoming vehicle).
Loki and Jane use each other while Darcy and Thor play video games. (PWP/Angst. NC-17.)
Neither of these are exactly what was requested, but it involves sex, so that should clear up any dissatisfaction, right?
She wakes up to warm lips brushing down her throat and long fingers stroking under her shirt.
Jane isn't a little girl with stars in her eyes. At least, not those kinds of stars. She grew up a long time ago (in a series of incremental steps, though Donald was probably the biggest and most final). And it's not like Loki whispers sweet nothings in her ear. He's using her. She's not sure of the details, because there seems to be a lot going on for him that he hasn't explained and she doesn't understand, but he's still using her.
The thing is, being a grown-up, she doesn't mind. Not when the sex is this good. Hell, after two years, she would have been perfectly satisfied with just 'okay'.
This is a lot better than 'okay'.
Still, he should knock first. "There's this thing called privacy," she mumbles, rolling over in what can't really be considered a bed. "We like it here on Earth."
"Your Midgardian customs are overvalued."
"Still my customs. Still my trailer."
"Your 'trailer' is even more overvalued than your customs."
She doesn't disagree, but there's not a lot of other options. The night in the motel was nice, but a budget's a budget, and her funding's low enough as it is. "What time is it?"
"The moon is high."
"Not the standard of measurement I wanted." Jane pulls away from Loki's roaming hands enough to sit up and glance at the clock. Three in the morning. "Ugh. Why did you nap all afternoon?"
"I was tired."
"If you slept at night like a normal person that wouldn't happen."
He scowls. "Mortality is ridiculous. I've no notion how you humans have managed to create an entire civilization when you spend a third of your lives unconscious."
"What, you never had to sleep before?"
"Not unless I saw fit to do so."
If all this god-to-human transformation stuff is true — and she's still not sure it is, though Thor and Loki are definitely convinced of it — then Jane knows some biologists who would give their right arms to study these guys. "Well, some of us need to rest. Especially when there's never any coffee. Which, by the way, is probably contributing to why your circadian rhythms are all messed up."
"You drink coffee."
"Yeah, two or three cups, not two or three pots. If you and Thor don't cut back you're going to do yourselves serious damage."
"I did not come here to bandy words with you, Jane Foster." He kneels on the floor — there's barely enough room — and takes her by the waist, turning her hips towards his. She's only wearing an old t-shirt and underwear… and the latter's off in seconds.
Loki hitches her legs over his shoulders and begins to kiss his way up the inside of her thigh.
All right-y then.
There aren't really words to describe how weird Jane's life has become. Three weeks ago she was alone except for Darcy, who only ever understood one word in four that came out of her mouth and was impervious to any directives or lectures. Even a political science major ought to understand something as basic as the Schwarzschild metric. And Erik, the only other person who mattered, lived on the other side of the world. For all intents and purposes, it was just Jane.
Then she started getting anomalous readings in the area. Then Erik flew out to help. Then a man appeared out of nowhere — literally out of nowhere — and she grazed him with her van. Then she took the man to the hospital, took the man back out of the hospital, took him home, took him to the diner, and picked up a second man who didn't so much appear out of nowhere as stumble in from the desert. Then she realized this second man knew nearly as much about Einstein-Rosen bridges as she did, even though he used completely different terminology. Then she learned more in three hours than she'd learned in three months.
Then a bunch of men in black tried to steal her research. Then the second man, through a combination of cajoling, threats, and disturbingly impenetrable logic, convinced them to go away. Then the second man smiled at her as though it was just another day's work.
Then Jane thanked him. Then Jane hugged him. Then Jane kissed him. Then he kissed her back.
And… well.
Now Jane's not so alone. Erik's gone on some research opportunity, but she's got two new residents who Darcy refers to as 'pets', and one of them is both brilliant and insatiable, even though that second part is an issue at inconvenient hours of the day. The other is getting freakishly good at Wii.
Yes. A weird life.
But weird isn't always bad.
Jane once heard Thor refer to Loki's 'silver tongue', but that's not really accurate. Loki uses his whole mouth, not just his tongue. He works at her like he's eating a peach, messy and consuming and moaning nearly as loud as Jane herself.
But only nearly. When his teeth graze lightly in just the right place she makes a keening noise she's going to be embarrassed about later and fists her hands in his hair hard enough that he ought to push her away.
He just digs his fingers into her waist and presses even closer.
Sometimes — sometimes at times like this, sometimes when they're at the table poring over data, sometimes when he's standing in front of the mirror scowling at the way his hair has gone wavy in the dry desert heat — those fingers twitch and turn, like he's trying to make something happen. When she asked about it, he referred once, and only once, to having been stripped of his magic tricks.
Jane doesn't remember exactly what she said in response, but it was skeptical and dismissive — and in retrospect, it shouldn't have been. Loki has refused to speak of it since. But his hands still move on instinct.
She asked Thor, too, but he'd only shaken his head and said to leave it be.
Loki licks his way inside and Jane digs her heels into his back. She's going to leave bruises. "Oh, God, that's good," she gasps.
He moans something in response that sounds vaguely like Louder.
Jane obliges.
A moment later it is the silver tongue that gets the job done, though the way his thumb creeps down from her hip to circle and stroke deserves a lot of credit too. When Jane comes back down to earth — who knows where she went, maybe Asgard — Loki's got his cheek resting against her thigh, his eyes closed. "Your turn," she pants, trying to pull him up. There's not a lot of space, but they've learned to manage.
He shakes his head.
"You sure?"
He nods.
Oh.
Jane hesitates, then — because it seems like the thing to do — cards her fingers through his now completely-mussed hair. He hums slightly and smiles in response.
It's times like this that she knows she's being used. There's something… off about Loki, something moody and dark, like he's edging along a cliff wall and trying not to look down at the valley below. And somehow he's latched onto this as a lifeline. Why or how, Jane's not sure, and she's pretty sure she couldn't figure it out even if she tried, even if she understood that sort of thing, which she doesn't and never has. But he's definitely using her.
Of course, she's using him too. But that's a fair trade, isn't it? Untold scientific possibilities and incredible orgasms in return for… whatever she's giving him that he seems to need so badly.
Also, Jane's never been needed before.
It's kind of a good feeling.
After a moment, Jane realizes Loki isn't just basking. He's falling asleep. "Get up," she says, shaking his shoulder. "There's no room down there."
He responds by murmuring something incoherent and crawling up into bed with her. That's not going to feel much better than the floor, come morning, given how long his legs are. But he spoons tight against her back and no one falls off.
They're using each other, but it's nice. It's nice not being alone.
She's almost asleep too when he mumbles: "Wasn't cold, was it?"
"Cold?" Weird. "No. 'Course not. Go to sleep."
He heaves what can only be a sigh of relief.
In the morning they have stiff necks and backaches. Darcy rolls her eyes at both of them and proceeds to slaughter Thor at SoulCalibur.