Chapter 7: Minions
According to her wristwatch, it is just after noon when she emerges from her bath. The water runs cool, and it reminded her too much of his touch. She stands in the bathroom for a long time, not knowing what to do but her feet get cold. Socks and sweats are in order, but she'll have to make due with the absurd selections in her wardrobe.
She moves, even with her limbs feeling so strange.
The bedroom is simple but functional. There is something elegant about the soft cream carpet and golden bedding. The whole space is made to feel bigger by the large mirror on the wall opposite her bed.
The mirror is her destination now. Her insides feel raw and she wants to see if the outsides have been similarly altered.
Dropping the towel from her body, she stands in front of the mirror and analyzes her appearance. Given everything she went through this morning, Ellie looks remarkably well rested.
Her cheeks are flushed and her wet hair is tousled. She gathers it up into a messy bun to get a good look at her neck. On one side he's left a hickey against her pulse point, near the corner of her jaw. On the other is a bite mark just above her collarbone. It's as though he's branded her, not that she ever sees anyone but him and occasionally the hunched lady. Somehow Ellie doubts that he is attempting to mark his territory for the silent old woman.
Her gaze moves down her pale form. Even her truly horrid sunburn has faded, it's been so long since she's been outside. Still, next to the translucent god she looks down right sun kissed.
Teeth rotting in his skull. Skin flayed from his bone.
Ellie shivers violently before continuing her self-inspection.
The lack of pigment in her skin tone only makes the dark bruises on her hips more apparent. It is nothing she hasn't seen on her body before, but it feels different now. This battering isn't only physical, but emotional. And she is not used to feeling anything at all in the aftermath.
Her blue eyes flicker back to her face now. Nothing there is out of place, except the confusion and frustration and fear she sees in her own gaze. It takes her five minutes, but she manages to pull on the mask. Once more she cloaks herself in apathy.
It's more comfortable this way.
Cool arms around her middle rouse her from restless sleep, and she mistakes the embrace for a dream. It feels like her fantasy from yesterday morning, the one where she was blessedly normal.
But when he roughly pokes her in the back, grumbling his displeasure, she sees this for what it truly is.
"Loki?" she mutters, still disoriented. He specifically told her that she wouldn't have to do anything for him tonight, but when has he ever been one to keep his word? "Why are you poking me?"
"Make room, Eleanor," he replies in the dark with barely concealed irritation. "You are taking up the entirety of the bed."
He is angry with her for taking up too much room in her own bed which is obviously beyond ridiculous, but Ellie can't summon the energy to argue with him. A day and half a night spent alone and brooding and hating herself and trying to maintain her apathy has left her totally spent, both physically and mentally.
With a sleepy groan, she rolls over on her stomach and hugs the edge of the mattress with one arm. She doesn't open her eyes. There would be no point. She can't see in the dark, but she wonders if night vision is another of his magic tricks.
Loki lets out a disgusted huff and she feels the mattress shift, indicating that he's joined her. This is just about the last place she wants to be at the moment, but instead of fighting she just closes her eyes and searches for sleep.
"Eleanor," he whispers.
"Er?" It's more of a grunt than a word and all she has the energy for.
"Now you take up too little of the bed."
He sounds like a petulant child and she flips him off under the pillow, where he can't see her middle finger. Not that he'd understand the gesture anyway. She'll have to start using it more often.
"Sleep, Loki," she mumbles into her pillow.
For a few moments of blessed silence, Ellie hovers on the peripheral of sleep. She feels herself slipping back into dreams again when he speaks.
"Eleanor," he whispers.
She groans, totally beyond irritated and exhausted.
"Shouldn't you be taking over the world or something?" She attempts to sound snappish, but her tone just comes off as sleepy.
"I have been very successful in that area on this night, but alas, it is a process. No more can be done for now and I need rest," he replies.
She grunts in response, even as dread pools in her belly.
"Eleanor," he whispers.
She pretends to sleep. There is exhaustion in his tone, too, and she hopes that soon he'll give up and leave her be.
Except he doesn't seem particularly good at leaving her be.
Fuck, she really is in no mood to give him a goddamn lullaby.
Loki shifts around next to her, disturbing both her blankets and her nerves. Her own behavior yesterday leaves her feeling sick and she blames him. Everything is his fault. Playing house might have been a nice distraction for a moment there, but she's done now. She wants out.
Her eyes fly open in shock when that cool arm comes back around her middle, pulling her back firmly into his chest. This is how they slept last night, spooned together, but now it's his long body encompassing her smaller frame. A large hand slips under her silky tank top and fingers fan out over her stomach, making her breath hitch. Her moves aside her blond hair and pushes his nose into the back of her neck.
She has no idea what to make of him. None at all.
And it doesn't help that she is still practically asleep. Aroused, asleep, and thoroughly confused.
Without really thinking about it, Ellie lets herself relax back into him. Her palm covers the hand on her stomach and she laces his fingers through his. Although somewhere in the depths of her mind she recognizes that mimicking his actions from last night is significant, she doesn't care.
She sleeps soundly, just as she did the night before as the big spoon.
When her eyes flicker open, Ellie is completely unsurprised to find herself alone in bed. Still, she feels well rested for the first time in years. She's been so tired for so long, but last night she actually slept. She stretches languidly, arms raised above her head. It takes her a long moment to realize that the corners of her mouth are turned up into a smile.
Captives don't smile.
She rearranges her features even as she revels in the lingering feeling of contentment of the morning. Soon, dark thoughts will penetrate her mind. She will think about Loki and the end of the world and her unwilling reaction to such a dangerous creature, but she'll save it for later.
She's got nothing but time these days, and she vows to keep her mind blissfully blank until after breakfast.
With lazy movements she grabs the green silk robe off the back of a chair and pulls it on as she moves into the hall and towards the kitchen. Humming under her breath, she walks slowly, giving herself time to plan her meal.
French toast, she decides. It's been a long time since she craved any specific food and this particular meal was a favorite of her fake father, but she won't think on that now either.
The long brick corridor with its four familiar doors seems louder today, although just as deserted as always. There is more activity than usual in the great industrial space beyond the locked doors.
A product of Loki's success last night, no doubt.
Refusing to think on it, she continues her slow progress towards the kitchen, and when she pushes through the double doors at the far end of the hall, she nearly falls over with shock.
Two men occupy her kitchen. They stand at the counter, staring at the coffee maker as if their single-minded focus could possibly be enough to make it brew faster. Ellie lets out a little squeak as the door slams shut behind her, garnering the attention of the two strangers.
She had the faintest trace of hope that they were some how the good guys, here to take her away and stop Loki, but she deflates when she sees their glowing blue eyes.
Great. More minions.
But at least they are brainwashed innocents. She keeps her own mind, yet she still willing surrendered to him a day ago. Truly, she is a monster.
She stares at the pair as they silently watch her. One is older and disheveled, with a slight beer belly, grey hair, and what was probably a kind face before Loki and his glowing power took up residence in his eyes. The other is young, compact and muscled, and obviously dangerous. He wears all black, like a ninja or something.
"Hello," says the older one, jovially. His greeting is accompanied with an awkward little wave and it makes Ellie smile.
She nods back, but stays silent. After being alone with a maniac for what feels like years, these strangers make her nervous. They could be here to hurt her, although she doubts it. Still, best to be cautious.
"I'm Erik and this is the Hawk," he continues, gesturing to his companion. "We're new."
This does not surprise Ellie as she's seen no one but Loki and the hunched old women in their part of the bunker.
"Ellie," she murmurs.
"Would you like some coffee?" he offers. "Should be done any moment now. After all this is done, I'll find a way to brew it quicker using the Tesseract. Wouldn't that be something?"
He has a good laugh at his own joke. Apparently it was a joke. Ellie raises an eyebrow as she watches him skeptically.
"Sounds damn trivial to me," mutters the other one. He holds himself like a solider, and does not find his companion amusing.
"Avert your eyes."
The enraged hiss has her jumping and she bumps into his chest, as per the damn usual. Although her heart is hammering away from fright, she turns to scowl at him. Loki knows she absolutely loathes the way he silently sneaks up on her.
Stupid magic.
Loki's blood-chilling stare is directed at his blue-eyed minions who, in turn, silently stare down at the floor across the room.
"I told you these corridors were not our own any longer, Eleanor," he snaps, eyes never leaving the pair by the coffee maker. With a hand digging into her shoulder, he moves to stand in front of her, still watching the silent men. "You have disobeyed me."
Somehow she refrains from rolling her eyes at him.
"I'm covered," she mutters.
Together, they look down, taking in the clothes on her small frame. Her lacy black camisole is rather indecent, and in hindsight she probably should have bothered to tie closed her robe.
A blush tinges her cheeks and Loki reaches out to trace his thumb over the color. This just leads to more blushing. Ellie looks away, and it makes him chuckle.
"I just wanted to make some French toast," she mutters.
Using a curled finger under her chin, Loki tilts her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. He looks slightly better today. Although the dark bags are still present under his eyes, he doesn't look so sickly and his color is a little better. She wonders what is doing this to him. Most of the time he just looks strung out.
She thinks of his humming scepter. Something so powerful has to be equally draining.
"Bread from the country of France?" he asks. His puzzlement is endearing and she smiles.
"It's a meal," she corrects. "I don't know why it's called that."
She wraps the robe around her body, tying it tightly at her waist. When the task is complete, she looks up at him, waiting for his approval. He gives her a slight nod and follows her to the refrigerator.
"Am I making enough for your minions?" she asks, nodding to the men still staring determinedly at the floor.
"Do they need feeding?" he asks as if he genuinely doesn't know.
She laughs and nods.
"Fine. You may feed them. Move," he tells them. "You are in Miss Tate's way. You may wait in the corner."
"Sorry, Miss Tate," says the older, disheveled one.
"Apologies, ma'am," says the solider.
They move off like good little brainwashed minions, and Ellie shivers slightly, totally creeped out by their mindlessness. One wrong move on her part and that could be her. She's lucky she managed to keep her identity yesterday, after the words she threw at him. That is a mistake she won't be making again, especially with the unsettling reminder waiting in the corner for her to make breakfast.
"They are necessary, I am afraid," Loki murmurs as she whips eggs. She sends him a confused look, silently encouraging him to continue. "We now must wait on the science of the rumpled one. In a few days time he should have the portal complete that will deliver my army."
Her mouth pops open in shock and she shatters an egg in her hand. Loki sighs, taking her wrist and leading her to the sink where he washes it off for her.
"Come now, Eleanor," he says. "Surely you aren't surprised. Alien forces dominating earth is not such an original theme, or so you tell me."
She just continues to gape at him. This announcement should not be so shocking, but there is a difference between hearing him babble away about setting this realm free from the oppression of freedom and hearing the details.
An army.
An alien army.
Coming through a portal.
She doesn't really believe it, can't really believe it, probably won't until she sees for herself.
And she really does not want to see for herself.
"No harm will come to you, my sweet songbird," he assures her, misinterpreting her dismay.
She nods, but it's not her safety that concerns her.
"Make your European bread," he commands quietly.
"French toast," she corrects still in a daze.
"It matters not."
Ellie does as she's told for lack of any other options. She is a person and feels some duty to help save her home world from the unstable and violent rule of the unstable and violent God of Chaos, but she can't think of a single way to resist.
Despite her own personal rebellions that involve annoying Loki with her make up or singing songs about resistance that totally escape his understanding, she is powerless here to do any real and lasting good. She is woefully out matched physically and he is far too smart. It seems he's thought of everything.
The knives in the kitchen only appear when he is present to supervise her cooking, for example.
She can't escape and save herself, let alone save the whole world. She is just one woman, one very small woman who has a hard time caring about anything at all.
His mood swings make it worse.
Although he was furious enough to kill her yesterday morning, now he seems almost sweet, if such a word could possibly be applied to him. He is attentive and gentle and possessive and unsure. As she cooks breakfast for him and his new minions, Loki's watches her intently, as if observation will hold the key to how he's supposed to treat her.
He said it himself after her kidnapping. Now that he has her, he has no idea what to do with her.
The reasons behind his decision to climb into her bed last night, to touch her without processing her, even after such a terrible fight, truly baffles her. He confuses her endlessly.
She is thoroughly traumatized by the whole situation, and he is the only steady thing in her life at the moment. He is scary, but not always scary and she is so guilty for the strange sort of kinship she feels for her captor.
Stockholm Syndrome.
The words pop into her head as she hands him a plate. They soothe her. Now she has something to blame for her obviously ill-advised and misplaced feelings. The words absolve her sins.
Unfortunately, the words are complete shit.
"You're not going to invite them to sit?" she asks when everyone has their food.
"No," Loki says, eyes on his plate.
"It's kinda difficult to eat French toast standing up," she murmurs.
"Sit down, Eleanor," he says.
She does as she's told, sliding onto the stool next to him. It is not her usual seat, but she would feel too uncomfortable on the stool across from him with the men loitering behind her.
"Eat," Loki says. "You are far too frail."
She rolls her eyes and continues watching the minions.
"Loki, this is awkward," she tries again. "Let them sit."
"You are insufferable, you know," he snaps at her. She pouts at him for another moment before he gives in. "Dr. Selvig. Agent Barton. You may sit. Do not look at my lady."
She jumps a little, surprised by the way he just referred to her. The possessiveness is totally expected, but the term has connotations of affection associated with it. She dismisses this possibility quickly, deciding that it must have a different meaning on his home world, whatever it's called.
Asgard. That's it.
She's still not convinced he isn't making that bit up.
"Eat," Loki demands. She takes a bite and then pushes her food around her plate, mind trying to puzzle out the man next to her.
"Tell me, Agent Barton. Is Miss Tate a healthy size for an average Midgardian female of her height," Loki asks conversationally. Ellie glares at him, really not in the mood for a lecture on her health, of all things.
"No, sir. She looks slightly malnourished to me," replies this Hawk as he shoves food into his mouth. He doesn't even glance at her, so he must be making this assessment from memory.
"I'm a captive. It's stressful being a captive. Humans lose weight when they are stressed," she points out.
"Oh, Eleanor. Your flawed logic is adorable," he says with a chuckle that just comes off as mocking and mean. "Firstly, you have gained several pound during your stay with me. Secondly, you are hardly a captive. You belong to me. The difference is significant. And finally, I still do not truly believe you to be simply human."
She glares at him and stuffs her mouth full of syrupy goodness, chewing dramatically. He gives her a satisfied smirk.
"What's a tesseract?" she asks.
The smirk immediately falls off his face and she does a little victory dance.
"Selvig!" Loki snaps, continuing to glare at Ellie. "And you as well, Agent Barton. Neither of you are to speak to Miss Tate. Do not look at her. Do not talk to her."
Ellis deflates with disappointment. She was looking forward to talking to someone besides Loki. His crazy is rubbing off on her, if the Stockholm Syndrome is any indication.
"Come," he says, standing and beckoning for his minions. They follow him to the door. "You may clean this space, Eleanor."
And then the trio is gone, back to the workroom beyond the locked door, no doubt. Scowling at the spaces where Loki once stood, she gives a mocking bow.
She pokes morosely at her soggy bread for another moment before doing the dishes. The prospect of spending another day alone just got that much worse.
"I have come to a realization," he says as he bursts into her room later that night. She glances up from her book to watch him pace around the foot of her bed, and pushes her reading glass up onto the top of her head to study him better. He looks sick again and he didn't even bother to change out of his strange leather and metal attire. Usually when she sees him, he's naked or in some sort of silky tunic looking thing.
"Is it about my disgusting mortal flesh?" she ventures.
He pauses for a moment to send her a now familiar scowl. She grins back just to annoy him, an expression that just makes him scowl more. There is something so damn adorable about a mildly irritated Loki, the only problem being it is a fine line between that and homicidally outraged.
"I favor your preference for silence, Eleanor," he reminds her. She smiles innocently and nods for him to continue. "An obstreperous songbird is unattractive. But, yes. I have come to a realization in regards to your disgusting mortal flesh."
Ellie blinks in surprise. It is not often he so quickly agrees with her.
He resumes his pacing. The low light from the small lamp on her bedside table throws shadows on the hallows of his cheeks and makes it impossible to see his eyes. The creepiness of his looming figure has a shiver going up her spine.
A strange compulsion to ask if he is okay tickles her tongue, but she bites the side of her cheek to keep silent.
She hates it when he says "mortal flesh."
"I have found there are aspects to my plan that tax me physically in unexpected ways," he says, talking quickly. It is almost as if he is nervous, but that is far out of the realm of possibility.
Like, way the hell out there.
"The blue glowy stick thing drains you, huh?" she guesses, going with her gut.
"How do you know this?" he demands, raising his voice.
It should be terrifying, but she just shrugs because yelling Loki is far less threatening then quiet, menacing Loki. He tends to get suspicious about her origins and her intentions with him when she says anything remotely insightful. The whole are-you-secretly-spying-on-me freak out stopped scaring her weeks ago.
"Eleanor!" he yells when she doesn't respond. He's starting to get a little hysterical and as much as Ellie enjoys this, she isn't a total moron.
"It's called observation, Loki. I have eyes."
He sighs, dropping her gaze and studying the embroidery on her comforter.
"I find your touch… somewhat regenerative," he confesses.
"You find my disgusting mortal flesh makes you feel better after you come down from the glorious high of using the stick of doom to take over the world," she summarizes.
Her words make him blink a lot.
"Well, yes. Indeed, that is what I am saying," he replies quietly.
"Why?" she murmurs.
There is a long pause, and the silence causes Ellie far more stress than it should. Her body is tensed in anticipation, of what she couldn't say.
"I know not. I find myself in this uncomfortably ignorant state often when it concerns you," Loki whispers. In this moment he looks so young and lost. It's haunting and terrifying all at once.
"Why are you telling me this?" There is a plea in her voice, but she doesn't know what she wants from him. It seems she is often in an uncomfortably ignorant state when it concerns him too.
"I know not."
It is a sort of crossroads moment. In a strange, backhanded way, he is offering her a means to help humanity. She spent a good portion of the day unsuccessfully concocting ways to protect the world from the rule of Loki, and here is the opportunity. Although her resistance wouldn't do much good under normal circumstances, he is standing before her, vulnerable and weakened. She could keep him that way, or at least try, assuming that his words aren't an elaborate ruse to manipulate her in some unknown way.
She sees truth in his eyes, and she feels her feeble plan to resist wane. He just looks so tortured. It's a look that has stared back at her from the mirror every day for the last eight years.
There's that goddamn kinship again.
"Come here," she whispers.
He bristles immediately. "You do not give me orders, mortal," he hisses, attempting to get back some of the fear.
She huffs in irritation but spares him the eye roll. There is no arguing with Loki, no telling him what to do, so she stays silent as she plops her book and glasses on the bedside table, rolls on her side, and turns off the light.
Although she wants to close her eyes and sleep as if she cares little where he finds himself tonight, she stares into the dark, body tensed in anticipation.
Lie down. Just lie down you stupid, stubborn god.
It takes him a full five minutes, but eventually Ellie feels the mattress give as he crawls towards her. Now that he's made the decision to stay, she closes her eyes, fully expecting him to spoon her. It has become something of their position over these last few days.
The blanket is pulled aside and a hand on her bruised hip compels her to turn to lie on her back. At his urging she sits up slightly, raising her arms above her head and allowing him to pull off her flimsy little nightgown. It leaves her completely naked, and she's forced to admit to herself that she dressed for him tonight, hoping something like this would happen, even if she shouldn't.
Even if it is wrong.
She's always favored pleasure over self preservation. The thought is depressing but Loki is right here and it's so good.
He touches her with long, knowing fingers, and she sighs. Her hands find their way into his hair. This seems to be the only place he actually likes to be touched, and she doesn't want to disturb the quiet of the night by doing the wrong thing.
She opens her legs as to better accommodate his hips, and her feet rest on the backs of his naked calves when he lies fully on her body. He's as naked as she is, undoubtedly a result of his magic.
The feeling of his tongue swirling around her nipple before pulling it into his mouth is truly divine, and she tugs more insistently on his hair. She can hear only his breathing, accompanied by her own. It is interrupted by the occasional wet sound, either from his mouth or fingers.
There is a quiet sort of intensity in him tonight, and their sex sounds match the mood of the moment.
The combination of fingers and mouth proves her undoing, and she pushes her lips into his temple to muffle her cries. Totally absorbed by her orgasm, she attempts to bring him closer and her hands come around his back.
She's too delirious to notice the raised skin of his scars, but Loki immediately stills, trapping her wrists together in one large hand. Ellie whimpers. She just wants him to keep touching her.
"I won't touch," she whispers, only able to make out the faint outline of him in the darkness of her room. No kissing. No touching his back. She's got it.
Loki chuckles. "Your word is difficult to keep in the throws of pleasure, my sweet songbird."
She lets out an irritated huff as he raises her hands above her head, making her hold on to the looping vines of the iron headboard.
"Do not let go. Not until I instruct you otherwise," he whispers and he is inside her once more.
She gasps.
He sighs.
And when he moves with long, slow strokes, Ellie wonders how she'll ever live without this. Soon she'll have to learn, because the moment she has the opportunity to pick a side, it won't be his.
She digs her heels into the cheeks of his cute little ass, and he lets out a sound that's half chuckle, half groan. It makes Ellie smile, and she forgets all about choosing sides.
All the other mortal men she's taken to bed seem like nothing in compassion to the magic he works in her body, but still she doesn't let go of the headboard. He might stop if she lets go, and that might be the end of her, if he stops.
He is leisurely, and takes the opportunity offered by her occupied hands to explore every inch of her. He teases her, tortures her, gets her so mindless that she's angry and begging for release after very little time at all.
Her knuckles turn white from her grip on the iron vines, and she says his name, the syllables punctuated by a sharp intake of breath.
He finishes a moment later, but says nothing intelligible.
She hugs him with her thighs, relishing the feeling of him still inside her, and he collapses on her chest.
Unthinkingly, she attempts to let go and stroke his hair. Her hands do not move and she pulls more insistently. The tugging deteriorates into a wrestling match with the headboard, and Loki chuckles, his breath warm against her right breast.
"You broke your promise, Eleanor," he says, voice laced with a lazy sort of glee. He enjoys her struggles, the smug son of a bitch. "Naughty, naughty. I told you not to let go."
She scowls in the general direction of his face and struggles a bit more. It's as if her palms and the iron have become one.
He relaxes, head pillowed against her breast. She waits a moment for him to release her but quickly loses patience.
"Loki," she says, attempting to stay calm.
"Yes, Eleanor?"
"Can you see me in the dark?"
There is a beat of silence as her question catches him off guard.
"Yes, reasonably well."
"So you can see me scowling at you."
He chuckles. "Yes."
"Because you need to be able to see in the dark to take in my scowl."
"Yes."
"Loki!" she whines when her scowling gets her nowhere.
"Ask nicely," he suggests.
"Please, oh God of Mischief. Please let me go." She really hams it up, and for once he notices her sarcasm.
"On further thought I have changed my mind," he murmurs, settling against her. "I quite like you like this. Now if only I had a gag."
She huffs.
"Ah, yes. You prefer silence. How could I forget?"
She huffs again.
"Goodnight, Eleanor," he mumbles. Something about the movement of his lips against her skin feels tender, almost like a kiss.
She indulges him, lets him have his mischief, but after five minutes her wrists go numb and nature calls.
"Loki," she says. He grunts as if he is already asleep. "Loki!" she snaps, kicking him repetitively in the side.
"What?" he demands, head popping up from its position on her chest. "You dare rouse me from slumber?"
She rolls her eyes before she remembers he can see in the dark. "I have to pee!" she squeaks before he can start yelling at her about her insolence.
"You jest."
She gives him a pointed look, daring him to let her prove the truth in her words, and he sighs heavily. He rolls off her and her hands are freed in the same moment. She prances off to the bathroom before he can change his mind.
When she emerges a few minutes later, he is asleep on his side. She smiles and crawls in next to him, assuming the position.
Ellie is reading in her bedroom when she hears the door to the laboratory open. Although most days she is able to entertain herself, she hasn't been able to focus on music since he told her that it's began so this interruption to the monotony of her day is welcome.
She hears voices. Curiosity has Ellie getting out of bed and opening her door slightly.
"And I'm not my best with a gun." Although he's only spoken a few sentences in her presence, Ellie recognizes the steady tones of the one called Hawk.
She peaks out of the door and down the hall in time to see Loki turn to face the minion. "I want to know everything you can tell me about this team of his," says the God of Chaos, clothed today in his long green and black leather trench with the odd layers of metal. " I would test their mettle."
Ellie guesses he's talking about the good guys, the heroes. The ones that will stop Loki's insane plan for world domination. She prays they understand what they're up against.
Some part of Ellie that is obviously as insane as her captor fears for his safety. She wants him to stay right here with her, where she can cook him dinner.
Fuck, what is wrong with her?
Continuing to peak around the corner of the alcove, she watches Loki pace in the shadows as he talks to a passive Hawk.
"I am weary of scuttling in shadow," he says, the frustration clear in his voice. His whole frame seems to quiver with agitation. He takes a breath and pauses to stare at the ceiling. "I mean to rule this world. Not burrow in it."
She's heard this before, but the conviction in his tone still sends a shiver up her spine.
"It's a risk," says Hawk.
"Oh, yes," replies Loki, absolutely radiating with a strange sort of manic excitement. Even fifteen feet away, Ellie can feel his energy, his need to go off on what seems like a whim to test the heroes of Earth. "Germany, you say?"
"That's where the iridium is, sir."
"All right, then."
Loki flicks his hand at Hawk. With this clear dismissal, both men turn to go their separate ways, Hawk back through the doors that remain locked to Ellie and Loki towards his chambers. He catches sight of her little face peaking out of her door and immediately changes course.
"Hear anything interesting, my curious little songbird?" he asks, pushing her door open fully as he looks her up and down. Something about his gaze makes her feel self conscious, even though she's in her favorite too long full length dress with the swirling gold pattern on a green background.
She points her chin to her chest and looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes before shaking her head.
"Do not lie," he says quietly. Since she saw him enter their corridor, he's gone from frustrated to giddy and now he appears contemplative, but slightly sad.
She nods, admitting to the eavesdropping. She studies her bare feet and tries to reign in her emotions.
Everything is going to be different now, and it terrifies her as much as it saddens her. Ellie doesn't belong anywhere out there in the real world and the fragility that comes with that knowledge made her comfortable here with him, but now she'll lose this little bit of familiarity too.
"Why do you frown?" he whispers, tilting her face to his with a finger under her chin.
"Surely you don't think I'm going to approve of your plan for world domination," she replies, feeling brave.
"You know nothing of my plans," he replies, irritated now. His hand on her chin tightens, but he drops it when she winces. "And I have no need for the approval of the supposed mortal."
"Don't do it," Ellie says. "Whatever it even is, don't do it."
He lets out an aggravated huff and starts pacing around in the hall just outside her room. "Do not commence with this trifling lunacy once more," he snaps. "If you dare ask this of me again you will regret it."
Rarely do his threats come to fruition when it comes to Ellie. She gets the feeling she is the exception, and that out there, beyond the corridor, he carries out his punishments swiftly and brutally. Still, she is fearful enough of his rapid mood changes to not push him.
"Soon you will be free of this bunker," he murmurs, reaching out to stroke her cheek. The unexpectedly tender gesture makes her shiver. "You will reemerge into a glorious new world under my rule, at the side of the king."
She gives him a sarcastic smile, but he doesn't get it.
"I require sustenance," he says, rapidly switching gears. "Have you prepared anything?"
Ellie lets out a hysterical giggle before throwing a hand over her mouth. The stress of the situation is making her a little crazy, and in this moment he just sounds so much like a nice little husband from the fifties, home from work, and ready for the meal prepared by his doting stay at home wife. Domestic is not something she'd ever associate with Loki, but here he is, asking her about dinner.
"What amuses you?" he asks, annoyed. "I do not understand."
She shakes her head and takes his hand, leading him down the hall to the kitchen. "Leftovers?" she suggests.
He makes a little sound of disgust, and then shocks her by tugging on her hand, making her stumble into his hard chest. When he spins her to face him she squeaks, and before she can regain her footing, Loki lifts her off the ground, pushing her back into the dusty brick wall.
"My hunger has evolved, it seems," he says, teeth dragging down the length of neck. Immediately her breathing picks up and her hands weave through his thick black hair. It needs to be washed, and probably cut too, but she can't find it in her to care when he's crowding each and every one of her senses like this.
The wrongness of fucking him is something she decides to put out of her head. She'll worry about that later, after he drags her out of the corridor and into the whole new world of his. These are sins she'll have to atone for, and soon, but for now, down here, she'll touch him because she wants to. She'll sing to him and cook him dinner, because she wants to do these things too.
But she'll hold on to her heart and the other things that matter. He can have her body and her voice and her food, but she won't give him anything that matters, even if he fails and especially if he wins.
"I thought the corridor was no longer our own," she says. It is an attempt to tease him, but the words come out breathless because his hands are everywhere.
"Let them hear what I do to your body," he says, biting the juncture of her throat and shoulder. It makes her jump. "Let them hear you scream my name in ecstasy. Your cries of pleasure will server to further prove that you are mine."
Some faint voice tells her to dispute this claim, but she loses herself to sensation.
The bricks scrap against the sensitized skin of her back as insistent hands rake down her sides. His touch is bruising and demanding. She revels in it, wanting more. Frustrated by the constricting fabric of her dress, she wishes he'd just magic the thing right off her body. But he just pushes it up her waist instead.
The corridor is no longer theirs alone, after all.
It's addicting and twisted, but she doubts she'll ever get enough of this with him.
As he moves within her, his breathing harsh, Ellie gives him a lazy smirk. He may be a god, but he sure can't seem to get enough of her disgusting mortal flesh. He blinks at her as if he doesn't quite know what to make of her. This just has her smirk more. But she gets distracted by her own pleasure, letting her eyes close and her head fall forward to rest against his forehead.
When it's over her perpetually bare feet once more find their way to the concrete floor.
"Why won't you kiss me?" she whispers against his chest. Her body is boneless and the only thing that keeps her upright is the arm wrapped around the small of her back. He leans heavily against her, pushing her once more into the brick.
"Why would I?" he demands, obviously horrified by the suggestion. He opens his eyes. Right now they are bright, but narrowed in anger.
Ellie just shrugs, regretting she said anything at all.
"Surely you do not desire my mouth meeting yours," he says with a mean and mocking chuckle. It actually makes Ellie blush, something quiet rare. She studies her feet again. "What kind of lost creature such as yourself would want to touch the lips of a monster?"
Her head snaps up, eyes going wide at his statement. He looks equally stunned, and for a long moment they just stare at each other.
The mercurial God of Lies is as arrogant as he is powerful. He is his own biggest fan, and talks of his plans for world domination as if it is the guaranteed outcome simply because of his own greatness. Loki is confidant and "burdened with glorious purpose," the great deliverer of humanity from the lies of freedom.
He firmly believes his own superiority, yet in this moment he stands before her, a self-proclaimed monster.
How can he see himself as all this at once?
Before this moment, Ellie assumed it was the opposite. With all his talk of disgusting mortal flesh, she thought he couldn't stand to share something that intimate with a lesser being.
There is nothing she can do but watch him struggle. Muttering under his breath, he seems to have an argument with himself, something she's seen him do from time to time. He closes his eyes and tugs at his hair for a moment before stilling to loom over her, glaring. The confusion is back in his blue eyes, but there is nothing for Ellie to say.
Despite her misplaced instinct to ease his pain, he is a monster. Without knowing anything about his story she can tell it is more complicated than this, but his actions are monstrous. He is a kidnapper with a heart of stone, a megalomaniac in possession of great and dangerous power.
But he likes to hear her sing, and as wrong as it may be, life here with him has been better than the existing she was doing out there on her own for the last eight years.
Which is unbelievably pathetic and so fucking depressing.
"I did not mean that," he snaps, as if this is somehow her fault. "It is you who is not worthy of my kiss."
Her eyes narrow slightly but otherwise she stays still, trapped against the wall by the cage of his arms.
"Do not speak of this, Eleanor," he demands, covering her mouth with his palm, grip tightening on her jaw. Nose to nose now, his gaze bores into her. "I will not tolerate it."
She gives him a dubious look, one he correctly interprets.
"Your preference for silence will serve you well," he says.
She jerks out of his grip, and stalks towards the kitchen, bare feet on the cold concrete floor. A thin strap of her dress falls down her shoulder, and she pulls it back into place with more force than necessary.
The emotions he brings out in her are so unfamiliar and uncomfortable. For the last eight years she has lived in a state of carefully crafted apathy. If there is no joy, there is no hurt, and she's had enough hurt for a lifetime.
Now, he angers her as often as he makes her smile. He stirs something in her long ago forgotten heart, and in this moment she resents him for it, for making her want more.
"Leftovers," she says over her shoulder when he follows her into the kitchen.