The ride from the medical clinic to the inn was fraught with tension. Less because the occupants of the car were angry with each other, and more because the two couples couldn’t wait to find themselves alone. Darcy couldn’t even stand to look at Loki, she was so desperate for his touch. When his pinky reached across the space between them to hook around hers, she honestly thought she might spontaneously combust.
His warmth radiated from the seat next to hers, so inviting she couldn’t help but look in his direction. The darkness outside prevented her from being able to read his expression; his face was obscured by shadow. She could feel his eyes on her, though, hot and lingering.
And then they were pulling up beneath the welcoming light of the inn, and she caught her first true glimpse of his expression since they were at the clinic treating his wounds. Whereas in the sterile medical room his eyes had been tender and watchful, never straying from her—like he was worried that she was safe, like she might disappear if he looked away for even a second—now his gaze was a full-blown smolder.
It sent lightning coursing down her spine, bold and sharp, until she couldn’t focus on anything but the expectation rising in her blood and the frantic beat of her heart. A satisfied smirk crept across his face, as though he knew exactly what he was doing to her. Another time, perhaps, she might draw out the hunt. Keep him guessing, toy with him a little.
But right now the image of him sailing across the room to lie in a broken heap was too vivid, the memory too fresh. All she wanted to do was get him upstairs and examine him, prove to them both that they had survived and were alive and well. She wanted to get her hands on him, on every glorious, naked inch.
Jane looked between them knowingly as they got out of the car. “See you in the morning. Try not to break anything, or we’ll have to pay for it.” And with a teasing grin she was gone, headed back to Thor’s place.
Without looking at Loki—she couldn’t, didn’t have the strength—Darcy strode into the inn and toward the room they’d rented. He followed behind her, walking close enough that their fingertips brushed against each other every few steps. There was an electric charge sparking between them, and Darcy felt like everyone in the lobby was staring at them.
And then they were in the quiet corridor, within steps of her room. Loki held his hand out for the key, silently demanding to enter first. With a concern for his aches and bruises, Darcy thought about protesting. The slight clenching of his defiant jaw gave him away, and she acquiesced silently. She knew he was only concerned with keeping her safe, and on tonight of all nights, she could stand to indulge his need.
The room was empty, as expected, and Darcy followed him inside. The door had barely closed behind her when she was pressed up against it by six feet of frantic, aroused male. She groaned against his mouth, clinging to him as his tongue swept between her lips. His hands were everywhere: sunk in her hair, caressing her cheek and neck, gripping her waist and kneading her hips.
His touch was soft, if insistent; it was a direct contrast to the unyielding wood of the door at her back, and she shifted against him. The motion brought him back to his senses, and he pulled her away from the door. Toward the bed.
Tripping over herself to pull them up short, she whispered against his mouth, “Are you sure? Your bruises—”
“I’m sure,” he growled, nipping lightly at her lower lip as punishment for doubting him.
“Okay,” she whispered, leaning fully into his body and opening herself up to him.
He froze against her, then burst into a blur of action. All of a sudden her back hit the bed, and he was reaching to help her strip beneath him. She watched him through lowered lashes as he moved; she wanted to memorize everything about this moment.
His eyes shone with appreciation as he looked at her, and he leaned back on his heels to study the picture she made. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later,” she promised, pulling him back down to her. And then there was no more talking.
Darcy giggles but Loki looks about the room rather timidly
Loki: I don’t believe “conjugal” visits are allowed here love
Darcy: You aren’t in jail. Nobody’s around.
Loki bites his lip as Darcy slowly begins to walk towards him
Loki: True. But I suspect my new… team mates will return at any moment
Darcy straddles the nervous God who now seems to be uncertain where to place his hands, though she guides them directly to her breasts, she can feel the hitch in his throat as she gentle grinds herself forward and into a more comfortable position
Darcy: You need to relax more
Yes, he was in Stark tower. Yes, he was now on… the good side. (Ugh) better than being eternally banished by Thanos or his adoptive father to some damned corner of space. And lastly, Yes, his fellow comrades were not in the building (or close vicinity) at this moment in time.
But being caught with his “pants down” – quite literally – wasn’t a situation the trickster wanted faced with. At least not when he was the one being dominated.
Pairing: Darcy Lewis/Loki Word Count: 1172 Prompt: #6 “Take your damn holiday lights down, it’s June.”
Darcy’s next door neighbor, Loki Laufeyson, had the nicest lawn on the entire street. He had imported sod, beautifully sculpted topiaries and gorgeous azeleas. It was flat out beautiful.
And in contrast, Darcy had the trashiest lawn in the entire world. Well, maybe the world was a little ambitious. It was definitely in the top ten, though.
She had tacky flamingos, a kiddie pool that she lounged in on a regular basis during the summer months, and a rather aggressive mint garden. It had started out as an herb garden, but mint was crazy and now it was a mint garden.
And, for the past seven months, she’d had some lovely holiday lights on timers.
Now in his defense, the first time he asked her to take them down, he was very polite.
It had happened exactly one day following New Year’s.
He’d rung her doorbell and asked her in a very polite way to please get her lights down in a timely manner this year. He’d then, in true Loki fashion, ruined his politeness by reminding her how long it had taken her to remove them the year previous.
So Darcy, in her infinite wisdom and snarkiness, had promised to do her best to have them down just as soon as she could. And she’d then proceeded to come up with a new reason every weekend for not removing the lights.
For the entire month of February, she maintained that since her neon Santa was red and white, he was a portly version of St. Valentine and therefore a festive decoration.
For March, she’d feigned a light cough. Allergies.
April was pretty fun, because she’d stretched April Fool’s Day out over the entire month by telling Loki each time he asked that she was just headed out to do it. Only to then yell ’April Fool’s!’ over his privacy fence and proceed to do what she’d done for the past three months. Which was nothing.
She’d taken to turning the sprinklers on whenever Mr. Laufeyson happened to come near her lawn during the month of May. She had a waterproof remote and sat in her kiddie pool while she tormented him.
If she’d gotten a whiff of anyone else in the neighborhood being upset about her lights, she’d have taken them down in an instant. But, she was pretty sure they either didn’t care or were as annoyed with Loki as she was, and therefore could overlook the faux pas of her tacky neon Santa and twinkly lights.
Currently it was June and honestly, she’d run out of ideas.
But he was nothing if not predictable, and kind of hot when he got all flustered. So, she kept up her prank if only for the lolz.
He rang her doorbell on this lovely June morning and when she opened it, she was greeted to a positively frightening sight.
He was…smiling. Not that he was a particularly frightening guy. He was actually kind of handsome. Okay, not handsome, he had some straight up John Thornton vibes going.
“Can I…help you?” she asked.
“Ms. Lewis…”
“Darcy,” she corrected him.
“Darcy…” he continued. "If you don’t mind, I would like to volunteer my services in removing your holiday lights. It seems to be a difficult prospect for you, and as a good neighbor, I’d like to help.“
Darcy smirked and shook her head. "Nah. It’s not that hard. Just gotta lug out the ladder from the garage. And climb up it and yank ‘em down. Probably might take me an hour. Tops.”
Loki took a deep breath and let it out. "Can I assist you in th–“
“Nope,” Darcy said, grinning widely.
“For pity’s sake, woman…” he hissed under his breath. "Could you please, just take your damn lights down? It’s June.“
"This really bothers you, doesn’t it?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning against her doorframe, clearly amused.
His mouth twitched before he answered. "It clearly does.“
"Well, okay, then. That’s all you had to say.”
“Really?” He looked so hopeful, she almost didn’t want to continue.
Only almost. Because he really was unbearable.
“Nope,” she replied, popping the ‘p’.
His nostrils flared as his face fell. "You are infuriating.“
"Thanks! But listen, I would be willing to consider a holiday light removal if you could do one little thing for me.”
“What?” he practically snarled.
“Geez dude, touchy, touchy.” She raised her hands in front of her. "That’s what I’m talking about right there. You’re a mean old grouch. Except you’re not really all that old.“ She shrugged. "You’re actually a mean foxy grouch, but you know, the mean grouch really kills the fox.”
He raised his eyebrows slightly. "The only reason I act the way I do is because you push me to it.“
Darcy snorted. "That’s entirely for my benefit, huh?”
He frowned, sputtering slightly. "That’s…that’s…no!“
"Whatever dude. Listen. I’ll remove my lights this very afternoon if you will stop being such an unapproachable curmudgeon to everyone else in the neighborhood.”
“I am perfectly pleasant!” he argued.
“Dude. No. I am perfectly pleasant. Do you see how the entire neighborhood has sided with me on this little…whatever it is?” She gestured towards her yard, sweeping her arm to include his too. "Do you think it’s because they like the tacky spectacle that is my home?“
He furrowed his brow in thought. "No, I…I suppose not…”
Darcy smirked. "Right? It’s because they like me. It’s because I take part in the block parties, and I put out candy on Halloween. And…yeah, my lawn might be horrendously decorated, but I pay the Johnson’s daughter to mow it like everyone else on the block. Except you.“ She pointed her finger and pushed against his chest. "So dude. I will take those lights down right now, if you promise to be an actively nice member of this community. Deal?” She held out her hand.
He took another deep breath and nodded, grasping her hand and shaking it. "Deal.“
"Cool beans, bruh.” She smirked and slipped on her flip flops. "And as promised, the lights will come down. But you had better believe they’ll be back up the next time you act like a douche monkey, got it?“
"You’re not…going to climb a ladder in those shoes, are you?” Loki asked, frowning deeply once more.
Darcy sighed. "What is wrong with my shoes? Do they not match the trim on my house?“
"Unless your trim is fluorescent orange, no. But they aren’t the proper footwear to be traipsing up and down on a ladder. I’d never forgive myself if you fell from that height and cracked you pretty little head open on your driveway…I’ll climb the ladder. You can wind them up as I pull them down.”
Darcy couldn’t help but smile as she led Loki out to her garage. "So, tell me, Lokes…do you really think I have a pretty little head?“
He stopped walking and turned to look at her. "Yes. And that isn’t just my attempt at being a good neighbor.”
In the twelve minutes and thirty-seven
seconds that had ticked passed since they’d sat down, the server had walked
past three times.
The
closest bird had chirped nine times.
She
drummed her fingernails on the table twenty-one times.
They’d
each taken three sips of coffee.
No
one had said a word.
Finally,
at the fourteen-minute mark, Tony cleared his throat. “Look, at some point,
during these conversations, I think someone is supposed to say something.”
Darcy
shook herself out of her shell of uncomfortable silence. “Right,” she nodded
and took another sip of her coffee. “Um.” She pressed her lips together in
thought. “Invent anything good lately?”
Tony
frowned. “Lewis—” he stopped and corrected himself. “Darcy.”
She
swallowed with some difficulty and countered him. “Tony.”
“I
know this isn’t…” he stopped again and sighed. “We could have started out
better, right?”
Begrudgingly,
she let him have that one. A freak mix-up in bloodwork in the medical wing of
Stark Industries and suddenly Darcy Lewis was Darcy Stark. She’d been slapped
in the face with the knowledge that the father she’d never had was now also the
boss she’d never met. Not even her boss. Her boss’ boss. Darcy’s first instinct
had been to ignore it. There was nothing in the bylaws that said either of them
owed the other one a relationship.
But
Tony had tracked her down in Jane’s lab and asked her out for a cup of coffee. “One
coffee,” he had promised. “No refills. Just…have a conversation with me.”
And
that hadn’t been the worst cup of coffee she’d ever had, so she had suggested
they try again in a few weeks.
So
here they were.
Only
they were such strangers that every conversation still felt like the very first
one. Awkward. Stilted. Unsure what—if anything—they had in common. She was
afraid to ask about Tony’s relationship with her mother. She didn’t want to
hear him say he didn’t remember the woman who had raised her entirely on her
own. Who’d been both parents for twenty-eight years until her death two years
earlier.
And
then there was Tony himself. Unable to help herself, she’d stayed up nights
scrolling through story after story of the sex scandals, Playboy Mansion
appearances, and red carpet escapades that peppered his brilliant contributions
to technology. It was a lot to take in.
“But
I just found out that you’re my daughter,” he gave her a brief, almost sad
smile. “And I don’t know you at all.”
She
sighed and took another sip of her coffee. “I’m not…y’know, I’m not trying to make this weird. But I just…I
don’t know what you want to know about me.”
“Anything,”
he said simply. “Everything. Whatever you want to tell me.”
She
opened her mouth to respond and closed it again in thought. “I’m a Cancer and I
hate miniature golf.”
Tony
nodded. “Good,” he said briskly and clicked a pen from his pocket into action. “I
too,” he paused and wrote out her words on a café napkin, “hate mini golf.”
“Well,
good,” she said, a smiling coming to the corner of her lips. “We can not go mini-golfing together.” She
raised her eyebrows. “What else do you hate?”
Tony
frowned in thought. “Cauliflower.”
She
nodded. “Noted.”
There
was a pause before his next question. “So…you and Steve—”
She
held up a hand. “Nope.”
He
looked surprised. “We’re not going to talk about Steve?”
“We
are not going to talk about Steve,”
she reiterated. “Nor are we going to talk about anyone you are having sex with. Past, present or future.”
He
nodded again. “Good,” he said, dropping his eyes to write again. “Good.
Boundaries are good.”
She
mirrored his nod and took another sip from her mug. “Any topics that you want
to declare off limits?” she asked, raising her eyebrows over the rim of the
cup.
Tony
laughed. “I’m not sure we’ve got that kind of time.”
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And this is how The End is stopped. Not by the gods or goddesses, the other races than man, no. It is Tumblr. As a mass running after a now confused and tail tucking Fenrir, whining softly as the crowd chants “PUPPER! PUPPER! PUPPER!”
Better yet: Fenrir escapes his chains and lopes forward to destroy the earth, and is met by a crowd of people. An army, Fenrir thinks, and bares his teeth in a ferocious snarl and charges toward them.
They cheer.
Wait … cheer?
Fenrir slows, confused. He smells no fear, senses no rage. This is … a very strange army.
The first hand—weaponless!—reaches for him; he tenses, ready to tear the offending limb to shreds, and lets out a high little yippy whine when it pats him about the ears.
Immediately the noise is reproduced by some four or five of the nearest humans; he smells excitement; more hands are patting him.
It’s nice.
The humans crowd around him, patting him and scritching him and shuffling around to give others a chance. Voices coo, and make puppy noises, and someone catches just the right spot and he cocks his leg and scratches himself, drawing a multitude of oohs and ahhs and cheers and squees.
At some point, his hunger awakens at the scent of burnt flesh; a human has brought him what he later learns is a hot dog; he swallows it in one bite, to more cheering, and looks around hopefully for more.
It is not long before more is bought: steaks and Big Macs and bacon; it seems like much of the group has brought him a snack of some kind and was hoping for a chance to give it to him.
The End of the World is supposed to be at hand, but Fenrir does not care. His hunger sated, his battle-lust swept away by a tide of gently petting hands, he rolls over, careful not to crush his many companions, and takes a nap.
“Who’s a good boy?” they ask him, over and over.
Is this some psychological warfare, he wonders, designed to undermine his confidence and remind him that he is nothing more than a monster who needs to be chained?
“Who’s a good boy, huh, huh?” “Who’s my good boy?” “
And then one of them answers the question for him.
“You are!”
‘Me?’ he thinks. But if there was any doubt, she confirms it.
“You are, yes you are.”
Fenrir’s tongue hangs out of his mouth as he grins. ‘I’m a good boy!’
This would work. Fenrir was betrayed by gods that he trusted; they feared his strength and tricked him into accepting being bound because he trusted Tyr, his friend. (Loki was not directly involved in selling out his own son; usually Loki is involved any time someone gets tricked by the Aesir, but it’s notable that he was not, here.) The deal was that Tyr would put his arm in Fenrir’s mouth to prove that the gods were acting in good faith when they tied Fenrir up to “let him prove he could break the chain”; when he couldn’t break the chain, the gods refused to free him, and Fenrir bit Tyr’s arm off, because that was the deal.
So Fenrir has a serious rageboner going on against the Aesir and all of creation; that’s why he wants to eat the sun and end existence. A huge number of humans validating him, praising him, petting him and giving him yummy treats might actually convince him that, while the Aesir are still assholes and would deserve it if he ate them, he should not eat the sun because Midgardians are totally cool and give him petties.
Tasertrickslove 