When you awoke you were alone in the bed.
Judging by the light it was mid day, and the improbable events of the night before were all starting to come back. Was any of that real? Had it actually happened? You sat up and the soreness in your hips told you with complete assurance that at least part of it was true.
You tip-toed around the seemingly empty house just to confirm that John, if that was his real name, was nowhere to be found. That was it then. This whole saga would be an amazing story to tell one day... once the statute of limitations was up.
You found your phone - about a million missed calls and text messages - your shoes and your blazer. But when you went to retrieve the dress that you had left in a puddle by the picture window you found it wasn't there. Instead it was now folded into a neat square on the living room's minimalist coffee table under a note. The note was short, just a phone number and a brief message:
"Call Me"
————————————————————————————
So you were definitely out of a job. The news of there being no charges laid against you did not spread quite like the wildfire of the news that you were hauled away from the party in the back of a cop car.
Luckily, damage control was something you were familiar with, and after many copy/pasted text messages, and a few detailed phone calls to key office gossips, you were pretty sure that your name was cleared socially at least. Still, there was no way you were heading into the office on Monday - there was no way that you were going to confront Elias. But you had savings, and a "Plan B". It would probably be for the best in the end.
As for the other matter that you needed to address...
You would definitely not call him. One night stands were meant to be just that - one night. Plus, your phone plan didn't have international minutes, and you doubted that he was still in the country after his blatant felony.
But you loved a good mystery, you rationalized, and "John" was the biggest (and most handsome) mystery you had ever encountered.
Maybe you would text.
You had already done an internet search deep-dive. You had googled his phone number, of course - no assigned information. You searched for every important Norwegian business family and notable person. No apparent matches, not that a first name was much to go on. You had even got so far as to search for "Norwegian mafia" and "Norwegian organized crime." Nothing.
What would you even text him?
You stared at your phone, his number already punched in, and dialogue box pulled up. You picked it up and took in a deep breath. You put it back down again. You stood up. You walked away. You paced. You sat back down. You picked up your phone again. You took another deep breath. You typed in the the letters for "hey" and then immediately deleted them.
You would text him in the morning. You would sleep on it. You would play it cool.
But your night was restless and you were hard-pressed to find purchase on sleep. It's not that you weren't tired. You were still exhausted from your night of crime, and from cleaning up the aftermath. It was more that you couldn't let the memory of that morning's passions escape your mind.
You could still feel his hot breath against your neck, and his lips against your ear, beckoning you towards temptation. Your skin prickled at the memory of your dress falling from your form, and you were still tender where his large, lean hands had grabbed and pushed on your thighs. More than anything you could remember how the heat slowly built and grew from your core until it exploded within you like fireworks.
You touched yourself, trying to re-live the experience, trying to simulate the way he touched you and made you feel.
None of your other lovers had ever touched you quite like that, or had drawn quite so much pleasure from as deep in your soul. Sex was enjoyable for sure, but it was often rushed and perfunctory - the inevitable conclusion to a night out on the town, or an obligatory act to perform to maintain your few real relationships. Your partners had always either seen you as a fragile glass doll, or as an inflatable one, and in turn had loved you as such. You had always found more pleasure on your own, and you were resigned that it would always be that way.
John, however, had not treated you like something fragile, or something empty. Under his touch you had felt like a wild mare - beautiful, and powerful, and full of raw potential, just waiting to be harnessed beneath him. He followed your breaths, and noticed your movements. He measured your body's reaction to him, to the signals he sent it with his breath, with his lips, and with his touch. In his domination of your body he had granted you liberation in pleasure.
When sleep finally found you, you had dreams of running free in endless fields, your strength never diminishing but rather growing and becoming more powerful.
————————————————————————————
Morning did not, in fact, give you the answers you needed regarding your communication issues.
You stared at your phone while you sipped your coffee. You couldn't not reach out. He was constantly occupying your every thought. But your desire was so raw, and you had no idea what to say.
You slid your phone towards you with determination. Keep it simple, you thought. Keep it light.
"Thanks for the other night," you typed and hit send before you could think any more of it.
Fuck. That sounded stupid didn't it? You could coordinate collaborations between several Fortune 500 companies, but apparently you could not send a text message to an attractive man. If you were very lucky, maybe he would never respond and you could call it a day. A stupid idea never come to fruition. You stood to walk away and get on with your morning when you heard the distinctive chime of a text message come from your phone.
Shit.
"Hello Gorgeous," read one line, followed by another chime, "I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific about what, exactly, you're thanking me for."
How about for the multiple orgasms? Or for the meal, or for somehow breaking you out of jail, or for somehow getting you into jail, or even just for the pleasure of being able to gaze upon his astonishing face? He was right. You would have to be more specific.
"For letting me charge my phone at your place," you said, being cheeky, "I never would have made it home otherwise."
"What would you have done without me?"
"I have no idea. Perished, probably."
"I seem to remember you coming alive yesterday. Several times."
Your stomach flipped at his forwardness.
"Probably a fluke," you quipped.
"Only one way to find out," he dared.
"Repeat and test?"
"Exactly," you could almost hear him growl it.
"So I guess it's a matter of when, then."
"Thursday. 6 in the evening. You know where to find me."
And that was that.
The long wait until Thursday.
————————————————————————————
When you arrived at John's he buzzed you in and you climbed the stairs to main living area of his sparsely furnished home.
"In here," you heard, and wandered into his immaculately white kitchen.
He was leaning on his arms against the kitchen island. His pale blue linen shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows showing off his engaged and muscular forearms. His top two buttons were undone - his expression was intense and searching.
"Hello gorgeous," he had two poured drinks in front of him. He shifted to hand you one.
"Hi," it was all you could muster at the moment. You took the drink.
"Let me take your jacket," he moved to put one hand on each side of the opening of your leather jacket and slipped it over your arms. He lingered a moment, standing close, appreciating the clingy knit dress that hugged your curves in all the right spots. His eyes met yours - more blue again - and you blushed, and turned away in a coy smile. Why did he make you feel this way?
"Can I ask you a question?" You inquired.
"If you insist," he said into your cheek, then turned to put your jacket gingerly over a chair.
"Why is your house so bare? It looks like a show room."
"Well I'm not here very often. It's only where I stay when in town."
"When you're not in... Norway?"
"Yes, when I'm not in Norway." He was close to you again, and had you backed up against the cool white marble of the kitchen island.
"Were you in Norway the last couple of days?"
"Is this an interrogation? How long did I let you stay with the police? Have you picked up their tricks?"
"No, it's just that..." he pressed one of his long fingers gently against your mouth. You were suddenly flooded with the memories of the last time those fingers were on your body.
"Shhh. No more questions," He replaced his finger with his lips, and you forgot about everything but the ecstasy.
He pressed into you with his whole body. His first few kisses were hot, and long and deep, again, and again. He sucked on your lower lip hard before moving his mouth down to your jaw which he traced with kisses back up to your ear. He pulled at your lobe with his teeth, then dragged his half open mouth down your neck, tantalizing you with his hot breath, and planted a kiss firmly on your collarbone.
You could see the animalistic muscles in his shoulders flex beneath his shirt. You set your drink down, unnecessary now, and moved your hands to untuck the garment, and reach underneath its hem to caress the smooth skin of his hips held taught over his form. He let out a low moan from the physicality of it - more like a purr than anything.
"I've been thinking about you, about your body, all week," you said between breaths, and reached further up his shirt, exploring new terrain.
"Have you been... distracted?" His breath hot in your ear again
"Extremely," you began unbuttoning his shirt now to gain better access, "No one's ever made me feel the way you do."
"Mmm," he purred again, and shifted to undo his belt buckle, "And what would you do to show your appreciation?"
Your heart leapt into your throat. Giving oral pleasure was not usually your preferred activity, but the idea of it now exhilarated you. You'd only seen his cock briefly the time before, and you were eager to take it all in, to worship it. You moved your hands back down to meet his at his belt buckle. You undid the button of his pants, and his fly, then slid your hands under his waistband to his ass, around his hips, and town his thighs to expose his semi-erect manhood.
"Kneel for me," he said. Silky and smooth. Why did that sound so familiar? You pushed him back slightly and then obeyed.
His penis was long and proportionate in girth. Its venation was subtle, and his tip was a beautiful rosy pink. You took the base of the shaft gently in your hand, licked your lips and gave his tip a wet kiss. You gave it another, longer and deeper, and then one more before covering his head with your mouth. You used your tongue to draw slow circling shapes around his tip and down his column, taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth until you had reached your limit. John's hooded eyes and low moans egged you on. He was completely erect now. Hard and long and glorious.
You slid him in an out of your mouth, using your tongue and cheeks to create textured suction, and your hand to create friction. You started out slow but built steadily in pace, escalating and exaggerating your movements as you went. His breath grew short, and his noises more primal. You looked up at him. Christ he was gorgeous, all chiseled angles, and his thin lips parted to the side when he moaned.
He caught you staring and brushed the side of your face with his fingertips, then entangled them with your hair until his palm cradled the back of your head. He never pushed or pulled while you did your work, but the slight pressure was reassuring, as if to remind you that he was right there with you. You were in this moment together. You closed your eyes and let the pleasure build inside you as you as you gave it to him. You let out a low hum as you moved your mouth back up his cock which twitched slightly.
"Ah!" The syllable escaped his mouth, "Wait."
He brought his other hand down to cradle your face and guided you off of his sensitive erection. "This can't be over yet," he breathed and brought you up for a kiss.
His hands moved down your body, stopping to briefly cup and squeeze your ass, before finding the hem of your dress. He lifted the fabric up and over your head, undressing you effortlessly. You thumb-hooked your panties and took them off less gracefully, losing your balance slightly, but finishing the job. He caught you from your wobble by your thighs and lifted you up with impossible ease, setting you back down with your ass on the edge of the kitchen island. You let out a gasp and a shiver, both from the cold contact of the marble and from excitement.
He planted his hands behind you and shifted forward for another kiss and pushed his slick erection against your wet opening. You had one arm wrapped around his neck, and you moved the other down to guide him into your soaking entrance.
You both let out needy moans as he pushed into you. Your walls contracted instinctually at the sensation. You wanted to feel all of him again.
He moved your body lower and lower with his torso, thrust by thrust, until finally your back was flush with the icy marble stone. As the cold rush of the Carrara moved down your spine, the warm pleasure from your hips ran up it in opposition. You wrapped your legs around him and gave into the dueling sensations. It was intoxicating.
He thrust deeper and deeper, gyrating his hips for more sensation. Your breath and his were in sync, building to a climax together. As the the warmth from your core built and grew your breaths turned to involuntary moans.
He gave your neck a deep, biting kiss, then pushed himself up with one muscular arm. He moved his other hand down to your waist and placed his thumb over your increasingly sensitive clit. He stroked you while he pumped his hips - this new sensation was pushing you over the edge.
"Come for me," he said, "Let me feel that glorious release of yours."
And that was that. The orgasm bubbled up inside of you and shot down your legs and up through your torso. Your limbs clenched and your back arched, bracing your body against the waves of ecstasy rolling through it. As you pulsed around him, he released himself too, falling forward, his forehead against yours. His eyes were purely green again under his long, indulgent eyelashes. As his pleasure filled you up, your lips met. He collapsed on top of you, catching himself with both arms before he relaxed his muscles and pinned you with his weight.
You wrapped your arms around him and held his head against yours. You felt his hot exhalations on your shoulder while you both laid like that for a while, catching your breaths.
"Thanks for the drink," you said. His low laugh made his weight shift on top of you.
He pushed himself back up slowly, taking his time to draw a path from your shoulders up your neck with his nose and lips. He propped himself on his shoulder, your bodies still connected at the hips. He cradled your face in his hands and turned you to look at him.
"What am I going to do with you?" His eyes skewed peculiarly blue again.
"I'm sure you'll figure something out," you realized with a sudden shock that this was now the second time you'd done this without a condom, and he'd never stopped to ask if you were on any kind of birth control. It was so unlike you. So unlike you to not ask about the obvious practicalities of safe sex. This man could have all kinds of secrets.
But it was too late for that now. And you weren't ready to let go of this feeling - to break through the afterglow. To crash back into reality. Anyway, you thought, it would all be over after this.
This was going to be the last time.
————————————————————————————
Loki did the calculations in his head, fighting the cloudy feelings after this intimate encounter. Add nine, subtract twelve... He wasn't sure exactly what time it was in Los Angeles, but he figured it couldn't be later than five in the morning in New Asgard. If Thor were going to be looking for him today, he wouldn't come calling until ten or eleven at least.
As he pried himself off of his beautiful conquest, he wondered what to do in these next few hours. He didn't want to leave her and return to New Asgard. Because of her perception of him, Loki felt as if, in her presence, he existed in an alternate reality. Even if he stayed in LA without her company, he wasn't quite sure that John could exist without her. She gave this alias context, a reason for being.
And he wasn't wanting for much. Just a little breather, a little fresh air, a little time. He had lost so much, so quickly. Unable to say goodbye to his mother, unable to process the loss of his father, unable to save the place he called home. All of Asgard had lost so much that day too, he knew, and it was just as hard to rebuild. Starting over after was just as difficult as saying goodbye.
Thor did his best to take on the many burdens of his people, and the Valkyrie was an excellent, if reluctant leader. But still. Something about his relationship with his brother had shifted on Sakaar, and Loki was cursed with a new sense of obligation - even though he was a fallen prince, he was still a prince. A would-be-king.
But here he was just a man. And she was just a woman. A beautiful woman. He could never ask, but Loki had a feeling that she could sympathize with his sense of loss and responsibility. She had sad stories too, and maybe a little piece of her could recognize his turmoil. A thousand years of trying to discover what "belonging" meant for someone like him.
He would probably never find out. But he could pretend. He could spend the next few hours in the fantasy of what it would be like to let someone in and have a normal life. It was an impossible dream. But she was right there. And he had an active imagination.
Loki beckoned his guest to return with him to their drinks. Although realizing that they had watered-down in their neglect, he made fresh ones. He asked her to stay, just for a while, just for a bit. After all what's the harm, he thought, It'll all be over after this.
This would be the last time.