Thank you so very much for reading. I apologize for the delay. Stupid real life. I would love to hear from you!
Yellow Submarine - The Beetles
You're a wolf by Sea Wolf
Redemption Song by Bob Marley
Annabel by The Duhks
When This World Comes to an End by Ashley Cleveland
I'm an Animal by Neko Case
Glory Bound by The Walin' Jennys
Nothing is Free/Fish Dippa Dippa by Jubal's Kin
Stream of Conscience by 2/3 Goat
When Did Your Heart Go Missing? by Rooney
Satin in a Coffin by Modest Mouse
When You're Around by Motion City Soundtrack
Backsteets by Bruce Springsteen
Chapter 6: Faulkner and Freak Outs
He is not back from wherever he spends his days in time for dinner and Ellie is glad because she never actually got around to cooking anything today. On this day, she misses her captor and the thought makes her so sick she is forced to drink a whole bottle of wine.
Bottle number two sits on the piano bench. She can't locate any appropriate glasses, nor does she make any real effort, so right out of the bottle it is.
The instruments soothe her for only a little while and Eleanor finds herself distracted by the bookshelf that dominates a corner of his large room.
Stumbling slightly, Ellie gets up from the piano in favor of exploring Loki's personal library. She has to go back a moment later to retrieve the wine. As she moves to stand on unsteady feet in front of the shelves, she brings the bottle to her lips.
The God of Lies is very well versed in both human and alien literature it would seem. The symbols on most of the titles are strange and curve elegantly. She wonders what it's like on that far away planet.
Asgard, he calls his home.
If that part of his tale is even true. Although she's sure of his terrifying power, Ellie can't say if she believes this truly crazy part of his whole deal, the alien part.
Curious, she attempts to remove a heavy leather bound edition, but some magical force prevents her from doing so.
For whatever reason, this makes Ellie grin.
There is only a slight sway in her stance. Ellie takes this is a sign that she needs more wine.
Lordy, does she love wine. All Tate women do.
Except she's not a Tate woman.
The thought depresses her. She drinks more wine and hums under her breath.
"We all live in a yellow submarine," she sings. The phrase is far from perfect. The combination of drinking and singing seems to have given her the hiccups. "A yellow submarine. A yellow submarine. A yellow sub—"
She hiccups again. It interrupts the lyric and she gives up.
And then Loki is back.
For once his appearance just behind her does not cause her to jump out of her skin. The wine has slowed her reactions way down and nothing is scary anymore.
She gives him a big smile but refrains from telling him she missed him. He looks her up and down for a long moment, taking in the bottle of wine dangling at her side as she smiles and sways.
"What's all this, then?" he asks.
Through glassy eyes Eleanor admires the intricate armor that covers his crossed forearms.
"Hello," she replies, continuing to ogle him shamelessly. Ellie gives him another lazy grin.
"You are intoxicated," he observes.
"And you were missed," she replies, mimicking his voice. She forgets that she decided not to tell him that. She raises her bottle to him and takes another sip, toasting him.
Loki puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her and confiscates the wine. He stares at her like she's an alien, which is funny because he is actually an alien.
Maybe.
"You've consumed nearly half," he says, continuing to frown as he sloshes the liquid around. "This is a great deal of wine for a alleged Midgardian of your stature, is it not?"
Ellie thinks of the empty bottle hidden in the new recycle bin in the kitchen. It took three days of pleading to get such a container, but he finally gave in when she started going on about saving the environment of his new realm. Her verbosity on the subject seemed to alarm him.
"Eleanor?"
When she fails to answer, Loki rolls his eyes and takes a swig. Grinning wildly she steals the bottle back.
Before she can take another sip, an army of green lady bugs files out of the bottle and onto Ellie's arm. In her shock she lets out one of those squeaks he seems so fond of and drops the bottle. It shatters into flower petals rather than glass.
Ellie stares at the pale petals and lady bugs at her feet, not really believing it. But this is Loki and he is all magicy, so she accepts this as by far the most pleasant thing he's ever done with his power.
"Dude," she says, dragging her eyes away from the floor to grin at him. "You are amazing, you know that?"
He gapes at her in shock, but Ellie cannot imagine why this statement would surprise him so.
"Now if only we can get you to use your powers for good," she muses.
And the glare is back.
He captures her chin and examines her lips. It makes her dizzy, being this close to him.
"Your teeth are red," he mutters.
His statement inspires a song and she closes her eyes.
"Old gypsy woman spoke to me," she croons, swaying in time with the music in her head. Carefully stepping around the petals, she takes his hand and places it on her hip.
"Lips stained red from a bottle of wine." She takes his free hand and places hers on his shoulder.
"What is this?" he asks, not sounding nearly as cranky as he's trying to be.
"Old gypsy woman spoke to me." She continues to sway and his body follows her movements. "Lips stained red from a bottle of wine. The one that you are looking for, you're not gonna find her, here, here, here."
Loki holds her a little closer. Ellie can't stop smiling and the lyrics get a little garbled as she continues to sing.
"You're a wolf. You're a wolf."
"You are a very odd sort of creature," he muses when her song ends. Still, they continue to sway.
"You too," she says, her head lolling back so she can get a good look at his stupidly perfect face. "Except, you know, you're like fifteen feet tall instead of little and a freaking god instead of a creature. But I'm not a creature either. I'm a lady."
The smirk he gives her reminds her that he's actually a psychopath bent on world domination. She stops swaying and puts space between their bodies.
The confusion is back in his eyes. For one little moment they appear green rather than blue, but Ellie blames this on the wine.
She could really use more wine.
Abruptly she takes his hand. He allows her to pull him towards the kitchen.
"Have you prepared a meal?" he asks.
"Tonight we'll drink our dinner."
They sit together on the floor, legs crossed, knees touching. The latest bottle of wine is cradled between Loki's palms and Ellie stares at the heavy bound leather book sitting in her lap.
It is one in the section magically banned to Ellie, but it took minimal pleading to convince Loki to get it down for her. It is an introduction to magic, something sort of like a primer given to grade school kids. The language is nothing but scribbles to Ellie, but pictures dominate most of the pages. This is probably why Loki chose this particular selection.
"You can do all this?" Ellie asks in awe, running her fingers over the beautifully drawn images of an Asgardian woman identifying and drawing out the energy of the world around her. This section seems to be on the manipulation of light.
"Without thought," Loki replies, his speech slightly slurred. Ellie badgered him into drinking four bottles on his own in the spirit of evenness, but in exchange he cut her off. "I've been able to do this for a millennia. It is so simple even you could accomplish it with proper training."
The snotty and superior way he says this should be offensive, but instead his words make Ellie light up. "Really?" she asks, beaming and excited.
"Magic interests you?" he asks, sounding skeptical.
"Obviously," she drawls. "Why do you think I've been making you talk to me about it for the last hour?"
"You are in no position to make me do anything, mortal." His words lack heat and mostly he just gapes at her. Ellie leans over and pokes at his bottom lip until he collects himself. He bats away her hand.
"Why is this so shocking?" she asks.
"Alcohol makes you annoyingly loquacious," he snaps, eyes narrowing.
They've had such a good evening without the appearance of crazed, cranky Loki, and Ellie wants to keep the good vibes going.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs, looking at the pages again. "I'm curious. It's just… I am in awe of what you can do. Absolute awe."
Tonight she's in awe. Tomorrow she'll remember Mr. Cutter holding a blade to his own throat and his blank, blank face. Tomorrow she'll go back to being horrified.
"This is what surprises me," he admits. "From where I hail, magic does not inspire awe. It is considered the lesser man's art. A crutch for those who lack the strength and power for true battle."
Ellie pulls a face. "Well, that's just fucking stupid."
"Eleanor," he chastises, but again it lacks heat.
"This is brilliant," she continues. "Will you show me something brilliant?"
He looks at her as if he's never seen her before. Ellie shifts under the intensity of his stare, her skin flushed. She swears she sees the green in his eyes again.
Abruptly Loki finishes the wine, disappears the bottle, and lies flat on his back. Ellie blinks at the space Loki occupied a moment ago before she gets the memo and crawls over to lay down next to him.
"I hope you recycled that bottle," she murmurs. Going with her first instinct, Ellie wiggles in to the nook between his arm and shoulder. Her fingers curl into the silky fabric of his tunic. All the armor and leather disappeared somewhere around bottle number two. She presses her body into his and ignores that voice in the back of her head that whispers that he is evil and vile and dangerous.
Her drunkenness keeps her from questioning the wisdom of this position until she notices the tension in Loki's body. At first his discomfort makes her feel guilty, but then she decides to enjoy it. He is always making her feel extremely uncomfortable.
Eventually Loki relaxes, his fingers weaving into her hair at the back of her head.
"Stars are brilliant, are they not?" he whispers.
Before Ellie can formulate a response, Loki waves his hand and the ceiling above them transforms into the night sky.
Ellie gasps, her eyes going wide. Some stars drift close and she reaches out to touch one, gasping again when it spirals away from he finger, swirling like a top and leaving a trail of light in its wake.
"Now you've ruined the balance of the universe," he says, sounding as serious as she's ever heard him.
She raises a skeptical eyebrow in his general direction.
The responding chuckle from the God of Mischief makes him seem so young and carefree.
"You wish to see brilliance," he murmurs, gently messaging her scalp. "Tell me, have you ever seen a star die?"
She shakes her head.
Loki flicks his wrist and the view seems to zoom in on a specific little dot of light until it appears as large and bright as the sun.
Ellie watches, enraptured by the sight before her. Loki watches her.
She can feel the carpet at her back and his huge green bed is visible through the dense illusion if she really tries to see it, but it feels so real. It is so quiet and so still and so very, very brilliant.
They travel through space, watching his star die before moving through nebulas and galaxies and other wonders. There is so much color here Ellie loses the ability to speak.
Brilliant doesn't seem to cover it somehow.
It becomes a struggle to keep her eyes open. She fights for the better part of an hour, but eventually her drunkenness and sleepiness gets the better of her. Although it seems like her eyes fall shut for only a moment, when she opens them again, Loki is carrying her to her room.
"Teach me magic," she mumbles as she snuggles closer to the god she'll go back to hating in the morning. "Please?"
"When I come to rule this world I will do this for you."
She shakes her head, but still doesn't open her eyes. "It has to be before then."
"Why, Eleanor?"
"Because I won't like you enough to want to learn after."
He is quiet as they enter her room. Her eyes stay closed and everything feels like a dream.
"You like me now?" He sounds so lost. It confuses her.
"I like you now." She's not sure if the words come out of her mouth or if they stay in her head now that he's placed her carefully in her own bed. "Just like this. I like you now."
In her head she asks him to stay, but her mouth knows better and Ellie finally falls asleep to stay until morning.
Things change.
It is slow, and at first she doesn't even notice it, but one night they play chess and the next as well. Sometimes they read, spending hours together in silence. His daily disappearances shorten as well. Ellie becomes accustom to his quite presence, and sometimes she forgets how scary he can be. She has to remind herself often that he is her captor bent on world domination, not her roommate and certainly not her strange friend. When he is with her, he is so tired and often confused as well so loathing him is a struggle.
She has so many questions, none of which she dares ask.
He seems to be all alone, save for her.
Ellie takes to cooking the evening meal for both of them. The hunched old woman that once delivered all her meals stops appearing anywhere in the hallway, expect to collect Ellie's dirty clothes.
She enjoys cooking and although Loki is never one to offer a compliment, he joins her in the kitchen, listening to her sing to herself as she prepares their meal. There isn't a table, but they sit on either side of a counter, facing each other on stools.
He is so beautiful and everything feels so domestic, Ellie has a hard time holding on to her simmering hate for him and the entire situation. She does not miss her old life. Perhaps that is part of her shocking adaptation to this new one as a prisoner.
Before he took her away, she was so apathetic about everything. She sang the same tired songs nightly and spent the rest of her time alone with a guitar or her banjo in her miniscule apartment she could barely afford. Sometimes she would go to a music store where they let her play the piano in the window display until close. That was a highlight.
Here she is also alone for the majority of her waking hours, but she can play whatever she wants, whenever she wants. She writes. There is no need to worry about making enough money to cover rent. In some ways she feels freer in this instrument infested prison than she did in her old, dull life.
When he returns he proves an uncomfortable but not unpleasant companion.
And just what does that say about her? She is more content trapped in the bowels of the earth with a sometimes psychotic alleged god with terrifying plans and power, than she has been since she left her whole life behind in North Carolina eight years ago.
The thought makes her sick.
No question. There is something majorly wrong with her, and although that has been obvious for a long time, this is a new disturbing low, even for her.
She isn't happy. She doesn't do happy, not since her fake father died, but she is content. She doesn't dread the moment when she wakes up everyday and gets small amounts of joy from the instruments and the songs she crafts.
Loki remains an enigma. He likes music and an entire wall in his unnecessarily large bedroom is devoted to hundreds of books. He goes from quite and calm to stressed and confused in a blink of an eye. It's somewhat terrifying and she often wonders what's wrong with him because something is very obviously off.
Sometimes he mutters to himself, pacing around his chambers, only stopping abruptly when he remembers that he isn't alone. She always gets sent away right after that, but for the most part he seems to want her near.
When he gets that lost puppy look she has to sit on her hands to prevent herself from reaching out to provide a little comfort. That look comes over his elegant features, he turns those haunted eyes on her, and she feels a deep sense of commiseration, as if he is just like her, broken, alone, and aimless.
Her song selection for their nightly concerts changes as well. In the beginning it was silly, meaningless songs, mostly top forty and kids stuff. Next it was protest songs, songs about freedom and rebellion and the triumph of the human spirit. Now she occasionally finds herself slipping in a song she that actually speaks to her own troubled soul.
Tonight Loki doesn't show for dinner. She eats alone at their counter, more moving the food around on her plate and watching the door than actually eating anything. After an hour and a half she gives up on him and stuffs the whole thing in the fridge.
Loki doesn't really do leftovers and Ellie doesn't really eat unless he forces her too, but it seems a shame to throw away all this food.
Moping, Ellie passes her own bedroom door in favor for his. She wonders if it is a big deal that he gave her access to his personal space. It feels like a big deal.
The piano is her ultimate destination. She messes around with a piece she's been composing for the last couple of weeks, but her inspiration falls flat. With a frustrated huff, she lets her fingers fall heavily on the keys, causing an angry dissonance of notes.
Moving to his wall of books, Ellie is not surprised that the Asgardian selection stays glued to the shelf. She smiles at his preemptive preparation and tries a collection of short stories by William Faulkner next. This one willingly leaves the shelf. Ellie considers taking her book back to her bed, but his is so large and cozy looking. The moment he arrives home he'll just get her anyway, probably in some creepy way that scares her half to death.
He just loves making her jump.
Although she's never been so bold as to lie down here, Ellie takes the risk. She's been alone all day and he's been really not evil lately – to her at least – so she settles herself again the pillows, bringing her reading glasses onto her face from the top of her head.
She gets all the way through "A Rose for Emily," a delightfully disturbing tale, before her eyes flicker closed. Time is impossible to determine in the bunker without the wristwatch sitting on her vanity, but Ellie knows it's late enough for her to worry.
Her cheek is pressed into something cool and warm and soft and hard. These seem like contradicting states, but somehow whatever she is cuddle up to manages to be all four of these things all at once.
A sigh escapes her throat, and her sleep-addled brain has her questioning if this is some strange dream. It is a good dream and she is surrounded by a wonderful smell that makes her feel safe. She is hesitant to open her eyes.
As she fully wakes, she becomes more aware of her surroundings. She is spooned around a much larger body, her nose pressed into his spine. Every bit of her front seems to be lying against every bit of his back, from her face against his shoulder blade to her feet tucked in between his calves. Her arm is thrown around his narrow waist.
She shifts slightly, cuddling closer.
There are ridges and lines that obscure the smoothness of his naked back. With her nose she traces the line of a thin scar.
Her eyes fly open when she understands just where she is. It has been a very long time since she woke up in bed with a warm body (or in his case slightly chilled). Not since high school has she been near another person like this.
It freaks her out.
And the worst part is her clinginess.
He must have returned to his bedroom to find her snoring away in his bed. For once he was overly kind and didn't wake her. Instead of respecting his space, her unconscious frame wrapped itself around his. It's embarrassing. Totally horrifying.
Why didn't he kick her out? Scream at her for being all up in his personal space and make her sing or kneel or something?
She feels his even breathing against her chest and thanks whoever the hell is up there that he remains asleep. Slowly, she attempts to remove her arm from around his waist, but stops abruptly when his hand prevents her escape.
It is this moment that Ellie becomes aware that his fingers are intertwined with hers.
She is so shocked to see this little sign that he covets her touch her breathing stops. His breathing, on the other hand, remains deep and even. Despite her fidgeting and her freak out, he sleeps on.
Bit by bit she convinces her body to relax against his. If she could run away from this without waking him she would. This is unfamiliar territory. She doesn't cuddle. She doesn't share affection or have sleepovers.
But Ellie finds she likes it here, tucked against the glorious back of him. When she opens her eyes she is so close to him she can't make out anything defined, just soft, pale skin, apparently marred by scars.
Again, she wonders just what happened to him. What made him like this, so hateful and full of rage.
His hand keeps hers pressed into his abs. It is hard work to resist the urge to explore the rippled planes of his stomach, but she is terrified to move, unwilling to ruin the moment.
She closes her eyes and pretends that this is a different life, that they are both different people. In her fantasy, they are both blessedly normal. They had happy, normal childhoods and have happy normal jobs. They are a happy normal couple who do happy normal couple things, and waking up like this is a daily occurrence.
But then she feels his body tense against hers. As he wakes up, she holds her breath, having no idea how he'll react. Her disgusting mortal flesh is smothering his divine form, but it would have been extremely easy for him to evict her from his room last night. He could have terrified her into never getting within ten feet of his bed again.
This is really her fault for forgetting that this is her prison and he is her crazy evil captor.
The grip on her hand turns painful for a moment before he lets go entirely, as if her touch scalds him.
And maybe it does.
Although he drops her hand, he makes no move to put distance between their bodies. She can feel the anxiety in him and the rapid acceleration of his breathing. She stays totally still.
Another five minutes pass with excruciating slowness. She attempts to remove her arm that's draped around him, but his hand comes back. He holds her arm so tight she'll surely bruise.
Again, she freezes. He stays still too, as if he is struggling to make a decision. The waiting terrorizes her. She lets out a whimper and then bites the side of her cheek in an attempt to stay calm and quiet. She tilts her head, resting her cheek against the angry marks on his back. Opening her eyes, she desperately tries to see the scars, but the light is too dim.
Suddenly she is yanked forward, into his lap. He sits up abruptly, and her eyes go wide with shock when she feels him aroused between her legs.
"Lo—" She starts to speak, but the look on his face has the word dying on her tongue. He looks as panicked as a cornered animal, those blue eyes of his terrified.
Despite his beautiful features, he looks terrible. A low light left on in the bathroom cast shadows over his angular face, making his cheekbones look even more pronounced. He appears gaunt and haunted. The faint sheen of sweat on his forehead is nearly as disturbing as the dark bags under his eyes.
Although she's seen him appear tired and worn, it has never been like this.
One day. That's it. She did not see him for one day. What could have possibly happened?
Summoning her courage, Ellie gives into the instinct to reach out for him, the one she has been studiously ignoring for weeks. Her thumbs trace the dark circles under his eyes.
"Loki," she murmurs, getting his name out this time. That's all she can say. She can't ask and he would never tell.
He regards her with suspicion, eyes narrowed, but she keeps touching him. Her heart hammers in her chest, but she keeps touching him. He seems to crumble before her eyes, and she feels his sorrow.
Ellie makes up her mind to kiss him because she is obviously as unbalanced as her captor and slowly lowers her lips to his, giving him time to see her intention written in her gaze. She gets close enough to feel his harsh breathing against her mouth before he turns away. Instead Ellie's lips connect with the hallow of his cheek.
At first she's disappointed, and his rejection stings, but she kisses his cheek and wraps her arms around his neck, giving him the hug she's been resisting for so long now.
He does not return her embrace, nor can she tell if he wants her this close despite that hardness between her legs, but she can't seem to help herself. This strange and powerful being that requires her voice seems to need something else from her in this moment, and she doesn't question her compulsion to give it to him.
Undoubtedly, the guilt and revulsion will come later.
His body seems to lurch against her and a chill goes up Ellie's spine. Confused, she pulls back to look down at herself. She blinks rapidly in the half-light thrown from the bathroom, shocked to see her own nudity.
How long has she been naked?
Last night she fell asleep in his bed in one of her thousands of green dresses. She glances around, thinking maybe she somehow wiggled out of the garment in her sleep.
But he's naked too.
She clearly remembers the feel of his silky pajama pants against her legs as she played big spoon.
A little gasp of surprise escapes her lips and she turns her shocked gaze back to his. The manic grin and the gleam in his eye make her cringe.
During her time with him, she's seen wondrous, remarkable, horrible things. Loki is an alleged god with the ability to steal identities and project clones of himself. He's shown her the universe and broken glass into flower petals. Surely it shouldn't be too difficult to magic away a dress and some pants.
"Loki, wha—"
A large palm covers her mouth. Her eyes narrow, and she gets angry with him for the first time in a long time. The man handling is simply unacceptable, and she seriously considers biting his stupid palm, but thinks better of it given his mood.
Despite her internal freak out, she tries to wear the mask, to hold onto the apathy.
The madness is back in his eyes. It's been weeks since she saw him looking this deranged and it breaks her heart.
"Now is no time to revise your opinion on speech," he hisses in her ear, using the hand on her face to hold her still. Unconsciously she tires to get away from him, but his arm snakes around her lower back, holding her squirming frame as if she's nothing. The restraint might as well be metal. "I like you silent, Eleanor."
His tone is like ice. It scares her and makes her feel like a total fool for growing complacent. Over the course of their rather peaceful weeks, she got comfortable here, but even worse she allowed herself to trust him and deluded herself into thinking that he might like her a little bit.
Maybe even liking him a little bit.
Just a little bit.
All sympathetic feelings are gone now. All delusions are abruptly put to a stop with this cruel slap of reality, the way he exerts his will on her body, and a fleeting image of Mr. Cutter with his glowing eyes pressing a knife to his own jugular.
She's a motherfucking idiot, falling asleep in the goddamn lions den. She gave him something that matters.
As Loki's restraining fingers dig into her hip and face, Ellie scrambles for a way to stop this, for a way to get away from him unscathed. He's taken away both her freedom to move and her freedom to speak, all the while confusing her traitor body with the feel of skin on skin.
This should not be so shocking, given her imprisonment and his views on the concept of freedom itself.
So she gives him what he wants. She goes limp in his arms and pulls on the mask. Everything about her conveys blankness. He wants a passive little doll to command, to bend to his every whim, so that's what she becomes. A doll. A blank, lifeless, subject that stays motionless until he gives an order.
She'll be like Mr. Cutter with his blank, glowing eyes.
It's a gamble, willing her body to remain so utterly submissive, but she's gotten the feeling that Loki really has no idea what he's doing when it comes to this bizarre little relationship. She'll see what he does when she acts just the way he claims to want.
Her change immediately garners his attention. A frown graces his lips. The confusion is back in his eyes.
"Eleanor?" he asks, giving her a slight shake. She lets her head loll limply on her shoulders. Her eyes stare blankly at the wall behind his shoulder. "Eleanor," he hisses with warning.
Her lips move against his hand and he removes it. Her voice is freed.
"Yes, sir?" she asks, totally emotionless.
He growls, apparently not appreciating her apathy. And she is so very good at apathy. It's long past time she got back to it.
"What is this?" he demands, giving her another shake. Her body moves like a rag doll and she keeps her eyes downcast, submissive, just what he wants.
"Nothing, sir."
"Sir?" he spits out. A long fingered hand wraps around her neck, forcing her to look at him. Again, she studies the wall. He notices. "Stop this immediately, Eleanor."
"I apologize, sir, but I do not understand your request."
He gapes at her. She feels the desire to smirk, but keeps her face blank.
"Stop. This."
This time she stays silent. Keeping her body malleable, she drives him a little crazy.
She feels him, still hard and pinned between their bodies. Ignoring this proves almost impossible and threatens to crumble her resolve. She bites the side of her cheek to prevent a whimper from escaping her lips.
He closes his eyes, breathing so erratically she actually worries for a moment about his health. An inane thought, no doubt, but one that flickers through in head anyway. She ignores those lingering instincts to comfort, to ask him what happened, and remains a passive little minion.
"Eleanor," he begs. The whimper in his voice gives her pause.
"Yes, sir?" She very nearly chokes on the question.
His eyes, so dark they appear onyx, flash open. The emotion held there once more does something strange and unpleasant to her insides.
His dark head tilts down, and he gazes at their naked bodies with confusion, as if he can't quite manage to figure out how they got this way.
With painfully unsure movements he moves the palm from its position on her hip to her stomach. It just rests there, making her want to squirm again but in a totally different way. She responds to his cool, oddly gentle touch and struggles to contain a soft sigh.
Maintaining her facade as a submissive subject, she just watches his hands move over her disgusting, mortal flesh. She loses control of her breathing as the hand on her neck trails down he column of her throat, coming to rest on her right tit.
The only movement of his hands comes from the rise and fall of her ever-escalating breathing. Desire in coils in her belly, her knees tightening around him slightly as she straddles his thighs.
After minutes of stillness from the God of Lies that feel more like years to Ellie, the hand on her stomach moves lower, fingertips leaving goose bumps in their wake. He stops when he reaches curls, his middle finger brushing her lightly before withdrawing.
She draws blood from the side of her cheek in an attempt to hold in a whimper. She is half successful.
"Eleanor?" he murmurs. She glances up to see him watching his hands, looking where she was looking.
She let's out a shuttering breath, trying to find her words.
"Yes," she whispers, trying to find the next word. What is the next word? There is another word. She should call him something, refer to him in some way. She tries again. "Yes, Loki."
That's not right. The thing she called him isn't right. And it didn't come out as a question. That should have been a question.
Something breaks in him, or maybe it breaks in her. The hand on her tit squeezes now, and it becomes impossible to suppress her groan of pleasure laced with pain. The noise gives her away, as if the wetness she's getting all over his thigh wasn't enough of an indication. Her traitor body wants him in unfathomable ways, and Ellie has never been one to deny herself pleasure.
It escalates very quickly from there.
He bites her neck, she pushes her hands into his hair as she cries out, and then he's inside her once more.
The pace he sets is punishing, but she manages to roll her hips in time with his. This is something she knows. It's something she's good at. Ellie closes her eyes and forgets anything but his touch. In this moment he is not her enigmatic captor, but just another body in the dark.
Just another body in the dark. Give him nothing that matters.
The sounds escaping his lips are just as desperate as his movements, and much more dangerous because they are unique to him. His pants and moans threaten her comfortable place in the dark. They tug on her mind, reminding her that he isn't just another body in the dark.
Her name leaves his mouth, a jagged whisper, and the illusion is totally shattered. Her eyes fly open, and she seeks out his gaze. Loki slows and grows still beneath her. The hands that were clutching at his shoulders for support move over his collarbones and up his neck to rest on either side of his face.
She takes over, rocking against him in a way that makes his breathing grow even harsher. Something big and uncomfortable seems to build up in her chest, and she's never been one to shy away from pleasure, but this is different, unlike anything she's felt before. She slowly rolls her hips and watches the look of terrified awe on his face, and suddenly it's not just her body that's engaged.
He is as shocked as she is, that much is apparent, and the sensation is dizzying. A gasp tumbles from her lips as Loki's hands once more take up their exploration of her fragile frame. One long hand slides down her torso, touching her where they're connected. Her body spasms, and she leans more firmly into him.
"Loki," she murmurs, a little breath separating the syllables of his name.
He watches her intently, moving with her now, and his lips hover millimeters from hers. Despite his earlier reaction when she tried to kiss him, she can't resist. The emotions are building in her chest, and she doesn't know what to do with this excess of feeling, so she tries to kiss it away. She is so close and she just wants one little kiss.
He doesn't like that.
With a pained growl, Loki once more covers her mouth with a palm. Before she can really comprehend anything outside the pleasure of his body, Ellie finds herself shoved away, bouncing on the mattress with a pained whimper at the loss. A moment later and she's face down in his green sheets, sprawled out on her stomach.
"Wha—"
Her breathless complaint is abruptly cut off when his fingers dig into her hips, pulling her onto her knees. She winces when he pulls her hair, and then groans when his teeth skin into her shoulder.
Leaning on her elbows, her hands fists in the sheets as she wills herself not to meets his thrusts. She was on the brink of some emotional epiphany there, and he denied her. She doesn't fight him as he pounds into her, his skin slapping against hers, but she won't give him her pleasure either. Little moans escape her chest in time with his thrusts, and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying so desperately not to come.
She fails.
When it's over she hides her face in his soft sheets. She stays just where he left her, legs spread, skin chilled. The mattress moves as lies down, his legs crushing hers.
All that just happened penetrates her lust fogged brain as her heart rate slows and her muscles relax. Panic stirs her insides and she fists her hands in the sheets to attempt to keep it at bay.
"What the fuck was that?" she mutters before she can stop herself.
He sighs heavily but otherwise stays silent.
For the thousandth time this morning, she bites her wounded cheek and wills herself not to cry.
"It's today," he whispers. "It starts today."
This is more information than Loki has shared with her since he first brought her here, and his words get her attention. Giving herself another moment to be absolutely sure that she won't spontaneously burst into tears, she sits up. Her focus is so absolute she doesn't even bother to cover her naked frame.
Although she could use a blanket. He is so damn chilly.
"What does that mean?" she asks, eyes running over his long body. He's sprawled out on his back, messy back hair fanned out around his head. Hands crossed over his stomach and face shockingly blank, he appears to be a fallen angel, resting peacefully.
Not once has she seen him peaceful.
"Loki, what does that mean?"
"It will be very late before I return tonight. I will not require you."
"You will not require me," she repeats, feeling like a total idiot. She pulls her knees up to her chin and closes her eyes. For the first time in her long and experienced sexual history, she feels used and cheap. Did she ever leave anyone feeling this way? She sincerely hopes not. "This is so fucked up."
"Eleanor, silence," he demands.
"You look terrible, you know that?" she murmurs, staring at those dark bags under his eyes. He is emaciated, despite their nightly meals. She counts his ribs.
Blue eyes flicker open. He regards her in confusion before his features form into a familiar smirk.
"It is none of your concern."
"Yeah, except I'm the one who has to look at you."
"Oh how you would have loved to look upon my visage after eons floating in nothingness, when my teeth had all but rotted from my skull. Or perhaps you would have preferred me during the last phase of my life with the majority of my flesh was flayed from my bones. There wasn't enough of it left to offend you with its grey pallor."
Ellie covers her mouth with her palm as she gasps and gapes at him in horror. She has so many questions, but in this moment she can feel nothing but heartbreak for this beautiful, tortured creature.
"Loki, what happened to you?" she whispers. I few hot tears escape her eyes, flowing down onto her cheeks.
"Stop talking, Eleanor. You prefer not to. Or have you forgotten?"
A series of deep breaths does nothing to calm her down. Despite knowing it won't do any good, knowing that it will do nothing but enrage him, she can't manage to keep her mouth shut.
"Don't do it," she says, sounding more confident than she feels. "I know you could. I've seen the glowy stick of power and doom. I know you could do it, but please don't. You don't have to. We can… I can help you not do it, whatever it even is."
He sits up on his elbows, regarding her with amusement. She knows she sounds desperate and weak, but she has to try right? He wants to make the whole world kneel so she has to try.
"You're like me," she babbles. The words leaving her lips no longer make sense to him, and he raises an eyebrow at her. These are more words than she's ever given him. "I know you are like me somehow, all lost and broken, but you don't have to do anything. I can help you make a life, a good simple life with music and books and sunshine. And food. And brilliant magic."
Eleanor has no idea where this is coming from. She has no idea what she is asking him or why, but the compulsion she feels to help him somehow – and help the rest of the world in the process – can't be ignored.
Loki laughs, but there is no humor in the sound. Ellie refuses to let herself cry as she meets his mocking gaze.
"Oh, my sweet little songbird," he says with a chuckle. "It is not often I am so egregiously mistaken. It seems I mistook your standard silence for intellectual depth, but you told me yourself. You're just a girl, a foolish girl with a lovely voice. You know nothing, Eleanor Tate. Nothing."
"Liar."
"You dare to—"
"I know you are confused," she says, interrupting him. The damage is done. If he hurts her then that's what she'll get for her own stupidity, but first she'll have her say. "I know my voice makes you feel things you wish you didn't but you can't resist it anyway. I know you are easily annoyed, and a control freak, but it's hard to control anything when you don't even know what you want. And you, Loki, have no idea what you want."
All humor gone now, Loki's eyes narrow. He looks so painfully dangerous. "Enough," he hisses.
"I'm right! Before we fu—" The look he gives her forces her to rethink her words. He hates curses for whatever reason. "Before we fornicated, you hated that. I was giving you what you thought you wanted, a brainless, submissive subject. I gave you total control of my body and my mind, but you asked permission before you touched me. You got what you wanted and you hated it."
"Get out."
Loki gets up to loom over her The play of shadow on his face makes him appear inhuman. And he is. Not of this world.
His quietly delivered order is more terrifying and more powerful than yelling.
"Out!" he yells.
Okay, maybe just as terrifying.
She scrambles away from him, tripping in her haste. It is more than she ever could have dreamed, getting out of this situation without being smacked around and she is desperate to keep it that way.
He could kill her. God, how stupid is she to forget how little regard he has for human life? And even death would be preferable to him taking everything. He could erase her, with just a touch of his scepter and she was foolish enough to yell at him.
"Eleanor." Her fingers pause on the door handle as she quells her survival instinct. Every nerve is screaming at her to take flight, but logically she knows ignoring him would only make it worse.
She jumps about a foot in the air when she realizes that he stands directly behind her. Ellie bumps into his bare chest and recoils.
"This corridor does not belong to you and I only. Cover yourself."
She takes the sheet he offers without looking at him and sprints to the relative safety of her room.
She goes straight to the shower, turns it as hot as it will go, and curls into a ball on the floor. It is then she finally lets herself cry.