Chapter Text
It was his idea, of course.
Not that he really wants to do it, but it’s something that they absolutely should do, anyway.
“Go on, then,” Sylvie hisses at him. Her eyes are bright and challenging.
He needs to do it. It’s just a simple knock on the door. That’s all.
Maybe he isn’t even home.
“Oh, bloody hell.” Sylvie rolls her eyes at him, before reaching out and rapping her knuckles against the solid wooden door three times. And then she takes a step backwards, leaving him to deal with the brunt of the fallout.
Typical.
They wait for long enough that Loki is just about to suggest that they leave and come back in another decade or two, when the door suddenly swings open rapidly. However, the person standing on the other side is not the person that Loki would have expected to see, but instead a small girl.
“Who are you?” the child immediately demands at the same time that Loki hears Thor’s voice call out from somewhere else in the house.
“How many times have I told you not to open the door without an adult present? It could be anyone! Elves, giants, Valkyrie trying to collect on one of the many favours that I owe her…”
After a second, though, Thor comes around the corner and into full view of the door, and his reaction would be almost comical if it wasn’t for the fact that Loki’s heart is already hammering in his throat and he feels like he might throw up on Thor’s doorstep at any second.
“...My dead brother,” Thor finishes weakly, trailing off. His eyes are wide and shocked, and Loki isn’t surprised in the least when Mjolnir suddenly appears in his hand. He steps in front of the child at the same time that Loki steps forward, putting himself in front of Sylvie.
“Just let me explain.” Loki holds his hands out in a placating gesture as he takes another tiny step forward.
“I watched my brother die, so whatever trickery this is, it needs to stop now.” Thor’s eyes flash with hurt and anger, and something about it makes Loki’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
He had been counting on this being Thor’s reaction, of course. His brother is no fool, and Loki had fooled him enough times, certainly… Even if Loki can convince Thor that he actually is Loki, then assuming that he’s faked his own death once again will most certainly be the next logical mental leap.
So, Loki just looks at him imploringly, now. Time to start with the most obvious explanation.
“I know that you’ve travelled through time and that you know that the past is fluid and changeable,” Loki begins, just as he practiced in front of Sylvie earlier that day. “It must be, right, with everything that you’ve seen. Everything that you’ve experienced.”
And there it is — the flicker of consideration on Thor’s face as his eyes dart back and forth between Loki and Sylvie. “And how would you know—”
“I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it all. I know how my life ends, and yet I’ve never experienced that ending, myself.”
Of course, he knows much more than that — knows how it all ends, and also how it doesn’t end — but that’s getting too much ahead of himself.
Thor is still staring at him in a kind of suspicious silence, which is better than the outright hostility of earlier, and so Loki continues. “Imagine, if you would, that something that you and your Avengers did when you went back in time changed my timeline. Changed it significantly enough that I no longer die at the hands of Thanos.” He raises his eyebrows at Thor, inviting him to make the connection.
And it takes a moment — Loki can almost see the wheels turning in Thor’s head — but suddenly the realization sweeps across Thor’s face. His eyebrows creep up to match Loki’s.
“You mean that…”
“Clearly, I do,” Loki says with a little shrug.
At this, Thor chuckles, but Loki knows him well enough to know that it’s more of a nervous reaction than anything else. “But how did—” He pauses, and then tries again. “Where have you been all of this time?”
“Now that is a long story. And if you let me in, I’ll be happy to tell you the entire thing.”
For a few seconds, Thor doesn’t move at all, and Loki can tell that he’s giving it all some serious thought. Considering Loki’s explanation, and weighing it against the source. He gives another little nervous laugh. “I’m not—” He looks back over his shoulder quickly, making eye contact with the child that Loki had almost forgotten was standing there, before turning back to Loki and Sylvie.
Right. This is new.
But Loki doesn’t move at all; just gives Thor the space to puzzle it all out in his mind, which he finally does after another few seconds. He steps to the side and gestures inside the house. “No offense, brother, but I need to protect my family,” he says, as if that explains everything.
And it does, of course.
And so Loki just nods at Thor in agreement. “Just as I need to protect mine.” He gestures towards Sylvie, who is still standing to his side, and slightly behind him from when he stepped in front of her earlier. She’s been silent for this entire exchange, but she gives a small smile of acknowledgement, now.
(She also waggles her fingers at Thor and the child in a little wave, and it’s impossible to miss the flash of his gold band on her finger. It’s perfect, really. He couldn’t have planned that whole effect out better if he’d tried.)
“This is Sylvie,” Loki says. And then he adds his next words unnecessarily, just because he’s not tired of saying them, yet: “My wife.”
At this, a wide grin spreads across Thor’s face, and he steps aside fully to let Loki and Sylvie pass by him into his house. “You didn’t even invite me to the wedding. I’m hurt,” he says, as he closes the door behind them.
Of course, this is not the beginning of the story, but somewhat closer to the middle, and it is the middle that captivates Loki much more than the beginning or the end.
For the beginning and the end are already decided, and it’s whatever is between that does not matter at all in terms of the universe, and yet means everything to Loki.
This is what comes before:
(Not the true beginning, but the beginning of the middle, in fact.)
“What made you choose this place, of all the places in the universe?” Loki can’t help asking, though he really feels nothing but joy and amusement about the whole thing. It doesn’t really matter in the least, but he’s always wondered, all the same.
However, Sylvie only grins back at him with a little scrunch of her nose, and her cheeks colour just the slightest bit pink.
“I don’t know. I kind of liked it, I guess. It was better than all the apocalypses, at least.” She shrugs at him, turning away slightly in a bashful manner that he likes so much.
The fact that she can be bashful with him, after everything they’ve been through together.
They’re sitting side by side on the room’s only bed — a double that barely fits both of them comfortably, covered in a terribly-scratchy rust-red blanket — and with a paper bag full of fast food burgers and fries between them.
Sylvie had enchanted the front desk clerk into giving them the room key and, if it had been up to him, he would have aimed for slightly nicer lodgings. Maybe something with a larger bed, and perhaps a view of some mountains or the ocean. A nice big bathtub, and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice.
Of course, it isn’t up to him, and so this is all perfectly adequate.
Ideal, in fact.
Especially when Sylvie’s shoulder brushes against his when she reaches out to grab another fry out of the bag.
He grins at her. “Well, it seems nice enough to me.” He bumps his arm against her a little more solidly, and she smiles to herself at the gesture.
After a moment, however, the two of them settle back into a kind of pleasant silence. It’s the slightest bit awkward — like everything seems to be between them right now — but it feels comfortable all the same. Like they haven’t figured out anything yet, but that they both know that they will and they have all of the time in the world to do so.
(He knows better than that, but also he knows that it isn’t any good to push. Not now. Not ever.)
And so, when Sylvie can’t quite stifle a yawn just a few minutes later, Loki merely gives her an affectionate look and leans into her a little closer. “Is it time for me to conjure up something more comfortable for you to wear?”
She snorts quietly. “Comfortable. I bet.”
He tries his best to muster up an offended look, but he knows that his wide smile must entirely betray him. “I mean for sleeping! You look like you’re about to fall over at any second. No offense, I mean.”
It’s at that moment that Sylvie’s body betrays her with another yawn, which she finishes off with an annoyed scowl. “Fine, then.” She pauses for a moment in consideration before waggling her index finger in front of her torso. “A shirt. Black. Something comfortable and not too see through.” She gives him a pointed look and an eyebrow raise. “Pants for the bottom. Or shorts.” She shrugs at him. “Doesn’t much matter to me, so you can pick.”
Definitely shorts, then.
And then she leans back against the headboard and closes her eyes and waits.
Loki can’t help taking a second to look at her — really look at her — just as she is. Here with him, and as open and vulnerable as he’s ever seen her. Exhausted — completely drained — and covered in a smattering of cuts and bruises, but absolutely lovely, all the same.
The corners of her lips tremble with barely-restrained laughter for a second, before settling into a self-conscious smirk. “Get on with it, then.”
“Right. Of course.”
And so he does.
He doesn’t have to put much thought into it — it’s only sleepwear, after all — so that he can’t overthink it. Just a black tank top — relaxed and high neck enough that she can’t accuse him of staring at her breasts — and a pair of dark green sleep shorts. He also removes her bra and underwear for comfort’s sake, and he definitely does not overthink that decision, either.
And when he’s finally done, Sylvie opens up her eyes and glances down at herself quickly, before looking back up at him with an approving grin.
“The shorts are a bit short,” she says with a little sniff.
“You said that it was my choice.”
“Hmmm. I guess that was my fault, then.” But the smile on her face doesn’t fade in the least; if anything, it gets even bigger.
They take turns in the bathroom, and Loki conjures up his own set of sleepwear while he’s in there. It’s simple — just a relaxed t-shirt and a pair of shorts of his own. He considers sleeping in just a pair of boxer briefs, but then he imagines the walk from the bathroom back to the bed and leaving almost nothing to the imagination, and then quickly reconsiders that idea.
It should be much more awkward than it is; the two of them barely fit into the ridiculously tiny bed, but it isn’t too bad at all once the lights are turned out and it’s just the two of them under the covers and facing each other. They’re close enough that it’s more work to not touch each other than to just give in and let their limbs fall where they may.
And, for a long time, Sylvie’s quiet — so quiet that he can barely hear her breathing, even though their noses are only inches apart. It’s a comfortable quiet, though. Like they’re both finally — finally in the same place.
“I need to say thank you,” she finally murmurs, after long enough that Loki was almost certain that she’d fallen asleep. “I’ve never been able to count on anyone else, before. I wasn’t sure that I could count on you. But I’m glad that I can.”
And he can only see the glittering of her eyes in the darkness of the room, but he nods anyway. “I told you that I won’t let you down. And I mean it.”
This isn’t the truth, of course. He will let her down. Inevitably. But this is not the end of the story, but merely the beginning of the middle.
And this too is inevitable, of course.
The way that he drifts closer to her in that tiny bed, as if she is the only centre of gravity that has ever mattered. The way that her lips finally search out his, after long enough that he wasn’t sure if it was going to happen tonight. The way that he groans eagerly while pressing the length of his body all along the front of hers; can feel every inch of her skin in all of the places that they’re touching.
This, of course, is the part that means absolutely nothing to the universe, and yet is everything to Loki, right here and right now.
So, one can’t blame him for lingering on this part of the story.
“Sylvie,” he groans, and he lets his hand slide around from where it had been resting on her hip and up and under the back of her tank top. She lets out a little sigh and arches her back, pressing herself even closer to him.
It all feels incredible, even if this is the farthest that they get tonight. Her skin is soft and her muscles tight and coiled as he runs his fingertips up to her shoulder blades and then back down along the line of her spine. Her mouth is incredible, too; alternately soft and curious and almost somewhat shy, and then wild and eager, as if she can’t even help herself. She nips at his lower lip and that makes Loki groan, too.
It feels somewhat surreal, like they’re in their own tiny little universe here, in the dark and under the covers in this narrow hotel bed. Like saying a word might break the spell that they’re both under, and so all they can do is speak in little sighs and whimpers.
He’s always been a fan of kissing but this is something unprecedented, even for him. The ripple of Sylvie’s skin underneath his fingertips, and the little sounds that she’s making against his mouth. It’s all overwhelming in a way that he’s never quite experienced before. Like this is all that he needs.
Until, of course, he slides his hand over the curve of Sylvie’s ass, and then inches it up and under her actually-very-short-shorts, so that he can feel the shape of her against his palm.
And, suddenly, it’s not nearly enough.
The little whimper that Sylvie lets out is pure need and the sound goes straight to Loki’s groin. Simultaneously, she also throws her leg over top of his hip, pulling their pelvises flush together, and his brain nearly whites out.
He moans softly when she arches against him, trying to get more contact. “Oh gods, Sylvie.” He’s so hard, already; probably has been since the first touch of her lips against his, but suddenly he’s all too aware of it.
And his hand is still on her ass cheek but, now in this new position, she’s wide open to him. Would only just take the slightest slide of his fingers, and he could slip them inside of her. He groans again — a desperate sound that might be her name — and distracts himself by moving his lips from hers, down to her jaw, and back towards her ear. The skin there is so soft and sensitive, and Sylvie practically mewls in response.
“Oh fuck, Loki,” Sylvie groans, breathless. She’s still rocking her hips against him, trying to urge his fingers exactly where she wants him.
It’s also making it nearly impossible for him to focus. It just feels so good — the delicious slide of her against his cock, and her entire torso flush against his chest. It isn’t enough, though, and so he almost reflexively vanishes both her tank top and his t-shirt, so that he can feel her bare skin against his. They both groan in relief.
He leaves the shorts on, though. He cannot wait to be rid of them, and yet he simultaneously cannot wait to touch her underneath them, and maybe even through the flimsy barrier.
No, this is anticipation, and he relishes every second of it.
And still, he can feel the way that Sylvie’s movements against his hips are getting faster and more purposeful, the longer that she works himself against him. She’s not patient, his Sylvie — almost certainly has never had the luxury of it — but there will be plenty of time later to teach her the art.
He does inch his fingers towards her slit slowly, though, which only serves to make his variant much more frantic. He stops where he is and gently kneads the globe of her ass, letting his fingers sink into the strong muscle.
“Shhh, Sylvie,” he murmurs, nipping at her jaw gently. “Just feel. For just a moment.”
And then, he slides two fingers inside of her.
It’s perfect, too, the way that her entire body reacts. She lets out a tiny little whimper, and wraps herself entirely around him; arms tightening around his neck at the same time that her cunt clenches greedily around his fingers. Her hips stutter to a stop, as well, as she just breathes into the sensation.
“Good, good,” Loki whispers into her neck. He also flutters his fingers inside of her in time with his tongue against her pulse point, and he can feel as much as hear the shaky little groan that escapes her throat.
“Oh fuck, fuck — I need.” Sylvie can’t even finish the thought — just lets out a little desperate sob.
He’s nearly as undone as she is, if he’s really honest. He’s barely holding on to the last little bit of control. “What do you need, Sylvie? Gods, tell me.” He sinks his teeth into her throat — hard enough to leave a mark — and Sylvie suddenly goes rigid against him, her thighs shaking against his hip.
“Inside —,” she manages to choke out. “I’m gonna — but I need you inside—”
It’s too fast, of course — much too fast. But, Loki reminds himself, there’ll be plenty of time for patience, later. Time for him to spend entire hours — days — exploring every inch of Sylvie’s body. Time for waiting and teasing. Time for him to learn what she likes, and for her to learn everything about him, in turn.
This is merely the beginning.
Still, Loki disappears his own shorts, but he allows himself the little indulgence of turning Sylvie on to her back on the scratchy white hotel sheets. Lets his eyes trace over her, before slowly sliding her sleep shorts over ner narrow hips. Reveals inches of coveted skin, even as he feels her eyes narrow and focus on his face as she watches him watch her.
”Gorgeous,” he breathes out, before lowering his body down onto hers.
And when he slides inside of her, he drops his forehead down to hers. Their noses press together, messy and indelicate, and they breathe the same air for as long as he can bear to hold still. As long as Sylvie lets him, before she’s wrapping her legs around his hips and taking charge, irregardless of the position that they’re currently in.
It’s perfect, really.
It also doesn’t last. Nothing perfect ever does, but this isn’t meant to last — not how he wants it to, at the very least.
Sylvie’s orgasm starts well before it crests; her entire body begins to shake and shiver and tremble, though she keeps her eyes locked on to him. Wide open and vulnerable; a show of trust that he doesn’t deserve, though he plans to spend as much time as he has trying to become worthy of it.
He’s close to the edge, as well, though he holds it off as long as he can. He can’t bear to take his eyes off of Sylvie. Not with the way that her face is going slack, and she’s clenching down on him so hard that he can barely thrust in and out. He keeps moving, though, grinding against her until she suddenly shatters with an inarticulate cry.
He tries to work her through it all — tries to draw it out as long as he can — but he only manages a few more thrusts before he loses control; becomes erratic and wild as his body chases his own release with little regard for what his heart and brain really want. However, Sylvie only tugs him even closer to her body in response, burying her face in his neck and urging on his pleasure.
He gasps her name as he comes; wraps his arms around her shoulders and spans her shoulder blades with his hands as his body attempts to hold hers as close to his as he possibly can.
And he still has enough of his wits to panic for a moment — about how Sylvie will react to all of this — but Sylvie only pulls him in even tighter. They’re not snuggly, of course — neither of them have much experience with physical contact — but it almost feels like his soul recognizes her as the same and is trying to piece their bodies together and into one single being.
It’s fitting, really.
Sylvie is still trembling beneath him, though, and it’s all that he can do to raise his body up on to one elbow so that he can look down at her. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice impossibly tender in a way that he didn’t even know that he was capable of.
But Sylvie only stares back up at him for a long moment, wide-eyed and wild, before she suddenly starts to laugh. She also pulls him back down on top of her, so that he’s once again blanketing her body with his.
“I’m not,” she finally says, from her chosen place beneath him. “But I think I might get there.”
Anyway, this is how it starts.
Not the true beginning, but the part that actually matters.