Cleave | Loki x Reader

• XII •

She had sensed me, then.

Well, two could play at that game.

With a smirk, I slipped into the shadows and reappeared right behind her, pressing her against the wooden fence of the arena.

A flicker of surprise rushed through her, only to melt into something much warmer. Good old mischief.
My lips sucked in her earlobe as I pressed harder into her, her back hot against my cool chest.

'Don't you think this is getting a bit old, Mischief? Something new for a change, perhaps?' she murmured, her voice thick with playful reproach as her breath mingled with mine.

I moved my lips closer to the shell of her ear, a smirk now playing on my lips. 'And deprive myself of seeing you like this?'

Then, I spun her.
Norns, she was glorious. All damp linen and flushed skin.

My voice softened, my gaze tracing over her, lingering. I licked my lips. 'I think the fuck not.'

Oh. Besides, don't go believing I hadn't noticed the angry tremor in those pouty little lips of yours any time I catch you like this.

Her eyes gleamed in the early light, lingering on me with that familiar fire. 'Mm, how long have you been watching, then?' she challenged, her lips slyly curling upward.

'Ohh. Long enough,' I drawled, dipping closer, 'to wonder how you might possibly be scheming to celebrate a full seven centuries.'

My gaze swept over her, taking in the dust on her hands and the glint of a faint bruise forming on her wrist. I could see the flush of exertion on her cheeks, and I let my mischief take control.

'If you can't think of something—Might I assist with a selection of some of my very own ideas, darling?'

Her gaze held mine, the playful light in her eyes tempered by a smoldering challenge. I suppose one could say challenges were kind of our thing.

'You and your... ideas.'
Her fingers curled just slightly in the fabric of my tunic. 'Perhaps I’ll let you prove their worth – if they’re truly worthy of a such a milestone. Worthy of me.'

The last of her words falling from her lips, she leaned in full to bite my lower lip. Lightly, that is.
Just like quicksilver, she let go again.

I chuckled, letting my hand brush against her cheek as it was now my turn to lean in, voice low. 'You’ll find they most certainly are. When did they ever disappoint? All that comes to mind when I think about them are rather satisfied sounds left in their wake... Squeaky little noises et cetera, et cetera.'

For a second, silence filled the space between us. Then she grabbed my chin, roughly. I couldn't supress the small gasp that escaped me.

'Oh, is that so? Well, then I do hope you will tone it down a bit tonight. We wouldn't want the whole of Asgard to see the... effects—you supposedly have on me now, would we?'

Her tight grip to my jaw mixed with that sultry voice of hers – Norns, I was mere seconds from admitting that she was indeed the one in control; the one to elicit the strangest things out of the deepest depths of me.
Always has been.

Her fingers slipped from my tunic and my face as she stepped back, leaving a frustrating emptiness in her absence.

'You know,' she began, looking back with a gleam in her eye, 'I do have duties to attend to. Guests to charm, dances to pretend I’m enjoying. Things which demand me to look my best, by the way. So I suppose I better get a move on. And surely you wouldn’t keep me from looking my best, not on my name day, surely.'