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I sauntered into the living room after my shower clad in the hotel’s giant fluffy robe, still drying my hair with an equally soft towel. As I looked up from under my moist tresses, I noticed Loki comfortably seated on the broad sofa in front of the television. He had his bare feet perched on top of the coffee table, crossed at the ankles. I continued ambling toward him.
“You seem awfully interested in this show,” I noted as I curled up onto the other end of the couch.
He turned to me, his bright eyes full of glee. “This programme is very exciting. The moderator provides each chef a basket filled with strange ingredients and they must prepare a dish using the provisions in a short time. Then the dishes are judged and those that suffer defeat are chopped! They cut away at that part, unfortunately. I’d quite like to see that.”
I couldn't keep my wide grin contained. “Aw, sweetie, they don’t really kill the losers. They just have to live with themselves knowing that they are failures.” I scooted over to his side of the sofa and slid my fluffy robed arm under his, laying my damp head on his shoulder.
“I suppose that is fine.” He turned and dipped his head, brushing his lips briefly across my forehead. “If they aren't willing to show the brutality, they may as well not perform it. This is still quite fascinating. See, they've given them canned oysters, limes, popcorn, and mushrooms! What can they possibly make with that?” He was positively giddy.
This was definitely the happiest he’d been since we left New York. Each day he seemed to be opening up a little more. We hadn't really discussed any of the events of the invasion or the time he spent before that as a prisoner of the Chitauri and I didn't plan to unless he decided he wanted to talk about it. My plan was just to provide a safe place to hide out while we considered what came next. But a smile on that face automatically put one on mine. I didn't really understand why. I shouldn't have cared whether he was happy or not. I shouldn't receive enjoyment from his enjoyment or pleasure from his pleasure. Well, okay, pleasure from his pleasure, that kind of goes hand in hand. And there had been much pleasure taken and given. At the beginning I’d constantly admonished myself, ‘This is an assignment like any other. Don’t get close. Don’t let him in. He’s just an asset.’ I didn't even bother with that anymore. I genuinely liked this asshole, despite his occasional penchant for evil.
We watched three episodes back to back, marveling at the ability of the chefs to create dishes that looked delicious using ingredients that normally sound unpalatable: Vegemite, pickle juice, sea cucumber, pigs ears. But in the end, the chefs made it all seem appetizing.
“Do Midgardians really eat that?” he asked with a grin, when one of the contestants pulled a baby octopus out of the basket.
“Some do. I’m willing to try almost anything but even I might have to take a pause at that,” I chuckled at the thought of just an octopus on a plate, then noticed he was staring down at me, his smile fading. “What?”
“I’m suddenly distracted.” He was gazing down at my chest, where the robe had fallen open to a less than modest degree. “I hadn't noticed you were sitting here all this time in practically nothing.”
I sat up straighter and pulled the robe shut, teasingly. “Well, as you've seen me in less, I didn't think decorum was important anymore.”
He flattened his huge hand against the center of my chest and pressed me back prone onto the couch. From playful to commanding in less than thirty seconds. I bit my lower lip, feeling the warmth bubbling up instantaneously from my center as his hard, needy eyes passed over me, head to toe. That hand reached up, grabbing at the belt around my waist and tugging it open. A growl simmered in his throat, a response to my exposure, as he hovered over me. A growl. An actual growl. I reached my own hand up and grabbed his shirt near the throat, yanking him down on top of me, pulling his mouth to mine. As I explored him with my tongue, my legs wrapped around his hips and I rolled my pelvis against him, still covered by his infuriating pants.
He chuckled as I reached both hands down to rid him of the vile slacks. “Are you in a hurry, my queen?”
I laughed at his referential nickname from the argument we’d had a few days before. “A little bit, yes. You just growled at me and I need you inside me now. I know. It’s a strange reaction. But that was really fucking hot.”
Another chuckle from his lips, “I’ll have to remember that.” He didn't even bother to remove the damnable, offensive, wretched trousers, just pulled himself free of the fly and pushed inside me.
Groaning and arching into the sudden fullness, my nails rasped across the fabric covering his shoulders as I clung to him. He stared down, smirking as he moved slowly, deliberately, teasingly, waiting for me to break, which took approximately ten seconds. My hands moved from his shoulders, up his neck, and into his lush dark hair. Wrenching his head down and torquing it to the side, my lips brushed his ear. I calmly whispered, “Enough. Fuck me hard and fast. Now.” I punctuated my demand with a nip to his lobe.
His throaty laughter coincided with and increase in speed and power. He lifted his torso up and brought one of my legs up over his shoulder, giving him better access to me with his long fingers. The rapid intensity of his efforts combined with his nimble clitoral manipulation pushed me ever closer to the edge of the abyss. I barely noticed his smile widening before my head fell back and my body released in a strident moan and a flood over his arousal. Before my recovery was complete, he pulled the other leg up and over his shoulder as well, deepening his thrusts to the point of a beautiful intolerability. My body spasmed again, muscles clamping tight against him, undulating and drawing out his release as well. I liberated my legs and pulled him over me as his movements slowed. My hands back in his hair, I brought his lips to mine, kissing him gently but insistently until we had recaptured the power of speech.
Once recovered, I wrapped myself around him tightly. “Thank you. That was lovely. I like it when you listen.”
“Don’t get used to it. I only do so when it suits me.” He peered down, head rested on his hand, elbow on the couch near my head.
I shook my head but grinned wide again. “I am well aware.”
“But I’ll admit,” he continued, “It suits me more readily when the requests come from you.”