Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"The most difficult performance in the world is acting naturally isn’t it? Everything else is artful.”

-Angela Carter

The orgy was in full swing, and Elle was bored. 

Her book was half-finished on her nightstand. New bath oils had been confiscated from a crashed miniature luxury cruiser the day before and now sat waiting in her room. She’d found what were probably not earbuds but would sure act like earbuds once she was done tinkering. She’d even pilfered a roll of something resembling electrical tape from the kitchens just that morning. She had things to do. Yes, getting her participation badge at the orgy was one of them, but it was far from her favorite. 

The Grandmaster must have been bored, himself; his treasured guests were all here tonight, in a fine show of wealth and indulgence. He was never one for moderation, but the extravagance was on full display. Aerial artists undulated on scarlet ribbons; the best liquor and food was heaped on buckling, cloth-covered tables in every corner; golden trays of aphrodisiacs, various toys and accoutrements, mood enhancers, and the jet-fuel that served as amphetamines were always within arm’s reach. And there were several arms, reaching constantly. 

The host of the evening was occupying himself with a four-armed, jade-skinned beauty strapped to the massive St. Andrew’s cross in the center of the room, something similar to a Wartenburg wheel in one hand while the other roamed his guest freely. She seemed to be enjoying it, head tossed back and jaw slack in her pleasure. The Grandmaster looked eager, in the way he always did, but… distant. Movements not quite as precise, eyes not quite as alert. Elle made a mental note to talk to him about it later, though the idea made her grimace.

She took a quick inventory of the room. Bodies writhed and twisted together, filling the air with the slick sounds of movement, guttural moans, ravenous screeches, and cries for more, always more. She sighed, sipping her drink. Here by the bar, she at least had solid footing. The floor was well-cushioned throughout the rest of the room, draped in rich, midnight blue fabric that reminded her of silk in some places, velvet in others. It seemed wholly impractical to her, but then again, it was designed to celebrate rather than hide the stains. The air was warm, the humidity beginning to climb. It already smelled like sex—a strangely sweet scent here, one tinted with a faint undercurrent of bitterness and… not rot. Not quite. Perhaps it was just the leftover miasma of the unfiltered air outside, or the mingling of sweat and various other fluids from so many bodies of so many beings. But the familiarity of it told Elle it was something else, something that every creature, even her, could feel for its own reasons.

Desperation.

Desperate to come. To leave. To die. It didn’t matter. It all smelled the same—like something softly wasting away, not quite in full decay, but so very far from salvation. 

Or maybe she was just projecting. 

We’re all denied something on Sakaar, she thought, more with resignation than bitterness. 

She sighed again as the trio closest to her found new positioning. The male, all golden, heaping muscle and wet, eager panting, rolled onto his back, bringing his beautiful, genderless partners with him. Elle caught sight of his monstrosity of a cock for just a moment before his partners descended on it, eagerly working the four short coral tongues shared between them over its considerable length and girth. They were lithe little things, rubbing and caressing each other and the male’s thighs, pausing only to exchange sloppy, breathy kisses. The male seemed enraptured. 

But not quite enough to be entirely distracted. 

He caught Elle’s gaze, eyes glassy and blown violet with lust. He scanned her body, arching to thrust further into the waiting mouths of his companions while staring openly at her breasts. Humanoid bodies were fairly common, even out here; she supposed his interest was piqued by the fact that hers was not exposed. Insinuated, surely, by the clinging layers of delicate black organza—even at his most benevolent, the Grandmaster would never allow for blatant modesty. But what her voyeur wanted, what he truly wanted, was hidden. Dragging his eyes back to hers, he licked his lips and grinned, holding out a beckoning hand. 

Elle’s boredom evaporated, hardening into rigid distrust as she watched his chest heave. She drained what was left of her drink, pausing to wipe her mouth on her wrist, aware of the low, quick thrum of her pulse. She relaxed the muscles around her eyes, in her jaw, staring down at him with perfect impassivity, projecting outwardly the absolute disinterest she felt within. There was no coiling heat, no fervent wanting. There had been a flicker of it, in the earlier days when it was still new. It wasn’t unlike watching porn: stimulating as a visual, but the idea of joining them…

God, I hate orgy days. 

The male groaned out his pleasure, gesturing for her again and speaking in a language she didn’t understand. It sounded very much like a demand. 

Sorry, buddy. I don’t take requests. 

She offered a one-shouldered shrug and turned away. 

Some days it worked. Today, it didn’t.

She heard the disappointed gasps of the two lithe creatures and the heavy thump of the male getting to his feet. She quickened her pace, but not in time: his hand fell on her shoulder, spinning her until she was staring at his chest. 

Her hands went up, as did his. Where she prepared to strike, he took a step back, grinning lopsidedly. She took care to maintain eye contact—she knew all too well that wandering eyes were often mistaken for open invitations. “No, no, I apologize,” he said, switching to a language she heard as her own. His voice was a low rumble in his chest, deep and even. It was probably appealing in some circles, she thought. He rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing toward his companions. “Won’t you join us?”

Asking nicely? He must think I’ve already been dosed. Her participation would have been a given, then, if not her consent.

“We know the Grandmaster requires that everyone take part. We…” He glanced back, and she saw that his lovers had risen to their knees, watching them hungrily while still exploring each other. When he turned back to Elle, his lips had parted. His voice dropped lower, becoming rough. Demanding. “We have not had one of your kind yet tonight. You look so soft...”

He stretched out to touch her, only to have his hand yanked away. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Otho, pal, what is this?”

With considerable effort and two deep breaths, Elle stepped into the cool grip that rested against the small of her back. 

She took a modicum of pride in the fact that she didn’t wince. 

The Grandmaster’s arm slid up around her shoulders, pulling her close. When she was sure she wasn’t grimacing, she looked up, only to find him openly beaming at her. His eyeliner was smudged, as was the decorative blue line on his chin. His lips gleamed, no doubt a gift left over from his friend over on the cross. She forced herself to stay still. She couldn’t react. 

Not here. 

“You all right, sweetheart?” 

Elle nodded, trying to decide quickly where to put her hand. She settled on the loose fabric of his golden lapel, gripped between her thumb and forefinger, avoiding any of his skin against her own. “Just a misunderstanding.” She flashed a weak smile at her admirer, shoulders rigid to the point of pain.

The Grandmaster didn’t bother to look away as he licked his lips clean. Rather than disinterest, a thread of discomfort stitched itself through her, a taut, precise pain in her gut. He squeezed her shoulder, lowering his forehead to hers in a show of intimacy that made her palms go clammy and cold. “Not this one, Otho,” he chuckled. “If you’d like to sample a human we have some… Ah! There, over on the far left, we have a beautiful male specimen under two of our neighboring Zandaarians… Zandaroos… what have you, and by the fountain we have two lovely females who just had some Devil’s Kiss. Feel free to go, ah, introduce yourself and your friends.” 

His voice went low, taking on a possessive edge. “But this one’s off limits.”

Otho looked between them for a moment, nodding quickly before shuffling away, taking his partners with him. He’d recognized the command, and the threat hidden within it. Elle was grateful for that. She still had nightmares of the last guest who'd tried to touch her without permission; she would remember the sound of his screams for years to come. This was her participation, she knew: a reason for the Grandmaster to show his power. 

All bodies were property on Sakaar, in one way or another. She was far from exempt. 

With another squeeze to her shoulder, the Grandmaster pulled away, running his palms along the exposed ridge of her collarbones. “We have a new shipment in the morning. Scrapper 142’s coming by. Meet me for breakfast?”

Elle gave him her most convincing smile. It almost felt natural, now. “Of course.” Then, reminding herself of the mental note she’d stored away earlier, steadied by the sting of alcohol in her system, she pressed her fingertips against his temple, clocking the way his eyes fluttered closed. Too much. She flinched away quickly. “You look distracted. Have you been sleeping?”

His smile was soft, almost what she might have considered gentle. It tore a wave of cold dread from the tip of her spine straight through to her gut. He titled his head, lips parting, and she lost herself. She jerked back, eyes wide. 

He chuckled again, gaze dropping to her lips. “My girl,” he purred. “It breaks my heart that we can’t enjoy each other, sweetheart.”

Elle forced a nod that was more or less steady. Even with so many months of practice, this parody of intimacy made her stomach clench. She swallowed around the tightness in her throat, dry and painful and filled with the taste of metal. “Maybe in another life.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes glinting in a way she couldn’t place. Her dread began to boil over into panic, her muscles straining with the instinct to run. She’d never make it to the exit if he decided to take her here. 

Does he know?

He blinked then, content and lazy, and the spell was broken. With a final, lingering caress down her arms and a quick kiss against each set of knuckles, the Grandmaster beckoned for Topaz, who had been scowling quietly at the entryway. “Topaz, would you see to it that Elle makes it back to her room unbothered?” He grinned. “Keep the melt stick with you, in case any of my other guests try to invite her to play. I’ll have a word with Otho later.”

Topaz smirked, falling into step behind Elle as they made their way out. The melt stick hung heavily at her side, unused for the duration of their blessedly silent trek.

Elle stood perfectly still, staring into her room without seeing it. The familiar numbness settled over her as soon as the door clicked shut, a ratty-looking hand-strung nest of wires and diodes knotted together over the knob to form a makeshift but surefire electromagnetic lock. Fatigue crowded her, the last surge of energy draining from her limbs, as if she was a faucet someone had forgotten to turn off. Her eyes were dry, grainy, like she’d been staring at something too bright for too long. She didn’t make it to the bed—she sat down heavily on the floor, pressing her forehead to her knees, inhaling until her lungs hurt. 

She held her breath. And held it. And held it, until her ears began to ring and she felt her pulse, hard and persistent, in her temples.

It was comforting in a way, her heartbeat. Her fragile, terrible, ridiculous heartbeat. Just one of the things that made her so wretchedly human. A rarity here, as she was so often reminded. Too breakable and weak to escape, as she’d learned on her own. 

One more garbage being on this garbage planet. 

When she finally exhaled, she let herself crumple to the floor, curling up on her side. She heard shouting and reedy peals of laughter from outside; an impressive feat, given the thickness of the glass on windows. She sighed ruefully, knowing perfectly well that the glass was meant to keep things in. The relative soundproofing was just an unexpected perk.

One she’d be glad for tonight. Exhaustion had caught up with her. It had been a short night, comparatively, but the orgies were always stressful. And the Grandmaster, well... Earning her keep was draining. 

He does look tired, she mused, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. And the party tonight was meant to impress. Wonder if company’s coming or if he’s looking to shake things up.

She thought of his Champion’s most recent match and shivered. Boredom was not a good look on her host. It made him vicious, took his usual impulsiveness and gave it will and teeth. No, she couldn't afford his boredom. Elle was all too aware of the limitations she’d imposed on herself with her creative retelling of her situation, but she needed to keep him occupied. Once his interest in her ran out…

No, can’t think that way. I’ll get out of here before that happens. I have to keep trying.

But the thought was a bit more hollow than it used to be. A bit less sharp, taking on the dreadful, creeping weight of skepticism. Betraying a lack of faith, not in her conviction, but in her ability. And that was much, much worse.  

No. No, I’m just tired. I’ve been at the Grandmaster’s beck and call for weeks without a break. I just need a break. Just a little one. Something to distract him for a couple days so I can recharge.

Rubbing her eyes, she dragged herself back to her feet, stripping off her dress and hanging it back in the spacious closet. Dozens of other dresses of various colors, fabrics, lengths, and translucence winked out at her. All gifts from the Grandmaster. Reminders that everything in this room, on this world, was his. 

She squared her shoulders, closing the closet door more forcefully than necessary. No. Not everything. 

Still bare, and secure in her privacy for the time being, Elle padded across her room and pulled open the ornate cabinet that served as her in-suite bar. She pawed through the bottles, grabbing one with a gold ribbon tied around the neck: her own self-administered token verifying that the drink was aphrodisiac-free. She allowed herself a heavy pour of the reddish-amber liquor, followed by an equally heavy swallow. It tasted like spiced whiskey laced with cream, with a subtle burn that sizzled genty through her chest and into her stomach, lending her a warmth she did not truly feel. It called to mind the memory of a glowing fireplace, the smell of woodsmoke, and the silver glint of fresh snow, sharp and glittering in the moonlight. 

Her heart clenched. She missed snow. She missed the fire-bright glow of the afternoon sun on autumn leaves. She missed trees and the earthy-sweet scent of apples; waffles and tacos; the holler of the mouthy bluejays that lived outside her window before… this. With each memory, each precious moment now lost, her heart gave another painful squeeze.

She sought her refuge in the dark. She turned off the lights and curled up on the windowsill, watching the city outside churn in the artificial light. Not starlight. It was never starlight here. She leaned her head against the glass to stare up at an indifferent sky. 

Instead of stars, there were doorways. That’s what the Grandmaster called them. So many doorways, and like Alice thrust into a terrible wonderland, she couldn’t reach any of them. The big fiery one on the horizon burned brightest, but there were others; burning white, cold blue, tired purple, and colors she had no name for that seemed more like texture than shades of light, blinking in and out of existence, opening and closing their unseeing eyes to the lost, hopeless creatures of Sakaar. 

Elle took a large gulp, then another, then thought fuck it and drained her glass all at once. She’d hurt for it in the morning. Hell, she hurt for it now, her stomach giving a queasy clench while a mean, insistent throb drummed in her temples. But the pain came with its own bitter sort of comfort. She wanted to want to cry. To scream. To rage and tear the room apart. Anything to shake away this awful, echoing emptiness inside her that was growing by the day.

God, if I could even just masturbate and go the fuck to sleep blissed out and numb rather than trapped under this steadily creeping cold...

But no. She wasn’t in the mood, wouldn’t be in the mood without some help. Those bottles were marked with red ribbon. She’d moved them to the highest shelf of her cabinet, the one she had to stand up on her toes to reach, for nights just like this one when the loneliness and sour, stinking desperation bit down hard inside her. She couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t be vulnerable here, not even with herself. 

With a shaky sigh, she scrubbed her hands across her face before pressing her cheek to the window, returning her gaze to the starless sky. The glass was cool against her bare skin, a balm against the warmth of the alcohol. She watched the doorways open and close, open and close…

Just as she felt herself beginning to drift, a doorway opened, much closer to her than any of the others. She squinted against a burst of emerald light, brilliant and searing, leaving a glittering opalescent trail in its wake. Pretty, she thought hazily. There were so few pretty things on this planet, and they never lasted long. 

Nothing good ever lasts here. 

She roused just enough to shove herself off the sill and toward the laughably massive bed—clearly intended for more than just one occupant. She grumbled at the thought before plunging under the covers, the afterimage of that bright green flash still sparking when she closed her eyes. 

“Welcome to Sakaar, pretty,” she mumbled, before she fell into the deep, soft dark of sleep.

Chapter Text

Everyone wants to be heard, Elle mused. Especially half-insane, immortal megalomaniacs who are used to being obeyed. She reminded herself of this as she took a generous gulp of what served as the Sakaaran stand-in for a mimosa. Her head gave an answering throb. The Grandmaster was talking. Not to her yet—several guests from last night’s party were at the table with them, listening raptly to the Grandmaster’s retelling of how Scrapper 142 had brought him his Champion. He loved to tell the story when he knew she was visiting; this marked the eighth time Elle had heard it in full. 142 was probably the one thing on this god-forsaken planet he didn’t own, and he adored her for it. 

Lucky bitch, Elle thought, not without a hint of fondness. 

She joined in with the chorus of laughter wrapping around the table without really hearing the joke, her own voice thin. She pulled over some pink translucent fruit—like the ghost of a watermelon cube, in taste and appearance—and a greyish-blue bun that looked like well-structured mold but tasted more or less like a stale croissant. The combined sugar and carbs, or whatever their equivalents were, would hopefully ease the worst of her hangover before it was her turn to entertain their host. She eyed the remainder of her not-mimosa, caught between the pulsing in her temples and the sudden dryness of her tongue. 

The pain won out this time. She ate quietly, letting the food do its work, when the Grandmaster gestured toward her.

“—and then, on the very same night that my Champion won his first anniversary match, Scrapper 219 brought me my clairvoyant. Serendipity on full display. Remind me, sweetheart, did you see the contest that night?”

He knew perfectly well that she hadn’t, but this was part of the show. She was part of the show. And so, Elle gave him a small, practiced smile as the Grandmaster’s guests turned their focus towards her. “Not that night. You brought me to the arena, oh…” She leaned her chin against her fist, appearing to mull it over. “A week later, I think.”

“And what did you think?”

Ah, the full show then. 

Fine. 

She drew her shoulders up slowly pursing her lips and closing her eyes, shifting as if she were trapped beneath the steady press of something impossible and heavy. Something no mere mortal could endure. Or so she’d have them believe. “He was...overwhelming. There was so much rage crashing around him. As if he was out of control but, at the same time, in his element. He felt free. Maybe for the first time in his life.” She exhaled as she opened her eyes, letting her shoulders fall. “He was terrifying, but stunning in his power. He’ll only keep getting stronger. There’s so much potential still untapped.”

Some of the newer guests tittered or hummed their approval while her host leaned over to grasp her hand, petting it as one would a trapped bird. “My sensitive girl,” he cooed. 

Sensitive, sure. Or just from the same planet as the Hulk. And maybe getting to see a copy of Bruce Banner’s psych eval didn’t hurt, either. Her smile became genuine, just for a moment. 

If the Grandmaster had been looking at her eyes, he might have been able to tell. 

He leaned in closer, speaking just to her. “How about it? Ready to get inside me, sweetheart?”

Elle didn’t pull away, despite the unease converging in the tense space between her shoulders. The Grandmaster’s touch was an unwelcome necessity, her price of admission in the palace. 

He can’t fuck me, so there’s this.

“Ready as ever.” Her smile felt tight and pinched as she gave his hand a clumsy, rough pat, a far cry from the confident way she’d grabbed his lapel the night before. It was so much easier a drink or two in, and she regretted not drowning herself in knockoff mimosa.  

He didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he stood, drawing her up with him. “Friends, entertain yourselves for a bit. Eat, drink, enjoy the prevention fritters there, they’re a new flavor. My clairvoyant and I will be back soon.”

Elle suppressed her sigh. Let’s get this over with. I still haven’t finished my book.

If Elle prayed, it would be to Vanessa Ives, and if she ever made it back to earth, she was going to send Eva Green the biggest, gaudiest, most elaborate gift basket she could find. It was because of Vanessa that Elle added a little flourish with her fingertips before she took the Grandmaster’s hands. It was because of Vanessa that she knew to look up at him with a slight smirk; how she’d known to move her body when describing the Hulk’s aura, or energy, or whatever it was. It was because of Vanessa that Elle knew how to cast a spell, not of seance, but of stagecraft. And so, if there was ever to be a prayer on Elle’s lips, it would be in benediction to Vanessa Ives.

The dark hair and high cheekbones didn’t hurt, either. Elle always had appreciated the aesthetic, even when her switch wasn’t flipped. 

So, she cast. She blinked slowly in the right places as she wove her hands over his (summoning the fates to align his intentions with his needs, she’d told him), moving in a languid way that drew the Grandmaster’s attention more than she would’ve liked, had the massive golden table not stood guard between them. He was rapt, watching her face and her hands with an easy grin and hooded eyes. 

“Ready, Grandmaster?”

He licked his lips. “Always.”

He closed his eyes as she’d taught him to do and she drew her fingertips over his upturned palms, weaving across the lines there as if following a map, beginning to sway gently. Elle knew there was magic out there, spells and illusions and power she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. But there was no magic here. There was only her.

She’d seen the distraction in his eyes the night before, and now felt his fingers curling in to catch hers more eagerly than usual. 

He’s impatient. Throwing more frequent, more lavish parties. Anxiety? No, that’s not it. He doesn’t get anxious, not like humans do. What does an immortal, undisputed ruler have in place of anxiety?

She cracked one eye open for a moment, finding his still closed tight, brow pinched in concentration. The blue makeup on his chin was not quite as precise as usual. There was a slight waver in the line. 

Hm. 

Distraction, definitely. And frustration.

Yes; the Grandmaster was frustrated. He was feeling inadequate somehow, and he was making up for it by putting on a hell of a show, either for himself, or for someone else.

That makes two of us, I guess.

She hummed, suddenly sure he was looking at her. She tilted her head to the side as if listening to a voice just beyond her ability to hear—all part of the spell she crafted as carefully as a lie. The two weren’t so easy to distinguish, in her experience.

It wouldn’t be until much later that night that she’d think over her nonsense prediction, about the magic she didn’t really have, with a strange, twisting feeling in her chest. 

For now, she opened her eyes, giving the Grandmaster’s palms a gentle tap. “I’m sensing disruption,” she began, furrowing her brow. Looking strained usually served her well. “I’m sorry you’re frustrated. I can tell you’ve been working hard trying to get ready. I know it’ll help, when they arrive.”

The Grandmaster watched her face, her hands, a calculating smirk curling his lips. “When who arrives?”

Sometimes he liked the game, and sometimes he liked a test. It seemed today would be a test.

Elle closed her eyes again, taking the appropriate amount of time to calm her breathing and collect her thoughts. “Not a threat. And not the Scrappers.” She tilted her head and took a shot in the dark, one that nearly always came true on Sakaar. “A friend, I think. Company’s coming.”

The Grandmaster tossed his head back to laugh, eyes gleaming in the pleased way that told her she had done well.

“You know, when you first showed me this little… little ability of yours, I was skeptical. I’ve been around for a long time, sweetheart, but I’ve never met a human who could feel someone’s energy, or use that energy to see the future.”

To be fair, you still haven’t.

He leaned in, eyes taking on that precise and intense focus. His gaze trailed along her upper body, studying every shadow and curve. He reached over the desk to slide his hand over hers, her limbs going rigid at the feel of his deceptively soft skin. “But you’re something special, aren’t you? You have such interesting skills, sweetheart. I’m looking forward to the day when I don’t need them anymore.”

She pulled back. Not all at once, not severely, but her body recognized the danger. Her skin prickled, palms going damp, heartbeat picking up as her instincts told her to run and made every subtle move it could to distance her from the threat. In another life, she had known how to ignore this instinct, how to push through the surge of adrenaline and keep her body still while her synapses screamed. But the dangers on Earth were not like the dangers here. She’d learned she could not ignore her instincts, nor abandon her training. She had to exist in limbo, prepared to run, but never obvious enough to draw suspicion.

It more than contributed to her alcohol intake, but it had kept her alive. 

So, she leaned away, just far enough, and lowered her eyes. Made herself small. And glanced up at him through her lashes; another trick learned from Vanessa Ives.

The Grandmaster grinned. “My shy little virgin,” he sighed. “The first chance I get—”

“Excuse me? Sir?” 

The Grandmaster groaned dramatically at the fidgeting messenger. “Come on, I’m busy, can’t you see I’m busy? Nothing puts me in a melt stick-y mood more than interruptions.”

The messenger—a doppelganger for the Grandmaster’s newly-melted cousin, and perhaps made a lowly messenger for this very reason—somehow tensed and wilted at the same time. “No, sir! I mean yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that there’s a… king here to see you?”

At that, Elle’s host released her hands and whirled around, face crumpling in confusion. “A what?”

“A king, sir? I understand they’re a form of ruler—“

“I know what a king is. You said there’s one here?”

“Yes sir. Dema– …er, asking to speak with you.”

“Oh, is he?” The Grandmaster’s hands found his hips, forming what Elle had come to think of as a full-body pout. “And which Scrapper is letting this royal, ah, vagabond make demands? Are the obedience disks down?” He looked to where Topaz stood in the doorway, eyes widening. “Are the obedience disks down?”

Topaz grunted in the negative. 

The messenger rushed on. “He has no obedience disk, sir, and no Scrapper. He came in on his own.”

That caught the Grandmaster’s attention. He thought for a moment, running his fingers over the coif of his hair. “On his own. Now that’s interesting. Hm.” He turned back to Elle, his smile eager. “I don’t think one of your predictions has ever come to pass so quickly before, sweetheart. How interesting.”

Interesting, right. Not dumb luck in the least.

“I think I’ll take this meeting after all. Elle, be a doll and greet 142 when she arrives, would you?”

Topaz rolled her eyes, but Elle nodded. “I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.” 

She watched the three of them leave, taking her tension with them, before falling back to her seat with a tired, undignified grunt. 

Weird. She’d gotten lucky with plenty of her so-called readings before, but the timing of this one was uncanny. 

Maybe there’s some magic on my side after all. 

She scoffed at herself, rubbing at the tight band of muscle at the base of her neck. This little charade of hers wasn’t getting any easier. Making predictions interesting enough to keep the Grandmaster’s attention, but still vague enough to apply to any situation that may pop up, was a constant guessing game, one that demanded all of her attention and acuity. She needed to be able to react and adapt, to remember what lies she’d spun and adjust them on a whim. 

She was all too aware that failure would put an end to the meager protections she’d built up for herself. Would mean the Grandmaster would touch her in the ways he wanted. The thought made her shudder.

She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that this bossy king, whoever he was, would serve as a suitable distraction for a few days. It would give her one less thing to worry about. 

“He letting you nap on the job now, is he?”

Elle startled, blinking at the smirking face peering in at her from the doorway. She found herself smirking back, waving a hand dismissively even as she rose to greet her guest. “Recovering, not napping.”

“Hungover?”

“Mm. Only a bit.” She moved to perch on the edge of the table, letting go of some of the tension resting in her shoulders, if only for a few minutes. 

Scrapper 142 chuckled as she swaggered into the room, hands on her hips. “Not that I’m one to talk, but you ought to take it easy. What I know of humans, you can’t just replace any organs you bang up.”

“You’re not wrong.”

142 hummed, glancing around the room. “He around, then?”

“Just missed him. He asked me to look for you.”

“‘Course he did. I’ve got a good haul for him today.” She sidled up beside Elle, leaning back on the table’s edge. “Not as good as the big guy, but enough to keep him entertained for a while. Should be an alright payday.” She arched an eyebrow, tilting her head just so. 

Elle nodded, retrieving from her pocket three amber gems, each about the size of a child’s knuckle, and passing them to the Scrapper, dropping them into her upturned palm before pulling her arm back to her side. 

“Who’d you lift these from?” The playful lilt in 142’s voice told Elle she'd found a good stash. 

“A nice Zandaarian throuple at one of the smaller parties.”

The Scrapper chuckled. “You have any idea what these are?”

Elle crossed her arms, leaning to look down into 142’s palm. “Shiny?”

“Wedding gems. You stole someone’s vows.” Her other eyebrow went up, lips curling into a lovely, teasing smile. “Way to go, homewrecker.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t leave your wedding gems at the bar while you’re off tag-teaming a Cyscilian.”

“No matter how pretty they are,” 142 sighed. She considered the gems for a moment, pursing her lips. “Two of these cover your backpay. What’s the third one for?”

Elle dipped her head as a sudden heat laced through her cheeks. Scrapper 142 was one of those lucky women who was beautiful no matter what she did. When she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrow that way, looking incredulous, she looked especially beautiful. 

And especially like Josie. 

They had the same bright eyes; the same perfect, soft brown skin; a cupid’s bow that drew Elle’s gaze for a touch too long. The same edge of authority that had delighted Elle to no end, once upon a time. She’d spent a long time kissing that exact look away from Josie’s face. 

Right up until she wasn’t allowed to anymore. 

Seeing the expression on 142 always twisted an odd blade of want and terror through Elle’s chest. 142 made her want to want sex, made her miss the intimacy of it, of how it was with Josie. It ignited memories of what her body could do, how it could feel, when her switch was flipped. Which made her all the more wary of 142, making sure to never touch her. Elle didn’t know 142, not really. The idea of touching her when she wasn’t Josie, wasn’t anything beyond Scrapper 142, made Elle go cool and smooth somewhere deep in her belly. Made the idea of being touched unbearable. 

So Elle hid her flush and waited for it to pass, because her switch wasn’t flipped, and it would pass quickly.

When it did, she was able to give 142 a firm look, summoning a steady, official tone she hadn’t used since she was on Earth. “I need you to get me anything you can find on piloting ships.”

Now 142’s expression turned scolding, which was even more painfully familiar, but luckily, less alluring. “You’re not a pilot.”

“Not yet.”

“Look, Elle, I’m a pilot, and I’m still stuck on this bilgesnipe-den of a planet.”

“A what den?”

“Never mind. The point is, there’s no leaving Sakaar. You’re a good kid—“

“I’m thirty,” she snapped, immediately irritated with how immature that made her sound.

“Which is practically an infant from where I’m standing.” 142 turned, leveling her with a hard stare. “Listen to me. I’ve been here for centuries. Centuries. There’s no way off this rock. I’m happy to slip you supplies so you can build your little machines to keep your room safe and generally keep from going crazy here, but there’s no leaving. Those doorways in the sky are temporary, and more often than not, one-way. You know that.” She reached to pat Elle’s shoulder, but Elle jerked away, lips pressed into a thin line. 

142 let her hand fall with a brusque sigh. “You’re just going to torture yourself if you don’t give it up.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Or get yourself in trouble. You’re lucky I’m the one who found you out roaming all those months ago, yeah? Not a lot of human sympathizers out here, Elle. Could’ve been any of the Grandmaster's rougher guests, or a Scrapper looking to get a better payday. Worse, could’ve been the man himself. He sees how eager you are to get away from him, he’s going to start looking much closer at all those pretty tales you spin for him, and nobody wants that now, do we?”

Elle ground her teeth, but nodded.

“S’what I thought. Now, I’ll tell him you greeted me. And I’ll keep this—“ she shuffled the gems in her hand, “as pre-payment for anything useful I see. But I’m not setting you up for failure, you understand? Hijacking a ship isn’t worth risking your life for. Or mine, if he finds out I helped you.”

Deep, prickling heat rushed into her neck, her cheeks, though this time it was the stain of anger, and no little amount of embarrassment at being scolded this way. She nodded again, not trusting herself to keep the petulance from her voice. 142 was an ally if nothing else. She couldn’t afford to lose that. 

“Good. You stay out of trouble, yeah? I’m here for a couple of days, but I’m training with the big guy as soon as my meeting with the Grandmaster’s done. If you think of anything non -pilot related you need me to be on the lookout for, meet me at the bar.”

Then Elle was alone, still staring vacantly at the place where 142 had just stood. Her hands had curled into tight fists, but that precious barb of anger was already beginning to fade back into the increasingly familiar numbness that filled so many of her days. She tried to grasp it, to replay 142’s words in her head to stoke the flames, but it was too late. The leaden press of hopelessness crowded her again, pushing her down slowly until she was sitting on the floor. All she could do was stare. 

The Grandmaster was having a party tonight. A post-orgy wind-down, as he liked to call them, though it often took very little effort for guests to turn it into a second orgy night, minus the bells and whistles. (Unless the guests brought them from their rooms.) The orgy held no interest for her, but Elle was resolute that she would make an appearance and find herself some of the stronger liquor, the stuff that had been removed from her room when she’d been identified as human. 

If she had to be here without hope, without a plan, she could at least black out through it. 

Maybe I can get my hands on some better magic.

Chapter Text

Loki was in no mood for any of this.

This planet. 

This meeting. 

This abhorrent pink and yellow lightshow and the many, many bodies around him. 

What started as chagrin had quickly morphed into hackled rage. 

Yesterday, he was a king. The rightful king. Asgard had been fine under his care. More than fine. The recent successes had occurred under Odin’s guise, perhaps, but it was his planning, his intention, administration, and skill which had kept things running quite smoothly. 

Thor had no right bringing the old fool back! And what business was it of that second-rate Midgardian charlatan? Oh, he’d seen the spell coming from a galaxy away. It was not an impressive spell; no Midgardian magic would ever be impressive. But it was, in its own feeble way, unique. Unique enough that he’d cast a spell of his own on impulse, and then had sidestepped the collision, and then... 

“Brother, no!” Thor’s thunderous voice, whipping out at him as he fell. 

Again.

And then here he was, on this wretched nightmare of a planet. Worse than his foul mood was the fact that he had to swallow said foul mood, leaving a burning bitterness on his tongue. The severity of it, of being stuck here, stuck at this ridiculous bar, in this ridiculous room, waiting for the ridiculous ruler—who had emphatically insisted they meet at sundown, which had now come and gone—weighed down on him, stinging his chest with the thorns of indignity, swelling and surging until he snarled and crushed his glass in his fist.

It was a loss of composure he should not have allowed, one that would goad him with embarrassed irritation later. 

He was not above acting on impulse. Far from it. He was above acting on impulse so visibly, when he needed to keep his wits about him.

The bartender looked up, mildly concerned, and set about fixing him another drink. Loki shook the shards from his hand; at least his skin had not broken. Perhaps he was not entirely without hope.

He had to think. It was difficult with the reedy, whining music, the tacky lights, and the heaps of bodies that seemed to be shedding clothing by the moment. They were distractions, ones he could not afford. It was infuriating enough that he’d crashed on this heap of refuse in the night, had been manhandled by what laughably passed for security, asked if he was food, proved with just his bare hands that he was in fact a fighter, and once he’d made his way to the palace, had been made to wait. 

To wait!

While this Grandmaster had taken his very grand time swaggering across this gauche chrome charade of palace to deign to speak to him, as if Loki were the inconvenience rather than this grotesquery of a planet that had the audacity to hurl itself into the path of his unfortunate plummet from the Bifrost…

Enough. He forced himself to breathe, to unclench the muscles in his jaw and relax his shoulders. 

As irate as he was to have landed here, it was clear that he needed to endear himself to the Grandmaster. Garish as he may be, he had seemed both taken with and nonchalant towards the very abbreviated and heavily edited tale of how Loki came to be on Sakaar. And just when Loki had thought there might be a thread of similarity between them, the Grandmaster had revealed that where Loki could, when called upon, present the appearance of madness, he was a genuine madman. He’d melted that messenger for “looking at him the way Carlo did,” cackling the whole way through. Which meant that, in addition to garish, he was unhinged, and, unquestionably, in absolute control here. 

Which left Loki in a predicament, circumstances being what they were.

With a discrete flick of his wrist, he reached once more for his interdimensional pockets, searching for a blade. One of his decorative daggers, a ceremonial lancet, a well-oiled hunting knife. Any of them. 

Nothing. His hand remained empty. 

He could feel them, but he could not reach them. Something had gone wrong in the collision of his spell and that of the wizard, something that left him bound. He could not change his form, could not cast an illusion. He couldn’t even detect the flickerings of the Bifrost. 

With no Bifrost and no magic, it was with no small wave of horror that Loki had realized he was stuck here.

His strength was intact—his scuffle outside the palace and now his unmarred hand had proven that. He was unsure as to whether he was impervious to melting, but his strength had not failed him. 

But his strength was not enough, not even with centuries of training at his disposal. He could not fight his way off of a strange planet without a ship, not without making a sea of enemies. He was in unknown territory, unsure of the powers and limitations of this place. What he needed now, he realized with a fresh wave of irritation, was patience. Cunning. A plan.

Oh yes, the wizard would pay dearly for this. Loki began to categorize the ways (metaphorical torment made physical had the correct level of flair, he felt; or perhaps he could dabble in the Midgardian plagues; or better yet, the plagues of Muspelheim) when the energy about him tensed, nearly solid enough to brush against him.   

That was something, at least. His pockets may be closed to him, but it appeared his senses were not. He could tell immediately that the woman standing next to him was hidden behind a wall of lies. 

Only a few beings, himself among them, could lie without ever distorting the energy around them. The rest, he had learned, did so with various forms and volumes of disruption.

For very poor liars, it strained as if it were muscle tension, taut, sore, and painfully obvious.

Very skilled liars could weave their tales and leave the air feeling like a brush of satin. Soft, unimposing, certainly pleasant in terms of storytelling, but still altogether untrue.

Infrequent liars sent out tremors, their deceptions turbulent from a lack of practice. 

White lies felt like cobwebs: sticky, not quite getting everywhere, but still distinct. And often, once discovered, sent their recipients into uncomfortable flailing. 

It was not uncommon for beings to lie frequently, and mortals—and this woman certainly appeared mortal—always seemed surrounded by at least a thin, hardened shell of untruth, be it due to the tedious lies they told each other (it’s not that noticeable; it’s fine, I don’t mind taking care of it) or themselves (I’ll start tomorrow; I love my job). But the woman next to him, she lied willingly and often, and with an indisputable degree of skill. She was cloaked in them, so much so that the energy around her felt like a physical barrier. 

It was not quite uncomfortable, but it was distracting, which was precisely what he was not in the mood for.

And so he ignored her, not even bothering to glare from his periphery as he reached for the opaque purple liquid that had been served up to him. He could not solve his problems in this moment, but he could perhaps take the edge off his temper.

He’d brought it halfway to his lips when the woman pressed a single finger to the rim of the glass, halting its progress. This time he did glare, even turning his head to glower at the offending digit. He knew he needed to play the role of eager guest when the Grandmaster was present, but he was not present now. And so, Loki did nothing to conceal the venom in his voice. “I assure you, whatever liquor this is, I can manage.” He flicked her hand away, sneering in distaste. 

She at least had the wherewithal to look startled before seeming to catch herself, pulling her expression into one of feigned apathy. 

How irritating.  

“Maybe,” she said, voice clipped. “But that isn’t liquor.”

“Oh?”

“That is one of the stronger aphrodisiacs on Sakaar.” She invaded his space again to tap her nail against the rim, sending a soft clink into the air. “That will turn you into a mindless, rutting monster for the rest of the night. It tends to take people by surprise the first time.”

She settled back on her stool, the light catching in her pinned hair, making it look darker than it probably was. The harsh lights cut severe lines beneath her cheekbones, making her look more wraith than woman. There was a strangeness about her, some clashing of adrenaline and stillness that set his teeth on edge. He knew a trapped animal when he saw one, had been one recently enough to recognize the stench of it. Unexpected was the calculation in her eyes, paired with that decidedly dishonest air about her. He tested her energy again; she was most certainly mortal. What’s more, she was not lying about this. The truth of her revelation felt like a draft coming in from a very small crack beneath a door. 

How she had managed to get herself lost all the way out here was beyond him, but that was her battle to wage. He would not trifle with her or anyone else, and if she would not leave of her own accord, he would make her.

Loki rested on his elbow, lips splitting into a perfectly wicked grin. “Are you looking for a mindless, rutting monster? I should think you’d have your pick of defilers here, a weak little thing like you.” His grin vanished, replaced by a frigid, deceptive calm, a veneer of ice over a roiling sea. His voice fell to a venomous growl. “But I am not among them. I have no interest in you or your games, Midgardian. I will not break you in—I will break you. It would serve us both well for you to deliver your charms elsewhere, deficient as they are.”

She recoiled, and a dark sort of pleasure curled up through him like smoke. Good. Humans were meant to be fearful, groveling things. Let her return to her natural state and be done with it.

But she did not move away, did not turn and run. Instead, she seemed to settle, staring at him as she lifted her chin and drained the rest of her own clear beverage before motioning the bartender for another. She broke her stare only to stand and smooth her hands over the skirt of her sheer dress, then lowered her head towards him as if imparting some great secret. “My deficient charms just did you a big favor. Rut along, if you’re so inclined.”

She took a quick sip, scowling at him in farewell as she spun away from the bar. He watched her go, noting the flex of her shoulders and the tightness in her body, as if attempting to shield herself. She was rigid, head swiveling as if she did not trust anyone in the room to come near her. Indeed, she seemed more uncomfortable there in the sea of people than she had nearly sticking her hand into his drink.

It is not my battle.

He turned his attention back to his drink, but he did not touch it. In fact, with the woman’s strange warning still in his ears, he made a note to refrain from drinking anything for the remainder of the evening, at least until he knew what was safe to ingest. 

“I see you’ve met my favorite human.”

Loki buried his grimace and made a show of slowly turning toward the voice of his host, spreading his legs a bit to emphasize his relaxed posture and offering up a wide stretch of a grin. It was time for his performance, it seemed. “Grandmaster. Wonderful to see you.” Hours late, you impossible cretin. “A human, you say?” It was not often that Loki chose to play vapid, but he trusted his instincts that this was the best approach.

The Grandmaster grinned, motioning for another of what Loki was (not) drinking. “Yes indeed! My Elle came to me all the way from Earth! Can’t say I’ve ever had a human with abilities before, but she is a treasure.”

Abilities?  

Odd. Loki had sensed no magic in the woman, no abilities of any kind, and yet the Grandmaster was telling the truth. Or what Loki approximated to be the truth; his energy felt ancient, like fine dust on an old leather-bound book. It had a strange ephemeral quality about it, but it was most certainly still the truth. He truly believed the woman was a mage of some sort.

Was Loki’s own magic truly that far removed from him? Perhaps tales of her supposed powers were but one of the many lies woven around her.

Norns help him, what kind of mess had he found himself in?

“I’m glad you stuck around,” the Grandmaster went on, quickly swallowing half his drink. “The party’s about to really get started. I have some friends I’d love you to meet. They’ll get a real kick out of this whole king thing you have going on.”

“Delightful.” Loki managed to keep his grin in place, even allowing it to tinge his voice with what would be heard as enthusiasm. It was irritating, yes, but not completely without its benefits. He had been living as Odin for years now; having his own visage in place, his own voice, even if he was using it for a performance, was a relief in its own way. A strange sort of homecoming, even as he found himself ejected from his true home. 

Though, it is not my true home, is it?

He pushed the thought aside. He did not have time to dwell on his ancestry. Not here, and certainly not now. 

The Grandmaster blinked then, and suddenly his pupils were blown, a flush rising to his cheeks and neck. He gave Loki a crawling smile. “We can meet them now, if you’d like.”

Loki donned a flattered grin, pressing a hand to his chest and dipping his head in a show of gratitude. Manners maketh the man, after all.  

“Another night, perhaps. I would like to see my room and rest. I must make sure to be at my peak when I meet your peers, after all.”

The Grandmaster clapped him on the back, laughing a bit too loudly. “Of course, of course! We’ll get you rested for the next round of the, ah, group festivities. Well, the next big round won’t be for another month, but you’re more than welcome at any of the smaller parties that’ll pop up before then. That’s just a bit of courtesy we have here: welcome at the small ones, only expected at the big ones.” He winked, yet there was a glint in his eye which told Loki that the expectation was not up for negotiation.

His shoulders pulled together in a painful knot. This is not acceptable. 

If group coupling was the way of things here, so be it, but he would not be commanded, nor forced to acquiesce against his will. He would be patient, would determine a plan for escape, but he would die before he surrendered his body or mind. 

Never again.

The Grandmaster did not seem to note Loki’s careful silence and went on. “Take the night to get your bearings. When you’re ready, one of the servants will see you to your room. Make yourself at home here. See the sights, enjoy the other guests. I’ll bring you to see my Champion in the arena for the next match.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Oh, and ah, Loki. Loke.” He slid a hand up Loki’s arm, coming to rest at the base of his neck. His eyes took on a manic gleam. “You’re a fresh set of eyes here, something that’s always helpful. If you see anyone playing a little too nice with my human, let me know, hm?” 

A warning, masquerading as a request. 

“Ah. Are there snakes in your garden hunting forbidden fruit?”

Loki caught sight of the human woman as she skirted the edge of the room, rubbing tiredly at her eyes as she moved toward an exit. The Grandmaster watched her with open hunger, tongue darting to wet his lip. 

“No fruit’s forbidden on Sakaar, my friend, but there is a line. I have plans for that one, so I have to insist that my other guests wait their turn. The other humans I have here are painfully average, but you’re welcome to them, if that’s your thing.”

Loki did not bother to hide his grimace. “I can assure you, they are most certainly not my thing.”

Back in her room, head swimming as much as she’d wanted but more than she needed, Elle paced, thumbnail chewed down to the quick. 

Loki was here.

Loki!

That asshole!

She’d been trying to help him! Despite every shred of instinct, she’d reached out, had stopped him from drinking the Devil’s Kiss, and had probably kept him out of the Grandmaster’s hands for the night. And what did she get in return?

“I will not break you in. I will break you.” 

She should have known better. Now she was all anxiety and bunched muscles, the angry shuddering of her pulse and the burn of adrenaline. That’s what she got for trying to help Loki of Asgard: threats and a stomach ache. What good would any of that do?

Several thoughts crowded her at once. 

First was a memory. Standing with her classmates in the lounge, swapping thesis edits. Turning to watch as the television along the far wall was tuned to the news, showing New York City in a haze of smoke and rubble. Taking Josie’s hand and feeling like it was the only anchor keeping her from drifting away as footage of debris and flames and creatures flooded the screen. Above it all, a man with a rush of raven hair and a crown of golden horns. Albany mourned with their neighbors, grieving both in sincerity and solidarity for the loved ones who lived and worked downstate. It wasn’t their house that had suffered, but it was still their home, and they shared in the shock and rage of that day and in the months and years to come. 

Second was knowledge. Elle should be petrified. And she was; her hand was still trembling from when she’d impulsively reached out to stop him from taking a drink. Her cheeks still burned from his harsh words, the cutting blade of his voice, so much sharper in person. She knew who Loki was, and dangerous was the least of it. She knew, deep in her marrow, that she should stay as far away from him as possible—he was one more problem she didn’t need, a threat in every way. He could kill her. Reveal her. Gather up all the lies she set out for herself here, the ones that protected her, and reduce them to ash.

But third, bright and demanding, was instinct: an intuition planted as deep in her bones as the knowledge that she needed to stay away from him. One that rang through her with clear and absolute certainty, echoing through her with a resolution she could not deny. 

Loki’s my ticket home. 

Dangerous as he was, Loki knew magic. Real magic, not the facade she’d thrown together out of desperation. And he was a god, actual living royalty, and he had skills, strength, and access she didn’t. As a man and as a mage, he could open a lot of doors she couldn’t. 

Even the ones in the sky above Sakaar.

She just needed to get him to do it. Asshole status aside, she had to try.

She squared her shoulders, moving quickly over to her nightstand and drawing out the little plastic ID badge. A relic now. A reminder of who she’d been. Of who she would be again. 

Elle Cutler
AGENT #862-B
CLEARANCE LEVEL 3
S.H.I.E.L.D. 

Even agents with her clearance level knew that Loki was still considered hostile. While the kill order had been lifted, protocol required detainment—he had information S.H.I.E.L.D. desperately wanted. Elle knew she was in no position to detain him; she was desperate, not stupid. There was no way to overpower him, not here, and not alone. But, despite the memory of the destruction he’d brought down on the city, despite the danger that ran through every Asgardian cell of his body, she needed him.

Fuck.

Backing away from the bed, she moved to the vanity, dropping to open the bottom drawer. Her room, as all rooms were, had been supplied with an array of ropes, silk ties, blindfolds, leather straps, and a selection of vibrating and penetrating toys, some that would accommodate a human and some that absolutely would not. She dug through the items she’d stashed away, shoving it all to the side to glare down at the one thing in the drawer she wanted. 

The Chitauri weapon. 

She scowled at it, at its cracked power cell, at the empty lines of energy tubing that felt so much like cold flesh. It was useless now, had been dark and silent since the day it brought her here. 

I stole it and it stole me. How fitting.

No, she wasn’t strong enough to detain Loki, not even if the weapon was functional, or even if she knew how to fix it. And without the weapon, she couldn't go home. Even if she did find a way back to Earth, if she showed up empty-handed, Director Fury would throw her in a cell and she’d never see daylight again.

But.

If she returned it with Loki…

Her pulse thrummed in her temples, teeth sinking into her lip. If Loki brought her back to Earth, she could give S.H.I.E.L.D the weapon. Could beg for forgiveness, and in exchange, deliver their favorite enemy and explain that it was all just a massive misunderstanding. 

She almost laughed at how deceptively easy it sounded. 

God help her, did this mean she had to trick him? There was no way he’d help a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, no matter how low she was on the ladder. And certainly not if he knew she meant to turn him in. 

Was it even possible to keep something from him? 

She turned her badge over in her hands, bringing her sore thumb back to her mouth. 

What if it wasn’t a lie? What if it was just... obfuscation?

It was risky. Incredibly risky. Lying to the God of Lies? Do I officially have a death wish?

Swallowing hard, she slid the ID in alongside the weapon, burying them both under the party favors of Sakaar and nudging the drawer shut. 

She would worry about the obligations and repercussions of Agent #862-B when Loki got her back to Earth. 

And he would get her back to Earth. 

She just had to figure out how. 

When she tossed her dress back into the closet and fell naked and free into bed, she thought about magic, about predictions and circumstance. About lies and liars, and about power being more effort than it was worth. 

About what she would need to do next.

Chapter Text

Loki hadn’t slept. He had too much to think over, too many plots to untangle before he could begin to weave some of his own. He’d spent a great deal of the night trying to access his pockets. He’d made attempts in both his Asgardian and Jotunn forms, and all he had managed to conjure was a greasy headache and dry eyes.

He growled out his frustration, scrubbing his hands over his face. He could feel it! His own magic, hovering just out of reach, yet he could not summon it. As the night wore on, his rage toward the wizard’s little stunt had given way to a genuine knot of concern, tight and hard in his chest. He had stopped contemplating revenge just as the twin suns began to blur the dark horizon, casting bright, watery light about the room. He would reclaim his magic in due time; now, his focus must turn toward escape.

And self preservation, he thought with a scowl. He would not become the plaything of the Grandmaster, though if last night had been any indication, there would be a multitude of pitfalls to lead him in that direction. He thought of his near-encounter with the purple beverage, frown deepening. He would need to get his bearings quickly. 

The Grandmaster’s mortal had known what it was, had acted quickly to stop him. If a weak little thing like her could survive on this planet, surely it would prove easier for him. 

He pondered his options while scanning his surroundings. His chambers were fairly large by non-Asgardian standards, more length than width, mostly gold with accents of black and indigo. A decently-sized bed sprawled against the far wall, along with a dresser, small vanity, and a chrome door leading into the bathroom. There was a large rounded window over the bed, revealing streets already beginning to teem with moving bodies, crowded carts, and refuse, some of it actual trash and some of it merely the supplies that the people here lived off of.  A holographic divider, more of that same shimmering gold and indigo, separated the bedroom space from a living area. Two dark leather sofas faced each other there, flanked by bookshelves filled with an assortment of alien reading material and foreign gadgets, and to the right, a massive in-suite bar, made from a dark wood with gold woodgrain sparking through. 

Better than he was anticipating, save for the wall-to-wall mirrors adorning his ceiling. He glared up at himself. A few above the bed or along the wall he could understand, but the entire ceiling? It truly was excessive, and entirely overzealous. And most offensive, each one captured the rising Sakaaran suns, pitching the light back at him in an over-abundant heralding of that cutting daylight. 

A quiet knock on the door roused him from his tempestuousness. It took him a moment to cross the length of the room and greet a small orange-skinned servant who waited with downcast eyes. “The Grandmaster requests your presence for this morning’s meal.”

He nodded, already dressed in the blue leathers left for him. Stepping into the hall, he watched the servant stop at the door next to his, separated by the more or less respectable distance similar to what was granted to those staying in posh Midgardian hotels. It at least gave an illusion of personal space and freedom, false though it was.

The servant relayed the same message to his neighbor, who was also already dressed and prepared. He was surprised to see the Grandmaster’s mortal step into the hall, looking only slightly more rested than he felt. When she saw him, her mouth fell into a small O of surprise, giving him the strange impression that this was his first true glimpse of her.

She looked different in the daylight. Without the garish lights of the—orgy room? velvet lounge? There had been some unnecessarily decorative name for it that he’d instantly dismissed—she seemed more corporeal, but decidedly more displaced. Her hair, lighter and more of a mousy red in the light, had been pinned back neatly, more plain than any of the other styles he’d seen so far. She almost certainly bruised easily, with the sort of light, blushing skin that no doubt revealed every moment of clumsiness. There was a depth about her dark eyes that went beyond a lack of sleep and into, if he were to venture a guess, lack of security. Hunted, he supposed. Yes, she looked hunted. 

How long had she been here? She seemed in decent condition, considering the rough edges he’d seen of the planet. Although, he had caught sight of three other mortals the night before who seemed… Well, they seemed to be enjoying themselves in the moment, but they also had a steady stream of that purple liquor poured into them. She alone seemed exempt. 

Why would that be?

He saw her, with her wide, dark eyes and that tiny O of surprise on her lips, for only a moment before a mask slid into place. She seemed to pull inward, eyes going hollow and features pulling into a smooth nonchalance, dispassionate save for a lingering tightness around her jaw. She nodded stiffly in place of a greeting. “Did the Grandmaster keep you up late?” 

Indignance pricked at him. Was this her way of asking if he had allowed the Grandmaster to indulge in his company? Loki bristled and drew himself up. He had allowed himself to slip out of character in public last night. He could not do so again. Though still mindful of who might be listening, his tone was barbed. “The Grandmaster is a most benevolent host. It was unfortunate that I needed to retire early.”

She pursed her lips, turning to fall into step beside him as the servant led them down the long, winding hallway. Her dress—conservative judging from what he’d seen the night before, in that it came up to her collar bones and was only sheer around her midriff and legs—looked and moved like poured wine, brushing against his leg every fourth step or so. He made a perfunctory, irritated sound. Did she not know who he was? It rankled him further, imagining her ignorance. Or worse, senselessness.

“So no purple stuff for you, then?” she murmured under her breath. 

Ah, so this is the purpose for her proximity. He exhaled sharply through his nose, glaring at her from his periphery. “Is this what he keeps you for? To ensure participation? What a good pet you are for your master.”

Oh, she scowled at that, an angry red flush creeping up her neck. “If you’d participated,” she said, consonants sharp, “it might not be safe to be near you.” She glanced up, her stare just as hard as his own. 

His words from the night before hung between them, an unspoken threat. Or perhaps it was a promise. I will not break you in; I will break you. 

He looked away with a quiet, bitter laugh. “I assure you, it is never safe to be around me.” 

It must have been difficult for her to stiffen further. As it was, her body was pulled tight as the strings of a harp, all but singing with tension. Yet there was a shift in her body language, some subtle ripple that lowered her chin and made her draw her lower lip between her teeth. It was as if he’d caught her off-guard, somehow. As if she needed to recalibrate.

Strange.

“The purple stuff is different,” she continued after a moment’s hesitation. “It’s unpredictable, makes everyone rough after a while. I’m not sure what it would do to an Asgardian. You should be careful.”

She did know him, then. Good. He did not have to waste his time wondering. And yet she continued to linger, dress still brushing his calf. He glanced at her once more, arching a brow derisively. “Your efforts at camaraderie are wasted on me, mortal.”

She went quiet, eyes locked resolutely ahead, and Loki was grateful for the silence. He was not yet sure what kind of ruse this was, but he would not fall for it. The wall of lies around her was the most obvious testament to her mendacity, but it was far from the only one. She was dressed as a favored member of the court, and her exemption from the festivities was clearly a gift from the Grandmaster. No one had interfered with her that he had seen, and if his own chambers were any indication, she was kept quite comfortable. She must have done something to endear herself to the mad ruler, and until he knew what that was, she was not to be trusted.

Although, she had not lied about the purple beverage. Her claim that it was unpredictable, that she was unsure of the effect it would have on him, was another draft of truth through her wall. Why tell him at all? Why help him? 

What was she playing at?

He glanced at her, reading the tension in her jaw, how it traveled into her neck and shoulders.  She did not carry her lies well. She may have told them well, to any but him, but he read them on her as clearly as if they had been scrawled there with ink. He shook his head, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. 

He would not concern himself with the behavior of a lost mortal woman. Mere instances of truth were not enough to sway him, and they were certainly not proof that she wasn’t playing some game on behalf of her master. In his experience, be it because of loyalty or fear, pets were pets for a reason. 

He had no desire to be bitten. 

The servant led them down another corridor, the floor sloping gently downward into a massive open room filled with blossoming sunlight, glinting chrome furniture, and tables laden with food and drink. There were perhaps two dozen guests already seated, sending a jovial (and abrasive) din into the air. At the head of the table sat the Grandmaster, grinning and far too animated for so early in the day; the seats on either side of him were empty. The mortal woman pulled ahead to take her seat to the right. Loki took the left and slid into character, just in time for the Grandmaster to clap him on the shoulder. 

“Loki, my friend! Good morning, good morning, so pleased you could join me today. And you escorted my Elle, good morning, sweetheart.” When he leaned in to kiss her cheek, Loki saw her jaw tighten again, though her smile remained serene. “I’m glad you’re both here. I’m meeting with more Scrappers today, exciting stuff all around. Loki, you’re a king, you’ll like this. You can help me evaluate the new recruits. Sweetheart, since your prediction turned out so well yesterday, I’ll definitely need another reading. Let’s keep those fates on their toes, shall we?” 

The Grandmaster leaned over to pour a thin peach-colored drink for the three of them. Loki watched the woman; she didn’t hesitate to reach for it, and so neither did he. 

Hm. Perhaps she’ll prove useful, after all.

“And then,” the Grandmaster continued, “my kingly friend, after that, I’ll show you the grounds, maybe check out the training arena. And you have to meet some of my friends and associates. Quite a few inquiring minds asked about you after you disappeared last night.”

Of course they did. 

“And I look forward to meeting all of your guests in due time.” He flashed a flirtatious smile that the Grandmaster rather seemed to enjoy. “And to learning more about the… glorious planet of Sakaar.”

The mortal stared at him over the rim of her glass, but said nothing. 

“The planet of Sakaar wants to know about you. Look at you, you’ve got the tall, dark, and handsome thing down pat. Remind me where you fell from again?”

Loki pressed his tongue to the backs of his teeth. Fell. As if he hadn’t been cast out by Thor and that ridiculous wizard. He had told the Grandmaster some of this in their initial meeting. To be dismissed so blatantly, relegated to mundane, useless trivia worth forgetting… 

Perhaps it was for the best that he could not access his daggers. 

“Asgard,” he said at last, keeping his voice low. “I am from Asgard.”

“Right, right.” The man leaned in closer, eyes gleaming. “So, since you’re here for the foreseeable… ever… it’s important for me to know you’ll be comfortable here. You know how it goes, being royalty and all. You’ve been around, I’d imagine?” His smile became lascivious. “This isn’t your first time off planet ?”

A few of the other guests tittered, which only served to make the Grandmaster’s expression turn sharp and calculating. A challenge, then. A shallow, grasping one, but Loki could easily weather a challenge. He leaned in on his elbow, leaving very little space between them, all easy smiles and bright eyes. “I’ve enjoyed my share of travels,” he grinned, earning an interested hum from his host. “The realm of Vanaheim was the most welcoming to me as I recall, so eager to introduce their lords and ladies and everyone in between. They are ever so enthusiastic about their travelers, and their appetites are exquisitely voracious. Alfheim, on the other hand, offered the most beauty, which is an undeniable pleasure in and of itself.”

That earned a rumble of amused murmurs from the Grandmaster and the companions who were listening in. Stealing a glance at the mortal, Loki looked over just in time to see her complete a blunt roll of her eyes, more boredom than irritation, as she reached for some horrendous grey-blue pastry. 

Boredom? 

Loki inspired a great many emotions from mortals. Boredom was not one of them. 

His focus was recaptured by the Grandmaster’s fingers on his wrist. “And what’s the verdict? What wins out between enthusiasm and beauty?”

Loki flashed his most conspiratorial grin, leaning in ever further. “One should always endeavor to have both. Don’t you agree?”

The Grandmaster rumbled low in his throat, sliding back just enough to take the mortal woman’s hand and pull it to the tabletop. She did not look bored now. No, now she blinked a touch too rapidly, mouth turned down at the corners.

“What do you think, Elle?” The Grandmaster’s scrutinous stare moved off of Loki, though his fingers remained clasped around his wrist. “You’ve spent so much time reading other people. Enthusiasm or beauty? What’s the deciding factor?”

Loki expected an embarrassed flush, a stutter, a quick aversion of her eyes. Something in line with the tension that sung through her all morning. He was to see none of those: instead, she went still, taking a breath as she leaned in to rest her chin in the palm of her free hand, appearing to give it genuine thought. Though her eyes remained distant, she fixed their host with a thin smile.

An act. 

That was unexpected. 

What need would a favored pet have of such a performance? 

“Neither.”

“Neither?” The Grandmaster grinned. “What could be better than enthusiasm and beauty when traveling?”

“Niche interests.” Her tone was cool, nearly academic. She seemed to have disengaged, somehow, as if she had taken something from inside herself and set it out of reach. Energy twisted around her; not exactly lies, but certainly a performance of honesty. 

Interesting. 

She continued. “Enthusiasm only gets you so far without skill. Beauty’s a nice bonus, but it fades from everything after a while. But niche interests.” She lifted one shoulder, sitting up to take a drink. “Find someone who likes the same unconventional things you do and you’re set. Don’t you think?”

The Grandmaster lost himself in laughter, releasing Loki in favor of capturing the woman’s hand in both of his own. “So you were watching me with Rezh over on the cross. My sweet girl, you’ll drive me to my breaking point yet.” He shook his head, rounding back to Loki. “What do you think of that, my friend?”

Two can give a performance, little mortal. 

“The notion has merit.” Loki offered her the same sharp smile he’d given the Grandmaster. She did not return it; did not so much as blink. “It is not entirely surprising, considering the abundance of exceptionally niche interests found on Midgard. I can only hope some of them have found their way to Sakaar. Or that Sakaar has enough of its own to offer to put this theory to the test.” 

“Niche interests abound here, as I’m sure you’ll discover.” The Grandmaster titled his head. “Now, Midgard, what’s that one?”

“I believe you know it as Earth.”

Don’t talk about Earth.

Elle pressed her sore thumb against her thigh, focusing on the dull flare of pain. The Grandmaster’s typical opening line of questioning was to be expected, as was Loki’s ease at playing along. Or maybe not playing, but that wasn’t her business. That was the nature of things here on Sakaar; it was all indulgence, all the time; sex, food, alcohol—if it wasn’t in excess, it wasn’t enough. It was in Loki’s best interest to answer, and if he could add some lurid details, the more endeared the Grandmaster would be. 

But don’t bring up Earth. Or me.

Elle was rigid, more so than she should have been. She’d let Loki get to her. Before they even sat down, he’d gotten to her. Calling her a pet, the Grandmaster’s pet. It went straight to that hidden place in her chest she’d tried to ignore. The place that still felt pain.

I’m not his. I’m not anyone’s.

This is what she got for trying to help. More insults, and now the Grandmaster knew she knew what kinks were. God damn it. Why had she opened her mouth? 

Just had to surprise them, didn’t I. Had to show him… them… I don’t belong to the Grandmaster, that my thoughts and opinions are still mine, even if the rest of me isn’t. A-plus timing on that one, Elle.

She wanted to slap herself. And Loki. She definitely wanted to slap Loki. 

And now, after baiting her, he was going to badmouth Earth. 

“Oh, you’ve been to Earth!” The Grandmaster pulled her close, making her drink slosh out over her fingers. She shook them off with a grimace, which the Grandmaster didn’t seem to notice, but Loki did. His amused smile made her clench her jaw tightly enough that she almost expected her teeth to shatter. 

“That’s right, I told you Elle was from Earth! I’d always heard it was kind of boring. I had no idea that humans had evolved to have various, ah, powers—” he waggled his fingers, “and abilities and whatnot. Have you seen other humans with powers?”

Shit.

Loki’s bright gaze shifted to her and Elle’s stomach plummeted. He knows.

He looked infuriatingly casual as he leaned his temple against his fist. “Oh yes, mortals are learning a wealth of new tricks these days. Their technology is crude, but remarkably effective in allowing them to adapt. Their sorcery, if it can truly be called such, is cruder still, diluted and childish, but they do have it. Tell me, what is it your pet can do?”

Call me pet one more time, you cocky— 

“My little clairvoyant is certainly something. Good at feelings, auras and whatnot, with little peeks into the future. It’s the most marvelous trick. She’s helped me out with sorting the Scrappers and some of our recruits, the little lamb.”

Loki seemed to give it real thought, making her stomach tighten. “It’s been ages since I’ve encountered a true clairvoyant. Tell me, mortal, were you born with this gift, or was it bestowed upon you?”

He’s playing with me. Elle took a sip of her drink, running through the tidy list of not-quite-facts she’d given the Grandmaster. “It manifested when I was little and grew naturally as I got older. I made it up as I went.”

“Oh, I imagine you did.”

Elle bristled, fear and indignation making her tongue go sour. She opened her mouth to speak, but the Grandmaster beat her to it. “And these other humans with powers, do they all have the same limitation?”

Shit!

To her horror, Loki’s face lit up, looking genuinely interested rather than just trying to get a rise out of her. She could all but see the cogs turning in his head.

“Human limitations are as unique as their powers, in my experience. Which specific limitation does your clairvoyant have?”

Fuck! 

The Grandmaster patted her gently, acting for all the world as if she’d been burdened with some great affliction. “The curse of purity. Isn’t it terrible?” 

The painful knot in her stomach went into freefall, a lead weight plummeting through her, ears beginning to ring. The look on Loki’s face was mortifying: like a wolf that had just scented blood on the snow. 

“She tells me clairvoyants lose their power if they engage in any of the more carnal pleasures. It’s been torture, ya know?” The Grandmaster’s grip suddenly went tight, eyes taking on a suspecting glint that chilled the blood in her veins. “Have you ever heard of such a thing, Loki of Asgard? Powers tied to virginity?”

This was it. She was done. Truly, unimaginably done.

This was truly, unexpectedly delightful.

This was leverage. This he could work with. 

Loki could not have begun to imagine what a complex web of lies the mortal had spun for herself. She knew that he knew: he saw the panic in her eyes as she glanced at the exit. Surely she didn’t think she could run? He couldn’t even run, and he was far more equipped to run than she. The foolish little mortal. 

A decidedly powerless foolish little mortal. There wasn’t a speck of magic or clairvoyance to be found on her.

And she was certainly no virgin, based on the way the energy around her tensed when the Grandmaster mentioned her purity. It was a clever ploy, he would give her that, surely one that kept her safe from the already-bold hands of their host. It certainly explained her exemption from the festivities.

Perhaps he had been too hasty in dismissing her. Between her tension and her own little performance, perhaps she desired an escape as much as he did. Despite her comfortable room and luxurious clothing, her behavior told him that she was not content here. That discontent could be leveraged, used to secure his own safety until he was able to commandeer a ship and locate a suitable portal to take him home. He was not about to bring human baggage back on his quest to reclaim Asgard, and he would not return to Midgard under any circumstances. 

But she did not need to know that. 

She just needed to make herself useful until he could make his escape. Help him get his bearings until he reclaimed his magic. He could not trust her, indeed had no desire to. She was never leaving Sakaar, whether she knew it or not, but he knew the value of a promise. Of an alliance. And promises with something as weak and breakable as a mortal were meant to be weak and breakable themselves, were they not? 

Oh yes, he could most certainly work with this.

Loki took a long pull from his glass, watching from his periphery as the Grandmaster’s pet finally broke her veneer of calm, shifting in her seat. Yes, he could work with this just fine.

He set his drink aside, nodding gravely. “I’m afraid I have, my friend. I have found it to be quite common for the most delicate abilities to be tied to one’s virtue. With a gift as fragile and valuable as pure clairvoyance, it is only natural that any carnal delights should upset her natural stasis. Too much feeling, you know.”

Loki was not entirely unamused by the surprised, disbelieving scowl that pinched the mortal’s face. Let her frown her heart away. She was going to help get him off this planet, one way or another, no matter what faces she made. 

Finally the Grandmaster released the tension from the room with a dramatic and disappointed sigh. “Good to know, I suppose. Well, Elle may not be able to enjoy all of our festivities, but you, my delectable traveler, you will fit in delightfully at the next orgy. It’s still about a month out, but it’ll be worth the wait.”

Loki kept his smile in place and buried his chagrin. He would not be coerced. His gaze flickered back to the woman, not needing his magic to read the waves of discomfort whipping around her. He would have to forge their alliance quickly. The sooner he got off this planet, the better. 

“But for the time being…” The Grandmaster stood, taking Elle’s and Loki’s hands in each of his. “I’m dying to see her read you.”

Loki watched her face twitch, mask slipping for only the span of a breath as her eyes flooded with something like horror. For just a moment, one tiny, precipitous moment, he felt for her. To be paraded about like this, to be not her own… He remembered what it was to not belong to himself. Remembered it keenly enough to pity her. Just for a moment.

Her battles are her own. Her life is here, until it ends. That is the way of it.

When she caught him looking, that mask of hers slid back into place, and she had the audacity huff as she pushed her way past both men into the adjoining room. 

Loki suppressed a smirk. 

Perhaps this would be a bit of fun after all.

Chapter Text

Elle wouldn’t drop her gaze. She wanted to—god, she really wanted to. But if she did, Loki would win, and she’d be damned if she let that happen.

The Grandmaster, taken as he was with Elle’s “ability,” had insisted the Asgardian get his reading first. Elle had never felt embarrassed performing for the Grandmaster. Of the way he looked at her, sure, but never of the way she acted. The little hand flourishes, the changes to her body language, the reverence she paid to power she didn’t truly have… it was all supposed to keep her safe. It had kept her safe. 

Until now. 

Every move she made was jerky and unsure. Loki watched her with unforgiving scrutiny, eyebrows shooting up at her gestures, incredulity and mockery shining in his eyes as she offered her hands. She hated the way her fingers became clumsy, how she scraped him with her nails instead of sliding her fingers smoothly over his. 

She’d seen her fair share of naked bodies in her time on Sakaar, her own included, thanks to the many, many mirrored surfaces. But this? The look on Loki’s face as she stumbled over what should have been a basic, if fake, aura reading? Never had she felt so inadequate, or so bare. 

She cleared her throat. “I’m sensing—”

The Grandmaster tsked. “Don’t be stingy, sweetheart, tell him the whole thing.”

“Yes, sweetheart.” Loki smirked. “Give me the whole show.”

She wanted to die. Or kill him.

Maybe both.

It took a tremendous amount of effort not to speak through clenched teeth. “Close your eyes.” Spoken in a flat, emotionless command. Loki obeyed with a derisive snicker that did nothing to ease the tension in her jaw. 

“Focus on your intentions. Manifest your energy.” God, has this ever sounded so fake? “Think of your path, what led you here, where you want to go. Think about what steps you have to take to get to the next leg of your journey.” She let a few moments pass in silence. 

She watched Loki’s features go smooth. The smug curl of his mouth evened out, the indent between his brows disappearing. He looked… different, not at all how she’d seen him on TV or in any of the precious few case files she had access to. He was calm . His time on Earth had not been kind to him, it seemed. Here, he looked tired but not worn, cheekbones sharp without being skeletal, the kind of pale that reminded her of marble instead of the walking dead. His hair was longer now, fuller and cleaner-looking. He looked neither haggard nor insane, which would have been a comfort, had it been anyone else.  

She pushed the thought away, refocusing on his hands. Healthier or not, he was still Loki, and she had a job to do. “Good.” She barely grazed him, tracing the lines of his palms and beginning to sway. She caught him opening his eyes, just long enough to roll them when he saw her movements. It sent a lash of embarrassed anger through her chest, and she prayed to Vanessa Ives that whatever version of the devil Sakaar had, it would unhinge its jaws and end this misery. 

Vanessa, for all her glory, did not answer.

Elle swallowed back her chagrin, inhaling once, and again, before tapping his hands and pulling away. 

The Grandmaster leaned in, grinning excitedly. “What do you see, sweetheart?”

She hated the knowing smirk that crawled over Loki’s face. Hated it, but looked closely nonetheless. Looked at the slight shadowing beneath his eyes, contrasting with the casual ease of his perfect posture. 

He has experience in tense situations. Obviously. But he still lost some sleep.

At the upward tilt of his chin, the way his gaze held firm.

Confident. Regal. A god who the messenger introduced as a king.

At the cool meadow green of his eyes, the thin ring of gold around his pupil, and the challenge that rested here. 

So used to being in control. 

Yet here he is on Sakaar, just like the rest of us.

“And? What prophecy have you revealed, mortal?”

“You’re lost, your majesty,” she said. She would not have thought Loki, regal as he was, was capable of snorting, but alas. It made her words come out sharper than she intended: “You’re lost, and no one is looking for you.”

His eyes went hard at that, a visible tic marring his brow. Emboldened, she let her eyes flutter closed—it was not just Loki she was performing for, after all. 

“I sense your strength, and your rage. Your journey caught you off guard. You’re worried, your majesty.” When she opened her eyes, he was glaring fully, lips pressed into a thin, harsh line. “It won’t feel this way forever.”

Finally, Elle allowed herself to pull back completely. For a shot in the dark, that seems to have landed. Maybe a little too well. 

The Grandmaster clapped Loki on the shoulder. The impact sounded like it should have hurt one of them. “You hear that, my friend! A happy ending! You won’t feel this way forever, especially once I introduce you to my friends.  Oh, they’re gonna love you! I was just telling Rezh last night—”

He trailed off into a groan as Topaz darkened the doorway. “Don’t tell me there’s a disruption. I haven’t even had my reading yet!”

“There’s been a disruption." There was something to be said for the soldier's impeccably dry tone, Elle had to admit. “There’s a problem in the arena.”

The Grandmaster’s eyes went wide. “With my Champion?”

“With the Champion’s next competitors. Say they’re not going to fight.”

“Well obviously they’re gonna fight! That’s their whole schtick here, to fight!”

“A couple of them got their hands on unapproved weapons.”

“For the love of… Fine, fine, fine.” Patting his hair, the Grandmaster held out a hand for Elle. She stood and went to him, unable to look at anything but the floor. Performing her obedience in front of Loki, the word pet still burning in her ears, sent a flare of shame through her, prickling and acidic. 

“Sweetheart, why don’t you head back to your room for a bit? You know how rowdy the arena athletes can get. Loki, be a gem and see to it that she makes it back.”

The Grandmaster was gone before either of them could answer, leaving them in a taut, straining sort of silence, tension heavy between them. God, she hated it. With a sigh and a determined effort not to look at Loki, Elle nodded her head toward the hallway. He followed.

He had the decency to keep quiet until they got back. She intended to duck inside without saying goodbye, but he pushed his way into her room—her room!—without so much as a look in her direction.

“What the hell are you doing? Get out!” 

“No. We have much to discuss, little mortal.”

She swung the door mostly shut, lowering her voice to a hiss. “We have nothing to talk about. Get out, go be an ass in your own room.” 

He whirled around, hands on his hips. “Such venom. You remain so still in front of your master, and yet here you become a hissing, temperamental creature. Is this how you speak to your benefactor?”

“My benefactor?"

“Yes, pet.” He made a show of gazing around, having the nerve to look somehow both bored and pleased with himself. “I have protected the secret of your power—or lack thereof—have I not? In fact, it seems you have a wealth of secrets from your master. Taking you under my protection, lying for you, makes me your benefactor. One to whom you are now indebted.”

Elle nearly choked on her indignation, shoving the door in place and slapping her nest of wires over the knob. If anyone caught her with a guest in her room, she was finished, her virgin act obliterated. “Try burden, your majesty.” 

He took a step closer, backing Elle against the door. “A burden, am I?”

“Yes, a burden! Taking care of my own safety is hard enough, and now you’re invading my room, getting all judgy and parading yourself around—”

“You are barely securing your own wellbeing, mortal, and I would not bother passing judgment were you not such a painfully uninspiring actress. The Grandmaster must be truly desperate to bed you to allow himself to be blinded by such a flimsy charade. And endearing oneself to a host—”

She threw her hands up as if to shove him, stopping herself just before making contact. His eyes narrowed, as if daring her to do it. She balled her hands into fists and growled. “You have no idea what it’s like here! He’s not a host! He’s a tyrant! Nothing you do here exists in a vacuum! He listens to everything you say, watches everything you do, and it’s all an open invitation. Endearing yourself to him is as dangerous as defying him. Once he decides he wants you, there’s no saying no, you understand? There’s nothing on this planet he doesn’t take once he decides he wants it.”

“You are the exception, it seems.” Loki’s voice went low and cold, the sharpness of it making Elle push back harder against the door. He froze her beneath a withering scowl, cold and imposing as an eclipse. “You’ve taken quite a risk to surround yourself with such lies, and now I am complicit in your fraud. What will happen if he finds out. Hm?”

Elle’s jaw dropped. How dare he? How dare he act like a savior when he was the one who interfered in the first place? He had at least a foot of height to his advantage and his eyes burned with an intensity that lashed at her like fire, but Elle straightened her spine and lifted her chin. Mimicking his icy tone, she shot back, “No worse than what would happen if he found out I stopped you from drinking the Devil’s Kiss and kept you away from him last night.”

He pulled back just a fraction, but it felt to Elle as if a gulf had opened between them. He tilted his head, upper body shifting in a way that reminded her of a jungle cat on the hunt. Something stole over his face, some knowing glint in his eyes that sliced into the hollow of her belly, sharp and precise as a blade. “Then it seems we are each other’s mutual prisoners in deceit. I have lied for you, and you have undermined him for me.” 

Something in his stare changed, then. It lost the edge of challenge and gained a hardened gleam of invitation that was no less chilling. His grin, bright and menacing, dragged a shiver up through each knob of her spine. “Perhaps we can leverage this unwanted bond into something beneficial.”

Wait… what?

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but that definitely wasn’t it. It took her a moment to stop gaping at him and respond. “Beneficial how?”

“To get off this planet, of course. I cannot imagine you wish to remain here any more than I. Since we find ourselves bound to each other by threat of severe and catastrophic revelation, let us work together to make an escape.”

This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? For him to help get her off Sakaar? 

Is this a trick? 

“So, what? I’ll keep my mouth shut and you’ll keep your mouth shut, and you’ll take me back to Earth?”

He made a gruff noise in his throat, something between impatience and irritation. “I would move stars and cosmos alike to get off this refuse heap and back to Asgard, and if your own return to Midgard coincides with that, so be it.”

“You can’t just…” she gestured vaguely in the space between them. “Magic yourself away?”

He dipped his head, a dangerous, guarded look clouding his features. “I haven’t the time to explain the intricacies of magic to you, mortal, but that is not how it works. I cannot simply remove myself from this disgusting place, and so, as distasteful as I find it, I am in need of your assistance. As much as you are in need of mine.” He straightened, squaring his shoulders. “Besides, the portal I fell through has vanished, so I can only assume yours is long gone. We’ll need to identify one that can take us away from here. Between your familiarity with Sakaar and my own superior knowledge and skills, we’ll need to work together to come up with some sort of plan.”

Don’t trust him.

The small voice, a relic from her training, drove up into her mind, a frantic, flashing warning light. She needed to stay away from him. She knew that, just as surely as she knew she was her only way home. He was the God of Lies, the Demon of New York. Everything she’d been told to fear. And yet...

I don’t have a choice.  

She swallowed hard, taking a steadying breath. “We… trust each other, then?”

“Norns, no.” He scowled, pulling back as if the thought offended him. “We share a common goal, that is the extent of it. You will teach me about Sakaar, and I will help you with your little charade. We will keep each other alive and out of the Grandmaster’s clutches until we can make our escape and let this ridiculous planet fade into memory.” 

Elle was surprised at her own relief, the cool spill of it through her veins. They were a means to an end, the both of them. Having it acknowledged felt sturdy, finite, like washing ashore after treading water for so long. It wasn’t ideal, or even really safe (or sane, she chided herself), but it was real. It was something solid in a world of vapor, and she would cling to it for as long as she could. Would use it to drag herself back to reality, where she belonged.

“I can work with that.” 

“Do we have an accord, then?”

Elle took a breath, biting her lip before extending her hand a bit too forcefully. It was awkward, overeager. But right now, so was she.

Loki stared down at her hand for a moment, grimacing before offering his own, and with a brusque shake, their deal was sealed.

Here’s hoping we don’t kill each other.

He released her and stepped back, lifting his chin as he sauntered away. He made his way to one of the two bronze and blue leather sofas in her room, where he didn’t so much sit as sprawl, motioning for her to take the seat across from him. “Good. Now. If we are to proceed, I should be apprised of the depths of your duplicity.” 

Noting his posture, she sat sideways on her own sofa, back to the armrest, adjusting her dress over her outstretched legs. She didn’t truly feel the casual confidence she projected, but she couldn’t let him know that. You won’t intimidate me, Loki of Asgard. Jerk. 

“Why’s that?”

“So that I may both maintain the story you’ve already created for yourself and know where to add useful embellishments. You’ve told the Grandmaster you’re a clairvoyant. What have you told him this ability entails?” There was no mockery in his voice this time; simply a focused curiosity. 

“Mostly what he said at breakfast and what you already saw. I told him I can read auras, feel other people’s energy. I’ll give vague hints at the future, but nothing I can’t back out of if I need to.”

He rolled his eyes. 

Oh good, there’s the mockery. “I just pay attention. It’s nothing you can’t pick up from body language and little details.” She wasn’t thrilled that she failed to keep the defensiveness out of her voice, that it was so obvious that he was still getting under her skin. She made herself take a breath before continuing. “Facial expressions and tone tell you everything you need to know, usually.”

Loki hummed at that, as if in agreement. “That is how you read me, as well.” Said almost more to himself than to her. 

“Right. Just look for signs of fatigue or tension and extrapolate on that. It’s easier here, since nobody ends up on Sakaar by choice. Stick to that general theme and it’s easy to do a basic aura reading.”

“And what of that preposterous hand-holding and body-swaying?”

Elle held back an irritated huff, choosing instead to gesture around at the room. “It’s pretty clear that the Grandmaster likes a bit of a show. I just gave him what he wanted.”

Loki’s eyes took on a strange light, then, something intense and knowing that sent her buzzing with a thick sense of dread. “And just what do you know of me to have created such an interesting fabrication?” 

Oh no. The edge in his voice confirmed she’d definitely struck a nerve earlier. She needed to be careful. For all the lies she’d spun, for all the things she was keeping hidden, she decided that half of the truth would serve her better than an outright lie. “I’m from New York.” 

That seemed to catch him off guard. His eyes widened for a moment before some practiced nonchalance fell over them, going distant somehow. Still, some of the venom out had drained from his voice when he spoke. “New York. I see.”

That, and even in a mostly digital world, you have an entire section of locked filing cabinets dedicated to you at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ.

“Not the city. I lived upstate, in Albany. Tony Stark still did a lot of damage control out by us, telling us… well, little bits about you, that you were serving a prison sentence on Asgard. I just assumed that’s where you’d been, and like I said, nobody chooses to end up on Sakaar. Plus, the messenger introduced you as a king yesterday, so I just paired those bits of information together and went from there.”

Loki shook his head, a humorless smirk curling over his lips. “Simple fool.” It wasn’t clear if he meant her, the messenger, or Tony Stark, but out of her own sense of self preservation, Elle didn’t ask him to elaborate. He mulled over what she’d said for a moment before finally stretching, rolling his neck and unbunching his shoulders. He craned his head up, up, and paused. 

He sure makes a lot of exasperated faces for the Demon of New York.

He extended one long, elegant forefinger, drawing her attention upwards. She looked between the ceiling and the almost pouting look on his face, consternation creasing the skin between his brows.

“Your ceiling has no mirrors.” Said with such severity, such accusatory petulance. 

Elle couldn’t help it: she snorted. “What?”

He leaned forward, looking just as a slighted prince would: narrowed eyes, mouth agape, as if her question was an affront to him, his mother, and his entire kingdom. “My room’s entire ceiling is covered from wall to wall in mirrors. It’s horrendously distracting and makes the sunrise a vicious, blinding thing. Why has the Grandmaster not bothered you with them?” 

It was hard to bite back her smirk, but she managed. “Oh, he did. They’re a standard feature in most of the rooms here.” That did nothing to soothe away his frown, so Elle gestured back toward the door. “See those wires on the doorknob? That disrupts the magnetic fields in here. Keeps the door locked and the mirrors off.”

“They turn off?”

“Sure. The mirrors here aren’t glass, it’s just electromagnetic manipulation. Lock up the field, shut down the mirror. I found some spare parts lying around and—”

Uh oh. He was giving her that look again. The one from breakfast. The one that told her he was paying very close attention to what she was saying. “What? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Loki pushed back in his seat, spreading his arms wide across the top of the sofa. He regarded her with an odd combination of amusement and suspicion. “You’ve told your master you are a clairvoyant. You take the idea of magic and turn it into a spectacle for his amusement. You recoil from his touch, yet subject yourself to it. You feign obedience while dismantling his rooms, warn his other guests, or at least me, of his advances, and you have the knowledge to both build little technological contraptions for yourself and the wherewithal to hide them.”

She blinked. “What’s your point?”

“You are no mage, and certainly no virgin.”

Her mouth fell agape, eyes widening. “That’s none of your business!”

Loki tipped his head back, the quick percussion of his laughter puncturing the quiet of her room. “Perhaps not. But my point, mortal, is that you have created a truly intricate series of lies for yourself. You may think yourself creative, but you are hopelessly foolish if you think that alone will protect you. Particularly if you insist on withholding yet more information from me.”

His accusation shot a harsh sting of fear needling up her spine, in no small part because he was right. 

Shit. How much does he know? How much does he suspect?

She shoved her unease behind defiance, hardening her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His head dipped, every edge of him becoming somehow sharper, more threatening. A primal light crept into his eyes, one that she remembered from the footage from the city. He brought his arms down, leaning forward so slowly and with such purpose that her limbs went heavy, tatters of breath catching in her lungs. “It would serve you well to remember this, mortal: I can tell when you are lying. You may think yourself clever, but do not mistake the Grandmaster’s desire to bed you with true ignorance on his part, and do not think for a moment that I share his folly. Whatever game you’re playing, you will lose without my help.”

“I’m not—”

“What did I just say to you?”

Elle clenched her jaw, nails pressing sharp half-moon divots into her palms. 

His stare didn’t waver, intense enough to burn.“I will keep your secrets, and you will keep mine, but you will not lie to me again. Is that understood?”

She caught her tongue between her teeth. This was the Loki she expected. Demanding. Rough. Threatening. This was what his case files told her he was. Not an ally, and not someone she could trust.  

I don’t have to trust him to use him.

She nodded, not allowing herself to speak.

“Good. Now, I’m sure the Grandmaster will be back to collect us shortly, and to your earlier point, it would not do to have him find me in his pet’s room.”

She twisted toward him suddenly, teeth bared in a snarl as she leaned in close, so close she felt his breath against her cheeks. “Stop calling me that!”

He went very still, gaze fixed on her own, the gold ring in his eyes refracting. Then he blinked, scoffing and pushing her away as he stood to stalk across her room, pausing where the living space became the bedroom to knock on the wall there. 

She huffed as she moved behind him, arms crossed. “What are you doing now?"

Another quick tap caused a thin ledge to pop out of the wall, one Loki made quick work of prying out and presenting to her. 

It was a collapsible door handle. 

No. No, no, no!

With a grin and a sharp elbow to the doorframe, the hidden door popped open, swinging inward to reveal his own room, gold, black, and indigo where hers was bronze and blue. She gaped, her anger cooling, quickly replaced by shock. “This… what… did you put this here?”

“This was already here. I suspected that a planet with frequent orgies and mirrored ceilings might also have a way to adjoin rooms. I was correct, as I so often am. And now, we can speak freely without worrying about my getting caught in your chambers.”

He ignored her strangled cry of indignance, brushing past her with an exaggerated bow. “I will see you again shortly, mortal.”

Elle stared, mouth agape, as he closed the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Loki paced slowly, thumb and forefinger pressed tightly to his lips. The mortal was still lying. He could feel that wall of untruth fluctuating around her. “I’m from New York,” she’d said, when he’d asked how she’d read him. There was more to it than that; he could sense it. Her energy had shifted, going soft and pliant. It was not the truth, not flowing and free, nor was it a lie. It was incomplete, somehow. A deception by way of concealment. He had warned her to cease her mendacity, but how was he to compel her to obey? 

Without his magic, he was left with corporal punishment—a boundary he was wary to cross, as she was neither a combatant nor a consenting lover. Although, with her boldness, that brash streak that had come to life in the confines of her room, pushing her so close in her anger…

No. Even brash humans do not require so firm a hand. And this deceitful woman surely has not earned the privilege. 

He could employ threats… which, of course, he could not follow through on without crossing said boundary. 

He could tell her he would leave her on Sakaar if she did not cooperate. He would leave her anyway, but the hope that he would not might do away with this deceit. Unfortunately, there were always risks that came with mingling truth and lies so closely. He was adept at navigating them, of course, but he was usually in full possession of his faculties when he needed to dance along that edge.

Or…

He huffed, already irritated, both with himself and with her for making him consider it. 

He was not called Silvertongue for nothing. If she could not be coerced, perhaps she could be coaxed. He stopped his pacing, hands on his hips, glowering up at his reflection. 

Befriending a lost mortal should not be on my agenda. It’s poor planning, and foolish besides. 

Though befriending was a strong word for it. He would not get to know the woman or any such nonsense. He would simply learn to read her well enough to parse out what information was useful. Every half-truth was as helpful to him as an outright lie, after all. It tainted the context and put him at risk, jeopardizing his chances of getting back to Asgard and reclaiming his throne. 

Well. Loki was nothing if not resourceful, and she was a resource. A rather clever one, he was loath to admit. He would have to inspect that contraption on her door. She could build rudimentary machines from spare parts, and seemed to have a knack for reading body language. Even his. And she’d known about his imprisonment on Asgard, though her proclamation that she’d received said information from Tony Stark was another coagulated half-truth. 

And yet, she approached him at the bar with almost no hesitation, despite having lived in New York (that was true, at the very least). She’d warned him away from that beverage. Even knowing who he was, what he’d done, she’d helped him. Even before they made their pact, she’d helped him. 

Why? 

The question tore a harsh, angry sound from his throat. It would not have been from the goodness of her heart, would it? 

Of course it wouldn’t. Mortals are not in the habit of forgiving their monsters. They’re no so different from Asgardians that way.

The thought sank an odd, chilled feeling into his chest. A small, hollow divot that, in another life, may have taken the shape of disappointment. He shook his head, forcing it away. 

If it was not kindness, then perhaps she had seen in him what he had recognized in her: leverage. This betrayed a specific familiarity with him, did it not? More than a typical mortal might have had. 

Moderately clever. Reads body language well enough. Quick to action when it comes to concealing the truth, and more than a passing knowledge of my whereabouts. Familiar enough with who I am to approach me with no hesitation. 

Loki went still, limbs suddenly rigid. That hollow in his chest flooded, first with the acidic burn of shock, and then with the creeping flame of rage. “You little wretch.”

Traits I have seen twice before on Midgard.  

All shards of the much larger truth she was desperately trying to conceal, a truth that snapped into precise, undeniable, infuriating focus: she was under the tutelage of Nick Fury or the Black Widow. He could not be certain of which, not yet, but he knew it must be one of them.  

Which meant she was not only using him as leverage, was no simple bystander trying to escape. She was an opponent.  

This will not do.

“You little wretch. You think yourself clever, do you?”

How had it taken him so long to see it? He would blame it on the distracting environment and the fact that he was still adjusting to having his magic bound. Had he been truly paying attention, he would have sensed it the moment she sat down beside him behind her shield of lies.

Resuming his pacing, more aggressively than before, he set his mind to the tasks ahead. He must temper his rage, gleaning as much information as quickly as possible. He’d thought her foolish before. This was far worse; now, he knew she was foolish enough to think she had some modicum of control.

This, he decided, would be the rope with which she hung herself. 

It took a surprising amount of time for the Grandmaster to return. Several hours, in fact. No matter. It gave Loki enough time to soothe his anger, at least for the moment. He knew what he was up against, now, and could react accordingly. 

And oh, he would. He would bide his time, glean information for the time being. But he would not lose sight of what the mortal really was: an agent. A threat.  

When the Grandmaster did arrive, his little pet was already beside him. Loki gave the two of them a dazzling grin, but his eyes must have given him away; the woman pulled back slightly, chin dipping just a fraction, tempering that reckless hubris of hers with caution. Oh yes, she was most certainly one of the henchmen that stomped around either Stark’s tower or Fury’s compound. It took every muscle in his jaw not to twist his grin into a sneer. Let us see what you are made of, then, mortal, if you so wish to play. 

The Grandmaster rattled off his apologies. “Such a pain, having to keep the peace,” he sighed, taking the mortal and Loki each by the arm. “But, heavy is the hand that holds the melt stick, am I right?” He found his own joke uproariously amusing. The woman seemed to pale, but produced a tense smile as the Grandmaster led them through the palace and into what might have been a greenhouse, though it was unlike any of the enclosed gardens on Asgard.

It was false, first and foremost. Like the dining hall, they were led into a room encased in glass, tinted a light emerald hue. Loki supposed it was to make the plants look livelier. Many of them appeared to be a strange hybrid of synthetic and organic, with rigid, dark matte leaves, and blooms that were too bright to have been natural. Neon pinks and yellows, florid violets and piercing, electric blues surrounded them, weighing heavily on atrophied branches that were still brown, but peeling, as if they had been painted. Flower boxes lined the walls, showcasing sharp, spindly green-grey vines that undulated gently, reaching for passersby with needled tips. Others had squat, shining flowers that were clearly just layers of reflective garbage stuck together. The air was stale, tasting more of dust than of plantlife, a testament to the strangeness of the foliage.

And in the center, long rows of tables, heavy with food and drink that, like breakfast, were hardly identifiable. Loki wondered briefly if there was anything to do on Sakaar but eat, sleep, and rut. 

The Grandmaster spun away suddenly, dropping Loki’s and the woman’s arms. “I have someone I’d like you to meet. Here, get yourself something to eat and I’ll be right back.”

Loki gazed down at the tables, trying to remember if the delicacies on Alfheim had looked quite like this. Were the rock-looking things safe to eat? Which of the flowing fountains of wine was safe to drink from? His lips curled into a grimace. He did not care for this.

“You look overwhelmed.”

Ugh, the woman, the lying little… 

Information. What I need now is I need information.

“I am sure I do not.”

“You do. Luckily for you, your majesty, we made a deal. Here.” She brushed by, clipping his elbow with her own. He waited until she was looking to brush his sleeve, mouth pursed in a petulant grimace. 

“The horns should've clued me in that you were the dramatic type,” she mumbled, motioning for him to take a plate. 

“You know nothing of me, mortal.” He waited until she was not looking to pick one up. 

“I know you’ll eat if you want to keep this new look of yours.”

“Excuse me?”

She was already moving away from him, scanning the tables carefully. Her mask was firmly back in place, eyes quick and somehow void. Whatever he had seen of her in her room did not exist here, her frustration with him seeming to have vanished. It was jarring, off-putting, how efficiently she had shut herself off. Though her words were her own, her tone had changed, becoming somehow flat and guarded, her voice dropping low. Demure, even. Certainly not what he had seen in her room. It was as if she was acutely aware of who may hear her. Of who might be listening.

Hm. Agent or no, it is not entirely unlike living a double life as myself and as Odin. Though, as king, I was gradually able to act more freely over time. Perhaps the Grandmaster’s eyes and ears reach farther than I anticipated.

“Last time I saw you, you looked half dead. On TV, I mean. You looked… well, you had a look about you that I see more and more in myself the longer I’m here, honestly.”

“I looked like I was being kept by a tyrant?”

“Maybe.”

Loki froze. Did she know about Thanos? He hadn’t thought Midgard knew anything of the Mad Titan. 

Did S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers know of his imprisonment?

Loki’s pulse quickened, hard and terrible in his throat

Does Thor? 

Did his brother finally understand what had transpired? Had he known, when he brought Odin back to Asgard?

Did he wish for Thor to know? Which was worse: to be seen as a malevolent would-be conqueror, or to be acknowledged as the weapon the malevolent conqueror used, toyed with, and brought to the brink of oblivion? No longer a man, but an object, something base and low.

“You looked rough,” she continued, interrupting his thoughts as she dropped two hexagonal pastries, filled with pinkish meat, onto his plate and two onto hers. “I was just trying to say you look better now. And if you want to keep looking better, you need to start getting used to the food.”

Truth. It was fresh, nearly sweet around her, like early autumn air. It was not entirely unpleasant. Certainly better than that hard, tasteless wall she kept up. 

He shook his head. “What’s this, then?” He raised the pastries to eye-level, glaring at them suspiciously. 

“Meat pie. Don’t ask what the meat is. It’s not made from guests, so there’s that at least, but what animals there are on this planet are pretty gross. But it’s seasoned well enough and it’s safe to eat, that’s the important thing.” She motioned for him to follow her, scooping up a large spoonful of tiny black berries that seemed to glitter in the tinted light. “Ever have pomegranates on Earth? This is like a cross between pomegranate seeds and caviar. So… kinda salty? There’s this pink fruit, too, that kind of looks like pale watermelon. I didn’t really eat much when I first got here, but I started feeling better once I was eating this and the pink melon, so I think there’s some kind of equivalent of vitamins—”

She paused, head whipping to look at him fully. Was there a hint of concern in her eyes? “You can eat human food, right? I mean, this isn’t human food, but I’m recommending this based off what I can eat. Was anything on Earth poisonous to you? ”

His lips quirked, though there was far more condescension in it than mirth. “Oh? Concerned for my safety, are you?”

To his surprise, she gave him a look that fell somewhere between embarrassment and guilt, pulling her lower lip into her mouth as she glanced away. “I know what the wrong food can do to someone here. I don’t wish that on anybody.”

She roused quickly, nodding towards a line of fountains and lowered her voice further, so low that he had to lean in slightly to hear, which only irritated him further. “Peach is fine. No aphrodisiacs and no alcohol. The stuff that looks like wine is wine, no aphrodisiacs. Avoid the blue, purple, viscous, and shimmery ones.”

“Is there no water?”

“No water, except for in the showers and baths.”

A lie, stiff and brittle. 

“You’re lying. Again.” 

“Fine, there’s water, but it’s hard to come by.”

Truth. Mostly. Cool, but more… sluggish. 

“...Just remember that most things on Sakaar end up getting recycled, so only drink what’s served as a drink. Stick to the peach and you won’t get hurt.”

Truth. Crisp, cool, honeyed truth. He hated it. What right had she to try to sympathize with him? Did she think she could outplay him at his own game?

His laugh was sharp and, even to his own ears, unkind. “Such sympathy you have for the monster who destroyed your home, pet.”

She went unnaturally still, then, knuckles flashing white even as a deep scarlet crept up her neck and into the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes fell and moved away from him stiffly. She did not raise her hands to him, did not even earn so much as a glare. 

She’s more upset about the moniker than she is about the reference to her home.

Such pride she had, for a mortal.

He waited for her to snap back at him, to meet his anger with her own. For her voice to sharpen as it had in her room when he’d called himself her benefactor. It left him coiled, tense, anticipating an attack, befitting the opponent he now knew her to be.

It did not come. 

Why did it not come?

She all but tossed a disgusting bun at him, the color and consistency of mold. “A kind of bread,” she explained, voice now positively empty. “And these,” she gestured vaguely at a bowl of oval orange… something, in a kind of syrup. They had the texture of fish. She let herself trail off into a hollow sigh. “You know what, whatever. You figure it out.”

She moved away again, quicker than before, making every effort not to look at him. He was pleased. 

Yes. Surely he was. 

And yet he had the sudden urge to stop her. Ridiculous! How dare she think she could manipulate him with sullenness?

And how dare she look so offended?

“Mortal.” His voice was jagged, his anger a biting, wretched thing clawing inside him.

She turned but did not return to his side. A few other guests had heard him, however, and looked over in interest. He had forgotten himself again. He would need to be more careful. She may be a pet, but she was not his pet, and he could not admonish her publicly without risking repercussions from her master. 

He swallowed down his anger with a low growl, gesturing at the table. “What are these?” His innocent question seemed to disarm the onlookers, who went back about their business.

That earned a roll of her eyes he would dare to call impassioned, the only indication that she was not some hollow, walking doll. She came back slowly, peering down at the plate he pointed to: some kind of dessert-looking concoction, dark and moist, looking much like some sort of cake with what appeared to be a red berry spread on top. “Oh. Those are prevention fritters.”

Loki blinked. “I see. I suppose it does make sense, given that there appear to be no children on this planet.”

“Not that kind of prevention.” Her tone slipped from cold to coldly academic, if, perhaps, tinged with a hue of condescension that would have sounded at home coming from his own mouth. “Hookups are enthusiastically encouraged here. The fritters prevent infections, bugs, or skin conditions, or the transmitting of any diseases.” She took a bite of that horrendous-looking mold-bread. “No need for birth control fritters. There’s birth control in pretty much everything in the palace. Everyone’s basically sterile while they’re here.”

Truth.  

And said with such dispassion. Such blatant disinterest. How was it that calling her a pet made her cheeks burn, but the sexual activities of those around her inspired such ennui?

Was this all part of her scheme, something taught to her by whoever her handlers were on Midgard? Was she trying to goad him into some sort of oafish mistake?  He turned it over in his mind as he followed her to an empty table. They sat leaving one seat between them. 

As is only proper for begrudging allies set on betraying each other. He glanced at her from his periphery.

Her cheeks were still tinted red, a rather sullen look having taken over her features. It drew a crease between her brows, turned her mouth down at the corners. She did not look angry, as she had in her room. No, there was a heaviness about her now, in the sag of her shoulders and the dip of her chin. She seemed more… hurt. 

Surely she was not so weak as to have her feelings hurt ? And by him, no less? She was the Grandmaster’s property, after all. She should be used to being seen as such.

She still would not look at him. 

Typical, unforgiving mortal.

Just as he opened his mouth to admonish her for pouting over what was, objectively, a factual statement, the Grandmaster himself took his place between them, already grinning and chattering mindlessly.

And next to Loki sat a woman of incredible beauty. A full head taller than he, she carried herself with effortless grace and dignity. A gold armband glinted on each of her four arms, two in normal placement for a humanoid, and two longer ones that extended gracefully from the backs of her shoulders. Her skin was a soft jade, complemented by a shimmering gold dress that clung to her like water, showing off every delectable curve so as to make translucence obsolete. Glossy black hair tumbled in waves down her back. Loki blinked, taking in the sight of her, of the coy smile and teasing coral pink of her tongue as it darted to wet her bottom lip. 

What a lovely distraction from the little scowling mortal currently plaguing him.

“Rezh.” She offered him her two left hands, which he took without hesitation, pressing a kiss to each set of knuckles.

“An honor. I am Loki, of Asgard.”

“So you’re the king I’ve been hearing so much about.”

“Indeed, my lady. I am humbled and enchanted to meet such a beauty.” He was pleased at the flush of darker green that stained her cheeks

Had the mortal woman made a sound?

“Grandmaster, you didn’t tell me your new friend was so delightfully charming.”

“Isn’t he just? We had the most delightful conversation…”

“About traveling and niche interests.” Rezh laughed, a joyous, easy caress of sound. “Yes, you told me. Tell me, Loki of Asgard, are we to see any of your niche interests at the festivities next month?”

It was bold of her to ask. Bold, and calculating. It was unclear if she was asking for herself or for the Grandmaster. No matter the motivation, it did not harm him to play along. “I admit, Sakaaran festivities are not as common on Asgard. Not unheard of, certainly, but not as well-enjoyed as on this planet. I had been hesitant to showcase my full array of interests so soon. Meaning no disrespect to you, Grandmaster. I only find it’s usually better to pace oneself.”

Rezh arched a brow, seductive and mischievous. “Usually?”

Loki flashed a positively sinful smile in return. “I suddenly find myself eager to indulge.”

The mortal most assuredly made a sound this time. Loki smirked, throwing a glance her way, only to find her focusing most intently on her plate. While the others seemed to be taking a leisurely approach to their meals, she was devouring hers. It reminded Loki of when he was a child, rushing through his supper in order to get back to playing outside. 

The Grandmaster didn’t seem to mind, instead fully captivated by Loki and Rezh. “My darlings, I’m so pleased you got to meet. You’ll make such a lovely pairing at the festivities.”

Rezh grinned. “Are we obligated to wait that long?”

The Grandmaster’s laugh echoed around the room. “Of course not, my dear! You can enjoy each other any time, you know that. Though, ah, you could always indulge me…”

Rezh giggled, reaching out to pat Loki’s cheek with one of her longer arms. Her hand was soft and warm, her eyes alight. “Our most benevolent host is speaking of one of his own niche interests,” she explained. 

“And what would that be?”

She winked at the Grandmaster. “Voyeurism. Particularly for couples engaging in their first time together. Seeing them learn about each other…” She traced the curve of his cheekbone with her thumb. “Experiencing the energy of something untouched, raw and new and passionate.” She lowered her voice to a seductive whisper that curled around him like smoke. “I have a hunch we might excel in this area, you and I.”

Truth. Sleek, velveteen truth, laced through with want. When was the last time someone had looked at him like this? With open, unabashed desire. Loki knew he could not trust any of the Grandmaster’s guests, especially not the ones he played with, but he was enjoying this. 

Their host turned away from them to round on his little pet, voice low and rough. “I’ve developed a bit of an obsession with first times, it’s true. I just can’t help myself.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing, Elle,” Rezh sighed. “Especially with such alluring new friends.” Loki felt her foot against his shin. “You haven’t been on Sakaar very long, have you, my king?”

“Only a few days, my dear. And you?”

“Oh, ages. I love it here. There was so much to learn of myself and the other guests. Coming here may have been an accident, but for me it was a happy one.” She was still telling the truth, he noted with a slight pang of disappointment. She did love it here. She would not be compelled to leave, then. She was dazzling, without question, but she could not be an ally if she wished to remain on Sakaar. Still, that did not mean he could not temporarily enjoy her company, flattering as it was turning out to be.

Having lost the Grandmaster’s attention, Rezh scooted ever closer to Loki, shooting a conspiratorial look at the mortal. “I’ve found that if you just accept a life of leisure and pleasure, you get on very well here. You have a look about you that tells me you’ll do just fine, my king. Just be wary of that one human, hm? The Grandmaster has told you she’s off-limits, hasn’t he? Prickly little thing, but he’s just crazy about her. There have been a couple of guests who tried to play rough without his permission, and it did not end well for them. I would hate to lose you so soon after your arrival.” She emphasized her point by dragging a fingertip down his chest, pupils widening in appreciation. 

“He did, though it was hardly necessary. Our generous host and I have wildly different tastes in that regard.” She hummed her approval as Loki’s fingertips traced the smooth, soft curve of her outer thigh. “He explained the limitations of her ability. Such a shame for him to have to choose between her powers and her company.”

“I can’t say I much understand the need for reading auras. It’s enough having to sort through your own emotional mess, isn't it? And it makes him so cranky that he can’t play with her. He’s terribly rough when he’s cranky, which I generally don’t mind, but there’s only so much overstimulation a girl can stand.” She winked again before picking her head up and raising her voice. “Are you sure you still need her magic, Grandmaster? Shouldn’t she be able to have fun with the rest of us?”

Their host looked over his shoulder, tossing them a bright grin. “Not quite yet. Elle’s helped me out of a bind with a few dishonest Scrappers and I’m not ready to give that up. Although, there’s a theory I’ve been meaning to test…” With a wicked glint in his eyes, he picked up a small, crystal glass filled with shimmering blue liquid, offering it to the mortal. “Does your magic intervene on your behalf, sweetheart, or just hold you back?”

Loki went still, losing his grip on Rezh’s thigh. The madman meant to test the mortal’s powers, to see if the drug in the drink would take effect or if her magic would protect her. 

She had no magic.

Nothing would protect her. 

Loki spun towards their host. “Is that wise? Clairvoyance is an incredibly delicate gift. Are you sure you wish to—”

The mortal’s hand shot out, bringing the glass to her lips and taking an even mouthful. She didn’t so much as wince as she swallowed. Loki’s eyes went wide, breath knotting painfully in his chest. No. No, he did not wish to see this. The result of this, of someone, even an agent, made vulnerable, made obedient and complacent against their will… he could not allow this. 

He dropped Rezh’s hands, made a move as if to stand, not entirely sure what he would do next, when the mortal unhinged her jaw in a wide, unceremonious yawn. She blinked, wiping her eyes slowly and leaning back in her seat. Loki watched, stunned, as she shrugged. There was no fervent flush in her cheeks. No lust blowing her pupils wide. A slight blue stain on her lower lip was the only indication she’d had any of the drink at all, evidence wiped away with a quick swipe of her tongue. 

She looked wholly unbothered. 

How in the Nine did she do that?

The Grandmaster sighed in defeat. “You’re some kind of magic, my dear.”

She gave a tight-lipped smile, still carefully avoiding Loki’s gaze. “Guess I’m not meant for niche interests, Grandmaster.”

A rigid, steely lie. 

Having proven her immunity, she stood slowly, allowing their host to pat her hand. “I’m not feeling well, Grandmaster. Can you make do without me for the rest of the day?”

“Sure, sweetheart. You go rest your pretty head. Check in with me tomorrow morning, okay?”

She nodded tersely before making her escape. She still hadn’t looked at him

He was not bothered. He had no business being bothered. 

This will not do.

“I do hope your potion hasn’t made your pet ill,” Loki ventured, watching as she disappeared through the archway. He kept his voice level, holding back the strange curiosity that had taken root.

The Grandmaster looked somewhat sheepish. “You did tell me clairvoyance was delicate. I guess I didn’t believe it was that delicate. Oh well, now I know. No more prodding until I’m ready to have her for real.” He laughed, and Loki found he didn’t care for the sound. 

The remainder of his day with the Grandmaster consisted of a tour of the grand hall and a few of the gardens, filled with more flirtation and innuendo, promises from both he and Rezh that the next orgy would be nothing short of spectacular. As beautiful as Rezh was, Loki had no intention of being on Sakaar for the next orgy, though he kept that thought firmly to himself as he finally slipped away from them that night. Perhaps, as long as he wasn’t otherwise occupied, he could pay her a visit in her chambers... 

He sighed. 

Unfortunately, he still needed the mortal. With Rezh all too happy where she was, she would not be a useful tool in his escape plan. The mortal may be a lying agent, but she was a motivated lying agent, one who wanted off this rock as much as he did. 

And… perhaps… he had been coarse today. As much as it chafed, his most efficient plan would still be to befriend her, to earn her trust, and he was off to a rather poor start. He scratched at his jaw, frowning to himself as he made his way back to his room. 

He huffed. He did not care for being at the mercy of the woman’s whims. Not one bit. And he, fool that he was, had let it show. 

Well. He would correct that now. He would set things straight, remind her of her part in this ploy of theirs, and that she had no business pouting at every offense when they would be finished with each other in a month’s time. 

Yes. 

And then she’ll tell me how she performed that trick with the aphrodisiac. 

Resolute, he didn’t pause before heading to the hidden door between their rooms, barrelling in without knocking. 

“If you’re finished with your little tantrum, mortal, I—”

He froze. 

The room was empty. 

The light was on. There was a book on one of the sofas that had not been there earlier. He looked past the divider, glancing at her bed. Empty as well. 

He looked more closely than he had earlier, paying more attention to the room itself. All around him was the very careful illusion of sparsity. She had gone through a substantial amount of effort to keep the room from feeling occupied, he realized. Except for the book on the sofa, there were no obvious appearances that anyone was living here. Her clothes were all tucked away, and no trinkets had been left around.

Loki, however, was more than a casual observer. There was a messiness about the periphery of the room that told him where to look, like the ragged edges of a well-read book. From where he stood, he saw that the space beneath her bed was heavily shadowed, cluttered with spirals of wire and flashing metallic pieces. A glance at her vanity revealed the same basic necessities he had been provided with: a brush, a comb, hair pins, clippers and a file for her nails, and various other tools for grooming. But interspersed with hers were a screwdriver, three pairs of pliers, wire strippers, and a selection of benders, connectors, and bits, all lined up neatly, as if the order would camouflage their use. Light caught on tiny flashes of glass on the ledge above the window: a row of trinkets hid there, peeking down at Loki as if in greeting. The room was absolutely filled with little tools and gadgets, all of them hidden just out of sight. 

Finally, Loki glanced up, met with the reflection of his own perturbed face.

Just then, the door rattled, knob half-turning twice before finally making a full circle, allowing the door to swing open. Loki spun to face it, fingers twitching into fists. 

The mortal stepped in, arms clutching a bag overflowing with miscellaneous parts. When she saw him, her mouth fell back into that little O of surprise from that morning. She seemed perfectly well, as if the Grandmaster’s attempt to drug her had had no lasting effects, if any at all. 

Then, she frowned. “What are you doing back here?”

Chapter Text

Elle stepped into her room, a cloth bag full of miscellaneous parts tucked under her arm. Loki was waiting, arms crossed and brows pinched, mouth curved down in the corners. 

Is he… tapping his foot?

She didn’t hold back her incredulity. “What are you doing back here?”

He responded with one of the most exaggerated eye rolls she’d ever seen. “And just where else would I be?”

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if Elle was a fool for even having asked. She rolled her eyes right back at him, nudging the door shut behind her, jostling her miscellany between one arm and her chest so she could lock the door. “With Rezh, I would have thought.”

He tilted his head at that, arching one elegant brow and smirking pointedly. “Oh? Is that the glimmer of jealousy I hear in your voice, little mortal?”

“Yeah, right,” she growled out. “I thought you two would be off in the spa or off-world by now. Figured our deal was off.”

That seemed to confuse him, his arms falling to his sides. “And you just… accepted that?” 

She brushed past him with a shrug, letting her trinkets fall onto one of the sofas and kneeling to begin sorting through it, redirecting all of her attention on the task. Diodes. Yes. Wires. Yes. Battery substitute for those gigantic Zandaarian vibrators? No. Although, maybe if I find an actual battery and take some additional wires…

“Mortal!”

Right. 

“Why wouldn’t I? Not like I can do anything to stop you. We’re not exactly equal in this deal of ours, are we? If you decide you want to stay, there’s not much I can do about it. Besides, I’m just a pet, right? You’re making friends, playing nice, and I’m the same… thing I was when you landed here. I never expected you to save me, Loki. I just didn’t think you’d bail so quickly.” She swallowed, refusing to blink as she focused on the pieces in her hands. She held her disappointment at bay, a rough lump in her throat. She couldn’t let him see this. Not this. He could have her numbness, but not her pain. That was hers, the thing that she’d hold when she was alone again. Because, if Loki’s interest in Rezh was any indication, she would be alone again soon.

Movement in her periphery drew her attention. She looked up to find he had approached by a few tentative steps. His jaw was working back and forth, as if chewing on whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“Just spit it out, your majesty.”

He blinked at her, a strange look surfacing on his features. Something searching, nearly disappointed in its own right. “Where is your anger?”

She glanced up at him. “What anger?”

“Do not play coy with me. You had nothing but fire and venom for me before, no matter how you conceal it outside this room. And now you’re…” He shook his head. “What are you playing at?”

Elle deflated with a sigh. “I’m not playing anything.” It pained her that she wasn’t. She should be. Her tactical advisers would have a fit to see her guard down so completely. The truth was, she didn’t expect to see him again, had been sure that he would’ve gone with Rezh. Everyone went with Rezh once she made her interest apparent. Seeing him waiting for her in her room, regal and scowly as ever… she hadn’t been prepared. He'd caught her by surprise. 

Loki looked as if he didn’t believe her. Or like he didn’t want to believe her. Suddenly he was crowding her, knees against her outer thigh as his fingers bit into her jaw, yanking her face toward him. She hissed out a pained breath, tried to jerk back, but it was like pulling against the tides themselves, a terrible undertow refusing to let her turn away. 

“Aren’t you?” His voice was a mere growl, low and threatening and all around her. “You should be angry. There should be hatred in your eyes.” His own eyes were bright and burning, the confusion on his face blurred by distrust, by sparks of rage. His breath came in quick puffs against her face, barely controlled. He was looking for something. What? 

Elle’s limbs tensed, the spike of adrenaline in her blood urging her to run. This was no man; this was a monster, everything she’d been warned against. But her training kept her still, rigid and rooted in place. The combination of the two surged inside her, locking her muscles tight, even as her voice dropped to a shaking whisper.  “Self-preservation comes first. You’re not the first person to decide escape wasn’t worth the effort. There’s no point in being angry.”

He released his grip suddenly, as if she’d burned him, though his hand hovered beside her jaw. His brows knit in confusion. “You’re telling the truth.” His voice was hushed, guarded. As if speaking the words aloud would fracture the honesty she’d granted him.

She couldn’t quite say why that bothered her so much. The anger he seemed to crave finally ignited, sending her hand out to slap his away. She bit back a groan of pain at the contact; it was like punching steel. “I thought that’s what you wanted! You told me to stop lying, right? What, you don’t want me to be honest now?”

He let his hands fall to his lap as he sank to sit on his knees beside her, completely unaffected by the blow. He was still looking at her as if she'd done something perplexing, as if her honesty, her willingness to set aside her own agenda for the moment, had truly thrown him.

Perhaps as much as his presence in her room has thrown her. 

With a heavy sigh, she dug the heel of her hand against her eye. “What do you want, Loki? ”

He frowned again, but there was something different in his gaze. He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked…  conflicted, somehow.

“You were ready to strike out at me earlier simply for calling myself your benefactor, but now, when I call you a pet, when you think I am to abandon you, you deflate rather than lash out against me. Have I broken you so easily? With so few words?”

Elle lifted her head with a scowl of suspicion, searched his eyes, looking for signs of a trick, of mockery, any hint that he was just trying to mess with her. But somehow, she couldn’t detect it. His body was rigid, but more from anticipation than malice. There was no cruel smirk, no shifting gaze to betray that his attention was divided. No. He simply watched her, waiting for an answer. And what she saw in him now was no edge, no whetted blade. This was confusion, and beneath that a plea; distant, echoing from somewhere inside him, something she couldn't yet place. She understood this much: Loki was a man of thorns. A man of piercing and tearing, of blood and pain. 

And what’s the purpose of thorns?

Her energy left her all at once, as if he’d tugged some integral thread inside her and she had no choice but to unravel. She was suddenly so tired. Of Sakaar. Of her act. Of the person she needed to be to survive. All of it. 

Admitting such a thing was weakness. Director Fury had instilled that in her from her first day of training. 

It had been a long time since she’d been allowed to be weak.

Her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her sigh, a lonely cavern yawning open behind her ribs. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have someone more powerful than you watch your every move? To know that any mistake could either get you killed or land you as a sex slave? You haven’t broken me, but I can’t keep wasting my anger on you. Sometimes anger is the only thing that keeps me from giving up completely, and I need whatever I have left to survive here. If you don’t want to leave, or if you find another way off Sakaar… well, I can’t stop you. But I can’t pin all my hope on you either, can I? Just like you can’t pin yours on me. I need to save my rage for myself, because if you change your mind and leave me here, that’s all I’ll have left. I know who you are, Loki, and I know humans are nothing but ants under your boot. I can’t bet my life on you. I just can’t.”

That strange look again, like he didn’t want to believe her. But it was an honest answer. God, it might have been the first fully honest thing she’d said in months. It left her feeling sore, almost, raw, as if she’d clawed out some dark, festering thing that lived inside her gut and brought it into the light. 

Loki may be her only way off Sakaar, but she’d be an idiot to think she was his. If he even truly wanted to leave. He seemed to be fitting in with the Grandmaster and Rezh just fine. Loki was a conqueror, a destroyer—it made sense for him to fall in with tyrants. She’d known this was all a ploy when she approached him at the bar, still knew that this slapdash partnership did not make them friends. 

But damn it, she was exhausted. Having to put every waking moment into surviving drained her. And in this moment, she had failed to hide it. It filled her up with that familiar burn of shame, to have let her guard down like this. 

Silence pooled between them, a thick and heavy thing that wrapped around Elle like a cloak. She went about sorting her trinkets into piles, willing herself to focus entirely on the task at hand, anything to keep her mind away from the man beside her, away from what it meant if he decided not to help her.

Away from the fact that his gaze had not moved from her face.

Eventually, she heard a breath leave him, a whisper of a sigh. From her periphery, she saw Loki’s hand slide into view, pulling some of the unsorted mess towards him. His fingers were tentative but steady, beginning to sort the various pieces as if he was as familiar with them as she was. When he spoke, his voice was softer, nearly fragile in its sincerity. 

He sounded just as tired as she was. 

“You know nothing about me, Elle.”

Her hands went still at the sound of her name. There was no bite in it, no sting of mockery, merely a quiet sort of acknowledgement. It was heavy, not with resentment, but with understanding. No, deeper than that. With sympathy. 

She blinked, fighting the sudden sting in her eyes. It was nothing, she tried to tell herself. No, nothing at all, to hear her name spoken by someone other than the Grandmaster or Rezh. To hear that she was acknowledged, even for just a moment, as a person and not property. As her own. Not sweetheart or human or mortal. Or pet. 

She took a shaking breath, biting down on the inside of her cheek. She dared a glance at Loki, only to find he was gazing resolutely at the object in his hands. It was a curved piece of metal, silver and thin as a piece of paper, but sturdy enough that she would struggle to bend it if she tried. 

She couldn’t trust him. She knew that. And yet, in this moment, exhausted and deflated as she was, he’d spoken her name. Had spoken it, and in doing so, made something dark inside her spark to life, red and warm and searching. She’d been alone for so long. Maybe, just for tonight, she didn’t have to be. Maybe for tonight, someone could be in her corner. Even if that someone was Loki.

Just for tonight. Just so I can get my bearings.

“That’s a Sakaaran conduction plate,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. “It’s a good piece to have with any sort of electromagnetic work you need to do. Set it aside?”

He looked at her then, eyebrow raised in curiosity. She counted out a dozen little diodes, tiny glass bulbs embedded on what looked like a thin copper screw with a flat base. “Here. Set these aside with it. And this.” She reached under the sofa and pulled out a wide, flat metal bin brimming with trinkets just like what they were sorting through now. She scanned the contents for a moment before presenting him with a small basic braid of yellow wire. Both of Loki’s brows were up now, gaze flitting between her face and the stash of spare parts. She chuckled sheepishly, seeming to smooth away the remaining tension between them. “You have to make your own fun when you’re basically a hostage on a garbage planet, right?”

To her immense surprise, that earned her a quick laugh, a rough exhalation through his nose. It was not an unwelcome sound. He plucked the wire from her fingers, setting it off to the side as she’d instructed. “What are these for, then?“

“So I can build you your own lock...” He looked interested. “...slash mirror disabler for the bright mornings.“ He looked very interested. She couldn’t help herself—she smirked. 

“That is nearly acceptable,” he said, lifting his chin as he turned back to his pile. “I am a perfectly capable craftsman, once I understand what pieces I am working with. You will show me how to build this contraption myself.”

“Oh, will I?”

Another impressive eye roll. “All right, I would prefer for you to show me how to build this contraption. It will benefit us both if I am more familiar with all the goings-on of this planet, be it social demands or granular details.” 

“I wouldn’t have thought kings were that interested in working with their hands.”

He gave her a flashing, slanted smile. “I can assure you, I am unlike any king you have ever known. Just because necessity does not often demand I engage in craftwork, it does not mean I am not able.”

Before she could tell him that he was actually the only king she’d ever known, he held up a conical metal item about the size of his thumb, ridged on the sides, made of a faintly red metal. “What’s this one?”

“A screw, basically. Used in a lot of furniture, and incidentally, good for taking doors off hinges. Locked kitchen cabinets, specifically, if you need more food or supplies. They break fairly easily, though, so I try to grab them whenever I can. Here, please.” She pointed to a cluster of similar items in the upper right corner of her storage bin. 

Loki evaluated the assemblage, adding tokens from the pile. “You have a multitude of these items hidden around your room. No need to look alarmed, I’ve not taken anything. You’ve hidden them decently enough.” He looked lazily about the room before turning his gaze back to her. “How long have you been here?” 

He sounded genuinely curious; another surprise. Elle tipped her head in thought. “Eight months, I think. The Grandmaster says time moves differently here, but I don’t know how much differently.”

“And you’ve scavenged for these parts all this time?”

When she looked over, he was focusing on the items in his hands. His lashes were low, a dark fan hovering just above his skin. An elegant, strong nose. A sharp curve to his mouth. When he glanced at her from his periphery, she ducked her head.

“I don’t scavenge. I did when I first got here, but I got caught pretty quickly. Embarrassingly quickly, actually. I worked out a deal with the Scrapper who caught me, where I keep her paid and she keeps the supplies coming in. The Grandmaster was busy with you all day, so I met her tonight.”

“Scrappers. They’re the ones who tried to bring me to the palace by force.”

“Right. They work for the Grandmaster. They patrol the planet, watch the portals for new arrivals and bring them in for processing. Nobody just walks in like you did.” (He hummed, smirking.) “The strong ones, the fighters, are brought to the arena or into the security circuit. Sometimes they’re strong enough to get in with the Scrappers eventually. Most of us are brought in as ‘food.’” She raised one hand, bending her index and middle fingers to indicate the air quotes. “But that’s more or less slang for the working class. Maids, cooks, maintenance techs, servants, bodies for the pleasure circuits... Anyone not strong enough to make it in the arena.”

Loki raised his head. “And what class are you? You’re not the only human here. I would have thought he'd keep you together, if you're of the same group.”

Elle cleared her throat quietly, double-knotting a length of twine on which she began to string a series of larger diodes. “We're not. I was only in that wing of the palace for a day or so, and I only met the others briefly. They were here before me, and they told me the Grandmaster would give me the choice of where to serve. They’d chosen the pleasure circuit. It… affords certain protections the other servants don’t have. Outside of an orgy, nobody’s going to hassle a pleasure servant who belongs to the Grandmaster. The same can’t be said for the ones who work in other parts of the palace.” She swallowed, all too aware that she benefited from the same protections, much as she despised the man who offered them; the tilt of Loki’s head told her she hadn’t kept the venom from her voice. “The Grandmaster likes games, but he also likes obedience. He thinks that giving us a choice will make us more compliant.”

“But you chose a different path.”

Elle nodded. “They meant to add me to the pleasure circuit. When I met the Grandmaster, the others had warned me what that would mean. So, I pitched my cover story instead. Magic virgin who could help him read auras see the future, but only if I stayed a virgin.” She laughed, a small, breathless sound. “I didn’t think he’d buy it. I got lucky.”

Loki regarded her for a moment, tracing the component in his hand with his thumb. “No. You played your part well.”

Elle didn't know how to respond to that, so she instead chose to let the silence pool between them. It was more comfortable this time. Not as unwieldy. Then Loki returned his attention to the pieces in his hand, beginning to sort them once again as he returned them to the previous thread of conversation. 

“And what Scrapper in their right mind would ever work with you behind the Grandmaster's back?”

Elle chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, you’ll meet 142. At least I think you will. She tends to come by once a month, right after an orgy. If our plan’s still on and we don’t get off Sakaar by the next one, she’ll be around.”

“It is my hope we will no longer be here by then.” He threw her a suspicious look. “And what, praytell, do you pay Scrapper 142 with? Do not tell me you’ve traded your fabled virginity for spare parts?”

Elle cleared her throat, heat staining her cheeks and neck. “No, not that.”

She had his full attention again, like when she’d been speaking at breakfast. He was listening very intently, his gaze intensely focused enough to feel like physical pressure. She made herself take a breath before responding. “She’s really attractive, but she… well, she looks a lot like my ex. I couldn’t pay her that way even if I wanted to.”

“Oh?” He grinned mischievously. “Is it not exciting to indulge in a bit of fantasy? To enact a scenario of a former paramour with a new one? Or is the wound still too fresh for such a thing to be enjoyable?”

God, her face burned even hotter at that. But it was strange: Elle didn’t detect malice in the question. Teasing, surely, but it didn’t feel barbed, didn’t feel like it was meant to hurt. It felt almost… playful. Or Loki’s brand of playful, anyway, which still made her squirm. 

Detecting no ill intent, she let slip a shy, awkward smile that felt more like a grimace. “I don’t think you can call a wound fresh after four years. But there’s no… I just…” She gestured emptily, searching for the right words. “I’m just not wired for flings.” That was the easiest way to put it to head off further conversation. She was not detailing the ins and outs of her switch to Loki.

“I pay her in whatever currency I can find,” she continued. “I don’t participate at the orgies, but the Grandmaster still likes me to attend. I think he hopes I’ll be so overwhelmed with lust that I’ll run to him and beg him to take me.” (Loki smirked at the bitter sarcasm in her voice.) “The new guests never know to leave their bags in their rooms, and there are always newbies on Sakaar. I usually wait until things are underway, take a few laps around the room, grab whatever’s shiny, and bring it back to Scrapper 142.” She shrugged. “Not very elegant, but it gets the job done.”

He evaluated her for a few moments, nodding contemplatively. “Rather clever of you,” he admitted finally, beginning to sort through the loose wires and braiding them together by color as she had. “Speaking of the Grandmaster’s hope that you will be overcome with lust. What did he offer you today? I thought you had said to be wary of anything blue and shimmering, and that beverage was undoubtedly both.”

“Definitely avoid that stuff. It’s strong as hell and it’ll make you miserable.”

“And your constitution is somehow stronger than mine in this regard?” 

“Oh god no. I’ve just been here for eight months, remember? What no one on this planet seems to account for is the ability to sip.” 

She watched realization spread over his face. It made his eyes brighter, setting the thin ring of gold around his pupil alight.

“You’ve been administering them to yourself.”

She gave him a small shrug. “Again, not very elegant, but effective. Kind of recurring theme here.”

Loki sat up a bit straighter, a frown of deduction settling over his features. “How long have you been doing this? Are you completely immune?”

“Pretty much since I got here. The Grandmaster wasn’t subtle about his intentions, literally from day one. Once it was clear aphrodisiacs were common, I started trying them in small doses to see how strong they were and build up a tolerance.” She gestured at the in-suite bar. “I’m sure you have them, too. And no, I’m not completely immune. I can only tolerate a mouthful of blue shimmery stuff at once. It gives me a headache now, but a nothing-else ache, you know?”

“Interesting. We will come back to this. First, there was another lie you told me today that we must address.”

Elle squinted. Another lie? She was usually so good at keeping track, but she didn’t recall another lie. Shit, had she let something slip about her job? About S.H.I.E.L.D.? “What, uh… what did I say?”

“You said there was no water, but what’s to be found for bathing.”

“Oh. Right. Here.” She stood, motioning for him to follow. A small, panicked voice told her not to show him, that she should keep this secret hidden. But, she wanted off of Sakaar, and if Loki was truly as committed to escaping as she was (and didn’t his presence here prove that, somewhat?), this was one secret she could afford to let slip.

Besides, he's being way nicer now than he was this morning. It doesn’t hurt to build up a little more goodwill.

She led him to her bar, revealing the carefully organized rows. From behind a row of bottles necklaced with blue ribbon, she retrieved a shabby-looking device. Its frame was about the size of her palm, a metal square she had layered with folds of an extremely fine grey material and enclosed in a beaten-up plastic(ish) casing. Around the edges were more of the diodes, strung together with blue wire. Small openings were cut on both ends of the device, where she had affixed thin rubber tubes that had gone grey with use. “I made a water filter. I run liquor through here and it separates out the alcohol into water. I keep the water,” she gestured towards the bottles, “and dump out what’s left.”

Loki crossed his arms over his chest, giving her an appraising look. “Quite clever of you, to build such things from a heap of refuse. Alien refuse, at that.” His fingers drummed evenly on the curve of his bicep. “How have you found yourself so well-equipped to adapt to the difficulties and demands here?”

Shit. Elle pulled her lower lip between her teeth, sighing dramatically in a way she hoped implied a long story. I can’t lie. What do I say?

“It’s a long story.”

Uh oh. That was definitely not the right answer. Loki moved off to sit on the armrest of her sofa, crossing one of his long legs over the other and knitting his fingers together over his knee. How he managed to make such an awkward position look so casual was beyond her. Probably the good posture and raised chin. 

“We have nothing but time. You may proceed.”

Oh, may I?

Elle kept the thought to herself as she retrieved two glass bottles of water, passing one off to Loki and buying herself another few moments with a few deep pulls from her own. “I guess I have you to thank, actually. After your… visit to the city, security got pretty tight across the state. A lot of companies wanted their people to have basic survival skills in case of another attack. My bosses were no different, so we all had to learn a few things.”

Which was the truth. Director Fury himself had issued the order that all S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel were to receive survival training. Admin or field agent, it didn't matter: everyone needed to up their game once Loki came into the picture.  

“Such as?” The Asgardian stared over the rim of his bottle as he took a long, even drink.

“Basic first aid, for one. How to staunch bleeding and properly set bones and sanitize wounds.”

“What else?”

“Very preliminary self defense.” In the sense that she’d been abysmal at hand-to-hand combat beyond learning to throw a basic punch. She was no Melinda May; she’d quickly been labeled as a runner, not a fighter. "And...” she lifted her little makeshift filter. “Basic metalwork, engineering, and electrical education. Enough to string together some lights and get a generator going if you’re stranded in some rubble.” She’d done very well in the scavenging and reassembly courses, actually. I’ll never make field agent based on that alone, but the offices aren’t so bad, she’d thought, once upon a time.

“And you were able to apply this knowledge to these alien machines?”

“You don’t have to sound so incredulous.”

He seemed to hide a smirk behind another pull from his bottle. “I meant no offense. There seems to be a lack of consistency on this planet. With the various portals bringing in so many different beings and equipment from different realms, it becomes increasingly unlikely that you could assemble these items into any sort of functional device. That you’ve managed to do so is an impressive feat.”

“Oh.” She blinked, suddenly unsure of where to look. Down at her feet seemed safe. “Thanks. Took a lot of trial and error, but I got there eventually.”

He stared at her for a long moment, head tilting. “And what is it you did on Midgard, exactly, to learn how to get through such trials and errors?”

Shit!

She took another long drink before answering, pulse thumping against her temples. They were having a moment, weren’t they? Sort of? As much as two extremely reluctant allies could have, at any rate. Why did he have to ruin it by stressing her out? “I was an analyst for a big company. It was my job to know a little of everything.”

Does he buy it? It’s the truth. The actual, honest truth. The fact that I was a behavioral analyst for S.H.I.E.L.D. shouldn’t set off his lie-o-meter or magic lie detector or whatever it is, right?

Loki’s mouth quirked, so minutely that Elle thought maybe she imagined it. The muscles in her legs began to tense, waiting to see if he’d strike out at her, if he’d scream and call her a liar.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Loki nodded, features returning to their usual smooth nonchalance. “I will grant you this, mortal. You may prove more useful than I'd originally anticipated.”

It took all her effort not to slouch in relief. Instead, she raised her eyebrows, flattening her tone. “Wow. Such praise.” 

“It is, considering your situation.”

He rose slowly, stretching so Elle saw, truly saw, the impressive height of him. Suddenly she thought of him as he was on TV all those years ago, domineering and brutal and violent. Her fingers twitched, instinct and training flaring up against each other in an effort to stay still. She never would have thought that man was capable of the quiet self-control she’d seen tonight. After grabbing my face, that is.

She looked away, taking a small sip.

“This has been a long but enlightening day,” he said, moving toward the adjoining door. “We will continue our education in the morning.”

She sputtered, still not used to the way he made casual demands, as if his word was law. “We will?”

“Yes. You will tell me more about the aphrodisiacs and how you went about building up your tolerance, and tomorrow evening, once the Grandmaster is finished with us, you will show me how to build that little contraption for the door and ceiling. Agreed?”

It took Elle a moment to catch up. That was it? He bought her story about her survival skills? No more questions? 

Had she really gotten away with it? Or had he just allowed it, because of all the other truth she'd given him tonight? Shame flickered inside her again. It was just for tonight. My guard was down. It won’t happen again. 

“Yeah. Yes. That works.”

“Excellent. Goodnight, then, Elle.”

With a small bow, he was gone again, the door secured behind him. Elle stared at it for a long moment before she was able to collect her racing thoughts. As she got undressed for bed, she was unable to shake the look in his eyes when he’d sat down beside her, nor the odd strain in his voice when he asked where her rage was. Pulling the blankets up, she thought back to that very training that was serving her now, of Director Fury pacing slowly in front of her and the other recruits. 

“Remember that any opponent you face never exists in a vacuum. How they fight, how they respond, what they prioritize: it all comes down to lives lived before you encounter them. They will expect from you what everyone else in their lives has given them before. If you’re captured, you have to know how to flip this expectation. Knowing how to surprise your opponent, to make them see you as something unique, makes you valuable and keeps you alive.Your job, whether you’re out in the field or behind a desk, is to constantly evaluate what you know and compare it against what you learn. Stagnant information will get you killed.”

Maybe her honesty had helped her after all, Elle mused. Because of it, she'd learned something tonight. Perhaps Loki had not meant to teach her, had perhaps not expected her to be listening. But she was, more closely now than ever before. 

What had happened to Loki that he expected her to respond with rage instead of hurt? What had his life been that anger was the only fathomable option, that even giving him the honesty he wanted triggered his ire? She suddenly wondered about all those filing cabinets and all those files, the ones she’d seen and the ones she didn’t have access to. So many words, and yet, she was suddenly sure she had a vastly incomplete story. So many pictures and summaries of what his anger had caused, but no mention of what triggered it. 

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of a garden of thorns. She moved through rows and rows of them, vibrant, emerald green with deep purple tips, clutching at her hair and clothes, scratching at her hands and her face. She was surrounded, struggling to move forward as blood welled from a million tiny cuts, seeming to draw more of the wicked things forward. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. Elle yanked against them, knees buckling as the thorns curled around her limbs, twisting through her hair like a fist. They tugged her down and down and down, pulling her beneath the dark, damp soil until there was nothing left of her at all.

Chapter Text

Loki awoke quite pleased with himself, that pleasure crawling over his face in a self-satisfied grin. With a soft hum of contemplation, he curled his arm to drum his fingers against his sternum. He had played his part to perfection, as he did so often. The woman—Elle, it must be Elle from now on if this is going to work—was lonely. Crushingly so, more than enough to eventually trust him. Eight months spent alone and afraid had left their mark on her. 

With a bit of restraint and some careful questioning, he’d gotten her to show him her machines and her tools, and today, she would surrender more of her secrets to survival on Sakaar. He’d anticipated more of a fight, honestly, but she had been ever so responsive to the use of her name. It was important to her, he’d realized, to be seen as her own. To be thought of as more than property. 

His smile faltered, fingers going still.

He had truly wounded her, hadn’t he? Calling her the Grandmaster’s pet, her belief that he had so quickly forgotten their alliance, it damaged her somehow. Hurt her. Her face surfaced in his mind’s eye, that vacant, defeated expression when she told him she wasn’t angry. When she told him she knew him, knew that his hatred was the best he could offer.

He thought of the fear in her eyes when he’d grabbed her jaw. The unnatural stillness that stole over her body after her lone attempt to pull away. He’d recognized it instantly as the same strange stillness that shrouded her in the bar; that combination of adrenaline and rigidity that betrayed a deep, harrowing terror she dared not show. 

Loki tensed his shoulders, pushing his head back against his pillow as some cold, greasy feeling slatted itself between his ribs, oozing into his gut.

“Anger is the only thing that keeps me from giving up completely, and I need whatever I have left to survive here.” Her words had stunned him, flaying deep into the center of his mind, churning up the rocky soil of jagged memories he tried so hard to keep buried. 

His cell. The heat. The bladed pain. 

The hopelessness that came after his rage had faltered. What had happened, when all that was left was his fear.

It was as if she’d held up a mirror to his own agony, daring him to refuse it.

He shook his head, gritting out a low snarl. It was an act of some sort, he was sure of it. No doubt taught by her masters at S.H.I.E.L.D. He was confident now that was where her loyalties resided, based on what she had revealed of her training. Surely they had taught her how draw her features tight, not in anger, but in sadness, and that deep, aching loneliness that Loki assured himself he did not sympathize with in the least. 

He rubbed his hands over his face, stifling a groan. He’d had the opportunity to pry further into her employment, into just how she’d found herself on Sakaar. She had left him the perfect moment to strike. Why had he not taken it? 

Why allow this charade to continue?

I was in no mood to push against her lies, that's all. I was simply gathering information. It was not the right time to press. 

It changed nothing. Nuances of performance were still performance. Gain her trust, learn her secrets, get off this planet. Yes. He would stick to the plan and be off Sakaar in a month’s time, back to Asgard to reclaim his throne and his magic. Her anger, her loneliness, they were of no consequence to him.

That greasy feeling in his stomach only tightened. 

He shoved it aside and nodded resolutely to himself as he rose from his bed. The suns were just beginning to rise, staining the sky a light, inky purple. He dressed quickly, then burst through the adjoining door without knocking.

“Arise, mortal, we—Oh.”

Elle was already awake, tucked over on the sofa against the far wall with a book in her lap. Despite the early hour, she had been expecting him, it seemed: she was dressed and groomed for the day, draped in a short wrap of navy silk that nearly complemented his own blue leathers. She looked up, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “Morning.”

Loki straightened, found himself shifting his weight from one leg to the other as she looked up at him, her gaze gentle in its focus. “Did you sleep?”

“A little. Bad dreams.” She shrugged, setting her book aside. He arched his neck to examine the cover, which made her hum bashfully, holding it up for him. “The Watch and Clock Encyclopedia. Exciting stuff, right? It’s the only book in English I’ve found out here."

"Ah." 

They each waited, merely watching each other another moment, Loki crossing his arms, Elle raising her eyebrows.

“I thought we could—”

“We should begin with—”

An awkward, halting pause followed by more silence. Loki watched her dip her head with an embarrassed chuckle, but then she was walking to him with sure, even steps. He tilted his head curiously as she moved beside him, waiting to see how she would proceed. 

“Here. You wanted to start with the aphrodisiacs, right?”

“Yes. There is much ground to cover if we are to escape this rock before the month is out.”

She made a sound of affirmation as she opened up the bar, making room for him to close the space between them. When he did, she did not flinch away. A nuance. It does not matter.

“We should definitely work on that timeline. I have a feeling you’ll be popular, if you’re here for the next orgy.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I mean. You know. You’re…” She flapped a hand at him, carefully averting her eyes. “Conventionally appealing.”

He could have gaped. Nearly gaped. Had he ever been called attractive with less passion? He had half a mind to be offended, if her opinion mattered at all to him. But the energy around her was interesting, had him pressing his tongue to his teeth as he peered down at her. It was not a lie, not quite, but there was something peculiar about it. It was cool in the way her truth was, but not free-flowing. It was stale, somehow. There was more to her statement. Something withheld.

Why should he care?

He did not care. He was not here for her amusement. Still… 

He drummed his fingers on his bicep. “Please, do not attempt too valiantly to win me over through flattery, mortal,” he said dryly. “I shan’t know how to recover.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the smirk playing over her lips before could bite it back. Saw the faint pink dusting along the swell of her cheeks. “Fine. You’ll be popular because you’re hot. Happy?”

Better. But still not the whole truth.

He raised his brows, tilting his head just so. She fidgeted under his stare, but there was no fear in her today, no adrenaline or terror. No, this was something more subtle. Something softer. Something warm and vulnerable. Interesting. 

“Popular with whom? Not you, I take it?”

Oh, what a fascinating expression she made. He had surprised her, bringing that little O back to her lips and making her dark eyes widen for just a moment. He pressed his lips tight to suppress his grin; he quite liked being able to do that, to make her drop that mask. It made him feel as though they were both on uneven footing.

All part of our little game, he told himself.

She cleared her throat softly, now extremely focused on sorting through the bottles before her. “Looks only do so much for me,” she admitted after a moment. Though it was a simple statement, the truth of it rushed over him in a soothing wave, brisk and sweet and clean. He thought back to her comment the night before, about this mystery Scrapper she did business with looking like a former lover. Another woman. 

“I see. Perhaps the lovely Rezh is your preference, then?”

She shook her head, pulling a few bottles to the forefront in no apparent pattern. “Let’s just say my preferences are few and far between. My apparent disinterest makes the virgin bit easier to sell.”

Truth. It was refreshing, receiving so much of it. It felt like cool silk, soft and inviting in his mind.  He quite liked the feel of her truth, he decided. Much better than that rigid, stagnant aura of lies that surrounded her. Loki found himself wanting more of it. It was easier to navigate, that was all. He was not curious. He was not enjoying coaxing the truth out of so guarded a creature. He certainly felt no gleaming twinge of pride in seeing someone so lost and lonely accepting the obligatory olive twigs (for surely they were not branches) he offered for the sake of his escape. 

Loki merely enjoyed puzzles, even puzzles he would be done playing with soon. 

He took a small breath, noting the way she watched him from her periphery. “And how did you sell your performance yesterday? How did you manage to take a mouthful of that potion and remain unaffected?”

“Right. Okay. First thing’s first.” A resolute, almost stern expression etched into her features, reminding him of a face very much like his tutors used to make when they were imploring him to sit still during his lessons. She faced him with an adjustment of her shoulders, chin jutting up. “Let’s just acknowledge up front that this is a weird conversation, okay? There’s no way to talk about aphrodisiacs without talking about... biological reactions, so let’s just get the giggling out of the way now and agree that this is a strictly educational talk.”

Loki made an indignant sound, hands falling to his hips. “I do not giggle, mortal. Honestly, are you Midgardians so puerile that you cannot discuss adult matters without falling prey to embarrassed tittering?”

“Look, there’s no need to be crabby about it—”

“If I am anything, it is impatient that you feel the need to give this conversation such unnecessary disclaimers. We are both adults and I had assumed you could act as such. Oh, do spare me the scowl and get on with it.”

“Fine.” She turned away with an indignant little huff, spreading her hands out to present the cabinet to him. “So. I have a system. Those down on the bottom, with the gold ribbon? That’s just alcohol. No drugs, nothing fancy. And anything with a blue ribbon, like I showed you last night, is water. That leaves the red. These are the ones to watch out for.” She pointed up at the high shelves, a variety of colors and viscosities winking down at them. “Start with sips. I can’t stress that enough. I know you’re probably stronger than I am—”

“Probably?”

“Ugh, fine, you’re so much stronger than I am.”

He smirked and gave her a deep nod, bidding her to continue.

“But start slow until you get to know how they affect you. I have a sip of one of these every day to keep my tolerance up, but you need to start slow. They all tend to hit your system in different ways, which can be a pain when you’re trying to build up a tolerance, but it helps you keep your bearings when someone doses you or offers you a drink.”

When. 

Not if. 

A fist of ice tightened in his gut. “Has this happened to you? Were you drugged?”

“A few times.” Her eyes moved in restless patterns, meeting his only to dart away. Had S.H.I.E.L.D. taught her this? This pained sincerity? Could something like this even be taught?

“But that’s why I’m telling you to sip everything you don’t pour yourself. When it happened, I recognized it as soon as it hit and I got myself back to my room safely. Building up a tolerance is helpful, but knowing what these feel like when they hit your system is just as important.”

He nodded. “And the effects are manageable in such low doses?” 

She rubbed the back of her neck, scanning the bottles. “Some more than others. Here, see the red shimmery one? That’s Rotan’s Kiss—not Devil’s Kiss, which is the purple one they served you at the bar. Devil’s Kiss is a mix of aphrodisiacs and a strong Sakaaran wine. The combination makes people aggressive, more impatient and less aware of themselves. The aphrodisiac is pretty standard, but the added alcohol gives it an unpredictable edge.

“Rotan’s Kiss, on the other hand, is just your basic, run-of-the-mill aphrodisiac: heightens and extends desire and pleasure while shortening recovery time. It’s made from those plasticky looking plants we saw in the greenhouse yesterday, so it has fewer chemicals, which makes it easier to burn off. Catch yourself in time and you can get that out of your system yourself in an hour or so just by drinking water. Enough of it can make you uncomfortable, but never out-of-your-mind desperate. 

“And that one, the blue milky stuff? That’s Zandaarian Fengree. That one lasts a bit longer, maybe four hours with a full shot. That one can definitely lead to some long nights if you’re not careful, but again, if you catch yourself in time you can get it under control with some water and, you know, self-help. It also makes certain levels of pain feel better, and it makes salty things taste sweet, so it’s pretty popular.” 

Loki wondered at the detached, unbothered way she described it, as if recounting this had no affect on her. As if the biological responses, as she’d put it, were inconsequential. As if it was of no consequence that she had apparently tried all of these herself and managed to keep up her virginal act. How lonely, indeed, to be so lost and isolated, reducing acts of pleasure to clinical trials for survival. How frustrating it must have been… 

He pushed the thought aside; an academic approach was for the best, really. This was an informational exchange and nothing more.

“And what was the blue shimmering one the Grandmaster offered you yesterday?”

She gestured toward a tall, thin bottle, lips pressed into a thin line. “Celenine. Very similar to Zandaarian Fengree, but it’s got some kind of hallucinogen mixed in. The tantric groups use it a lot, and it’s a bitch to build up a tolerance for.”

“And the Grandmaster gave it to you knowing this.” He flinched, surprised by the heated edge he heard in his voice. From the look on Elle’s face, she heard it, as well. “He intended to drug your body and mind for everyone to see.”

She shrugged, voice dipping low, emotion creeping back in at the edges. Sadness and exhaustion and the bitterness of defeat. It was not biology that troubled her, he realized, but what the people here chose to do with it. The weaponization of pleasure. “Things aren’t nice here, Loki. Everybody is property here, in one way or another.” 

Though she did not speak the words aloud, he understood her meaning: a matter of when, not if.

Elle’s gaze dropped to her feet, though he did not miss the sheen in her eyes. She was allowing a vulnerability to come to the surface that he knew he would never see outside this room. It had not occurred to him that so soft an edge could cut, and yet he found himself pulling away, as if escaping from the pressure of a blade against his skin. A blade she had put there, wrapped in the terrible sweetness of her honesty: Pity. Sympathy.

Made sharper when she offered him a tired smile. “If you decide to try this one, be extra careful, okay? Don’t take it from anyone, especially not the Grandmaster. It messes with your head.”

He barely repressed a shudder, working his jaw as he looked away from her. “I have had more than enough of that for several lifetimes.”

“What do you mean?”

Loki went rigid, cold down to his core. He had not meant to voice that aloud. It was one thing to remember, but to speak it… he’d never told anyone what he'd endured in Sanctuary. Not a single soul. To put it into words felt like a dark omen, like summoning an ancient creature from the toxic muck of his soul, something putrid and stagnant. He had no wish to heave it out into the light. He locked his muscles to repress the threat of another shiver. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” His voice was low, but thankfully steady. Still, she looked up at him, brows knitted, lips parted in her confusion. In concern.

He forced his gaze back to the cabinet, straightening his spine and pointing to a small bottle with not one but two red ribbons fastened around its neck. The syrupy, opalescent liquid inside seemed to glow. “And what is this one?”

Elle blinked, watching him for another moment before looking to where he pointed. She winced, and for the first time in this conversation, a true, deep blush seared across her cheeks, burning down along her throat. He could all but feel the heat of it radiating off her. 

“That’s Shine. Shine’s, um...” She blew out a long, uncomfortable breath. “Shine’s a beast.”

Loki nodded and waited patiently for her to continue. When she did, she pointedly kept her gaze averted. “The Grandmaster breaks it out for holidays, I hear. I’ve only seen it out for guests once, right when I first got here. That’s where I grabbed the bottle. It’s incredibly potent. Even a small dose can last for close to a day. Has the usual bag of tricks: more pleasure, pleasurable pain, and virtually no recovery period needed, from what I’ve heard.”

“Have you not felt the effects of this one?”

“I have. I just… I didn’t seek out a partner. I mean, I didn’t seek out a partner for any of these, but with Shine? It was… horrific.” She rubbed a hand over her eyes, her voice wavering into something deeper than embarrassment. Memory, he realized. Memory of pain. 

“God, out with it, Elle,” she muttered, shaking herself. “Okay. It makes it so you can’t finish on your own. Your skin becomes wrong somehow, like you can’t recognize your own body, or anything that’s not living skin. Masturbation and toys… they don’t do anything for you. Nothing.” 

She cleared her throat, but even so, he heard the lingering mortification of what she had endured. “I told you my preferences are few and far between, right? I don’t… I don’t want people that often, and when I do, it’s usually under a very specific set of circumstances. But after Shine? I had to barricade myself in my room. I had to tie myself to the furniture like an animal. No matter what I did, there was no relief. Shine hurts.” She rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill, and Loki recognized the distant, hardened look in her eyes. Knew all too well the fine line she now walked, between simple recollection and a memory surging back to life, not in her mind, but in her flesh. That fist of ice in his gut fractured, sending the cold all through him. 

“Shine made me into something I didn’t recognize. With anything else on this shelf, when you get dosed, you’ll still feel like yourself, you know? An incredibly desperate version of yourself, but still you underneath it all. Even with Celenine, you see things that aren’t there, but there’s still something of yourself inside. On Shine? It’s like you are stripped away. You’re crazed. Desperate doesn’t begin to cover it. It’s…”

She shuddered, as if realizing she was skirting the edge of a truth she did not wish to share. This went beyond loneliness, he knew; beyond fear. This was torment: her own body turned against her. Pleasure stripped of comfort, of consent. The truth of it, of her words and implications, struck him like a physical blow. And every word of it, a clean, winding truth that he had no business reveling in.

The ice in his belly tightened once more, pulling uncomfortably. “Did you take this of your own volition?” His voice was small, no more than a whisper. He could not quite say why the answer was so desperately important to him. He wanted… needed to know if the Grandmaster had tried to hurt her, beyond what he’d already seen. 

When she nodded, relief unspooled through him in a rush, but it was accompanied by something else. Something blunt but undeniable nonetheless: recognition. Though it had been carried out in different methods, he recognized the ways Sakaar had taken Elle from herself. 

To be unmade. To be brought to a place inside and forced to face the depths of your own despair, violence, and depravity. And to be shackled there. Left alone with only the worst parts of who you never meant to be.

Loki shook himself, realizing Elle had begun speaking again. “It was one of the first things I tried. I’m glad I did, you know? Just a little, locked in my room. God, I didn’t come out for a week.”

“A week?”

“Like I said, I couldn’t exactly take care of myself, and I had to wait for it to burn out of my system. I hadn’t quite perfected my sip rule then. I couldn’t shake it, and it wasn’t safe to look for help. It was misery. Just an endless stretch of misery.”

He filled in the gaps easily enough. That meant she had most likely barely eaten or slept. She had done everything in her power to keep herself locked up, had chosen pain (and punishment, possibly, for hiding from the Grandmaster) rather than run to the arms of someone to whom she could not have truly consented. She may have injured herself, and in doing so had kept herself safe, had kept anyone else from harming her. 

He could not blame her. In this regard, they were not so different. He found himself wanting to say as much, simply to acknowledge that he understood. That he knew what it was to choose an agony of one’s own creation rather than be subjected to the sadistic pleasures of another. 

Elle tossed him a broken half-smile, surely meant to disarm the situation, to take the venom out of the gravity of her revelation: that she was in very real danger here, more than he had allowed himself to understand. And yet she had survived. No, not only had she survived, she had kept him from the very fate she’d managed to outrun. Perhaps it was only for her own benefit, and perhaps it was all part of some clever deception taught to her in a ridiculous S.H.I.E.L.D academy. 

Even so, she was stronger than he’d given her credit for. 

He opened his mouth, not entirely sure what he was going to say, when a sharp knock echoed through the room. They exchanged quick glances, Elle moving toward her door, nodding as Loki exited back to his own room. The Grandmaster had come to collect them.

Loki closed the passage between his room and Elle’s just as the knocking on his own door began. He swung it open, forced to begin his own charade anew.

“My king.” Rezh’s voice was honey and silk, her dress more gauzy promise than fabric, accentuating her curves and making her look nothing short of regal.

It was a shame he was in no mood for her. He wanted to undo this, to go back in and stand beside Elle. To learn and listen.

To make sure that harrowed look disappeared from her face. One he had seen in the mirror so often after his release from Sanctuary.

“My dear.” His voice hid his disappointment, barred behind a smile he did not truly feel. “What a delightful surprise.” 

She took his hands in two of her own while the second set wrapped gently around his elbows, leaning in to kiss him on each cheek. “The Grandmaster recommended I show you around Sakaar today, and how could I refuse the pleasure of your company?”

Damn.

He swallowed his irritation and forced a stuttering laugh. It was far from ideal, but he must play along for the moment. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” She slid two arms over his, her skin impossibly warm. There was already a slightly darker flush to her cheeks, her pupils wide. He wondered which of the aphrodisiacs she’d already indulged in.

Rezh tugged him into the hallway, where the Grandmaster tossed them a faint smile. He was already talking to Elle, leaning in to cage her against the closed door and dragging his index finger along her chin. A bolt of rage, bright and unexpected, stabbed through Loki’s chest, crackling behind his ribs in angry snaps of electricity. His own memory tore at him: the surge of bitter revulsion, of burning contempt, as Thanos’ hand gently fisted his hair. Nearly tender. The Titan was always at his worst when he began not with breaking nor tearing, but with softness. Always a precursor before the worst of the pain.   

Loki watched the firm line of Elle’s jaw, the aversion of her eyes but the resolute stillness in her body as the Grandmaster’s hands found her hips, pulling her to begin walking beside him. “...quick and easy, and then we’ll take a walk. You’d like that, wouldn’t you sweetheart? When was the last time I took you outside?”

“A couple of weeks ago, I guess…” She cast a furtive glance at Loki before she was pulled away, her mask firmly in place. 

Loki moved to follow, only to be stopped by Rezh. “Ah, best leave them to it today. You and I are on our own this morning. The Grandmaster has business with his human.”

Loki allowed himself to be pulled in the opposite direction, though he cast a quick glance back over his shoulder. 

He did not care for this. Not in the least.

“Did I hear correctly? Does he not permit her outside alone?”

Rezh stifled a giggle, leaning into him more heavily. He could all but feel her pulse jumping against his skin.

“Scandalous, isn’t it? For a ruler to be so devoted to one little thing?” She turned, pressing her breasts against his arm. “Besides, he can’t have her out on display now, can he? The humans here are very popular at the festivities. We have two other females and one male, and they’re always in high demand when they’re brought in. Knowing that little Elle is the newest human in the Grandmaster’s menagerie, and untouched at that? Not everyone is respectful of the Grandmaster’s claim to her, I’m afraid. Besides, have you ever been with a human?”

He shook his head. “I cannot say I have.” Not even during his hunting trips to Midgard with Thor, so many years ago now. Those had been business matters, times for either diplomacy or brotherly bonding. Not that it had stuck, he thought bitterly. But still, it was the truth. He’d heard stories, of course, had witnessed his fair share of their behaviors, but only as an observer. He had never taken a human as a lover.

“Oh, you must. What they lack in durability they make up for in warmth and sensitivity. Their skin is deliciously delicate, my king, well worth the restraint it takes to be gentle with them. I have been with all three of the free humans and there is nothing quite like it. They are so receptive to everything you give them. And the sounds they make! You will find exquisite pleasures beyond your wildest dreams on Sakaar, and I assure you, a few of them you will find in the skin of a human.”

Her breath was coming quicker now, her eyes dark and glistening. She stopped suddenly, pulling him outside into an enclosure with a large, open pool. A ring of abrasively orange sand gave it the look and feel of a beach captured in a toy bottle. The space was studded with little cabanas of chrome and red gauzy fabric, pleasured sounds coming from every corner. A knot of Sakaarans had taken over the pool, looking up hungrily at Loki and Rezh. Loki hesitated, but then Rezh’s hands were on him all at once, tugging at his leathers as she pulled him into a private cabana.

“Though I hope you’ll also find a few in mine.”

Chapter Text

Elle needed to stop fidgeting. It was poor form, she knew, and it would only invite the Grandmaster to keep touching her. She’d had enough of that today, thank you. Smoothing her dress, she squared her shoulders and took a breath. She’d done this so many times, it shouldn’t be a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. 

But it was. 

Because Loki was here, but he wasn’t here. Rezh had run off with him, pupils blown out, in a dress that made promises that only four-armed goddesses could keep. He hadn't been dosed, but she had definitely taken something. And who was going to refuse a breathy, beautiful, begging warrior queen?

He’ll probably be busy for the rest of the day. 

Elle’s lips pursed of their own accord, the thought acrid and mean. It was much more bitter than it should have been; she knew that. It did nothing to lessen the sting. 

Because damn it, she could really use his help right now. Why had she wasted so much time on aphrodisiac education? Why hadn’t she told him about this? He had magic! Real magic! And he could actually tell when someone was lying. 

Damn it, Loki, did you really have to disappear at the first opportunity?

She folded her hands in front of her and stepped forward, drawing up even with the Grandmaster’s armrest. She caught his grin just before his hand curled out lazily to stroke the fabric along her outer thigh. Topaz, quietly impatient with the Grandmaster’s distractions, rolled her eyes from the other side of his throne, but Elle acknowledged neither of them. The Grandmaster liked her still and Topaz liked her silent, and she had learned how to appease them both when the situation called for it. 

And the situation most certainly called for it. Already the tension bunched like a fist between her shoulder blades. Get your act together, Elle. You’ve done this by yourself plenty of times. 

She just… wished she didn’t have to. Loki may have been dangerous back on Earth, but his presence here took the edge off. He was at least another person who didn’t want to be here, and that was proving far more comforting than she'd expected.

Don’t get attached, she scolded herself. Means to an end, remember? Off Sakaar, back to Earth, and a long, long explanation to Director Fury.

The Grandmaster gave one loud, definitive clap, startling her from her thoughts, and the room burst into a blur of motion and color. Guards rushed to their places, swinging opening the giant chrome doors and ushering in today’s Scrappers. 

Elle bit down on the inside of her cheek. Just once, hard enough to make her wince. She had to focus.

Her host leaned forward with a dazzling grin as the first Scrapper of the day made his way into the room. He was a giant, lumbering in with a sluggish confidence as his captives pulled against their thick metal harnesses. It didn’t do them any good—this Scrapper was a literal beast. His captives might as well have been trying to pull free from a steel pillar. The Grandmaster was, predictably, delighted. “Scrapper 910, hello hello! What have you brought for me today?”

Elle watched impassively as the interaction unfolded. 910 offered up three bodies for fodder. They were spirited, but small. They'd never make it through the preliminaries, would never face the Hulk, but they would put on a good show judging by the way they hollered and pulled against their restraints. They weren’t like any creatures Elle had seen before—their bodies sharp, severe, and made of bone—but that was far from uncommon here. The universe was a vast place and Sakaar took in castoffs from every corner, after all. 

When it came to the subject of payment, Scrapper 910 requested an additional 500,000 units for damages to his ship. “On account of…” He gestured to his captives’ sharpness. “Lots of holes in my walls.”

The Grandmaster gestured for her to lean down, and she obeyed. “What do you think, sweetheart? Is he trying to pull one over on me or what?”

910 was relatively humanoid. He had thick, dark fur, and a rather lupine face, but he was built much like a man. Elle couldn’t tell if he scratched at his neck from the discomfort of his fur, which was matted with sweat, or if he was lying. 

She watched his eyes instead. He wasn’t blinking rapidly. There was no quick aversion of his gaze. None of the signs she’d been trained to look for. In humans, anyway. 

Plus, it’s a reasonable request. Not an astronomical amount of money, and the damages are plausible, given how the captives are built.

The truth, then. Probably.

Elle shook her head. “No, Grandmaster. His aura is calm. I sense no dishonesty from him.” 

He hummed in approval. “Good. Topaz, let’s pay the man and keep the ball rolling.”

The morning dragged. Elle was used to days like this, but she was impatient today, antsy. Having to be this version of herself was uncomfortable, tight, like a cracked skin she couldn’t quite shed. Talking to Loki, even for a little while, had been… well, freeing. Being able to openly voice her distaste for Sakaar, to talk about what she’d learned here—to anyone else, maybe it would have felt insignificant. But the simple act of giving voice to what had happened here, even to Loki, struck hard against the flint she’d built up around herself, igniting little orange sparks of hope.

Stupid, stupid hope.

It had just been so long since she’d been able to talk to someone! An escape was probably still a ways out, especially if Loki felt the need to dose himself with aphrodisiacs as she had, but still! There was possibility now! It took all her power not to start squirming again. She wanted to go, to plan, to organize! 

But I’m here, and Loki’s off with Rezh. 

Disappointment returned as a sudden weight pressing in her chest. She took a quick breath, trying to shove it away, only to have it sink deeper, lodging just beneath her ribs. 

Don’t get attached. It’s just a job. Think of it as one big job, and nothing else. Besides, who cares what they're up to? Not everybody has a switch, remember? Hookups are normal, especially here. It’s none of my business, anyway.  

She rolled her lower lip between her teeth, willing her attention back to the dealings. The Scrappers continued to arrive and depart. Elle gave her opinions quietly, only speaking when spoken to. The stakes were lower here than at the orgies; if she accused anyone of lying, they were usually just denied additional compensation. No one was getting melted because of her today. It helped that she’d guessed correctly enough times so that many of the Scrappers knew who she was by now, knew not to ask for any credits they hadn’t earned. Still, there was always the possibility that she could be accused publicly, that a Scrapper would call her powers into question, would tell the Grandmaster she was wrong and bring her whole carefully-crafted deception crumbling down. 

She swallowed hard. It was always a possibility, in everything she did. 

As she’d told Loki: not if, but when.

She cast a glance at the Grandmaster, who drummed his fingers on his armrest. 

He’s impatient. Seeing so many Scrappers today. Something’s definitely going on. Is he getting ready for a party? His birthday isn’t coming up yet, is it?

All at once the energy in the room shifted, became electric. A figure moved to the doorframe, casting a long, lean shadow across the floor. The other Scrappers thundered out their greetings, forcing their marks to their knees in an unbridled show of dominance. Those who already had their obedience disks knelt quietly or crashed to the ground howling. The object of everyone’s affection entered with a swagger and a grin, silver hair pushed away from silver eyes. He was deeply tanned, with a latticework of living gunmetal mesh running from the base of his throat to rest just beneath his left eye. Dressed in the rust-red armor of the desert-waste Scrappers, heavily armed, tugging along his captive with little effort. His teeth were an unnatural, beaming white, just a fraction too sharp. As he moved toward the throne, light winked off the metal woven through his face.

Elle’s stomach lurched, imploding into a painful knot as her palms went clammy, fingers beginning to shake. Her chest was too light, too empty, air seeming to move through her lungs rather than filling them. It was a miracle that she kept her chin up, but the cold shock of adrenaline sent a harsh tremor through the bunched muscles in the backs of her legs, ricocheted down through her marrow into the soles of her feet, curling her toes with the instinct to run. 

Don’t. Don’t move. Don't let him see.

The Grandmaster sat up in his seat, a languid, gravelly laugh on his lips as he spread his arms wide. “219, you devil! I haven’t seen you in ages! Where’ve you been hiding, my friend?” 

Scrapper 219 gave a blinding smile, dragging his newest catch to kneel between him and the Grandmaster. “Oh, here and there, Grandmaster. Here and there.” 

The poor creature had been beautiful once, before it was bound and burned. What once may have been jewel-toned skin was faded from dirt and lack of sunlight, ragged around the wrists from the friction of bindings. It was muzzled, a thin stream of ink-dark blood winding from the flat of its nose. It kept its head carefully trained downward, eyes low. The skin around its obedience disk was charred and inflamed, painful to look at.

Something in Elle’s chest split for the creature, a quick, sharp tear, blade through paper. She wondered if she’d looked quite so broken when 219 brought her in. 

Knew full well that she had. 

219 patted his captive on the back, making the poor thing wince. “Been exploring the outer rim of Sakaar, digging through the desert landfills out that way. Lots of fighters and food out there these days.”

Those silver eyes slid to lock on Elle. His gaze skittered over her, down her body and back up again, coaxing bile to the back of her throat. The Grandmaster caught the look, a low, hard chuckle uncurling from his throat while his fingertips found her thigh once more. Gloating.

“And you caught a treat. What is this treasure you’ve brought me today? Not a human.”

“Nah, no humans in a while. Sadly. Know how much you like ‘em. Can’t say I blame you.” That blade-bright smile flashed to Elle. 

Don’t. Don’t give him anything. 

219 finally dropped his gaze, looking down almost affectionately at his captive. “He may not be human, but this one'll keep you entertained. This is a Sed.”

“Sad?”

“Nossir, Sed. Hasn't given me his name. Did give me a hell of a runaround, that’s for sure. Strong, fast, clever. Should give you a damn fine show against your—”

Suddenly, one of the side doors flew open, letting in a high squeal cushioned by breathy giggles and low, seductive murmurs. Rezh and Loki stumbled in, disheveled and grinning. The entire room turned to look at them, many offering whistles of approval.

Relief and rage tore through Elle simultaneously, a terrible spike of feeling that left her skin hot even as she shivered. Having 219’s attention moved away from her was like a boot being removed from her throat. But the sight of Loki, carefree and smiling and flirtatious while she had to perform her obedience… she fought down a choked growl, drawing that acidic pain back into her throat. Of course. 

“Well, well, speaking of a damn fine show.” 219 turned to throw an appreciative leer their way. “Howya doin’ Rezh?”

The woman straightened with a wide grin, smoothly brushing her hair away from her face with one hand. The other three remained attached to various parts of Loki. His neck. His hip. His wrist. 

None of which he’s trying to pull away from. 

No, he looked completely calm, a smug little smirk on his face as he silently appraised the Scrapper.

“Fine, 219.” Rezh looked down at the Sed, blinking slowly. “New haul?”

“New haul.” 219 raised his eyebrow at her, eyes flickering to Loki. “New haul?”

“New friend.” She patted Loki’s chest, eliciting a low hum from the Asgardian that made Elle’s stomach go tight and sour. Then, realizing they’d interrupted, Rezh turned toward the throne. “I’m so sorry for the disruption, Grandmaster. We weren’t expecting so much company today.” The Grandmaster waved her away with a good-natured smile, and with a barely-concealed smirk, she dragged Loki off to the side of the room. 

Anger blistered Elle’s lungs, breath tight and erratic. This is why you don’t get attached. This is why—

But then Loki caught her eye.  

It was subtle, so subtle she may have missed it if she wasn’t already glaring at him. He turned from Rezh’s grip, angling his face toward Elle, dipping his chin just a fraction. That smug smirk fell away easily, betraying the emptiness of the expression, as his lips pressed into a small line. There was a gentleness in his eyes, at odds with the careful, controlled tension in his shoulders. Loki’s eyebrows barely rose, barely furrowed in the center. To anyone else, the expression was nothing more than shadow. But she saw it, saw the concern there as his gaze flicked to Scrapper 219 and then back to her. 

Elle blinked, the anger in her lungs fizzling away, replaced by a soft tug of surprise. She knew that look, had seen it from the field agents when they got back from missions when they were bandaged and all that was left was the memories of whatever terror they had faced: Not Are you alright, but How bad is it?

Air clotted in her chest, suddenly too tight to breathe. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. But he saw, chin lifting in acknowledgement as he turned his attention back to the scene before them. His gaze went hard again when it left her, mouth curling back up at the corners, as if slipping on a mask.

It happened so quickly, just a moment, maybe two. But Elle felt it as if it shifted the very ground she stood on.

A reminder. He was performing, too. His disappearance, like her presence in the throne room, was part of it.

Once he was done staring at Rezh, Scrapper 219 turned back with that same lazy, infuriating grin. “Anyway, this Sed here should give you a good show in the arena against your Champion. Put up quite the fight on me. Get ‘im healed up and he’ll be ready to go. Why don’t we call it an even twelve mil.”

“Done! Your merchandise is always worth the investment, 219.” The Grandmaster punctuated his statement by dragging his hand up to Elle’s hip, grinning as he watched 219’s eyes track the movement. 

“Hm. Your clairvoyant is looking a mighty sight this morning,” the Scrapper drawled. He shook his silvery hair away from his eyes as he squeezed the back of the Sed's neck. Though was the captive who winced, Elle remembered vividly the feel of his unforgiving hands on her own throat. 

“She certainly is. One of the better finds you’ve made, that’s for sure.” They shared a harsh laugh between them, making her blood burn in her ears. She thought she saw Loki shift in her periphery, but she couldn't bring herself to look. She didn't want to see his face as she was so openly objectified. 

The Scrapper tilted his head. “Stings a bit, though, seeing my handiwork undone. Took me long enough to get that disk on her, and you just went and took it out like it’s nothing.”

The Grandmaster laughed, genuinely entertained. “Oh, no need for that here, you know that. None of my humans were disked for long.” He shook a finger at the Scrapper, feigning admonishment. “Not sure what you did for processing, but by the time you brought them in, they were nothing if not ready for a little calm and obedience. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” His hand skirting to caress her lower back made her want to scream, to drive the sharp of her knuckles into the hollow of his throat. But Elle knew better; she controlled her body if nothing else. She hummed in quiet acquiescence, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hide the disdain in her voice. 

“I just bag ‘em, friend. Keepin’ ‘em in line’s your job.” 219 rolled his shoulders, flashing another sharp grin. “Seems like you have the better job.”

The Grandmaster laughed again, waving in his processing team to take hold of the Sed. “Can’t argue with that, 219. Let’s get you paid up for today, shall we? Don’t be a stranger. Come back for the festivities this time, you know we love having you.”

The Scrapper gave a little salute as his captive was escorted away, offering a quick bow to the Grandmaster before pausing to toss Elle a private wink. “See ya around, hellkit.”

As soon as he was out of sight, Elle’s tension snapped, sending up a surge of memories. 

Shrieking stars and a terrible purple shock of light.  

Crashing on Sakaar, shoulder crunching as it dislocated on impact.

The Chitauri weapon cracking beneath her, watching its fuel, her only way home, bleed out into the dusty soil. 

Lungs burning, heart hammering so hard it drummed nausea straight through her. Bolting as fast as her muscles would allow across the landfills, zigzagging like she’d been trained to do, hurtling over debris and the carcass of some decaying animal. And behind her, a crawling laugh, the fwip and crack of an electrified net just barely missing her legs.

A near-hit made all the more heart-shattering when he’d rounded out from behind a crashed ship just ahead of her, tackling her to the ground. Thrashing. Screaming. Bashing her fist against his occipital bone, hand slipping to carve open her palm on the wiry mesh in his face. He’d shaken off her blow, pinned her, took the time to return her punch with one of his own. When she was stunned and still, he jammed the disk into her neck with a cocky grin. Then all she knew was fire. 

The memories dragged with them phantom sensations of pain: the electric flame in her neck, the sharp throb of his fist meeting her jaw. Her knees went rubbery, head starting to swim. Body hot and shaky, stomach beginning to burn. She fumbled herself to the ground, barely registering that the Grandmaster had joined her on the floor. “Hey, hey now, sweetheart, what’s happening? You okay?”

Ringing in her ears, a high, metal whine, as her body dissolved into static, like blood returning to a sleeping limb. Her teeth began to chatter, skin tight and sore all over. Her forehead and the small of her back were damp. 

“I-I need some air.”

“Not right now, sweetheart. I have more business to take care of, and I don’t have time to take you outside.”

“Please, Grandmaster, I need—”

“I can take her.” Loki approached slowly, did not bend to her. He simply came to rest off to her side. He sounded so calm, as if he was trying not to add to her distress. “You have business, Grandmaster. I can take her out for a bit, get her settled.”

The Grandmaster craned his head around, watching his subjects as they fidgeted, all eager to continue their trades. “Yeah, all right. Use this door here, to the left. No further than the gardens, I don’t take her outside the walls.”

“Of course, my friend. Here.” Loki’s hand appeared in her periphery, palm up. He did not reach for her, did not force, as if he knew the feel of unwanted contact would send her further into this spiral. He simply waited for her to take his hand. 

Blinking back the sudden sting of tears, Elle finally slid her hand over his. His fingers closed slowly, wrist tensing, not to draw her forward, but to serve as support while she pulled herself up. Once she was on her feet, Loki nodded to the Grandmaster, moving so he was at her side. He did not push; simply held her steady, his fingers firm and cool against her own. She let him guide her out of the throne room and into the garden, staring vacantly ahead. She did not let go of his hand.

Chapter Text

Elle and Loki walked in silence, surrounded by ornate arrangements of stone and squat, prickly plants that exploded with needles and achingly bright pink flowers. The garden smelled like dust and honey, the mingling of sand and pollen. The twin suns poured down their thin, golden light, catching in her eyes as they had when she’d run from Scrapper 219 so many months ago. It made her head ache, curdled her stomach, kept her breath coming in frantic, uneven gasps. “C-can we sit in the shade?”

With a curt nod, Loki steered her toward a bench beneath a gargantuan metal tree, its trunk assembled from roughly woven pillars of heated steel. It was composed of harsh angles that hurt to look at. Its canopy wasn’t its own, but was rather made up of hundreds of sharp, spindly plants grown together in netted pots of dry soil, giving the thing an emaciated, angry look. It cast shade in the shape of claws, digging into the earth; Loki drew Elle into it, helping her sit and taking his place beside her.

“Elle, I need you to look at me.”

She did not. 

“Elle.” His voice was low, firm but gentle. His free hand rose up to cup her cheek, stopping just shy of making contact. That sliver of distance pressed against her as he might have, a cold, soothing balm, making her shiver. A soft flex of his fingers encouraged her to turn her head toward him, finally drawing her gaze. 

“Good. Watch my chest. Breathe with me.”

She managed a jerky nod, eyes locked on the center of his sternum. She watched as it rose and fell in deep, even pulls, listened to his breath, the soft, rhythmic sound of it as it wrapped around her. She matched it, inhaling when he did, holding for a moment, before exhaling with him. The whining in her ears gradually began to subside, her limbs becoming less like static and more solid, though now heavy from the weight of spent adrenaline. Slowly, slowly, panic ebbed, sending out little shudders through her limbs as the last of its tendrils pulled away. 

She closed her eyes and took a breath of her own, a deep gulp of air, letting it sit for a moment before releasing, deflating a bit with it. When she opened her eyes again, she looked up, managing a small nod and a dry swallow.

“Thank you.”

He offered a nod, only then lowering the hand that rested so near to her cheek. Only then untangling his fingers from her own. He moved carefully, with a gentle precision that seemed almost hesitant. 

Loki was the first to break the silence. “Who was that man?”

“Scrapper 219,” she managed, voice strained. His title caught in her throat, making her wince. “He’s the one who brought me in. I… have a hard time, when he comes around.”

“Traumatic memories often have this effect. Did he harm you?”

She lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. “No more than he hurt anybody else.” 

This answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. He shifted in his seat, jaw working. “That does not mean what he did was insignificant. What was this disk he spoke of?”

She frowned for a moment, watching his face carefully before blinking away her confusion. “Right, you came in on your own. Obedience disks keep new captives in line. Scrappers tag us with them when we’re brought in.” She pulled her hair away from her neck, lifting her chin to expose the small circular scar just over her pulse point, a thin ridge of silvery-pink tissue. “If you act out or do anything they don’t like, they… shock you. It’s all fire and electricity, shooting through every nerve.” She gave a watery laugh.  “Probably the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”

Loki raised his hand slowly, his fingertips ghosted just over the scar, still not quite making contact. As before, the fraction of distance felt weighted, meaningful, like a touch in and of itself. “How long were you made to wear this disk?”

“Three months.”

“And how many times was it used against you?”

“Twice. The first time when Scrapper 219 brought me in, and the second when… well, after I came out of my room when I took Shine. The Grandmaster wasn’t too thrilled that I’d hidden from him. After that, once he trusted I wasn’t running off, he had it removed. It was after…”

Burning flesh, liquified gore, a choked, unspeakable scream.

She cleared her throat, chin dipping toward her chest. “After one of the orgies. I had a chance to run, and I didn’t take it. He took that as a sign of my allegiance, I guess. I’ve been a free-range captive since then.” She swallowed hard, shuddering, “They’ll never get another one on me, I promise you that. I’d rather die.”

She looked up to find Loki watching her, his gaze steady, that cool meadow green of his eyes such a sharp contrast to the harsh sunlight all around them. Like spring, she thought distantly. A cool spring morning. But there was something else in that stare, something hidden, betrayed by a tension in his jaw and a sadness in those eyes. Looking at him like this, it was like leaning out over a vast, dark lake, its surface still and calm; unaware of how far down the darkness went. What might be waiting in the depths. 

Elle pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting gently. “What about you? You seem to have experience getting through panic attacks. Where’d that come from?”

A small sound, almost imperceptible. His breath, catching in his chest. A flash of fire in his eyes as he settled back in his seat, pulling away to stare out at the garden. As if collecting himself, she thought. This time, his distance felt empty, intentionally cold. It stabbed a thin needle of desperation through her, though she couldn't quite say why. She just wanted him to come back, away from whatever ledge his mind had taken him to.

“You most likely saved yourself by choosing not to run,” he said passively, ignoring her question altogether. “From what I’ve seen, there are nothing but pitfalls on this planet. It truly is a wonder you’ve lasted as long as you have with minimal damage.”

She hummed quietly. “I guess.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments, Loki watching the garden, and Elle watching Loki. It was so strange, the way he navigated this place. Like her, but not. Guarded, but showing these moments of kindness. Of care. How much of it was an act, she wondered. Which of his actions were performance, and which were real? Was his concern real? His obvious discomfort over the aphrodisiacs—specifically, over the idea of being drugged, of her being drugged… was that real? Was he this more levelheaded, serious man before her, the one who knew the intricacies of panic attacks? Or was he really the grinning, breathless version of himself, the version he was with Rezh?

Rezh!

Elle surged forward suddenly, scooching closer to get a better look at Loki’s face. She pressed her face in mere inches from his, crowding him as she hovered close enough to feel his breath ghosting her cheeks. His eyes narrowed, lips parting as he recoiled. “Is there something you need, little mortal?” He was no doubt trying to sound gruff, but his tone wavered. If anything, he sounded taken-aback. She'd surprised him.

“Your eyes…”

He blinked. “What of them?”

“Huh.”

He brought up a hand, fingertips resting just beneath his eye. “What? What was that sound for?” He pressed around, feeling for a flaw, a wound, something.

“They’re normal.”

Hey, he hasn’t made that exasperated face in a little while. 

“And why wouldn’t they be?”

“Well… you disappeared with Rezh. When you left, her eyes were all…” Elle widened her own eyes for effect. “She’d definitely had a dose of something before picking you up, and you were gone for most of the morning. I'm just checking your eyes to make sure anything you got up to today wasn’t chemically-coerced.” Elle paused, gesturing up and down at Loki’s still-disheveled hair clothes with a flick of her wrist. “I mean, it's none of my business what you got up to, but she clearly made a mess of you.” She clicked her tongue and shrugged.

Loki sat up straighter, shooting her yet another of his impressively dramatic eye rolls. “The woman has four arms and a strong grip. Of course I’ve been left disheveled.” He started combing his fingers through his hair, a little self-consciously, she thought. He easily brushed the tangles from the shining raven curls, giving his head a little shake that caught the sunlight just so. 

Huh.

As he finished fixing himself up, his gaze became unreadable, though Elle could have sworn there was a flash of something bright there. Something of a challenge. “You... you're prying. You want to know what happened this morning." He set free a brusque laugh as she desperately started shaking her head. "Oh, but you do! And you sound incredibly judgmental for such an easily-breakable being, are you aware of that?”

“Do not! I was just stating facts—”

“That was quite a tone for a mere statement of fact.”

“There was no tone, it was an observation.” She threw herself back against the bench, crossing her arms. “You know, you should make sure you have a prevention fritter next time you run off. Rezh takes care of herself, but who knows who else might be—”

“You're correct mortal, it is none of your business. But there is no need for any preventative fritters. Rezh indulged in me, but I did not indulge in her.”

This time Elle let slip a hard bark of laughter. It startled her, left an odd pain in her throat. When was the last time she laughed out loud? It felt like she’d discovered some old, forgotten door deep inside her, gone rusty around the hinges, and tore it open. She nearly brought a hand to her chest at the feel of it, but realized quickly that would make her look scandalized, and she definitely couldn't have that.

“So she left you disheveled but you didn’t indulge?” Oh, she hated herself as soon as the question was out of her mouth! It sounded so petty, so jealous! When did a simple check to make sure he hadn’t been drugged turn into her caring who he had sex with?

It’s none of my business! Besides, Loki’s pretty and all but… Ugh, is it more pathetic or less that it’s not the idea of sex I’m jealous of? It’s the intimacy. The closeness. I miss the quiet afterwards, Josie’s hands in my hair…

He shook his head at her. “You are bold demanding such information from a king. And a god, I’ll remind you. But as it appears to bother you so deeply, and since you are not blind…” He gestured pointedly to his thigh.

“Oh. Oh.”

Much like the velvety cushions used at the orgies, Loki’s trousers did nothing to hide the evidence Rezh had left on him. 

“That’s… wow.”

“Yes, she was most enthusiastic. And grateful, as I knew she would be. I do know how to navigate these situations, Elle, give me some credit.” With a look that said how-dare-you-underestimate-me, with one cocky eyebrow up, he reached into some hidden shirt pocket and presented her with a smooth, cylindrical glass tube, illuminated from within with pale blue diodes. 

Elle gasped, eyes wide. Her hands shot out to gently circle his wrist, pulling the object closer to her face. “Loki! Do you know what this is!”

“Oh, I do. Rezh was most eager to give it to me.”

Elle moved to look up at him, unable to contain a crooked grin. “I take back my judginess. Good job with your thigh.”

It almost looked like he was about to laugh, lips twitching off to one side. “And here I had thought you were not being judgmental. We’ll go in a few days, as soon as Rezh’s ship is back from a mild repair.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. The Grandmaster and Rezh will take us on a tour of Sakaar, and we will use that time to look for escape routes.”

“Loki!"  She drew one hand against her mouth, stifling a ribbon of laughter. It bubbled up from the soft place between her lungs, delicate and free in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be in so long. “This is fantastic! I never got a tour! I barely got to see outside the palace once I was brought in. How did you get her to leave you the key to her ship? Did she give you the access code, too?”

He blinked, and it was then that she noticed he was watching her hands, gaze moving between the hand on his wrist and the hand over her mouth. He didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked distracted. He blinked again, seeming to focus. “Just the key, I’m afraid. It’s become a souvenir of sorts.” His nose crinkled, mouth curling into a thin, sheepish smile. “I confess, I did not know it was a key in the moment, and I truly was trying to speed things along to come find you—”

“Ugh!” Elle jerked away, wiping her hand on her leg. “Don’t let me put your girlfriend’s makeshift sex toy near my face!”

Loki tucked the key back into his pocket with a huff. “Impromptu, not makeshift, do be precise. And she is not my anything, mortal. And I’ll remind you, once more, to watch your tone.”

Sobering suddenly, acting as if she hadn’t heard him at all, Elle turned, her knee skimming his. “Wait. If we’re going on a tour… do you think you can cast a spell on me?”

Silence. 

There was a tic in Loki’s jaw, a subtle lift of his chin as he looked down at her. He pressed himself back into his seat, drawing his knee away from hers. “What kind of spell?”

“A protection spell. If it’s the four of us, I’m sure we’ll be okay. But if anything happens, or if I’m left alone with the Grandmaster, I’d like to know I have a bit of real magic on my side.” She bit her lip, arching her brows. She needed this. Needed him. She wasn’t above letting him see that, not when the stakes were so high. “Please?”

The look on his face was so strange. Full of suspicion, and yet tinged with a warmer shade of disbelief. On anyone else, it may have looked a little something like awe. He cleared his throat, gaze dropping to where she’d knitted her fingers together in her lap. “You would trust me to do such a thing?” 

“I’m not giving you free rein or anything,” she countered. “But we’re supposed to be working together, right? There’s no reason not to trust you with a spell. I’m sure you could use this to mess with me if you wanted to but…” Her pause made him look up, eyes searching hers. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, unable to look away. “I don’t know, it doesn't feel like your style. It feels... low. Don’t you think?”

He watched her for a long moment, as if waiting for her to break, to relent and take back her request. When she didn’t, his expression changed, closing off with a derisive smirk. “How confident you are in your assessments, little mortal.”

“I’m a pretty good judge of character when I need to be.” She tossed him a cocky grin that would have looked right at home on his own face. “So, will you do it?”

That strange look again, caught between suspicion and something softer, something far more vulnerable. She didn’t quite believe it was there, but she liked it. It made him look… Well, more human. Gentle, even. Or at least less like the angry, narcissistic, sociopathic, vengeful god S.H.I.E.L.D. seems to think he is. Sociopathic, vengeful gods probably wouldn’t care about panic attacks, would they?

I wonder what else they don’t know about him.

He was quiet for a long moment before sprawling back against the bench to pillow his arms behind his head, bringing one ankle to rest on the opposite knee. “If that is what you desire, mortal, then yes. I will cast a protection spell on you. Not here. Later, when we won’t be seen.”

She all but bounced in her seat, unable to contain an excited grin. She felt light. For the first time in ages, she felt light.

She was already looking at the sky, imagining flying high above this place, one step closer to freedom, when Loki glanced at her. She completely missed the dark, incredulous frown that clouded his face.

Chapter Text

“One more, one more!” The Grandmaster and his troupe laughed and shouted and slurred drunkenly over each other, vying to be the next in line. “Uhhh, Kito! What’s Kito’s aura like, sweetheart?”

Even from across the room, Loki caught the slight movement of Elle’s lips, the stretch in her jaw. Her exhaustion crept through her stifled yawn, in the dark smudges about her eyes. He glanced between her and this rather unremarkable Kito the Grandmaster was so interested in as Elle’s eyes fluttered closed, taking the man’s hands as she began to perform her reading. Loki could feel the lies calcifying the energy around her, weaving in the air like chainmail. It was not so much that her predictions were unskillfully told, but rather that they were crafted in a manner so precisely vague that they could not have possibly been true. He recalled hearing offhand remarks of Earth’s paltry attempts at astrological magic, how false magicians, rather than truly learning to read the stars, crafted horoscopes in such a way that they could not help but come true once someone was looking for their influence. Elle’s predictions operated much the same way—a few specifics gleaned from her keen observations skills, accompanied by wild guesswork.

That guesswork had now put her at the center of what appeared to be extremely unwanted attention, with all those details taking their toll. Her shoulders sagged, head shaking more frequently as she fought to focus. Only once did she spare a glance his way. Her mask was well in place, but the plea in her eyes was unmistakable. 

How long will she last, once I’m gone?

A sudden chill sank into Loki’s gut as his gaze moved restlessly between the little human and the Grandmaster. Their host’s hands closed around her shoulders, tugged at the end of her braid. Drew boldly along the curve of her cheek. The chill sank deeper, leaching into Loki’s bones. For him, remaining on Sakaar would be inconvenient, perhaps even painful. For Elle? It would be catastrophic. This performance of hers would not hold out forever. No illusion ever did.

But just how deep does this illusion of hers run?

Elle’s mask appeared to have slipped with him. She’d seemed so at-ease with him in the garden, becoming more animated once the thrall of her terror passed. He felt as if he’d been given a glimpse of who she might have been back on Midgard, before Sakaar had her pinned beneath its claws. Bright-eyed, quick to smile. Even brash. The way she’d peered directly into his eyes, how she’d questioned him about Rezh without questioning him, mindlessly letting her knee skim his own, as if she, someone so openly denied personal space, lost her own awareness of it for a moment. Her guard was down, her performance discarded. 

It was staggering. Unfathomable. 

And captivating. 

His breath had quickened, his gaze hopelessly locked on her fingers, so delicately encircling his wrist. She was warm, skin soft, save for the smattering of little callouses on the pads of her fingers, no doubt from working with her metal tools and wiring. There was no hesitation in her movements, no display of either restraint or fear. She had simply reached for him, as if touching him, handling him with so much care, was the most natural thing in the realm. As if he wasn’t a thing she needed to protect herself from. 

Her actions hadn’t felt contrived or rehearsed. They felt genuine. And he’d wanted them to be. This effortless kindness in her… it tore through him like a blade, warm in a way he hadn’t felt in so long. Warm in a way he had forgotten. He’d thought for sure she might feel the hammering of his pulse, even beneath that feather-light grip of hers.

But she asked for a spell. A spell I cannot cast. 

He closed his eyes, disappointment lodging heavy and rough just beneath his ribs, pinching at the back of his throat. Do not be fooled by the agent’s ruse. She still has her own agenda. Whatever it is, it cannot be trusted. 

Loki had seen too much, had lived through too much, to allow a moment of sentiment to cloud his judgement. Sentiment had allowed him to trust in the guidance of Odin, the love of Frigga. He had even believed in the loyalty of his brother, and each time, his faith was shattered. He remembered so vividly the tremor in his hands aboard S.H.I.E.L.D.’s little ship, terror and hope alike spattering through him, acid and heat in his veins. He had not been sure, in the moment, which was the harsher lash. 

He now knew hope to be far more cruel.

Thor would see him. If anyone would see, it would be Thor! Loki’s mind slipped from its fog, coherence coming in no more than mere flickers of light and sound, tatters of thought that dissolved as he dove for them. His rage, his pain, they were a shroud over him, clinging and vicious as he tried desperately to tear his mind free. This precious clarity would not be his for long. He would tell Thor what had happened, show him his scars—

His brother's hand, tight and unforgiving around his throat. The snarl on Thor’s face as he yanked Loki out of the ship, sending them into freefall.

The shroud surged back in place, control faltering as his body hit the ground. No—he had no brother! No home! It was all lies, all used to manipulate him, to humiliate him, to tear him down to nothing! Thor already knew of the scars, didn’t he? Of course he did. He knew because he’d allowed them, had refused to seek Loki out, to so much as recover his body. Thor all but gave him to Thanos, didn’t he?

“...We were raised together. We played together, we fought together! Do you remember none of that?” Thor’s face, wrenched in pain. And worse: certainty. Certainty that this pain was his alone. 

The shroud tightened once more, stifling and cold. So terribly, bitterly cold. The clarity shivered, flickering down to a mere spark.

Loki had to tell him, must tell him now. His words were already fading, already slipping back into the dark. “I remember a shadow. Standing in the shade of your greatness. I remember you tossing me into an abyss.” 

There! He’d done it! Even now, as the spark was reduced to a singular dying ember of his true self, he’d done it. Thor would see. The memory, it was wrong, polluted, but he’d voiced it, dug out that horrid, poisonous lie and lobbed it at his brother's feet. All he had to do was pick it up. Pick it up and know it was not all of Loki here, not truly, not as he had been—

“So you take the world I love as recompense for your imagined slights?”

No. 

No!

Thor didn’t see. He didn’t understand! 

You think so little of me, brother? That I would blame you, when I let go?

Of course he does. Not Loki’s voice. Thanos. Always with him now. 

Always. 

Loki shuddered as barbed, icy rage speared his mind, his heart, sending him under. Back down and down, lost to the cold and the hurt that pulsed through his veins. What use had he for this thundering oaf, this lumbering, ignorant, selfish fool? Thor’s sentiment was a weakness, his devotion to this grotesque planet a fool’s errand. Loki would take his brother’s beloved Earth, would rule it or destroy it.

Would Thor’s love prove as true when Midgard was reduced to cinder?

Loki felt the grin stretch wide over his face: the last thing he felt before he was lost to darkness once more.

On Sakaar, Loki shook himself, forcing out the shuddering breath that stuck in his chest, purposefully unclenching his fist. His mind had been his own these past four years, and yet the memories remained, bitter and bladed as ever. He cast a cautious glance at Elle, who was now focusing intently on an unsipped beverage in her hand. The Grandmaster’s arm was around her shoulders as he spoke to his other guests.

She should not be so trusting. No S.H.I.E.L.D. agent would trust me to cast a spell on them. If Thor could not trust who I was, how could she? 

Rezh pressed against him suddenly, leaning heavily on his arm. “You seem distracted, my king. Are you alright?”

He nodded, offering her a smile he did not truly feel. “Merely taking in the sights.” That answer seemed to suffice, earning him a small, breathy laugh. She had been a most attentive host through the evening, keeping him as occupied as the Grandmaster was keeping Elle. She had offered him one of the beverages Elle had shown him earlier, had been gracious when he’d declined, though it was clear she was seeking an encore of their encounter in the cabana. The way she’d used his body for her own pleasure had been a rousing show, but it only emphasized his need to start building up his tolerance for aphrodisiacs sooner rather than later. 

The night wore on. Elle made her escape first. As she left, Loki could not help but note the way her shoulders sagged as she passed out of the room. 

If it is all a ruse… it is a very convincing one.

He thought of her little surge of laughter when they sat together. The confidence in her gaze when she’d looked at him, the deep brown of her eyes made warm by an underlying hue of honey, speckling through her irises like stardust. How those eyes had flashed as she asserted that he would not use his magic against her, that such an act would be beneath him. Her belief, not that he was incapable, but that he would be unwilling to use his power that way.

He would have, in another life. Had. Even before Thanos, he was more than adept at weaving magic and manipulation together. And yet her unflinching insistence that he wouldn’t do such a thing had been accompanied by that sweet rush of truth. Why did she have such faith in him? Why did she trust him to protect her, acting as if she needed him…

Unless she suspects I am without my magic and is attempting to force my hand. But why? For what purpose?

The thought bit down inside him with jagged teeth, cruel and unwelcome but undeniable all the same. He found himself paralyzed, trapped beneath the terrible knowledge that Elle’s kindness was just as terrifying whether it was genuine or feigned. 

No. That wasn’t true.

Genuine kindness was far more terrifying. For if this were not a ruse, he would have to accept that there was some strange connection weaving between them (the word friendship glimmered into his mind, making him wince).

Loki sighed against his fist. Perhaps this was her desired outcome: his confusion. His utter distraction, trying to reason out her agenda. 

It must be a ruse. It must be. 

His lips thinned, nails biting into the flesh of his hand as he steeled his resolve. He must discover her true motives, the meaning behind such soft touches and gentle smiles. Such things were not given freely, and never to him. Whatever new game this was, he needed to end it, to rip it out by the roots. Tonight. Now. He would not be made a fool of by a mortal woman.

I will not give her such power over me.    

When he finally untangled himself from Rezh (who made several worthy attempts to entice him to her room) he took a moment to glare at the door that adjoined his room to Elle’s. His jaw worked in agitation, a tremor creeping up through his limbs. He’d thought this an amusing game at first, but it had gone on long enough. He would not accept being lied to while being led to believe he was valued for something more. 

Never again.

He threw open the door. 

Elle was on the floor amidst a sea of controlled chaos. She was sorting out tools and supplies in a half-ring around her, pieces in some sort of pattern that must have made sense to her, though shape and size seemed only to be half of it. Bins had appeared out from under each sofa, with another rather large one half-dragged out from under her bed. What looked like a threadbare cloth hammock had been pulled down from the doorframe above her closet, with yet more spools of wire, fabric, and bits of paper peeking through. It looked as if she’d been rummaging, collecting pieces from each corner of the room. 

When she heard the door, she looked up. While the dark smudges still lingered beneath her eyes, an undeniable brightness had crept in, face lighting up with the same cheerful eagerness he’d seen in the garden.

And then she smiled at him. 

She smiled at him.

And damn it all if it didn’t send a thread of warmth worming through his chest.

“Hey. Glad you’re back.”

Truth. It struck him like a palm, a snap against his cheek, nearly sending him backward a step. How was it the truth? Why was she doing this? His eyes narrowed, watching her hands as they began to unbraid a length of green wire. “Are you?”

She blinked, that smile going crooked as it drooped. “Am I glad you’re back? Why wouldn’t I be? We made plans, didn’t we?” She patted the floor next to her, raising an eyebrow to make a face he would venture to call playfully impatient. “And we’ve got a lot of ground to cover and it’s already super late, so if you would, your highness…”

More truth, free and sweet and cool against him. Her open smile, her pleasure in seeing him. All shimmering through him with the sensation of warm sunlight touching his skin.

It made him want to recoil. What scheme is this? 

He shook himself, shifted to stalk across the room, not to sit beside her as she’d indicated, but before her with a defiant jut of his chin. This, too, seemed to amuse her, a little smirk curling over her lips as he settled.

He extended one long index finger at her, scowling. “Watch your tone, mortal.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll work on it.” 

Now there is a lie. 

“Here, hold these.” She dove right in, passing him a pair of pliers, allocating him his share of the supplies. She gestured to the items between them, drawing her fingers over them in such a way that he understood the arrangement: a sort of skeletal blueprint.

“So, we’ve got our diodes here, our conductor plates, our wires… more wires… a little fabric and electrical tape to hold the odd bits together, and our battery. And this,” she held up a small grey piece of metal, roughly as big as her thumbnail. “Is our magnet. This little guy is what shuts off your mirrors and seals your door. String your diodes together first, like this…”

She took him through the steps, assembling the contraption along with him, showing him the proper way to to loop the wire, pointing out how to tell if a diode was broken. “Like when you have to find the busted Christmas light,” she said, though he had not understood the reference. She watched his hands closely, reaching out gently, still so gently, to point or tap when something needed to be tightened or adjusted. Eventually, they lapsed back into quiet, Elle seemingly oblivious of his suspicion. 

Loki glanced up at her. She was entirely serene. The tension in her jaw was gone, as was the crease between her eyebrows. Her lips moved silently as she worked, as if talking herself through the steps of assembly. Her gaze was focused and clear, flickering between her own work and his progress. Her mask was missing, he realized. He had not needed to make her drop it at all; she had simply not bothered with it when he entered.

His limbs tensed with the sudden desire to retreat, to pull back into his own room, to remind himself of the lies she’d told him so far. Instead, somehow, he lowered his gaze to her hands, mimicking the way she used her own pliers to secure a diode to the magnet in an incredibly tight and delicate figure-8 pattern.

He relaxed the frown he felt carving into his brow, rolled his neck slightly. If he could just focus on the work. Focus on the task at hand and then get out of this room… 

“You made it through the night okay?” She glanced up briefly when he did not immediately respond. “I kept losing track of you, with all the Grandmaster’s guests around me. Nobody bothered you, right?”

Loki realized he was staring, forced his gaze back down to his hands. She was… concerned for him. Even as she was all but passed around like some party favor, she had been watching out for him.

He took a breath, trying to ignore the strange tightness rooting up through his lungs. “No. Save for a few curious guests, and Rezh, I was left alone.”

She pulled a face when he said Rezh’s name. An odd, tight little smile, a quick arching of her eyebrows. She cast a coy glance his way, her wry smirk drawing his attention for longer than necessary. “At least she didn’t dishevel you this time.”

How could she? I spent the whole evening watching you.

His pliers nearly slipped as the thought darted through his mind, hiding the twitch in his hand behind some overly decorative twisting of the wiring. He was surprised at the soft sound that escaped him, a low, acquiescing hum. “Her attentions are flattering, but purely transactional.” 

They do not mean anything.

And why did he feel the need to tell Elle that?

He watched her from his periphery, nothing the way her gaze lingered on him, how her smile seemed to shift, lips quirking off to one side, as if to keep it from spreading. Instead of responding, she watched him work, keeping up her own demonstration as she did. 

“You know, you’re pretty dextrous.” It was off-handed, conversational. Unthinking. “I mean, I figured you would be, but it’s different seeing it in action. It’s weird seeing you so…”

There.

He knew that pause. That tone. 

Elle’s teeth clicked as her jaw snapped shut, and all at once, Loki’s tension surged back into place: a painful band between his shoulders, bunching the muscles in his arms, his thighs, as his entire body prepared for what he knew was coming.

She tensed visibly, pliers yanking a bit too hard and stripping her wire in her attempt to dodge his attention. She cleared her throat softly, quickly setting about replacing the strand. 

He rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowing. “Seeing me so what? ”

She shrugged, shaking her head—quick, sharp snaps. “Nothing.”

He almost recoiled from the harsh slap of her lie in the air. “Liar.”

She flinched, lower lip disappearing into her mouth. “Focused.”

He growled, low and aggressive in his chest. “Do not test me, mortal.”

She glanced up, cheeks going pale, a harried look in her eyes. “I… Harmless. It’s weird seeing you harmless.” Her voice was a thin, fragile thing between them, as if she were willing the words to shatter before he could hear them.

As if she could ever take them back.

Oh, but he heard it, her true meaning, laced through the truth of that one word: she still saw him as a creature. Uncontrolled, violent, and cruel. Even now, she saw him as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s monster.

Her care, her kindness... it’s all illusion, then. Pretty, beguiling, wretched illusion.

His jaw tensed, voice dropping to a venomous growl. “Of course. You see me as an enemy first and foremost. It is all your species sees: a threat, a harbinger of death and domination.”

Elle straightened, tools lowered to her lap slowly, lips working as if she could possibly think of something to say to undo this. This, the revelation of her true thoughts, unforgiving and self-serving. As he should have known. As he had known, before she sought to mock him with false sentiment.

Why, then, did her eyes remain so clear, her gaze still infuriatingly gentle? It smashed blistering anger up against his ribs, a searing bruise of rage. “You deny it? That you can see me as anything other than a monster?”

“I…”

“You know what I am. You said so yourself. That hatred is all I have to offer.” He shook his head, sneering viciously. “What more is there?”

He let his tools clatter to the ground, rising in one quick motion that made her flinch.  

“Loki, wait!” She surged up onto her knees before him, her own tools tumbling from her lap. He paused, pinning her beneath scathing glare. He did not wish to be here any longer, not with her, not with the knowledge of all she refused to say…

“It’s… my job...” 

His pulse went frantic, heart surging to lodge in his throat. A strange, sudden lightness zipped through him, stomach flipping. 

Would she tell him?

The truth of her employment. How she arrived here. Would she do away with the charade, tell him who she truly was? Allow him to see her, and to be seen in return?

Yes. Yes, she could do it. If she revealed herself, confessed, they could start anew, could they not? If she but told him her true training, he could even help her, more than he could now, without knowing the true extent of her knowledge and skills. 

If he could but understand her motives, he would not have to leave her here. And when she looked at him like that, so gentle and so open, he would know it was not a ploy. 

They could trust each other. 

Loki stood a bit straighter, adjusting his stance, gaze darting to take in her outstretched hands, the lift of her chin, the way her lower lip disappeared as she pulled it into her mouth. “What of it?”

Her lips parted, his own breath stuttering in anticipation. She blinked quickly, wavering there on her knees before him, the smallest sound escaping her. 

“My job is…”

Truth rushed over him in a caress. Clean and sweet, paradoxically warm and cool, like sunshine on an autumn day. He felt it in his mind, in his chest, winding through him like the softest silk. He inhaled deeply, as if he could own in, lock it inside himself and let it radiate light all through him, soft and glowing. His heart triphammered, so hard he felt in in his fingertips. He could all but see her confession, resting just there on her tongue, honest and eager and ready to be free.

Then her eyes fell, hooding as she looked to his feet. Her shoulders drooped, lips thinning as she drew them together, a tight, trembling seal. She swallowed once, then again, hands heavy at her sides. Her gaze would rise no higher than his knees.

“My job is to study behavioral patterns.” Her voice was flat, diluted down to that cold, academic recitation. “To learn about people from how they act. To try to find out things other people might miss. I... I'm learning about you. I don't see you that way.”

Stagnant energy. Coagulated, thick, and sticky. 

So much worse than a hard shell of lies, worse than the brittle, impenetrable mask of deception. Half-truth. The miasma of information withheld. Her ruse, holding firm.

Never truly open. Never truly trusting. Not of him.

“I don’t see you as dangerous.”

The hard, brutal smack of a blatant lie. 

A waste of such cautious wording, he thought bitterly—a pathetic attempt to sidestep calling him a murderer. A killer. A demon plucked straight from humanity’s nightmares. 

His fingers curled, hands balling into tight, shaking fists. He fought to keep his breathing even, despite the slick drag of nausea in the pit of his stomach.

Hope is the greatest cruelty, after all.

The sound that escaped him made her flinch—dark, growling, mirthless laughter. “How very clever you are, pet. Always so cautious, aren’t you?” Blood roared in his ears, lips contorting into a snarl. “So be it. Your caution is no longer my concern, and you need not strain yourself attempting to trust me any longer. Rezh and I had a lively evening after your departure, and I will no doubt need to entertain her until her ship is ready. In fact, I welcome the opportunity. She does not fear me, nor does she lie.”

He waited for just one breath, one aching, lurching breath, granting Elle one final chance. Her chin fell as she sank down to sit before him. There was nothing in her pose that spoke of genuflection; it was denial through and through, hidden behind that infuriating veneer of silence.

Angry red blotches streaked up her throat, came to rest in her cheeks. But she did not speak, did not attempt to defend herself, did not rise to meet the challenge of his rage.

Something inside him threatened to snap, strung taut and quivering in his chest. He had to leave. He had to get out of this room, away from her and the memory of the sweet, soothing feel of her honesty. Honesty she had denied him. Would always deny him. Because this was a ruse and nothing more.

He spun, just shy of bolting for the door.

“Loki.”

Her voice was slight. Imploring, even. He froze and glanced over his shoulder.

She rose to her feet slowly, fingers knitting together in quick, erratic motions. She seemed to be debating something.

“What, mortal?”

Her head dipped once more, hands falling limp to her sides. He felt the gesture like a weight in his own stomach, sour and heavy. 

No.

She was the one who insisted on keeping up this charade. Loki knew what it was to be blinded by deceit, remembered all too well the painful outcome of succumbing to lies crafted with the false glimmer of affection. He would not go down this path again. 

“Well?”

She raised her head, keeping her eyes cast low. A ripple of emotion moved over her features; something fractured and wavering. “Nothing. Forget it.”

He left without another word, slamming the door behind him. If she has any sense, she’ll install another lock between our rooms, protect herself from the beast she thinks I am. 

Just someone, something, to hide from. Someone to tease with gentle promises, so much worse than any lie.

The thought festered inside him, bitterness rising in his mouth as sleep evaded him. Lie to him. Shun him. Use him. Acceptable ploys, the lot of them. Nothing he had not dealt with before. Cast him out a thousand times into the cold and he would survive it.

But this? This mockery of affection, this farce at his expense, he would not tolerate.

The image of Frigga surged, uninvited, from the depths of his memory, dragging a wretched, tattered breath from the pit of his chest. He dug the heels of his hands against his eyes, but the images would not fade.

She’d brought him books during his imprisonment. So many books. His favorite collections of poetry. Essays on magic they’d read together, had discussed for hours on end in the library beside a fire-warmed hearth. Folklore and fairytale collections from across the realms. Each with a small, hidden note tucked away in the pages, informing him of the goings-on about the palace, or offering words of encouragement, more often than not folded atop a pressed flower from her garden. It made his cell smell sweet, like petals and sunlight. Small tokens to remind him he was not alone. That he was still cared for.

All lies, bound with the illusion of love. 

Loki’s throat was tight, painful when he swallowed, eyes beginning to burn. He pressed against them harder. Was this to be his legacy? Denial? Renunciation? 

He clenched his jaw tight enough for his teeth to ache, bringing his hands down to scrub roughly over his face. No, he knew full well the consequences of falling for a lie disguised as care. He would not fall victim to it again. 

He and Elle would be mutual pawns or they would be nothing. 

And he would act accordingly during this little tour, he thought. He and Rezh could entertain themselves, and the Grandmaster and his little pet could—

Loki’s eyes flew open in the dark, body jerking upright.

She did not ask for my spell. 

Elle had been so ready to trust him in the garden, so eager to place herself under his protection. But she’d seen his mood in her room, all too aware of the shift in his demeanor. She’d had the opportunity to ask, yet did not. 

He thought of the way her head had fallen, the sadness in her eyes. 

No, not sadness. Something sharper, something more piercing.

Regret.  

Had she regretted not asking for his magic?

Or had she regretted not telling him the truth?

He forced himself to lay back, shifting around to pillow his arms behind his head and kicking his legs out wide, so hard the sheets fluttered. It does not matter. She had an opportunity to reveal herself, and she refused it.

Besides, any regret is of no consequence when all she sees is a monster.

He remained awake for a long while, repeating this mantra over and over, intent on ignoring the cold, lonesome knot tying itself into his stomach. It was a fine accompaniment to the hurt searing his heart.

Chapter Text

There was no way around it: today was going to hurt. 

Just as much as the last several had.

The sky was gradually easing from black to purple, starting the day like a deepening bruise, glowering and painful and inevitably getting worse. The doorways above Sakaar winked blindly in the changing light. Curled on her windowsill, tearing at a loose thread in her dress, Elle felt just like them: distant, faded, and temporary. Her stomach ached in the hollowed-out way reserved for sleepless nights, eyes grainy and strained. She could almost feel the dark circles smudged beneath them. She was blinking too much already, a persistent throb starting to drum in her skull just behind the bridge of her nose. 

She’d barely seen Loki since he’d stormed out, the door between their rooms remaining tightly shut. The first night, she’d stared at it until her eyes went dry. The third night, she paced in front of it, huffing in agitation—ready to kick it in and demand he talk to her, to remind him they were supposed to be in this together— but her hand trembled just over the handle, anger deflating slowly, giving way to the familiar emptiness that so readily took its place. On the sixth night, well past sundown, she’d even slumped down against the door, resting her ear on the cool metal, listening to the terrible silence of his room as her body went numb, save for the slow, somber thump of her heart. A plea that had gone unanswered time and time again.

The door wasn’t locked. Somehow, that made it worse—knowing that this thin metal barrier between them was so easily removed. But the fact that he’d left, that he didn’t want to see her, detonated something cold and cruel in her chest, sending frigid tremors of pain down into her fingers, curling them into loose fists. She grasped at thin air, the gesture just weak and helpless as she felt. 

No, there was nothing to keep her from entering except the memory of Loki’s face—twisted, not simply with rage, but anguish.  

Because of me.

Because she… she’d…

I hurt him. 

It wasn’t supposed to be possible. There were endless reams of paper, terabytes of data—photos, videos, testimonials, statistics, insurance claims, material analyses, the very same psych evals she’d trained on for Christ’s sake—indicating that Loki was not someone who could be hurt. Loki was a temperamental, narcissistic, sociopathic god-king. Destructive. Self-serving. Sadistic. 

At least, he should have been. 

But that’s not him. Or, that’s not all of him. There’s more here, more S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t know...

She squeezed her eyes shut, the memory of how he’d looked at her slicing into her mind. Eyes completely drained of that inner light, teeth gnashing together as his voice went hard, but unable to hide the quake in it. It was so much worse than rage. It was laceration, something that had welled up out of him like a fresh spill of blood. It was a seething kind of disappointment, as if she’d forsaken him. 

He thinks I’m afraid of him. Thinks I hate him. Because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, because I had to act surprised that he seemed so harmless. 

Because I lied. 

And then he left. 

Elle wanted to be angry. She wished she could rip open the scab of anger and bleed it out, hot and malicious, digging into the wound until she screamed. She’d tried to reason her way to fury: told herself Loki abandoned her. That his temper couldn’t be trusted, That if he was this quick to leave her behind now, she’d never make it off Sakaar in one piece. That he was every bit as dangerous as S.H.I.E.L.D. had led her to believe.

Her palms pricked as her nails dug in. 

But he is dangerous! He’s powerful, and immortal, and yes, he’s killed people! He leveled part of a city! What did he expect me to say?

But he hadn’t asked if she thought he was dangerous, had he?

No. He’d asked if she thought he was a monster—a murderer, no more than a beast.

That word, the very notion of it, made her guts clench in a greasy, painful knot, made the skin of her cheeks and neck prickle with unforgiving heat. She looked down at her hands, at the livid red crescents dug into them, swallowing past the painful lump in her throat. 

Why did it matter? Why did his hurt matter so damn much? Why did it slither and coil, tighter and tighter, making her insides shake?

She didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to probe any deeper into a question that could easily count as sedition back home: how had S.H.I.E.L.D. gotten Loki’s profile so wrong? 

And why, the everloving fuck, had she almost told Loki about them?

She pulled her head back, letting it fall so her forehead smacked painfully against the glass. 

She’d been so close, so close to telling him she was an agent. It had surged up to perch in her mouth, waiting like a weight on her tongue. She’d panicked, and for one harrowing moment, she thought that if she told him, if she just explained the whole of it, why she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and what she did for them, maybe it would help. Maybe he’d understand.

But then he’d also know she needed to turn him in. 

Rogue agents who steal classified Chitauri tech don’t get to come home to open arms. Rogue agents wanted for theft and assault don’t get rescued. There won’t be any accolades waiting for me. I’ll be trading one cell for another. 

I can’t tell Loki. I can’t. He won’t trust me if he knows, won’t help me. If he knows what I did, how I got here…

Another lash through her chest, the miserable, bitter bile of regret. He’d known she was lying. She could see it in the way he studied her, the way he’d looked… eager, somehow. Hopeful. He knew she was withholding something, and thought she would tell the truth. 

I called him a monster and then I lied to his face. It’s no wonder he left me. 

Her breath squeezed down to a thin stream of air, lungs contracting around a pitiful sound she would not, could not allow to escape. 

What if he doesn’t come back?

That thought alone tore something inside her, a heavy, wet rip clear through her chest. It was worse than loneliness, heavier even than the fear of not getting off of Sakaar. 

She felt her lips tremble, a painful chill sluicing through her veins. 

I don’t want to miss him. I can’t miss him.  

But god help her, she did. 

Even knowing how utterly, blindly stupid it was, she did. 

This, too, made her burn with shame. She’d been trained against having these sorts of thoughts. It was a betrayal against her home, against the city he destroyed. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way, wasn’t supposed to have doubts or second-guess her directives. 

What was she supposed to do?

I’m supposed to follow the data. I’m supposed to learn from what’s in front of me. What’s in front of me now?

He’d been kind, hadn’t he? He’d looked out for her. Listened to her. Even just after he’d arrived, before they’d started having these strange, oddly soothing conversations, he’d lied for her. Instantly and without hesitation. He’d shown her from the very moment he crashed here that he wasn’t a monster. No, he was a planner. Someone who evaluated his surroundings looking for any leverage he could find, just like she did. Clever. Gentle in the most unexpected ways. Even in the brief time they’d known each other, he’d shown that he was far more—for lack of a better expression—human than he was this avatar of horror S.H.I.E.L.D. had offered her. He’d shown her something hidden, something vulnerable. And in return, she insulted him in a way that, without any shred of doubt, had cut him straight down to the bone. 

And now he was gone. 

The brief glimpses she’d gotten of him only made it worse. If she saw Loki at meals, he was already grinning with Rezh—usually hanging off his arm or working her way into his lap—not even deigning to look in her direction unless the Grandmaster prompted him. He acted as if she wasn’t even there. After eight months of being treated like an object, she’d forgotten what it was like to be invisible, to be so utterly ignored that she might as well not exist. She felt it like a break across each of her ribs, a hard, sharp snap telling her with every blow that she was nothing. No one.

If the Grandmaster noticed the new slouch in her shoulders, the distant, harrowed look in her eyes, he didn’t let it affect him. In fact, he seemed perpetually delighted to see his new favorites playing so well together. Watching Rezh twist herself around Loki only made him bolder, brought his hands down to chafe over Elle’s arms, fingers lingering in her hair, always pulling her closer and closer. 

How much closer would he pull her when they went on their tour? The thought sent a spate of panicked adrenaline through her limbs, making them go tight and shaky. She fought back the high, animal whine that threatened to slice up from her throat, pressing her forehead against the glass so hard that it ached. She wasn’t safe with the Grandmaster. Even if Loki was angry with her, even if he hated her, she should have asked for his spell. Even as he turned away to leave her behind, she knew she should have begged. 

But she hadn’t just seen Loki as he was leaving, had she? 

No. Josie had been there, too. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Elle. This isn’t the life I want, and it’s unfair of you to keep asking.”

So she hadn’t. She hadn’t asked Josie four years ago, and she hadn’t asked Loki here. She’d let them both walk away. 

Elle’s breath was a sharp, watery hiss, a painful clench in her lungs, the tightness there ringing up to echo in the burn of her eyes.

I made my choice, she reminded herself. Her heart seemed to plummet and snap, as if jolting at the end of an angry noose. It sent out a glistening, caustic spill of pain that radiated outward from a place she’d told herself was just a scar, that space nestled in the dark of her chest that she swore had been hardened by loneliness and time. And yet here, alone in her room, she felt it quiver, tear, and bleed anew, a slow and deliberate rupture cleaving her apart.

Her vision went blurry, breath hitching as she rose to her feet and forced herself forward, legs wobbling as she crossed the room. 

Numb it out. Put it away. There’s no room for weakness here. 

She didn’t need Loki’s magic if he didn’t want to give it. She had her own. 

She sank to her knees, opening up the bar and reaching with shaking fingers for the reddish-amber liquor, the one that reminded her of winter, smoke, and snow. She tugged a tumbler from the shelf and poured a generous amount. And then added more.

It was a strange, weighted sort of comfort, to think that maybe today was the day. Maybe today was the when. Loki would go on without her for good. She would be out of options, out of hope. Her charade would falter. The Grandmaster would discover her lies and she’d be tagged again, a vile disk shoved into her neck as she was sent to the pleasure circuit to live out however many days she had left, shattered and meaningless. It would be an end, at least. It would be over. She’d never be free, would never be held or wanted or loved again. Never Elle again. Just sweetheart or pet or mortal or human, a thing to be used and discarded. 

But now. Now she could be numb. Now she could be empty, if only for a little while. Not free, but a decent enough imitation of it. A way to ease into all she knew was coming. She could take all this loneliness and all this ache and all this bitter, burning shame and tuck it away. 

Please. Just for a little while.

She clutched her drink to her chest as she moved back to the windowsill, curling her knees up to her chin. It would be easier this way; it always was. It was easier to let the Grandmaster touch her, to touch back, when her head was fuzzy and her senses were dulled. It would be fine soon. 

Just fine. 

She meant to sip. She really did. But two strong swallows had her head beginning to float, all that pent-up hurt, all those wrong feelings about Loki, the necromanced pain of Josie’s leaving, just a little further away. 

But not enough. 

Elle forced her eyes open and looked down into her glass, the low throbbing promise of her headache whetting to true pain. “Fuck.” Her voice was thick, tears hot on her cheeks.

Her mind tugged backwards.

A little apartment gone green with succulents. A bed with lilac sheets, Josie’s warm body turned away from her. The sharp angles of her shoulder blades, rigid so Elle knew she wasn’t asleep. Her hair was wrapped, the black silk catching the first light of morning. Elle reaching out to rest the very tips of her fingers against Josie’s skin. 

“Can we please have a nice morning before I go, Jose? Please?”

A long, jagged sigh. An eternity before Josie turned over, rolling closer to Elle than she’d been in days, raising a hand to her cheek. Elle’s heartbeat was thunder in her veins, and she’d thought maybe, please god, maybe she was forgiven. 

“Don’t sign up. The world doesn’t need any more agents.” Josie’s eyes had been so wide, already glistening. She leaned in slowly, pressing her lips to Elle’s in a gentle, passionate plea. Her kiss was slow and imploring, coaxing a shuddering whimper from Elle’s chest. Josie had pulled back only far enough to press their foreheads together. “This is enough, isn’t it?”

It hadn’t been. Not long after, Elle watched Josie shoulder her bag and close their door behind her for the last time.

Elle tipped the glass to gulp greedily. The liquor hit warm and firm, inviting her to lose herself. It curled like hot smoke into her bloodstream, close enough to real pleasure to make her pinch her eyes closed. There was a gentle burn inside her, sizzling down and down to rest in the hollow of her gut, drawing her attention there, and to the loose, distant blur creeping through her limbs. Her lips began to tingle, almost enough to feel like the phantom of a slow, lingering kiss. It felt like being wanted. It felt like being taken away, like being scooped up and cradled and told everything would be all right. All she had to do was shut down. Still her racing heart. Hush the torrent of her thoughts. Let it all go quiet, removed from herself and all this messy, ugly feeling. 

Numb it out. Let it go. You’re alone and you’re not worth saving. So let it go.

She heard a dull thud, head rolling as she realized her hand was now empty. She flexed her fingers, slow and hazy, blinking hard as she tried to make her hand hold still. Her face felt wet. 

Was she crying? Her face hurt. Maybe she’d been laughing. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Laughing? She’d laughed recently, hadn’t she? And that hurt, too. 

No, nothing hurt, not now. Not here, where it was safe and quiet inside. It was so hard to tell. Did it even really matter? She was suddenly so warm and so heavy, tired and lax and there were pins and needles all through her, a drag of grey static filling her brain and her mouth and everything inside her. 

I’m a dying little star, she thought with a puff of breath. Fading and fading and fading.

Resting her cheek on her knee, she let herself go slack, if only for a moment. 

Apparently a moment was all it took. 

Then, a quake.

Her body jerked upright.

Limbs tugged. Pressure on her neck. Her pulse. 

Slow but hard, five cold points on her cheek. She whined.  

World was all grey and streaky and sideways.

What…

“Mortal! Well done, you’ve made a perfect mess of yourself, haven’t you? Of all the witless creatures in all the forsaken realms...”

She groaned, head dangling heavy from her neck, stomach coiling as her arm was slung over a solid pair of shoulders, the band of hard muscle rippling beneath her. She tried to struggle, to twist away, only to be slapped still by vertigo. She darted a hand out to steady herself, thought she heard a rough grunt, and was suddenly held in place by an iron grip. She wanted to protest, to complain about the damp, cloying pain twisting through her head and chest and gut, but she only managed another watery groan. Was she floating? She didn’t feel the carpet on her toes. She tied to flex them, to dig her feet in, only to feel her weight shift again. 

Cold! 

Wet!  

Elle yelped, taking a forceful spray of icy water square to the face. She flailed, sputtering and snapping her sore eyes open to stare up and up... 

Up at Loki’s severe frown.

So scowly. 

He was only kneeling, but she was laying flat on the floor of her very large shower, making him look every bit the imposing god he was. 

All regal and clean. How dare he?  

She giggled and hiccuped at the same time. 

His frown deepened.

She raised her hand to try to block the frigid spray, feet sliding as she scrambled (very ungracefully) to sit up. 

“What’re you doing?” Her voice lacked the edge she’d been aiming for, instead leaving her as a thin, wavering whine. 

His mouth tugged down at the corners, eyes flashing. “What am I doing? I am washing the reek of alcohol off of a drunk and combative mortal who decided to begin her morning by drinking herself into a stupor. I am trying to decide whether it is worth my effort to try to sober her up before our tour with the Grandmaster, which I‘ve just been told will begin later this morning.” He finally grew impatient with her fumbling, and with a rough, rumbling sound in his chest, seized her under the arms to haul her into a sitting position. “And now I am apparently keeping her from drowning in a shower, of all places. Just what in Hel were you thinking?”

Feeling flooded back, cold and harsh and everywhere. In her aching body and pounding head, and worst of all, in her chest, scattered through her heart and lungs and the soft places inside her like shards of glass. 

She was bleeding and he had the audacity to make her feel it. 

Elle shoved his hands away with a snarl that was one hitched breath from becoming a sob. Her lips trembled, even as they pulled back to expose her teeth. “It’s fine! Makes it easier to...” She gestured flippantly at her body. “Easier to be a pet like this. Just takes the edge off. It’ll be fine. Not like you care.”

Her head rolled and she missed the way Loki recoiled, a pinched, uncertain expression shadowing his face. 

She moved to get up, only to have her feet slide uselessly away. “Oh. Maybe I overdid it this time.” Her laugh was tight and shrill, even to her own ears. The ensuing hiccup was loud, shook her lungs; it would embarrass her later, when she thought of it. She shook her head, blinking quickly as she struggled to keep her eyes open as she looked back to Loki. 

He was staring at her, chest rising and falling in rapid pants of anger. When he finally spoke, his voice was brittle. “Oh, do you suppose you might have? You were dangling off the windowsill like some sort of half-dead street urchin when I arrived. I suppose you do this to yourself every morning?”

“No!” Her head was full of pins and spirals, anchored in place by a thin ribbon of ache. It made her feel so very far away, so very disconnected from her body. 

And from her mouth. Volume and coherence and dignity be damned.

“I haven’t had to because you’ve been here. Haven’t had to deal with the Grandmaster alone since you showed up, but then you left. You left me. You left like Josie did because you hate me now and I’m sorry, Loki, okay? I know I fucked up! I know! I’m sorry I lied and I’m sorry I think you’re dangerous, b-but that’s not, it’s not the same as being scared of you! I’m not scared of you! I like you! You talk to me like a person and you don’t, don’t grab at me and you use my name but…  but you’ve been gone and he touches me so much more now, and I don’t want to be sober for it! I can’t do this by myself anymore and I… and… I…  you’re not here and I hate it! ”

Elle slumped, not even realizing she’d gone rigid beneath the weight of her confession, bracing herself as it tore itself up from the deepest recesses of her chest. It hurt to have dislodged it, like yanking out a rotting tooth, realizing suddenly her throat was raw and tender from yelling. Her breathing was shrill, made more piercing by the tiled walls of the shower. She was shivering now, hard enough to make her teeth clatter, though the shuddering went far deeper than her skin. She felt it in her bones, echoing through her joints, slamming up against her sternum in a terrified imitation of her heartbeat. She sniffed aggressively, grinding the heels of her hands against her eyes, wiping water and the hot burn of tears from her face. Her body surged with embarrassed heat, so intense she was sure her skin would start to steam. 

Stop! Stop it! You drunk, rambling mess, just shut up!

She shook her head, chest stuttering with each ragged breath. For a long moment, that was all she heard: the sound of her own erratic breathing and the fall of water.

Then: a long, deep exhale. The kind that’s dredged up from the very bottom of the lungs, pushing out hurt and heartache. The kind that sounds like a surrender, when in reality it is a steeling, a promise: a laying down of arms. 

And then, very gently, more gently than she thought possible: “Look at me.”

A loud sniffle. “No.”

“Please, Elle.”

She wanted to hiss. To hide. Hell, to find the nearest chair, put it through a window, and throw herself through it, out into the garbage piles below. But her pulse was a thunderclap, painful and booming, drumming blood and a terrible, irrefutable focus through her. She couldn’t help but be aware of him, his voice so soft and patient, the exact opposite of what it was when he came in. She turned her head slowly, lifting up just enough so her eyes were visible through the slats of her fingers. 

Loki had sunk down beside her, long legs tucked under him, water spraying up against his knees. There was a small crease between his brows, lips thinned, but no longer in anger. His eyes—the flare was gone. The harsh, cutting light had been replaced with a softer sort of brightness, something open and searching. She could hear the slight waver in his breath as he inhaled deeply, saw his throat constrict when he swallowed. “I…” His shoulders rose, eyes closing for a moment as he seemed to sort through just what he wanted to say. “I don’t hate you.”

She moved her arms to circle her knees, scrubbing her eyes against the inside of her elbow. “How can you not? I called you a monster. You’re not a monster. There’s so much I learned from… Earth that you prove wrong every day. I see how strong you are and how easily you get by here and… yeah, you could still be dangerous. But that’s not the same as being bad. Being powerful in a way I don’t understand isn’t the same as being evil, and you’re not that. And I didn’t… none of it came out right, and I’m sorry. I was cruel, Loki. I didn’t mean to be.”

Elle didn’t realize until she’d finished how small her voice had become, how frail. Her heart beat loud and hard in her ears. She’d spent a considerable amount of their time together so far wondering if he could feel her little lies by omission, if he was aware of all the ways she sidestepped the truth. Now, there was an awful, airy burst of hope inside her, one that trilled and trilled, aching for him to know just how much she meant it. Just how painfully, stupidly, achingly honest she was in this moment. 

Whether she liked it or not, there was more to Loki than S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever told her, maybe more than they even knew. And she needed to know more. 

She told herself her survival depended on it. Allowed that thought to take up the whole of her mind, willing it to block out the smaller, nagging nettle on its tail: she wanted to know more. Not for S.H.I.E.L.D., but for herself. Because she did like him. Caution and reason, much like volume and dignity, be damned.

She bit down on her lip, pushing the thought aside as Loki sighed, bringing one hand up to card through his hair. There was a weariness in his voice, but it was laced with something gentle. Something that sounded like understanding. “You are many things, Elle. Cruel is not one of them. Foolish, perhaps. Stubborn, certainly.” He flashed her the tiniest hint of a smile. “Frustrating, undoubtedly.”

“You’re one to talk.” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, muffled by her arm, but free nonetheless. It only made him roll his eyes, that smile twitching just a fraction wider. 

“Yes, well. Perhaps that is a point in our favor. Should we fail to find an alternate way off this planet, we can always attempt to frustrate the Grandmaster into launching us back into space. Between my temper and your belligerence, I think we might succeed.”

Elle shuffled her feet, pulling her knees in tighter to her chest. She was grateful for her arm, hiding the sudden little smile of her own trying to spill across her face. “Belligerence. How dare you.”

“How dare I? ” He arched an eyebrow, pressing his fingertips to his chest. “You are the one who slapped me for trying to carry you into the shower.”

“... I did?”

“It was quite an enthusiastic slap for someone so inebriated.”

As if on cue, she hiccupped again, this time aware enough to be embarrassed. She hid her face against her knees, realizing at long last that the cold water and spent adrenaline were making her shiver, the convulsions tearing through every limb, tightening even the muscles of her stomach.

Loki seemed to realize it at the same moment. With a quiet huff aimed more at himself than her, he turned off the water. Elle heard him shuffling for a moment before she felt his gentle grip on her forearms, tugging her around to face him, pulling her so the tips of her toes grazed his knees. She lifted her head in time to see him shake out one of the giant plush bath towels, wrapping it around her shoulders and tucking the corners beneath her chin. With a small sigh, he rubbed his hands over her arms, working to calm her shivering. His movements were slow and thorough, drawing Elle’s attention to just how big his hands were. They easily covered most of her forearms, palms working comforting paths along her limbs. Up and down over her arms, sliding to her legs, working from her ankles to her knees. Never lecherous. Never grasping or tugging or possessive, simply spreading warmth in increments across her skin. He watched his own progress, throat bobbing softly as his lips worked in a small line, as if he wanted to speak but was not quite ready. Finally, he looked up at her, gaze bright and intense and sincere. 

“I should not have left you.”

Elle blinked, looking away. “You were upset. I—”

“No.” The insistence in his voice pulled her attention back to him. Back to catch the resolute dip of his chin, the deliberate nod, as if making a vow. “There is no excuse for leaving you the way I did. Even angry, I should not have left you with the Grandmaster. Not knowing how he behaves toward you.” His hands moved up to her shoulders, giving them a small squeeze before moving around to her back in long, smooth passes before returning to her arms. “I’m sorry, Elle. I promise you, it will not happen again. I will not leave you alone with him.”

Heat. A warm, precious, glowing heat.

Sudden and wonderful and all at once. Flooding in from her arms and legs to sink into her bones, radiating to press against all those hurt places inside her chest. All the space she’d wanted numb, all the aches and all the scars. For that moment, they stopped hurting; there was only comfort and a deep, sweet swell of relief. This heat wasn’t frantic, wasn’t pulsing or wild or wanting; not the kind of heat she’d known with Josie and Josie alone. It was something new, something that made Elle want to curl around it and let it flow all through her, gentle and lovely as morning sunlight. The heat of being seen, of being understood and forgiven. Of being kept safe. 

She hoped with everything she had that Loki felt it, too. 

She reached out to take his elbows gently between her fingers. “Thank you.”

He lifted his head just a fraction, tongue moving to wet his lower lip. There was hesitation in the way he parted his lips, in the furrow of his brow. “You don’t see me as a monster? You’re truly not afraid of me?”

There was so much, so much in the answer to that question. It was too big for this moment, too much for Elle to share here, still gently shivering beneath his touch despite the warmth in her skin. Too much to possibly convey. Someday. Maybe someday she could tell him why she wasn’t afraid. For now, she settled on the core of it, the bright, glittering seed of truth underneath it all: “No, I don’t. And I’m really not.” 

“Despite all the things you learned on Midgard?” A small shadow of emotion, something cautious she couldn’t quite place. 

“The information I got on Earth was flawed. I’m beginning to see that they don’t know a damn thing about you. Neither do I. But… I’m willing to learn, if you’ll let me. I’m a really fast learner.” She reached for his hand, drawing it away from her arm to loop her pinky finger around his. “Promise.”

She couldn't read the look on his face. Could not fathom the riot of emotions storming beneath the surface. She only felt the gentle pressure as he squeezed her finger with his own.

Then she hiccupped again, shattering the moment with a low, self-conscious groan. Loki shook his head, brow arching even as a smile tugged at his lips. 

“Come. Let’s get you up and hydrated. The Grandmaster will be sending for us soon enough.” And then he was pulling her to her feet, steering her patiently out onto her sofa and retrieving one of her glass bottles of water. He tugged a hand through his hair, watching her take a few long, greedy pulls. When she lowered the bottle, she wiped her wrist over her mouth, giving Loki a nervous look.

“I know it’s not my business, but…”

He arched a brow.

Ugh, out with it Elle.

“When you left, you said that you were going to be busy. With Rezh. And you’ve been pretty cozy with her lately. Are you… will you still be able to…” She huffed, taking a quick sip to buy herself a moment. “Will you still be around for the tour? Or do you have your own outing set up at this point?” God, her face was hot. She actually hoped she came across as prudish in this moment, wished for it good and hard. The truth of it, that she just wanted to know if Loki would be nearby, was so much harder to deal with. 

It’s fine if they’ve been having sex. Really. It’s probably safer to do it than not. But I just… is it so bad if I just don’t want to see it? If I just want to know that Loki will be there?

She expected a scolding. To be told to mind her own business and not ask him such things. Instead, Loki looked down at his hands, one thumb drawing over the other. Funny. Elle never took him for a fidgeter. 

“We will be together on the tour, don’t worry. While I will need to keep up the appearances I’ve laid out with Rezh, I will not leave you with the Grandmaster. I can…” He chewed the inside of his cheek, deliberating. “I can still cast the protection spell on you. If you’d like.”

Elle brightened, sitting up straighter. “Really? You’d really do it?

“If it will make you feel safe, I can still attempt to conjure something up.”

“Yeah. Yes, please! Should we do it here? Do you need candles or sage or something? I don’t have candles or sage but I bet I can find a substitute.”

Suddenly he was himself again, regal and superior, leaning back to arch a brow and look down at her in a way that was all the more regal for its incredulousness. The smirk though, showing just a flash of teeth… the smirk was kind of charming. “Do I look like a Midgardian witch to you?”

She hummed from low in her chest as she looked him over, picturing him in something appropriately witchy. There may not have been wanting heat, but there was still appreciation. “You’d make a hot witch.” 

Noooo, she didn’t mean to say it out loud! She snapped her face away, burning from the apples of her cheeks down all the way down her neck, taking another desperate, choking pull from the bottle. 

Goddamn Vanessa Ives aesthetic! Why can’t my mouth be on a switch, too?

She thought she heard him chuckle, but couldn’t bring herself to look.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Oh, fantastic.

But then the very tips of his fingers were on her shoulder, the barest application of pressure. “Here. Turn toward me.”

She obeyed, though her movements were too quick, too jerky. She went to rest the bottle of water in her lap, paused, moved to set it down. “Um. What do I…?”

He took the bottle from her, setting it down smoothly. “Relax your shoulders. Take a breath. Good. All right, this may take me a moment. Close your eyes. Please.”

Close my eyes? The guy who wore the golden horns is magic-shy?  

She would just have to roll with it. She didn’t want to risk him leaving again. She let her eyes slip closed, focusing on her breathing, on the still-swimmy feeling in her head and stomach. She hoped it would fade soon, that she’d be most of the way back to sober before—

“Oh.” There was a sudden change, the air around her going cool and damp. Her skin tingled faintly, like the feeling she got when she moved from a warm room out into the cold. She parted her lips to ask if that was normal, but instead exhaled slowly, feeling her breath heat her skin. She thought she caught flickers of sound, the rustle of clothing, as if Loki was moving his hands. 

The air temperature continued to drop, the chill spreading. Then, a gasp.

“Loki?”

“Keep your eyes closed.” His tone was clipped, a small but precise spike of desperation shot through it. 

She nodded quickly. He spoke in a language she didn’t know, a low murmuring filling the room. Dense pressure seeped into the air, plucking at her eardrums, making her head feel swollen and heavy. Just as soon as it had come, it dissipated, her ears popping. 

She opened her mouth to speak but could only hiss as a frigid, biting line drew around her neck. Loki’s cool fingers met just below her hairline, seeming to affix something in place. She shivered, goosebumps racing down her arms to curve along the small of her back, but she did not pull away.   

He made a sound, something soft. “Lift your chin.” Did he sound… winded? His voice just shy of trembling?

That piercing cold settled in the hollow of her throat, a slash of near-pain driving a quick, hard shudder through her body. Though she couldn’t see, she sensed Loki leaning back, the air seeming to clear as he pulled away. 

“All right. Open.”

Elle eased her eyes open, not realizing she’d been holding her breath until it left her as a relieved sigh. She moved to touch the thing around her throat; Loki’s hand darted out, gently pressing her fingers into a fist.

“You mustn’t touch it yet. The cold will hurt you.”

“But my neck is okay?”

“Yes.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Magic.”

“Oh. What is it?”

“An enchantment. To keep you safe.” His eyes dropped to her throat, and for a moment, it looked as if that ring of gold around his pupils grew smaller. 

Probably just the alcohol talking. 

She offered him a small smile, suddenly very aware of his hand still resting over hers. 

When he realized, he pulled away.

She hummed, a gentle breaking of the quiet. “Thank you. I really… Thank you.”

He watched her, his attention like ice against a fevered brow. “You’re welcome.” When he finally stood to move away, he wavered, turning quickly and bringing his hands to his chest, out of her field of vision. 

“Get changed. Keep drinking your water. I will be back in a moment.”

Once he’d left, Elle forced herself back to her feet. She was hesitant, nearly shy as she went to the mirror above the vanity. 

Her mouth fell open, fingers reaching to graze the reflection in the glass.

It was as if Loki had captured a star in ice. The center glowed an impossible, delicate blue, so blue it felt almost vast . Tiny gleaming fractals curled away from the center in spirals, making it appear as if the star had been caged in a swirl of frost. It glittered as she turned, scattering the light in tiny flashes of blue and white fire across her skin. It rested perfectly in the hollow of her throat, secured by what a thin braided ribbon of pale silver silk that shimmered like starlight.

It was exquisite, beauty and power set alight.  

Elle stepped away from the mirror, pulling her lip between her teeth. There was that rush of warmth in her chest again, something inviting and calm. Loki continued to surprise her. The thought left a small smile on her face as she took another long drink, turning to unbraid and shake out her wet hair and set about dressing for the day.

Loki was shaking. 

Hard tremors tore up his wrists, into his arms, illuminating his skin with the same flashes of blue that stained his palms and fingertips. He burned, frigid streaks of pain coiling around each finger, searing into his knuckles, making them stiff and sore.

He let out a wavering breath, turning his hands over. 

Damn!

Fatigue tugged at him, heavy and sudden, forcing him down to sit on the corner of his bed. He had been a boy just beginning his training when reaching for his magic had last exerted him so thoroughly. 

He had merely intended to summon some ice for Elle, to shift his biology toward his Jotunn form just enough to forge some small trinket to make her feel the protection he wished he could truly offer. 

But once his skin was cold again, bones heavier, senses of sight and smell heightened, he’d felt it: the electric snap of his power, reaching back for him. It was faint, flickering as if caught in the wind, but it was there!

So he’d lunged for it, dragging it back to him before it flashed out.

And he’d succeeded! He’d drawn his magic to him and gave it corporeal form, a nebulous spell as yet uncast. He could perform perhaps one spell with it; it was not strong enough to take him back to Asgard, but it would act as an adequate safeguard if there was an immediate threat. It would hold its shape until it was needed. It was as the human saying went: in case of an emergency, break the glass. Or in this case, the pendant.

And what had he done with this manifestation of what very well could have been the last shred of his magic? Summoned one of his daggers? Sent out a call across the Bifrost to let Heimdall know he was alive (if anyone on Asgard was even looking for him). Fortified himself in some useful way?

No. He’d hung it around Elle’s neck without so much as a second thought.

Loki cursed, letting his head fall into his hands. 

“What are you doing?” He heaved himself to his feet, held out his arms as fatigue made him sway, righted himself, and began to pace. He should have utilized his power in the form of weaponry or cunning, yet he instead turned and gave it away. Why? Because she apologized? Because he’d promised? He scoffed aloud in the quiet of his room. But to think of the innumerable monuments he could build on the backs of his broken promises, both the ones he’d told and the ones which had been told to him.

But he knew that was not the reason. He wished it was as simple as fulfilling a promise. Wished it had more to do with honor rather than amends, an apology of his own. 

He’d left Elle alone. Had allowed their host to take liberties with her that were unacceptable. Loki had been hurt, furious with her for days, lost to his rage and his pain. And yet, seeing her again this morning, driven to desperation to cope with her fears… 

It tore at him, a lance straight through his chest.

His muscles went tight, limbs tense in a swirl of anger. At himself. At the Grandmaster. At this briefly-mentioned Josie, the memory of whose own departure had made Elle’s breath hitch, spilling more tears down her cheeks. At whatever cruel hand had served him and Elle to this planet. He tried to calm himself, taking a sharp, shallow breath, forcing his shoulders to drop. He growled, scrubbing his hands over his face, trying not to think of Elle’s words. 

And failing. 

“I’m sorry I lied and I’m sorry I think you’re dangerous, b-but that’s not, it’s not the same as being scared of you! I’m not scared of you! I like you!”

Truth. Such sweet, clean truth, her autumn-sun honesty leaving him rubbing at his mouth. Spoken with sincerity and, damn her, a flayed sort of passion that only drunkenness could bring. 

As if that was not enough.

“The information I got on Earth was flawed. I’m beginning to see that they don’t know a damn thing about you. Neither do I. But… I’m willing to learn, if you’ll let me. I’m a really fast learner.” Another gentle touch. So soft and so kind, even after he’d left her. “Promise.”

Loki’s ridiculous heart set to racing, beating so hard it stunned him. 

Perhaps he should still be angry. Perhaps his hurt should still be searing a bloody, blinding path through his veins. But, while she had not told her the truth of her employment, she had told him the truth around it. There was something in this confession that went beyond the simple admission that she was an agent. She’d shared her doubts. Her belief that the agency she worked for was fallible. That she saw him as… as more. That she wanted to know more, not about this image that had been built for him, but as he truly was.

And all of it, every single word, was so bright and warm with truth that his hands threatened to shake. Selfishly, he’d been grateful she’d allowed him to warm her as he had. It gave him a chance to move, to hide the way his fingers twitched at her admission.

Perhaps… perhaps her status as an agent was more of a veil, adopted from necessity and upbringing rather than true devotion.  

He was not yet sure if this was true or just a wish on his part, but he could not deny the thread of comfort it pulled through him.

He shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face. How could such simple (drunken, in places slurred) confession have diffused him so entirely? He looked down once more at his fingers, where his skin was finally fading back from its Jotunn coloring. How had it made him so eager to surrender what might have been his last speck of magic? 

Because her apology was sincere. Because she trusts me, even after I left her. And because she needs my help. 

The image of the Grandmaster caging her against her door rose unbidden in his mind, along with the numerous instances of repugnant contact Loki had caught over the past several days: the rough, jabbing fingers against her cheek; the greedy open palm on the small of her back; the demanding hand that, in drawing her to him, had come to rest on her ribcage just beneath her breast. And once, only once, wrapping her hair around his fingers, using it to turn her head to get her attention. As if she were an animal on a leash. 

Even in his anger, Loki had vividly imagined snapping that hand from its wrist.

It was only natural to be protective, he reasoned. Elle had played no small part in making sure he was kept fed and hydrated, educated about the social systems here and how to navigate them. Rezh may have been his companion during this spat of his and Elle’s, but the information she gave was not quite as thorough, and was given from the point of view of someone benefiting from the hierarchy here. It was more difficult to navigate pitfalls when she assumed he wanted to fall into them. 

Besides, she has been most eager to have another rendezvous. 

Even despite his flirtation—done mostly for show, he would admit—he had so far been able to avoid it, but it was getting more difficult to come up with distractions. 

He would handle Rezh in time. Now, he needed to focus on Elle. He would need to be attentive, to ensure the Grandmaster took no further liberties. He would need to keep an eye on her, to remain close enough to activate the magic in the pendant if need be.

But first, he had to get her sober. 

“Frustrating woman.” He did not quite feel the little smirk on his lips, but he was all too aware of the rush of relief slipping through him at the idea of having her back in his orbit. Of ensuring there would be no more tears on her cheeks. 

We are, the both of us, better off together. I will keep her from the Grandmaster, and she can continue to educate me on the nuances of Sakaar. A beneficial arrangement, that’s all. 

The fact that she liked him had nothing to do with it. 

Little to do with it. Surely.

He grabbed the basket he’d come in for from the table by his bedside, stopping to knock quickly at their adjoining door.

“Are you dressed?”

“Yeah, come in.”

So he did.

And then he froze.

Elle was back at the windowsill, standing to look out at the bustling streets outside. She had dressed in an ice-blue gown of delicate, silken fabric that skimmed the very tops of her feet. When she turned, he saw it was the same hue as the fractals in the pendant. The jewel rested delicately against the hollow of her throat, its shape nearly identical to the one cut out of her bodice, offering up an enticing view of the valley between her breasts and a smooth bit of her abdomen. A glittering silver belt hugged her waist, and it was there that her skirt was divided into two flowing panels, revealing flashes of her thigh when she moved. 

It was a fine dress. It was not what caused Loki to pause. 

The sunlight chose that moment to rush in through the window behind her, catching her hair in a radiant flash of light. Mousy red became a dance of copper and gold, moving like flame as she worked to towel it dry. It was wild; waves of it crashed around her shoulders, thick and curling as it dried. Wayward twists spun across her neck and over her face as she used her fingers to give her tresses an impatient shake.

It made her look unrestrained. Free. Fierce. In that moment, he saw her as she might have been away from Sakaar: untamed.  

Loki was captivated. Utterly and completely captivated.

She went still beneath the weight of his attention, clearing her throat self-consciously. “Yeah, I know. I should just cave and let the Grandmaster’s team cut my hair, but there’s just certain things I can’t bring myself to do. Nothing here’s free, you know?”

Loki lowered his eyes, her words sharper than she could possibly have known. They burrowed down inside him to turn over a hard stone of memory. 

Laying so still on the floor of a prison cell, eyes open but unseeing. Skin cracked and inflamed, each breath tugging at the still-open wounds. An offer of water. Of clothing. The promise of sleep, of a bath. All the pain would stop. “One word, Loki. All your power and pride will be restored to you. Just say yes.”

“Nothing ever is.” He crossed his arms, shaking himself from the memory. “How is your head?”

“Getting there. Still woozy.”

“I would imagine so, frail Midgardian that you are. Here. Some of your cursed bread.” He dangled the basket from his fingertips.

“Where did you get that?” She approached with a small smile, grabbing two of the horrid-looking buns before retreating back to the windowsill.

“I found myself exploring the kitchens last night as I came back to my chambers. You did mention that some of your scavenged items would unlock the cabinets. I took the liberty of relieving the cooks of the responsibility of distributing a few things.” He grimaced down at the buns. “Though if the situation were not so dire, I would happily see all of this incinerated.”

That made her chuckle, even as she tore off a piece of the offensive pastry and began to eat. “What would you rather have?”

“Absolutely anything else.”

“Obviously. No, what would you be eating if you were still on Asgard? Like, if I was on Earth right now, I’d kill for a breakfast sandwich.” She closed her eyes, a faint smile playing over her lips. She inhaled deeply as if scenting the air, making the fabric of her dress stretch in a way that was not at all displeasing. “Bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel. Toasted. And a cinnamon coffee, whole milk, no sugar.” When she opened her eyes, she looked at her bun with a forlorn sigh. “You know what? Extra bacon, double cheese.” She glanced up at him, offering a shy smile. “What about you?”

She shuffled herself up onto the windowsill and nibbled her bread, one foot kicking out lazily while the other curled beneath her. The sunlight cascaded around her in a torrent of gold, and for a moment, Loki could pretend he was on Asgard. 

Golden, shining Asgard, with all its sunlight and crystalline blue skies. With his many rooms in the palace, all his to explore. Well, his and Odin’s. While he often had to remain in Odin’s wing to keep up appearances, he often stole back to his own chambers at night to sleep, to read, or simply to look out over the kingdom from a view that was entirely his own. It granted him a moment where he could wear his own face and pretend his successes were recognized as his own. 

Could pretend he was truly forgiven. Truly welcomed home. 

But those fantasies only lived in the confines of his room. Each morning found him returning to the Allfather’s wing to begin the day anew, living a life that was not fully his, receiving compliments and loyalties not truly sworn to him, reviewing the day’s charters and taking his meals.

His meals. He had been cautious for a long while, only eating the hearty porridge and light ale Odin favored. Nearly a year and a half had passed before he allowed himself to request what he truly desired. What he had eaten so often with Frigga in her garden, surrounded by the heavy, sweet scent of flowers as they worked through their newest spell. 

“Warm oat bread,” he said finally, the words rough as they broke free from his chest. He heard the longing in his voice, but found there was little he could do to bury it. “Slathered in fresh butter. A comb of honey for sweetness. Red elderflower tea, steeped just shy of bitter.”

He looked up, only to find that Elle was still smiling at him, soft and serene. The tension that usually hummed through her body was nowhere to be found. 

“That sounds amazing.” She curled herself comfortably into the corner of the window, gesturing for him to join her with a tilt of her head. 

After a moment’s hesitation, he accepted, taking his place beside her on the windowsill. They ate together quietly, glancing between each other and the breakfast they each wished was something else. 

Finally, Elle sighed, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling. “Today’s gonna suck, isn’t it?”

Loki hummed. “How so? We’re embarking on a… what do you call it? A double date with a grinning tyrant and his favorite insatiable acolyte. What could possibly go wrong?”

Elle lost herself to a most undignified snort of laughter. 

Loki ducked his chin to his chest, smiling at the sound.

Chapter Text

“There they are. Sweetheart! Loke! Here, come sit, come sit.” The Grandmaster waved to Elle and Loki from the elevated docking platform, Rezh offering a bright, inviting grin from his side. The suns were up and the sand was flying as ships took off and landed in a continuous undulating pattern from the busy airfield. Bits of garbage twirled in the wind, catching against the undersides of a few of the docked ships. Despite the trash and the dust in the air, it was a warm, dry day, the skies blue and clear. Elle tipped her head back, letting slip a quick but deep sigh.

“Elle?”

She looked over to find Loki’s brow furrowed. He must have heard her, was checking to make sure she was all right. The idea tugged the corner of her mouth up into an appreciative smile.

“All good. I just haven’t flown since—”

Since I got that month-long grant to work on the Helicarrier. 

How badly she wanted to say it. Knew she couldn’t. But she also found she didn’t want to lie, didn’t want to muddy this moment with half-truth or omission. She instead chose to shrug, tipping her face up again to let the sunlight smooth its warm fingers over her skin. Chose to enjoy the comfort of the light and Loki’s presence for a few more fleeting moments before they boarded. 

“It’s so pretty and blue up there, that’s all. I don’t get to enjoy the nice side of this planet very often.”

She felt Loki’s elbow graze her own, walking close so no one would overhear them talking. Their proximity let her catch the hum of contemplation rumbling in his chest. “We’ll have to see what can be done about that.”

She wanted to look at him, to glance over to see if he was smirking in that relaxed, confident way he had. But they’d reached the ramp leading to Rezh’s ship, and it was time to pull inside. Elle took a breath, letting her face go slack and neutral, her mask slipping into place as her pulse tapped nervously in her throat.  She and Loki ascended together, separating as she stepped into the Grandmaster’s outstretched arms, Loki into Rezh’s. 

“There she is, my girl!” Elle steeled herself, barely going rigid as the Grandmaster dropped a kiss to each of her cheeks, his hands sliding up her arms, pausing to tug on a loose wave that had escaped her low bun. “Come sit with me, sweetheart.”

Rezh’s ship, a petite luxury cruiser, had just enough room to accommodate two plush loveseats. Thick and soft, they sat facing each other, bookended by the entrance and, on the opposite side, a large oval window stretching across the entire wall, promising ample views of the planet. A glass privacy shield separated this portion of the ship from the pilot’s seat. Like Rezh herself, the interior was decorated in green and gold. The velvety fabric on the seats was a lush jade, the windows trimmed in shimmering gold curtains. It was warm inside, scented with the floral perfume Rezh favored. Elle offered a silent prayer of gratitude that it didn’t smell like sex. Dealing with the sensory overload at the orgies was bad enough. Facing it with the Grandmaster in such close proximity where she couldn’t duck away would be unbearable. 

As the Grandmaster ushered Elle inside, stationing her in the window seat before sliding in beside her, she cast a quick glance over at Loki. 

Her heartbeat stuttered, the catch of it sending a pulse through every muscle and sinew.

He was already watching her from Rezh’s embrace. No, not watching: staring. His gaze was bright and precise, unwavering as he watched the Grandmaster tuck himself around Elle, and she swore there was a darkness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It twisted a spiral of electricity up her spine, making her sit up straighter. That stare held the edge of a predator in the dark, the ripple of shadow that solidifies just before the strike. 

His eyes dropped down to the pendant around her throat, that dangerous edge softening suddenly—fading into a promise that was no less of a threat, made bearable only because the threat was not meant for her.

He won’t let anything happen to me.  

The thought was a spark inside her, an ember set to glow.

Then one set of soft jade hands slid over Loki’s forearms as another cupped his cheeks, turning his head away. He raised his eyes to Rezh’s, face illuminating in a smile that was… well…

Radiant. It was nothing short of radiant.

It was full of pleasure and flirtation and playfulness and… ease. Just looking at them, Elle could tell that their being together was easy. They had no strained promises between them, no need for lies or fear or protective spells. Her glow faded, the ember dwindling down into a single orange thread pulled taut through the darkness just below her ribs, tight enough to pluck and play a single, solitary note of sorrow. Knowing it was irrational did nothing to dull the sting.

“Did you bring it?” she heard Rezh whisper, voice already becoming husky. Loki nodded, reaching into his pocket and retrieving the cylindrical key she’d gifted him. Rezh gave him a delighted hum of approval as she drew it from his fingers, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. And then, seeming to think better of it, moved to kiss him properly, full and deep and passionate. Two hands cradling his face in reverence while the other two twined into his hair. His eyebrows shot up, a sound of surprise escaping him, and then Loki’s hands were on her hips, tugging her closer, grinning against Rezh’s mouth.

Elle dropped her gaze, that thread of sorrow tangling, knotting into aching discomfort. They’ve been basically inseparable for the last week, she reminded herself. Loki even said he’d have to keep up appearances with her today. And even if it’s not just for the sake of appearances, this is normal, remember? For other people, this is fine.

That did nothing to ward off the sudden restlessness itching in her nerves, the irritated vibrations shooting down so her fingers knit and unknit in her lap.

The Grandmaster watched Loki and Rezh with a wide, hungry smile, pulling Elle flush against his side. Her palms instantly went damp, muscles in her neck taut from the strain of staying still. “What a sight they are.” His lips against her hair nearly sent her scrambling away, an urge she managed to tame at the cost of a sore spot on the inside of her cheek, the taste of copper blooming on her tongue. 

Elle heard the dry click in her throat. “They’re... beautiful together.” 

“They certainly are. And speaking of beauty...” 

His fingers closed in tight on her jaw, twisting her head until she was looking at him. Elle sucked in a breath but kept her expression neutral, forcing herself to go vacant as those fingers trailed down to the hollow of her throat, circling the pendant with a deliberate pressure that told her he was not at all pleased to see it there. He pressed in with his nails, no doubt digging raised, reddened trails into her sensitive skin. 

“Tell me about this, sweetheart.”

Fuck!

Elle’s heart plummeted, breath hitching around a spike of fear, throat suddenly tight and raw as if she’d been screaming. She should have planned for this. From her periphery, she saw Loki pull away from Rezh, could feel his gaze return to her like a physical pressure. She thought she saw him shift, as if preparing to break from Rezh’s grasp and launch across the little shuttle to intervene. It would give them both away if he did. 

So do what you do best. Put on a show. 

While the breakfast she’d shared with Loki had diluted the alcohol in her system, there was still a needle of it left, a flicker in her blood making it bearable to reach up, slide her palm against the Grandmaster’s wrist, down to cover his hand and press his grip more firmly against her throat. An invitation she'd never given before. The acceptance of his touch. The request for more. Her stomach clenched as his eyes went wide, gaze dragging across her face, her throat, her breasts, with all the severity of a blade. She knew his lust would convince him her shudder was one of pleasure instead of terror.

“I’m so sorry, Grandmaster,” she said, lips quirking into an uneasy smile. She forced herself to stroke at his knuckles, hating the feel of the bony knots under her fingers, despising how deceptively soft the pads of his fingers were against her neck. But it was better to have his focus on her. As long as she kept up the illusion that she was his, she was safe. She and Loki both were. 

“I should have thanked you sooner. I saw this in my room when I woke up this morning and knew it could only be from you. It’s such a touching way to celebrate our tour.” She bit down against the swell of her lip, watching his eyes take in the movement, pupils dilating in a way that made her skin go tight and cold. “Thank you for thinking of me and making today special. It’s beautiful.”

This time she knew she saw Loki waver. Don’t, she willed. Don’t draw any attention to yourself.  

Thankfully, he seemed to understand. He didn’t come closer, though she saw his hands tighten into fists as the Grandmaster leaned in, intentionally slow, drawing it out. Elle closed her eyes, tensing, icy dread squirming through her stomach. 

Let it be quick.

Miraculously, the Grandmaster’s lips avoided hers, instead brushing the swell of her cheek. They lingered for a moment as he inhaled, taking in the scent of her skin before pulling away. Elle let herself breathe, the tremor in it far more audible than she would have liked. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He flicked his thumb on the pendant once, a strained smirk twisting his mouth up at the corners as he lowered his hand. “You deserve something pretty for today. I don’t think you’ve ever seen Sakaar like this, not since you were first brought to me. Had to mark the occasion, didn’t we?”

He bought it. He believes that I think it’s from him.

A cool stream of relief spilled through her bunched muscles as her host settled back in his seat. The Grandmaster kept one arm around her shoulders while his other hand brushed her thigh, but she was allowed to turn forward, casting a furtive glance at Loki. His lips twitched, the barest, most fleeting ghost of a smile. Just enough to acknowledge the success of her ploy. 

She returned it. Maybe we’ll pull this off, after all. 

Rezh broke the tension with a sultry laugh, recapturing Loki’s attention as she drew him to the unoccupied seats. “And what an occasion it is. There’s much to see of Sakaar beyond the palace walls, my king. You’ll love it.”

“I do not doubt it. When do we start?” Was that an edge in Loki’s voice? Impatience, maybe? It sent up a delicate flare of pleasure, knowing he could get impatient with the beautiful, perfect Rezh.

As if on cue, their pilot, a short but imposing lizard-like creature with tepid yellow eyes, made his way up the ramp, taking the key with a bow. Not before Rezh offered Loki a knowing wink. “Away we go, my king.” She made a show of draping her long legs over his lap, drawing the Grandmaster’s tittering attention. Elle was determined not to dwell on it, pouring all of her focus out the window and watching the dust and debris swirl outside. 

Until she saw the pilot’s hands moving. Saw him drop the key into the ignition, lighting up the power circuits, readying the cruiser for takeoff. It only needed the access code to launch. Elle saw one clawed, thickly-scaled hand reach for the touchpad, there behind the glass. 

Oh-three-theta-three-spirally thing… shit. The hand dipped out of sight, pressing buttons she couldn’t see. If they were going to steal Rezh’s ship, they’d need the rest of that code. 

Meaning Rezh’s ship isn’t a sure thing. Damn it. 

Huffing as quietly as she could, Elle slumped enough to make the Grandmaster readjust his grip, looking out the window and repeating the first few digits of the code over and over, committing it to memory. 

They ascended above the smog of the city outside the palace, breaking into the wispy trails of light clouds against a vast blue sky. The doorways were still a bit too high up for her to see; here, there was only open space, free and clear and beautifully clean. Only the mirage of freedom, but one she would enjoy while she had it. She leaned closer to the window, fingertips pressing the glass. 

In another life, she’d told Josie she wanted to fly. “You should see what they have on the new Falcon program, Jose! It’s unbelievable!” Josie hadn’t responded. Elle lowered her forehead to the glass, watching a world that was not Earth speed by below, the sharp angles of the city giving way to brackish blue-brown water. 

“Are there oceans on Sakaar?” she heard Loki ask.

She pulled herself upright to focus.

“Oceans?” Rezh tilted her head to the side.

“Vast bodies of water, usually home to various plant and animal life. There are no oceans on Asgard, but Midgard is covered in them. There’s miles and miles of nothing but sea and horizon.”

“Oh! No, my king, nothing like that. We have four great reservoirs, but nothing like what you’re describing.”

Elle turned that over in her mind. Limited water meant limited plantlife, meant the desert-like landscape around the palace probably got more severe across the planet. There would be no forests to hide in. Life out in the desert was possible, but was most likely consolidated around the water sources. Assuming water even sustains all life out here. Chances are it probably doesn’t, not completely. Meaning the farther out from the palace and the water we go, the more alien the life forms will be. We’d have to adapt and run at the same time, while still staying close enough to water that we don’t die of dehydration.

She didn’t love that plan.

So we have a better chance of trying to escape through a portal directly from the palace. It’s riskier in terms of getting caught, but we’d at least have the landfills to get lost in. It’s more familiar terrain, at least. Running to the desert would mean having to lay low for a while. Would mean staying on Sakaar even longer. 

No, she definitely didn’t love this plan. Better to steal a ship than to flee into the desert. 

Loki nodded, no doubt mulling over the same ideas, though he hid it behind another bright grin as he gave Rezh a small squeeze. “A pity. You would look dazzling swimming in an ocean, my dear. Where do you go for fun? Or is the only fun worth having inside the palace?”

Rezh laughed, leaning to nuzzle into Loki’s neck, peppering him with kisses there. Elle heard the Grandmaster’s breathing pitch lower, watched with that heavy sinking feeling as Loki’s eyes fluttered closed. 

It was strange, the ache behind her sternum. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected. It bloomed wider—like a bruise, livid and sore. She blamed it on the kissing, honestly. Elle had always liked kissing. It had been a point of contention many times, and was usually the catalyst to the conversations about how she was just too complicated, too confusing. Sent too many signals. “But then why did you kiss me?” was the death knell of her potential relationships. It only emphasized that she didn’t feel the way everyone else did, didn’t feel what she was supposed to feel. Watching Loki and Rezh together only reminded her of this fact, a sharp and needling burst of clarity that stung far more than it soothed.

If I didn’t have a switch, it would be easier. If I could act on attachment or physical attraction alone, I wouldn’t feel… this. 

“Most of the fun is at the palace,” Rezh said, interrupting Elle’s train of thought. “The cities and camps outside are more prone to chaos and disrepute. The further away from the palace you are, the more scarce the resources. It makes the desert-dwellers rough.”

All the more reason to try to escape directly from the palace. She wished she could say this all out loud, that she didn’t have to wait to talk to Loki. 

“And what body of water is this?” His voice was calm, but there was a pointed curiosity in it that caught Elle’s notice. Just as it was meant to.

She looked at him from her periphery. He was leaning to look out the window now, hand leaving Rezh’s leg to tap the glass. Rezh leaned up, nose crinkling as she stared down through the clouds and smog. “Oh, that’s just the Inlay River. A little trade route here connecting two of the reservoirs. Not a very creative name, is it?”

Loki hummed, tapping the glass once more before settling back. “Looks rather like the Nile.”

Elle peered down through the clouds at a river of moving garbage. It churned, looking more like liquid metal than water, carrying debris of all sorts with it. It looked nothing like the Nile. This river was without a doubt made by hand, lacking all of the curvature of a natural river. No, this was straight, nearly rigid, to best accommodate the crush of ships and boats and shops lined up at its bank. 

Busy. Overly busy. Crowded. A good place to get lost. Potentially a good place to lay low. She nodded slowly. “Just like the Nile,” she said, keeping her eyes trained on it. 

“A famous river from Midgard,” Loki explained to their companions. 

The tour passed much like this. Loki noted two more landmarks that apparently reminded him of Midgard: a flat expanse of barren land that he said looked like the Grand Central Station, and a large, crumbling monument that he deemed the Statue of Liberty’s lookalike. She tucked the code away for later, secretly pleased that he’d used landmarks she was familiar with. It made her feel like she was actually part of the plan, rather than a simple bystander. 

A bustling encampment caught her eye. It was teeming with life, all around a lone, heaping shape jutting up out of the earth, but Elle didn’t think there were mountains on Sakaar. A giant dune, maybe? She lightly tapped the Grandmaster’s hand, pointing out the window. “What’s that?”

“Oh!” He grinned, taking the opportunity to lean heavily against her to gesture out the window. He was unpleasantly warm. Elle bit down on the sore spot inside her cheek to keep from making a face. “That is Mount Gast. A very old monument built to pay tribute to my family a very, very long time ago. Quite something, isn’t it?”

It certainly was… something. Though it was shaped like a mountain, it flashed with metal from valley to peak. If it had been natural once, it was no longer. The Grandmaster sighed fondly. “Time changes things so drastically, doesn’t it? It’s a wonder, watching time move. How it brings things closer every day, changes them from the inside out.” He lowered his voice, dipping his head to her ear. “I’d love to take you there sometime.”

“Grandmaster.” Loki’s voice was thin and precise as a razor’s edge. Demanding in the way only a king’s could be. 

Elle exhaled in relief as the Grandmaster pulled away, attention refocused on his guest. She looked up to find Loki’s gaze back on them, intense and irrefutable. Rezh was taking great care in playing with his hair, making him look both stern and rumpled at the same time.

“Tell me, my friend.” Loki’s voice went warm suddenly, though his smile was a touch too wide. “Do you leave the palace often? I rarely left the royal halls of Asgard and it became so dreadfully dull after a while.”

Trying to see if he has any trips planned? Good call, Loki.

The Grandmaster hummed, tipping his head against Elle’s in thought. Loki’s lips thinned. “Oh I don’t know. I’ve always been a fan of just, ah, seeing where each day takes me. I’ll venture out when it’s necessary, but—” he gestured to the window. “I also appreciate the order of the palace. I’m sure you get that, being a king and all.”

The Grandmaster’s grip tightened around her arm, his eyes fixed on Loki. “Speaking of order. I’m a big believer in setting my guests up for success here. I want you to feel included when the festivities come around again. What can I do to help make you more comfortable, my friend?”

Elle cringed, knowing exactly where this was going. She could only watch as Loki’s eyebrows crept upward, drawing a little giggle from Rezh. “I beg your pardon?”

“Niche interests,” the Grandmaster purred, his fingers beginning to draw circles on Elle’s skin. She kept her eyes trained ahead, trying to focus on whatever alcohol remained in her system. While she appreciated Loki’s efforts to sober her up, she did find herself wishing he hadn’t been quite so thorough. She was far less numb than she wanted to be.

She could definitely afford to feel a bit less as Loki slipped deeper into character. She watched as he offered a sly grin, canting his hips to spread his legs further apart, one arm drawing away from Rezh to rest along the top of his seat. He sprawled like the cocky king he was, a lazy sort of arrogance curling across his face. It’s… not a bad look on him. Frustratingly.

His gaze did not waver. “I am rather fond of partners who will allow themselves to be bound,” he said slowly, hand dipping to skate along the smooth, exposed length of Rezh’s leg, drawing the Grandmaster’s attention. “I knew a pair of twins from Vanaheim who kept the most exquisite set of restraints for when I came to visit. Strong leather,” (growled through his teeth at Rezh, making her squeal) “—inscribed with imported silver thread from Alfheim, delicate as starlight, pressed in the shape of a prayer honoring my many, many talents. That was quite some time ago.” He sighed wistfully. “I do miss them.”

Rezh all but purred, squirming in his grip. “We’ll have such fun, my king! Restraints happen to be my specialty.”

“How fortuitous, my dear.” His grin was dazzling and wicked, glittering with sinful promises. “Though, who does not enjoy having their absolute authority indulged? Partners who will obey and have no need for binding also hold an undeniable sway over my attentions.”

Elle’s breath caught in her chest, a ribbon of silk against thorns. Silver want flashed through her, curling through her veins like incense, like prayer. A very distant ache laced up through her thighs. Tension, she realized. She had gone positively rigid. Not the way she tensed under the Grandmaster’s touch, oh no. It was the way her body thrilled when Scrapper 142 made a face that looked especially like Josie’s.

The ache, not of desire, but the memory of it. The high, shrill keening at its absence. 

Her next breath was a thin, wavering thing, nearly a whimper. 

The Grandmaster hummed his approval. “I can think of a few friends who would be very eager to indulge you, restraints or no. Right Rezh?” He winked. 

Elle tried not to think of the way Loki’s voice had shifted, how the word obey and all its implications turned to a luscious haze of velvet and smoke. Tried not to look at the way the light was catching in the shining black torrent of his hair as Rezh ran her fingers through it. 

It’s just a blip, just a physical reaction to memory. It’ll go away. It always goes away.

“I would be honored.” Rezh’s voice was breathy, weighted with raw sincerity and lust. 

What must it be like, Elle wondered, to just want someone like that so freely? To not have this disconnect between attraction and sexual desire? 

It had always felt to Elle like she was craving color in a world that only sought texture. She wanted cobalt affection built from shared experiences; the coral of care that grew from reliability and trust; lilac joy at being seen and the deep indigo of being loved. It came with flashes of physical connection, but nothing more. Holding and being held was nice. She liked the feel of fingers in her hair, massaging her scalp. 

And the kissing, of course. Kissing was pink: a tender, rosy sunrise, a gentle sort of wanting. Her way of telling someone she chose them. It was more than friendship; it was the promise of partnership, an intimacy that was deep and glowing. It was something precious to her, something of herself she could share, something she wanted to share.

But it was never enough. She quickly learned that where she saw cobalt, friends and partners felt affection as cashmere; said it came with physical feelings: hands and lips, teeth and fire, pressure and all this work between the hips. They saw satin in place of coral, their version of care ingrained with a level of physicality she didn’t want or need. Indigo for her was velvet to them: there could be no love without touch, nor without the luscious surge of release. They could make it sound soft and beautiful and lovely, but it didn’t change anything. No amount of softness could make her want something she wasn’t wired for. 

The kissing made them think otherwise. 

Nobody liked to just kiss. It was always seen as an invitation. A door that, once flung open, was nearly impossible to close. She hadn’t had the language for it when she was younger: she wanted the connection, not the orgasm. For her, the two couldn’t be more separate. But with every kiss she gave, there was a flash of hurt in someone’s eyes. “It’s cool if you don’t want to have sex. But then why did you kiss me?” 

Because I want to hold you and be held. I want to laugh and joke and fill each other up with stories and little moments that are just ours. I want us to feel like we came from the same stars and finally found each other again. But for me, that feeling won’t come from sex. 

It made dating hard. Clara didn’t see her after that, knew right away that sex wasn’t negotiable and made a quick, clean break once Elle explained it all. Henry stayed for a while, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. He broke up with her sweetly, apologetic but resolute: said he couldn’t take the kissing. It felt too much like a promise she couldn’t keep. Clara and Henry wanted silk and cashmere, fleece and satin. They wanted to share a pleasure that didn’t exist for her, wanted so badly for her to feel it, too. Because for them, love and attachment weren’t disconnected from sex. 

Maybe that was the worst of it. She could have loved them. She liked the talking and the joking, the secrets and the stories, all the things they did together with their clothes on. Things, they pointed out, that friends could do. Said as if friendship was some sort of consolation prize rather than the foundation of every kind of love worth having. 

Elle missed the kissing when they left. The pink of it. All that it meant to her, all the things it could still mean. But it seemed like it would never just be color. There would always be texture attached. And she would be alone. 

Until Josie. 

She had the utter, indescribable joy of friendship with Josie before they started dating. Had the gift of Josie’s affection, pure and loving, all that vibrant color without the expectation of touch. When they did kiss, it was allowed to stay there. They still laughed. They still shared things with each other, built up entire little worlds made just for them. It was pink and cobalt and all the colors stirred up inside, bright and flashing like jewels.

And then, everything changed. 

A year after they started dating, a year of kissing later, color exploded into texture, unexpected and riotous—and Elle knew fire for the first time. A switch was flipped and suddenly, suddenly, cobalt affection whirled into chiffon. Lilac joy blossomed into satin. Indigo tides of love crashed in on themselves, churning into velvet waves of desire. And lust. Elle knew the crimson silk of lust, soft and hot and smooth and rich and everything, everything at once, a hurricane in her senses, turning her inside out and igniting her nerves with lightning. For Josie. All for Josie. Kissing was suddenly just the beginning. There was so much more, and Elle wanted it. 

Best of all: it wasn’t better. It wasn’t a replacement of everything that came before. Josie never said finally. Never made Elle feel like she’d just been waiting, never once expressed awe or gratitude that Elle felt sexual desire and was ready to act on it. Because Josie had chosen Elle for who she was, all of who she was, before her switch flipped. What they had was whole before they started having sex, and so the sex wasn’t an enhancement. It was a new adventure they shared together.

And a year after that, Josie fisted Elle’s hair for the first time, intentional and rough, tugging her head back. That first whispered "good girl"  had set her blood ablaze. Josie’s teeth found her pulse point, growling out a low, perfect, "Not yet, baby, not yet. I know, you’re so close. When I tell you, you can." Elle knew what it was to have an inferno in her skin, to feel sparks in every nerve, in every desperate inch of her. Not just sex; acts of trust. Power. Devotion. Worship. All her color and all her texture, boiling together in a lightning storm, pounding in her chest and between her thighs. 

Then, when Elle joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and Josie left, color and texture tore apart, a messy, guttural shearing of muscle from bone, ripping at the seams, leaving behind spatters of heartbreak and frayed ends of loneliness. Elle could still remember it, felt a phantom press in her skin, knew what it was to want that way. She didn’t feel it now, hadn’t felt it since Josie. But oh, she remembered. Remembered what it was to have magic in her veins. 

So when that little silver flare of heat, sparked by Loki’s rich voice and the word obey, began to subside, Elle was neither upset nor surprised. It was a return to stasis, the safety of normalcy settling into her skin. It was the memory, that was all. It was the way her body haunted itself, a ghost of desire that took root when she let Josie leave. Memory, and nothing more.

It wasn’t that Loki was unattractive. Far from it. She only needed to look at the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the fractals of green and gold in his eyes, that impossibly soft-looking hair. The sheer height of him; his undeniable strength, the rigid steel of muscle beneath the softness of his skin, how delicately he’d handled her while trying to get her sober. His mischievous little smile. The darkly silken sound of his voice, how it dipped a bit rougher when he laughed. 

No, Loki was incredibly attractive. Beautiful, even. But watching him with Rezh made it all the more apparent that he, too, spoke a language Elle had given up. He spoke the language of texture with Rezh and the rest of Sakaar. It was clear in how they looked at each other. How openly they touched each other. How they kissed. They were easy together, after all. Easy in the way Elle knew she wasn’t, never would be. 

The knowledge was a cold, heavy stone inside her, pressing down and down to sink against her stomach. She didn’t feel what they felt, but it was still hard watching it unfold. Though it was without that telltale heat, she couldn’t deny that she watched them now with her own kind of longing. 

Elle was completely lost in thought, so much so that she must have made a face without realizing it. The next moment, Rezh was cooing at her.  

“Oh, Elle, don’t make that face. I’m sure the Grandmaster will have no need of your magic soon enough, and then you’ll be a welcome addition to the festivities. I’m sure you even have a few niche interests of your own to unlock, you clever little thing!” 

It wasn’t a threat. It was just Rezh showing support in the only way that made sense to her, given her own position as a festivities favorite. And as a beautiful, strong, four-armed goddess-level beauty who adores every variety of sex and many, many niche interests of her own. 

Knots of irritation tied off in Elle's lungs, making her breathing rough. She allowed herself one irritated sigh before she schooled her body back to neutrality. I know my niche interests, she thought bitterly.

She offered a tired shrug. “I guess we’ll see.”

“That we will!” The Grandmaster was tugging at her again, trying to lace his fingers with her own. She kept her own limb limp, the dead weight making her harder to maneuver.

“Let me ask you this,” her host said. “Have you, ah… thought about it at all, sweetheart?” He leaned against her again, too warm, too close and cloying. She wanted to run, to sprint across the wasteland of garbage until her legs buckled and her lungs tore. “I know I have. Do you think about it? All the desire, all the fun out there we could have?”

Elle took a careful, even breath, remembering the way Director Fury refused to drop his eye for anyone. She’d been so complacent today, so still beneath the touch she loathed with such intensity that it brought bile into her throat. She would allow herself this one act of rebellion. Tiny, infinitesimal, but she needed it. She did as Fury would do, lifting her chin and keeping her voice steady, refusing to drop her gaze as she pulled back from the Grandmaster, pulled back until she felt a coil of air around her, an escape from the trap of his body heat. “I don’t think about it. Ever. I don’t think I’m even capable of desire.” 

It felt good to lie, to withhold just this little piece of herself, thwarting this entitlement he felt towards her body, her reactions. He would never know about her switch, about what it could mean for her. It was hers.

She saw Loki’s head tilt from her periphery. He knew she was lying. And therefore, he knew something the Grandmaster never would. That made it so much sweeter, somehow—took that little tremor of defiance and made it surge, let it crackle all through her like electricity. Made her feel powerful, even if it was only a storm in the teacup of her heart.

The Grandmaster can’t have me. He’ll never have me.

As if sensing her defiance, the Grandmaster’s lips twitched, spreading wide as he began to laugh. “I’m sure that’s not true, sweetheart. Don’t you worry. Once I set a couple things straight, we can see about retiring your magic.”

It physically pained her to nod, but she forced her head to move. She shrunk back into her seat, glaring out the window. Conversation carried on without her, though she had the odd feeling that Loki was watching her very closely.

It was well into the afternoon when her lack of sleep caught up with her. It struck her like a physical blow, knocking free the tension she’d been carrying in her muscles from the moment she stepped into the Grandmaster’s presence. The act, the acting, enduring his touch, so many memories of Josie dredged up… it didn’t so much creep up on her as blindside her completely, almost seeming to rush up from behind and tackle her out of the air. She felt her entire face go slack, awareness and focus starting to go hazy as she looked into the distance without seeing anything. The Grandmaster’s arm on her shoulders was heavy, his touch making her wince. She wanted to lay down. To curl up. To disappear. 

“May I examine your mortal’s pendant?”

She blinked, rousing at the sound of Loki’s voice. His voice was curiously detached. His eyes were on Rezh’s face, but the question had been directed at their host, who tilted his head in confusion.

“Come again?”

Loki turned forward with an elegant arch of his brow, looking completely nonchalant. 

How does he do that? Is that a royalty thing or a Loki thing?

“Your gift. It’s quite lovely. I merely wish to take a closer look. If I can find the creator of this bauble, I’d like to commission something myself.” 

The Grandmaster was silent for a long moment, eyes guarded as he looked Loki over, slow and cautious. Finally, with a gravelly chuckle, he nodded, drawing his arm away from her shoulders.

“Go sit with Loki for a bit, sweetheart. Let him see your necklace.” 

Rezh pouted a bit, but moved out of Loki’s lap to quickly take up a place in the Grandmaster’s. “You know I’m always eager to indulge your niche interests,” she grinned, tugging on his lapels. They lost themselves in flirtation as Elle sat down stiffly beside Loki, eyes averted.

He was watching her, looking her over as if searching for a wound. His gaze lingered on her arm where the Grandmaster’s hand had rested, a scowl pinching his features as if he could see a mark there. He made no move to touch her, nor to touch the pendant. 

“It really is quite fetching.” Though Loki's voice was soft, there was something rough beneath it. A small snag of some deeper meaning she couldn’t place. It was comforting, whatever it was, like holding the smooth handle of a blade: there was no danger here. Not for her, not from him. No, there was a steadiness about him that Elle couldn’t help but gravitate toward, a quiet sturdiness that pulled at her shoulders, easing them down. The way he’d acted with Rezh, handsy and casually sexual and confident, it all ebbed away, leaving him warm and approachable in a way Elle appreciated. Still confident, still in control, but… mild. Mild without being restrained, as if he was also just able to relax for a moment. To let his guard down, foolish as it may have been for the both of them. It left her with a buoyant feeling, something hopeful. Hopeful that he still might like her, even if she wasn’t Rezh. Even if she’d never be able to offer him the caress of silk.

She nodded, feeling a warmth that was all her own for the first time since setting foot aboard the ship. “It’s beautiful. I really am grateful for it.”

A flash of a smile, something she’d almost call sweet, tugged at the corner of his mouth before he tipped his head toward the window. “You have not seen much of Sakaar either, correct?” He glanced at their companions from his periphery. 

“No. I haven’t.” He knows that. Why…?

“Here.” He stood, gesturing for her to move into the window seat. She looked up at him, brows drawn together. “I can see just as well over your shoulder,” he explained. “You are quite a bit smaller than I am, after all.”

“Oh. Right.” It was all she could think to say, but in that moment, she understood. Understood, and wanted to hug him close and tight, as hard as her arms would let her. He let her curl up against the wall of the ship, looking through the glass as he settled in, close without crowding. Leaning in just enough to watch the scenery below without so much as grazing her, as if acutely aware of how much energy she'd lost enduring the Grandmaster’s touch. He arranged himself at a very particular angle, his long legs taking up the space where hers would be if they weren’t tucked beneath her.

If anyone wants to touch me... they’ll have to get through Loki first.

Elle risked a glance at the Grandmaster, who was still deeply invested in his conversation with Rezh. She turned just enough to catch Loki’s eye and mouth, "Thank you."

He offered a curt nod before his eyes went back to the window. She turned and let herself stare, sighing gently as the tension eased out of her body bit by bit. For the first time today—for the first time in a very long time—she felt safe. If only for this moment, she was protected. Her fingers found the pendant of their own accord, and Elle delighted at the subtle chill that raced across her skin.

Maybe she couldn’t offer Loki what Rezh did. Maybe she wasn’t wired for sex and a textural sort of relationship. But as her whirring mind and sore muscles settled, hearing Loki’s own breathing go calm and quiet as his body relaxed beside her—as if he, too, was setting aside an exhausting mask—she was suddenly full to bursting with an undeniable, soothing rush of cobalt.

Chapter Text

Loki pressed his fingertips against his eyelids, finally letting out a long, deep huff as he closed the door to his chambers and fell back against it.

He was determined to sleep. His time on Sakaar thus far had been anything but peaceful, and while he could survive on only a few hours of rest, his fatigue was starting to wear on him. His limbs were heavy, not quite to the point of becoming clumsy, but enough so he was aware of his own impending sluggishness. His thoughts queued—not as the usual spiderwebbing of plots, evaluations, imaginings, musings, and scenarios—but as a linear series of flashing images and reactions. If he was not thinking on every axis then he was not truly engaged, and then what was the point of sentience, honestly? Why even bother crawling up from the muck beneath the realms and embarking on the slow, grinding evolution into an upright, speaking, intellectually capable biped if the mind was not even capable of clear, coherent, complex, interconnected—

Ah, see, but his thoughts were getting away from him. 

Seeing Elle’s own resolve beginning to crumble during the tour had been exhausting in its own right. Watching the Grandmaster’s hands on her, seeing her fight every muscle in her body to keep from tearing herself away, had brought out a hard fist of tension between Loki’s shoulders, bunched, tight, and unforgiving. It did not begin to ease until he’d maneuvered Elle to his side, tucked up against the window away from the Grandmaster’s touch. He needed no magic (luckily) to feel the relief curling off of her. Seeing her shoulders relax as she finally exhaled had made his own muscles go slack, leaving them sore but loose with the relief of having her out of harm’s way.

Between her rising horror, evaluating the alien landscape for escape routes, keeping up with Rezh’s flirtation, and the Grandmaster’s parting request… 

Yes, Loki was most certainly ready for sleep.

He pushed himself upright, intending to move just enough to collapse face-first into bed, when the twinkle of glass and metal caught his eye. He squinted, crossing the room to find that a cluster of wires had found its way onto one of the squat, octagonal tables in his living area. He leaned down to pull a small scrap of paper from beneath the tangle. 

You almost finished! Attach green to blue and you’re good to go. 
-Elle

Lifting the wires, he saw it was the lock she’d been teaching him to build the night he stormed out of her room. He blinked at it, tongue suddenly dry as it stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

She kept it. 

Surely she could have repurposed the materials, could have hung it on the door between their rooms as he’d hissed for her to do. But no. She’d kept it intact and left it for him, ensuring that, at least in the confines of his room, he was protected.

Loki swallowed thickly, an odd lightness flickering in his stomach. He cradled the mess of wire and glass as if it were one of his mother’s stained-glass orchids, delicate and precious and beautifully fragile. As gently as he could, he lifted a little green tab to a blue diode, twisting the former snugly around the latter before hanging the contraption over his doorknob. 

Oh, it was delightful—the definitive click and the immediate darkness that fell across his ceiling left him staring upwards, lips curling of their own accord into a satisfied smile. 

A protective talisman of her own. And without any magic.

His smile faltered, the lightness in his stomach solidifying, sinking, grey and cold as lead. 

That would make us even, I suppose. She’s placed so much trust in magic I can barely offer.

Though it chafed knowing that all his current power was contained in so small a form, he was grateful the pendant would only react to direct structural damage rather than the rabbiting of Elle’s pulse or the bite of her fear in the air. She would have already triggered it several times over. Norns, he would have triggered it himself, watching the Grandmaster’s arms twist around her. Watching him cage her in, whispering in her ear. 

In his room, Loki rolled his shoulders, shaking off the phantom feeling of the Grandmaster’s hand slapping against back as they'd exited the ship. He’d pulled Loki aside once they’d landed, the pair of them watching in silence as Rezh saw Elle back to her room. 

“So. You got a good look at that pendant, huh?” Spoken through a sneer as the Grandmaster’s hands found his hips. His eyes shifted, glancing around as if concerned about being overheard. 

Loki nodded, keeping his face perfectly neutral. 

“Well here’s the thing, my kingly friend. I didn’t give it to her.”

“No!” Loki pressed a palm to his chest, properly scandalized. 

“Yes! Someone’s trying to play me, Loke. Somebody thinks they can just, what? Give, ah, little secret gifts to my human?” He shook his head, eyes taking on a manic gleam. “I have one rule when it comes to Elle: wait in line. Somebody’s trying to cut.” He looked around again, the flash of his teeth reminding Loki of something wild. “I’ll find ‘em, Loke. Nobody takes what’s mine. Nobody.”

Loki raised his hands beseechingly, swallowing against the angry flare of bile at the back of his throat. Vulgar tyrant. 

“Calm, my friend. Surely there’s been some misunderstanding. Who would be foolish enough to approach Elle in such a way?”

“That’s the thing! I only know of the ones who approach her in the open, at the parties. If she’s not in her room, she’s with me. I don’t know who would have had the chance to pull a stunt like this.”

Not her adjoining neighbor, Loki thought. Certainly not. 

Loki rubbed at his mouth, pretending to give it real thought. “Someone from the festivities who is more patient, perhaps. Someone who has been watching her.” While he had not yet attended a Sakaaran orgy and could not say for certain if there were any guests eyeing Elle hungrily from the shadows, it was likely, given what he’d seen of the planet thus far. 

The Grandmaster agreed. “Maybe. That’s only half the problem, though, Loke.” There was, for the first time, a true flare of wrath in the Grandmaster’s eyes, a lowering of his voice that revealed a cold precision—a cunning, possessive intelligence—Loki had not yet encountered. “It’s all well and good for one of my impatient guests to watch. I don’t discourage that. Sending her that pendant crossed a line, and that behavior can’t go unpunished. But why did she put it on?”

For the first time in a long while, the icy veins of fear spread like fractures into Loki’s blood. He was a warrior, a prince-made-king, forged and tested on the field of battle. There were not many torments he could not endure. But Elle was mortal. Fragile. The Grandmaster would need to work exceptionally hard even to pierce Loki’s skin, but Elle did not have that luxury. Punishment could break her. Could kill her. 

He would not let that happen. 

“If you’ll allow me to speak plainly, Grandmaster, I think you’re oversimplifying the situation. Your mortal clearly thought the gift was from you. She said as much, and her reaction proved it, did it not? She was grateful, assuming you were marking the occasion of the day, and confused by your surprise at seeing her wear it.”

The words were sour on his tongue. Your mortal. 

The Grandmaster’s eye twitched, one eyebrow cocking up as his lips set into a firm line. He glanced Loki over, with such scrutiny that Loki would venture to call it distrustful. “Did she, though? If she read my aura, she’ll know I was lying when I went along with that story.”

Damn. Loki always did appreciate continuity in his own deceptions. He supposed he must appreciate the demand for it now, even as his jaw began to ache against the clenching of his teeth. 

He forced the muscles to relax, lips splitting into an entreating grin, reaching for just the right tones in his voice, just the right verbiage to best control this story. He spoke with precision, maintaining confidence while sacrificing volume. “But would she not be happier simply acting as if it was your gift? She wore it thinking it was your token. If she now suspects it was not from you, she's most likely just as unnerved by it as you are. Surely your mortal would not be foolish enough to flaunt someone else’s gift around her throat, especially on the day you took her on a grand tour of Sakaar?”

The Grandmaster stroked his chin as he looked into the distance. He was nodding, just a bit. That was a positive sign. Loki had not won him over yet, but he’d made progress. There was one sliver of truth he could offer, though it pained him—something he’d wanted to keep for himself. Something that would no doubt secure his retelling of today’s events as truth in the Grandmaster’s mind.

Loki cleared his throat gently. “She chose her dress to match it, my friend. It clearly meant a great deal to her to have received such a gift.”

Pointing that out to the Grandmaster made something crack in Loki’s chest. Even knowing it was for the greater good, it made him hurt allowing the maniacal host to believe Elle was trying to show her gratitude to him. 

After a stretch of silence that had Loki genuinely… he would not say concerned, but certainly eager for this conversation's conclusion, the Grandmaster began to nod in earnest, carefully assembling the pieces of narrative Loki so graciously laid out for him. “Ya know, you might be onto something here. She wanted me to look at her, didn’t she? Of course she did, my girl, just trying to be all pretty for me. Hey!” He snapped his fingers suddenly, eyes wide, hands darting to tug at the front of Loki’s shirt. “That explains why she was so tense all day! Poor lamb, probably thought it was from me when she put the damn thing on and then when I reacted like that… oh, my poor little sweetheart! She must think I’m upset with her!”

Loki tipped his head forward, careful to keep his features smooth and acquiescing. “Yes. I’m sure she was merely trying to… appease you.” More bitterness in his mouth. He was grateful the Grandmaster looked away for a moment; he was sure he did not hide his grimace.

The Grandmaster was humming in enthusiastic agreement now, one thumb coming to trace his lip as he warily eyed the other guests moving through the airfield. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. She wouldn’t do this, not my sweet little Elle. She’s loyal, my girl. Loyal, but too naive for her own good. You should see how some of my rowdier guests act around her. It’s an embarrassment, Loke, how they act like I keep her around for their amusement.” He rolled his eyes, leaving Loki to wonder if he was really so obtuse as to miss the irony.  

“What will you do now, my friend? Will you try to force this would-be suitor's hand?”

“No. Not yet, anyway.” The tyrant sighed, smoothing his hands over his hair. “I’ll let her keep the pendant for now. She thought it was from me, there’s no reason to punish her for that. Besides, if this, ah, this little thief is hovering nearby, waiting to see if she’s wearing it, they might trip up, right? Might come around trying to get her attention and take credit for the gift. Try to lure her away from me. I’ll keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s kept close, see who talks to her…”

Something in the Grandmaster’s eyes shifted, his head tipping as he looked Loki up and down. He blinked slowly, teeth flashing as his lips parted.  “Come to think of it. You ended up in the room next to hers, right? You’re her neighbor. The person closest to her. Proximity-wise, I mean.” 

Loki tensed, braced himself, chin tilting up in defiance as the Grandmaster leaned in to press one hand to each of Loki's shoulders. “What of it?”

The Grandmaster’s grin went wide, suddenly excited. “You can help me! You can keep an eye on her while I’m not around! Tell me if anyone’s been seen going to her room, leaving her things.” He laughed, a loud, hard bark of laughter. “You, Loke, can be my little, ah… little guard dog! Right?”

Chagrin smoldered in Loki’s chest, hot and threatening, but it quickly burned itself to a quiet, understanding cinder. Upon closer inspection, this was a useful development. He’d wanted—needed—to stay close to Elle anyway. To protect her. Now, it was sanctioned by the very man he needed to protect her from. 

A genuine smirk curled over his lips. “Of course, my friend. I will do everything in my power to keep a sharp eye on whoever may visit her.”

The Grandmaster slapped Loki’s shoulders, and it took a considerable amount of effort not to break the man’s arm. Just a clean, hard snap across the radius would do, or a satisfying spiral fracture of the humerus. Loki thought of it with a blissful little smile.

“Loke. Thank you. This is great perspective. You know, I’ve never taken a king as an adviser before but… ah, but let’s save the politics for another night, huh? Tell you what, you head on back to your room, rest up for the night. I know Rezh is dying to meet up with you in the morning. Come on by for breakfast, yeah? You and Rezh, me and Elle. We’ll make another date of it.”

Loki did not scowl. He was sure of it. “A splendid idea,” he said before finally being allowed to move away.

And now here he was, staring up at his blessedly dark ceiling with a locked door behind him. He now had his excuse to stay close to Elle, though it came at the cost of pretending to spy on her. It was a delicate balancing act, but he was confident he could do it. 

He took a long, deep breath before pushing himself forward once more, stretching languidly as he tugged off his shirt. A bath would do nicely after so long a day, he decided. Recalling his conversation with the Grandmaster left him more on edge, less ready for sleep, though his fatigue remained.

He paused, turning to stare at the door between his room and Elle’s. He wished he’d had more time to check on her before she disappeared for the night. He padded over softly, just barely pressing his ear to the door. He heard gentle movement, the slide of one of her storage bins and the tinkling of something small and glass being wound up. And then, very, very quietly, music began to play. So soft and so delicate that for a moment, he wasn’t quite sure he was hearing it at all. It sounded like some sort of instrumental composition, low and soothing, reminiscent of Midgard’s cello. It was a touch shy of melancholy, sonorous yet silvery. It was drowned out for just a moment by the rustling of fabric and thin, weary groan he recognized all too well as a sprawl into bed. When Loki pulled away, he realized a small smile snuck over his face. 

“Clever girl.”

He would leave her in peace for the night. She tolerated a great deal today and no doubt wanted to be alone, secure in her solitude. Once free of Thanos, Loki had experienced nights where his own seclusion was an odd sort of comfort. Even after being imprisoned, left alone for so long that his mind began to crumble, reintegrating himself into everyday life was a challenge—something he craved while only able to tolerate the presence of others for a few hours at a time. While he’d surrounded himself with his—Odin’s—subjects during the days, there was still a frightening sort of peace to be found in moments alone, more so when he knew the solitude would not last beyond the night. It made the quiet easier to bear. Made an empty room into an oasis rather than a prison cell. It had taken a very long time to reach equilibrium, but he remembered the peace of it: the need to recalibrate, to take a few moments to oneself. Elle would surely need that now: a moment to just be, without anyone’s hands upon her, without the need to do anything for anyone else. He would not take that from her.

Instead, Loki decided he’d put this sudden wakefulness to good use. He finished undressing and stopped at his bar, pondering the contents carefully. He’d only just started dabbling in his aphrodisiac education, beginning with the red Rotan’s Kiss, the weakest of the offerings per Elle’s descriptions. He’d ingested it in increments over the past week, beginning with sips as Elle recommended, having just graduated to a full mouthful the day prior. He’d felt no effects thus far. While he was sure it could exert some influence if he took enough of it, he'd all but written it off as ineffective against him. Deciding to bypass that brew for now, he surveyed his remaining options. 

There was no Shine in his room, as Elle had suspected. He looked at the deep purple hue of the Devil’s Kiss and the shimmering blue Celenine—the former, she’d said, could trigger aggression, and the latter contained some unknown hallucinogens. He would not involve himself with anything that altered his mood or his mind.

That left the blue opaque Zandaarian Fengree. He lifted the bottle, taking an inquisitive sniff. It was more floral than he’d been expecting, thick and sweet, the scent almost sticky as it clung to the back of his throat. It made him salivate, made the muscles just beneath his jaw go warm and start to tingle.  

Sip, she’d said. Until he knew how it would affect him. Good advice, but advice that had slowed him down. Surely if the Rotan’s Kiss was so mild, he could handle more of this drug, could he not? He had a tolerance to build, and his constitution was considerably stronger than hers, after all. 

He raised the bottle to his lips and took in a mouthful. 

It was incredibly sweet, with no real flavor otherwise. Loki made a face, swallowing it down with a low ugh. He waited for a moment, but felt no immediate changes. No quickening in his blood. No heat. Nothing. Pleased with himself, he set the bottle aside and made his way to the bath. 

The bathroom, glinting with gold, was spacious enough to accommodate an impressive standalone shower as he’d seen in Elle’s room, in addition to a gigantic black marble tub built into the floor, shot through with veins of indigo and gold. Loki ran the water a touch hotter than he normally would, setting in with a long, loud sigh. Tension ebbed from his body in waves, soothing out not just from his shoulders, but his thighs, his lower back, his calves. As if he had become a wall of tension since landing on Sakaar, one solid sheet of clenched muscle that finally, finally had a moment to unwind. He tipped his head back, hair spiraling out in an inky halo, allowing himself to go quiet as he waited for the drug to take effect.

When it did, it did not so much strike him as settle over him in a smooth caress. It licked gently across his skin, starting in his groin and radiating outward, a gentle lapping of increased sensitivity. The heat of the water became more refined. The ache in his muscles began to hum in pleasure instead of pain. Desire prodded his system, not a need, per se, but more an inviting suggestion. His cock stirred lazily, a sleepy tumescence that, had he been in public, he would have been able to ignore. 

But he was not in public. He was tucked away in his chambers, secure and alone and quietly aroused, not burning for release, but pleasantly warm for it all the same.

Yes, he could afford to indulge, he thought with a smile. 

He inhaled, taking in the balmy weight of steam into his lungs, letting it travel down and down, filling him with more of that velvety heat. It nestled inside him, flickering up to flush along his skin, down across the planes of his chest. He imagined a soft set of hands smoothing over him as the heat spread, reaching to massage his scalp, to tug gently at his hair. Sliding across his throat, dancing over the rosy peaks of his nipples. Nails scraping so softly over his abdomen, moving in unhurried circles lower and lower, their sweet stalling making him eager, teasing him until the most delectable throb settled at the base of his cock, each pulse traveling the now full, hard length of him.   

Loki’s hand drifted beneath the water, breath hitching in a needy little tatter of air, as he gave himself one long, leisurely stroke. His palm was silky and smooth as he ran it back down along his cock, up again, pausing at the tip to twist in a way that had him biting down on his lip. Gods, he was sensitive. His own touch was heavenly, his strong fingers just tight enough, the heat of the water sinking deep inside him to meet with the heat of the aphrodisiac, pressing him between two planes of warmth and want that coursed through his blood in a blissful cascade. He arched, pressing up against his palm with a low groan—slowly, so slowly, his heartbeat thrumming in his temples and in his flushing red tip, so swollen and sensitive that each pass made his breath catch. 

The drug began to scorch, sending up curls of smoke into his mind. The hands of his fantasy morphed, became a soft, glowing jade, leading up the powerful arms of the beautiful, beguiling Rezh. Her hands would be everywhere, caressing and tugging, smoothing and cradling. In his hair and along his cheek, down and down to drag her fingertips along his length. She would be so greedy for him, like the way she’d gripped him so tightly in the cabana. He’d been able to feel how hot she was even though his leathers, could hear how deliciously wet she was as she thrust against him over and over, head tossed back, throat exposed, breathless and trembling as she came. He’d ached for her, cock straining in its confinement even as he resisted. 

Not here. Oh no, here, he imagined freeing himself, pulling her down and making her his. Loki swallowed hard, teeth clicking together as his breathing became deeper, rougher, as he quickened his pace.  

He pictured her full hips and the softness of her belly and breasts, her nipples stiff and aching between his fingers. The pretty, breathy sounds she’d made, moaning out her pleasure. Her luscious thighs would squeeze his waist, pulling him close so he slid teasingly through the silken heat of her folds, rubbing his tip against her clit until she cried out for him, demanded he take her, clutching for him with each of her glorious arms. He would delight in using his full strength to pin her, could all but feel her thrilled, breathy mewls against his neck as he would finally, finally allow himself to plunge into the slick, demanding heat of her cunt.

Loki gasped into the quiet of the room, hand moving quicker, head falling against the ridge of the tub. Yes, she would be so eager, so desperate to please him, to accept the gift of him as he thrust into her again and again. She would gasp and moan, unable to keep from rutting up against him, lost to everything but his touch, his voice, his body.

He swiped his thumb over his slick tip, hissing through his teeth and bucking desperately into his palm, hard enough to splash water up out of the tub. She’d want him. She’d crave him. She’d cry out for him, and Loki, Loki would wait until he was just about to spill inside her to reach between them and circle his thumb roughly over the perfect jade jewel of her clit, sending her rabid, thrashing and howling in reverence as her muscles clenched over and over, her spasms pulling his own release from the molten core of him, milking him dry. 

Loki threw his head back against the marble, back arching as he came with a strangled groan, tensing and shuddering as he spilled into the water. He squeezed himself gently as a more raw form of sensitivity set in, his breath escaping him in short, silvery gasps. 

The final quakes of his orgasm shivered through his body, his mind still hazy, fogged and wanting from the Fengree. Unbidden and without warning, his fantasy changed: he saw himself, spent and panting, rolling over in his bed to pull not Rezh, but Elle into his arms. He imagined her cheeks and chest stained pink from exertion, little huffs of pleasure falling from her parted lips. How she would cling to him, rutting gently against his thigh to chase the aftershocks of her own release, and he would hold her close, nose and fist buried in the wild, twisting waves of hair. 

Loki shot straight up, sending water splashing over the lip of the tub. Breath ragged, heart shuddering against his ribs. He shook his head, trying to clear the image from his mind, and yet it lingered. Perhaps a mouthful of Fengree had been too much, after all. Perhaps he should have only sipped. Elle had not said this particular aphrodisiac would affect his mind, had she? 

He understood Rezh’s appearance in his fantasy. Their week together had been far from torturous. It was light. Carefree. Dare he call it entertaining. She was attentive, flirtatious, and kind. Beautiful, of course, and powerful, and she wanted him, unreservedly and openly. He could not remember the last time anyone looked at him the way she did: hungry and wanting and without shame.

He’d been lusted after since his travels to Midgard, just as surely as he'd lusted, but the past several years had seen it happen in secret, with potential lovers who burned not just from their desire, but from the shame of that desire: from the niche interest of bedding the criminal and monster who brought such destruction to the realms. He hated it. The idea of being used, yes—being relegated to a sordid plaything brought out something sick and unbridled in him, wild in his rage. But more than that: he despised being made into a monument of what they saw as their basest desires. It carved an open, bleeding lesion deep into his chest. 

Loki had once mused to himself that he would take any worship he was offered, so long as he was acknowledged as a king, a god, as something worthy. 

He now knew better. 

All the more reason to find Rezh’s worship so sweet. She did not want him because was a monster, nor in spite of it. To her, he was just another man on Sakaar, one with whom she could indulge in mutual desires. A man without a past, without a litany of crimes at his heels. What Rezh offered was so much more than a simple exchange of pleasure: with her, he could be innocent. 

The thought gave Loki pause, made his pulse go heavy and slow. When, in any of the realms, was the last time anyone thought of him as innocent? He could have laughed at the thought, but he knew the sound would catch in his throat, would swell to the point of pain around his heart. 

She’d surprised him this past week. While it was true that much of his open flirtation with her had been performative, there was a thread of something genuine that tried to wind around him. There was one night in particular he’d found himself staring off at Elle, watching her tense and wither beneath the Grandmaster’s arm at one of the small parties. He hadn’t felt the frown on his face, but Rezh, who had been curled up at his side… she’d seen it. 

“My king? Are you alright?” She grazed her finger along his chin, turned him to face her. He’d been surprised to see genuine concern in her features, her lips pursed, brows furrowed. He gave her the best smile he could manage, feeling how very far it was from reaching his eyes. 

“I find myself incredibly fatigued,” he’d confessed. 

She surprised him once again, sighing heavily as she smoothed back his hair. “I can imagine.” She leaned in close, pressing her lips to his ear. “It does take some time, getting used to Sakaar. I missed my world for a long time. It helps once you begin making friends and making this your home. We haven’t known each other very long, my king, and I know my attention has been rather forward, but I promise you, I will not lead you astray.”

She pulled back, giving him a warm, inviting smile. “I know a great many things about this planet. I can make sure you’re comfortable here. That you aren’t lonely. It’s true I desire you, but I promise my affection is not simply shallow. We could be very good friends, you and I.”

He could only look at her, at the beautiful jade of her skin, the soothing confidence in her eyes. “Let me take care of you,” she’d whispered. Her voice soothed over him like satin, like an exquisite, sweet promise, reaching inside him to press against a wound that had existed for so very long. 

Let me take care of you.

She closed the sliver of distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a soft, delicate kiss. It was luxurious and slow; the kiss of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and from whom she wanted it. A kiss that promised exploration, time to give and to take. It was innocence and fire all at once, the teasing lure of silk over a blade.  

Perhaps on another world, in another life, he would have reveled in it. 

His lack of revelry did not stop him. The loneliness on which Rezh now pressed had existed for a very long time, perhaps existed inside him longer than he existed without it. He reached to clutch the back of Rezh’s neck, pulling her tighter against him. She purred her approval as he deepened the kiss; she did not resist as he swiped his tongue along her bottom lip.

He gripped her hair tight, feathering his lips over her throat, capturing the sensitive flesh between his teeth. She gasped a breathy, eager laugh. “Yes, my king,” she whispered. “Mark me.”

Her voice roused him as if from a dream, snapping something inside him, spilling some crucial heat, some vitality, from his blood as if it had never been there at all. Chest rising and falling slowly, he could only pull back and stare at the glossy ribbons of hair in his fist. Decadent, voluminous waves, thick and silken. Styled to perfection. An imitation of something wild. A beautiful, well-groomed bird who sang such a pretty song. She would make an exceptional princess, he thought. It would not have surprised him to learn she'd been one, before Sakaar.

A princess, and a perfect match for a king. A king, perhaps, who could abide a kingdom of captivity. One who was satisfied with a manicured sort of ferocity, who did not chafe at the idea of allotted freedoms, permissible indulgences, and the illusion of choice when such a thing did not truly exist. 

A king who did not find a certain charm in being treated as fragile by one of the most fragile beings in the universe. 

He’d pulled away from Rezh that night, feeling a genuine tug of disappointment, of sorrow, at how sadly she’d weathered his rejection to join her in her room. He’d felt the same heat in her kisses during the tour, a sort of hopeful delight that could have—in another life, would have—kept him by her side night after night after night. 

Loki wanted to throttle himself: the promises of pleasure and friendship were not offered to him very often, and rarely in tandem. But there was an emptiness in it that left him wanting, that took up that burgeoning thread of genuine affection and snipped it, left their interactions secured in a cage of performance rather than blooming into true care. He mused that, if Rezh could but tell him something of her homeworld, of what she was like before Sakaar, he would not be performing at all. Had she let her own guard down with him, he may very well have found his release in her bed tonight instead of his bathtub.

But his questions were met with the same chorus, all the more disappointing because of the air of truth around them: “It does not matter, my king.” Always said with a dazzling, seductive smile. “Who I was before Sakaar doesn’t matter. Who you were doesn’t matter. All that matters is now.”

And so, the very promise Rezh offered him, the innocence, the freedom to become no one, became the poison in his wine. She had no interest in his past, nor in sharing hers. They were to be blank slates, building upon the decadent but sandy moorings of mutual attraction to forge a new sense of self belonging wholly to each other. 

The thought should have thrilled him. A fresh start. A new beginning. Someone who didn’t know of his shattered pride, his corrupted ambition, his wrath and his vengeance and his terrible, aching need to be seen. 

Didn’t know these things, and thus, could not embrace them. Could not look at him in his entirety, every broken, jagged edge of who he was… and accept him anyway.

And Elle?

Loki scoffed at himself. 

Elle offered none of Rezh’s promises. No worship. No innocence. No point—she was mortal. Temporary and breakable. 

And yet. 

And yet she'd seen the ugliest parts of him: his cruelty, his rage, and his violence, sutured together with his pride and ambition, made domineering and reckless, brought to their horrifying extremes beneath the heavy hand of the Mad Titan. 

And she still cared for him. Cared enough to watch out for him, to share small moments and smiles with him, to ensure he could secure his room. She received no blank slate from him: she saw the scratched, messy, used-up pieces that had been stitched back together. And yet she still blatantly and honestly revealed that she—and damn his heart for still thrilling at the thought—liked him. 

She sees me. She knows what I’ve done. Even without knowing Thanos’ influence, she still sees value in me. I do not need to be innocent with Elle. I can be…

Odin’s sneering face shot through his mind, his voice harsh in Loki’s ear. “What? Forgiven? You think you can be forgiven by a resident of the world you set out to conquer? You think the opinion of one fleeting woman can change who you are?”

He growled, forcing the image away. Besides, did it change who she was?

Still an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., pretending she was not. As much kindness as she'd given him, he still could not trust her fully. Like Rezh, she only shared pieces of herself. He could not allow himself to forget that she was a means to an end, just as he was to her. This… attachment of theirs would only benefit them until they could escape Sakaar.

He hung his head, lungs suddenly too tight. 

I cannot leave her on this planet, even if our alliance is to expire upon our escape.

Something stung inside him, pressing in like the very tip of a blade.

Just a means to an end. That’s all we are.

Unfortunately for Loki, logic was a minor obstacle for the aphrodisiac still thrumming in his blood. His mind wandered, wondering what it would be like to feel Elle tell him she liked him: her lips against his ear, the whisper eliciting as many thrilling shivers as the words themselves. Her arms around him, pulling him close so the heat of her body radiated up into his own. How soft her skin would be, how her head might fit beneath his chin if he pulled her close, how she might squirm and giggle as he explored her body with feather-light touches, calling forth that bright, wonderful spark of her laughter when he dug his fingers into her sides, pulling her closer still, rolling her beneath him. How he could kiss her, pin her hips with his own, tease her to desperation until she begged—

Enough!

No matter what the drug in his system was telling him, she was not his absolution. She could not save him, any more than he could save her. Not beyond Sakaar. There were deep wounds in each of them, wounds that could not be healed by a temporary alliance. 

And gods, she did not even desire him! She told him so in so many words, had she not? In her mentions of not being structured for brief affairs, in her preferences being so few, in the way she so vehemently denied the mere existence of her desire to the Grandmaster. To wish such a thing from an uninterested partner was boorish and cruel, and to wish it from a woman who, for the moment, lived beneath the thumb of a tyrant was perhaps at the core of stupidity itself, especially after the Grandmaster had announced his intention to watch for anyone getting to close to her.

But oh, his mind was in a gaming mood this evening. It pulled to the surface the memory of a tiny, irresistible noise: Elle’s breath catching as he revealed his delight in obedience. 

Such an eager, delicate sound, accompanied by the sight of her dark eyes going nearly black, specks of honeyed starlight swallowed up by desire. Only for a moment, but long enough for Loki to know the truth. 

She did desire. Just not in the ways that were expected. Her denial was a blatant lie, her desire now a secret shared just between her and Loki. Theirs and theirs alone.

Gods, that did not help!

His skin went hot all at once, his cock stiffening, beginning to ache more persistently than before. He already felt too sensitive, too swollen, as if he’d been toying with himself all night. He glared at it, lips pinching downwards at the corners; it paid him no mind, merely giving an impatient throb.

“Traitor,” he grumbled. Trying to clear his mind, he drained the tub and dried off, making his way out to flop down on the bed, arm flung over his eyes. Despite his self admonishment, the aphrodisiac still smoldered inside him. And now that it called forth images of Elle, gasping and writhing and panting beneath him, it would not let them go. 

A sip, he growled at himself. This is why we sip, you arrogant fool.

He tried to shift his mind back to Rezh, to the safety of her long legs and beautiful skin and the exquisite, breathless lilt in her voice when she’d moaned his name into his ear.

But no.

Now he could only conjure Elle, the image of his fist tangled in the wild waves of her hair, tugging her head back to lick and bite the smooth column of her throat, around the pendant, his pendant, as his other hand dipped low, basking in how wet she would be for him, how searing …

With a hard swallow that seemed to echo across the room, Loki felt his conviction snap like mere kindling, and he lowered his hand once more. He would indulge tonight. Just tonight, just until the Fengree burned out of his system. He and Elle were still temporary allies, still tenuous friends at the mercy of a madman, the both of them more skilled with loneliness than common sense—it changed nothing.

It meant nothing.

It would go away. 

Surely it would go away. 

And tomorrow, Norns help him, tomorrow he would sip.

Chapter Text

Elle felt different. 

She took a sharp breath, eyes fluttering open slowly. 

The little glass and wire music box she’d cobbled together a couple months ago swam into view. It was silent, tucked up against one of the pillows she didn’t use. She was usually awake when it clicked off, either getting up with the suns or still upright after a sleepless night.

She blinked, squinting and scrunching her nose as she craned her neck toward the window. 

Oh.  

It was bright out. Very bright. Judging by the light, she must have slept for… god, twelve hours, at least. She rose up onto her elbows and rolled her neck, the loud crack confirming she’d definitely spent several hours in one position. She winced, rubbing at the muscle as she looked around, mind still hazy.

Nobody came to wake me up?

She blinked again, staring down at herself trying to figure out what felt different. 

Everything. Everything felt different. 

Her joints. Her shoulders. All her muscles; the whole of her, from her skin and eyes to her nail beds and her scalp. 

They didn’t hurt. 

Her head felt clearer than it had in months, the tension that had taken up residence through her back and neck having eased in the night. She fell back against the mattress, indulging in a long, luxurious, groaning stretch that laid her out like a starfish in the center of her laughably huge bed. The kind of stretch she had to breathe deeper to achieve, leaving her pleasantly sore between her toes and across her shoulders. It was exquisite, that lazy but deliberate pull all through her body. 

Sunlight rushed in around her, caressing her sheets and skin, leaving her deliciously warm. Just a touch too warm. She arched her back, turning her stretch into a squirm. She shimmied out from under the covers, careful not to kick yesterday’s discarded dress from the foot of the bed to the floor. When she was settled again, the heavy comforter was shoved aside, the sheet pushed down so it draped over her hip bones like a lover’s arm, leaving the rest of her exposed to the lapping heat of the sun. She closed her eyes, imagining for a moment she was just having a lazy Sunday back on Earth. 

A lazy Sunday. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do. Just a whole day in bed. Trash TV and takeout when I get hungry.  

The thought had the beginnings of a smile curling over her lips.

The warmth saturated her completely, licked its way across her outstretched limbs, stopping only at the base of her throat, where a cool knot of air dipped into her cozy haze. It was the pendant, she realized. It was still cool against her skin, just cool enough to send a silvery little shiver down through her body, sprinkling a cascade goosebumps over her arms, down across her chest, coaxing her nipples into stiff peaks. She allowed herself a deep, contented sigh, giving one of her piercings a lazy twist; not enough to tease, but enough to let her do something she hadn’t done in months: simply enjoy her body. It was hers, and it was rested, and in this moment, she didn’t have to hide it. The idea made her syrupy and languid, richly heavy in the quiet of her room. She was fully and totally her own.

It was incredible. Decadent, even. 

And it lasted about one lovely half of one lovely minute.

The door between her room and Loki’s burst open, the sound exploding through the quiet like a cannon blast. 

“Arise, Elle, I have a—oh!”

Maybe it was that she was still sluggish from so much sleep. Maybe it was because, for the first time in months, she’d been caught completely and totally unaware. But when she heard the door open, heard Loki’s unexpectedly jovial voice ring out, she did not dive back under the covers. That would have been smart. Hell, that would have been proof that what field training she’d had—all those reflex exercises and motor control tests and hand-eye coordination routines—hadn’t been a laughable waste of time. 

Oh, her tactical advisers wouldn’t be laughing now. They’d be too busy clawing at their faces and howling in secondhand distress.

No, instead of anything smart or impulsively helpful, Elle bolted upright, sitting straight up just in time for Loki to move around the divider.

She froze. 

He froze. Eyes wide, words dying on his tongue. His gaze dropped down—one definitive, sharp flick—before returning just as definitively and sharply to her face. His Adam’s apple bobbed, the skin just beneath his eyes tingeing pink.

And then they were both yelling.

Elle flung herself at yesterday’s dress as Loki all but dove back behind the divider. 

“What are you doing!” 

“I thought you were awake!”

“Don’t you knock?”

“You’re always awake!”

Elle's groan was a high, sharp rumble in her chest as she scrambled to pull the fabric over her head. “You should knock anyway! What, there aren’t closed doors on Asgard?”

An echoing groan, this one lower and accompanied by the tight scuffing of footsteps. Quick footsteps, by the sound of it—Loki was pacing. A glance at his silhouette through the divider confirmed it. “Of course there are, but there are precious few which are closed to me.” She heard him curse under his breath, his body rocking as he stalled, bringing his hands to his face. “Norns, of all the nights…”

She tugged her dress into place, quickly gathering her hair back into a messy, loose bun. “Of all the nights what?”

“Nothing!” There was an edge in his voice, one evenly matched with her own, betraying that he was somehow just as uncomfortable as Elle. “Nothing,” he repeated. His shoulders flexed, as if trying to control his breathing. 

Elle was doing much the same, lungs feeling too full and too empty at the same time, throat and face prickling with the severity of her flush. She trusted Loki. She did, and she knew this was an accident, but it was like he’d caught her without her armor, caught her at her weakest moment. 

Which, in a way, was exactly what he’d done.

It was raw, vulnerable. She’d spent eight long months desperately hiding her body and now… now…  

Being so visible scraped her, like something vital and protective had been torn away. Her breathing was shrill and quick, the heat in her face and neck unbearable. She dragged her comforter off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders for extra measure, looking like a child lost in the sea of fabric, trying to calm her racing thoughts, to ease the hammering of her pulse in her temples.

Then: a very soft puff of air. A sigh, she realized, like something deflating. It sounded as if Loki was releasing tension of his own. She glanced up, watching the shadows of his hands scrub over his face. When he cleared his throat, she found herself leaning forward.

“If…”

She waited. “If…?”

His hands fell. The rustling of fabric, as if he was shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “If the Grandmaster is cruel enough to deny you bedclothes in some twisted performance of ownership… I’ll fetch you some of mine.”

All at once, her roiling mortification cooled, simmering down low as her stomach gave an eager little flip. She chewed her lip, carefully watching Loki’s tall form beyond the divider. She saw him wavering, as if he couldn’t hold still. Then, she saw his head shake, a rough sound escaping him. 

“I can go—”

“No.” It was out of her mouth before she had time to think, the plea in it unmistakable, even to her own ears. Settling a bit more securely into her gigantic blanket-cloak, she took a breath, still eyeing his silhouette. “Don’t go. I just… I’ve been very deliberately not naked in front of anybody for a long time. It’s not exactly safe, and…”

And even when it was, I was more than a little choosy about who got to see me that way.

“...There’s just a lot of baggage behind it.”

The shadow of Loki’s shoulders went slack, head bobbing as he nodded—she knew the look of relief when she saw it. “It was not intentional, I promise you. I wouldn't... I am not the Grandmaster. I would never seek to take your privacy from you.”

Another flip in her stomach at the sincerity in his voice. Not edged, neither impatient nor belittling. “I know you wouldn't. Thank you for saying so.”

Taking a breath, she steeled herself, rounding the divider and padding over to Loki’s side. He crossed his arms, mouth pinched, features caught in a stormy expression that betrayed both embarrassment and concern. It was a fussy sort of look, but one that made her pleasantly warm, an unexpected rush of amusement flickering to life in her chest. Amusement, and something lighter. Something blue and lovely. Cobalt and azure, royal and deep. 

“And thank you for the offer, it's very sweet of you. I actually have a lot of pajamas. I just really hate wearing them. I spend all day in his clothes, eating his food, having to be a doll for his entertainment. It’s bad enough I have to sleep in a room and a bed he provided. Pajamas are something I have the power to refuse.”

Her smile seemed to disarm him. Loki lowered his arms and turned to her fully, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. He reached for her, slowly enough so it was clear she could back away or tell him to stop if she wanted.

She didn’t.

She held very still, letting him bunch the giant blanket around her.

He pulled it up over her head to form a makeshift hood, fussing with it until it was tucked securely at her shoulders, bringing another corner around her chest to fashion a sash. "That, and refusing to cut your hair. ” There was nothing but warm affection in his voice. Something she’d dare to call kindred. As he pulled away, she swore his fingertips lingered on a few of the waves that had escaped her bun, brushing over them tenderly. 

She hummed her agreement. “I know it's probably ridiculous to think of sleeping naked as some act of defiance. But small acts are all we have some days, right?”

Loki looked away then, eyes going distant in a way that left her lonely. His face seemed to harden, taking on a severe edge she’d never seen before, not on TV or in any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. files. This, she realized, a chill stealing over her, was a haunting. The air was suddenly thick with specters only Loki could see. 

What happened to you, Loki?

Then he was shaking his head, slowly returning from whatever graveyard had captured him. “I understand,” he said, voice heavy. “Some days a small act of defiance is the only tether we have to the self that came before.” 

Before. Yes. She knew exactly what he meant. Before captivity. Before pain. Before learning just how all-consuming despair could be. All the chaos Sakaar had imprinted in her, Loki had lived it, too; in some other way.

What was before for him? 

She wanted to ask. Wanted to know. But her tongue went dry at the thought of it: of asking him to reveal something so personal when she was still being far from honest about who she was. She drew her teeth together, a sliver of pain lancing through her heart as she chose silence. She instead watched his eyes, still hollow and unseeing. She didn’t like it. Not at all.

She reached out, just as slowly and softly as he had, and pressed her fingertips to his chest. “Loki? Hey, come back.” She punctuated her request with a tiny flex of her fingers, pushing gently against him until her palm pressed flush against the space just over his heart. 

He blinked then, seeming to rouse. He looked down at her hand and his expression changed. It deepened, somehow, shifting in a way that made his face radiate a sweet, welcoming warmth. 

Oh.

His smile. It reached his eyes. 

And damn it if it didn't make them positively shine. 

He patted her hand, his gaze locked on her fingers as hers was locked to the way that smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle. It was nothing short of beautiful, to see him smile like that. 

Realizing that more than a few moments had passed, Elle shuffled her feet, all too aware of the heat in her cheeks as she pulled her hand away. She gave him a crooked smile, nudging his elbow with hers. “So. What’s so important that you had to rush in here before I was dressed?”

Loki dipped his head, a sheepish little laugh filling the space between them. “I brought food. It’s quite late in the morning. I thought you would like to eat while we talk through our next steps towards escape.”

“Oh! Yeah, that sounds perfect, actually. Thank you.”

Loki disappeared back into his room for a moment, reemerging with a determined look on his face and a tray of food: a glass of the peach drink, a hefty amount of the mold-bread, and a large bowl of the ghostly watermelon. He brought it over to her living area, taking his place on one sofa as she took the other, pulling a table and the food between them.

Elle began to serve herself, pausing to look up with a grimace. “Was the Grandmaster mad that I wasn’t at breakfast?”

Loki tipped his head from side to side, looking just as uneasy as she felt. “He’s not angry with you.”

“That’s ominous.”

Loki nodded, frowning. “I’m afraid the pendant has roused his suspicion considerably. He thinks you have a suitor vying for your attentions in secret, and it’s made him… Well…”

“Jealous and hostile?”

His features darkened, mouth pressing into a hard, thin line. “Precisely. He spoke to me yesterday about watching for other guests who might approach you. While it’s clear he doesn’t know our rooms are connected, he is very aware that I am your neighbor." (That explains the one glass, she thought.) "We’ll need to be exceedingly cautious going forward. I had to spin him a colorful tale this morning regarding your absence to convince him to let you rest.”

Elle blinked, chin ducking to her chest. So Loki made sure I wasn’t expected anywhere. He made sure I could sleep. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “What did you end up telling him?”

“I told him that clairvoyants would need adequate rest after so much exposure to new surroundings. Taking in so many new sights would be exhausting for one with so delicate a gift.”

She quirked an eyebrow, an incredulous little laugh catching in her throat. “That makes me sound a little too fragile, don't you think? Do I get a fainting couch? I hope the sight of an especially industrious ship doesn’t send me into paroxysms.”

Loki glanced up at her through the dark fan of his lashes, a smirk curling over his parted lips. “I think what you intended to say was, ‘Thank you for safeguarding my ruse, Loki, you are astoundingly clever and have fortified my story quite admirably.’”

This time, she couldn’t contain her laughter. She liked this, laughing with him. “Thank you for safeguarding my ruse, Loki. You’re astoundingly clever and have fortified my story admirably. And thank you for bringing me breakfast.”

Oh, he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

She shook her head, still smiling. “And what about you? He’s not upset you’re avoiding the day’s activities?”

“On the contrary, he thinks I’ve immersed myself in them. There is some walkabout taking place through the palace. I made sure that I was seen falling in with some group or another. He and Rezh will assume that’s where I’ve gone, while they leave you to recover for the day.”

Elle tried not to think about how cozy Rezh had looked in his lap yesterday. Tried not to bask in the warm thrill of pleasure it gave her that he’d left Rezh’s side to bring her breakfast. Tried, and failed. She managed a quick, “Good thinking.”

“Mm. I am fairly brilliant, you know.” He said it with a quick lift of his chin, giving her a bright flash of his teeth. Elle caught her gaze lingering there, at the mild swell of his lower lip, the dimple that turned his smirk into something like a little exclamation point.

Damn him, he was endearing.

“So. About our tour…” He was all business again, helping himself to a sip from the glass and one of the buns. “What have we discovered?”

Elle dug into the fruit, letting the blanket fall away from her head and shoulders as she reached for the glass next. “I think escaping directly from the palace gives us the best chance for success. I don’t know about you, but I won’t survive very long without water. I think we need to stick close and use the resources of the palace. We need to steal a ship and get through one of the portals quickly. If we can’t do that, our next best option is getting lost along the Inlay River. Take advantage of the crowds and lay low.” 

Loki chewed thoughtfully, seeming to consider it. “Perhaps. I agree that the Inlay River would offer us a good chance of getting lost, but then we’ll also be fugitives in a densely populated area. While I agree it will provide an excellent escape route, staying there increases our risk of getting caught and brought back to the palace. Our absence will not go unnoticed.” 

His jaw tensed, gaze locking on hers. “Your disappearance, especially, will have him overturning every stone. We cannot risk him finding you once we run. The general population would no doubt be alerted once we’ve gone missing. Due to the Inlay River's proximity to the palace, we are forced to assume those who live there have at least some loyalty to the Grandmaster. Tyrant though he is, he secures allegiance with extravagant favors. No plan is ever flawless: in such a crowded area, someone will see us. We cannot guarantee that they won’t try to win the Grandmaster’s favor by turning us in.”

Loki’s gaze dropped to his lap. He seemed to consciously force himself to relax, as if he knew what he was about to propose would be met with resistance. With a slow breath, Loki leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He looked at her, resolute and confident, while still speaking in a low, soothing voice. "We need an alternative."

Elle tensed, knowing full well he was trying to soften a blow.

“While stealing a ship and escaping directly through a portal would be optimal, we should prepare to take refuge in the desert.”

She choked on the drink, sputtering into her hand and shaking her head. “No! We can't go out there. We have no idea what kind of things live wild on this planet, or what the elements are like. We have to think about dehydration, sunburn, sandstorms, bugs, animals, Scrappers—”

Loki took the glass from her, setting it aside. “I know, it’s far from a perfect solution—”

“And time, Loki.” Her voice went high and desperate, cracking around his name. She worked her jaw uselessly, still shaking her head as the wall that kept her panic at bay began to fracture, splinters of it shooting out into her veins. “That means time out there hiding, waiting… For how long?” Her eyes stung, vision beginning to blur. She hung her head, trying to hide it, desperate to keep her shoulders from shaking. “Oh my god, what if I die here? Loki, what if after all this bullshit and all this lying, I go out into the sand and I just...” She squeezed her eyes closed, hating the scalding heat of her tears. Hating how easy it was to break like this. 

How naked she felt. 

Again.

The wall shattered, sending a true, crushing wave of horror all through her. She wasn't supposed to let herself think this way. She went numb, she drank, she kept herself awake: Elle knew how to torture herself just enough to keep from spiraling like this. But here, rested and sober and cared for, that wall didn't need to hold. And so, it didn't. It didn't, and she wasn't sure if it hurt more when it stood, tall an impenetrable, or when it began to collapse.

She barely drew in her first broken, shuddering breath before Loki was on his knees before her. He gathered up the folds of her comforter, tucking it around her as if it were armor instead of cloth, before pulling her to his chest. She turned her head, pushing her face against his neck, pressing in harder as his arms wrapped tight around her, pulling her impossibly close, so close that every hitching breath strained against his hold. 

When he spoke, she felt the warmth of his breath over her ear. “I’m not going to let that happen. I swear on the Nine, I will bring you home. We’re going to get off this planet, both of us alive and in one piece."

She felt pressure on her temple, the soft press of what might have been a kiss. He smoothed his hand over her hair, whispering her name. Just her name, over and over, like a prayer. A reminder of who she was. That she was alive. He sighed, heavy and shaking, as if something had broken inside him, bringing his cool hands up to cup her cheeks and lifting her face so he could look at into her eyes. “You are not going to die here. I will not let that happen.”

Gritting her teeth, trying to will the next wave of tears from falling, she snaked her hands free of the blanket, coming to rest against either side of his ribs. He felt so strong, so sturdy. So sure. How was he so sure?

Swallowing hard, she sniffed, gripping his shirt tight. “Talk me through it.” Her voice was no more than a croak, wet and wavering.

His brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”

“Give me the logic of it. I’m stuck in panic mode. Why is the desert logical?”

His thumbs moved over her cheeks, brushing away her tears. “It’s the portals. We don’t know enough about them. Not yet. We need to look at patterns, at behaviors. Do they return? If so, in what cycle? Where do they lead? Can a metal ship even travel through all of them? Can we, composed as we are of blood and flesh? Our biology is different; can we both even travel through the same ones? If we attempt to escape directly from the palace, we risk burning up on impact, catapulting through space or time, or ending up somewhere just as terrible as Sakaar—” 

His throat constricted, a shadow of true terror clouding his eyes, the haunting from before returning tenfold. “If not somewhere worse. If there is a Hel, it is not below us, Elle, but out there, beyond the stars.” She felt his fingers tremble against her cheeks, making her grip him tighter. “Escaping to the desert does require time, but it also gifts time to us. We can learn about the portals thoroughly, ensuring we are able to leave this planet intact. The desert gives us a safe place to do that away from the Grandmaster. Somewhere he cannot touch you.”

Loki all but spat his final words, the flash of his teeth becoming primal. It made Elle’s ears ring, made the heat in her face shift away from panic. The intensity of his stare, the wild glint of that gold ring in his eyes… There was an undeniable, electric thrill in it, like staring into the very heart of power. Of passion. 

Taking a shaky breath, she nodded slowly, bringing her hands up to cover his. She made herself breathe, even and slow, relieved to see him doing the same. They took a few moments to compose themselves, regaining equilibrium before pushing on with their plan. Once they were calm again, Elle was the first to break the silence.

“Okay. I understand why it has to be the desert. So, what? We just build? We hoard supplies and get ready to go live in the wilderness?”

“Yes. We gather up as much as we can in the coming weeks. All your spare parts, extra food and water. Whatever we can get our hands on, we hide.”

“How do we get out there?”

He leaned away slowly, using the corner of her comforter to wipe the last of her drying tears away. When he was finished, he did not come back to embrace her, instead moving away to the opposite sofa. As if wary of pushing this boundary of theirs too far. There was a part of Elle, the part of her that had always been drawn to the soft hues of affection, that wanted to follow him. To crawl back into the safety of his arms, the security they promised.

No. No sending mixed signals. It’s never just color, remember? Not for anyone else. He's right to pull away. Even if I wish he wouldn't.

“We'll need a ship,” he said simply, breaking her train of thought. “Stealing one already equipped for travel would be ideal, but with our skills combined, I believe we’d be able to salvage one if we had to.”

"I got part of the access code for Rezh’s. Maybe if you can get the key back…”

“I’d rather not.”

Elle raised an eyebrow. 

Loki shifted, clearing his throat as he maneuvered himself back onto his sofa. “Requesting favors from Rezh puts me in a rather precarious position. There are certain expectations I’d prefer not to act on, if I can avoid it."

Elle understood not wanting to give out any physical favors. Hearing Loki admit he didn’t want to give them to Rezh? The beautiful, charismatic, easy-to-get-along-with Rezh? It filled her with a warm glow, radiating from deep in her chest into the tips of her fingers. The thought made her look at her hands, made her think about another, very specific golden glow. She frowned. “Hey. I know I don’t get a lot of what you do, but isn’t this something we could use magic for? Maybe not getting off Sakaar, but the supplies and the ship? Isn’t that part of your power?”

Loki’s eyes dipped to his hands. Elle watched as his brow furrowed, a small sound like a cough escaping him. When he did look up again, it was not at her, not fully. His gaze fell on the pendant. “My resources have proven… limited on Sakaar. But I swear to you, I will use all I have to aid us in our escape.”

It wasn’t ideal. In fact, it was disappointing. Some impatient, irritable part of her began to squirm. He almost brought down the Avengers. He’s one of the strongest threats S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever known. And Sakaar limits him? How? Why? Is that even true? Is he even—

Elle caught herself, forcing into her memory the look on his face when she called him a monster. How alone she’d been in the days that followed. No, she couldn’t listen to that voice.

Sakaar does funny things to people. He’s not lying. He wouldn’t do that, not about something this important. He’s going to keep me safe, and we’re going to get out here. I have to trust him. I do trust him.  

That thought was much more pleasant. Much warmer, soothing away her fears and filling her up with the glow again, vibrant, deep cobalt, swirling inside her. 

She gave him a resolute nod. “Okay. I trust you. I know we can make this work.” Elle found her gaze dropping to his lips, very much enjoying the pleased little smile that appeared there.

“We have our plan, then," he said. "I think all that’s left for us in the immediate future is to get through this upcoming arena match the Grandmaster mentioned this morning.”

Elle went cold all over, stomach plummeting. 

Fuck. The match. 

She had to tell him about the match.

She didn't want to. Fuck, she really didn't want to. Having to talk about the desert was exhausting enough; she didn't want to tackle this, too. 

But what choice did she have? Loki was looking out for her. She couldn't let him walk into this blind. Even if he wasn't helping her, letting someone face a thing like this unprepared was cruel. 

There was a file. Locked away in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s filing cabinets, naturally. Footage taken from the Stark Tower. The original copy belonged to Tony Stark himself, but the lone duplicate had been given to Director Fury for tactical analysis and contingency planning. Elle didn’t have access to that cabinet, but a friend of hers, someone higher up on the chain of command, did. She’d seen the contents, kept alongside reams of statistics from the Battle of New York and Bruce Banner’s lengthy psych eval. 

Footage of Loki, getting absolutely thrashed by the Hulk. 

She’d watched it once. Just once. It had been darkly cathartic back then, seeing the man who brought so much terror down on her home state take a few blows rather than dealing them out. But catharsis, she had learned, is not the same as pleasure, and where one wound began to scab over, another was cut—she’d carried those images around with her for days afterwards, harried and irritable towards her coworkers, and not quite sure why.

Today, the memory of the video made her stomach go tight and sour; having seen that haunted look in Loki’s eyes, knowing there were some ghosts only he could see… 

Maybe I can keep this one away from him. 

Elle took a breath, squaring her shoulders. “About the match. The Grandmaster mentioned his Champion, right?”

“He has. I hear he’s quite vicious and that the match will be a battle to the death.”

“That’s true. You should probably prepare yourself for it.”

He arched a brow. “It’s kind of you to worry, but I can assure you, I have seen my fair share of battles. I can withstand the sight of a little bloodshed.”

“I’m sure you can. But… well, you actually know the Champion already.”

The other regal eyebrow went up. 

“You remember the Hulk?”

Loki suddenly went very still. There was a tic in his jaw, eyes moving restlessly over her face. “The Hulk. I see."

Elle nodded, fingers knitting restlessly in her lap. “I met Bruce Banner once,” she said, keeping her tone low and even. “Back on Earth. He seemed pretty nice. Kind of perpetually flustered, but nice. The Hulk, though.” She shook her head, taking a sharp breath.

Loki's jaw went somehow tighter still, his eyes starting to go hard, a vacant sort of rage seeping in. 

“But we’ll be far away. The Grandmaster watches from the top of the arena, and that’s where we’ll be. None of the fighters can see us from up there.”

He was silent for a long moment, eyes returning to the bread in his lap. He picked at it listlessly. “You saw the footage, didn’t you?”

Every cell of her blood froze, every hair standing straight on end. 

He knows. He knows!

Despite the terror, a flash of electric relief arced through her, making her skin prickle, her heartbeat kick up hard against her ribs. If he knows I saw it, he knows I’m with S.H.I.E.LD. I… I don’t have to do this anymore. I don’t have to lie!

She licked her lips, leaning forward. “Loki, I—”

“I can only imagine it has been shared in your social media spaces in some capacity.”

Oh. Oh no.  

He didn’t suspect the truth, then.

Her breath lodged at the base of her throat, painful and thick. She opened and closed her mouth uselessly, searching for the right words. This was worse. This was so much worse. Her stomach clenched around something greasy and cold, knotting into a hard, sharp fist of disappointment. Not in him for not guessing the truth. But in herself, for not telling him. 

“There must have been some sense of justice in it, I suppose. In seeing your demon brought so low.” The defeated, broken weight in his voice tore straight through her, a dagger into her chest, twisting down to scrape against her lungs. 

She shrugged weakly. “It was cathartic, at first. Seeing that the Hulk could corral you brought some semblance of security, and yeah, some dark sense of justice. But it was never amusement, Loki. I need you to believe that. At the end of the day? It was awful.”

He shook his head, and she knew he didn't believe her. Even if he could feel the truth in it, he wouldn't believe it. The idea made her skin go tight, brought a harsh spike of adrenaline through her body. He had to believe her. There had to be some way, something she could tell him so he'd know.

This time, it was Elle who broke the boundary. She stood, letting the armor of fabric Loki had tucked around her fall away as she moved to sit beside him. Not touching him; she read the tension in his shoulders, could see he was anxious, uncomfortable. She settled in beside him, hands in her lap. "It's part of the reason I'm not afraid of you. That lack of fear? It didn't come from seeing you hurt, Loki. It just came from seeing you."

His head bobbed with a little huff. It was a sad sound that wrapped around her heart and began to squeeze. “Oh?”

“I was in grad school when it happened, living upstate, like I told you. I watched the battle from 150 miles away, on a blurry TV screen, holding my girlfriend’s hand. I was scared. Shocked. In just one day, everything changed, not just for New York, but for the world.”

She exhaled, a small, resigned sound. It caught his attention, made him look at her, and she was struck again by the pain in his eyes. An open, undeniable wound. It made her heart beat harder against her ribs. Made her fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and take his hand, to pull him in close.

“And then I saw you everywhere. On TV. In the news. In blog articles and social media posts, art that demonized you and in introspectives that picked apart every angle of what happened. You became as much part of everyday life as my closest friends. Another day, another Loki piece, you know? They showed the same footage, over and over, and after a while it stopped being so intense. And then I wasn't scared. I was curious. I wanted to know more about space. About Asgard. I picked up all these night classes, went to all these seminars. I was looking for something, and the answer wasn’t in anger or fear or grief.”

Loki stared at her, so intensely it was almost through her. The gold ring in his eyes was thin and sharp against the green, adding a depth, a sincerity, that snatched Elle’s breath from her lungs. 

“What answer were you looking for?” His voice was so soft, far softer than she’d ever heard it, edging on a whisper. Threaded through with an eroded kind of longing: the sound of hope that had been extinguished for so long, desperately gasping for one final breath.

“I wanted to know why. People don’t just decide to take over a planet. Everyone wanted to talk about what happened, but not why.”

She watched his throat constrict, jaw working again. And his eyes. There was such broken, beautiful light in those fathomless eyes. “And is this why you became a—what did you call it—a data analyst? To uncover those answers?”

She could almost pretend he was asking the question she really wanted to answer: Did you join S.H.I.E.L.D. because of me? To learn about me?

The truth of it hung just out of reach, a thing that, once spoken aloud, she could never take back. Something she hadn't had the courage to voice, not even to Josie. But Josie had known, in her way, hadn't she?

“I want to put New York behind us, Elle. I don’t want to think about any of it. I want to live my life here on Earth, and I want you to live it here with me. I don’t want to marry someone who’s always got one eye on the sky, one foot out the door, and a finger on the trigger. You'll be some faceless agent who could be killed when the next attack comes. And you'll be watching for it for the rest of your life, always looking at the stars wondering when it's coming. I love you, more than anything, but I can’t live that life, Elle. Don’t join. Don’t go.”

She nodded slowly, unable to drop her gaze. 

“And did you get your answers? Did you discover why I did what I did?” She thought she heard an edge of something grasping in his voice. Something searching, imploring. 

She shook her head. “No. I tried for a long time. I found out a lot of other information, but I never found out why you did it.” I saw a lot of notes and speculation, but nothing definitive. Nothing real. 
 
His brows were heavy in concentration, his lips parted just slightly, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. 

All at once, he seemed to compose himself, to slip a mask into place that smoothed his features. He cleared his throat softly, focusing his attention on he hands. “Perhaps I’ll tell you one day.” Spoken in the cadence of a promise. With the hidden, tenuous honesty that comes before a confession. 

“But not today.”

Another sad laugh, but this time, followed by a slight smile. A flash in his eyes that she could have sworn was the rekindling of that long-forgotten hope.

“No. Not today.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything today. I just…” She sighed. 

He lifted his head to look at her, brow furrowed. “You what?”

She took a steadying breath before moving to close the space between them, sliding close enough so her thigh pressed against his. To take comfort as much as to give it in turn. “I hate that we ended up here. On Sakaar, I mean. It's terrible. It might be the actual worst.” She pressed against his side for emphasis, not missing the way he leaned back into her, almost subconsciously. “But I'm really glad you're the one who found me. We understand each other, I think. No matter what happens with the match, or with the desert, I’ve got you.”

His face seemed to cloud, swallowing hard enough for her to hear. “Do you? Do you have me?” Said with a firm, controlled smile, but with a whisper of breathlessness in his voice. His eyes were so devastatingly bright. 

She nodded, flashing him a crooked grin of her own, her heart beginning to race. “I do.”

That tingeing in his cheeks again. So adorably pink. “Then I suppose I’ve got you, too, Elle.”

It was different, being this close to him. Comforting. It made an unexpected memory flash into her mind: the memory of taking Josie’s hand all those years ago as they watched New York City crack apart. Sitting beside Loki now gave Elle that same feeling of being anchored, of being kept from spiraling off into a place she could not return from. 

Maybe it should have bothered her: that Loki now offered the same sense of stability she'd found in Josie. That it was getting easier and easier to take refuge in him. To ignore her training and all the warnings that came with it.

Maybe it should have bothered her that her affection for him didn’t feel quite so deeply cobalt.

No. Now it was full and lush, as if some other color had seeped into it. 

It felt like dark, rich lavender, like glistening, luxurious plum. 

And when his weight shifted, coming back to rest against her fully, leaving the two of them crowded together on her sofa, that color spread out all through her like a dark, luscious spill of wine.

Chapter Text

No. Oh, no.

Gods, help me. 

The gods, it seemed, were not listening. 

From her place in the hallway, Rezh’s gaze traveled the length of Loki’s body, slow and deliberate, and tonight, far more curious than lusting.

And then she looked to Elle, glancing her over much the same way. 

“My king. Elle. Was this… planned?”

It was most assuredly not planned. Not in the slightest. This was a coincidence. A mistake. An accident spun through with the most remarkable misfortune.

Loki looked over at Elle, only to find her resolutely avoiding his gaze. She may have been able to school her features into neutrality, but there remained an undeniable flush that told him she was not nearly as disconnected from the moment as she would have onlookers believe. 

No, judging by the faint pink freckling along the swell of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and by the very deliberate way she chewed her lip, she was perhaps just as affected as he was.

Which would be quite the feat, considering how he’d spent the past two nights. 

“It was not intentional,” Loki began. 

“One of us should change.” Elle shifted her weight from one foot to the other, reaching behind her as if to go back into her room. 

Yes, Loki implored silently. Please let one of us change.

But Rezh was shaking her head, glancing down the hall. “No, we must be going, I’m afraid.  The Grandmaster is waiting for us. I’m sure it will be fine. Come along.” Standing straighter, Rezh pulled her hair over one shoulder, the long, dark locks a lovely contrast against the signature golden sheen of her dress. It was another short, gauzy little thing, one that perfectly showcased her truly immaculate body. Rezh always dressed as though she was celebrating every part of her. Far from lewd, she made even a scrap of fabric seem artfully placed, intentional, a decorative ribbon for her sensuality. She took Loki’s arm in two of her own, grazing the corner of his mouth with a quick kiss as she stationed herself between him and Elle. 

It was for the best, he told himself. This way, he was less inclined to stare.

Where Rezh’s dress was a bold celebration, Elle’s was clearly designed to torment. It took the illusion of modesty and twisted it inside out, offering a whisper, a promise of what was to be found beneath her clothing. 

It was devastating. 

The dress itself offered a modest silhouette: the high neckline and long sleeves should have proven safe. The skirt fell to the middle of Elle’s thigh, not as long as the gowns she tended to favor, but it’s length was certainly nothing scandalous, especially for Sakaar. 

The problem, in reality, was the fabric itself: soft and shimmering, and breathtakingly sheer. The black chiffon was exquisitely delicate, so much so that every inch of her skin seemed to glow from beneath it. The fabric only darkened to opacity as it reached her breasts, forming a clinging, heart-shaped bustline that only enhanced the curves of her body. The dress had the decency to remain opaque until it grazed the very tops of her thighs, becoming translucent again as it fell to the hem. Where the dress was sheer, it was inlaid with tiny flecks of gold, spiralling out in an asymmetrical pattern that made it look as though the light was dancing around her. The gold pins in her hair only added to the effect.

And then there was his pendant around her neck. The glittering shine of his power, of his true heritage, resting just at the base of her throat. 

It gave the distinct impression that Elle has dressed herself in dusk and starlight, wrapping it around her like the gossamer remnants of a dream. 

His dream. 

The dream he’d had since his first indulgence with the aphrodisiac, made so much more detailed, so cruelly specific since he’d so thoughtlessly barged into her room. Try as he might, he could not forget the siren song of her body. The smoothness of her legs, the dip of her waist. The way her supple breasts had thrust forward as she startled, gasping when he'd entered her room. 

He froze, unable to move, seeing more than enough of her from his periphery alone. The chill in her room had coaxed her nipples to attention, leaving them deeply flushed, as if someone had been just a touch too rough with the sensitive peaks.

But then the color… the color caught his eyes. A flash of emerald and gold.

Piercings, he’d realized, eyes flickering down just once. Tiny gemstones, nestled on either side of her rosy flesh. 

Delicate, hidden piercings. In his colors. 

He’d had to spin away immediately, his body already reacting. He was not sure what mortified him most: his total, blundering invasion of her privacy, his utterly uncivilized entrance, or how painfully, distractingly hard he was.  

He’d fidgeted. He—Loki, of Asgard—had been unable to keep still, so desperate was he to find any semblance of relief. Torn between throwing himself back into his room or down at her feet, he’d been left to uselessly squirm before her until she’d finally granted him mercy and emerged from behind her divider and asked him to stay, all but drowning in her blanket.

He’d done his best to cast the memory aside over the past two days, to ignore it and all its implications. But Norns, she was a sight to behold. His colors, deliciously secret, flashing against her smooth skin, her hair fiery and feral in the sunlight. And how perfectly she’d fit in his arms, how she hadn’t hesitated to seek comfort there. The softness in her voice when she told him she had him. The scraping, painful surge of rage at the thought of the Grandmaster denying her bedclothes, and the not at all distracting revelation that she chose to sleep nude to defy the tyrant…

These thoughts churned inside him, his nightly sips of the aphrodisiacs converging upon his memories, drawing each moment out in his mind like the most exquisite torture. In his fantasies, he did not return to his room each night, but joined Elle in her bed, pulling her close, so close he could feel the thrumming of her heartbeat against his chest. He would cradle her face in his hands and crash his mouth against hers, frantic and wanting, tangling his hands in the wild sunfire of her hair and pulling her down, down and down until he could feel every inch of her beneath him, could swallow up every gasp, could draw from her such delighted groans, feeling her writhe beneath him, shivering at the soft, adoring, affectionate lilt in her voice as she spoke his name into his ear, repeating her promise over and over: I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

No, no, no!

He could not afford to have these thoughts. He needed to focus on anything but Elle, everything but the memory of holding her so close. He couldn’t wonder about the feel of her beneath his hands, and could absolutely not entertain the idea that he knew exactly what was hidden away beneath that infuriatingly delectable taunt of a dress.

Unfortunately, ignoring the dress and all that came with it was much easier said than done, considering how it matched his own leathers perfectly. 

He had also chosen black for the evening, the shirt and trousers perfectly cut to fit his form, revealing the promise of his body without becoming too salacious (he could not help but think Frigga would have approved). It had been set aside with a richly golden cape; true gold, not the cheery, abrasive yellow that passed for gold in lesser circles. It made him wish he had his horns—they would have been the perfect addition to his ensemble. And while his sleeves and legs did not sparkle, the same pattern of asymmetry from Elle’s dress was repeated in the sharp lines of his leathers. If that weren’t enough, the golden belt certainly made it seem as if the two of them had coordinated. 

As if they were intended.

The way his coupled peers dressed in court when he was younger, the lords and ladies indicating their interest before any official announcements were made.  It was, at best, sentimental in a way he had not been prepared to grapple with. But at its worst… at its worst, it was dangerous.

He bit back a groan, the tightness in his chest making him wince. He would need to be cautious. Norns help him if the Grandmaster thought for a moment this was deliberate, or if he and Elle—

If he suspects this attachment between us, he will be merciless. 

Loki was desperately trying to think of an excuse for their coordination as Rezh led them into an enclosed room, filled with guests and tables heavy with food and drink. The Grandmaster rose to greet them, his eyes scanning Loki and Elle just as Rezh’s had. 

“Well, look at you! My pale beauties, all done up in black and gold. Did you plan this for me, my sweets?”

Loki froze, ice shooting through each vein and tendon. From his periphery, he saw Elle’s shoulders go stiff. He opened his mouth, muscles tensing, ready to move if the tyrant so much as raised a hand—

“It was my suggestion.” 

Loki’s head snapped to the side just in time to see Rezh grin and step forward, pressing a firm kiss to the Grandmaster’s mouth. “Black is far too dour on me, but I thought you might like to see the three of us coordinated.” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “Your three golden favorites, hm? Though we’ll keep that between us. Can’t have the others getting jealous.”

The Grandmaster purred his approval, capturing Rezh’s face in his hands and deepening their kiss. When he pulled away, looked over the three of them again, this time with a decidedly less suspicious look in his eyes. “I love it! You’re like three, ah, three little falling stars that landed in my palace. Delightful! Utterly delightful! What a gift you’ve given me, Rezh.”

Yes, Loki thought, looking her over. What a gift indeed.

Elle remained silent. Her eyes had grown hard, body tensing as the Grandmaster relinquished his hold on Rezh to slide his hands up her arms, pulling her to a long sofa that rested before a wide pane of glass overlooking the arena. She was stiff, silent, completely closed off. Seeing her this way tore at Loki, digging deep into his marrow. She shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be on Sakaar, in this room, subjected to the Grandmaster’s touch.

She should be beside me. Close and safe.

Perhaps he should have recoiled from the thought. The idea of wanting a human, an agent, so close was no less foolish now than it had been when he crashed on this miserable planet. Perhaps he should have tried to convince himself that nothing had changed, that their circumstances remained hopelessly static. 

But he, more than anyone, recognized the cadence of a lie. Especially the ones he told himself. 

He could not deny it: everything had changed. With every interaction, Elle showed him more of who she was, peeling back the layers of the barrier between them. With every conversation, every day spent together, they pressed closer.

“I'm really glad you're the one who found me. We understand each other, I think. No matter what happens with the match, or with the desert, I’ve got you.” It was overwhelming: her honesty, her sincerity. How openly she seemed to care for him.

How deeply he wanted to care for her in return. 

He realized he was still staring at her, dragging his eyes away just as Rezh pulled him to the same sofa, a shimmering red drink in each hand. She offered one to him, curling her warm body against his side. “Some Rotan’s Kiss for my king,” she grinned, clinking her glass to his. He forced a smile to the surface, taking a quick sip. He was glad for Elle’s advice. Though the stronger aphrodisiacs had proven distracting, he knew this one would have no effect on him, allowing him to put on a show and drink freely. 

“Sh, sh, everyone! We’re starting!” The Grandmaster’s voice rose above the din of his friends, drawing the other guests forward. 

Elle shot him a quick look, cautious and level. Loki braced himself. 

The preliminary matches were languidly brutal, the combatants mostly under-trained and woefully inept in handling their weaponry. It was easy to tell who had been in the arena for longer periods; they quickly emerged as the victors, earning the roar of the crowd and titters from the elites in the Grandmaster’s company. Watching the fights reminded Loki of Thor, setting off a sting in his chest. 

Yes, Loki thought, watching a rather large stone-faced creature tear through his opponents. Thor would enjoy this. The thrill of battle, the rush of the charge. Loki wondered if his brother still swung wide when using Mjolnir with his left hand. They’d had to undergo strict training in their youth to ensure ambidexterity in combat. Loki had thought it quite practical, while Thor grumbled that it would only be useful in the instance of an injury or loss of a limb, seemingly oblivious to the fact that such a transition would be best served by early practice. Loki had always surmised that Thor’s resistance had more to do with the fact that his non-dominant hand was ever clumsy. When Loki had suggested that he utilize the alternative, to go on the defensive to learn his opponents’ movements and form a strategy, Thor had grumbled that much harder. 

“We’ve no time for strategy in the midst of battle!” he’d groused. “Once it is underway, we must utilize our momentum and charge ever forward!” If his brother still insisted on using his strength as a battering-ram, then he had faltered quite miserably upon his return to Asgard: he'd stumbled to a halt at the very sight of Loki. Or perhaps he’d truly been overwhelmed with shock. The look on Thor’s face when he stepped away from the Bifrost, Odin in tow, had been a tumult of disbelief, of grief, of anger…

And relief. For just one moment, as the facade of Odin faded and Loki’s true face was revealed, before he’d had to sidestep the spell from the Midgardian wizard, Thor’s face illuminated with a shocked smile, pure, and radiant with joy, before crumpling back into something akin to terror.

“Brother! No!” 

Loki shook himself, pulling back from the memory. He wondered if Thor had truly modified this mentality at all since their last encounter, if his time on Midgard and his relationship with his mortal woman had changed his outlook. The notion of simply propelling forward without caution or care would surely not serve him well with a fragile human. She would require subtlety, no doubt. Adaptability. Patience. A certain flare of imagination would be beneficial, would it not? A deft and patient hand that knew when to be gentle and when to be firm… 

He inhaled sharply, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. He could not afford that line of thinking, not here. It would not take an aphrodisiac to pull a reaction from him if he allowed his mind to continue down that path.

As if she could sense his discomfort, Elle squirmed beneath the Grandmaster’s arm, leaning forward slightly. “When will we see your Champion?”

“Eager tonight, are we?” He squeezed her closer, giving her a wide smile that Loki was sure made her cringe. “After the next bout. You know the lineup, silly girl.” 

The comment made Loki pause. If she knew the lineup, then she was not asking for her own sake. She was asking for his. To prepare him for seeing the Hulk once more. He took a steady sip of his drink, ignoring the wriggle of anxiety in favor of the soft glow of appreciation. It would never fail to awe him, how protective she was. Such a small and breakable thing, ever ready to defend something like him. 

It was baffling. Completely and utterly baffling. It made him want to draw her close again, pull her to him and keep her there.

When Rezh dropped her hand to stroke idly along his chest, he found himself impatient with the gesture. He shifted, heaving a brusque sigh. 

“Are you all right, my king?” She moved one of her longer arms to gently twirl a strand of his hair.

“Of course, my dear.” He patted her hand. “Tell me, where did this Champion come from?”

“We’re not sure. He rarely speaks. He’s never told us where he was before Sakaar.” She thought for a moment. “Scrapper 142 apparently had a devil of a time bringing him in. You’d never know it now, the way they train together.”

“He trains with the Scrapper who brought him in?”

“They seem to enjoy each other’s company. She’s incredibly strong.” Rezh grinned. “If she wasn’t so skilled as a Scrapper, she might’ve found herself in the arena. Apparently she dragged our Champion out of his ship after he crashed. Perhaps they each like the challenge.”

A ship. 

A ship!  

Loki’s attention lit with a pulse, hard and sharp and electric. 

Elle must have heard it, as well. She’d turned as slowly and subtly as she could manage, though Loki could see her trying to blink back a sheen of excitement in her eyes. They exchanged a glance, a thread of understanding weaving between them.

“He came in on a ship?” Elle’s voice was carefully impassive, acting as if she had just overheard. 

“He did! Silly to think of, isn’t it? Apparently it could barely hold him.”

Because it was not designed for him.

It was no doubt the very same ship in which Loki had found himself handcuffed not so terribly long ago, on his way to the flying prison Fury had set aside for the brute now waiting to charge into the arena.

A ship from Earth. 

A ship he and Elle could repair. 

A ship he could pilot. 

He had to work very hard to keep still. Judging from the way her fingers suddenly began to knit together, Elle felt the same. They would need to discuss this later, when they got back to their room.

Her room, he corrected himself. Hers. Not ours. 

Loki’s thoughts were interrupted by a lull in the crowd. A gigantic projection of the Grandmaster appeared in the center of the ring, a prerecording drumming up excitement as the lights around the arena dimmed, casting shadows up into the seats where the Grandmaster’s entourage sat. Suddenly, there came a tremendous howl, ignited with the fire of pure dominance and rage. It tore a chill over him, hearing it once more. He watched as the entrance gate was obliterated, the great green mass that was the Hulk barrelling into the spotlight. He turned his face toward the crowd, hoisted his weapons into the air, and roared. 

Loki swallowed, mouth dry and tongue heavy. Warrior though he was, it was difficult not to look at the monster without remembering being lifted and hurled about as if he were no more than a doll. The feeling of his bones rattling, skin breaking, as he struck the ground over and over. The way the creature’s massive fingers had dug unforgivingly into his flesh. Loki was no brittle being, and yet he had worn the blue-black marks of those fingers around his ankle for weeks. It had been no battle, no matching of strength: he’d underestimated the Hulk, and had paid dearly for his mistake.

His thoughts did not focus on the Hulk for long, however. His encounter with the behemoth, mortifying as it was, was but a gateway in his mind, the mere entryway to the true palace of misery. The Hulk was but a trigger, the thin sheet of ice above a vast, dark sea of agony. Once punctured, Loki knew he would be unable to keep himself from plunging through into the darkness below. Soon enough, his thoughts began to morph, the memory of mere pain begetting that of true, unspeakable agony.

Thanos had never once beaten him. He’d never had to. No, Thanos’ methods were crueler, far more horrifying and precise. There were not many creatures who could truly harm Loki. That the Hulk had done so much damage, had done it so gracelessly, still haunted him. The Hulk had done what only Thanos and Odin had managed to do: he’d made Loki into something small. Something weak and disposable. 

Something breakable.

The monster in the arena was a reminder, the blunt object that came before every piercing blade, every blast of heat, every moment spent in agony. 

Loki blinked, lost to the phantoms that haunted him, pulse hard and quick in his ears. His body went rigid, his breath beginning to stutter as images and sensations he’d tried so hard to bury hurled themselves to the surface of his mind. The howling of the crowd became the sound of his own screams, deafening and inescapable. He could almost feel the raw, red ache in his throat. It swirled and surged, louder, closer, all of it mounting into a boiling pit of anguish that threatened to erupt out from the bloodied tatters of a long-broken soul. 

But then, something warm pressed against his wrist. Warm and soft and incredibly gentle. His first instinct was to flinch away, to tear his arm back where he could not be reached. But the pressure remained, insistent without becoming demanding. Neither a command nor an assertion. 

A reassurance. 

He opened his eyes and glanced down.

The very tips of Elle’s fingers rested against him, in the tender slope where his palm met his wrist. She did not close her hand around him, as if she sensed that his mind would turn even her light, comforting touch into a shackle. Instead, she applied only the barest slip of pressure, just enough to draw him away from the abyss roiling inside him. He could only look at her, watching the shadows fluctuate around the angles of her jaw. There was such concern in her eyes, such tenderness. He found himself wanting to reach out and touch her, to draw his fingertips over her the soft curve of her cheek, the smooth arch of her brow—a simple reminder that he was not in Sanctuary, that he was real, that she could see him, feel him. 

That he was a ghost no longer.

Elle pressed against him a bit more firmly, tilting her head to the side. A silent question, he realized. Asking if he was all right. It filled him with a warmth that sank into his bones, washing over him so completely that at first, he didn’t have a name for what it was. 

He’d forgotten. 

It was safety. She made him feel safe.

Suddenly, all he wanted was to lay down beside her, to curl up and rest his head in her lap and feel her fingers in his hair. As alluring as the memory of her body was, the memory of her touch called to him just as sweetly, a soft insistence that drew him in as the moon did the tides. Just to hold her, to be close to her through the night, would be bliss.

But Loki could only give a slight nod, turning away slowly to watch the Hulk tear through his opponents. He was relieved she had warned him. Seeing this unprepared would have allowed his thoughts to riot and surge far worse than they already had. There were some days his memories played far more terrible tricks on him, bringing out sides of him he did not wish to see resurface. 

Elle pulled her hand away, leaving her warmth on his skin like an imprint. Like a promise. His fingers twitched, wanting simply to bring her back, to press her hand against his.

He was able to stomach the rest of the match, finishing his drink while Rezh and the Grandmaster cheered. When it was over, the Hulk having hurled his weapons with enough force to embed them in the arena wall, the lights came back up and the Grandmaster’s group began to stand. Rezh took his glass, beginning to pull him with her toward the door. He rooted himself in place, returning her perplexed look with a perfectly practiced and mischievous smile. “Where are we off to, my dear?”

She grinned. “A small party to celebrate the Champion’s victory. Come.”

He saw the Grandmaster maneuvering Elle in the same direction, and so allowed himself to be led into the… party room? Lounge? The room with the whining music and abrasive light show. Rezh pulled him in one direction, while the Grandmaster tugged Elle in another. He did his best to keep an eye on her, watching to make sure the Grandmaster’s hands did not become even more offensively free, but they were soon lost in the throng of people. Loki tried to ease the harsh ticking of his heartbeat, swallowing down his irritated huff. He did not care for this. Not at all. 

His distraction did not go unnoticed. Rezh’s fingers grazed his chin, turning his face until he was looking at her. “My king? Did you hear what I said?”

Damn.

He hadn’t. Not a word. He flashed her a wide grin, taking the drink she offered him. It looked like Fengree. Loki warily eyed the glass, choosing to hold it rather than bring it to his lips. He didn’t trust this one, not yet. He needed to be cautious. 

And attentive.

Rezh pulled her hair over one shoulder, sipping her own drink and scanning the room. “I said, my king, that I would love for you to join me in my room.”

“Ah. My dear, I am truly eager to do so, but I’m afraid—”

“You misunderstand me, Loki of Asgard.” She turned to face him fully, and for the first time, he saw a look of true weariness cross her beautiful face. “You should be seen with me tonight.”

A chill skittered through Loki's veins, sinking in deep to pinch at his nerves, his awareness sharpening as it did just before battle. His eyes narrowed, jaw clenching. “Is that a threat?”

“I would never threaten someone with whom I wish to forge a friendship. But you are still new to Sakaar, my king, and meaning no disrespect, there are rules here that you are clearly blind to. You must be cautious of Elle. I know she seems harmless, but—”

“I know.” It came out much sharper than it should have, betraying emotions that he so desperately needed to keep hidden. He set down his drink with a sigh and reached for Rezh, rubbing small, gentle circles into the tops of her shoulders. 

“I know, my dear. I swear to you, the outfits tonight were mere coincidence. I…” He swallowed around the bitterness in his mouth. “I respect the Grandmaster’s claim to her, and I would never seek to take what’s his. If I have been at all disrespectful, I will work to remedy that immediately. The Grandmaster has been a gracious host, and I would not wish to offend him. Or you, for all the kindness you’ve shown me.”

Rezh shook her head, sliding one set of hands over his own while the other fell to his hips. “You do not worry me, my king. Elle does.”

Loki pulled back, brow furrowing.

Rezh’s grip became firm, insistent. “I saw how she looked at you tonight when you stepped into the hall. She buried it quickly, but she would not look at you again, would she? Because she knows she cannot hide it. There was something… intense, in her gaze when she looked at you. Seeing her look at you tonight… I realize I’ve never truly seen Elle before. Not like that. But she looked at you with such light in her eyes. And as much as the Grandmaster favors you, my king, that sort of attention will not go unpunished. Even if you were to approach Elle, he would more than likely forgive it. He enjoys showing her off and appreciates knowing he owns something of value. But if she pays you favor over him?” Rezh sucked in a breath, shaking her head once more. “That is not something he will forgive. She has been polite, but cold, for so long. He can abide other guests coveting her. In fact, he enjoys it. But he will not tolerate her showing affection for anyone but him.” 

Rezh’s grip tightened, eyes wide. “It is not the Grandmaster who needs to see us together, my king. It’s Elle. For your safety, and for hers. Whatever attachment she feels toward you, you need to put an end to it quickly.”

The full weight of Rezh’s words settled hard in the pit of his stomach. It seemed to tug at a vital thread running up through his heart, slowly pulling down bit by bit until it threatened to tear him down the middle. “And why tell me this? Why tell me any of this?”

“Because I like you, my king. I don’t want to see you hurt for Elle’s indiscretion. And I don’t want war or ruin on a planet none of us can leave.”

She brought her hands up to cup his face, her other set still gripping his sides. “Please, my king. We can simply sit together for the night. I’ll read to you, draw you a bath, whatever you desire. You could just sleep in my room, and I’ll go visit some of my other friends. But you have to put an end to this. She cannot look at you that way, or you'll both be punished. You most of all.”

A dull, mean ache crept up from the shadows inside him to swirl around his heart. The air around Rezh was crisp with truth, with an honesty he could not bear to accept. He had sworn he would protect Elle, that he'd keep her safe. How could he keep her safe from herself? How could he shield her from the eyes of the Grandmaster? If Rezh had seen it, how much longer until the Grandmaster did, as well?

Rezh could read the conflict in his eyes, was nodding as she began to lead him away. “It’s for the best, my king. For all of us.”

Could he do such a thing? Sit idly in another room, letting Elle believe he did not crave her embrace? Deny that every part of him, body and soul, ached to be beside her?

He opened his mouth, ready to speak. 

But Loki caught a flash of black and gold in the corner of his eye, a riot of movement that made him freeze. 

Elle!

Something was wrong. Horribly, viciously wrong. 

The Grandmaster dragged her from the crowd, his hand tight around the back of her neck. She strained, desperately trying to tear herself away, but his fingers dug into her skin, holding her in place. Her eyes were wide, wild with panic, but her mouth remained locked in a thin, trembling line. Whatever scream was building inside her, it remained stuffed in her chest—her voice, her breath, the only thing she could control. 

The tyrant pushed her to the center of the room, where a stern-looking woman in a black and bronze suit of armor waited. In her hand was a long, heavy weapon, ridged with sharp metal and capped with an orange orb. 

Loki recognized it instantly: it was the weapon used to melt the messenger when he first arrived. 

Elle recognized it, as well. As soon as she set eyes on it, she scrambled back, trying to distance herself from it, inadvertently falling further into the steel embrace of her captor. Her mask, her illusion, disintegrated. A wild scream tore up from her throat as she thrashed against the Grandmaster’s grip, the sound shattering into a broken sob. “No! Please don’t!”

The sound plunged a blade into Loki’s heart, ignited unfathomable rage in his veins. He catapulted forward, heartbeat thundering in his ears, teeth bared. He snapped back suddenly, whirling with a snarl to see Rezh straining to hold him in place, using every muscle in all four of her strong arms. “You can’t! Loki, you can’t!”

From the crowd, a tall, imposing man with golden skin and heaps of decorative muscle was hauled to the center of the room. It took four guards to hold him; where had Elle screamed, he howled, rioting in the guards’ hold. He bled freely from a cut over his eye, his strength and stature no match for the brutality of the creatures holding him. 

“I didn’t touch her! I didn’t!”

Elle clawed at the Grandmaster’s hands, trying to throw herself from his grasp. “He didn’t!” Her feet slid as she was dragged further forward, closer to the other captive. Closer to the terrible weapon. Her knees buckled, weight falling so the Grandmaster half carried and half dragged her the rest of the way. “I swear, Grandmaster, he didn’t!”

The tyrant didn’t listen. He yanked Elle up to his chest, one arm locking around her waist while the other clamped around her jaw in a bruising grip. For as much as Elle struggled, he was perfectly still, rigid and dangerous as a blade. His eyes flashed as he addressed the crowd. “It seems that some of you have forgotten my rule here,” he thundered, his playful lilt a hard, unsettling contrast against his low, dangerous tone. “Nothing is forbidden here, friends, right? I’ve never denied you anything. Ask and you shall receive! All I ask, is that when it comes to this human, my human, you wait. My one rule. And you, Otho, tried to break it.” 

He tsked, shaking his head. “Buddy. I’m so disappointed.”

“I didn’t know! Please!”

“You didn’t? You didn’t grab her during the last round of festivities? You didn’t put your hands on my clairvoyant?” His fingers dug in deeper, raising angry red welts from Elle’s skin. “You didn’t try to steal her from me?”

“I haven’t done anything!” the man cried. “I haven’t been near her! How could I?”

“You know, Otho. You know perfectly well what you’ve done.”

“Please don’t.” Elle’s voice was brittle, beginning to crack. She squeezed her eyes closed just as her tears began to fall. Loki felt each one like a blow to his chest, hard and unforgiving as a fist. 

The Grandmaster’s laugh was sharp, cruel. His cold eyes still on Otho’s face, he lowered his head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Elle’s neck, licking up against her throat. She went rigid, her face contorting into something beyond shock, beyond horror, a low moan of revulsion shaking free from her lips. The Grandmaster pulled back suddenly, just enough to look at his mark: the scar left from her obedience disk. The silvery-pink circle that marked her as his.

Then, with a wicked grin, he bit down. 

The sound of Elle’s scream cracked Loki’s chest in two, as brutal and barbaric as the image of that vile creature’s mouth on her throat. Her body jerked in an effort to endure the pain, such an intimate pain, laid out for all to see. 

Rage rang in Loki’s ears, shrieked in his blood, took every part of him and set it aflame. He tore free of Rezh’s grip, all but flinging her aside as he tore forward, the edges of his vision going red. “Vámr! Stop!”

The Grandmaster’s stare was manic, his mouth curling into a malevolent grin. “Stop. Stop? Who the hell do you think you are to give me orders? You think you can keep me from enforcing the law? On my planet? With my property?”

The guard, Topaz, raised the weapon, moving to intervene. With a simple sidestep, she would be close enough to touch the orb to Elle’s chest.

Or Loki’s, if she but moved in the other direction.

Loki dropped his head, stance shifting before he realized what he was doing. He was primed, ready to attack. 

His eyes landed on Elle’s pendant. One spell. He could cast but one spell.

The Grandmaster’s grip dropped, his fingers squeezing against Elle’s windpipe. His palm covered the pendant, no doubt pushing its edges deep into her skin. Her face contorted, breath breaking in a stuttering, harrowed whimper.

The sound struck Loki like a blow, echoing sharp and clear into the hollow of his chest. It flashed through him, leaving behind it a trail of remorse, of bitter, despicable shame that left him no option but to stand down. This was not a fight he could win, not without putting Elle in jeopardy. He couldn’t allow that to happen, no more than it already had.

Loki forced his body to relax, raising his hands in surrender. Even then, he could not smooth the snarl from his lips. It took three long, even breaths before he trusted himself enough to speak. “I would never seek to intervene with your law, Grandmaster,” Loki said, his tone betraying the tension still vibrating through his limbs. Conscious of the very public spectacle he was making, he pulled in another trembling breath, lowering his voice so only the Grandmaster could hear. “Have you any idea the damage you’ll cause, killing a man in front of a clairvoyant? What it would do to her, to feel an aura cut down? Enforce your laws as you must, but you will render your mortal useless if you proceed this way.”

He pressed another step closer, eyes on the Grandmaster’s, not daring to look away. Not even as he heard the pained sound of Elle’s breathing.

He saw Topaz tense in his periphery, the orb rising an inch higher. 

The Grandmaster’s eyes seemed to clear all at once, the mania dissipating as if it had never been there at all. 

Slowly, as if he were just as surprised as the rest of his guests to find himself so violent, he withdrew his hand from Elle’s neck, glancing between her and Otho. “Elllle.” He drew her name out in a whine, a grating, petulant sound. “Oh sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me you could feel when someone dies? Oh, my poor little thing, it never occurred to me. I never would’ve done it if you'd just told me.” He spun her to face him, gripping  her face in his hands, holding her tighter when she tried to pull away. He held her in place, planting a string of kisses up along her jaw.

She closed her eyes tightly, shaking with the strain of keeping still as the Grandmaster clutched at her. She was trembling hard enough that her teeth began to chatter, breath coming in quick, harsh pants. Loki’s hands burned, desperate to hold her, to pull her close and soothe this pain. It twisted all through him, thorns between his ribs, inside his lungs, against his heart. He swallowed hard, every sound in the room fading out except the tatters of her breathing. 

The Grandmaster didn’t look up as he waved toward the armored woman. “Topaz, get Otho outside. Set his execution for dawn. I want to be there when it happens. Oh, honey, my poor little thing, come here.”

Topaz, with the help of the other guards, began to escort a shaking, begging, screeching Otho out of the palace. His howls for mercy went unanswered. Loki knew, without any shred of doubt, that the man would be dead before sunrise. 

From her place within the Grandmaster’s embrace, Elle’s eyes went distant, cold and empty, and Loki knew she wasn’t fully present. She was gone, somewhere deep inside. Somewhere, he hoped with all his heart, was safe. Somewhere she could wait until he could get to her.

He nearly lashed out as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He glared, only to find Rezh staring at him. Not with sadness, not quite with fear. Some pained expression of inevitability. Knowledge, perhaps. Or the deep, excruciating weight of being proven right. She’d paled considerably, her skin more of a light moss than her usual lively jade. There was a plea in her eyes: he needed to go to her tonight. If he didn’t, it would only cause more chaos. 

He was standing at precipice, a great chasm before him. To pursue Elle, to court this connection, would invite catastrophe down on the both of them. He saw that now, in a harsher, more irrefutable light than ever before. He could avoid it, all of it, by going to Rezh, even it only for one night. 

“I’ll take Elle back to her room,” Rezh offered, her voice gentle. “I want you boys to behave, now. The villain is caught, and all will be well. We cannot have our benevolent ruler and his lovely king fighting. It’s uncouth. Discuss it like men, have a drink, and retire early.” Rezh wrapped her arms around Elle, pulling her close. “Come now, little one. Let’s get you to your room.” 

Loki watched them leave, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. Each crash of his pulse sent another wave through him. Pain. Confusion. Fury. 

Norns, help me. 

Left alone, Loki and the Grandmaster stared at each other, the silence between them growing heavy, barbed.

Loki swallowed, bile hot and mean at the back of his throat. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palm, a distraction from the words he knew he must choke out. “I… apologize, Grandmaster.” Speaking this charade aloud felt like coals in his chest, blistering him from the inside. “I should not have undermined you. Especially not in front of your guests. I was merely concerned—”

“You were concerned for my human. You made that pretty damn clear.”

Loki’s jaw tightened. He forced his chin to drop, eyes falling in an imitation of subservience. “I have had great power taken from me,” he said, voice low and controlled. “I know what it is to lose someone of great importance in a moment of passion. I know that once they’re gone, there is no bringing them back. Humans are incredibly fragile; clairvoyants even more so. You could have killed her, gripping her throat like that.”

The Grandmaster tilted his head. “And you wouldn’t like that at all, would you? You like my little mortal, hm?”

“I don’t—”

“Just say it, Loke.” The Grandmaster crossed his arms and stepped closer, their toes just brushing. He let slip a cold, calculating smile. “You want to fuck her. You want to make sure there’s something left for you when I’m done.”    

Loki was forged of nigh unbreakable muscle and bone, trained to face battle unflinchingly, taught from his earliest days to temper the sheer magnitude of his strength with self control.

It took every ounce of that control not to snap the tyrant’s neck. 

The Grandmaster laughed, rocking back on his heels. “Easy, Loke. I know the feeling, trust me. Look, I’ll go easy from now on, alright? But you need to remember the pecking order. You can like her all you want, but you’re watching her for my benefit, not yours. You can look, but you don’t touch her until I’ve had my fill. That’s not negotiable. Otho there? He, ah, he seems to have forgotten that. He’s the one who must’ve given her that pendant, Loke. I know he did. You should’ve seen how handsy he got with her, and he’s been here just long enough to know which jewelers to commission. Something like that would have taken time, knowledge.” His eyes clouded, tongue darting to wet his lips. “He was playing all nice, asking her to come join him, like he was some kind of gentleman. Not on my planet. Not with my human. You get that, right? You understand how these things work. You were royalty. You know I have to keep what’s mine.”

What’s yours. The words were acid in Loki’s mind, sending up hissing curls of smoke.

“Your instincts are no doubt correct, but you must take certain precautions.” Loki forced a steadiness into his voice he did not feel, leaning into the academic, logical tone he’d heard Elle deploy. “You must also not risk her stasis. The care of a clairvoyant is incredibly delicate work. You’ve no idea the lasting damage that can be done with the slightest misstep.”

“Ugh, Loke.” The Grandmaster pinched the bridge of his nose. “How was I supposed to know she’d feel someone’s death, huh? I can’t be responsible for everything, ya know?”

“I know, Grandmaster. It is tedious, all this care. Perhaps you can secure her wellbeing and her obedience all at once. Take some of the pressure off of yourself.”

The tyrant tapped his chin, glancing around the room as people began milling about once again, many making their way to the bar. “How? I’ve tried keeping her in her room. I’ve tried keeping her with me. I suppose I could brand her, couldn’t I? Branding still works, right? Ugh, or is it tattooing the kids are doing now? Retinal inserts? I could always have her obedience disk put back on. I hate the aesthetic, but if it keeps the onlookers away… I dunno, how do you keep tabs on something that’s so valuable these days?”

Loki knew an opportunity when he saw one. Knew which steps to take to maximize the impact of such opportunities. He lowered his eyes again, feigning deference. “Perhaps, my friend, it is not your other subjects you do not trust, but Elle herself.”

The Grandmaster scoffed, hands dropping to his hips. “Not trust Elle? Ah, no, don’t think so. She’s so small, can’t get into much trouble. What’s not to trust?” But there was a slight edge in his voice that told Loki he’d struck the proper nerve. It did not thrill him to strike it. It even went so far as to make him uneasy, the things he was about to imply. He knew more than most, however, that it was always best to consider one’s endgame, no matter how unsavory it made the current maneuver.

“You desire her, but you have not bonded with her. Without a bond there exists no trust, and so instead of earning her, you covet the attention she is granted, feeling it a threat rather than an inconvenience.” He raised his hands in surrender at the Grandmaster’s scowl. “Meaning no offense. I merely mean to point out that clairvoyants recognize more than others when they are under supervision. If she has been watched, hungered for, by so many since the moment she landed here, how is she to distinguish your righteous desire from the base, cruel gaze of the others? What makes you stand apart from those you wish to punish?”

He could see the Grandmaster’s mind working, searching for the correct response.

Loki was not patient enough to let him connect the points on his own.

“You must show her that you are not the same as creatures like Otho there. You are the ruler here. Does she know what benefits your desires can afford, or does she think she will be one more conquest for you to lock away once you’ve had her?”

Or that you mean to pass her around as soon as you’re finished?

“What, you think I’d keep her with my other humans? Don’t be ridiculous! She’d be with Rezh! Favored, cared for…”

“Is she aware of that?” Loki tsked at the Grandmaster’s stunned expression. “If all she sees is conquest, how is she to know that allowing herself to be with you is preferable?”

The Grandmaster’s face pinched into a pout. "How do I fix this, Loke? Come on, you’re a king, surely you’ve dealt with this kind of thing before.”

“I have, indeed. The solution is twofold. First, you must grant her additional independence. If you wish to gain her trust, you must allow her to feel at home here. If you treat her like a toy on the shelf, she will act as one, fickle human that she is. Short, supervised trips outside the palace may be a good place to start, along with limited time to herself to explore within the palace walls. ”

“And where, ah… where do you suggest I send her, outside the palace?”

Loki’s face remained perfectly neutral. “Send her with Rezh for brief walks outside. Or allow your guard, Topaz, to escort her across the grounds. Even allow her out with your other humans. I am not saying to let her go unsupervised. Far from it. Merely that, if you give the illusion of trust, she will come to trust you, as more than merely a ruler. She will come to see you as her ruler. Her protector. And then, when trouble arises, she will run to you rather than await rescue. You will need to safeguard her from far fewer lingering eyes and reaching hands if she feels protected as opposed to owned.” He gave a well-practiced, wicked smile. “Even if it is all illusion, she will believe it, if you play your part correctly.”

A smile of equal but genuine wickedness spread over the Grandmaster’s face, stoking the flames of Loki’s rage. With a clipped laugh, he clapped Loki on the shoulder. “Loke, buddy, I think you may be onto something here. Earn her trust. Get her to come to me. It’s brilliant. Not my usual preference, but I like it. It’s unconventional. Let me think this over, put some thought into how to proceed.”

“I am here to serve, Grandmaster.” Loki gave a courtly bow that appeared as smooth and genuine as he needed it to. He waited for a moment to see if there was more, but the Grandmaster had been summoned by a group of his acolytes, bringing over a tray of assorted aphrodisiacs. With his host’s attention diverted, he ducked away, hurrying through the halls. 

His chest was tight, limbs burning with unspent adrenaline, the need to tear through an opponent, to lay waste to a horde of enemies until his pulse began to slow. 

No. No, he had to set that aside for now. He must calm himself, had to process what had happened tonight. To bring himself under control.

He came to a halt in one of the hallways, pressing his palms against his eyes. This was madness. All of it. The lies, the deceptions, the endless games. There was nothing but disaster waiting at every turn. 

No. That wasn’t quite true. 

He could stop this here. Tonight. Raising his head, he looked to his left, knowing that hallway would take him to Rezh’s chambers. He could go to her. Could spread out on her sofa and sleep. He could pretend she was someone else and hide from the cacophony of his thoughts for the night, losing himself in the feel of her, the ease of her company. He could secure his standing as Rezh’s lover, allow himself to be seen as hers completely. Sever this growing affection he shared with Elle, here and now. Let it be a partnership of business and business alone until they could escape Sakaar. 

He looked to his right. 

There, he knew, was his precipice. His chasm. He would know no peace, no safety but what was to be found in the sliver of space beside Elle. The Grandmaster would be watching, more cruel and cautious than ever. Every moment with her would be a stolen one, every interaction monitored. His only saving grace would be the Grandmaster’s vulgar certainty that his attachment to Elle was purely physical. He would be laying all of his trust, every ounce he had, at the feet of an agent whose people wanted him dead. A woman who worked for the very organization that sought to destroy him. To pursue this connection, he knew, was as dangerous as it was foolish.

Well.

What was life without a bit of chaos?

He turned right, preparing for the inevitable fall.

Chapter Text

There are moments, even during a god’s extensive life, when time blurs—suspended in place as it hurtles past. A mere instant becomes an all-encompassing, all-consuming thing. A fragment of time refracts the entirety of existence down to increments, blossoming and swelling with the portentous truth that once time resumes its normal pace, the world will have shifted irrevocably. Once such a moment passes, nothing, nothing is ever the same.

A sealing of fate, if you will. 

Loki knew this moment well. He’d felt it the first time his skin changed, his hands on the Casket of Ancient Winters with Odin at his back, unable to deny the truth of his birth any longer.

He’d felt it as he dangled from the destroyed ridge of the Bifrost, in the second before he let go, sending him plummeting through the vast emptiness of space.

It was in that suspension of time that Thanos had so enjoyed tormenting him, flaying what should have been but an instance of pain into endless echoing agony.

So few of Loki’s experiences with this moment had ever brought anything gentle, nor anything he cared to remember. But here, standing outside of Elle’s room, that stolen, frozen second was fractured, not by pain, not by betrayal, but by the insistent thudding of his heart, pounding up and up and up against his ribs. 

Want. It was the gutting, bone-deep reverberation of want.

Wanting her safety, her freedom, as much as his own. 

Wanting her. Desperately waiting for Elle to hear this pleading howl inside him, to have her recognize it, and send the same call back to him.

And worse than that: hope. The radiant, spark-bright hope that this time, when time sped up again, he would be left whole.

Loki forced himself to pause, his hand on the door handle, closing his eyes and inhaling until his lungs ached. Rezh’s warning still hung heavy in his mind; she’d been right to warn him. Kind, even. He would need to be cautious, so cautious, but gods, if he didn’t see Elle, if he couldn’t look into her eyes and make sure she was still with him, whatever thread of goodness and clarity existed inside him might snap.  

Taking a steadying breath, he knocked. 

It was then he realized there had been a steady sound coming from her room, a restless shuffling, dragging noise that ceased suddenly once his knuckles touched the door.

“Loki?”

Elle’s voice shook, muffled and watery. A whip of fury lashed through him on her behalf, one he had to carefully bundle and set aside. His rage would do him no good here. 

“May I come in?”

She did not respond for a moment. Loki’s fingers tightened on the handle, breath catching—he just needed to see her. Just for a moment. 

Please, just for a moment, please let me… 

“Okay.”

There was something wrong in her voice. Something pinched and sharp. Manic. Loki turned the handle, steeled himself, and pushed inside. 

And was met with utter chaos.

She’d torn her room apart. Hidden items from every corner had been yanked free, wires torn from their bundles, trails of spare parts littering the floor, tools of all shapes and sizes haphazardly strewn around her feet. She’d ripped down the cloth hammocks over the doors, emptied them of their contents. Dragged into the open the bins stashed beneath the sofas and the bed, their contents now in a shamble of mixed piles and disarray. In the center of it all, Elle paced, steps uneven and frenetic, swallowed up in her comforter once more as she clutched up fistfulls of spare parts and threw them into two cloth bags by the door. Her lips moved ceaselessly, muttering to herself, taking inventory of the complete and utter destruction she’d rained down around the room.

Loki froze, jaw falling open as he took in the wreckage. Near to where he stood, he spotted a mostly-empty bottle of amber liquor, an empty glass, and the glittering remnants of her dress. The soft, sheer fabric had been torn, as if Elle had clawed herself out of it. 

Sullied, he knew, deep in his marrow. In touching her, attacking her the way he had, the Grandmaster had ruined it, vandalized it. Had taken something so beautiful and made it his. Rage spat its venom into Loki’s gut, so harsh that it stung clear through him, hissing along the base of his spine. 

Seeing Elle did nothing to soothe him. It only took the burn of his fury and twisted it inside-out, contorting it into twin knots of remorse and dread.

She did not look up as he entered. She merely threw down the pieces in her hands, letting them clatter into one of the bags, before rushing back to the bin beneath her bed, tearing through it, clutching up fistfuls of diodes and glass tubing. Even from here, Loki saw the mark on her neck, dark as a brand: a livid red-purple ring where the Grandmaster sunk his teeth into her, circling the faint scar from her obedience disk. It was already angry and swollen, would no doubt darken into a lurid bruise in the days to come. Loki imagined he could see the hammering of her pulse just beneath it, the angry flush of her own blood racing beneath the surface.

“We have to leave.” Her breathing was erratic and rushed, too shallow and too shrill. Voice clipped, the waver in it unmistakable. “Now, right now. We have to go.”

“Elle—”

“We can’t stay here!” Her voice cracked, knuckles going white and she all but threw herself toward her window, stumbling over her own feet and clawing at the trinkets above the ledge. Loki was at her side before he registered he’d moved, reaching for her.

“Elle, stop.”

His fingers barely skimmed the rise of her shoulder before she rounded on him, using every ounce of her strength in an attempt to shove him back, the pieces in her hands clattering to the floor. “We’ll go! We’ll go to the desert like you said, we’ll take our chances. We’ll bring… here, look!” She whirled again, her entire body vibrating as she began to move back towards the bags. “We’ll take everything we have and we’ll go and it’ll be just us and we’ll be safe, Loki, we’ll be safe and he won’t… he won’t…”

He caught her this time, as gently as he could while still holding her in place. He found her elbows and pulled her to face him. “Breathe, darling. I need you to breathe.”

She shook her head, eyes wide and darting around the room. They were rimmed with red, from the threat of tears as much as from the alcohol. “This isn’t me. ” Now her voice truly did break, the sound driving into Loki’s heart and shearing it in two. She sounded truly small. Truly weak. She was right, this was not her. Not his quietly fierce little mortal, who had survived so long on a harsh, grotesque planet. The defeat in her voice lanced through him, goring him completely. 

“This isn’t me,” she said again, this time reaching out to clutch at his shirt. “I’ve kept still and silent and rigid for months. Everything he’s done, I’ve taken it and, and I bottle it up. I’ve been strong. But you saw me… you saw what he did, you saw me like that, and he came so close to hurting you…” The sob welled up from deep within her, a desolate, eviscerating sound that Loki swore he had not heard outside of Sanctuary. “I thought he was going to kill me, Loki. I thought he was going to kill you.”

“Shh, darling, it’s all right. We’re both here, we’re both—”

“You don’t understand! This is wrong! I’m not supposed to be like this! I numb it out, I do whatever it takes to shut down and survive. But you’re here now and fuck, I feel everything, all the time. I feel everything when you’re around and I can’t make it stop. I’m compromised, and if anything happens to you because of me…”

It happened so quickly, it wasn’t clear who moved first. All at once, Elle’s arms were tight around him, her face buried in Loki’s neck. He clung to her just as fiercely, arms around her waist, whispering against her shoulder, pleading for her to breathe, to be calm, to be still for him. That she was safe now. That they were together and that was all that mattered.

Her entire body shook in his arms, wracking her from her shoulders to the soles of her feet, and all Loki could do was hold her close, as close as he possibly could as the feral racing of her heart pounded straight into his own chest. 

“You don’t get it. I haven’t cried since I crashed on Sakaar." Her voice cracked, imploring. There was something hidden there, something she was begging him to understand. “I can’t. But since you’ve been here I can't stay numb. I thought it was blue, Loki, but it’s not. It’s pink. It’s purple. It’s all the things I didn’t think I would feel again and I keep breaking down because of it.” 

It was incoherent desperation, her words coming hot and fierce against his skin. His throat was suddenly tight, his chest near to bursting, but he couldn’t place why. There was something in her words, some meaning she was so frantic for him to understand, just on the cusp of something unfathomably beautiful buried in all this pain. It remained just out of reach, something hidden he couldn’t parse out. Not like this. He moved one hand to cradle the back of her head, peppering her temple with soft kisses, trying to soothe her. 

“Rezh told me I have to stop,” she breathed into him. “When she brought me back to my room, she told me I have to be careful of how I look at you. And she’s right. I’m going to get us killed if I don’t stop. But how can I? You don’t know, Loki. You don’t know…”

Oh, but he did. He knew all too well. And he knew that this, what they were doing, was the furthest thing from cautious, or intelligent, or wise. And yet, the idea of letting her go was unbearable.

As if she could read his thoughts, she tightened her arms around him and pulled him closer, his pulse racing just as wildly as hers.

Whatever lonely, pleading howl his heart sent up for her, however desperately it called out… hers was answering. He knew, in this moment, she was calling back to him just as fiercely. 

He pulled back just enough. Just enough to look into Elle’s eyes. To wipe away her tears. 

To trace the soft, delicate swell of her lower lip with his thumb, a gentle, wanting gesture that did nothing to soothe the sudden ache in him, the absolute, crushing need to kiss her.

He swallowed hard. 

We can’t. I can’t. Not tonight. 

She’d been assaulted. She was hurt and hysterical and gods of the realm, she was drunk, and if he was going to kiss her—when he kissed her—it couldn’t be like this. It killed him, his lips parting of their own accord as if in protest, but he could not do it this way. 

He had to remind himself of that when she closed her eyes and pressed a kiss of her own to his thumb, her chest shuddering, the comforter slipping down one shoulder. He breathed out hard through his nose, quickly tucking the blanket back into place before letting his forehead fall against hers, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks.  

Not tonight.

She was so small in his hands. So painfully delicate. How easily the Grandmaster had taken her. Had harmed her. Loki lost himself for a moment, pressing forward to run the tip of his nose along hers. 

“I do know. I do. Rezh gave me the same warning.”

“She did?”

He nodded, never once breaking their contact. “She told me I have to stay away from you. That this attachment between us is dangerous. If it’s discovered, we’ll be punished. Tonight, we saw the sordid evidence of that.”

Her hands were so warm against his, her grip firm, as if she couldn’t bear the thought of him letting go. She shuffled forward, leaving no space between them. 

“But you came anyway.”

“I did. And you... You invited me in.”

“I did. I thought it was blue, but I was wrong. It’s so much deeper than that.”

His soft huff of almost-laughter seemed to pull her from some reverie. “I’m sorry, darling, I’ve no idea what that means.”

She nuzzled up into him, her eyes glassy but so incredibly bright. “It means that I’m…” She blinked, brow furrowed, lips working distractingly as she searched for the right words. “I’m not broken. But I’m wired differently. And that makes some people think I’m broken.”

Yes, Loki decided, they would definitely need to discuss her alcohol consumption in the morning. This lack of clarity was beginning to shake him. He searched his memory, trying to recall when she’d spoken those familiar words before. 

“You are not wired for flings,” he recalled. “Preferences are few and far between.”

Elle nodded. “It’s like a switch, one that’s been off most of my life. I want… this.” She dipped her chin, indicating their position. “I like affection. I like…” her eyes flickered to his mouth. “I like kissing.” 

Norns, give me restraint.

“But I don’t want sex. Or… I don’t always want sex. I did, once. Well, more than once. But just with one person.”

Pieces began falling into place, and with it, crumbling little fragments of Loki’s heart. “This Josie you spoke of?”

“Right. The most important part is the emotional piece. The rest isn’t… it’s just… it’s soft. It’s silk when I’m looking for pink and cobalt. Does that make sense?”

It didn’t. He wished on the Nine it did, that he could thread together the pieces of what she was saying. His chest began to cave in, a slow, yawning cavern opening inside him. 

She did not want him, then? Was that it? Not in the way he wanted her. She still yearned for her former lover. He’d been wrong. What was this, this closeness if she couldn’t… if she didn’t…

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she pressed a kiss to his jaw, the way she said his name calming his racing thoughts. “Emotional and physical affection are different for me. With her, I had both, but I don’t know if that will happen again. It took a year before I felt it, a year of just emotional love before I wanted anything physical. And I don’t… I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep. If I can only give you half of something you’re looking for, it’s only fair that I give you an out now. Because for me, what you might see as half is my whole.”

Her words from before, the intensity in them, her insistence and emphasis on color came into precise, perfect clarity. 

Stars above, she…

“You feel that for me? Your pink and your cobalt?”

An eager nod, her eyes wide and bright. “It’s so much, so purple now it almost hurts. But I can’t promise you more than that, and… and if we need to stop this, we need to stop it now. Sex is important to a lot of people and if it’s not something you can live without, then I need to stop this before I… before we go any further.”

What she was describing was not uncommon on Asgard. Some did not want any sexual contact, but they wanted romance, a relationship filled with every kind of love but the physical. Others wanted neither, finding joy and passion in the warmth of platonic relationships. Others wanted both. 

Loki wanted both. At least, he had. For so long, his relationships had been strictly for pleasure, the emotional component stunted or stripped away entirely in the name of physical release. He was desired for his body, not for who he was. 

And here was Elle, his precious, delicately wild Elle, offering the opposite.

It was true that a relationships did not have to revolve around sex, but to not include it entirely? It was different than anything he’d ever pursued. He was desired for his prowess, his cold beauty. He was desirable for his body and all that it could do, the muscle and the magic alike. But to be wanted for none of that? To be desired for the safety his body could provide, for the pleasure to be found in shared moments, in an embrace that did not need to leave them breathless…  

There was beauty in it, was there not? To be wanted this way? 

His mind flickered back to his fantasies, some fueled by the aphrodisiacs, but others very much his own. Could he ignore them? Could he balance the aching heat of his desire for her with the equally demanding need to simply have her by his side?

Yes. 

The answer rang up through him without hesitation. His desire for her would not dissipate overnight, would perhaps never so much as dim. But this, what they were sharing now... it was worth it. It was worth everything.

His thumb found her lips once more, soft but insistent. His chest was light, limbs tense, but not painful. “If you were not so completely and utterly drunk, I would kiss you into senselessness, do you understand me? There would be no hope for you. I would worship your lips with mine until we were lost for breath and knew only the feel of each other.”

Her smile nearly broke him in two. “Really? You don’t feel like it’s a consolation prize?”

He had to huff out a laugh, pulling her to his chest to keep himself from fulfilling his promise. “There is only victory, only joy, so long as we're together.”

Norns help him, he meant it. He would need to speak with her again when her mind was clear, but by all the power in all the realms, he wanted her. He would remain by her side for as long as she would have him, however she would have him. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, safe and protected and cared for so deeply he could not bear the thought of giving her up. Not now, and not once they escaped. 

They stood together for a moment, blissful and silent. Letting the chaos fade until all that was left was them, breathing quietly together. Elle was the first to pull away, worrying her lower lip as she glanced around the carnage of her room. “What do we do now?”

“Now? We have to rest. We are not equipped to run yet, much as I’d like to. Please trust that I would never keep you here if I thought even for a moment we could make a successful escape.” He tilted her face back towards his, thumbs grazing the swell of her cheeks. “With just a little more time and planning, we could attempt it, but without food or transportation—” (or proper rest or sobriety, he added to himself) “—the Grandmaster would catch us before we made it through the first landfill. We cannot risk that, especially not now. Let us get our bearings, all right? Get some much-needed sleep, and we’ll regroup in the morning.”

Elle chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes darting to the room once more. “Can you help me clean some of this up? I don’t want to sleep in the bed he gave me but I wrecked the couches. I just…”

Without any further prompting, Loki gathered Elle up in his arms, spinning away from her room and moving into his. Setting her down carefully, he looked around in the moonlit darkness for a moment before moving off to the closet, gathering up a soft, dark shirt meant for sleeping. “You are not in his room tonight.” Though his words were firm, his tone was soft, nothing but tenderness in his voice. “You are in my room, with me.” He held out the shirt, heart tripping as she reached out and took it, her fingers lingering on his. She looked up at him, such blatant gratitude in her eyes that it made his chest sting. It pulled the rest of his words from his tongue unbidden. “What happened tonight… My magic failed you. I failed you. But if you trust nothing else, trust that I have learned from my mistake. What happened tonight will never happen again. I’ll kill him first. As much as you can, take comfort in knowing you are wearing my clothes, sleeping in my bed. And he cannot touch you here.”

She blinked slowly, and gods, what it did to him when she looked at him like that. With such open care and trust, the beginnings of a smile playing over her lips. Those damned, distracting lips. “So, what? I’m… yours?”

Yes. Now and always, yes. As I am unreservedly, indisputably yours. 

No. He could not voice that yet. It was too soon, after too tumultuous a day. He reached to bunch her comforter into his hands, averting his gaze as he held it up between them, a barrier allowing her to slip on his shirt with some privacy. “You are your own, Elle. You do not belong to him. You never have, and you never will. And tonight, you are here with me. With me, not for me.”

Once she was dressed, Loki let the comforter fall, and it was all he could do not to sweep her back into his arms. The shirt fell to brush against her thighs, the sleeves too long, the collar wide enough to show the rise of her collarbones. The pendant, his pendant, glowed softly from the hollow of her throat. If he’d but been able to grasp it, if that loathsome guard had not approached with that horrid weapon…

But it did him no good to dwell on that now. He reached out to draw the long golden pins from her hair, unable to help himself from pushing his fingers into the soft, wild waves and massaging against her scalp. She groaned and fell against him, scrubbing her face against his chest, arms finding their way back around his waist. He wanted very much to let her linger there, but he could feel his own exhaustion creeping into him. He could only imagine how drained she was. 

He gently pulled her arms away and led her to his bed, getting her situated in the center before moving off to quickly change into his own nightclothes—the matching bottoms for the shirt Elle now wore. He slid beneath the covers and reached for her, heartbeat ticking eagerly when she rolled toward him of her own accord, her head finding his shoulder as one leg draped over his. As if this was the most natural thing in the world. As if, all this time, she’d wanted this as much as he had. 

She took a long, shuddering breath, hot and tired against him. The active sound of her terror and grief had passed. This was something steadying. The sound of settling. She cozied against him still further, her hand coming to rest in the center of his chest. He pulled her close, one hand finding its way up to stroke lightly against her cheek.

As lovely as this moment was, as comforting, it did not stop an ugly thought from surfacing in his mind. Turning his head so his lips grazed her forehead, Loki spoke quietly. “What did you mean earlier, when you said you’ve taken it? Has he…” His grip tightened around her. “Has he bitten you like that before?”

She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers smoothing small circles into his chest. He winced. Surely she would feel his scars…

If she did, she gave no indication.

“No. He’s never been that rough with me before. But he killed someone, at the third orgy he dragged me to. I still had the obedience disk on and this guy—thing, something—grabbed me and started shaking me. I got myself free and turned to run, but I crashed right into the Grandmaster. He was right there behind me, like he’d been watching the whole thing. There was a second where he didn’t have a hold on me yet and I wanted to run, just sprint out of the palace and back into the landfills and take my chances out there. But... I didn’t."

Her breath caught, stuttering in a harsh, derisive laugh that tore up from somewhere dark and bitter inside her. Loki recognized the vicious streak of self-loathing in it all too well. “I backed right into him, like he was some kind of savior. And he loved it. He grinned at me, pulled me to him, and then I watched him melt the guy that grabbed me. Started going on about how sweet I was, how he knew I’d be one of the good ones. He took my disk off that night, and I watched this puddle of gore get mopped up like it was nothing. And I didn’t care.” Another quiet, desolate breath that escaped under the guise of laughter. “I couldn’t. I buried it. I buried it because I had to. I even went to the Hulk after that, but I was so numbed out that I screwed everything up.”

He tensed. “What happened with the Hulk?”

“I was terrified, in shock. I was probably disassociating, honestly. But I snuck through the servants’ corridors and found my way to his rooms. I thought maybe I’d find Bruce Banner underneath. I thought maybe I could convince him to escape with me.”

“He refused you?”

“I didn’t go in looking to make an ally. I just wanted to get off this planet. The more I tried to get through to Bruce, the angrier the Hulk got. He threw me out, told me if I wanted to escape, I’d need to find my own way.” She sighed, a soft puff of air against his throat. Her mere presence, hearing her voice, was such a comfort. Loki found himself nuzzling into her hairline. 

“You know, it wasn’t so long ago that Earth looked at the Hulk the same way it looked at you. And all the credit for the Hulk’s victories? They go to Bruce. I should have known that. I should have gone in trying to recognize him as his own, but I didn’t. I wonder sometimes what would have happened if I’d tried to see him as himself, rather than this idea of what I thought he should be.”

Loki couldn’t help the wry smile that crept over his lips. “Though I would wish you off this planet in a heartbeat, I cannot help but be grateful you didn’t succeed. Perhaps that interaction is part of what allowed you to see through what you expected of me. Allowed you to approach me that first night.”

She craned her head up to look at him, her eyes bright but sleepy. Her fingers grazed the ridge of his cheekbone, so soft and delicate, and Loki found his eyes slipping closed. “I’ll count it as a win, then. Even if I messed up a lot along the way.” Her fingertips moved then, drawing softly over his Cupid's bow. He opened his eyes and could only watch as she stared openly at his mouth. Norns, but if he could just kiss her…

He swallowed hard and pushed the thought away, letting his head rest against hers once more. “You’re so much stronger than you think, Elle. You’re a survivor, and that is a beautiful thing. But survival does not feel beautiful as we live it, darling. We endure it, but we do not thrive in its midst.” He rested his hand against the bite mark on her neck, shifting his biology just enough so his palm went cool and slightly blue, soothing her injured skin. Elle shivered in his arms, relaxing further into him. 

“We keep moving because we must. We take the days of intense feeling as best we can, and balance them with the days when we cannot feel anything at all. Living in captivity like this, in constant terror of what’s to come… it changes you, sometimes in ways you cannot even identify until much, much later. This is what survival looks like: it is neither precious nor celebratory, and often it’s not even something we recognize as strength as we move through each moment. Survivors are crowned with many such accolades once they are brought home, but the act of surviving itself is one hellish demand after another on your body, mind, and soul. You’ve done nothing wrong, not in accepting the Grandmaster’s aid when it was needed, nor in trying to find allies here. You are simply living, and that is enough. Each moment you endure is an act of heroism.” He took a shaking breath, leaning in to kiss first her eyelids. Then her nose. Each cheek. 

“To endure is an act of ferocity. You, my little wildling, are nothing short of magnificent.”

Loki would never forget the way she looked at him then: with such open adoration that it threatened to burn him, to brand him then and there as hers for the rest of his days. Her pulse raced beneath his palm, creeping up into his skin to fill him with thunder. 

She shifted, leaning in to graze her lips over the sensitive skin of his throat. “You’ve been through this, too. Haven’t you?”

He squeezed her tighter still. “I have.” 

“What did you survive, Loki?” 

He blinked against the darkness, the light of the moons wrapped around them. It made the room feel smaller, like it could just be theirs. Like this entire planet could just be theirs, for but a while. “Pain. Pain the likes of which I hadn't imagined possible.”

“The kind of pain that makes someone attack a planet?”

Oh, my sweet, perceptive girl. “Yes. That kind of pain.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“That is a very long story, I’m afraid. One much too long for tonight. Far too exhausting.”

“So you owe me one.” Her voice held a slight lilt, a bit of levity. Small as it was, he was grateful for it.

“Another night. I promise.”

“Can you tell me what happened after New York, then? How you ended up on Sakaar?”

Yes, that he could do. It had comforted him to hear more of her time on Sakaar. Perhaps she found that same comfort in his voice, in his presence. He sighed, and it felt like he’d dug something out from deep inside himself, something calcified and rough and heavy, and laid it aside. 

“After the Battle of New York, I was taken back to Asgard to serve out my prison sentence. While I sat in my cell, there was an event, the Convergence, which thinned the boundaries between the realms. Dark creatures, Elves, sought to use an unfathomable power to conquer the realms and plunge the universe into darkness. Asgard was attacked. My mother, murdered. Thor freed me from prison, and we raced to stop the Elves on their home world. I was stabbed during the skirmish.” He hesitated for a moment, then brought her hand down to the scar, not the ones in the center of his chest, but the jagged one just beneath his ribs. Her fingers worked gently over it, tracing the rough pattern. 

“Thor, in his typical wisdom, saw me fall and thought me dead. Injured, but very much alive, I used a great deal of my magic to heal myself and made my way back to Asgard. When I returned, I was grieving, bitter, and so deeply angry. Thor had fled back to Earth to reunite with his human lover. My mother was dead and gone. Only Odin was left, sitting on a throne I’d been promised. I wanted… I needed stability. I needed something that was mine, somewhere familiar to stitch myself back together. And as I said, I was so, so angry.” He huffed. “I sealed Odin’s power, hid him away on Midgard, and then I took his guise and inserted myself as king in his stead.”

Her arms tightened around him, silent for a long moment as she absorbed his story. “I didn’t know about your mother. I’m so sorry.”

Loki swallowed, his throat painful. “I was barred from attending her funeral. Kept in my cell. I… my last words to her were cruel, meant to hurt myself as much as her. And she died thinking I’d rejected her. That all I saw in her were lies, that I’d forgotten she raised me, taught me, loved me. In my last moments with her, I denied all of it.”

Elle said nothing, choosing instead to stroke his skin gently. As if she knew there were no words, nothing she could say to soothe the hurt of Frigga’s loss, nor the shame of rejecting her love. 

“She always stood up for me. Always sought out the best in me. It was Frigga who taught me magic, you know. And history. And Latin.”

He felt Elle smile against his throat. “Latin?”

“Mm. While Odin decried the uselessness of an Asgardian prince learning a dead Midgardian language, Frigga simply set to work gathering up all the books she could find.”

“She knew you were a smart cookie. She must have been really proud, seeing you so curious and eager to learn.”

Loki’s eyes threatened to burn. “I hope she was. I hope she saw through my mistakes into the heart of me. She made mistakes of her own, mistakes I am still working to forgive her for, but… I do believe she loved me. I miss her.”

His memories began to turn, bringing with them more stories, more moments he was not prepared to relive tonight. He cleared his throat and started again. “I’d been ruling in Odin’s place for four years. I was quite good at my imitation, and no one suspected he was missing. Our trade routes were thriving, our crops flourishing, treaties holding steady. We did not interfere with the other realms, nor they with us.” He paused, hearing the shimmer of longing in his own voice. “It was a steady sort of life, one I did not think I would ever have an opportunity to live.”

“It sounds like you were a good king.”

Loki smiled, resting his cheek against her hair. She filled him with such pride. Such wonder. How could she see him and see someone good and worthy? And yet she did. Her soft, contended sigh filled his chest with light. 

“Yes. I dare say I was.” 

“Were you happy?”

His fingers twitched, a stiff, brittle weight settling over his chest. “There are some creatures so far removed from the concept of happiness that it may as well not exist. I am first among them. Odin told me once that my birthright was to die, and I suppose I was finally proving him wrong. It did not beget happiness, but I was content, for a time.”

“You deserve to be happy. To think that anyone made you feel like you didn't... I think I hate Odin. No offense.”

“None taken. His parenting skills leave much to be desired.”

“What happened next? How did you get here?”

“I felt a disturbance. A spell. Some churning, foreign hex was approaching. I could feel that Thor had discovered Odin and was bringing him back to Asgard, along with a Midgardian wizard, seeking to subdue me. I took to the edge of the realm, not wishing to bring this fight among my people.” And not overly enthused about the idea of having my disguise drawn back before the whole kingdom, he added to himself. 

“I met them at the edge of Asgard, the mouth of the Bifrost to be our field of battle. Thor and Odin appeared first, and then, the wizard. He launched his spell, something strange. Not dangerous, mind you, but clever enough. I cast a spell of my own to counter it, but the collision of our magic went wrong, somehow. I tried to sidestep it and was flung out across the Bifrost, the combined force of our power driving me over the edge. I plummeted through space and crashed through a portal onto Sakaar. I made my way to the palace, demanded an audience with the Grandmaster, and inserted myself here. The rest you have been witness to.”

She lifted her head to look at him, brows furrowed in concern. “Did the spell hurt you?”

Loki hesitated. “It did not injure me.”

Her relief was visible, brow unknitting and shoulders relaxing. He laced his fingers between hers, settling their hands together over his heart. “I don’t think anyone in my long life has ever been as protective of me as you are.”

Elle offered a bashful smile as she settled back down, her cheek so very warm against his skin. "You're worth protecting. I've got you, remember?"

He let slip a quiet, private laugh. It made her look up at him again, all sleepy, dark eyes and a crooked little smile. It struck him, truly struck him, how lovely she was. Where he had first seen a wraith, a scrawny little spy all stitched up behind frowns and lies, he now saw, in every gesture, how incredibly strong she was. How beautiful. The warmth in her eyes, the gentle curve of her smile, the open and expressive way she looked at him… Perhaps it was for the best, that he hadn’t seen this before. He would have been driven to distraction.

As if I’m not driven to distraction already. 

His chest went tight again, tight and full, filled with a warm, heady buzz. “And I've got you."

All at once, Loki saw two paths cut out before him. He could ask her about her life before Sakaar, inviting her to lie about her profession. While he was curious, he did not want more lies from her, did not want her to have to tell them. This left him his second path. He took it easily, nearly without thought, without regard for tactic or repercussion. He merely wanted to hear her speak. To learn about her, in a way that would require no further lies between them. “What do you miss most about your home?”

“So many things,” she said, a heaviness in her voice. But there was a gentleness, as well. “Just having my own stuff. My own space. Being able to go where I want, when I want. Basic freedoms.” She shrugged. “I miss my kitchen. I always got so much light in my kitchen. I’d just stand there in the mornings, drinking coffee in the sunshine, or watching it rain. It was so tiny, just enough room to move, but it was mine. There were these birds, these blue jays, that lived outside my window. Mouthy little bastards. They yelled at me whenever I left the apartment. They were so damn loud in the mornings. I used to hate it.” She smiled at him again, and Loki’s heart squeezed. “I miss them now, though. And I miss pants. I miss my leggings and my jeans. The smell of dryer sheets, and slipping into bed when everything’s freshly clean and warm. I miss my little cactuses. I used to keep them on the windowsills, with these little colorful stones in the soil to catch the light." She paused, offering a tired hum of thought. "I miss waffles and coffee. Have you ever had waffles?”

He chuckled softly. “I don't believe so, no.”

Her head went heavy against his shoulder, sleep racing up to claim her. “Let’s get waffles when we get off this rock.”

“Waffles it is,” he agreed, not quite knowing what to do with the overwhelming ribbon of warmth twining through him. Settling back, he closed his eyes and pressed a soft kiss to her temple, beginning to fade into sleep with his wildling in his arms.

He did not think of the Grandmaster. Nor of Sakaar. Nor of Rezh’s warnings. 

He thought only of Elle and this stolen moment. 

Of what it would be like, being able to look at her in the morning when her mind was clear, hearing her speak these words aloud again when he could finally kiss her into oblivion. They would be together, come what may. Whole and safe, having found so much beauty together in this night.

Whole.

A word he would come to loathe when they awoke in the morning, and she remembered none of it.

Chapter Text

Elle was floating. Or rather, bobbing. Up and down, languid and peaceful, like the way she moved when she’d stretch out on the sun-stained dock on the Sacandaga as a kid. Summer heat sinking into her, the water undulating gently as the tide came in. She sighed and rubbed her cheek against whatever was serving as her pillow. It didn’t feel like a dock, lacking that unyielding wooden roughness. This was something firm, but soft. Welcoming. 

Comforting.

Mm. Feels nice.

It didn’t smell like the dock, either. Or the lake. Or summer, even. It was more soothing, free from the heaviness of humidity and the lethargy of long, hot days. It smelled like mist on the first morning of spring, the oath of rain and budding plants heavy in the air. Cool petrichor and towering, shaded trees, she decided hazily. She gave a contented little hum, nuzzling her nose in and pulling that scent deep into her lungs. 

A gentle rumble washed up into her chest from below, followed by something wonderfully cool just at the base of her neck, threading up into her hair. The tender pressure against her scalp wove a lovely shiver across her skin, prickling down her spine. 

“My little wildling.” 

The whisper filtered down through her awareness like sunlight through a heavy green canopy of leaves, luring her up from sleep. Soothing as it was, she had no desire to chase that gossamer whisper up through the dark. But the whisper was so soothing, and the movement against her scalp felt so good; they worked in tandem to brush away the cobwebs of unconsciousness. It felt like heaving herself out of a pool, gravity swarming into her limbs, her chest.

Her head. 

Oh. No.  

She hurt. 

A steady throb of pain began to drum up with each beat of her pulse, forging links of a chain that would connect her eyes to her tongue to her gut, all made dry and gritty and sore. 

Why does everything hurt?

The movement in her hair shifted, five points drawing outward and then back in, slowly, slowly, a hypnotic repetition that reminded her again of the lake. Of the lull of the waves. It was so much nicer than the pain. She wanted to press back into it, to rub up against it like a basking cat and focus only on that feeling. On how nice it was to be touched with so much care.

Wonderful as it was, she groaned, long and grumbling, before moving to stretch.

The shape beneath her shifted. 

Not like a dock. Not like anything flat or lifeless.

It moved. Like it was breathing. Like it was taking a deep, blissful breath of her, the pressure on the back of her head increasing just slightly, as if to keep her close.

And then it shifted again. 

The way a body might shift as a quiet murmur of contentment rolled through it. 

A body. 

Her eyes snapped open. 

Head whipped up. 

Only to be met with Loki’s lazy, sleepy little grin. 

Loki’s lazy, sleepy, incredibly close little grin. So close that her nose had skimmed his chin as she pulled back.

The morning light and her sudden movement rocked into her like a blade, striking down through her skull with all the precision and severity of heat lightning. She blinked hard, desperately trying to focus her sore, grainy eyes. 

Her movement drew his attention, making him lift his head from the pillow. His smile grew somehow softer when he opened his eyes to take her in. His eyes were so bright, even clouded with drowsiness, the meadow green seeming to deepen in this light, flashing darker, closer to emerald. He looked completely at ease and softly disheveled, hair gently mussed while still looking impossibly regal. That glow in his eyes, that smile.

He looked happy.

He was beautiful. Perfect. 

But why was he here?

No. Why was she here?

Why was she on top of Loki in a bed that wasn’t hers?

Elle froze, her heart shuddering hard enough to make each rib rattle, kicking up the throb in her head and magnifying it. She felt no lick of heat. No warmth. Instead, she was filled with a shock of ice, dropping harsh and churning into the pit of her stomach. 

Harsh enough to kick up a bitter, burning aftertaste of alcohol at the back of her throat.

She was painfully, disastrously hungover, head clouded and cottoned in a halo of grey ache.

How did I get here?

Through the pain in her head, an angry, lashing wave of terror thundered through her, cold and relentless. 

How much did I have to drink?

And on its heels:

Oh god. What did I do?

Her body went rigid and Loki’s smile faltered, the corners of his mouth twitching down at the corners. Seeing his smile fracture made something inside her claw back on its haunches and begin to wail. 

Why? Why did it hurt to see his smile disappear?

The fact that she couldn’t remember brought a bladed edge of panic to her throat.

He was suddenly alert, the fingers in her hair pressing harder, trying to curl her back against him. As if he could soothe the terrible emptiness in her head if he could just put things back the way they were a moment ago.

She stiffened, refusing to be moved. A shadow fell over his features, a question rising to the surface alongside a barb of panic that he couldn’t keep from his voice. “What is it? Darling, what’s wrong?”

Darling?

Elle rose up slowly, the movement pulling her clothed chest from his naked one. 

“Wait—”

His voice was so painfully small, yet somehow brimming with a desperation verging on anguish. One of his hands still cradled the back of her head while the other moved to the center of her back, his grip becoming firmer, more urgent as she felt her own face contorting in confusion and fear. 

Elle moved to pull back, and when she did, she felt the fabric covering his legs brush against her bare skin. 

She was naked from the waist down, her legs bracketing his own.

Please, no. Please tell me we didn’t…  

She craned her head up slowly. Her voice, her breath, her body: everything began to shake. “What happened?”

“Elle, please.” He jerked his hand away from her back, propping himself up on his elbow. It brought his face closer to hers, close enough so she could hear the tremor in his sharp inhale. “Just let me explain—”

“What did I do?” She looked down again, the horrible, relentless terror chewing through her guts. She pinched her eyes closed, focusing on her body. On where and how she hurt. “What did we do?”

Her question seemed to electrocute him, a pained tension surging through him muscle by muscle. “No. Please, darling, it’s not what you think.”

For as frantically as his jaw worked, as severely as the tension strummed through him, he sat up and maneuvered her with remarkable care and gentleness off his lap and to his side. His hands moved restlessly, grasping for contact but unsure if it was safe to touch her. The stutter in his chest unnerved her, and she realized he was fighting to keep his breathing under control. She dared an embarrassed glance up at him, only to find him openly staring, his expression a potent mixture of need and hopelessness. 

“You truly don’t remember?”

His voice. She didn’t know a god could sound so utterly defeated. 

“Do you—” His throat constricted, gaze moving ceaselessly over her face. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

Elle shook her head, pressing her fists against her eyes. “Pieces. Um. The match. We went to the match. And the party after.”

Images. Voices. Her own, and others.

Pain. She remembered pain.

She let her hands fall. Her heartbeat crashed in the tips of her trembling fingers as she reluctantly drew them up. She grazed the pendant first, still cool and comforting against her skin. She traced it for just a moment, as if to gather strength before letting her hand curl. She hissed as she made contact with the bite mark, the pressure sending a bolt of pain not just through her skin, but down into the hollow of her chest, feeling every bit as bruised as the broken skin of her throat.

“He bit me.” She pressed harder, fighting the burn in her eyes. “He thought Otho gave me the pendant, right?”

Loki nodded, his gaze still restless and imploring. 

“Otho’s dead, isn’t he?”

This time, Loki reached for her, the very tips of his fingers grazing her knee. Hesitant and delicate. His sharp inhale seemed to be one of relief. She wasn’t sure if it was because she remembered or because she allowed him to touch her. 

“The execution was set for this morning.”

“Oh.”

A familiar, hollow numbness settled in her behind her lungs, a flat buzzing hum that made her feel eerily weightless. Another death. Another murder, because of her. 

Because she was someone else’s. Because she was property. 

And Loki knew. He’d seen it all. Saw her made into a plaything. Saw her dragged around and manhandled, bitten and demeaned.  And yet, he was here.

That numbness flickered, buckled, cracking apart into needle-thin fragments. She wasn’t numb, not the way she should be. 

It was familiar. Something about this vulnerability, this raw open ache, rang clear through her as if it had been there before. As if this wall of hers had already broken. As if the pain she felt now was from its reappearance, not from the fact that it had fallen. 

She couldn’t remember why.

“What about afterwards? When you got back to your room?”

She looked up at him, at the slight tilt to his head, the pinch in his brow, the firm line of his lips. There was something there, something about this feeling that rose to swell up between them.

Something she was missing. 

“I remember thinking we needed to pack and leave. I think I wrecked my room.”

That earned her the ghost of a smile. “You did. What else?”

She looked down at her lap, a greasy coil of disgust winding into her stomach. “I tore my dress. I couldn’t handle how it felt. It was like his hands were still on me and I just—” She shuddered, and whatever control Loki had, it crumbled. His hand moved to cover hers, thumb stroking her wrist. It was intimate. Far more intimate than they should have been.

But she didn’t pull away.

It was grounding. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t move that gave him the strength to lower his head, searching out her gaze. “We slept. We only slept.” His voice was tense and thin, as if he was fighting to hold something back. “You couldn't sleep in the bed he gave you, and so I—” His voice faltered, breaking into a stuttering sigh. “I offered you mine. I didn’t realize…”

He cut himself off, chin dipping. 

He didn’t know. Didn’t realize I was blacked out.

She believed him. If Loki said they only slept, then she knew without reservation that it was true. She trusted him.

But she didn’t trust herself. 

The way he looked at her with such longing, how eagerly he touched her—something had happened between them. She looked down at her lap, at the hem of the shirt that was too big for her. A shirt that matched the bottoms Loki was wearing. 

They were both half naked. She woke up on top of him. And she’d been so, so drunk. 

Just because we didn’t have sex doesn’t mean I didn’t promise it. 

Her stomach twisted. 

God, what did I do?

How much was she missing? What had she done to earn herself such an intimate place in Loki’s arms? To make him call her darling and look at her as if she was something precious?

Elle closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. 

Look at the clues. Break it down, just like I’d do on a case at work.

She started to assemble the pieces, carefully, hesitantly, the way she might handle jagged shards of glass. He would have found her in her room, hysterical and probably naked. He would have tried to calm her, would have been kind. He’d brought her into his room, dressed her in his clothes, let her curl up with him in his bed. Let her find her way on top of him in the night. And the pain in his eyes this morning, the way he was reaching for her, it could only mean one thing.

I told him. This attraction that’s been growing between us, I told him I feel it. And based on his reactions this morning? He feels it, too.

But after that?

Had she clung to him? Had she kissed him?

Christ, had she thrown herself at him? In pain and sparking with panic, would she even have thought about how it might look? How through her selfish, irresponsible thoughts and actions, she’d made a promise she couldn’t keep?

If I came to him naked and talking about my feelings? For everyone else, it promises sex, doesn’t it? Maybe not immediately, but eventually. 

Her gut went into freefall. She had to rest her hand on her stomach, trying to calm it. 

He won’t know, then. He won’t know about my switch. 

Elle thought of Clara. Of Henry. Of how long it had taken before she’d let even Josie see this part of her. How it felt like a lightning strike to have someone accept it. 

How rare it felt. 

No. How rare it was.

He doesn't want me. He wants whatever version of me I promised last night, not who I really am.

The crumbling feeling behind her ribs nearly suffocated her, filling her lungs with air that felt like dust, painful and clotted. 

“Loki, did I…?” She buried her face in her hands, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

She could hear him repositioning, felt the bed dip as he seemed to shift closer to her. His voice was strained, brittle. “You’re sorry?”

How can I ever pull back from this? How do I explain my switch, the kissing, how do I say any of it now without disappointing him?

He’s going to leave. He’ll leave like Henry and Clara left.

I fucked it up. I fucked it all up!

“I wasn’t myself last night, okay? It’s complicated. Can we. Can we take it back?” Shame, bitter and hot, flooded the back of her throat, made her pulse hammer in her ears. 

The sound he made tore her apart: a simple ragged breath, torn up from the very core of him. Something so broken. “Take it back? You wish to take it back?”

She would never forgive herself for this. Never. 

From her periphery, she saw him run a shaky hand through his hair, his face a mask of utter despair. She suddenly wished for his anger. She knew what to do with rage. Rage stung. Rage bit. Rage grabbed her up and threw her around, hurt her in ways she understood. But this? It was as if he was mourning her, and she couldn’t understand it, couldn’t endure it.

She’d felt hopeless before, time and time again on Sakaar. She’d gotten used to living in that dark, desolate place between bitterness at her surroundings and anger at herself for not being able to escape. But seeing Loki like this? This was the first time she hated herself so completely. 

Whatever had happened between them, it made him call her darling. Made him hold her so close, so sweetly. It was everything she wanted. Everything she needed. But she knew, knew in a burning, writhing piece of her soul, that it wouldn’t last. Loki was a god. A king. Beautiful and powerful and exquisite in every way. How could someone like him ever find contentment in a relationship with her? With her boundaries and her limitations?

She curled further in on herself. She couldn’t keep looking at him, couldn’t watch that dark, heavy loneliness shadowing his eyes. 

That didn’t stop him from looking at her. She saw it in his gaze, heard it in his voice: begging her. 

“What do you wish to take back?”

She shook her head.

“Elle, please, what exactly do you—”

Three urgent knocks fractured the quiet of the room. 

“Loki of Asgard! The Grandmaster requires your presence immediately.”

They froze.

Elle’s pulse triphammered, her entire body beginning to shake. A flood of adrenaline made her skin too tight, too hot. She felt the blood drain from her face, making her head throb worse and worse. 

“Oh god, Loki, if he knows I’m in here—”

But he was already moving, one finger pushed to his lips. He swept her up into his arms, squeezing her to his chest so tightly she could feel his racing heartbeat. He rushed to the door between their rooms, opening it just enough so she could press inside. He dropped his head to whisper against her ear as he ushered her over the threshold. Even now, it made her shiver. 

“Get in the shower. If they call for you, pretend you don’t hear them. Answer the door for no one but me, do you understand?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Do not argue with me. Go, now.”

He paused for the briefest moment to let his gaze linger on hers. There was a sheen to his eyes, a glistening plea. His hand rose, jerky and quick, and for a moment, she thought he might touch her cheek, fingertips sliding so softly across her skin. She craved it, so badly she found herself pushing forward, just a fraction, needing to feel him just once more. 

It couldn’t happen. She knew it couldn’t happen. And yet, if he left now, left without touching her…

It feels like goodbye.

He caught himself, hand closing into a fist as he dropped it to his side. His pained, longing expression disappeared, eclipsed beneath a mask, cold and distant and so much like her own it made her breath catch. “No one but me,” he repeated. And then he was gone, the shape of him replaced by the closed door. Elle stared at it, listening as his footsteps suddenly became heavy once he was back in his room, the weight of his footfalls applied strategically to make it sound as if he’d just gotten out of bed. 

A strange, glowing burst of warmth flashed through her. Warmth, and something that almost felt like preening. He adapted so quickly, reacted with such precision and intelligence. 

And he used it to protect her. 

The warmth faded as his footsteps did. She leaned her ear against the door, listening to him go. Each step he took ricocheted through her, telling her over and over that she was alone. She stayed there, still and miserable until she heard him greet the servant in the hall and take his leave. 

“Please be ok,” she whispered into the silence of her room. “Please.”

Don’t let him get hurt. Please don’t let the Grandmaster know. 

God, what did the bastard even want?  What had him summoning Loki so early? He couldn’t know, could he? There was no way he could’ve found out she’d woken up in Loki’s bed. 

In his arms.

No. Loki will come back. He has to. This is just more of the Grandmaster’s games, it has to be. Loki will be back soon, and then—

And then he’d look at her with that utterly broken light in his eyes, and she’d pray she could disintegrate and sink into the ground.

The silence chewed at her, the dull, dead throb of it reminding her too much of her headache and the slimy coil of guilt slithering through her stomach. 

Whatever she’d promised Loki during her blackout, he’d wanted it. She hoped—even though the act of hoping burned her, branded her from the inside until she was sure she was filled with nothing but smoke and ash—that it hadn’t just been the promise of sex that left him so torn. 

But sex was important to so many people. It was better this way, wasn’t it? Better to disappoint him now than later, when he moved to touch her and she had to tell him she didn't feel desire that way.

She turned slowly, surveying the destruction of her room. She’d really committed herself to wrecking things, it seemed. She chewed her lip, her eyes beginning to burn.

No. 

She had to focus. She had to do as Loki said and make it plausible she wouldn't hear anyone if they came for her. With more care than she’d ever used for her own clothes, she stripped Loki’s shirt from her body, both relieved and heartbroken that she didn’t remember how it ended up in her possession. Drawing her thumbs across the smooth fabric, she laid the shirt across her bed with reverence, as if it were made of glass. It smelled like him, like cool petrichor and the shade of towering trees. 

So did she. 

She swallowed hard around the painful lump in her throat.

How much had she lost?

That was the worst of it: this certainty that it wasn’t just the promise of sex she’d forgotten, though it seemed indisputable that that had been part of it. They’d connected, in some important way that she now couldn’t uphold. That knowledge was a long, serrated blade through her chest, sawing deeper and deeper. 

She turned, then, and picked her way over the litter of spare parts and wires and tools, stopping at her cabinet to grab a heavy bottle of water. She drank, long and loud and greedy, bypassing the shower and to fill the bath, staring vacantly as the steam curled up off the rising ridge of water. 

It was too hot. She knew that before she even got in. When she did drop herself through the steam and into the bath, she let out a pained hiss through her teeth. It stung her skin, turning it a bright, unforgiving red. The heat made her stomach clamp, and even submerged, she could feel herself instantly beginning to sweat, beads of it pricking the back of her neck, gathering at her damp hairline. It was uncomfortable. Painful. It made her headache hammer and drew her pulse up all through her body, under her ribs and in the soles of her feet and in the tips of her ears and nose.

It hurt.

And yet. 

And yet it felt like purging. Felt like scraping up all the grime and all the muck and shoving it into an incinerator, toxic and noxious, and soon, soon there would be nothing of it left. With two hands, her hot fingers making the glass fog, she leaned back and drank her water. Drank and drank, until the bottle was empty. 

She set the bottle aside, allowing herself one last indulgence: nestling her chin against her collar bone, taking in the lingering scent of Loki clinging to her skin. Filled her lungs with it, as if she could somehow use it to bring him back to her. To bring back the memories she’d lost.

Then she let herself sink beneath the water, holding her breath until her lungs ached. When it hurt too much, she began to exhale, listening to the bubbles surge and pop as they hit the surface. She sat up enough to take in another lungful of air, resting her head back against the ridge of the bath and letting her eyes slip closed.

Only then did she allow herself to fade back into the realm of sleep as her body burned.

But this time, her sleep was not a world of darkness.

This time, it was filled with light and color. Words and whispers. Promises and moments that sparked, waiting, eager to be picked up, to be turned over and polished back to their true, radiant glory. 

Elle didn’t dream.

She remembered. 

“Whatever it is you think you’re doing with Loki, you must stop it now. We both know what our master is capable of, and what we saw tonight is nothing compared to what he’ll do to our king if you keep looking at him that way.”

Some petulant, angry part of Elle thought to deny it, to refute all of it, her feelings and her actions alike. 

It would have been an insult to Rezh’s intelligence. Still, the temptation lingered. 

When Rezh reached for her, Elle nearly ducked away, anything to keep this fragile, shaking wall inside her from breaking apart completely. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything here, and yet, since Loki, everything was different. 

Since Loki, she was different.

Rezh moved slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a growling animal. She didn’t grab. Didn’t force. She merely smoothed stray strands of hair, shaken loose from the Grandmaster’s rough treatment, from Elle’s face, tucking them behind her ears. It was affectionate, somehow. Sisterly. Elle couldn’t quite hide her surprise.

"Attachments are to be expected, but for your sake, they must be fleeting. The only enduring passion we’re allowed is the Grandmaster’s. Do you understand? No one leaves this place, Elle. Ever. It can be good to you, for you, if only you know how to navigate it.” Rezh’s voice went low, becoming more serious than Elle had ever heard it, weighted and thick and so incredibly lonely. “You can have a life, if you only learn to play by his rules. You’ll survive here, if you’ll let yourself. Don’t throw it away now. You’ll only get yourself hurt.” She sighed, a long, mournful sound, pulling Elle in, each of her four arms loose around Elle's much smaller frame, and resting her chin on her head. “And you’ll get Loki killed. Please believe me when I tell you that an instant of joy isn’t worth eons of pain.” 

Once she was alone, it was so easy to reach for the liquor. Automatic, like beat of her heart. Elle poured herself a glass, thinking it would slow her down. 

How ridiculously naive. 

She turned to the bottle as soon as the first glass was gone. She could feel it, when she started to disconnect. When the world around her began to disappear in flashes, like a movie with jarring edits, jerking her to different parts of the room without knowing when she'd moved there.

She yelped, the sharp spine of a connector digging into her foot as she became aware of herself again. She grabbed it up, hurled it against the wall, furious when it didn’t break. Why didn’t it break! Why was she the only pathetic, breakable thing on this entire fucking planet!

She rampaged through the room bit by bit. She ripped apart the hammocks she’d salvaged, tore wires apart, grabbed up half-finished projects and crushed them, hurling the pieces across the room, the bite mark on her neck throbbing in time with the angry rabbiting of her pulse. She was nothing. No one. A toy for the Grandmaster to destroy whenever he felt like it. 

And Loki? 

She couldn’t have Loki. Because as much as she hated it, Rezh was right. Pursuing this attraction would land her in the pleasure circuit, and Loki would be punished. He’d be hurt in every way someone could be hurt. All because of her.

Her head was swimming, vision blurred and limbs distant, just shy of numb. She looked down at the bottle of her hand, only to find it nearly empty.

Too much. 

The thought had never occurred to her before. She'd always grasped for more, more distance, more barriers. More ways to shut herself down and lock the world away.

But now. Now, she looked at that empty bottle and felt every drop of liquor burning in her blood. She didn't feel safe behind its wall. She felt like she was drowning. 

She made a rough, disgusted sound, dropping the bottle near the empty glass over by her cabinet, staring at the door between her room and Loki’s.

Hers and Loki’s. 

Something that was theirs.

The very notion struck her like a thunderclap, sending her to her knees. 

She knew. 

All at once, she knew. 

Sparks of memory. Sounds. Sensations. In the bath, Elle twitched hard, the water splashing around her.

Loki was there. 

When did he get there?

He was reaching for her, speaking to her so fervently, with so much concern in the middle of the absolute wreckage of her room. He was so steady, so attentive. 

And he said her name with such affection. Said it like it meant something, like he didn’t see her shackles or her scars. No, better than that: he saw them, said her name anyway. He didn’t see her as a thing. He saw her, the real Elle, human and terrified and breaking apart and still, he reached for her.

She launched herself at him, grabbing him so tightly her arms shook with the strain, crushing herself to him with as much force as she could muster. She could have cried. Maybe she was already crying. She cried so much more now. Like the wall couldn’t hold while he was there. As if these barriers didn’t need to hold because he was there to catch her, to weather the brunt of all this terrible, inescapable chaos inside her that refused to be beaten back. He didn’t so much as flinch, as if he knew this chaos, recognized it, and welcomed it because it was part of her. Part of her that cried out, not just for stability, not just for safety, but for him. For the stability and safety he alone could give her. 

His arms locked around her, just as ferociously hungry for contact as she was. She could feel his heartbeat racing to match her own. 

His lips against her temple soothed her, eased a part of her that had been bleeding and burning for so, so long.

She cried harder. 

This blue she felt, this cobalt, cool and lovely and affectionate, it was incomplete. It was only half. It was the base of something so much deeper, so much richer.

It was a lightning storm of color, a surge of pink and blue, cobalt and thulian, lapis and amaranth swirling together into something royal, something bruising in its intensity.

She wanted Loki. She needed to hold him, just like this. T o take his face in her hands, to look up at him, into the glittering meadow green of his eyes, that cool and perfect summer storm of color, and capture his lips with hers. She wanted every part of him, his mouth and his mind and his heart, all of it all at once.

And then it was pouring out of her before she could stop it. 

“I thought it was blue, Loki, but it’s not. It’s pink. It’s purple. It’s all the things I didn’t think I would feel again and I keep breaking down because of it.” 

And not just that. Everything.

She told him everything. 

“It’s like a switch, one that’s been off most of my life. I want… this. I like affection. I like…” Her eyes flickered to his mouth. His perfect, strong mouth, somehow made so delicate when he smiled. “I like kissing.”

“It’s so much, so purple now it almost hurts. But I can’t promise you more than that, and if we need to stop this, we need to stop it now. Sex is important to a lot of people and if it’s not something you can live without, then I need to stop this before I… before we go any further.”

He pressed his thumb to her lips, pressed hard like the kiss he would give her as soon as she was truly with him. “If you were not so completely and utterly drunk, I would kiss you into senselessness, do you understand me? There would be no hope for you. I would worship your lips with mine until we were lost for breath and knew only the feel of each other.”

God, how her lips burned at the promise.

An actual wave of relief and bright, sparkling joy spun from the tips of her toes up through her legs, her stomach, stalling to crash around her thundering heart, so hard she felt it pulsing in her throat.

He accepted her. Even knowing he may never have her physically, he wanted her. She laughed. What else could she possibly do? He’d seen all that dark desperation in her, and he’d filled her up with starlight. 

With galaxies. 

He took her to his room. Dressed her in his clothes. Did everything in his power to remove the memory of the Grandmaster’s touch from her body, driving it out with the sheer, unimaginable pleasure of having him so close. 

The Hulk. 

Survival.

His mother.

Her home.

So much intimacy. So much promise. All of it theirs, shared and soothing and perfect. 

Rezh’s warning. The Grandmaster’s wrath. None of it mattered. How could it? Eons of pain, if they ever came, would be worth this stolen moment. She would burn a thousand times if it meant she could keep the memory of tonight. If she could keep Loki here, safe and cherished and warm in her arms. As safe and cherished and warm as she was in his. 

Elle jolted upright, a rough yell tearing free of her throat to echo across through the bathroom. The water was cold and she was shivering hard, teeth clattering. She groaned, swearing quietly and hauling herself out of the bath. She dried herself harshly, the roughness of it making her skin raw and pink. It was a surge of sensation, too much, all over her skin to match the torrent of memories set loose in her mind.

She had to stop. Had to think. Jesus, she had to think.

That was real, wasn’t it? All of it.

There was a strange sense of certainty, the feeling of disparate pieces fusing together, that told her it was. She pulled her towel around herself, fingertips moving to press against her lips. 

Loki had touched her like this. Loki wanted to touch her like this. He’d seen her, all of her, even her limits. 

And he still said yes. 

The lightning struck again, a riot of pinks and blues. Her own fingers against her mouth were woefully inadequate. She needed Loki. She needed him to know she remembered.

Needed him to know that she wouldn't take it back.

She shook her hands through her dripping hair, beginning to pace. 

How much time had passed? Enough for the water to go cold, enough for her to shiver herself awake. But he wasn’t back yet. Why wasn’t he back yet? What had the Grandmaster done with him?

“Fuck!”

She flew into her room, dressing as quickly as her hands would allow. She fought back the urge to run into the hall, knowing that her sudden appearance might jeopardize whatever scheme Loki surely had in motion with this errand. That left her no choice but to wait. Wait, and plan. She’d get it all sorted, everything she’d say once he was back. Once she knew he was safe, she’d tell him she remembered everything. She’d apologize, tell him that she wouldn't take any of it back, that she wouldn’t trade last night for anything, not anything, not her comfort or the promise of her freedom.

Elle froze, the wind knocking out of her as the full implication of what she was thinking crashed into her. She finished pulling the strap of her dress over her shoulder, lowering herself down to sit on the arm of her sofa.

Everything she wanted, every single thing that promised to light her up with joy, was dangerous. The Grandmaster was violent and cruel, and at any moment, he could hurt her and Loki both. Choosing Loki, pursuing what they started last night, was a risk. They’d be watched, scrutinized—every lingering glance, every moment they so much as stood too close together would become a liability. They were already tempting fate by planning their escape. Hell, they’d already tempted fate this morning—if the servant had tried the door, or if it hadn’t been locked, they would’ve been caught. The Grandmaster’s supposed virgin and Asgard's fallen king would have been executed together.

It didn't change anything. Even knowing the risks, knowing the blatant, idiotic danger it put her in, put them both in, she wanted nothing more than to curl back up against him, just like last night.

Her head fell. No. Not exactly like last night.

She’d learned so much about him, and really, she’d told him so little. She’d told him about her home, sure. Her kitchen. Little things. Important, at least to her, but so small in comparison.

She’d still lied. Maybe by omission rather than outright manipulation, but he still didn’t know the whole truth of it. 

That she was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

That she’d meant to turn him in. 

That if she chose Loki—

“I can't go home.” As if speaking the words out loud would do anything to ease this storm of color and want. 

She’d meant for Loki to be her bargaining chip. That first night, it was all she could think about: how he would be her ticket back to her normal life. She’d gone to him that first night with that very image in her head: the image of Loki in heavy metal cuffs, furious and feral as Director Fury took him in. She’d imagined her own cell, sterile and quiet, but temporary, a place to lay low while her case was reviewed. She imagined telling Director Fury everything—explaining why she pulled the trigger, why the Chitauri weapon was in her hands to begin with. Explaining that she hadn’t meant to fire at him or the other agents. It was an accident. It was all just a horrible, disastrous accident.

And she’d tell him about Sakaar. She’d tell him how she survived, all the clever things she’d done to keep herself safe. About life forms she saw, the portals, the vastness of it.

And in this fantasy, he understood. Director Fury was stern and disciplined, but he knew desperation, didn’t he? He’d fought enough of his own battles to recognize it. He knew how to survive, and if she just had a moment, just a little time to explain herself, he’d understand. She’d driven herself to numbness, to this vacant, brittle shell of herself, in order to preserve that moment. To earn that moment. So that when the time came, she could tell him proudly and honestly that she’d done everything in her power to survive, just like he would have done. To get back home and set things right. 

And she’d give him Loki. One last token of goodwill. She’d surrender the villain that kept them all awake at night, and buy back her freedom.

How much easier it was before she knew better, when she’d been able to reduce Loki down to this single imaginary fragment. When she’d shoved all her curiosity aside and saw him as the one-dimensional caricature S.H.I.E.L.D. designed for her. 

How much easier it was, before she knew the feel of him. Before she knew how, despite the coolness of his skin, she was perfectly warm curled against his side. Content and protected without being owned.

Before he’d proven that he would protect her at all costs, would choose her, care for her, even when he thought she’d rejected him. 

“I won’t do it.” As if Fury could hear her. As if he was leveling her with his stern stare. “I won’t turn him in.”

S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t here. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t protecting her, wasn’t holding her, wasn’t making her feel like she was a person again.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had never been what had made her look up at the stars at night, full of wonder and the need to understand. 

Loki was. 

And if it meant not going home? If it meant stepping foot on Earth would earn her nothing but a black-site prison cell or a bullet between the eyes?

Fine. I’ll take a bullet. I’ll take a cell. But I won’t trade his freedom for mine. 

Everything went still. 

I have to tell him everything. If I’m going to do this for real, I have to tell him the truth. About S.H.I.E.L.D. About the Chitauri weapon. About what going back to Earth would mean. That I meant to turn him in. All of it.

Fear rushed up to bite at her, sinking its jaws into the back of her neck and sending a cold, sharp wave down her spine.

If I tell him, he might leave. He might never forgive me. But to let this continue without him knowing the truth? I can’t. I can’t do that to him.

It threatened to break her, the thought of hurting him like that. 

She shook her head. 

There’s a chance he’ll forgive me. 

And if he did? What then?

We run. Wherever we go, we go together.

She’d been missing for months anyway, hadn’t she? Maybe everyone thought she was dead. She could just go set up shop in Belize, or Calgary, or hell, they could herd sheep on the Faroe Islands. They could take up in some little cottage, build their own generator, spend their days hiking the severe green mountains and keeping the herd in line, and they’d be far enough away from civilization that Loki would be protected. He’d be safe and she’d be forgotten, one more casualty in the files. They could have those waffles, safe and free and together.

Oh, Elle.

One night. One night and she was already planning to, what? Run away with Loki? Abandon everything she knew so they could become fugitives on a planet that would hunt them down at all costs? What was the alternative? Become fugitives in space? Go back to Asgard?

“There is only victory, only joy, so long as we're together.”

Loki’s words from the night before echoed through her, indisputable and beautiful, picking up the pieces of her heart and making them shine so bright they could only meld back together. 

It was too soon to be thinking of running off with him. She knew that, felt foolish for letting herself get so wrapped up in the idea of it so quickly. But god, she wanted it. Wanted him, every day until there was no more time left to confine them. 

She pressed her palm to her sternum, feeling her pulse hammering out a desperate plea: 

Tell him. 

Tell him. 

Tell him!

She couldn’t have him yet. Not until she told him the truth. No matter how much it hurt, she had to pretend that last night didn’t happen. 

She had to tell him about S.H.I.E.L.D. first. Only then could she tell him she remembered last night. And then, if he still wanted her, if he could forgive her—

Then, and only then, could she kiss him.

She blinked, realizing she was touching her mouth again, her lips having parted in her desire. She shook her head, lowering her hands back into her lap. She would tell him everything. Even if it meant destroying the little fantasy she'd taken up so insistently, so deep it didn’t feel like fantasy at all, but hope. 

Even if it meant he didn’t choose her after all. 

Better than letting him choose me under false pretenses. Better than lying to him any more than I already have.

If he forgave her?

Then I’ll tell him I remember. I’ll tell him I remember every word from last night, and I’ll make him see that I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not even to go back home.

Then she could hold him. Could kiss him. Could make it so every night was like what they’d had last night. 

All she had to do was tell him.

Chapter Text

“This is ridiculous.”

Elle shoved her hair away from her face, snapping down to grab at the skirts of her dress, hoisting them up and tying the gauzy fabric off at her upper thighs. She huffed, dropping her hands to her hips and scanning the room.

Bed bin, done. Wire bundles, rebraided. Pliers, picked up. Screwdrivers, sorted. Broken pieces, dumped in the trash chute. Sofa bins…  Ugh, sofa bins.

She huffed again, chin hitting her chest before she rolled her shoulders and decided that, yes, she would get to sofas squared away.

It helped. She was okay. Sort of. 

No. That was a lie. 

Loki had been gone for over two hours. 

It didn’t help. 

She wasn’t okay. 

Where is he?

She bit back the clawing, nagging panic that pushed its way from her belly up into her throat, pulsing loud and hard along with the beat of her heart. 

The Grandmaster knows about last night. He knows, and Loki’s in trouble, and I’m sitting here doing nothing. And if the Grandmaster doesn’t know? Then he’s off with Loki in god knows what corner of the palace, with god knows which of his favorites, and fuck if that bastard even touches Loki I swear—

“Stop.”

She hissed the word out loud, pressing her fists against her eyes. 

This was why she hadn’t stopped moving all morning. Because as soon as she stopped, the panic caught up with her, and if she wasn’t imagining every worst-case scenario possible, she was thinking about what she’d have to say when Loki came back. 

I work for S.H.I.E.L.D., and I was going to turn you in. 

Please don’t look at me like that. I'm crazy about you. I know you now, and everything I thought I knew before has changed. I can’t have my old life. I don’t want my old life. Not if we’re going to do… whatever it is we’re doing.

What if he curled his lip in disgust? Maybe he’d shove her away from him, sending her sprawling back, tripping over her feet and crashing to the ground. Maybe he’d look at her like he had this morning, with so much anguish in his eyes that he could have stabbed her and she never would have felt the blade. 

No matter what script she ran, no matter what scenario she conjured, it always ended the same way: with her staring at Loki’s back as he turned away. The quiet of her room pressing down on her as he left for good this time. Left like Josie had. Like he had, when she called him a monster. 

Alone. No, worse than alone: rejected, in the way she deserved.

The panic came clawing back, sharper and more grasping than before. 

She all but sprinted forward, dropping to her knees and chewing her lip as she began to sort through the mess around her sofas with singular focus. 

It was easier with the dress tied up, she noted. The clothing of Sakaar clearly hadn’t been designed with stress-cleaning in mind. She used to be able to do this in bike shorts and a tank top. She’d vacuum like the devil was after her, stomping along behind it as the washing machine and dishwasher competed to make the most noise. She’d Windex her windows so aggressively that her arms would be sore the next day. She’d end up tired and sweaty and smelling more like various cleaners than her beloved dryer sheets, but she’d feel like she’d brought some order to her inner chaos.

Elle hadn’t stress-cleaned in a long time, hadn’t allowed herself to think about the routines that calmed her back on Earth. She usually just drank it all away. 

She eyed her cabinet. She’d be lying if she said the temptation wasn’t there. Her tongue burned for it, even now. Even knowing it would hurt. 

But she would absolutely not have another drunken conversation with Loki. Especially not this one. It was too important. The timing was too crucial and she had to be ready. 

Even if the act of being ready left her vibrating with tension that even this vigorous cleaning wasn’t quite burning off. 

She forced the entirety of her focus onto the task at hand. She made record time, mowing through the rest of the room in only another hour, even putting away the items she’d packed in her haphazard plan to escape.

And then she was left with a clean room, but still no Loki.

“Fuck.”

With nothing left to do but pace, her mind began to twist, this time spiralling out and away from the worst-case scenarios, drawn to the glowing flame of fantasy she’d resolutely avoided all morning: being able to touch him again.

Being able to finally take the kiss he’d promised her. 

She bit her lip again, trying her best not to picture it. Trying not to want it so badly. His forgiveness. His touch. His kiss. All of it.

She failed spectacularly. 

“Make sure he’s okay,” she muttered, nails picking at the knot keeping her dress held up. “Safety first. Then confession. Then tell him I remember last night. Then, if it’s okay, kiss.”

Kiss was last. Definitely last. It had to be. 

She was reminding herself of that when the knock finally came. 

Not at her door. At their door. Quiet, hesitant. Barely a whisper of knuckles. 

She was across the room in an instant, whipping it open.

Her breath left her all at once. 

“Loki.”

His shoulders were low, chin angled downward. He was blinking slowly, fingers curled into fists. She swore those circles hadn’t been under his eyes when he left. He looked more than tired; he looked deflated, like something that had been holding him steady had been knocked out of him. 

Me. 

It rose up like a wave, dark and ruthless. 

Me. I did this.

She couldn't hold her gaze steady. She took in the skin of his hands, his wrists. The fitted leather over his chest. Shoulders, throat, jaw. All intact. All clean. 

Except—

She didn’t realize she’d moved until her fingertips brushed his temple, breath shaking as she pushed up onto her toes. She fought to keep herself calm.

Failed spectacularly once again.

“You’re hurt.” She wiped the blood away with her thumb, pawing at his hair as gently as she could with her hands shaking as badly as they were. “What did he do?”

The venomous waver in her voice made him blink.

Where’s the wound? How bad is it? 

Her hands fell to cup his face, tugging him down to her level, eyes moving frantically over his own as the roar of blood swam in her ears.

“Elle—”

“Did he give you anything? What did he hit you with? I’ll jam an obedience disk under his tongue and—”

“This isn’t my blood.”

Elle froze, head pulling back, even as her hands remained locked over his cheeks. “It’s not?”

His skin was soft and cool, hands sliding up to cover her own. Giving her a slight squeeze.

“There is no wound. He hasn’t given me anything. The blood is not mine, I promise you.”

She blinked, swallowing hard as her gaze moved back to his temple. He was right. There was no wound. Not so much as a scrape. Only the red, tacky smear from where she’d touched him. 

Where she was still touching him. 

An echo from the night before sliced through her.

“I don’t think anyone in my long life has ever been as protective of me as you are.”

Loki seemed to realize it, too. A strange look passed over his features, heavy with longing. With sorrow. 

His gaze dropped and she felt him tense. She glanced down at herself and cringed, suddenly itching to tear the room apart once more.

Her dress was still tied short, body on near full display while she grabbed at him again, imposing on him an intimacy she herself had just denied. Without even meaning to, she’d recreated their morning. The morning she’d taken from him, and now had to pretend didn’t exist.

Tell him, her mind hissed. 

The thought persisted for only a moment. Just until his eyes closed, lips thinning as he slid her hands from his face, depositing them back down by her sides. His fingers lingered over hers, twitching lightly, as if he wanted nothing more than to bear down and drag her back to him. As if he took as much solace in the contact as she did. 

But something as simple as contact was tainted now, wasn’t it? It didn’t mean the same things for them. Not while she was keeping secrets. Not while she was lying. 

When his eyes opened, they were distant. As cold as the greasy coil of guilt sliding through her as she picked at the knot in her dress, shaking her skirts down over her legs. Even covered, she felt exposed, flayed open by her inability to keep away from him. He took deliberate half-step back, the space opening like a frigid gulf between them. He stood to his full height, wiping the last of the blood from his face. 

The way he looked at her. She didn’t know what was worse: his anguish from this morning, or this cold, impassive mask. A mask that told her she’d lost him. Elle’s heart gave a pained, pleading shudder before sinking into the basin of her gut. 

“What happened?”

He wouldn’t meet her gaze, looking instead over her shoulder and into her room. When he spoke, his voice was nearly hollow. Restrained. As if keeping himself away. “The Grandmaster called me as a witness to Otho’s execution.”

If her heart could have slid down any further, it would have. Instead, it gave a harsh, icy lurch. “He called you in my place. Didn’t he?”

His gaze fell.

“Oh god. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

His body swayed, just a fraction, as if he was moving to lean forward. To move closer to her. Close enough to pull her into his arms. 

But stopped himself. 

Respecting the goddamn barrier she had thrown up between them. She felt a scream perching just beneath her tongue.

“The execution was not brief. But he does not suspect that we— He doesn’t know.”

Said so simply. As if the implication wasn’t heavy enough to destroy her. Her mouth tugged to the side, her stomach giving a distracting flip. “Thanks to you, I’m guessing.”

A soft huff. Almost a laugh, more sad than bitter. “I spoke to him after he—” His jaw tensed, mouth pinching, a blade of anger slicing into his voice. “When he assaulted you. I made it clear that witnessing death jeopardizes a clairvoyant's power.”

Oh.

He’d protected her. Again. Had her spared from yet more violence. 

“Tell me,” she said, winding her arms over her stomach. Her hands ached with the strain of not reaching for him. “Tell me what happened.”

She shouldn’t be asking this here. She should be taking his hand, leading him back to bed, getting back into pajamas (his pajamas), pulling his head into her lap and running her fingers through his hair as he told her what kind of nightmare-fuel was found at an official Sakaaran execution. She could hold him close and share this burden with him. 

That hard, distant expression softened. Just at the edges. Just a little. But it was enough to spill violet warmth all through her. “I’d rather not. You already carry so many of this planet’s horrors with you. This one is mine to bear.”

It was gentle. Kind. Not as open as this morning, but the promise of their shared intimacy still rang in it. 

It felt like reaching solid ground after hours of treading water. Like finally seeing the glow of home through a dark, ravenous wood. He was still there. Hidden, buried, but maybe, maybe if she gathered up all her resolve and all her courage, she could salvage this. 

She took a breath, long and deep, and dredged up her words from the hollow of her chest, where they scraped and burned on their way out. 

“Look, can we…” She sniffed, pulling her arms tighter around herself. It’s okay. He’s okay. That’s the most important part. Now, comes the hard part. Do the hard part. Do it while there’s still something left to save. 

“Can we sit down for a minute? I’d really like to talk about—”

“There’s no time.”

Clipped. Terse. Barbed. 

Loki, please.

He shook his head, as if the tone of his own voice surprised him. His eyes moved restlessly, barely landing on hers before darting away. 

He won’t even look at me.

He sighed, a sharp, hard sound, dragging a hand through his hair. It made him look softly disheveled again, like how’d he’d looked when he’d just woken up. Soft and gentle, with that lazy, sprawling grin. What she wouldn’t give to go back, to redo the morning, to press up closer to him instead of pulling away. 

“Can’t we make time?” She hated how close she was to begging. How small and pleading her voice was. 

Just let me explain. Just sit with me for a minute and I’ll tell you everything.

Instead, Loki shook his head, brow pinching as he retrieved a cylindrical key from his pocket. “Never let it be said that I have not earned my Silvertongue moniker.” Said without humor, tone far too flat, void of any levity. 

“What is it?"

“The Grandmaster’s private key to the palace gates.”

Elle’s jaw fell. 

“A loan, not a gift. I’ve been tasked with taking you for a turn outside the palace walls.”

“When did this happen?”

He shrugged, rubbed at his eyes. The fatigue she saw was a thin disguise over a lingering fissure of hurt. “As I said, I spoke with the Grandmaster briefly last night. I set a plan in motion to grant you more freedom, both within and outside the palace. Since I was the one who suggested bringing you outside, he’s bestowed the task upon me, as I imagined he would.”

“Oh.”

Oh, you brilliant, clever perfection of a man. I could kiss you.

She wanted to say it. She burned to say it.

I can’t. I have to tell him first. But he doesn’t want to talk to me. 

Of course not. Why would he?

“That’s... great.” She wished she sounded more excited. This was their chance to get outside. To look for more ways to escape. Loki had orchestrated it perfectly, and yet, there was this strain between them. This heavy, suffocating ache.

“When, um… when do we leave?”

“Now. He wishes for me to bring you through the market today before we join him later this afternoon.” Loki turned the key over in his hands, as if to give himself something to focus on. Anything but her. “We’ll be watched, I imagine. Followed. This will be a test for both of us. He’ll be watching to see if we—”

If we show any sort of affection, she knew.

His pause was abrupt, and she all but heard the tear in it. The pain of thinking their night together was his alone to yearn for. The pain of thinking that whatever she remembered of it, she wished to erase.

“He’ll be watching to see if we’re loyal, waiting to see if we try to run.” It was a good cover. Delivered well. God, he was so smart, wasn’t he. Clever and cunning.

Each strand of muscle in her legs tightened with the force it took to hold herself still. To keep from closing this ridiculous space between them and curling back into the comfort of his chest. 

“We won’t.” She said it with such conviction that it made him raise his head. 

“No,” he agreed. “We will be cautious. But we should use our time wisely.”

“We should still look for the Quinjet, you mean.”

“Precisely. It would be wise to wander, see if our chaperones get bored of us and venture off or if we need to shake them. Either way, we’ll need to be adaptable.”

Elle nodded, not so much resolute as resigned. This was a frustrating setback, but she would be patient. She’d treat it like a mission, almost as if she was a field agent. She’d get through this errand, would endure the cold, numbed-out way he was talking to her, was looking at her. She’d make it through the Grandmaster’s little test. She’d tell him tonight, once they were back.

She’d already waited this long to tell him. She’d just have to wait a bit longer.

She had no choice.

“I think we can manage that,” she said.

His lips quirked, and it pained her knowing he couldn’t smile the way he had this morning, before she ruined everything. She wanted nothing more than to make him smile like that again, warm and open. 

Soon. Get through this field trip and then, as soon as we’re back, tell him.

“Come. We’ve work to do.”

“Oh, god.”

Loki never thought this was how he would die. 

When he was young, if he thought of it at all, he was certain it would happen on the battlefield, Thor at his side, glory shining just ahead of them through the open gates of Valhalla. 

For a long time, he thought he’d die in Sanctuary, pieces of him strewn like so many malignant asteroids through space, his screams swallowed up by the vast, indifferent darkness between the stars.

Never had he imagined it would come to this: the sound of Elle’s soft gasp as she pressed back into him. The strain of not being able to take her into his arms, not being able to hold her close and steady. To have her so warm and near and know he could not have her. That she’d forgotten him—

Yes. He would die here. On this disgusting planet, in the middle of a dusty, overcrowded, overheated market, as the woman he wanted more than anything in this universe stood with her back to him, wide-eyed and overwhelmed as she pushed against him for support. 

As if there was a chance she might still want him, even though she could not remember how much they’d shared.

His heart sheared itself in two, beating all through him in thundering, desolate echoes. 

This was worse, even, than this morning. Worse than the terror on her face or the realization that their night together was lost.

He’d seen her fear on this planet several times. But seeing it directed at him, seeing the questions running through her mind, knowing she feared the worst? That had broken him. Had smashed him down into so many pieces that mere hours ago, he had been beyond hope. It was familiar to him: the return to that dark, miserable place inside him. Lonely and rejected, and so, so cold. But how could he ever survive there now that he knew the feel of her? Knew that, simply by looking at him, her dark eyes grew even warmer? That she had wanted him, even if she'd forgotten?

The hopelessness of it had allowed him to watch impassively as the pitiful creature that was Otho was slowly taken apart. Not melted. Not shot or strangled or poisoned. Removed from himself piece by piece, in ways that were horrifyingly, sickeningly familiar. But Loki had taken refuge inside his own misery, replaying Elle’s fear over and over in his mind. He hadn’t even flinched when Otho’s blood spattered across his face.

It felt bottomless. Empty. Like losing himself to the vast reaches of space once more. And there, he knew, he would stay. He would live the rest of his life there, alone and drifting.

But then Elle had answered the door.

He knew cold. He knew pain. 

He was not accustomed to goodness, or softness, or having that pain treated as something to be loathed, as anything other than currency.

She threw open her door for him as if she’d been waiting. And the way she said his name: breathless and all but glowing. 

And gods help him, she saw everything. Saw the blood, just as visceral as the anguish he knew was still reflected in his eyes. And then her hands were on him, just as gentle, but fervent now. The venom in her voice when she thought he’d been hurt, her livid declaration that she would jam an obedience disk into the Grandmaster’s mouth…

He had never heard her threaten violence against her captor. Never. But at the mere insinuation of a wound on his own skin, she had been angry enough to rail against the tyrant. 

She hadn’t moved away afterward. She’d remained close, so close he could smell the warm, richly floral scent of bath oils clinging to her. Her eyes were clear this time, clear and bright and dark, nearly lush when she looked at him. It was the way she’d looked at him last night, but present. 

As if she still wanted him. 

This was far, far worse than any death. This was limbo. This took his broken pieces and ground them into dust. Knowing she’d feared him? Had rejected him, and could still look at him like this? He couldn’t endure her touch after that. Couldn’t even let her speak. Whatever she’d wished to say, whatever she’d thought to discuss with him, he couldn’t stand to hear it. He couldn’t listen to her explain a rejection. Could not fathom standing still while she either confirmed that their night together was lost, or told him she truly wished to erase it. 

He was still reeling, too much, too fast. He needed her, and she wanted to talk. He couldn’t handle the thought of talking, not unless he could pin her to him, bury his nose in the smooth, sweet place beneath her ear and breathe her in, feeling the vibrations of her voice cascading over his lips as she spoke. 

And so he’d rushed them off on this errand. This errand that would have been such a victory mere days ago: a chance to explore outside the palace. Even as they were followed, they would have the opportunity to survey their surroundings, to sneak away into the landfills and search for the Quinjet. 

But now, everything was different. He stood on the howling precipice of hope and despair, knowing full well that Elle had pulled away from him, and knowing just as surely that now, she seemed to have come back. Back enough to gasp so softly and press back into him, as if he was the only safety, the only stability she knew. 

He couldn’t do this. This would kill him. This is how he would die. 

It took every ounce of his strength to reach for her, to push her forward gently. Her body detaching from his own felt like a blade ripping into him. 

“It’s all right.” He took some pride in how steady his voice sounded. In how she looked up at him over her shoulder, those brilliant, dark eyes of hers softening as she looked at him.

Don’t. I cannot do this again.

“It’s just a city,” he said, looking away from her. Not because he wanted to; because he must. “We can manage.”

I have you. Always. Do you have me? 

Please, Elle, tell me if you have me.

She gave a small nod, that softness in her eyes nearly tricking him into thinking she was answering the question he had not asked. Then she turned back and looked ahead of them. 

It was chaos. The path ahead instantly split into over a dozen streets, each of those streets further splitting not too far from where they stood. There were beings and bodies and piles of food and fabric in every available square inch, each and every bit of it sending up its own cacophony. The intermingling was the worst: fabrics were knocked to dip into thick stews, only to be wiped off quickly and sold sullied. Passersby stuck their hands in to sample the offerings as they passed, licking their fingers before trying the next cart. Even the carts with jewelry or tools were not spared: nearly every item was smeared with greasy fingerprints and dust, most only getting a cursory wipe as old customers made way for the new.

“Don’t touch anything,” he cautioned, grimacing.

When Elle looked at him, he saw his own expression mirrored on her face. “Didn’t plan on it.”

He allowed himself to touch her then: the barest caress of his fingertips over her elbow. He thought he felt goosebumps rise under his fingers, a small tremor winding its way over her. 

“This way.” He steered her to the left, having to focus to pull his attention from the feel of her skin to the paths head. “Remember, we’re being followed. We must make it appear we are simply wandering the streets.”

They did not move in any sort of rush, instead keeping up with the steady throng of bodies that moved around them. Every so often, they stopped at one of the carts, looking over the strange assortment of items. Though, when the current shop-owner’s back was turned, he did catch a flash of movement as Elle’s distractingly lithe fingers darted to snatch a thin tool between her thumb and forefinger, quickly depositing it into her pocket. 

He arched a brow.

“Velaxi drill,” she explained under her breath. “Practically indestructible, uses lasers instead of actual drillbits.” She waggled her fingertips at him. “Worth getting a little dirty for.” And then she gave him true smile, like she’d given him last night. One that reached into his chest and began to squeeze. 

Gods help him, he wanted her. Despite the pain that still smoldered inside him, he could not resist that smile. He found himself returning it, reaching into his own pocket and pulling out a large gold coin, embossed with the Grandmaster’s grinning profile. He laid it on the cart where she’d taken the drill.

“Where’d you get that?” The hushed reverence in her voice, the tiny, giddy tremor of surprise, flared into a glow behind his lungs, making his breath come quick and clean. 

“From one of our chaperones. We crossed paths with them a few streets back.”

Her mouth fell into a pleasing little O as she leaned in close to whisper up at him. “You pickpocketed a palace guard?” She didn’t sound the least bit surprised. No, she sounded eager. Excited. 

All the tricks he could perform, all the magic he could (usually) wield, and she found delight in his simple theft from their captors. 

Oh, my darling, just you wait until I can show you the full breadth of what I would do for you.

He blinked, the intensity of his own thoughts surprising him. Was he not only moments ago ruminating on how he was sure he was going to die? How had she turned him around so completely?

Because something is different. She’s acting differently. More relaxed. At ease with me. That fear, that hesitation…

It’s gone. 

Loki felt his blood kick up, rushing through him hard and loud, drowning out the din of the market. 

You remember, don’t you? Perhaps not all of last night, but pieces of it, portions of what we shared. You remember. 

How. 

How was he supposed to keep himself from her now?

Elle really couldn’t be sure if the shared act of theft made things better or worse. 

Better, because he’d smiled. Because that iciness in his demeanor finally cracked and she saw the real Loki, her Loki, peek through. 

But so much worse, because now she had his attention, total and resolute. She’d been on Sakaar long enough to know when she was being watched, but this? This was something else entirely. 

This was a different kind of hunger. Loki’s eyes didn’t cling to her body, not like the Grandmaster’s did. No, he was watching her face. Her eyes. Her mouth. If he did drop his attention, it was to look at her hands. Watching for signs of tension, she knew. Reading her reactions, her mood.

He knows something's changed. 

How can he know?

She had half a mind to slap herself. 

Because he’s good at this. He’s clever and attentive and observant, and smarter than anyone I’ve ever met. Maybe everyone I’ve ever met. 

She ducked her head, moving off into the shade of some wet laundry hanging from a power line. He followed, only taking his eyes off her to scan the space where the market opened up into what looked like a busy food court, tents set up over a sea of crowded tables. As she made a show of examining a spool of some metallic fabric, Loki leaned in next to her, so close that if she even breathed in too deeply, her shoulder would graze his own. 

“Any sign of them?”

He crossed his arms, elbow nudging hers. No doubt noticing when she didn’t pull away. “They’re both keeping their distance. They were closer when we started out, but they seem to be growing bored.”

Elle lifted one of the smaller, cleaner-looking spools, unwinding just enough to give her an excuse to turn and admire it in the light. She scanned the crowd quickly. “Where?”

There was a pause. And then his cool fingertips slipped along the back of her neck, his touch equal parts tender and demanding. It wracked a shiver straight down through her spine and into her heels. When his grip tightened, just by a fraction, she found herself pushing back into his touch, instantly feeling a flush in her cheeks and neck. It ignited in her lips, in her hands, in the need to turn and touch him, to pull him in and bury her nose against his throat. 

Not yet, and definitely not here. 

Loki derailed her train of thought as he turned her head just slightly to the left, leveling her gaze on a trio of crowded tables all jammed together. “There.” Maybe she imagined it, but he sounded strained. Had he felt her push into him?

Had he liked it?

Focus, Elle.

There were nine, maybe ten people crammed in together, playing some game that reminded Elle of a combination of dominoes and spoons, based on how hard they were slapping at each other’s hands. The claws on a few of the participants made her wince.

She could only focus on that for a moment, as he gave the back of her neck another gentle squeeze. “The ones in the gold jackets. Subtlety is such a foreign concept to our host.”

Had Elle not been on the verge of losing all composure, she might have laughed. As it was, she was imagining spinning around, letting Loki’s hand wrap around her throat, loose and gentle just like that, and pressing forward, up onto her toes, up so she could reach him—

No!

Shit, this was horrible. When was the last time that lightning-strike of pink was this distracting?

Only with Josie, her mind supplied unhelpfully. Only then and never since. Making her buzz with the need to be touched: her arms, her legs. Her throat. Clavicles and knuckles and the sensitive skin behind her knees. She envied people who felt attraction in only one place; when she felt it, it was everywhere, a starvation for intimacy that couldn't be confined by sexual desire. It left her mouth dry, wanting nothing more than the press of his mouth against her ear and the velvet drag of his voice around her, lost to everything but him. She’d come to understand that not wanting to have sex didn’t mean her body wouldn't respond once colors surged; it was just a different kind of desire. The kind that made everything inside her sit up and howl. It made the buzzing in her skin that much harder to ignore. It didn’t need to reach between her thighs, didn’t have to be hot silk or desperate satin to drive her half insane. 

Elle swallowed thickly, hearing the catch in her own breath. “They seem distracted. Should we...?”

“Not yet. They’re winning. They can afford to look up at us while they’re winning.”

The loss of his touch was a rabid, painful thing. She felt the ghost of each fingertip lingering in her skin like a circle of frost.

“The one on the left is also cheating,” he said, folding his arms back across his chest. “We’ll give them a few more rounds. Once they lose a few hands, we’ll need to move quickly. Their distraction will be total, but short lived.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She’d already let some of this giddy affection slip into her voice when he took out the coin, and the longer this went on, the clearer it became: being around Loki was exhilarating. Even when they were still and calm together, his very presence made things electric, made everything seem more, somehow. Heavier, more saturated, thick like the air before a storm.

His hand around her wrist startled her, his grip tight. Her skin came alive under his touch. 

“Now.”

He spun on his heel casually, at odds with the hurried precision in his tone. In just a few moments, they were winding around this cart and that, moving in tandem with a current of people, their pace steady and far slower than she expected. Loki didn’t seem bothered. He kept a rather bored expression firmly in place, eyes continuing to sweep the carts as if he were merely browsing. 

She mirrored him, scanning the carts emptily even as her heart rattled in her chest. His fingers tightened around her wrist, almost as if he could feel her pulse beneath his fingers. As if he wanted to feel more of it.

They made it to the end of the alley by the time they heard a quick shout flick into the air. Then the sound of chairs scraping back. Loki paused, gaze snapping between two alleys.

“What is it?”

“Wait.”

The sound of game pieces scattering. A table being tossed. Shouts, in the cadence of an accusation. 

And finally, the thunder of fists.

Loki made a hard right, pulling her into an empty alley. “Run!”

She did. 

She raced to keep up, following blindly as they wove from alley to alley, ducking behind old, overturned and through curtains, whipping through sparsely attended shops and dodging any oncoming patrons as they rushed by. 

The alleys began to thin, giving way, not to the loose structures of cobbled-together steel and curtains, but piles and piles of garbage, taller than the both of them. They hooked a quick left, darting out into the edges of the landfill. 

Elle’s lungs burned, legs began to shake. Debris and abandoned tech and ships of all kinds blurred past as they continued to dart further into the landfills, covering as much ground as possible while they had the chance. 

Loki rounded a severe right-hand corner, skidding to a halt and dragging her with him into the hollowed-out body of a two-person cruiser. He backed her up against the wall with one arm across her waist, leaning to the side to watch and listen. “Stay still. Our chaperones should have been detained in the fight, but we must be sure we weren’t followed.”

She nodded, struggling to catch her breath as Loki scanned the grounds for any sign of movement. 

Should’ve kept up with cardio. Jesus. 

His breathing was smooth and even, such a harsh contrast against her own ragged panting. She was so focused on the difference that it took a minute to register the movement: Loki’s fingers, curling in small, soothing circles just in the dip of her waist. She risked a glance up at him, only to find he was still staring out across the landfill. This movement, it was automatic. Unintentional. The mindless, needful way his body sought hers.

It felt good. It felt so good.

Oh god, I can’t do this. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

It was several more moments before his arm fell away, but still, he didn’t let her go. His fingers circled her wrist once more, pulling her gently out of the cruiser. “Come. Let’s see if we can find the Quinjet and get our bearings.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Her voice sounded small, even in her own ears. Drowned out by the angry reminder drumming in her head. Focus! Find the ship. Find the ship, get back to the palace, and confess. I have to tell him. 

I have to tell him!

She repeated it over and over as they picked their way across the landfill, moving around miniature cruisers and larger, blundering bodies of long-forgotten vessels. She’d had the courage in her room, but out here, she’d been derailed. He’d cut her off, and now he was looking at her again, was touching her again.

She swallowed hard, scrambling for her script. I’m a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I’m crazy about you and I work—worked—for S.H.I.E.L.D.

No matter how good you feel, you need to stop touching me like that because I can’t think straight and my heart’s racing and, god, if you so much as look at me too intensely I’m going to lose my entire goddamn mind and—

“Norns.” The tension in his voice had her instantly on edge, head whipping up to see what had grabbed his attention. 

She looked up in time to see his shoulders sag. Followed his gaze up and to the left.

And felt her world rock sideways. 

“No. Oh no.”

The Quinjet. 

They’d found it.

What was left of it, anyway. 

Elle pushed herself forward, jaw falling open. 

Where the doors had been, there was now only rusted out, dented metal. What she knew to be the entry ramp sat crumpled and askew mostly beneath the ship, a broken, crooked jaw leading into the maw of the ship. The seats had been torn out like rotted teeth, dents and holes, no doubt bashed into place by the Hulk, pockmarking the inner walls. The cockpit was a mess of wires, broken glass, and debris. The silhouettes of cracked touch-screens and the controls sat beneath a layer of dust and grime.

Outside an in, scorch-marks bit into the siding of the jet, the ash intermingling with the rust. 

It was wrecked.  

Elle brought her hands to her mouth, eyes beginning to burn. “No.”

She clambered up the hill of trash leading into the ship, tripping a bit as she moved inside. She turned in a fantic circle, surveying the damage more closely. With a moan of horror, she staggered toward the pilot’s seat, fingers grazing hesitantly over the mess. She picked up dislodged panels of metal, only to set them back down again, completely overwhelmed by the destruction. 

It was worse than what she’d done to her room. The Hulk had clearly smashed his way through the ship before smashing the ship through a building or maybe a planet. 

Loki drew up beside her, his eyes wide and jaw agape.

“He ruined it.” Her voice drew his attention. She looked up at him, seeing her own disbelief etched into his face. “What are we going to do now?”

He reached to prod at the controls, sifted through some of the pieces, pressing some wires back into place and fitting a dislodged panel back into its home. It seemed so insignificant. A mere shadow of restoration against a hurricane of destruction. 

“The damage is… extensive. But I recognize these parts, and I’ve seen what you can build with just the remnants of alien garbage. This will take time. Quite a bit of time, I’m afraid. But it is far from impossible.” He offered her a reassuring smile, so kind and warm it threatened to tear her heart anew. 

“It’s certainly not ideal, but if being on Sakaar has taught me anything, it’s that the pair of us can be quite tenacious when we need to be. We won’t let something as small as disaster stop us. Will we, darling?”

Darling again.

God. 

Fuck. 

She wanted to kiss him. 

She beat down the urge. Instead, she smiled back. 

She shouldn’t have smiled back. 

The look on his face, that hunger. That knowing, aching hunger shot his eyes nearly black, the very sight of it making her mouth burn.

He turned to her slowly, so slowly it felt like the gravity of the planet was tipping, dragging her around to face him. As if she had always been moving here, to this spot, to this moment.

“Loki—”

A crash.

Loud. Metallic. Close. 

Just outside the ship. 

Loki’s head snapped to the side, and in an instant, she was pinned between him and the far wall of the Quinjet, his hand over her mouth. He lowered his lips to her ear, his warm breath ghosting her skin in a way that she should not be enjoying right now, but oh, she definitely did. Her eyes fluttered closed as the low, velvet burn of his voice tore through her. “Be very still. Not a sound.”

It took a moment for his words to register, lost as she was to the sensation of him speaking against her. She gulped, nodded quickly, all too aware that her heart refused to stop racing. 

They heard it: voices, coming closer. Debris being picked up and tossed.

“—Don’t even know where they would’ve gone! If the Grandmaster finds out we lost his toy—”

“We didn’t lose her. That Hosnian filth couldn’t take a joke and distracted us.”

“You were cheating, and you know it.”

More debris, bouncing off the Quinjet. Elle winced, and Loki pressed somehow closer, as if to shield her. 

The footsteps. They were right outside. 

They stopped. Seemed to shuffle. 

“I’m not checking every gutted-out ship on the off-chance they’re out here.”

A grunt. 

“Come on. We don’t even know that they tried to run. They could still be in the market for all we know.”

A derisive snort of laughter. “Everybody runs. You think the Grandmaster’s little toy won’t run if given half a chance? You’ve seen those eyes of hers. Half feral, if you ask me. Not housebroken yet. He should’ve had her do a turn in the pleasure circuits before taking her in like that. Broken her in a bit.”

Elle felt more than heard Loki’s growl. Felt it shake through him and into her. Her hands found his waist, gripping tight. 

“You’re just sayin’ that because you have a human fetish.”

“Hm. Don’t have a death-wish though. Wouldn’t touch that one if you paid me.” A long, irritated sigh, followed by the kicking of more garbage. “All right, let’s head back. Maybe you’re right. Maybe they’re still inside and we missed them."

"We can't go back in until we find them.”

"Ugh, don't remind me."

They listened, silent as the sounds of the guards faded, voices and footsteps retreating back toward the market. 

Finally, Loki pulled away just enough to crane his neck and look around the edge of the empty doorway, but his body stayed right where it was, locked against hers. He was so solid, so heavy, and yet so impossibly gentle with her. Even with the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the solidness of his palm over her mouth, holding her in place… 

It was the safest place she could be. 

But the look in his eyes when his focus returned to her.

It was anything but gentle. It wasn’t bright, not like this morning. It was blazing, electric with intensity, a torrent of green and gold. 

Like the way he’d looked at her last night. The way he’d looked at her when he wanted to kiss her. When he’d pushed his thumb against her mouth in a promise of all that was to come. 

He dragged his hand away until only his thumb lingered once more, tracing the swell of her lower lip, the movement sending sparks along her skin. His own lips parted, and even through the returning sheen of uncertainty, she saw his pupils blow wide, all that green and gold swallowed up by dark.

“Elle—”

Breathless. He was breathless. His chest pressing to hers, rapid and eager. 

I can’t. 

I can’t!

Not yet!

But god, she was humming, buzzing, her body was alive with the feel of him. 

“Please.” Her voice was rough, and god, it made his eyes pitch somehow darker. She swallowed hard and shook all over. Shook and hurt and ached in a strange, fizzy way that left her dizzy.

She remembered this. She hated this. Loved this: the overwhelming surge of excitement that spilled all through her as the pink inside her intensified. The howling sort of hunger she felt for contact once her heart had made its decision. The way her body had called for Josie, once upon a time. 

And now it called—it screamed—for Loki. Not for sex. Not to rut.

Not yet.

But to be held in the way that would consume her entirely. To claim and be claimed in ways far deeper than any bruise, than any barrier of skin. The way it felt to choose and be chosen.

For one traitorous moment, she wished she truly had forgotten last night: then she wouldn’t know how much better it felt when he was holding her. 

Her mouth burned where his thumb now lingered.

Truth first.

I’m crazy about you, and I’m a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Do it. 

She swallowed hard, the thought swelling up inside her. 

Do it now. 

Her fingers tightened on his shirt, his body still crowding hers, leaving her pinned with nowhere to go.

As if there was anywhere else in any universe she’d ever want to be. 

“I need to tell you—”

“What is it you wish to take back?”

His interruption startled her. She blinked, shaking her head in confusion.

His jaw was tight, a tic etching into the skin there as he ground his teeth. But when he looked up at her? God, when he looked up at her, all she saw was electricity, a storm surge of pink and blue.

“This morning. You said you wanted to take it back. But—” His breath caught, chin dipping for just a moment before that impossibly bright gaze was back on her. 

“Have you truly forgotten, or do you simply regret it?”

A hammerstrike of hurt. 

No. Not regret. Never regret. How can he think—?

“There was such fear in your eyes when you looked at me, Elle. Such confusion. But it’s gone now. It disappeared and you… you look at me as if you’ve been searching for me for a lifetime. Do you realize that?”

The sound that escaped her was a tiny, animal thing.

I can’t. I can’t...

“No one has ever been as gentle with me as you are. No one has ever looked at me as if I were breakable without immediately turning around to exploit it. Please, tell me what you wish to take back. If you remember and regret it—” His throat constricted, his lips so close she could feel his voice. “If you truly wish to erase it, I will burn, each and every day until I draw my last breath, mourning you. I will leave you in peace, even if I never know a moment of my own.

“But if you’ve merely forgotten? Then perhaps I am not burning alone. You may still… Perhaps I am not such a fool for wanting you so desperately.” 

Her plans. 

Her script. 

Everything she needed to say.

It didn’t so much fade away as burst, a filament burning too hot and flaring out of her mind, consumed by the broken, gutted, hopeful look on his face. 

She knew she was staring, and yet she couldn’t find it in her to look away.

“Elle, please.” His voice was low and rough, and even now, she heard the imploring edge. That echoing, cavernous want.

The same want that pulsed inside her, in every single cell, pushing out every shred of logic, every bit of planning.

He broke. His free hand slid to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking ceaselessly over the rise of her cheekbone. 

“Tell me.” His voice failed him, the words cracking apart as his chest began to heave. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

“Loki...”

“That and that alone will keep me from you. Nothing else. Do you understand?”

Thunder. 

Everything inside was thunder. 

It was storm surge, color and detonation, a star on the brink of collapse. 

It pounded through her, as if her very blood had been replaced with this unimaginable need for him and him alone. 

She turned her head, eyes slipping closed as she placed a reverent kiss to Loki’s palm. Felt the shiver tear through him.

She turned back, her own chest tight and frantic as she laid the truth bare before him. Her voice shook. 

“‘There’s only joy, only victory, as long as we’re together.’”

His eyes went so impossibly wide. Her heart raced so fast she couldn’t even feel her heartbeat: it was like her chest was filled with a wild, constant hum.

“Your mom taught you Latin. You promised we’d get waffles.” She raised a trembling hand to his mouth, pressing her thumb there, watching, hypnotized, as his lips parted, his breathing warm and ragged on her skin. “You wouldn’t kiss me while I was drunk.”

His breath left him in a tatter, a small, disbelieving laugh. But now. Now he arched, just enough to let his teeth capture the skin of her thumb in an eager little nip as his eyes seemed to go brighter and brighter. “You… all of it?” Breathless and hot and near to feral.

Everything she was, reflected back at her. 

Elle pushed forward, up onto her toes, moving to curl her fingers into his hair. The hand that wasn’t on her cheek curled around her back, pulling her flush against him, and then pulling harder still.

“It came back in pieces, after you left. I wouldn’t take any of it back. Not a word. Not a second. You take care of me like nobody else has. Nobody. You took me to bed, your bed in your clothes, but you told me I was my own. You make me feel like a person again.”

She ran the tip of her nose along his, just as he had done the night before. His rough breath drew from her a slow, knowing smile. “My only regret is that I didn’t kiss you the second I woke up.”

The thunder crashed. 

The storm detonated. 

The riot of color, all that pink want and blue affection, it all cracked through and spilled out and there was nothing, nothing but the exquisite feel of Loki’s lips claiming hers. Ruthless, searing, worshipping. He kissed her with his entire body, pressing her back against the wall, following without allowing so much as a fraction of space to form between them. His chest, his hips, his legs; there was no part of him she couldn’t feel, desperate and hungry for contact. She arched up into him, pulling him impossibly closer, pouring all her loneliness, all her desire, every ounce of feeling into him.

When they finally broke apart, they were left panting, staring at each other with such open, raw desire that it made Elle dizzy. His mouth was pink and lush and she needed more. She pulled him in again, the feel of his tongue teasing her lower lip making her shiver. Allowing him in wracked that shiver from her body into his, breath and movement shared between them. 

She tightened her fingers in his hair, delighting at the groan that tore through him as his lips moved down across her jaw, to a spot just below her ear that made her whimper.

“We’re in so much trouble.” Her voice was no more than a ragged, strained whisper. 

His warm, dark ripple of laughter felt like honey all through her. “Undoubtedly.”

“If we get caught—”

“Killed, instantly.” 

“Loki?” God, how breathless she was. How needy her voice sounded around his name.

“Elle.” No more than a growl, a low, rough rumble in his chest. 

“Don’t stop.”

He grinned, wide and wicked and perfect. “Never.” 

He dove back against her fiercely, like he’d been standing at the edge of a precipice just waiting to dive off, hurtling towards the promise of her affection. The hand on her cheek moved to the back of her head, angling her so she was completely at the mercy of the relentless, driving, intoxicating dance of his mouth. She couldn’t help the trembling gasp that escaped her, didn’t mind at all the feeling of his lips curling into a smile. He took advantage of the momentary distraction, dragging her up so her legs tightened around his waist. For a moment, a crackle of fear broke through, and she worried that this was barrelling towards something she’d expressly said she didn't want. 

But she shouldn’t have doubted him. He didn’t grind against her, didn’t rock his hips into hers. He only took advantage of having her even closer, the gap in their height now closed, to cup her cheeks in his hands, somehow, somehow deepening the kiss. As if, in this position, he could recreate their lost morning: chest to chest, completely wrapped up in each other and lost to everything but their own heat, their own utter, delirious joy.

And then he stopped. 

Elle blinked her eyes open. His breath tickled her kiss-swollen lips, her tongue darting to wet them as she lifted her head. “What’s wrong?”

His chest was still heaving, but his eyes.

His eyes had changed.

They were narrowed, focused resolutely on the bite mark on her neck. 

Elle moved to cover it, only to have Loki stop her. He threaded his fingers together with hers, moving her hand so it rested back on his shoulder. Even distracted, it was as if he couldn’t stand the thought of her letting him go. Not now that he knew what it was like to be held.

She couldn’t say she didn’t understand the feeling. 

So slowly it made her tense, knowing exactly what he was about to do, Loki lowered his mouth to the mark. His breath ghosted over it, cool enough to make her shiver, to raise goosebumps up and down her arms, skittering along her shoulders and back. His lips met the mark with a mere grazing of skin on skin, his kiss soft and delicate as mist.

Something inside her, deep and distant and inevitable as the stars themselves, flashed silver. She didn’t merely shiver when he touched her: she all but convulsed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have known it still hurts.”

She could have laughed. As if that was the problem.

She felt vaguely drunk, heavy and weightless all at once. She couldn’t describe it. Couldn’t even hope to try. She huffed a quiet laugh into his hair, holding him tight and nuzzling into him. From the way his grip tightened around her, he liked it. She’d have to remember that.

Then his hands were on her face again, pulling her in for another bruising kiss, this one slow and lingering, but no less consuming.

God, he was going to eat her alive. And all she was going to do was smile and ask him not to stop.

She groaned when he moved to nip at her jaw. 

“How long do we have?”

Only then did Loki pull away, the look on his face something between tired acknowledgement and a pout. “Not much longer. We’ll need to wander back through the marketplace as we go. Give our chaperones a chance to catch back up.”

He trailed his knuckle across the seam of her lips, eyes shining when the gesture pulled one last kiss from her. “We’ll need to be cautious. We should keep our distance as we head back. No touching. Minimal eye contact. We should try our best to look tired and bored.”

She snorted. “Tired and bored, yeah right.” She fidgeted, casting a furtive glance outside. “But, only until we get back to our room, right?”

That shine in his eyes turned into a full-on gleam, predatory in its hunger. It raised the hair up along the back of her neck, made the skin on the backs of her thighs prickle. It was like being hunted by something she wouldn't even try to outrun. 

“The moment we’re safely back inside, little wildling, there isn’t a single force, on this planet or any other, that will keep me from you.”

Oh, fuck.

She thrilled. Thrilled at the thought.

Even asleep, he felt her. Tucked up beneath his chin, just like before, having squirmed her way on top of him in the night. Her soft sigh pulled him up from sleep, a welcome reminder that she was still there. That this time, she remembered. She stayed. 

Loki couldn’t help the crawling smile that wound over his lips, nuzzling down into her hair. She was so protective of herself outside their room, so cautious. He never would have imagined she would be so eager for contact, so hungry for his touch. He hadn’t even allowed himself to hope. And yet, as soon as she’d fallen asleep, just as kiss-drunk as he, she’d whined and wriggled until she’d flung herself over him, more demanding in sleep that she ever allowed herself to be in her waking hours.

He loved it. He would indulge every moment, every request, so long as it kept her snug against him. Perhaps, with enough encouragement, she would be so free while she was awake. 

He rubbed small circles against her back, the silky fabric of his shirt rustling quietly in the silence of the room. She shifted, rubbing her face on his chest and making a sound that told him she’d roused.

“Elle?”

She craned her head up to look at him. "I'm sorry."

“For what, darling?”

She wriggled up quickly, moving so she could give him a slow, tender kiss. His hands were in her hair again, as if they’d never left, pulling her in closer. Always closer. “I’m… I’m crazy about you. I need you to know that.” Spoken against his mouth, the plea in it unmistakable. 

He blinked in confusion, a small laugh escaping him. “That’s certainly nothing to apologize for.” He refused to let her go, holding her right there, mouth just grazing hers. “You have impeccable taste.” 

Her laugh was a delicate, watery sound, but oh, it crawled into him and made his heart glow. Seeing her smile resurface, feeling it, made him close that sliver of space between them once more. 

“Little siren,” he accused, voice going rough in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. He pulled back, gently coaxing her head beneath his chin. Delighting when she settled against him without hesitation. “Sleep. You can resume your flattery in the morning.”

The huff of her laughter was the sweetest sound in all of the realms. He dozed back off soon after, still reveling in it.

Leaving Elle awake, staring into the dark, a confession still twisting inside her.

Chapter Text

“...And so I said, you’ll never get a head that way! Get it? Because of the decapitation?”

It was only through years and years of practice that Loki’s laugh sounded genuine, earning his shoulder a hard squeeze that told him the Grandmaster heard the enthusiasm he wasn’t truly offering. 

Elle’s laugh was far quieter, but the fact that she’d managed at all was a testament to her own strength. It had been a rather long day, both in court and during the seemingly endless party afterward. Elle had performed reading after reading, the Grandmaster’s hands never leaving her shoulders as he pushed her from patron to patron, passing her around between his guests like a vacant doll.

Loki’s hands ached where his nails bit into his palms, a taut band of tension strung through his jaw and shoulders. 

It had been difficult before, watching the Grandmaster touch her—seeing him handle her so roughly and so freely.

Since the Quinjet?

Since the Quinjet, it was near impossible. 

While only a handful of days had passed, every hour they’d spent together had seared itself into Loki’s memory, each one offering up some new sensation or sound that bound him ever closer to Elle. He knew the taste of her lips now, the press of her body against his, the soft tangle of the wild copper-gold waves of her hair around his fingers. He could hear so clearly the rough, deep sound she made when she finally fell asleep. Knew, no matter what position they started in, that she would inevitably wrap herself around him in the night, twisting until each of her limbs had curled over his own. 

It was the same when they worked together, beginning to build replacement parts for the Quinjet. Once, it was no more than their ankles touching as they sat across from each other on the sofas, swapping pieces as they built their contraptions. Then they’d wound up on the floor, back to back, with Elle leaning her head against him when she wanted his input on the circuit they were rebuilding. Each time she'd leaned into him, he'd been unable to keep himself from peering back over his shoulder at her with a smile that felt impossibly soft, even to him.

If they sat beside each other, it was shoulders and elbows and hips, always close enough to push or pull, never quite sitting still. He’d discovered she would dive over his lap if he took that newly-pilfered Velaxi drill, which had then led to the delightful discovery that she was ticklish, the bright, giddy spark of her laughter proving irresistible. He’d pulled her into his lap and kissed her until she’d had to tear herself away to catch her breath, eyes glassy, lips flushed, breath no more than a shaking whisper against his mouth. 

And then she’d taken his face in her soft hands, the little callouses on her fingertips sending a shiver over his skin, and she’d pulled him back in for more. Always more, and as hungry as Loki was for her touch, she proven herself just as starved. 

And when they laid down for the night? She could not seem to stop herself from running the tips of those clever fingers along his jaw, or across his brow. Over the swell of his lower lip or tracing the line of his Cupid’s bow. Insatiable, just as he was, with his fingers curling in and out over the dip of her waist, or against the healing mark the Grandmaster had left on her throat. Pulling her leg up over his hip, just to have her closer.

While he understood her boundaries clearly and would make no move to break them, the sight of her pupils blowing wide ignited the flame of his desire anew, making his heart race and his blood scorch hot as lightning in his veins. 

It had made for an incredibly painful few nights. 

But they’d found such comfort in each other that he knew he would rather suffer the sweet agony of his lust every night than ever surrender any of this. He had never been touched so casually and yet with so much care. And the way she pressed back into him, always asking for more, when she’d known so much pain here? Knowing that despite all that had happened to her, she still chose him? 

No, he would never give her up. Not for his safety, nor for his own freedom. It felt wrong to call her his; the notion was tainted by the Grandmaster, by his ruthless desire to claim and to own. 

And yet, it was true, was it not?

Elle was Loki’s, as he was hers, not by force, but by choice.

And yet, as soon as the sun rose, they were forced apart, back to their own rooms, the door between them sealed shut for another day. And out into the world they went, counting down the hours until they could return to this space that, in so little time, had become theirs. 

It made the daylight hours feel like an endless eternity. Made moments like this, as the Grandmaster escorted them back to their rooms, a true, unending torment. 

Tonight, the Grandmaster had squeezed himself between them, arms slung around their shoulders, pulling them in close. His hands gripped and pulled, tugged and twisted, fabric and hair and whatever flesh he could find. 

Whatever heat Elle ignited inside Loki, however blissful that burn, it flared to ash and rage here. Fed by his need for her as much as his need to protect her, it went bitter as bile in his mouth as he watched their captor hang from her like an engorged tick. 

“Ya know, I gotta tell you sweetheart, your readings were great tonight. I mean fantastic! Everyone was so entertained. I swear, I think you're getting better at this.”

She was. It was a decided benefit of not having to work her scheme alone anymore. She’d picked up on Loki’s subtle cues quickly, following his lead on when to lean into a story and when to retreat. She was clever, his Elle. Clever and attentive, and creative. Her embellishments pulled from local lore she’d picked up on during her captivity, but also drew from stories she knew from Midgard. So many strange and fantastic tales, offered with perfect sincerity and gravity as the air around her shook with lies and performance. She was a skilled storyteller on her own; add in the guidance of the God of Lies and Mischief? Together, they could spin endless tales and fortunes, all without a drop of magic. And the more powerful she seemed, the longer the Grandmaster would have need of her so-called ability: the better her readings, Loki knew, the longer she was safe.

They'd done well tonight. She had done well. Loki had so rarely been sure of anything over the past several years. But this, he knew: he was going to kiss Elle senseless again the moment they were alone.

And, he was going to cleave the Grandmaster’s hand from his arm.

The tyrant turned his head to kiss Elle’s cheek, and it was to Loki’s great benefit that the man was distracted. He felt his lips purse, a black snarl surging just beneath the surface. He clenched his jaw even tighter and bit back a growl. 

He must. For her sake.

By the time the Grandmaster straightened, tipping his temple to Loki’s as they came to a stop outside Elle’s room, her chin had dipped, eyes cast low. He hated this, her mask. The vacant, demure emptiness she wore for their captor. 

Soon, darling. Just a few moments more.

“Well, I suppose this is it for today. I gotta say this, sweetheart. These little, ah, these trips outside are doing wonders for you. Putting some... color in your cheeks.” His arm fell from Loki’s shoulder wrap around Elle entirely, pulling her against him as his fingers pressed to the curve of her jaw, forcing her gaze up to meet his. Still, she looked distant, refusing to look directly at him. Defiant, even as she obeyed.

The twin flames of pride and rage spat in Loki’s chest, sparking and sending a vicious heat all through him. 

“I know how lucky I am,” she said, “to have someone looking out for me.”

Her words seemed to slip along Loki's skin, soft as her hands moving up to his shoulders and massaging at the tight fist of muscle there. His eyes slipped closed, breath leaving him in a quick, quiet exhale. 

Just a few moments more. This time, a reassurance to himself. 

The Grandmaster chuckled, reaching around her to open her door and usher her inside. “In you go, sweetheart. Get some sleep, my pretty bird. I’ll be by to get you in the morning, yeah?”

Her eyes stayed locked on her feet, the wayward waves of her nair bobbing with her nod. 

She would not look up. She couldn’t. 

Because, Loki knew, it was not the Grandmaster she would look to. 

That heat inside him flickered, morphed. Made his skin begin to ache in the most torturous way. He needed this to end. Now. Right now. 

“In the morning,” Elle echoed numbly, turning to slip into her room.

She didn’t look back as she closed it.

Good, my sweet girl. Very good.

He swallowed down the beginnings of a smile as the Grandmaster turned back to him, an odd, crooked grin revealing far too many teeth. “Whatever it is you’re doing, Loke…”

Loki tensed. 

“I like it.” He set free a wiry, whiny peal of laughter, stepping in close to clap Loki’s shoulders hard once more. “Those walks outside have really been doing wonders, huh? She doesn’t tense so much when I touch her, her eyes don’t do that skittish, darty thing…”

Loki’s stomach tightened, a cold coil of guilt tightening inside him. 

Tricks. Survival tactics. Things he had learned through desperation and necessity. 

Things that killed him to teach Elle now, building upon tricks she already knew. 

Keeping still is only one level of deception. Breathe in deep and hold it. Bury your tension here, in your stomach. Curl your toes. Make fists, if you must. 

Focus on your feet. On something over his shoulder. Your stillness projects obedience and keeps you free from suspicion. 

When you leave me—and there will be moments when you’ll need to—do not look at me. Do not look back.

“I guess,” the Grandmaster continued, “that means I’ll need to step in soon, right?” He rubbed the back of his neck, scowling. “I mean, it makes sense. I’ll need to start going on these walks you take her on.”

Ice and fury, harsh and mean and heavy in his gut. The idea of the Grandmaster taking her outside, touching her, walking the streets they’d walked…

Loki had long since given up fantasies of wielding Mjolnir. But now, he imagined taking it in his hand, testing its weight, and using it to crush in the tyrant’s chest. 

It did allow him to smile, so there was that.

“Soon, my friend. Allowing her so much freedom is endearing her to you. But, are you sure you want the responsibility?”

The Grandmaster arched a brow, and Loki smirked.

“You may say you need to take up the act, and yet you’re frowning. What troubles you?”

The Grandmaster blew out a breath as he looked to the ceiling, hands on his hips. “It’s just so boring, Loke! I’ve never had to do upkeep on a pet before! My other humans behave and stay where I put them, and then I’ve got guests like Rezh who are at least, I dunno, self-sufficient. I mean, really? Walks? Outside? It’s just so, ah, pedestrian. Ya know?”

“Indeed. But these things take time, especially with a mortal. She’s neither your wife nor your courtesan, still unsure of her place here. It’s only been a few days—”

Exquisite, heated, blissful days.

“—And as you’ve said yourself, you’ve noticed the changes in her. Give it a bit more time, my friend. You’ll see.”

The Grandmaster’s head tilted, his smile returning like a slick of oil. “I guess tomorrow’ll be the real test, won’t it.”

Loki’s stomach went tight and sour, his own fingers twitching into fists. “Yes. I suppose it will be.”

“I have the most wonderful outfits picked out for the two of you. Something festive, to mark the occasion.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve got plans, Loke. Big plans. I think you’ll be pleased.” He stepped in close, lowering his voice and leaning in near enough for Loki to feel the cloying grasp of his body heat. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what I promised you. I’ll make sure there’s something left for you when I’m done.” He winked, mouth tugging into a greasy smile that Loki yearned to obliterate.

Instead, he forced it down, down into the pit of his own stomach. Just as he’d been teaching Elle to do. With a smile, he backed away enough to give a small bow. “My only desire is to serve, Grandmaster.”

“And you serve so well, Loke. All your advice, all this help you give me with her… Ya know, I really should tell her how helpful you’ve been.”

No!  

That ice surged inside Loki once more, instant and hard enough to hurt.

The Grandmaster laughed, brackish and far too loud. “Well, that was a heck of a face you just made there, Loke. What’s wrong? Don’t want Elle to know we’ve been talking about her behind her back?”

Gods, even the thought of it made his skin feel tight and clammy, nausea dropping into him like a stone. The idea that she might learn of this ruse, might think even for a moment that he was truly trying to lure her to the Grandmaster’s bed, was abhorrent.

He barely suppressed his shudder.

It was vulgar. Cruel. It made his stomach roil, squeezed all that stored tension until it threatened to burst. Elle could never know. Like Otho’s execution, this was an obscenity of Sakaar he would never share with her. This was his alone to endure. 

Loki managed to clear his throat. “The most integral part of any illusion is the audience’s willingness to believe it. If she knows you and I have been discussing your… future together, it could undermine the entire process. And—” 

He worked his jaw, the words he was about to say sour in his mouth. He was loath to utter them, already felt filthy, but the Grandmaster’s trust was a vital part of their plan. Indeed, the Grandmaster’s trust was the true integral illusion Loki needed to cast. He and Elle required as much of a blind eye as they could garner if they were to escape, and they would have far more success keeping it if the Grandmaster thought he understood their motives. 

Loki would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe. Even this.

“If you still intend to promise her to me once you’re through with her, I would rather not have her know of our arrangement. I expect her to come to me pacified and obedient.”

He hated it. Hated himself for saying it. Was thankful to whichever deities were above him that Elle was not there to hear him.

The Grandmaster’s grin only grew, sending another wave of revulsion surging through Loki’s body. “More into her submission than your dominance, huh? Not into having to pin them down? I get it, I get it. Don’t you worry, pretty king. I’ve got plans that’ll keep both of us very happy. But… we’ll discuss that tomorrow at the festivities.”

Loki nodded, everything inside him bitter and tense. 

“You get your beauty sleep, all right? You’re going to be very popular tomorrow. Your debut has been, ah… highly anticipated. Get some rest, and I’ll come for you in the morning.” He thought for a moment, licking his lips. “And maybe tomorrow night. We’ll find out, won’t we?”

Loki watched him leave, not so much as wincing when the tyrant blew him a kiss. As soon as he was out of sight, he tore into his room, pacing, breathing hard through his nose. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. 

He wanted no part of this. Didn’t want to see Elle suffer through it, either. Where he should have felt prepared for battle, he instead felt clumsy, weak. 

Terrified. 

Because it was not just his battle. Not any more.

He needed Elle. Needed to see her. Needed the safety and stability and comfort of her presence, and needed to know he was offering the same to her.

With a final steadying breath, he rubbed at his eyes, moving to the door. Their door. 

He didn’t knock.

And gods help him, despite the fear, despite the vulgarity, despite the anger and exhaustion nagging at him… he grinned, everything else fading away.

How could he not?

She was pacing just on the other side of their door, and he was barely inside the room before she was back in his arms, the heat of her skin sinking into him like a salve.

It was as if someone had tugged on a knot of silk ribbon inside him, and in one soft touch of her hands, one over his heart and  the other trailing his cheek, that knot fell loose, warm spools of her affection twining all through him as she pulled him to her, lips warm and eager and pleading for his. 

A request he would never refuse. Not now that he had her. 

Her soft sigh had his stomach tightening, his toes curling with a tension far sweeter than any they faced with the Grandmaster. He slipped his arms around her without truly thinking, hauling her up, securing her legs around his waist. It made her cling to him so much tighter, made her arms and legs lock around him as if she might never let go. For all the lovers he’d taken, none had ever held him like this, even when placed in the same position: there was never so much want in it. Need, of course, driven by physical desire. But when Elle did it, he felt how much she wanted him, not just his body. It made that tightening inside him that much harder to ignore, made him partially regret pulling her against him like this. 

Partially. 

He hadn’t done this since the Quinjet, had been so careful not to allow himself to press too forcefully or suggestively against her as they learned how to navigate this dynamic between them, still so new and yet immediately domestic. But after such a trying conversation, after so long a day, instinct got the better of him.

No, he had to remind himself. That’s not what this is. Had to remind himself rather forcefully as her teeth tugged at his lower lip, coaxing a groan from his chest. 

With a great deal of determination and an undisputed feeling of loss, he set her back down. He couldn’t help but smile against her mouth, her grip on him tightening when he made a lazy, half-hearted attempt to pull away.

“You okay?” 

Gods, would he ever tire of this? The breathless sigh of her voice when they kissed? How her eyes inevitably strayed to his mouth in the moments that followed?

How her first concern was always his safety.

He smoothed a hand through her hair, pulling her back in to press his lips against her forehead. “I’m fine. He only wanted to discuss tomorrow. All smarm, but no more than that.” He did not care for the nettle of guilt prickling through him, nor for the necessity of withholding information. But he couldn’t bear to tell her of his ruse. 

“And you? Did he harm you?” He pulled back just enough to draw his thumb over her cheek, evaluating at the healing bite mark on her neck and quickly searching for any other marks. The Grandmaster was not human, and while perhaps not as strong as Loki, he was certainly powerful in his own right. Loki had taken to checking Elle’s arms and shoulders for bruises, was relieved that he did not find any tonight. 

“No damage today. Just tired.”

“Mm. Given how exhausting tomorrow will be, I think we should forgo the repairs tonight and try to relax.”

“God, yes please.” Said through a sigh as she let her forehead fall back against his chest, inviting him to press his chin down into her hair. 

“Go on, then, my little fortuneteller. Get changed and come to bed.”

A most undignified snort, followed by a dramatic roll of her eyes as she pushed away from him to go rifle through his dresser. “Yes, sir.”

He chuckled to himself and spun around, scrubbing his hands over his face and taking three long breaths. 

Tomorrow was going to be a nightmare. 

It was trying enough that it would be Loki’s debut at an official Sakaaran orgy, the first time his participation would be expected. And Elle would apparently be dressed for the occasion, which could mean any number of things, from the infuriating to the humiliating to the painfully enticing. 

And worse, they would need to continue this charade of theirs—the charade of disinterest. They’d be unable to touch each other, to so much as look at each other without jeopardizing everything. 

Loki shook his head, waiting until Elle was dressed before turning to collect his own sleeping clothes. It wasn’t long until he was slipping into bed beside her, rolling onto his back as she pressed herself against his side, hand on his chest, one leg slung over his.  

The gentle kiss against his throat calmed him, had a soft smile curling over his mouth. Her sigh, however, echoed the uneasy stirring inside his own chest.

“So tomorrow’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Mm, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Should we go over the game plan?”

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, very much enjoying how she always seemed to press in tighter when he did that, as if she was trying to soak up the sound. “Just once more, I suppose.”

“First and foremost?”

“Sip everything, even items I may have a tolerance for. Do not leave any food or drink unattended, and do not eat or drink anything I have not served myself.” She gave him a hard squeeze, just as much approval as apprehension. “We stay near the perimeter of the room as much as possible, only moving into the middle if unavoidable and absolutely necessary.” He turned to let his lips rest against her forehead. “You are to act as you normally would. Speak to the bartenders, move minimally around the room—” 

“—But grab anything shiny or expensive for Scrapper 142.”

“Yes, as discreetly as possible. And I'm to keep on the move, dipping in and out of conversations quickly as the festivities begin. And as the night progresses, I'm to make it seem as though I'm looking for something specific. Anything to keep me from standing in one place for too long. But no matter what happens…”

She was silent, her fingers drumming on his chest, pausing only to smooth over the scar he’d received on Svartalfheim. 

“Elle.”

She blew out a hard breath, fidgeting against him. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s imperative for my safety, but more importantly, for yours.”

Another beat of silence. Just one, before she made a small, disapproving sound. “I don’t approach you. I don’t even look at you. Not even if the Grandmaster is talking to you. Not… not even if it sounds like you’re in a fight.”

He nodded, the action moving his nose into her hair. Not for the first time, he took comfort in it, inhaling deeply. “Good.”

“Loki—”

“I know. But the rules of this game are very clear. You are meant to be his prize, his trophy for others to covet. This grants me the freedom to watch over you, but you cannot do the same for me. Rezh has already warned us about indiscretion, and it did not go unnoticed that I didn’t join her in her room the other night.”

Elle tensed in his arms. “Did she say something?”

“Very little. Only that she hoped I had been in my own room.”

“She threatened you?”

“It was not a threat, but it was a rather pointed observation.”

Elle’s voice wavered as she spoke, her leg wrapping tighter around his. “Do you think she’ll tell?”

Loki hummed in thought, brow furrowing. “She suspects an attachment between us, but we’ve been discreet. It seems her warning came from a place of genuine concern. Whether we can trust her remains to be seen, but I believe, so long as we do not give her any additional evidence, she won’t say anything.” He brought his hand up to rest against her cheek, her skin warm and soft against his palm. It eased the bands of tension inside him, the sound of her breathing stabilizing his own. “I don’t believe she wishes to see either of us hurt, but we must be cautious, especially tomorrow when we’ll be under such close scrutiny.” He tightened his grip around her, as if to ward off the pain of forcing her away. “Tomorrow night, you must act as though I don’t exist.”

Her fingers began to drum once more, just above his heart. He didn't need to see her face to know there was an agitated frown there. “What do we do when he tries to make you participate? What if he hurts you?” The tension in her voice sent a fracture all through him. If he could but tell her of Thanos, of what horrors he’d already faced…

No. He didn’t want to think of that tonight. No more than he wanted to repeat any of what the Grandmaster had said in the hallway. He would not burden Elle with any more of the tyrant's crude intentions. 

“He cannot force me, darling.”

“He can, and he’ll try.” Desperate now, lifting her head so he could see the frantic light in her eyes. “What if I’m looking the other way and he puts a disk on you, or drugs you, or—”

“That won’t happen.”

“It might!”

“I promise, the only thing the Grandmaster can do to harm me is hurt you.” He brushed her hair away from her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear. What he would give to hold her like this in his own bed, safe and secluded on Asgard. Far away from this terrible place. “He referenced some grand announcement he’ll be making tomorrow. Eager as he is for the festivities, I imagine whatever he has planned will keep him occupied. He’ll be far too busy to worry about either of us.”

He offered her a sly smile. “And you mustn’t forget that I am every bit a mischievous rogue as I am a thoughtful king. I’m just as skilled at talking my way out of situations as I am at talking myself into them.”

She did not look convinced. “But if he pushes you—”

“He won’t.”

“If he does…” He watched her throat constrict. “If you have to, please go to Rezh.”

“Out of the question.” 

“Look, I’m not naive. Being trapped on a slave planet where orgies are a means of survival isn’t the time to ask anyone for exclusivity. I have my virgin bit to fall back on, but you don’t. I’m not saying I want you to. I’m saying that if you need to, or… even if you want to, you should go to Rezh. She’s gorgeous and she has good connections and…” Elle’s chin dipped, teeth burrowing into her lower lip. “It’ll put her suspicions to rest. And most importantly, she’ll take care of you without hurting you. The same can’t be said for everyone here. And I know that hooking up—or not—with me isn’t ideal, but—”

But whatever she was going to say next was muffled by his palm. She made a small noise of protest, frowning at him over the curve of his little finger. 

He returned the expression. “I’m not concerned with Rezh’s suspicions, and I’ll not have anyone but you.”

The next muffled noise sounded adorably, softly irritated, and very much like his name. 

“Don’t argue. I don’t want Rezh. I don’t want any of them. I want you. This.” He moved his hands to cup her face, smoothing his thumbs over the soft, delicate skin just beneath her eyes. “You are not asking for exclusivity; I’m giving it.”

She sighed in frustration, though she still leaned into his touch. “I don’t think you know what you’re promising. When one person has a sex drive and the other doesn’t—”

“They adapt based on the best solution for them. I hardly think my running off with another guest at a slave orgy is a viable solution.”

“But even an open relationship—”

“—Is not what I want.”

“How do you know if you haven’t tried?”

He arched an incredulous brow. “You truly assume I haven’t tried?”

She blinked, mouth working as she bit the inside of her cheek. “Have you?”

He gave her a pointed look, tipping his head to the side. “Darling, I have been alive for over twelve hundred years. I’ve been in entanglements of all varieties, with women, men, and several of the infinite genders in between. What I wanted and what worked in my previous relationships is not necessarily what I want or expect between us. Just, as I assume, you don’t expect what worked between you and your former partner to become the groundwork for this.”

She suddenly found a point on his chest very interesting, thumb drawing light circles on the smooth skin above his scars. “I hate the idea of the Grandmaster touching you. The idea of him offering you around, or offering anyone else to you? Honestly, it makes me want to scream. But that’s hypocritical, right? It’s wrong telling you to avoid other partners when your life could literally depend on it and we’re not even having sex.”

He crooked a finger under her chin, prompting her to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing hypocritical about wanting me for yourself, darling. However you’ll have me.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not. You are not asking anything of me that I am not already freely offering.” He sighed, thumb rubbing gently over her chin. “Was this a concern previously? Were you made to feel as though you weren’t enough?”

“No. But it was just… different. Josie and I were friends for a long time before we got together. There was time to talk about expectations, and there wasn’t the added pressure of being held captive on a trash planet. I just… I want you to be safe, and I know that on Sakaar, safety and monogamy don’t mix.”

“But we do. Perhaps it will be a chaotic mixture from time to time, but I would much rather us embrace the chaos together." He tipped his head to the side, offering her a knowing smirk. "Wouldn’t you?” 

At long last, her mouth quirked into a small smile. “I guess. ‘Reason cannot produce the poetry disorder does,’ after all.” 

He leaned up to press a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth, pleased to finally feel her relaxing once more. “I quite like that.”

“Mm. I’ll have to introduce you to Angela Carter’s books once we’re off Sakaar.”

“Oh? Are we to share books and waffles when we make our escape? I like this idea. Will that be our first date?”

She closed her eyes and grinned, the most endearing flush rising in her cheeks. “Depends. Are you not counting making out in the Quinjet as our first date?”

“While it has an undeniable appeal, it lacks the grandeur I would usually prefer.”

“Yeah? What kind of grandeur would you prefer?” When she looked at him again, it was all he could do not to lose his breath. How? How could someone so gentle and kind look at him with such open care? Such devotion? As if there were no one else in all of the realms she would rather be with?

And did she know—could she possibly know—how intensely he felt the same?

“Sunset on Barcelona.”

Her brow furrowed. “On Earth?”

“The planet Barcelona. The sunsets last for hours, so bright and rich that the gods and goddesses of art and inspiration will often go there to restore their powers before moving back out into the universe. They say that some forms of magic are born from the colors there, from the warm sand on the beaches and how the water catches the light, not in a perfect reflection, but in a way that magnifies the light in the sky. Fruit grows wild and heavy on every tree and bush, and the plums produce their own wine straight off the vine. It’s always summer there. Always verdant and calm.” Loki realized he was smiling, running his fingertips over the contours of Elle’s lovely face. “Yes. Once we’re off Sakaar, I’ll take you to Barcelona.”

Her smile was so bright, so genuinely happy and serene that it threatened to squeeze his heart in two. “Perfect. And then waffles and books for the second date, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, there’s no escaping your fate, darling. You had your chance to refuse me, and you’ve squandered it. I’m yours, now, may the Norns bless and keep you.”

That made her positively beam. Made her laugh and slap at his chest in a way that had him lighting up with pride. “Cocky, aren’t you?”

“Mm. And you’re quite mouthy when you want to be.”

“You like it.”

“You have no idea.” He pulled her up onto him with a growl, heart shuddering as she followed his lead and all but dove into the kiss, somehow both sweet and hungry all at once. One arm slotted around her back to keep her close, while his other hand found its home in the waves of her hair. She used those clever fingers to trace maddening patterns on his jaw and throat, igniting that lightning in his blood once more. 

He had to stop. 

He didn’t want to. But if he was going to keep her here, if he was going to have any chance of falling asleep beside her rather than laying awake hard and aching, he had to stop now.

He pulled away with a hard swallow and a small nip to her lower lip, taking a few deep breaths while she smoothed her hands through his hair. 

He heard the click in her throat when she swallowed, a wave of tension marring her features. “Loki…”

Ah.  

There it was again. A trepidation in her voice he’d both come to anticipate and fear.

The precursor to a confession she’d not yet been able to give, the one she’d been trying and trying to share since the Quinjet. Probably even before that, if he thought about it. 

Her truth. 

Her sweet, autumnal breeze-and-sunshine truth. How he craved it. How he delighted in knowing she was so close to telling him. 

How badly he wanted to ease this tension for her. To just tell her he already knew, had known almost from the moment they met, that she was not just some lost mortal, but an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

He understood her hesitation. Perhaps she imagined he would reject her, would decry her as no more than an enemy and sever this connection. 

He wouldn’t do that. Not now, not ever. 

How desperately he wanted to tell her it was all right. That what she’d been on Earth had no bearing on what was happening between them now, that he would never stop holding her or kissing her so long as she would have him. He knew more than anyone, after all, how the loyalties and decisions of the past could fluctuate. 

He would prove it to her, just as soon as she told him.

But, as much as he looked forward to that moment, he was loath to force it. Because, if he told her he knew of S.H.I.E.L.D., would he not also have to tell her of his lack of magic?

Or worse, would he have to tell her of this ruse he performed for the Grandmaster? The role of loyal adviser, leading Elle to the Grandmaster’s bed?

No. That was obscene, as much as it was untrue. The information he fed the tyrant was meant to protect her. She didn’t need to know the details to benefit from the outcome. All she had to know was that Loki would keep her safe at all costs. 

And so, when she breathed out his name—so full of caution, the weight of her confession tightening in her throat—he did what he’d done over the past several days, each time she spoke his name that way:

He whispered her name back to her, pulling her in for another kiss, this one slow and hard and heated. Nipping at her lips, tongue coaxing, laying all sweetness and tenderness aside in favor of something far rougher. Something that didn’t leave them breathless; no, it meant for them to ache. A kiss like a bruise, to draw blood up to the surface and stain them both with all her cobalts and indigos and violets.

Gods, what it did to him to feel her tense in his arms, not in apprehension, but in anticipation, in the moment before she took his roughness and aimed it back at him, as eager to give as to take. When he felt her press against him, giving in completely, he lost himself again. He rolled to pin her beneath him, mouth slipping to the unmarred side of her throat, head beginning to spin at the sound of her breath catching, at the feeling of it hitching just there, beneath the searching, searing pressure of his lips. 

One more day. 

He would let her tell him in just one more day. They would get through tomorrow’s orgy, and then, when they were back here, safe and entangled, he would let her tell him she was an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

And he would tell her in turn how the pendant around her throat, cool and soothing as it lay trapped between them, was his only source of magic, and that while it meant he needed to be cautious and creative in how he kept her safe, it would never stop him from protecting her.

A truth for a truth, and they would be free. No more lies. 

Just one more day.

Now, he just wanted to enjoy this, the feel of her beneath him, the heels of her feet hooked over his calves as her arms wound around his waist to pull him impossibly closer. He nuzzled against her pulse point, having to restrain himself from kissing there, from worrying it with his teeth and his tongue, just to hear what sounds she’d make.

He’d meant what he said: he’d have none but her. Even if he never slept again, if he spent the rest of his life on this precipice, half-insane from wanting her, he would endure rather than ever give this up.

She sighed against him, making him lift his head. 

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, eyes still glassy. “We’ll be okay, right? Tomorrow?”

“It will be trying, without a doubt. But we have our plan. Whatever he throws at us, we’ll endure it together.” 

She nodded, moving to trail soft kisses over his jaw. “Together.”

One more day.  

One more day, and there would be no more secrets between them.

Chapter Text

Loki paced. 

Fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides. Shoulders rolled, stretching as he would before a battle. He tugged at the collar of his ridiculous outfit, to little avail. It was still too high, too sharp, firm as a blade against the vein pulsing in his throat.

He crossed in front of the mirror and paused, his gaze restless, unable to settle for more than a moment. He took in his own exposed skin, as bare as the unease in his eyes—a simmering fear he knew he must tuck away before he left this room. He could not appear weak or distracted. 

Not tonight, of all nights. 

He resumed his pacing, footsteps quicker and heavier than before.

Loki was no fool. He had learned through the millennia that the most integral part of any plan was one’s ability to adapt to the unexpected. Indeed, he knew the only guarantee of any scheme was the fact that, at any moment, something could—and would—go catastrophically wrong at the worst possible moment. 

And it had. 

He and Elle had choreographed the night out perfectly, had rehearsed again and again how they were to get through the festivities unscathed. They would walk through the halls with a safe distance between them, Elle ahead by several paces while Loki followed. She was to spend the night at the bar, though she’s sworn she would avoid liquor tonight. 

“Promise me,” he’d said, hands cupping her cheeks. “Please. After last time—”

“I won’t.” She’d arched up onto her toes, lips pressing against his jaw. “No drinking. I’ll keep a level head. I promise.”

If, however, she was served an aphrodisiac she couldn't refuse, she could handle herself, knew how much she could take without feeling the effects. Loki, meanwhile, would circle the perimeter of the room, never staying in one place or with one group too long. He would serve his own beverages, would chatter and, if necessary, flirt as the need arose. He would even discard some clothing, should he need to make it seem as though he’d just wriggled his way out from under some of the other guests. 

Elle had once again brought up the notion of his joining Rezh, which he was just as quick to dismiss, this time with a stern look and an index finger held firm over her lips. “We’re going to get through this night together, and that most assuredly does not involve me running off with Rezh.” 

But most crucially, no matter where he moved or how far across the room he circled, he would have his eyes on Elle. He would ensure her safety above all else, would find a way to intervene if any of the other participants became too bold. He would be ready, when she needed him. 

And though he’d made her promise—made her vow—she’d keep her own gaze averted, he knew in his heart she would be watching out for him in equal measure. Small distractions, drinks spilled, a well-placed peal of laughter—she would be quietly fierce for him, keeping an eye on the room overall while he took in the details.    

They were ready. 

Rather, they had been. 

Until the Grandmaster’s servants came.

The knock sounded on her door late in the evening, yanking them up from where they’d curled on her sofa, fracturing their easy quiet. Elle’s grip tightened around his wrist for only a moment before she was pulling away, ushering him back towards his room. He froze at the threshold, one set of fingertips white against the doorframe, the other set white against the handle. He could not shut the door. Couldn’t watch her disappear through the crack.

Couldn’t let her go without him.

He said her name, low and questioning, gaze darting between her and the shadow at her entryway as a second knock came.

Elle paused, just long enough to look back at him, all his own longing and need etched into her features. Go, she mouthed. It was only the softly impatient lift of her brows that finally compelled him to obey. As he stepped back to close the door, he watched as she squared her shoulders, projecting a strength, an assurance, he did not feel himself. Once he was secured inside, he pressed his ear to the cold metal and listened, fingers twitching on the handle. 

“The Grandmaster requests your presence, my lady. Come.”

My lady?

But Elle had no title here, no true standing. The sound of it shook Loki off balance, left him wavering as a crack of cold broke across his spine

She did not argue. Didn’t object. It didn’t sound as if she even responded. He could imagine her giving a demure nod, stepping out into the hall with her eyes cast low, hands curling into protective fists. 

They took her. 

They took her, leaving Loki to glare between their rooms as if his ire could compel the silence itself to answer any of the questions swirling inside him. 

Had she been taken to the orgy directly, or to the Grandmaster?

Would she be back before the festivities started?

Why was he not with her? 

On Bor’s grave, why had he not taken the pendant in his fist the moment he heard the knock and used its magic to ensure she couldn’t leave his sight?

Loki tore a hand through his hair, forcing himself to move. Not knowing where she’d been taken, why she’d been taken now, clawed at him. His breath went ragged, the muscles in his legs tightening as he kept himself still. 

Surely she’s safe until the event itself. If the Grandmaster truly has some grand plan in mind for this evening, she won’t be harmed now.

He tried to believe it. Tried not to let the uncertainty send him launching into the halls after her. He reminded himself that Elle had survived on her own for months. She’d been here far longer than he had, knew more of the creeping pitfalls of this planet than he did. If anyone could handle themselves on an orgy night, it was Elle.

Loki screwed his eyes closed, forcing himself to breathe.

He just so desperately wished she didn’t have to. He wanted her safe, somewhere open and free where she would not have to perform for anyone or second guess every step she took. He wanted to see her at ease and joyful, smiling up at him in the sunlight, not a care in the world—except, of course, sating her insatiable king’s need for her touch. Wanted nothing more than to plan the adventures they would take together by day, and revel in the warm, supple feel of her against him every night.

It was nearly a comfort, thinking of their freedom.

Nearly.

When the knock sounded on his own door, he’d all but ripped the obstacle from its hinges, huffing a strand of hair way from his face as the servant stopped him from stepping into the hall. He’d lifted an imperious brow, drawing ice into his voice. “Am I not to prepare for this evening?” 

The servant tensed, but only shook their head, offering up a hanger with his outfit for the night. “You are to dress here, my king. I will be back to fetch you when it’s time.”

That was over an hour ago.

Now, Loki paced. He rolled his shoulders once more, eyes flicking back toward his door, tensing as he waited for a summons that would not come. He twisted his collar again, a low growl hissing through his teeth. 

The Grandmaster had dressed him in ornate Sakaaran fashion, dark and revealing. Loki wore a black over-jacket—sheer, high-necked, and sleeveless, falling to the backs of his knees—the same style the Grandmaster himself favored, though Loki had been offered nothing to wear underneath. There was no way to secure the lapels, leaving his upper body on full display. His trousers laced up tightly, an incredibly snug fit that barely rose over the sharp jut of his hip bones. All of it a velvety material meant to be touched, caressed and slid off with ease. As he paced, the black fabric caught the light just so, sending up a sheen of hidden emerald. It was a striking effect, accentuating his pale skin, making him look both lithe and severe—every bit a feral god forged from a lost swirl of wayward galaxies. 

And though he needed to focus on the task at hand, he could not help but wonder if Elle would like it.

It might have pleased him, in another context, to have been costumed so perfectly as both the venom and the fang; lust and lover incarnate. He could not deny the pleasure he might have felt to have Elle see him this way if they were both free to truly look; to see how her eyes might sweep over him, lower lip sucked into the warmth of her mouth. To feel how urgently, how desperately she might kiss him, when beckoned by such an invitation. 

As tempting as the idea was, he knew this allure was staged, weaponized in a way he could not abide. Loki was meant to seduce, perhaps not Elle, but certainly the other guests. Beauty was no more than bait, had been made transactional, and he knew full well that he was just as much a performer as Elle. He tugged at his jacket, hating it for the illusion it was. Hating it as the fly hates the web. As it was, he wanted nothing more than to strip back out of this costume, crawl back into the soft clothes he wore to bed, drape Elle in one of his shirts, and pull her in close, falling asleep to the feel of her breath caressing his throat. To take in the pleasure of her company, the weight of her on his chest, leg thrown over his thigh, and feel the tension unspool from her limbs. 

Alas, he could have neither her heated touch nor the warmth of her comfort. He was left to prowl between her room and his, waiting, wishing for the hundredth time in that hour alone that he had his magic—the ability to conjure a blade, to insulate Elle and himself from harm, to cast an illusion to send in their place, something!

Loki fell still. It had been some time since he’d attempted to access his magic. Perhaps some spark of luck would shine on him tonight. Closing his eyes, he turned his palms upward, bringing them level with his chest. Forced himself to calm. To breathe deeply, in and out, calling forth his Jotunn skin, shivering as the cold surged up from his bones.

Focused.

Waited. 

There!

Just as it had before, his magic crackled and snapped, just on the periphery of his awareness. It wavered like a candle flame in a storm, flickering and weak, more distant than he remembered, but… it seemed brighter somehow. As if the store of his energy was stronger than last time.

He sucked in a sharp breath, grasping for it. 

Only to have it waver, a flag tearing away in a harsh wind. The effort made his head spin as he strained, his power flashing inside him. His joints began to loosen, body flaring hot, a coil of adrenaline striking hard in his blood.

He pushed harder, farther, fighting to cross that distance and drag his magic back to him.

It snapped, a rope drawn too tightly, shooting away. 

Loki buckled, crashing down onto his hands and knees, panting as a thin line of sweat beaded his brow. He felt as though he’d been struck in the gut with Thor’s hammer, crushing the breath out of him. He shook himself, head going light, forcing in breath after shaking breath. 

And slammed his fist against the floor with a shout.

He’d failed. 

Again!

Whatever spell the Midgardian wizard had struck him with, it was far more powerful than he’d given it credit for. He pushed himself up, whipping his hair from his face with a tight grimace.  

Perhaps some of my own magic is to blame. If the wizard sought to bind me, and my own spell was designed to incapacitate the wizard, then the combination of the two would naturally be frustratingly effective.

And long-lasting, apparently. 

Why, then? Why did his power seem brighter?

He rose up onto his knees, tearing his hands through his hair, thinking back to his earliest lessons with his mother when he was very young and had not yet built up the stamina to use his power for more than simple tricks. 

Perhaps this was much the same. A question of effort. Perhaps, when he’d summoned the pendant for Elle, he had effectively drained his reserves, and now as it regenerated, he would need to build up the muscle once more to cross the distance between himself and his power, like hauling a leaden bucket up from an overdrawn well.

He would need to keep trying. Though his frustration still burned through him, he was grateful for the twist of fate that had allowed him to summon his magic and bestow it on Elle when he had. 

The warmest sensation curled through him then, gentle and inviting, enough to allow him to rise to his feet. Perhaps Elle would have some ideas, when they were able to speak later tonight. True, she did not know magic, did not have the benefit of knowledge accumulated over the centuries, but she knew the science of S.H.I.E.L.D., did she not? Perhaps his clever wildling would have some ideas of how to combine her science and his magic to get his power back. The thought soothed him, eased him down from his own agitation as he watched the blue of his palms fade. 

Soon. 

It would all be out in the open soon. And while perhaps he should be focusing on the wealth of new technical knowledge they could share once their secrets were brought to light, he found himself wondering about things far more tender.

How much more would she be able to tell him now, not about her profession, but about her life? 

Had she always been prone to sleeplessness, or was that instilled in her by her time on Sakaar? What books did she read? Did she prefer warm summer nights or the quiet cold of winter? What did she do with her days when she wasn’t toiling away for her employers? Had she been a lonely child, or was she surrounded by playmates clamoring for her attention? He had a difficult time imagining her alone. 

And to think how much he could tell her.

The frustrations and indulgences of life in the palace. What the gardens were like, illuminated with starlight when he himself was restless and sleep would not claim him. The comfort he’d found in the hushed, sacred sound of the crackling fireplace in the royal libraries on late winter nights. About his earliest, clumsy adventures with Thor, both of them overtrained yet inexperienced in battle. How it felt to have lived as Odin these past few years; to have created for himself a second chance at life, only to then hide himself away rather than truly live it.  

Loki paced again, more deliberately than before—chest buzzing, overwhelmed, and not entirely sure whether it was due to the promise of happiness or the threat of being known. 

Because they could truly know each other after this. They knew each other now, of course, but in larger, more abstract ways. They recognized in each other a common tenacity, an instinct to survive laced with a protectiveness and care that had bonded them together so intensely. 

But now? This would allow them to know each other in deeper, more delicate ways. From this, they could forge the countless smaller intimacies that assembled into more than just a connection, but a life. Something to be shared together far beyond Sakaar.

There was so much more on the horizon, and Loki was hungry for all of it. 

They would get through this. They would weather this night together. And come morning, so help him, they would have this freedom, the first of many, between them.

At last, the knock came.

The servant helped him finish preparing, shaking out his hair to accentuate his black curls and making him look truly untamed, applying dark, thick liner around his eyes. 

With a final glance in the mirror, Loki was led from his room. He stood straight and tall—the way a king would, he allowed himself to think, as he strode out in search of his queen. 

Elle sipped in a breath, digging her toes into the thick carpet and bunching the fibers tight. She’d never been to Rezh’s room before, had been surprised when the servants dropped her there to get ready. It quickly became clear what exactly a sexual relationship with the Grandmaster could afford. 

Everything.

Rezh’s room was far larger than her own, luxuriously decorated in crimson and gold, silk and velvet glinting in the dim light. Robes, some Elle had seen Rezh wear, and others belonging to the Grandmaster, hung from the open closet door. Where Elle stashed the many sex toys of Sakaar away in a drawer, Rezh had them displayed proudly, along with an array of cuffs, clamps, blindfolds, floggers, and glittering vials of aphrodisiacs tastefully arranged alongside artwork, sculptures, and an endless supply of gemstones, no doubt gifts from her many admirers. She’d been given an ornately carved desk made of something that resembled wood, if wood was made from ruby. It was carefully littered with an array of paper—everything from small notes and torn-off corners to long, curling scrolls.

Love letters, Elle realized. Reams and reams of love letters. She gazed around with a self-conscious sort of awe. She’d always known Rezh was popular; she just hadn’t fully realized how deeply she was worshipped. It seemed laughable—and, truthfully, unfair to Rezh—that the two of them were kept by the same man, that someone as bold and beautiful as Rezh could ever be stashed away in the same cage as a lost little human. 

One of Rezh’s exquisitely manicured hands reached around to take Elle by the chin, turning her forward, while two other hands held her shoulders steady. 

“Sorry.”

“Do not be sorry; be still. Here. Stand straight and breathe normally. I need to tie these tighter.”

Elle made a face, trying to obey. “Can’t we just say we lost it and send me out in a robe? It’s so… small.” She chewed her lower lip and looked downward. The lace bandeau the Grandmaster had left for her barely covered her breasts, relying on a series of thin silk ribbons tied across her back to keep it in place. The matching bottoms reminded her of boy-short style underwear, tight as they were, with the same lace-up closure tying off at each hip. 

“The Grandmaster’s request was explicit. You are to wear this tonight.” To her credit, Rezh’s tone was clipped when she spoke his name, as if she was just as wary as Elle. Two of Rezh’s palms slid along her cheeks, making her raise her head, while the other two continued to weave the ribbons across her back. “No slouching, or the knots won’t rest against you properly. Too loose and it will fall off of you with the slightest move. Too tight and you will be fidgeting like this all night. And we both know that fidgeting will be taken as an invitation to remove it altogether.”

Elle sucked back a sigh, glaring at the wall as an impotent swell of anger streaked her cheeks and throat with heat. The words were out before she could stop them. 

“It’ll never be an invitation, and he knows it.”

She clamped her teeth down into the meat of her tongue, wincing at the feeling of Rezh’s hands going still. 

Fuck.

She shouldn’t have said that. God damn it, she shouldn’t have said that! She’d never spoken so openly in front of Rezh. She always had her mask in place, ready to play the part of the quiet, shy little virgin. But the feeling of being tied into an outfit so clearly designed for the Grandmaster’s pleasure, the sight of so much of her own skin meant for his display, made her feel like an animal being branded for auction: raw, exposed, and helpless in a way she hadn’t experienced since Loki found her. It made her chafe against her limitations, even the ones she imposed upon herself.

Elle held her breath, waiting for Rezh to react. Waited for the other woman’s grip to tighten, for the threats to come. Maybe, even, for her to call for the Grandmaster, turn Elle in immediately.

But Rezh did none of that. Instead, Elle felt the wisp of Rezh’s breath on the back of her neck, was so startled by the gentleness of the reassuring squeezes on her elbows that she flinched. 

“I hope, for your sake, our master does not know. Truly, I do. Though you will be far safer if you accept his invitation, Elle. Especially tonight.”

Elle's eyes fell closed and Rezh resumed tying, Rezh's response granting a relief Elle knew she shouldn't take too much solace in. It was getting harder to stay in character, now that she’d found someone she didn’t have to pretend with. Loki reminded her what freedom felt like. Reminded her what it was like to be… 

Well. Not completely herself. Not yet. Not until she could curl her hands into his hair, tell him the truth, and have him accept her fully, for real. It made all those fractured, hidden pieces of her sit up and beg to be seen. More than that: to see him, completely.

She wanted to wake up somewhere safe, somewhere he wasn’t hunted. Wished that place could be her little apartment, where he’d no doubt dwarf her queen mattress. She wanted to see his face when he tried pizza or gelato or sushi for the first time, to share with him all the places that had made her neighborhood her home. The sun-stained little bookshop; the diner that was always too loud but they had the best waffles; the metaphysical shop that had all the crystals and tarot cards that she’d always thought were beautiful, even if S.H.I.E.L.D. had made it nearly impossible to believe that any type of magic could just be sweet or gentle, or exist without being weaponized. She wanted to know about Loki’s magic, what it felt like when he used it. How it worked and what he wanted and what he thought about at night when he couldn't sleep. Wanted to take him somewhere open, to watch him move and dance and laugh. She wanted to see him wild and free, like one of the big jungle cats that was just as apt to sprawl in the heavy golden sunlight as it was to tear through the underbrush. 

She wanted to know Loki. The man, the magician, the would-be conqueror. All of him. 

Maybe she could. 

Maybe, if she could just get through the night, she could learn everything. 

They were close. They were so close. And to be here, going through this ridiculous charade when all she wanted was to be back in their room, explaining the whole mess of her arrival on Sakaar, made her irritable. Made her agitated. Worse: it made her slip. Made her honest in a way she wasn’t allowed to be. 

In a way she had to back down from.

Elle cleared her throat, stopping herself from looking over her shoulder. “Does that mean you know what the Grandmaster's planning?”

“I do not. He is not as open with me as you imagine. I know he’s excited. And I know that his excitement and our comfort are not considered in equal measure.”

“Our comfort? He won’t hurt you. You’re his favorite.”

Rezh patted her shoulders, signifying that the ribbons were tied. Elle spun toward her, recoiling when she found herself face to face with a set of thick leather cuffs, proffered on two of Rezh’s palms.

“For your wrists,” she explained, holding up two more while eyeing Elle’s feet.

Elle’s nostrils flared in a silent seethe as she slapped the cuffs over her wrists, tightening them with a huff. Rezh dipped down to one knee, having to hunch low to affix the matching set around Elle’s ankles. 

“There are no favorites here, Elle. The Grandmaster’s only love is the pursuit of his own pleasure. None of us are exempt from those pursuits. The only difference between us is that I’ve come to understand my place here. You, on the other hand, seem more and more eager to resist.”

“I won’t be another one of his pursuits, Rezh.”

“Better to be one of his than one of Loki’s.”

Elle went rigid, the lash of her anger quick and precise, surging hard enough to force her hands into fists. She pulled backward, leaving Rezh’s hands hanging in the air between them. “Loki isn’t—” 

She caught herself, biting down on the inside of her cheek. She’d already slipped once, had already shown far too much emotion. 

I already showed that I care about him. I can’t reveal any more.  

“I’m not one of Loki’s pursuits, either.” Her voice was thin, strained. Not nearly as in-control as she needed it to be. 

“Aren’t you?” Rezh tilted her head, not bothering to stand. Though her tone wasn’t mocking, there was a barb in it, something between disbelief and a knowing sort of admonishment. “The Grandmaster has allowed him to take you outside the palace, has he not? Surely you don’t imagine such a freedom was given for your benefit alone?”

That lash in her chest drove in deeper. 

Loki did that to help me. To make sure we could get to the Quinjet together. He did it to protect me. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Elle stepped around Rezh, yanking a tiny mesh robe from a hanger and shrugging it on, pulling it closed as if it weren’t entirely see-through. As if she could bury the truth of her fear beneath defiance. 

Rezh exhaled, a small sound of irritation, rising gracefully to her feet and moving to a large, well-lit vanity, pulling out a crimson velvet chair and motioning for Elle to sit. 

Frowning when Elle didn’t move. 

“Perhaps you’ve neglected to see how our master secures his friendships. Please sit down.” Her tone left no question that the please was very much a formality. 

Elle’s gaze fell to Rezh’s feet, stomach tightening as she finally obeyed. It pained her to obey, to fall to heel like a dog. Once she was seated, Rezh set to work applying her makeup. Liner was applied to her eyes, powder brushed over her eyelids and the curve of her cheekbones. Paint stained her lips. All of it a series of gold and blue tones that made Elle close her eyes, as if hiding from the Grandmaster’s colors made them any less real. As if she could hide from the marks of ownership being pressed upon her skin. 

She tried to sit quietly. Tried to bite down on the nagging discomfort wriggling inside her. 

Found that she couldn't.

“What do you mean? About the Grandmaster securing his friendships?”

Rezh arched one perfectly shaped brow, reaching to touch up the wing on Elle's left eye. “He trades us. He uses our bodies to secure the loyalty of others, and whoever he cannot trade is sent to the arena to die.” Rezh sat back, head tilting toward her beautiful desk and her reams and reams of letters. The light faded from her eyes as she looked at them, a cold detachment creeping into her voice. “Do you truly think I’ve had a choice in all the lovers I’ve taken here? The privilege of my choice was earned, through many years of having none. This is how the Grandmaster rules, Elle. He secures alliances by trading his favorite guests. My body. Yours. The strength of the Scrappers. The prowess of his Champion. We are, all of us, baterting tools, and if Loki is to secure himself more freedom here, it will come at a price. And if you are not careful, it will come at your expense.”

No.

No, that wasn’t true. 

About the Grandmaster, yes. Loki had even said as much, that the Grandmaster secured loyalty with trades. 

But that was the Grandmaster. Not Loki. 

Never Loki. 

He had his own plans, true enough, but he’d included Elle in all of them. His only goal in taking her outside was to get them closer to freedom, to let them find and work on the Quinjet. 

Elle’s mouth pinched into a tight line, the paint slick on her lips. 

“Loki’s not like that. He would never…” 

Do that to me.  

“He’d never accept that.”

“You speak as though you know him intimately.”

Elle went very still, save for the movement of her molars grinding together. Her mask was all but gone now, thrown away because she couldn’t get her emotions under control. What was she doing? All her talk with Loki about how to get through the night safely, and here she was, already compromised.

Rezh took her jaw in one hand, using another to apply a line of blue paint down Elle’s chin. A mirroring of the style the Grandmaster wore. “There is no more malignant crime on Sakaar than that of complicity. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for survival. Whatever Loki has done—”

“He hasn’t done anything!”

Rezh sat back slowly, lips quirking at the corners into a smile so sad that even in her anger, Elle felt fractures of hurt, of pity, crack through her heart. “Whatever he will do, then, will be for a good reason, in his mind. The Grandmaster finds a way to compel us all, and when we finally submit, we think we’ve done it to protect ourselves, or someone we love. But none of us play with darkness and walk away unsullied. When we can only compete to be the most-beloved piece of fodder, none of us can ever be clean again.”

Elle wanted to scream. To yell for Loki, to run to him, to kiss him and smooth her hands along the planes of his body and tell him she knew he wasn’t like that. She knew him. 

And once this was over, he was going to know her, too. She’d tell him everything, wrapped around him as tight as she could manage, knowing that Loki would never hurt her. Would never trade her.

Rezh cupped her cheeks, careful not to smudge any of the makeup. Her gaze was still distant, even as she drew twin stripes of blue beneath Elle's eyes. A mimicry of tears. It would not occur to Elle until much, much later that night how those lines felt like a prophecy. In the moment, she could only watch Rezh, could only wonder that, whatever pain she hid, she hid it well. Better than Elle had ever given her credit for. 

“I warned Loki to stay away from you. Did he tell you? I told him I’ve never seen your eyes so bright as when you look at him. Do you know why I warned him, sostra? Why I warned the both of you?"

Elle sat frozen, unable to even shake her head.

“Because I have seen every iteration of this tale, and it cannot help but end in tragedy. Loki could lose his life, Elle, but you could lose everything else. Because, if you are very lucky, Loki will die if the Grandmaster suspects you. Loki will spend hours in agony, and then his light will fade. But you? You will live. You will live a long, long life, remembering what it was like to see him taken apart.” She squeezed her eyes closed, breath tearing from her in scraps of air. When she opened them again, she was quick to turn away, thumb skirting just beneath her lashes. “And that is if you are lucky. The unlucky of us? We live long enough to see the light fade from our lover’s eyes, or have it fade from our own. And do you know what happens then?”

Elle’s could only stare, eyes wide and glassy, head shaking.

“We live long enough to watch the lovers we were willing to die for give us away, rather than be given away themselves. That is the Grandmaster’s invitation, sostra. That is our prize for being his. And I promise you, it is better to be sullied and obedient now than to feel that light inside you die.” 

Rezh squeezed her hands hard enough to hurt, the look in her eyes shifting from pained to pleading. “I do not know what the Grandmaster has planned for tonight, but I beg you, whatever he offers: submit. Whatever it is you think you feel for Loki, it will never be anything more than temporary. The Grandmaster’s favor is the only thing that keeps us alive. Through him, you will find survival. Do not be so foolish as to reject it. Everyone trades each other, Elle. On Sakaar, everyone betrays someone they thought might save them. It is only a matter of who gives in first.”

A knock sounded on their door, making both Rezh and Elle jerk. With a quiet breath, Rezh composed herself with a speed and severity that made Elle’s heart wither. She offered two of her four hands to Elle, flashing a bright smile that was truly dazzling, and truly, utterly empty. Elle took her hands, allowing herself to be drawn up and toward the door. 

“Come, sostra. We have a long night ahead.”

The lights were already low, the music throbbing, drinks sloshing into glasses with heavy pours. Loki scanned the room, looking toward the bar. 

Elle was nowhere to be found. 

He ducked his head, scanning the room again, more slowly this time. The festivities were just getting underway, groups beginning to cluster. Beings of all shapes, colors, and textures began to move together, dancing and pressing in fits of laughter that brought faces close and bodies into the first gliding caress of contact. Clothing was shed, not yet in desperation, but in slow, flirtatious tugs. Murmurs of approval and hums of contentment, the heady precursor to pleasure, simmered in the air. All around him, people moved to the well-cushioned floor, kissing, petting, biting just so, filling the air with eager, greedy sounds.

It was difficult not to want it. Not the exact scenario before him, of course, but a sweeter version of it. Something private between he and Elle alone. He’d meant what he told her: he didn’t want anyone else, and he wouldn't ever press her for something she didn’t want in equal measure. But that didn’t quell his desire for her, still smoldering in his veins, hard and persistent enough to ache. 

He made a slow lap around the room, grabbing a glass of Rotan’s Kiss to sip idly as he moved. He winked and smiled, mostly at participants who were already occupied, ones who didn’t seem to mind when he ducked his head and kept moving. A few of them reached for him, fingers caressing his thighs, grasping at his jacket, but not enough to slow him down. 

He rounded on the bar again, pulse thumping in his temples when he saw that Elle had still not arrived. 

Where was she? 

Was she with the Grandmaster? Alone? 

Gods, would he even know if something was truly wrong? Would he be able to get to her in time, if she needed him?

Lost in thought as he was, Loki failed to notice someone else spinning away from the bar, every bit as restless as he. His shoulder clipped theirs, hard and unyielding, and strong. Shockingly strong, enough to knock him back two steps. He steadied himself with an offended grunt, looking down to scowl at the thoughtless creature. 

Said thoughtless creature made the exact same face at him.

“Watch it.” Not so much seethed at him as spat. The shockingly strong woman pulled back to shake a spill of liquor from her fingers. Not much taller than Elle, but tightly wound with bands of pure muscle, she had a fierce look about her, hair gathered into a knot high at the back of her head. The sharp set of her jaw, the tightness about her brow, and the brief flash of teeth told him she was not one to have her space invaded, or her authority questioned. Beneath each eye was painted a thin but intricate line of chain, the crisp white detailing in sharp contrast against her smooth brown skin. She evaluated him with an unflinching stare, sliding to his left as he moved right.

They circled each other slowly, cautious and calculating, Loki’s fingers twitching for a blade he could not summon. 

She took another pull from her glass, staring at him with something between irritation and distaste. Her eyes dipped to take in his outfit, mouth twisting into a sneer. “Didn’t think pets were so sturdy.”

Loki clenched his jaw, teeth aching.  “I am no pet. And what of you? Some street urchin brought in from the wastes for our host to enjoy?”

“I’m not for sale.” Her gaze flicked to his throat, then, eyes widening just a fraction. “You don’t have a disk. You a Scrapper, then?”

“One of those glorified slavers?" He sniffed, raising his chin. "I am no such thing.”

“Pity. We’d get along better if you were.” With a roll of her shoulders, the woman stood down, draining her drink in three hard swallows and immediately snatching another from a passing tray. She evaluated him over the rim of her glass, her gaze never settling, skimming quickly over his face, down once more over the exposed stretch of his abdomen, coming to rest on his hands, of all things. “Don’t feel local. What are you?”

He crossed his arms, tilting his head and testing the energy around her. There was a distant familiarity there, something clouded, like trying to recall a word just on the tip of the tongue. “A mystery, I suppose.”

She scoffed. “A problem, more like. You’re dressed like one of the Grandmaster’s favorites, but you’re scowling like you’re offended to be here.”

“Aren’t you?”

“‘Course I am. But I’m not dressed like one of the Grandmaster’s favorites.” She crossed her arms, settling her weight on one leg as her gaze shifted into something knowing. Teasing. “Let me guess: first time at the festivities?”

Hm. Aggressive and perceptive. Perhaps he could make use of the street urchin, after all. 

He hung his head in a mock show of defeat. “You’ve found me out. I crashed here some time ago but have only now been required to attend.”

The woman cast a glance around the room, eyes landing and darting quick enough that he almost believed the nonchalance she was projecting. Almost. But Loki knew better. She was looking for someone, someone she didn’t see in the piles of bodies whose grunting and moaning was slowly growing louder around them. With an impatient shake of her head, she turned back to him, finished her drink and instantly, shockingly, reached for a third, quickly draining half of it. 

“A bit of advice, then. You’ll get through this much easier if you start drinking now and don’t stop.”

“Until?”

She blinked at him, her expression impassive, letting the silence answer for her.

Gods, imagine if Elle had encountered this woman when she first landed here? Perhaps she had. Perhaps that explained her own problematic relationship with liquor.

“Sound as that advice is, I’m sure—”

A clatter. A squeal. The sound of glass breaking. 

Loki and the woman turned in unison toward the sound, only to see Scrapper 219 clamber in, hair mussed and clothes in disarray, arms slung low around the waists of two petite humanoid women with vibrant purple skin. 

Scrapper 219. The cretin who’d captured Elle. The one who harmed her. Who’d stared at her so openly in court when Loki had first arrived, his lust nearly as thick as the Grandmaster’s. Seeing him ignited a burn in Loki’s gut, a churn of bile that stung and drew an unforgiving tension into his limbs.

“Norns.”

“Norns!”

Loki and the woman spun back to each other, eyes wide. 

If Loki could have conjured a dagger, he would have. “Did you just—”

“What did you just say?”

“Did you just invoke the Norns?” Loki hissed, grabbing her elbow and beginning to steer her further from the crowd.

“No, I swore. Gods, you talk like a palace brat.” She swatted his hand away, turning back to face him, one leg sliding back in a defensive stance. 

“How would you know what a palace brat—”

She shifted, bringing one hand up to finish her drink and deposit it on the edge of the bar. The movement shifted the metal cuff around her wrist.

Just enough to reveal the distinct tattoo hidden there.

Loki froze. 

His head whipped up, mouth falling open. “You’re a Valkyrie!”

The woman’s eyes went wide. “What—”

“You’re Asgardian!”

“Shhh!”

In a mere instant, there was a dagger in her hand as she spun to shove him against the wall. She caged his body with hers, one hand planted beside his shoulder, the other leveling the blade at his throat. “Do not cause a scene here, do you understand? You want to get drugged and handed off to the highest bidder? No? Then keep your voice down. I’m no Valkyrie here, and no Asgardian. Titles make you stand out. Make you desirable.” She sniffed, glancing down at his bare skin once more. “Something you clearly weren’t warned about.” 

Loki made a face, but ignored the jab. “How did you end up here?”

“We really don’t have time for that. You, you're Asgardian. Who are you?”

He knocked her hand away, rising up to his full height as he flipped his hair from his face. “I am Loki—”

The Valkyrie jerked backward. “Loki. Prince Loki?”

“King, actually.”

The laugh that escaped her was so sudden, so far away, so tired, that he couldn’t contain his own frown of confusion. It was as if he’d pierced some vital armor, revealing a fatigue he had a feeling she fought very hard to keep hidden. “Gods, you are a palace brat. How long’ve I been away?” She ground her fists into her eyes, and when she looked at him again she stared the way an elder looks upon some beloved grove from childhood, only to return to find it ancient and overgrown.

“I haven’t seen you since your first name day celebration. Are you still… y’know. With the blue?”

Loki's mouth worked silently, gaping at her as his heartbeat ground down to a lurching, rigid shudder. 

She knows.

But there was no fear in her voice, so anger, no bitterness. 

How was there no feeling? How did she look at him, a monster from their fairytales, and look so… so…

Resigned. 

“Right. Sorry. That was all hush-hush, wasn’t it?”

“You… you knew?” 

The sounds of the participants were suddenly everywhere, too loud, too close, the temperature in the room climbing too intensely. His palms had gone damp, breath coming too quickly. He’d found another Asgardian, a Valkyrie, and she knew him! Knew who he was and what he was. His mind churned with questions, though his tongue lay flat and heavy in his mouth. Had she been with Odin when he was taken from Jotunheim as an infant? Had she been there when his skin changed?

Was she there when Frigga first looked at him? Was he just another obligation, some relic she’d sighed over as she’d taken him into her arms… 

Or had she wanted him? Had Frigga seen him, not as a monster, but as a child, and wanted to raise him as her own?

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. It seemed insurmountable, the questions too heavy, too important, to unearth here as the room filled with humidity and the long, low groans of the participants. 

The Valkyrie shook her head, seeming to sense his conflict.  “I was still in training when Odin brought you to the palace, but I was there. I saw… well. I saw a lot of things back then. Too much to talk about on an orgy night, at any rate. How did you end up here, majesty?” She glanced back over her shoulder at 219, watching as he divested himself of his shirt and fell to his knees, into the waiting arms of his partners. “He bring you in?”

“That walking vulgarity? No, he most certainly did not. I came in on my own after I crashed.”

“You mean you didn’t run?”

Loki bristled, standing up straighter. “I’d just landed here. I had no idea of what awaited me in the palace. No, I didn’t run.”

“Yeah. I suppose I didn’t either. Should’ve, though. There may be no way off this rock, but the other side of the planet looks better and better every day.”

As much as he wanted to delve deeper into their shared history, he set his curiosity aside for the time being, focusing instead on the questions that would help him in the more immediate future. “Why? What’s on the other side of the planet?”

“Nothing hospitable. Sand dunes and lightning storms and very limited resources. But none of this.” She gestured bleakly around the room at the couples, throuples, foursomes and moresomes. She scowled, watching 219 take up a pitcher of something thick and glittering and pour it over his partners. “None of that.”

Ah. Now that was interesting. Her tone was strange, pinched almost, with some buried emotion Loki couldn’t quite identify. 

“And what’s your objection to that? The act? The man?” Loki laughed through his nose, looking around the room. “This whole infuriating situation?”

That earned him a tight-lipped smile, though there was still that odd detachment in her eyes. Something very much like what he’d seen in Elle’s eyes when they first met. Something haunted, though here, in the Valkyrie, it was far sharper. Buried beneath ice and loathing. 

She tipped her head back toward the writhing trio. “The two women he’s with? Pretty things, aren’t they?”

Loki gave a curt nod. 

The Valkyrie’s gaze went distant, though her voice remained cold. “I brought them in. Dragged them out of their cute little ship soon as it crashed. Got paid a decent wage for them. Luckily for them, they found their footing here quickly. Not all of them do.”

Loki pulled back, spine stiffening. He failed to hide the contempt in his voice. “You’re a Scrapper.”

She sneered, that frigid look suddenly hot with defiance. Defensiveness, almost. “I dunno what you’ve been told, majesty, but if you’re not a Scrapper, you’re a pet, either in the arena or in here.”

He glanced at 219 and all he could think of was Elle, terrified as she hurtled across an alien landscape with someone so much stronger snapping at her heels. How inevitable her capture was. How desperately she’d fought anyway.

And this… this Scrapper, this fallen warrior, was just the same. And despite her being the closest person to kin he'd seen in ages, he still heard the sharp edge creep into his voice. “You sell them. You sell the Grandmaster his slaves.”

“Don’t you dare condescend to me, majesty. You’ve clearly not been here long enough to know that we’re all slaves. Some of us are just strong enough to fight our way to the middle of the pack, rather than getting picked off from behind.”

Loki closed his eyes, shook his head, a schism tearing through him. On one side was Elle. All her hardships and all her pain, raw and tender enough to wound him on her behalf. This planet, the Scrappers, they’d harmed her so deeply, in ways that he imagined would take the rest of her lifetime to fully recover from, even if he was able to steal her away tomorrow. 

But on the other side, though it filled him with ash and loathing, was Thanos. 

And through Thanos, he understood. 

He thought of the countless times he was given a choice that was no choice at all.

Which shall it be this time? Your mother or your brother? Which will you spare?

Where shall I begin today, fallen king? If you refuse to answer, we’ll take your tongue first.

No one is coming for you, Loki. No one is searching for you. Your brother cast you out. Abandoned you. Your mother never wanted you. Odin… Odin discarded you the moment he had no use for you. You are no more to them than a burden, a relic they’re glad to be rid of. You’ll destroy them all, or you’ll survive here, forever. Is that what you want, Loki? To survive here, in this place? As you are now?

Loki’s breath fractured, a sharp tremor winding its way through every sinew. He braced himself against the wall, willing the memories away, shaking his head as if to clear the hollow press of Thanos’ voice from his head. With a hard swallow, he made himself look at the Valkyrie, his anger ebbing from him one terrible drop at a time. 

“I think I know what you mean.”

His acquiescence seemed to unnerve her, making her lean back away from him, brow furrowed. “Do you?”

“Yes. I do. You’ve been away from Asgard for a very long time. Much has happened, there and across the realms, but… I know what it is, to survive at all costs.”

She considered this for a moment, watching him closely. It looked as if she was about to speak again when a communicator around her wrist began to beep, a small red light demanding her attention. A reedy voice churned through: “142, this is 587.” 

Silence.

“142, I see your rig out here, I know you’re around. You still owe me a hundred-thousand credits for damage to my ship! 142, if I have to go to every bar—”

With a roll of her eyes, the Valkyrie hit a button and spoke into her device. “Oh fuck off, 587. I'll pay you in the morning.”

Loki blinked, jaw agape.

She looked up, did a double-take at his expression. “What? Don’t tell me I owe you credits, too.”

“It’s you.” A hushed laugh. “You’re Elle’s contact.”

Her demeanor changed like heat breaking, like lightning flashing through a dark sky. Her center of gravity lowered, her blade flashing between them. Her eyes darted, looking to see if anyone had heard them. “How do you know about that?”

“Wait—”

“Nobody knows about that. You been watching me? Watching her?”

“No! I know Elle, we—”

“She’s my contact. I don’t share resources.”

“It’s not—”

“Furthermore —”

“Would you stop interrupting!”

The blade pressed up against his throat, its edge cold and sharp enough to nick. Loki tipped his head back, grimacing as the Valkyrie leaned her weight into him. 

“Furthermore, you don’t know Elle. Not if you've got half a brain rattling around in that head of yours. You don't play with the Grandmaster’s toys. Maniacal planetary dictator trumps King, majesty, especially when he’s prone to torturing and melting his rivals.”

“She’s not a toy,” he hissed, surging forward hard enough to push the blade deeper into his skin, a thin line of blood stitching across his throat. 

The Valkyrie’s eyes narrowed. 

Damn!  

Loki realized only too late he’d tipped his hand. Of everything he could have objected to in her tirade, it was her disrespect of Elle he’d fought. He inhaled sharply, puffing out his chest in a mock show of defiance even as his mind began to swirl. He would fight her if he had to. He had no way of knowing how loyal she was to the Grandmaster, and if he had to take her down now to protect himself, to protect Elle, so be it. He shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, muscles in his arms bunching, ready to launch himself forward.

Only to be disarmed by the Valkyrie’s weary groan. She planted her hands on his shoulders and gave him a hard, irritated shove before sheathing her blade and pinching the bridge of her nose. “What is it about Asgardian royalty that can’t pass up the promise of small, abandoned things.”

Loki recoiled, and though it was clear she had not meant it as a barb, it still landed like one. “I’m nothing like Odin,” he spat, smoothing down his jacket. “Look, she was among the first people I encountered when I crashed here. She told me of your arrangement and we’ve constructed one similar. She’s kept me informed of the inner workings of Sakaar, and in exchange, I’ve helped keep the Grandmaster’s attentions at a certain distance. I am not here to interfere with your bartering. I’m merely trying to survive, same as you.”

“If you were anything like me, majesty, you’d keep yourself detached. That, right there? That royal frown of yours? That’s not detached. That is some very definite attachment to a creature that’s going to be owned until she dies.”

“She’s not—”

A tremendous burst of music and laughter exploded through the room, interrupting the coupling already taking place. The participants paused, sitting up to watch the room fill. Plates upon plates of food were bustled in, heaved up to the tables stationed across the room. Metallic trays shimmering with small vials took up residence on the abundant pedestals scattered through the crowd, hungry hands grasping immediately.

And behind it, a glittering parade. The Grandmaster’s entourage, beautiful and shimmering in borrowed splendor. Leading the line were twin males, tall and muscular, with flawless obsidian skin streaked with raised ridges of what looked like amethyst gemstone. It glittered above their eyes and down the strong columns of their necks, jutting from their bare chests in patterns reminiscent of constellations. Their full lips were painted a glimmering opal, a color echoed on their eyelids and fingernails. Each man held a gold leash, ringing the necks of two lithe, genderless creatures crawling on their hands and knees, dressed in shimmering silver. 

Stunningly painted women followed, full breasts and the soft curve of their stomachs barely concealed in gold silk. They danced and twirled their way in, dragging with them towering creatures of such strange angles that they nearly hurt to look at. A veritable parade of bodies entered, all painted in ways reminiscent of the Grandmaster. Gorgeous women, stunning men, all painfully enticing, moved into the room, instantly selecting groups of participants to join, bringing the brightly-colored bottles of aphrodisiacs with them.

The Grandmaster's true entourage. No mere guests of Sakaar, these were his chosen participants, his favorites, hand-selected to accompany him for the evening. 

It wasn’t long before the Grandmaster’s three fabled humans entered. Two women: one older, tall and lithe, with a torrent of dark hair streaked through with silver, painted with severe red eye makeup and matching lips. A younger woman, gorgeously heavy-breasted and full in the hips entered to her left, her own markings done in purple, long blonde hair left to sway around her shoulders. And between them, a tall, lean young man, barely muscled, with shaggy auburn hair grown out around his chin, painted in orange. They were all of them free of disks, but collared in thick circlets of gold. 

And directly behind them: The Grandmaster.

Grinning. Glittering. Jubilant. Raucously laughing as he swaggered into the room, a woman pinned beneath each arm. 

On his left, tall and proud, stood Rezh. He’d stripped away her golden finery and dressed her in a shimmering black dress, the fabric clinging to her curves with every movement. She looked to be draped in the stars themselves, her body a monument to poise and beauty. She was barefoot, placing her feet gracefully as she moved in a way that bespoke royalty. She was marked in black like Loki was, dark around the eyes, but with a black stripe painted down her chin. Her hair was free and flowing, a riot of black silk around her jade shoulders. Even beneath the Grandmaster’s arm, she was stunning to behold, powerful and magnificent. 

And on the tyrant’s right.

Elle.

Loki was both struck and stricken, a roll of thunder hitting him hard in the ribs and in the gut. 

It did not matter that her back was straight and her chin was held high. It did not matter that her hands rested in loose fists, her eyes hard and distant as she made herself a thorn, something sharp the Grandmaster would have to fight to claim. 

She was doing all the things they’d discussed. Projecting obedience even as she found it within herself to fight. 

But the tyrant had still made his mark, and it slit Loki to his very core. 

The Grandmaster dressed her in his colors, in sapphire and gold, the deeply rich hue of it a sharp contrast against her pale skin. The deep blue lace of her bandeau did little to conceal her breasts, and Loki swore he could make out the faint shape of her piercings beneath the thin material. Black silk ribbon crossed over her shoulder blades and hips, mere knots the only things keeping the sparse fabric from being torn off her body. She’d been draped in what could only laughably be called a robe, thin and sheer and only long enough to graze the tops of her thighs, leaving so very little to the imagination. Around her ankles and wrists were thick leather sapphire cuffs, making her look like a slave girl. Her face had been painted like the tyrant’s, her eyes ringed in gold and blue, a thin blue line painted down the center of her chin and beneath each eye.

And her hair. All that copper-gold hair, meant to be loose and free, was pulled up into a high, tight braid, the end of which fell just between her shoulders.

The message was unmistakable: she belonged to the Grandmaster. She was his to decorate and display, however he saw fit. 

Seeing her like this felt like taking in a lungful of water and being unable to sputter it out, a blunt, hard clot of air in Loki’s chest. 

Only one thing bespoke her defiance, the true sanctity of her affection.

At the base of her throat, Loki’s pendant still glowed, a delicate, icy blue that stood against the deep sapphire printed upon the rest of her body.     

His.

And suddenly, it was not mere rage that roiled Loki’s blood. 

His legs tensed, fingers grasping with the urge to run to her, to tear off his jacket and wrap her in it, to see her safe and hidden and protected from the leering eyes and grabbing hands of everyone in the room.

Safe from all but his own.

He swallowed hard. 

It would have been better seeing her naked again. Seeing all of her, the smooth glide of her skin, the small marks and lines that made her exquisite body hers would have been easier to bear. The temptation to touch her would make his fingers curl, would send him to his knees grasping for her. 

But this? This was so much worse. 

This was painful. This was cruel. Seeing another man’s markings on her face. Seeing the Grandmaster's arm around her, keeping her wrapped in his colors. Seeing so much of her soft, sweet body on display for someone else’s benefit. It took that rage inside him and plundered it with another kind of fire. Took all the heat of his longing and plunged it into shadow. 

It went against everything they’d discussed, everything he’d explicitly agreed to. He meant it when he said he wanted her exactly as she was, even if they would never be sexually intimate. Yes, he wanted to protect her. Yes, he wanted to kiss her and hold her and know every single detail about her life, to run off into the warm sunsets of Barcelona with her at his side.

And yet, his mind spiraled.

She’d chosen Loki. She wanted Loki. She wasn’t the Grandmaster’s. She was his.  

He didn’t just want to cover her now, oh no. He wanted to take her back. To erase every shred of evidence the Grandmaster left upon her. He wanted to gather her up into his arms and bask in her warmth, spirit her away to their room and take her face in his hands, kissing her gently as he washed the offensive markings from her skin. 

And then, he wanted to kiss her far more roughly, rough enough to make her gasp as he ran his hands over the curves of her hips, smoothing them along her back as he unlaced that damned scrap of cloth and tore it from her. To watch as her breasts fell free, to palm them hungrily just a shade too rough and twist those irresistible piercings in his fingertips until she arched into his touch, his name a mere whimper on her lips. He wanted to pull her legs around his hips, to pin her in place and rut up against her, to kiss and lick at that damned mark on her throat and replace it with his own. He wanted to touch her. Slowly. Intimately. To feel her shudder in his arms and watch her break apart beneath his fingers until the only name she remembered was his.

Possessive. 

Loki knew this was possessive, knew he needed to stop this line of thought immediately, for her security and his own sanity. But seeing her here, seeing her this way, brought out a hunger in him he’d never known this intensely: not just for pleasure, but for pride. 

The flesh of his palms gave way beneath his nails, the tension all but vibrating in his jaw and shoulders. 

He suddenly hated that he’d so vehemently instructed Elle not to look at him. He needed her to look at him now. He needed her to see him, to see the gentleness in her dark eyes and know she was with him, that she was still her own.

And his.

Damn everything to Hel, he needed her to be his.

He swallowed hard, knowing he should not be staring openly at her.

And yet he was unable to look away.

“Gods above,” the Valkyrie cursed beside him. “What is it with immortals and human fetishes?”

He could have laughed. How much easier this would be if it were a mere fetish. How much simpler if this possessive, angry streak was born from simply the desire to bed her. 

Not to worship her. To use every inch of his body to praise every inch of hers, to wipe away every last remnant of this horrid place with adoring words and caresses. To pull her close night after night and hear of every idea she’d ever had, every fear, every fantasy. 

To have her crawl up astride him. To press down on his chest and take him fully, to watch her head fall back, her face slacken with pleasure, and feel her clench tight around him, over and over and over, until she had no choice but to collapse in his arms. To pull her mouth to his own skin and invite her, beg her, to bite down. To have her mark him, bruise him, to make it so his own body remembered nothing but the feel of her.

How much simpler if he merely wanted to possess, and not to be possessed in turn. 

He fought back a shudder, watching the entourage move across the room, desperate to see where Elle was taken.

Only to see her head tilt at an odd angle. Eyes trained upwards, head cocked to the side. 

Slowly, Loki raised his eyes.

And was grateful that the Grandmaster so loved his mirrored ceilings. 

Even here across the room, Loki met Elle’s gaze through their reflections. Saw the relief and the affection flood into her eyes when she spotted him. Saw her lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. 

I've got you, it promised. Even from here, I've got you.

His heart gave a painful squeeze, tension singing in his shoulders as he kept himself rooted in place, resisting the urge to run to her. 

Had to fight it back all the more urgently, as the Grandmaster demolished their plan yet again. He wrapped his arm tighter around Elle, shouted to the crowd, encouraging them to resume their writhing, and steered her directly toward the center of the room.

The place from which there would be no escape.

Chapter Text

Elle’s heart thundered, a surge of blood hammering in her throat, in her ears, in her fingertips. Her temples throbbed with the percussion of it. 

Loki.

Catching sight of him, looking at him even for even a moment, was enough to make her hands shake with a plunge of adrenaline. Relief warred with her need to run and hide against his chest, to just feel his arms around her and fill her senses with Loki and Loki alone. To twist her fingers through his wild black curls, so full and tousled that it looked as though he’d been fighting. He was every bit a king tonight, shadowed and regal and exquisite in a way that made the air too thin and her pulse too quick, switch or no switch. 

Even in the reflection his eyes blazed, a hypnotic, luminous summer green, ringed heavily in black. He stared at her as if she was a ghost, some phantom conjured here to haunt him, body and soul.

But no. That wasn’t right. 

He stared as if he’d conjured her. As if Loki himself had cast a spell to call her to him, and in seeing her there, was both overwhelmed by the reality of her presence and furious that he couldn’t touch her. There was such hunger in his eyes, inhuman in its intensity. Ravenous and scorching, sprinkling a cascade of goosebumps along the back of her neck. 

It was primal, making a black, hidden thread of instinct in the back of her brain wind tight enough to vibrate. It wasn’t like how the Grandmaster looked at her. This was no empty, superficial desire. No, Loki stared as if she was both precious and prey, as if he could see all of her, not only beneath these mere scraps of fabric, but deeper still, into all the pieces of her she tried so hard to keep hidden. Even from him. 

Her mouth went dry, her lashes lowering before she lost herself even further in the inferno of his gaze. 

And suddenly, Elle knew exactly what Rezh meant when she said she couldn't look at Loki, saw in him the blatant brightness she knew would only be reflected in her own stare. Knew now the millions of ways they betrayed each other with just a simple glance. 

Being apart from him all night, only to see him now—the Grandmaster’s arm tight around her, with so much of her body on display—was its own special kind of hell. That hell only sank deeper as the Grandmaster’s hand bunched her robe, tugging it to the side so he could slide his palm directly across her skin, fingers digging into the dip of her waist as he led her to the center of the room. 

She flashed cold, nearly tripping as she dug her toes against the floor. “Wait, I think I should just… The bar—”

The Grandmaster looked down, mouth tugging into a knowing grin. “I’ll get you a drink in a sec, sweetheart. I know you usually like to avoid being the center of attention at these things, but, ah, we’ve got so much to celebrate tonight. Come here.” He dipped at the knees, arm locking around her waist and hauling her up, carrying her forward with alarming ease. Her nails bit into his skin as deeply as she could allow without openly clawing at him, willing her feet not to kick. 

He didn’t even seem to notice. 

Instead, he adjusted his grip on her and Rezh, laughing as he shouted out a greeting to his treasured participants. Their heads snapped up at the sound of their master’s call, all of them made obedient by fixation or fear.  

“My lovely Sakaarans! I see some of you are already getting started, and ya know, I love the enthusiasm! Eat and hydrate, and make sure you’re sampling all the lovely beverages we have out tonight. Let’s raise our glasses and really get the party started!” He dropped Elle back to her feet, passing one drink to Rezh and one to Elle before taking one for himself. “To the festivities! Leave no passion unexplored!”

The crowd cheered and echoed the toast, while Elle quickly surveyed her glass. 

It shimmered with the rich, opaque purple of Devil’s Kiss. 

So named for the fire it ignited, the twin flames of lust and rage that came from the swirl of wine and aphrodisiacs. 

Fuck!

Her tolerance for this was meek at best, its effects inconsistent and unpredictable. She couldn’t afford to be openly aggressive here. She took a sip, hesitant to stress her system so early in the night. 

The Grandmaster grinned, one hand sliding over her ribs, hooded eyes locked on her mouth. “So conservative, sweetheart. Don’t you want more?”

She shook her head, not trusting her voice to stay steady. She needed to be careful. Fuck, she needed to be so careful. She glanced over her shoulder as a tray of liquor passed by, tongue suddenly dry. 

She’d promised Loki she wouldn’t drink. She’d sworn. 

But fuck, this was her first orgy without a drink, and everything was wrong. She and Loki weren’t together, and she was in the very center of the room with the Grandmaster, closer to naked than she’d ever been in his presence. Her hands still shook, the adrenaline this time coming from a biting spike of fear. 

The Grandmaster plucked the glass from her hands. “Can’t let it go to waste, can we?” He raised the drink to his lips, tossing his head back and draining the glass.

Elle watched him for a moment, fingers knitting and unknitting over the front of her robe, before casting one furtive glance behind her. She wanted to catch sight of Loki again. Just one look to fortify her. 

It proved to be a catastrophic mistake. 

The Grandmaster used the distraction to grab her, hands closing over her cheeks, grip as unforgiving as steel. His fingertips dug into the hinge of her jaw hard enough for the bone to creak, thumbs driving sharp points against her chin. He dragged her to him, forcing her lips open as he descended on her with a cruel, wet kiss and laved the drug from his mouth into hers. 

Elle wrenched backwards, only to snap against the Grandmaster’s unbreakable hold. He tugged her body flush against his, rutting into the exposed skin of her lower belly, the throb of his erection abrupt and terrifying. A muffled, snickering groan drove more of the aphrodisiac into her mouth. She tried to spit, tried to thrash, to scream, anything, but only succeeded in dribbling Devil’s Kiss from the corners of her mouth, down her chin and throat, leaving sticky trails over the tops of her breasts.

Her voice. 

Her breath.

Her heartbeat. 

All of them a swelling lesion of pressured pain, set to rupture.

One of his hands wound her braid around his fist, pulling tight enough to make her eyes water. The other hand dropped to close around her throat, fingers squeezing in a silent threat. 

Swallow or breathe, sweetheart. You’re gonna pick one. 

Something shattered. 

Thought maybe it was her heart. 

Her sanity. 

Head pounding, lungs beginning to scream, Elle had no choice. 

She swallowed. 

The Grandmaster laughed against her, licking a wide, flat stripe over her lips. He cupped her face to hold her still, pinning her mouth once more before patting her face—using just enough restraint to keep it from being a slap. “Good girl.” 

The Devil’s Kiss struck her stomach like a fist. Her breath thinned to shrill whistles, everything inside her a seeping blister of humiliation.

Elle tore away with a sound that was both retch and sob, only to have him yank her back against his chest. “Easy, sweetheart, eeeeasy.  Jeez, not into the praise kink, huh? I’ll have to remember that. See if we can’t find something you do like.” He dug his fingertips into the swell of her ass, pressing harder against her while grinning over at Rezh. “I’m sure there’s a niche interest or two buried in this little body, right? If not, ah... I’m always up to do a little burying, myself.”

Rezh didn’t answer, looking down into her drink with a forced indifference betrayed by the pinch of her mouth.  

Elle wanted run. Into the desert. Into the wastes. Anywhere but here.

But more than anything, she wanted Loki. 

She needed him to block out everything that wasn’t the safety of his touch and his low, gentle voice. She needed to curl up small and scared, to crawl into his lap and weep until this fathomless fear and hurt began to fade.

Already her head began to throb, eyes going grainy. The light took on a strange quality, almost like a halo, the voices and moans around her beginning to slow and meld. A mean, precise pulse kicked up at the apex of her thighs, livid as a burn.

It’s not real. It’s not real!

But all at once, her body wasn’t hers. 

It hurt too much, no color attached. No red and no silver, no velvet or silk. Just sharp and slicing, an ache like she’d been injured. There was no want in it, just the blunt, brute force of blood and slick and reaction without any true desire. Goosebumps tore over her skin, nipples instantly stiff to the point of pain. A pain only touch would cure, she knew; but to invite it would take whatever shred of herself she had left and crush it. 

Movement in her periphery drew her attention. She looked up to catch Rezh’s wide stare, her lips set in a stern line. 

But her eyes. 

They were round and wide, bright with fear.

Elle began to turn, only to have Rezh take her shoulder, gaze still locked in the distance. 

No, the gesture said. Face me.

The Grandmaster slung his arms around the both of them, pressing them together, every bit the gluttonous tyrant. “Mmm, now this I’d like to see. My two best girls together? Stick me in the middle and you know, ah… I’d be just thrilled. You’d be up for it, wouldn’t you, Rezh?” 

Rezh gave a quick twitch of a smile, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth as her hands snaked around Elle’s waist, pulling her close. “Of course, Grandmaster. We could have such fun, the three of us.”

Elle squirmed, despising the flash of heat sinking through her skin, the unwanted lash of it pooling low inside her. She whined and twisted in Rezh’s arms, only to have her grip tighten, lips grazing Elle’s ear. 

“Don’t.”

Rezh gave her a stern look, just a flicker between them. “Give me a moment? I see a friend I want to welcome.” She kissed the Grandmaster again, then pressed its twin to Elle’s jaw. 

“One moment.” Said to the Grandmaster, but accompanied by a subtle squeeze to Elle’s arm.

Another silent command: Don’t move. Elle couldn’t watch her leave, not from how the Grandmaster was gripping her. Instead, she dared a glance upwards toward the mirrored ceiling.

Only to have the world begin to spin apart.

By the bar, splayed against the far wall, Loki was looking at her. 

Not at her reflection, but into the center of the room where she now stood in the Grandmaster’s arms, his face twisted into an expression of pure loathing. Deeper than pain. This wasn’t Loki, not her Loki. This was the face of the man who stood above New York as it fell. The look captured by TV cameras as the Avengers swarmed his location. 

Desolation, and such rage that she swore she felt herself begin to burn.

There was a woman with him, turned so Elle couldn’t see her face, speaking fervently to Loki by the looks of it. A spray of shattered glass glittered around them, sending up pinpricks of light. Something was wrong—Loki’s chest shuddered, the skin at the center blooming red, his expression morphing into one betraying a much more physical pain. He turned only slightly, lips moving as he seethed at his companion through a snarl.

Their argument was interrupted as Rezh sauntered up to him in even, confident steps, splaying her hand against his bare chest, making him wince. Elle could only watch as Rezh pushed her lithe, perfect body up against his. Two of her hands snaked around his shoulders while the others found their home around his waist. So close. Close enough so there was no space between them.  

A rough, stunned noise crept from Elle’s chest. Her thoughts blurred, dipping and whirling from the drug writhing through her veins. She didn’t think about their need for subtlety, didn’t remember hers and Loki’s promises to keep up appearances, looking out for each other from afar. As she watched Rezh press against him, the Grandmaster’s touch a chain over her limbs, she didn’t remember any of their plans or their strategies.

All she knew was she wanted him close, wanted him here, and he was neither of those things. 

He said he’d watch her, that he’d protect her, but his attention was narrowed to a space she didn’t occupy. Rezh’s hands stroked over him in a languid, even glide. Over his shoulders. His throat. Back to his chest. Slow and deliberate and soothing.

Sensual.

Loki went still, not even bothering to fight. 

Rezh whispered to him, her mouth grazing the shell of his ear. He looked wild, untamed. 

But then he closed his eyes. 

Nodded. 

And leaned into her. Leaned into her with such a sweet look of relief and care, sagging into her touch.

Something jagged tore into the soft, shuddering place between Elle’s lungs.

At Loki’s side, the other woman turned, revealing the frown of Scrapper 142. She looked at Rezh and Loki, taking them in with a slow glance, up and down. Elle could see her lips moving, saw Rezh and Loki look at her in unison, neither of them pulling away. 

Elle said it was fine—she told Loki he should go to Rezh if anything happened. 

But it wasn’t fine. Her head spun and her eyes were sore, and fuck, none of this was fine! She’d just been attacked and he…

Doesn’t he care?

That jagged lash in her chest tore wide, messy and mean, thundering down to feed that too-sharp ache inside her. 

And then the Grandmaster turned her in his arms, shifting as he pressed a glass into her hands. Not filled with any aphrodisiac, but with liquor. Sweet and heady, enough to make her mouth pucker, everything around her and inside her wrong and broken.

Whatever was happening with Loki and Rezh, he was oblivious, enjoying having her locked against him. “Drink this.” 

Elle whipped her head up to glare at him, that action alone making her sway, stomach clenching. 

He grinned. “Go on, sweetheart. Be good for me, yeah?”

The idea of obeying him nearly had her smashing the glass against his temple. 

Nearly. 

She’d promised Loki she wouldn’t. Promised she’d keep a clear head. 

Why? A brusque, petulant hiss inside her. Why be sober for this? Why keep a promise to someone who won’t keep theirs?

The feel of the Grandmaster’s mouth still stung like a brand on her skin. She hated it. Hated that Loki wasn’t beside her. Couldn’t make sense of the strange quality of the light or the moaning all around her. Couldn’t stand to feel any smaller than she already did. 

She was weak, unsalvageable. 

Those broken shards inside her wanted this. She wanted to hurt, not the way the Grandmaster hurt her. Not the way it hurt to see Loki with Rezh. 

In a way she chose. 

In a way she could control.

She let the Grandmaster guide the drink to her mouth. Let her lips part, the cold burn of the alcohol flooding her mouth. 

Tilted her head back as he raised the glass, swallowing every drop she was allowed. Hating the way his eyes danced over her, the way he licked his lips, watching her throat.

Hating how good it felt when it hit her system, the familiar numbness striking down inside her.

And when the Grandmaster moved to pull away, she grabbed at his wrist, pushing harder into him to keep him from taking it back. 

She hated herself for that, too.

He set free a jolt of laughter, prying his hand away, leaning in to lap the shine of the drink from her lips. The feel of his tongue and the crash of liquor in her gut tore a groan from the pit of her chest—and instead of relief or numbness, her nausea slammed back into place. That false arousal ached and ached, but her stomach, at least, knew the truth. She whimpered, fighting off the need to gag. 

“Slow down, sweetheart. Save some for the toast.”

“What…” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “What toast?”

His grin was wide, wicked. “Ours.”

He turned then, tugging her in front of him. 

“Attention! Attention everyone! If we could all just… there we go. Just take a pause for a second. Eyes on me. Lovely, lovely. I have just the most thrilling announcement.”

Participants went still, some grumbling at the interruption, but no one dared disobey. No one moved to dress or pull themselves away from their partners, instead looking up in unison, waiting for their master to speak, all staring at him and Elle with unnaturally dark eyes. 

Sakaar had never felt more like a cage. 

“Now, my lovely Sakaarans, I know we’ve been having such fun, all of us together, with our parties and our games, and, ah…  our readings.” He punctuated the final word by sliding his hands along Elle’s hips, parting her robe for the crowd to see. Her face and throat ignited with a lash of mortified heat, the sounds of the room cottoned by the screaming of blood in her ears. 

It wasn’t enough to drown out the whistles and jeers.

“And I know that we’ve been enjoying my little human’s ability. I know I have! But… well, entertaining as her magic is, it’s time for a new game. In fact, I think it’s time for us to say goodbye to my clairvoyant, and hello to my courtesan.”

He kissed the scar on her neck, the facade of such gentle intimacy making her shrink. “I want you all to consider the past few weeks the beginning of my sweetheart’s official farewell tour. For the next month, we’re just... just gonna have the most delightful time with her! All the readings you can handle! Parties and gatherings and outings, with my girl here as the guest of honor! And, ah… at the end of it… during our next round of festivities…” 

His hand dropped to her ass again, giving it a greedy squeeze. His wiry chuckle set her teeth clicking together.

“To lock in this new appointment, Elle and I are gonna have just the most stunning public debut. Our first time, right here, shared with all of you! And, let’s not all forget it’ll be her first time ever! I’m going to make the night special for my girl. I think it’s time to dig into the reserves, and bring back the big guns!” 

The crowd howled, making him shout to be heard. “That’s right! We’re bringing back Shine!”

There was thunder all through the room, electric excitement. 

Elle heard none of it.

A shrill whine pierced her ears, submerging her head in static. Her knees buckled, and it was only the Grandmaster's grip that kept her from hitting the floor.  “Ya know, you are just the cutest when you’re falling for me, sweetheart.” He hauled her back up, arms slipping on the sudden sheen of her sweat.

A Shine party would last for days, she knew. The effects would be felt for much, much longer. 

She thought back so many months ago, to the abrasions on her ankles and wrists from tying herself to her bed. Remembered the hours of agony that followed. Remembered using so many of those awful fucking party favors, the ones she now kept locked in the drawer, desperate for even a shred of relief. 

And finding none. Because with Shine, only the heat of someone else's skin would do. 

On Shine, there would truly be no choice. 

And the Grandmaster didn’t mean to give her one. He would have her, here in this room, drugged into the compliant, animal version of herself. 

And on Shine? She would probably thank him.

It was only when that ringing in her ears turned to a wail, her vision going dark at the edges, that Elle realized she wasn’t breathing. She dragged air into her lungs, willing herself not to faint. Not to break down right here. 

The Grandmaster was still talking.

“Shhhh! Hey now, hold on! One more minute, I’ve got more good news!” Spoken through a wide grin and a laugh that had the nerve to be cheerful. “Where’s Loke. Loke! Come up here, handsome! There you are, up here with me. Up, up, up!”

Loki exchanged a strange look with Scrapper 142 and took a hesitant step forward. He seemed to waver for only that one step before he pushed his shoulders back, raising his chin. Rezh turned with him, her fingers trailing over the bloom of red on his chest as she slipped her arm over his so they walked side by side.

A king and his queen, Elle thought bitterly.

Seeing it hurt. Almost as much as the fact that Loki wouldn’t look at her. It didn't matter if it was safe or necessary. She hated it. 

His focus was trained solely on the Grandmaster, the inhuman light in his eyes shifting darker, unspeakably threatening. Rezh’s grip on him seemed to tighten, sliding her hand to lace her fingers with his. 

Because only a queen can bring a king to heel.

Elle watched them approach as if through water, their movements slowed by the drug and alcohol scorching inside her. Even slowed, there was a rigidity about them, a current of tension that hummed like electricity. It seemed to spark at her as Loki took his place beside the Grandmaster, dark and imposing as a storm. The tyrant only beamed, slipping a hand up to rest on Loki’s shoulder. 

“Now, my lovely Sakaarans, I’d like to give a special thanks to Loke, here. He’s given me the most marvelous advice lately, really showing a lot of initiative that I think is gonna make things so lively from now on. Truly, the man has, ah… has a gift for strategy. As thanks, I’m moving to make him my official adviser!”

More cheers. Raucous screams. Demands that the Grandmaster fuck Elle and Loki both right there to celebrate. 

The Grandmaster was nothing short of delighted. “Now that’s what I like to hear! You’ll have to carry the torch tonight, my lovelies, but next month, you’ll get to see all the sweet things my girl and I can do. Loke, though? Loke’s up for grabs tonight for whoever wants a taste.”

As the crowd began to descend back into its pleasures, enthusiasm renewed by the thrill of the Grandmaster’s plan, the tyrant beamed, shifting to stare at Loki, eyes taking on a dangerous glint of authority. Of challenge. 

“Though, ah… you do realize this means our other deal is off. Right, handsome?”

Loki went rigid. His eyes flicked to Elle, just for a fraction of a moment. All she saw in him was fear. “You said—“

“Said I wouldn’t tell. I know. But tonight’s about looking ahead and putting all that behind us, right? New beginnings and all, with you as my adviser and my girl here as… well. My girl.”

Said with such weight. Such deliberate meaning. Elle’s stomach went into freefall, the already brittle edges of her composure beginning to break. “What—” Her voice cracked. The heat of her arousal still hurt, but its fire morphed, took on a new edge, harsh and far more alluring. “What other deal?”

The Grandmaster turned at the sound of her voice, reaching up to give a playful, wholly condescending tug at her braid. “Oh, just a little side conversation, sweetheart.”

Over his shoulder, the blood drained from Loki’s face. That light in his eyes shifted, churned into panic. “Grandmaster—”

“Loke here was actually the one who gave me the courtesan idea, and… well, I hate lying, so I’ll give it to you straight: Loke and I agreed that in exchange for his wonderful ideas—taking you outside, positioning you to become my courtesan, helping to make sure you and I got along so nicely—well, that he’d get a chance to play with you when I was done.”

The Grandmaster winked at Loki. “What was it you said? ‘I expect her to come to me pacified and obedient.’ Can’t say I blame you, Loke. She’s just a doll when she’s sweet. But, the heart wants what it wants, and I want her to myself.”

No.

No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t…

But Loki didn’t deny it. Didn’t fight. His head went low, eyes distant and unseeing. Rezh’s hand only tightened around his. His rage was gone, flickering down to embers. Elle wanted it back. Needed it back. Needed his fight, his wrath, anything. Anything would be better than this... This… 

Guilt. 

She knew the stain of guilt when she saw it. 

Please no. 

Loki, tell me it’s not true. Just tell me it’s not true. 

Loki remained silent. Rezh’s slid an arm around him, pressing her temple to his.

She knew. 

They both knew.

The heat in Elle’s body roared, something that burned not low in her body, but careened like shrapnel in her lungs and blood and bones. Something that drove her teeth into her inner cheek hard enough to flood her mouth with copper. 

Something she’d been denied for so, so long.

Fury. 

A bewitching detonation of fury. 

Her pulse was too hard, too fast, her breathing shallow enough to sting. The ringing in her ears became an all-out wail.

The Grandmaster had promised her to Loki.

All this time, Loki had known. Knew what the Grandmaster was planning, and didn’t tell her.

He was just going to let it happen. 

They’d used her. 

Bargained with her. 

Traded her.

Just like Rezh said they would.

Loki’s kindness. His touch. His care. They’d meant nothing.

She meant nothing. 

She struggled against the Grandmaster’s hold.

“But! Buuuut! Loke, I said I’d have something for you, right? And I am a man of my word. So, in exchange for bringing my girl closer to me, I’ve decided to gift you Rezh! Isn’t that wonderful? More than a fair trade, if I say so myself.” 

Rezh recoiled, a few quick blinks the only indication of her surprise. Her throat constricted, some semblance of a mask sliding back into place. “Do you intend for this to be a lasting gift, Grandmaster? Am I to be Loki’s permanently?”

In that moment, Elle didn’t remember Rezh’s comment about choice. About privilege. About having earned her tenuous grasp at freedom through having it stripped from her. 

No, all Elle felt was the savagery of her own rage, suddenly convinced that Rezh was exactly where she wanted to be. Elle pulled from the Grandmaster again, this time earning a rough squeeze to her upper arm, enough to tear a pained squeak from her throat. 

Loki’s jaw twitched.

“Oh, we’ll figure it out as we go along. The bill always comes due, baby, you know that. It’s nothing you haven’t done anyway, right? No big deal. Now, I don’t know about you all, but I’m positively ravenous to join in the fun. What do you think, sweetheart? That drink should be kicking in by now. We’ll save the main event for next month, but you and I could curl up here…” He licked his lips, drawing a finger over the sticky trails of Devil’s Kiss streaking her breasts. “Take the edge off. Start to see about some niche interests—”

“Actually, I think this calls for another drink.” Rezh stepped away from Loki, taking Elle's near-empty glass. She gave the Grandmaster a conspiratorial grin that was maybe a touch too wide before caressing his cheek. “Besides, there is a very pretty Cyscilian who seems eager for your attention.” 

She tilted her head toward the bar, where a blue-skinned young man was staring hungrily at their host. “Why don’t you take the edge off with some company? I know how much you enjoy a lively start to the night. Elle and I will have a ladies’ toast to celebrate, and then the three of us can find a quiet corner for a more gentle exploration befitting a virgin.” She took the Grandmaster’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, her flirtatious smile summoning his own. “You should not be rough with her yet, my love. With me, certainly. Perhaps the three of us can do some private training to get her ready for your full repertoire.”

The Grandmaster preened under her touch, nuzzling into her hand and grinning wider and wider with each word. “Mmm, I love that idea. See, that’s what I love about you, Rezh. You keep things in perspective for me.” He leaned in to give her a greedy kiss, leaving its twin on Elle’s throat. “All right. Go have your toast. But come right back. I want to get our training underway after that lovely boy and I have been introduced.” 

Rezh gave him a full, sultry laugh. “Of course, my love. Give us a moment.”

And then Elle was being spun away, guided back through the crowd, away from the Grandmaster.

Away from Loki. 

“Keep walking,” Rezh whispered, pushing her forward. Any other night, Elle might have recognized it for what it was: protection. Momentum intended to get her away from disaster as quickly as possible. 

But that night, after everything she’d seen, everything she’d heard, Elle could only feel like livestock being pushed from one end of her pen to the other. 

Property. I’m property. 

Something to get passed around.

I’m not a person. I’m a thing. 

It was too much. 

She couldn’t do this. 

She couldn't stay here for a second longer. 

Elle spun, elbowing Rezh away and darting toward the exit. Her head swam, stomach tight, skin damp with sweat. The moaning around throughout the room was too close, too loud. 

She ran out of the lounge and into the great hall, just making it into one of the hallways before fingertips grazed her arms. 

“Elle! Please, Elle, wait!”

Loki.

There was fire all through her. In her eyes and in her chest, lower and lower in her belly, making her stumble with the power of it. Her skin flared where Loki touched her hip, so gentle and imploring, trying to turn her back towards him. His touch tore a vicious wave of want between her thighs, hot and needy, making her tense and moan and fuck, she didn’t want this! She didn’t want anything from him! She cried out as she doubled over, body betraying her. She fell forward, grasping at him for support as she hissed in pain.  

He tried to take her into his arms, his voice going low in an attempt to soothe. “I have you, darling. I can explain, please just listen—”

“Let go. ” She forced herself upright, snarling as she shoved him. “Don’t touch me.”

He flinched, stricken. “You’re burning up. Please, darling, I’m begging you—”

“Don’t call me that!” Everything throbbed. Her body flooded with fever even as she shivered, teeth chattering. 

Loki’s mouth opened and closed, but words failed him, eyes a perfect storm of fear and grief. “Please. Just let me help you.”

“Help me? What, by fucking me? Waiting until I was dosed? Was this part of your deal?”

He rocked back, even as his hands remained stretched toward her. “It wasn’t… It didn’t happen that way.”

“But it did happen. Didn’t it.”

“He twisted it, Elle…” Loki’s lashes fluttered, utter despair carved into his face. His hands dropped, rose again, fell, as if his body didn't know what to do if it couldn’t reach her. 

“Did you give him the courtesan idea? Did the Grandmaster say he’d give me to you, if you helped him fuck me?”

His gaze wavered, darting to the side before returning to her. “Yes, but—”

“And you accepted.”

The light caught the wet sheen in his eyes just before they slid closed. His voice was no more than a broken whisper. “Yes.”

Breath ratcheted up from the pit of her belly, chest stuttering. She thought she was in pieces before, and god, she could have laughed thinking she knew true pain before this. “So you knew what he was going to announce tonight. That he’s going to publicly rape me—”

Loki’s head snapped up, eyes wide and desperate. “No!”

“—You knew and you let me come here tonight thinking… thinking—”

He lurched forward, shaking his head frantically. “I didn’t know—”

“You let me think I was protected.” She staggered back, pain centering in her eyes, so sharp that she didn’t feel her tears until they streaked down along her jaw. “You lied to me.”

“I lied to him. I said whatever I had to. Anything to keep you safe.”

Elle’s breath went shallow, the heat and the pressure making her rub her thighs together. Hating how the movement caught Loki’s attention, how it made him look at her with yearning and pity and care. 

Care she came so close to believing. 

“Then keep me safe.”

Loki’s eyes went wide, the despair in his features softening, arching into the very edge of hope. 

“If any of this was real, get me out of here. Use your magic and take me away now.”

There before her, she watched a god crumble. 

The hope shattered as quickly as it had come, replaced by a look of such utter desolation that Elle almost believed its sincerity. 

Almost.

Even as his jaw locked, his chin trembled. His gaze would not rise above her knees. “I can’t.”

Elle scoffed, the sound breaking and giving way to a watery sniff. “You mean you won’t.”

“I…” Voice fractured, chin tugging to his chest as if he could hide from his confession. “I have no magic. The blast that brought me here did not just limit my power—it bound me. I would tear myself apart a thousand times if it meant I could bring it back for you, but I… I cannot. I have no magic to give.” 

At last, Elle’s legs went to rubber. She wavered, and this time she did laugh, a manic shuddering sound bursting free as she hit the ground. She gasped in a hiccuping breath, wiping at the wet streaks beneath her eyes. She looked down, that laugh breaking into a sob when she saw the blue streaks of makeup smudged on her wrist. Her hand flew to rest beneath her pendant. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it, could find no comfort in this… this farce, this empty, broken symbol of what they might have been.

“What’s this, then? Is this just like his makeup? A collar? A way for you to put a claim on me?”

All poison. All spite. Gritted out through her teeth. 

And despite his pained look of shock, she didn’t stop. 

Couldn’t. 

Not with her fury pounding through her, just as sharp and just as cruel as her false arousal. 

“Did you laugh at me when I told you I didn’t want sex? Did you know that when the time came, I wouldn’t be able to say no?”

She all but felt the air shift, could almost hear the crack in Loki’s chest. All his despair fractured, and for the first time that night, a spark of anger aimed wholly at her ignited in his eyes. 

His lips twitched, showing the barest flash of teeth, even as his tears continued to fall. “Do you truly think so little of me? That I would ever harm you? Do you not see that I would burn this entire planet to the ground for you?” 

Elle’s head spun. “You’re a liar. You’re everything S.H.I.E.L.D. told me you were.”

A murderer. 

A monster. 

And even in her anger, she whimpered. She hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to let her secret slip now. She tensed, waiting for Loki’s confusion, for his demands of how and why.

It was somehow worse when they didn’t come. 

Loki made a breathless sound, bitter and terribly, hopelessly small. A sound of resignation, as if he'd been expecting this. 

Dreading this.

He opened his mouth to speak. Faltered. Tried again.

“I imagine your director had much to say about me. So many terrible things. And so many of them true.” He shook his head, jaw working as he tried to find the words. “It changes nothing, Elle, no matter how you tried to hide it. Can you not see that?” 

Tried to hide it.

Tried.

The Devil’s Kiss surged in her blood, flooding her with still more adrenaline, more bitterness and rage. She didn’t hear what he said, not truly. Flooded as she was with darkness, she heard only darkness in turn. 

“You knew. You knew I was an agent.”

His mouth set in a grim, mirthless smile. “Of course I knew. Did you truly think you could keep it from me?”

Elle gaze fell, locking on the floor between them. “This is just a game to you. You never cared about me at all.”

“A game? All I’ve wanted from you is the truth, and I was willing to wait for it. I’ve allowed your silence because I would rather have your lies than—”

“Than my freedom?”

“Do you hear yourself?” His voice plunged dangerously low, a rasping seethe. He all but vibrated, as if fighting to hold himself in place. "Everything I’ve done has been a desperate scramble for your freedom. I lied for you! I refused alliances for your sake! I cast aside Rezh and defied the Grandmaster in order to keep you safe! And you think to look at me with such disgust because I had the audacity to allow you to play yet one more game at my expense, just to ensure you could feel safe with me?” He shook his head, mouth thinning. “I am a fool, after all. The simple, blind fool who thought a brainwashed tin-soldier would ever truly warm to the creature your witless employers warned you of.” He swallowed, as if gathering venom. “The Grandmaster is taking no slave, after all. He’s inheriting one.”

Everything Elle knew, everything inside her, shattered, lacerating her completely. “Grandmaster. Benefactor. What’s the difference.”

Loki blanched, his own wording now lobbed back in his face. 

“It doesn’t matter what master I serve, does it? You or him or Fury. I’m just a chore, right? I’m disposable to all of you.” She slid her feet along the floor, pushing away from him. “At least with Fury I know where I stand. And I don’t care what he does to me, the second I’m back on Earth I’m giving him your exact coordinates and letting them drag you into a cell!”

Sixty seconds. 

If Elle had uttered those terrible words a mere sixty seconds sooner or sixty seconds later they would have been a lie, born of her hopelessness and desperation, the culmination of her terror from the Grandmaster’s assault and the promise of the assault yet to come. 

Sixty seconds in either direction, and despite her venom, she would have offered Loki nothing but her terror. 

But in that moment, that one wretched moment, Elle’s pain was so deep, so consuming, that when she spat those words, they were composed of nothing but brutal, caustic truth.

She knew he would feel it. That it would make him bleed, just like she was bleeding.

Sixty seconds in either direction and she would hate herself for it. 

But not yet.

She couldn’t read the expression on his face. It was beyond pain. Beyond even the heartbreak that crashed in her own chest, plundered her every cell like a raging sea. 

Loki pulled back with a tight, humorless laugh, dipped his head, and when he brought his gaze up again, she saw nothing. 

No pain. 

No fear. 

No affection. 

Nothing.

There was a stunned, terrible silence between them, while all around them, the echoes of moaning and the pleasured cries for more rang out. 

Always more. A sick, hollow desperation. 

Desperate to come. 

Desperate to die. 

A small sound cracked through the silence like kindling, making them both look up.

Rezh stood at the mouth of the hallway, her eyes darting between the two of them, the stiff look of horror on her face telling Elle she’d heard everything. 

Elle swallowed as her chest began to hitch, skimming her fingers over the pendant. Watched Loki’s eyes narrow as she closed her fist around it, and pulled.

Felt the band snap. 

And threw it down before him.

“Please, your highness,” she said, her voice wet and broken. “Don’t let me stand in the way of your real alliances.”

She shuffled back, staggering to her feet and spinning away before the fresh wave of tears could fall, locking the gutted, despondent cries deep in her chest. She’d rather let them rip her apart than let Loki hear her cry. 

She waited until she reached the end of the hall before breaking into a run, leaving everything behind her. 

Loki. 

Rezh. 

The great hall. 

All of it. 

Ran and ran and ran, the entirety of her world collapsing around her.

Chapter Text

Elle ran.

She ran the way she’d imagined running during the endless, terrifying hours that made up her first night on Sakaar: hard enough to rattle her joints, fast enough to tear at her lungs and strain her already shaking muscles, pushing harder and harder until everything around her was nothing but a blur.

She ran until the echoes of the orgy faded to silence, winding herself deep into the belly of the palace. She never came this far by herself—this was close to the Grandmaster’s set of rooms, the intersection that branched to his apartments, the arena, and the smaller series of rooms where the other humans were kept. 

A burst of laughter rang down one of the long hallways, leading straight toward her.

Guards. 

Guards who would take one look at her and drag her back to the Grandmaster. Would loudly announce where she'd been, that she'd run. That she was trying to escape. If she was very lucky, she'd have an obedience disk back on her neck within the hour and her room would be locked down, what little freedom of movement she had revoked. She'd be monitored constantly, even the limited seclusion of her room stripped away.

And if she was unlucky?

She'd be moved here, into the Grandmaster's wing, for supervision. If the mood struck him, he might even move her into his room. After tonight? He'd leap at the idea, any reason to pin her down and keep her close.

But if he knew she ran?

He might not even give her a month. If he thought his hold on her was threatened, there was no telling what he'd do to break her. 

Elle slid to a stop, head whipping left, then right, before picking a drab, unmarked door and throwing herself inside. 

Claustrophobic darkness tightened around her like a fist, the tiny supply closet offering just enough room for her to hide. 

The sound of her own ragged breathing filled the space, catching on every corner. She stuffed her fists against her mouth, screwing her eyes closed, body rocking with the severity of her racing pulse. 

The laughter closed in, the low murmur of voices approaching, heavy footsteps marching closer.

Closer. 

And past.

Relief was a physical thing, crashing down into her chest hard enough to make her sag, forehead pressing against the edge of the shelf across from her. Once the guards’ footfalls faded, Elle’s momentum shattered. A rough hiccup of laughter bubbled out of her, the sound muffled against her hands.

It was only laughter for a moment. 

As soon as the sound escaped, it morphed. Pitched low and despondent, breaking apart into a ratcheting sob that ripped itself up from her chest, her belly, the backs of her thighs. Anywhere that could feel pain bowed to the weight of her grief. Her legs wobbled and then gave out completely, sending her crashing to the ground. She buried her face against her knees, arms coming up as if to shield her head. 

She cried hard enough to make her stomach muscles clench—driving against the knot of nausea tied into her gut from the combination of the aphrodisiac, alcohol, and the lingering phantoms of the Grandmaster’s mouth and hands on her skin. The knot coiled, tightened, and finally snapped. She leaned over as far as she could in the dark and emptied her stomach against the floor, the burn of the Devil’s Kiss just as painful as it left her. She pulled back, only to immediately have her stomach revolt again. 

When it finally passed, she wiped her mouth on her forearm with a pitiful groan, hating how wet her face was from the mixture of tears and sweat and saliva. She collapsed against the door, trembling hard enough for her teeth to chatter. She welcomed the tremors, the fever flashing through the creases in her skin, across the taut, heaving muscles of her back and belly, in the hair at her temples and the nape of her neck. She tipped her head back, letting all of it, the heat and the pain, blister. 

Disgust. Remorse. 

Hatred and heartbreak alike. 

She would endure all of it, if it meant she could just ignore the pain at the apex of her thighs. Even in her fury, Loki’s touch, brief as it was, left her slick and swollen, aching for relief. She clenched her thighs tight, letting the throb echo, a call she refused to answer no matter how much it hurt.

It’s not real. None of it is real.

Not her arousal, still sharp and vicious, and not Loki. 

Elle whimpered, pressing hard against her eyes. The Devil’s Kiss still burned in her system, though it felt as if the churning boil had begun to ease to a simmer. She was vaguely grateful for its effects, that the rage had offset the rest. Throwing up had helped. The dark and the quiet helped. She curled back into a tight little ball, hid her face against her knees. 

Even now, her first impulse was to run back to Loki. To rant at him, to lash out and scream about how unfair this was, how angry she was that any of this happened. To tell him how much she hated seeing him with Rezh, even though she'd told him to go to her. She wanted to yell and have him yell back, to purge all this poison from her system but finally, finally, collapse and curl up with his arm thrown over her, her nose mashed against his chest. 

But no. She couldn’t. Because the Loki she wanted wasn’t real, was he?

Her sob was a slow, brackish thing, working its way through her like a thread tearing from a seam. 

The questions landed in her head like wasps, stinging with a precise bolt of pain before darting away, making room for the next. How could the same man who made her feel so safe have been working with the Grandmaster? How had he been so sweet and so gentle and so good? If he’d known she was an agent all along, had this all been some long con meant to hurt her? 

How could he have known what the Grandmaster was planning and just… kept it from her? 

She could forgive him for staying away when the Grandmaster kissed her. It would've given them away if Loki charged to the center of the room. As much as it hurt, she could even forgive the way he’d relaxed into Rezh’s arms, could tell herself he was just taking some solace from the night, even if it wasn’t with her. 

But he’d let her walk into that room tonight thinking she was protected. He'd told her that the meaningless trinket around her neck would keep her safe.

He let her believe he actually cared.

How had she been so blind?

Because I wanted it. I wanted him. 

She turned to press her forehead against the blessedly cold wall, breath finally slowing, coming under a thin semblance of control.  

She’d say this for the Devil’s Kiss: it gave her focus. Not clarity—her head had been fogged with rage, senses overloaded with it. But in that fog she knew only anger, and her anger was a pure, simple thing. Now, as the drug continued to ebb from her system, she found herself cluttered with the debris of doubt and despair and regret. 

Because another question still loomed, barb at the ready: if this was all a game, why had Loki looked utterly destroyed when she tore away from him? He'd seemed heartbroken, his own grief so familiar it might as well be her own. Could that really have been fake?

But if it wasn’t…

“Stop.” Voice flat and low, hollow in her own ears. What good would regret do her now? She hadn’t held back any of her fury, and he’d responded in kind. Called her a slave. Looked at her like she was nothing. Whatever his real motives were, she had to accept that she was only a ploy. One small cog in a catastrophic plan. 

And yet she couldn't stop thinking of the broken look on his face when she said she’d turn him in. When she said he was no different from the Grandmaster or Director Fury. 

When she’d asked if he’d laughed at her.

The revelation that she was an agent hadn’t shocked him, but that? Accusing him of being willing to hurt her? That had stunned him. Wounded him.

She’d wanted to wound him.

She bit down on her lip, eyes burning again.

I shouldn't have said I'd turn him in. 

She’s said so many things in anger tonight, but that? Her heart shriveled knowing she could never take that back. Even if this was a game to Loki, it was real to Elle. It was real, and she corrupted it.

But so had he. 

Fuck.

She was crying again. 

Even if does care about me, it doesn’t change the fact that he traded me. He kept information from me and let me think I was safe when I wasn’t.

“Stupid.”

There was a cavern inside her where her heart had been, scraped raw and bloody. Her fingers ached as if she’d been out in the cold, arms and legs twitching beneath a phantom lash of pain. It felt as though something vital had been carved away from deep inside her, some visceral part of herself mined out, detonated, and shoved aside like so much rubble.

Elle yanked at the bands keeping her braid in place, tugging her hair down around her shoulders. Her scalp stung at the release of pressure, and when she pressed her fingertips into her hair, she still couldn’t help but wish for Loki’s touch. He was so taken with her hair. At least, he seemed to be. He’d use just the right amount of pressure, pushing down enough to both soothe and hurt in a way that would make her eyes slip closed and her skin prickle. He’d like that. He liked when she reacted to him, and even though he’d never become more physical than she wanted, he seemed hypnotized by the ways her body responded to his.

Her body responded now, gave an involuntary shiver, weak but still unwanted. As the Devil’s Kiss continued to ease, the fury she felt toward her arousal faded with it, replaced by a heavy, knotted sort of longing. 

Would she have felt this for Loki on her own, given enough time? 

Would she have wanted to?

Elle shook her head, shoving the thoughts away.

It doesn’t matter now. He’ll take care of himself. Better yet, Rezh’ll take care of him. 

She winced. That wound was still too deep to press. 

Whatever this was… it’s over. I can’t count on Loki. I’m not safe, and I can’t stay here.

Sniffling, she forced her head up, staring into the dark.

I have to get out. 

She couldn’t waste any more of the night pining for what was lost. She was out of time. She had a month before her public debut with the Grandmaster―she needed to use every minute putting as much space between her and the palace as possible. She had to run, to take her chances outside. 

Even if it meant leaving without Loki.

Even if it meant―

Elle froze, her thoughts beginning to swirl.

Leaving without Loki doesn’t mean leaving alone.

But she had to move quickly. She’d already spent god-knows how much time running and hiding and crying. She wouldn't have long before the Grandmaster noticed she was missing.

She had to go now.

She braced herself against the door and pushed herself upright, regaining her footing. The pain had lessened considerably, leaving her able to think and move. She cracked the door open and braved a glance outside, relieved to find the corridor empty. Rolling her lip between her teeth, she moved up onto her toes and dashed back out into the hallway. 

She kept her head low, shoulders up, pinching her ridiculous, flimsy robe closed. Finally, Elle slipped through an unmarked entryway and into another long, sparse hallway. It was lined with similar doors to the one she'd just come from, leading to other small supply closets. She kept her steps light and her pace quick, and whenever she heard the footfall or murmur of servants or guards, she ducked inside one of those closets, holding her breath until they passed. 

Winding her way through the servants’ halls, she paused, thinking back. Was that three lefts? And a right?

It had been a long time, but she found her way, exiting the servants’ hall and tiptoeing out into the open, head swiveling. 

Finally, she found them: a massive set of sliding doors, made of unbreakable Sakaaran steel. She pressed her ear to the cold metal, holding her breath. 

Quiet. Good.

She knocked softly, biceps and abdomen straining as she poured all her upper body strength into sliding one door open.

A long, low growl slithered out to greet her. 

The light, fine hair along her arms and the back of her neck stood up, a rush of ice flooding just beneath her skin. Still, she pushed. It was too late to back out now.

She peeked inside, clearing her throat. “H-hey. Long time no see.” Her voice trembled, shattering the illusion of levity she’d done a poor job of imitating in the first place. She slipped in, using her weight to slide the door back into place and resting against it. She stayed still, so very still, palms damps against the cold steel behind her. 

Another growl, this one more alert. 

And closer. 

“Weak girl.” Voice deep and heavy, low as a roll of thunder. 

Elle pulled her lips between her teeth, willing herself not to make a sound.

The Hulk rose from the darkness like a ghostly titan, a lost legend emerging from the edge of a nightmare. A click sounded, and a dim light illuminated the room. While it lent him an air of reality—as did his mussed hair and slow blinking, so very human, despite… well, the rest of him—it did nothing to make his sheer size any less intimidating. 

Shrouded in shadow, he stalked to her, slow enough so she felt each tremor of his footfalls as they ricocheted up her legs. She craned her head up, up, and still up to look at him. His eyes were threaded through with red, lips pulled back in an animal sneer.

“Spy.”

She gulped, all too aware of the dry click in her throat. “Behavioral analyst, actually. Banner knew the diff—”

He lurched toward her with a snarl. 

Her hands flew up to shield her face, palms out in apology and submission. “Sorry! I’m sorry! I won’t bring him up again.”

He answered with a rough grunt, head tilting to the side. With more care than she thought him capable of, he lowered his incredible mass to the ground on one knee, leaning his head in to look at her.

Fuck. His head was almost as big as her entire torso. She sucked in a shaking breath, pressing harder against the door. He leaned in, one giant hand splaying out next to her head, the steel groaning under his weight. 

He could crush me.  

One wrong move, just one more hint of a perceived insult, and all he had to do was lean his weight against her and she’d be pulp.

Elle did her very best not to tremble. 

And failed. 

The Hulk inhaled deeply, nose so close he almost grazed her. “Spy smell like little fire.” Leaned in just a fraction closer, nostrils flaring. “Smell like Hulk.” Scrunched his nose. “Like sick. Ugh.” He recoiled, making a face like an offended cat. 

Elle’s jaw dropped. “Hey… Only a little.” She wiped at her mouth, heat prickling her cheeks and throat. 

“No. Big sick.” He rose to his feet with a grunt, turning away and hauling his bulk back towards his bed, where he collapsed face-first with enough force to make the ground shake. It suddenly occurred to her that she’d woken him up.

That didn’t bode well.

“Go away, Spy. Take bath. No Banner here.” He lifted one massive hand and waved it toward the door. 

Elle tugged at her robe, eyeing the calloused bottoms of his feet, dangling off the edge of the bed. His crankiness couldn't deter her. She needed this.  

“I didn’t come here to see Banner. I came to see you.”

A rough, disbelieving laugh, muffled by pillows. “Spy bad liar.”

The comment hit her harder than she would have liked, making her chin dip. 

Yeah. So I’ve been told. 

“I mean it, Hulk. I need your help. It’s not like last time, okay? I need—” She bit down against her tongue, brow furrowing. “I need a warrior. Someone strong.”

The Hulk lifted his head, looking back over one giant shoulder. “Why?”

“I’m in trouble. A lot of trouble.”

Hulk frowned, turning over onto his back and evaluating her carefully.  “Spy live with Master. Spy always in trouble.”

“Not like this. I ran away from one of his parties. I... I ran away from him.”

Hulk’s eyes flicked down over her, just once, analytical rather than hungry. It was a relief, honestly—his blatant disinterest refreshing. No lust. No desire. No expectations.  

Not something used or traded or brutalized—

Her eyes began to sting.

She had to stop. She wasn’t about to cry in front of the Hulk. She squared her shoulders, lifting her chin.

The Hulk moved to sit up, very, very slowly. He tilted his head, lifting one finger into the air, indicating her face. “Spy was crying.”

She reached for her cheek, suddenly aware that she must be a mess. Hair all wild, face smeared with blue makeup and tear tracks, still barely dressed.

I probably look like a half-dead, hungover clown.

She tugged at her robe, shoulders hunching. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Because the Grandmaster just told a room full of people he’s going to assault me. Because in his mind, being owned and violated is the epitome of romantic gestures.

Because the person I thought would protect me hurt me so much. And I hurt him back, more than I meant to but exactly how much I wanted to. And I think I hate myself for it, because even if he was playing a game, I wasn’t. 

And I want it to go away. I want all of this to go away. 

“Spy?”

Elle shook herself, folding her arms over her belly. “He’s going to hurt me. He drugged me tonight, and he’s going to do it again. I ran, and if he finds out… He can’t find out. I can’t stay here anymore, Hulk.” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but Elle cut him off, taking a step forward. “Look, I know I messed up when I talked to you last time. I didn’t see you, okay? I pushed you to be Banner, but you’re Hulk now, and I should've respected that. But I’m here because I need your help. Not Banner’s, yours.”

She steeled herself, taking a breath. “I need to leave. Tonight. Will you come with me?”

Hulk leaned forward until his forearms draped over his thighs. It was hard to tell if he was squinting because he thought she was crazy or because she’d been talking so fast, just desperate to get the request out.

It was a relief, then, when he raised his eyebrows and blinked at her. “Hulk and Spy? Run?”

She nodded, the very beginnings of a smile twitching at her lips. “If you can get us out, I know a place we can hide. There’s a river not too far from here, the Inlay River. It’s a major trading route, and if we can get there, get lost in the crowd, we can just pick a direction and run, maybe even find someone to take us to another part of the planet.” She dared another step forward. “We can be free, Hulk. I know I haven’t earned your trust, but I will. You’re the only one strong enough to get us outside. And once we’re out, I’ll provide for us. I’ll get us food and shelter. We’ll lay low. Maybe…” Her smile faltered, voice cracking as the sting in her eyes returned. “Maybe we can find a way back to Earth.” 

For all of her readings and all of her embellishments, Elle had never learned how to cry on command. It would have been helpful if she had. But she was a desk agent, no Black Widow, and despite her apparent nickname, she was no spy.

So when her cheeks scorched hot and her tears escaped, they were entirely too real. 

It was supposed to be the Quinjet. It was supposed to be Barcelona. It was supposed to be Loki.

She dragged her fingertips against the sensitive skin at the hollow of her throat, hating how naked she felt. Dropped her hand and prayed that the Hulk would take pity on her. Her, a lost nobody who showed up in his room smelling like puke and sweat and Devil’s Kiss.

How will he ever resist?

If her heart wasn’t in so many pieces, she might have made herself laugh. It would have been a nice reprieve from all this crying. 

But she should have known better than to expect any sort of reprieve.

Hulk looked to the ceiling and blew out a breath, such a deep sound of resignation that Elle felt her heart begin to break again before he even spoke.

“Hulk, please…”

His massive hands folded in his lap, the polite, almost self-conscious gesture catching her off guard. He looked out his window into the night, eyes going distant. “Hulk warrior. Not small, not easy to hide. Can’t run.”

No!

No, he couldn't turn her down!

“You can’t live like this forever. The Grandmaster keeps you in a cage, just like he does with me. You deserve better than this! We both do!”

He shook his head. 

“Is it Earth? Is it that you don’t want to go back?” Her words came faster now, frantic, feet sliding forward of their own accord until she was close enough to touch him. Even now, with her standing to her full height and Hulk sitting on his bed, she had to look up at him. “We can go wherever you want, any planet we can buy access to. I’m not a fighter, Hulk! I’m weak, like you said! I won’t survive here much longer and I’d rather take my chances out there and die free than be his prisoner for even one more day.”

“Too dangerous. Even for Hulk. Master hurt us both more if we run.”

She dug her toes against the floor, bouncing one heel as her desperation began to surge. “Can you get me out, then?” 

The Hulk frowned.

Elle raised her stained hands in entreaty. “A hole in the wall. Something small, somewhere they wouldn't know it was you. I’ll take my chances out there. I’ll run and… and I’ll come back for you. Once I have shelter and supplies, I’ll come back and get you out.”

Watching the Hulk’s shoulders sag, seeing the level patience in his eyes as if he were reasoning with a child, made her chest cave in—a slow, blunt crumple that echoed through every part of her. He shook his head slowly as he pushed her hands back toward her chest. “Master make cages. Big...” He tapped a finger to her sternum, right above her heart. “And little. No escape, Spy. Only Sakaar.”

Elle didn’t know until this moment how deep her well of grief ran. Didn’t know until she felt it dragging up from the center of her, cold and lost and lonely, bringing with it another swell of tears. Tears she’d controlled for months that suddenly wouldn’t stop falling. Ever since Loki, she couldn’t make them stop. 

It allowed for a timid step back toward her anger, just a small sip of it. If only for a few moments, she resented Loki for this: for taking away that numbness she’d relied on for so long. 

She hung her head low, letting her grief clot and ache in her chest. The Hulk fidgeted, lifting one huge hand to pat awkwardly at her back. Even being gentle, there was enough force to send her body jerking with each pat. 

Elle wrestled her breathing under control, wiping at her face, making a low, irritated sound to see yet more makeup come off on her hands. 

I’m not The Grandmaster’s. I’ll never be his.

“Okay.” She took one last deep breath, forcing herself to nod. “Yeah. Fine, I get it. I’ll go, then.” She turned, moving toward that stupidly heavy door. 

“Spy.”

She grit her teeth. “For the last time, I’m not— Oh.”

The Hulk moved to a chair in the corner of the room, piled high with laundry. He began to rifle through it, pulling out this piece and that, finally fishing out from the bottom of the pile a small black pair of pants and a black shirt, something similar to what Loki gave her to sleep in. He turned with a huff, thrusting the garments at her in one giant fist. She blinked, owl-eyed, craning her head up to look at him. 

“Safe clothes,” he grumbled, shaking his fist at her. She opened her arms and accepted the heap as Hulk turned his back to her to grant her some privacy. “If Banner came back.”

It didn’t fix things. It didn’t clear away the ash and debris of the night, didn’t ease the hurt or the anger that still pulsed inside her, a raw open wound that still bled. But it was a small act of humanity. Something to remind her she was still a person.

She tossed the robe aside, kicking at it, and slipped Hulk's clothes on over the bandeau and boyshorts. She rolled the sleeves and ankles so they didn’t hang off her quite so much, feeling fully dressed for the first time since she’d crashed on Sakaar. The next breath she took still hurt, still ached like a bruise in her lungs. 

But she felt like she could breathe again. And that was a start.

Elle braved a few steps forward, brushing the very tips of her fingers over the expanse of Hulk’s arm. “Thank you.”

He turned with a grunt, as close to a you’re welcome as she’d get. He paused, staring out his window with such a look of longing that it made her heart squeeze. She almost asked him just once more if he would reconsider, but the sight of him shaking his head told her it would do no good.

Whatever she did next, she was on her own.

She went back to the door, straining to pull it open and wincing as the floor shook with the Hulk’s approach. He rolled his eyes at her struggle and tugged it open easily, just enough to let her slip out.

“Be smart, Spy. No freedom in death.”

All she could do was nod. She wasn’t sure she agreed, but at least she understood his refusal. It was a hollow victory, but she'd take any win she could. She wrapped her arms around herself, slinking out past him and watching as he closed the door.

She stood there longer than she should have, just staring, her slivers of gratitude not strong enough to wash out the returning tide of heartache. 

Stood there long enough for the voices of servants to ring out around her. Flinching, Elle stole down the hall, turning a corner just as servants passed Hulk’s door. 

And then she heard it: the sound of another door swinging open. A loud clang as it slammed shut. 

An awfully loud clang. The kind from a very large door.

The trash chute.

Elle's adrenaline rushed back, this time free from the burn of Devil's Kiss. This time, it was all her own.

She couldn’t.

Could she?

Her teeth dug into her lip.

It might lead to an incinerator. Or a compactor. 

It might lead outside.

Elle’s heart skipped, the image of a trash heap under the not-quite-stars suddenly the most compelling thing in the world. 

She didn’t have Loki. She didn’t have the Hulk. 

She only had herself.  

As soon as the servants were gone, she sprinted back down the hall, pulling open the door of the trash chute. On her own floor, the chutes were small, no bigger than a mailbox back on Earth. 

But here? Where the Hulk was? So close to the arena, where the other inhuman gladiators slept?

The chute was much bigger. Big enough for furniture and broken weapons and massive debris.

Big enough for Elle. 

She pulled the door open with a wince, its squeal echoing through the hall. She peered down and down at the near-vertical drop into the dark. There was no telling how far it went or where it ended, how badly she could be hurt. 

It didn’t matter. She had to try. 

She swung her leg up, hauled herself in, and shimmied inward, bracing her hands and feet against the rough walls of the chute. The smell hit her quickly, curling up from the bowels of the palace. Heavy and rotten, enough to make her gag. 

She tilted her head back, taking in one last deep drag of fresh air.

And let go. 

The door shrieked and slammed behind her, the sound already distant as she fell and fell and fell, tucking her knees to her chest, fists balled up to her eyes, protecting her face. She ricocheted off the wall, slamming from one side of the chute to the other, punching tight, hard grunts from her chest and into her mouth, lips locked shut to keep the fetid air out.

She hit the bottom with a hard thud, hard enough so she did open her mouth with a sharp cry. She splayed out into a pile of garbage, mostly squishy old food, miraculously well-padded discarded furniture, and spare parts, some of them sharp enough to catch on her clothes and scratch at her skin. She hissed as she caught her forearm against a long, sharp twine of wire, the thin line of blood rising to the skin. It beaded deep and red before trickling down her wrist. 

She huffed.

Watch me go through all this just to die of a staph infection.  

She gingerly rose to her feet and brushed herself off, sore and vibrating from the impact. The room was smaller than she’d expected, though the fact that she was on the floor told her that it had been emptied fairly recently. 

A clang rang out above her. It gave her just enough warning to shuffle out of the way before a new torrent of garbage fell in. 

Broken glass. Ripped clothing that reeked of aphrodisiacs and sex. Elle looked up, realizing there was a ring of trash chutes near the ceiling, ranging from small tubes to openings even bigger than the one she’d come through. She didn’t want to be there when that trash fell in. 

She looked around at the walls, deeply tarnished metal, bent and pockmarked with rust and small holes. She guessed this was a compactor of some kind, meant to jam the garbage all together before pushing it out…

There. 

To her left were a series of small grates. She went to them, cradling her bleeding arm against her chest, and pushed. They gave easily enough, leading to a series of pipes that led straight out…

Oh no.

She could smell it from here. Methane. Burning. 

"Fuck!"

A compactor that led to an incinerator. That wasn’t helpful.

She spun, looking around for a minute before it occurred to her to look down.

She was standing on another grate. 

She knelt, testing it. It was a heavy thing, about as heavy as the Hulk’s door. She strained to pry it up, the effort leaving her slicked with sweat and muscles beginning to waver from strain. 

But it gave. 

It gave, and Elle looked down into black current of water that smelled like every rotten thing she’d ever encountered combined and left to ferment. 

“Oh, fuck you.”

She didn’t have anyone else to swear at, so she might as well swear at the heinous garbage bog beneath her. 

Her only way out of this room. Another look around the room confirmed it. And one last look told her that wouldn't change, no matter how long she stalled. 

With an irritated whine, she lowered herself to the ground, shimmied to the edge, and looked around just once more. 

It was this or the incinerator. 

“Fuck.” 

Repeated three times as she lowered herself in, the frigid, slimy water crawling up her ankles, her legs, her hips. She gagged when it reached her chest, just below her breasts, feet siding along the slick bottom before she found a grip. She held her wounded arm up out of the muck, slipping, screeching as she nearly went under. She caught herself at the last moment, though the ends of her hair definitely dipped in. 

She muttered every curse she could think of. All the ones she favored. All the ones Director Fury used. Even the one she'd heard Coulson use that one time that he'd told her never to repeat in the presence of a Skrull. ("They don't take too kindly to fathers being spoken of that way," he'd explained.)

She tipped her head back, taking a few long, deep breaths through her mouth. She could do this. 

She could do this. 

“Come on, Shawshank,” she whispered to herself. “You’re already in the bog. Keep going.”

The sound of her voice distracted her, gave her something else to focus on. She repeated it to herself over and over—

Keep going. 

Hard part’s over.

The smell will wash off. Of course it will.

—as she pushed ahead. The current wasn’t quite strong enough to sweep her off her feet, but it did compel her forward. She let her uninjured arm sink into the water and find the wall, letting it guide her through the bowels of the palace. 

It was a long, straight pipe, luckily big enough to let her stand. She followed the water out and out, farther and farther until the darkness around her eased.

Light! 

Not starlight. 

The other light, the kind cast off from all those doorways in the sky.

Outside! She was almost outside!

Elle moved up onto her toes, pushing ahead as fast as she could without falling face-first into the water. She kicked up small waves around her, splashing forward. There, in the light of the doorways, another grate came into few, the sound of churning water beckoning her ever forward. 

The scent of rot eased. It was replaced by damp Sakaaran air, the cold smell of salt and chlorine.

The recycling tanks.

Where the used water went to be cleaned, siphoned of garbage and doused with enough chemicals to make it suitable for baths and pools. 

She’d never been so grateful to know that drinking water came from its own source. 

Her heartbeat tipped, skipping as a giddy smile broke out across her mouth. She moved closer and closer, close enough to see the water moving. Dozens of pipes just like this one led out into a gigantic pool of water, churned with long, blunt blades from below. If she could just get the grate open, she could get out into the tank, swim to the side… 

And run. 

She would run!

Her chest shuddered, straining around the whoop of excitement as she bit it back. It was too soon. She wasn’t out yet, wasn’t free, and—

And Loki’s not here. 

She paused, her fingers skirting the grate. 

Could she really do this? Could she leave Loki behind?

She closed her eyes. Let a final swell of longing and hurt rise in her chest.

I have to. I can’t wait around for another month. I won’t get a chance like this again. 

She gripped the grate in both fists, and shoved. 

Nearly sobbed when it gave, squealing into the night, its hinge tight. She pushed out harder, using her body to leverage it open, squeezing through, forward and forward and—

Out! She was out, gasping as her body hit the icy water. She floundered, releasing the grate, letting it slam shut as she took a moment to bob, treading water and taking the cold air into her lungs in long, deep pulls. 

She did it!

She did it!

She craned her head up, up to look into that vast sky, and laughed, delighting in the feel of it. Her chest, so light and free. Filled with new air, fresh air, as fresh as air could be on Sakaar, and swam for the edge of the tank. 

And froze.

Froze as a long, growling laugh wrapped around her. “Well, well. Looks like we got a runaway.”

A red blaze of light flared to her left. She startled, splashing as she spun in the water.

The cherry of the cigarette caught the silver of Scrapper 219’s eyes, making them spark bright as hellfire. He took a generous drag, breathing a plume of blue smoke into the air as he sauntered toward the tank, tapping his fingers against it as he circled her. He was shirtless and sweaty, head cocked to the side, hair brushed into his face.

No. 

No no no! 

But it was true: the sounds of moaning and the slick slide of skin echoed from the open windows nearby. 

All this work. 

All this fucking work, and she was right back where she started.

Scrapper 219 grinned, the red glow of the cigarette lighting up the mesh in his face, demonic and hungry.

“Been lookin’ for you, hellkit.” He rested his arms on the side of the tank, leering at her. “Think you and I oughta have a little chat ‘bout this new position of yours. ‘Bout some promises your master made.” 

And with a slow, greasy wave of horror, Elle realized the Grandmaster had not promised her to Loki alone.

For the first and last time that night, Elle had no tears to cry. No heartache to suffer. 

Just the stupefied, electric blast of terror striking through her veins.

Scrapper 219 took a deep drag, blowing smoke in her direction as he let one hand dip into the water. “C’mere, hellkit. Not gonna ask nice again.”

Chapter Text

Loki closed his eyes. 

Closed his eyes, and remembered. 

Hanging from the shattered lip of the Bifrost, an odd feeling of calm crept over him, the cold, skeletal fingers of certainty sinking into his heart. Certainty that there was nothing left for him. Nothing left inside him. He’d seen how little he’d amounted to. How easy it would be to make it stop.

Hanging on. Fighting. Forging ahead just another moment more. It was unbearable. The idea of existing with this nothingness inside him? It made it so easy to look up at his brother, at Odin. 

And let go.

The same feeling detonated through him as he watched Elle run. Not merely in his heart but everywhere, like shrapnel exploding into the soft tissue of his chest. Her confession—not the one he’d expected, not the one he’d so desperately craved—howling in his mind. 

She meant to turn him in. 

After everything they’d shared, everything she’d said, he was nothing but a pawn once more.

It crushed the air from his lungs, burned bile in his stomach, so harsh he thought his body might simply disintegrate from the inside out. Watching Elle leave shattered something vital inside him, something that had been so new and beautiful, barely strong enough to endure so much as her frown, let alone... this. 

Loki couldn't fight the tremor in his breath, spiking up from the pit of him, desolate and heavy with despair.

She didn’t want him. She was everything he’d feared she would be, using him under the guise of her affection.

He hung his head, staring at the empty spot before him, the place she'd deserted. 

What a guise it was. 

But how? How was it a guise?

How could it be a guise when she looked at him with such open adoration, touched him so gently, wrapped herself so tightly around him? How could she do these things and not want him? How could she still plan to surrender him to S.H.I.E.L.D. when she sighed so sweetly curled up against his chest?

How could it be false when he ached, even now, to touch her again? To have her back with him, safe and warm and watchful? Always so watchful, protective of a thing like him?

He had not taken Elle for this cruel of a deceiver. It was agony—total, unrepentant agony—knowing that she was. 

Nearly as painful as the other side of this blade:

She hated him.

The Grandmaster twisted the truth, had made it sound like everything Loki had done and felt was a vile, grasping, selfish attempt to take his due.

And she believed it.

When presented with this abomination, this grotesque mockery of his feelings, Elle believed it. She didn’t believe him—she couldn’t see that she was no mere compass, no turning of the dial pointing him home, but the very hearth at the end of the journey, the warmth and the welcome itself.

No, he realized with a jagged breath. She could have been. 

But now she was gone.  

His face felt wet, but it was so distant. How could he care? How could he care about any of it, when Elle had run from him?

He failed to notice Rezh’s hovering until her hands came to rest on his shoulders.

“Don’t touch me.” His voice was a pitiful, hollow thing, barely even his own.

“My king, please, you must—”

“I am not your king.” He pushed her hands away, though he made no move to stand. “And there’s nothing I must do. Nothing.”

She made an impatient sound, reaching for him once more. “I truly am sorry my— Loki, but there is. You were not quiet. You must come with me. You need to be seen participating.”

He was vaguely aware of the brittle laugh shaking out of him. “I won’t.”

“Do you wish her dead?”

The question was a broadsword through his middle, a bladed twist in his insides. “She’s gone. She…”

She doesn’t want me. 

She doesn’t care for me.

She left. She left me.

Loki thought of the Bifrost, wishing he could once again let go. The oblivion of space would be better than this, this consuming hollowness inside him. This cruel, endless cold that could only hurt and hurt and hurt. 

He leaned forward, fingers trembling as he reached for the pendant, still warm from where it touched Elle’s skin. He curled it into this palm, clutching it to his chest, over the chasm where his heart was beating just moments ago.

“Come here.” Rezh’s tone left no room for argument, her strong arms prying him up off the floor. She took his hands, leading him back through the hall and into the lounge. The heat and humidity rolled out to greet them, bringing along the sounds of groaning and wet flesh and pleasure. 

It made him seethe. Made him ache. Left him jealous and embarrassed and miserable. 

They crossed back into the room, passing by the bar. Rezh faltered for a moment before ushering him forward, only letting him catch tatters of the conversation taking place.

“Might be a bigger deal’n you think, friend.”

Such a smug voice, haughty and drawling without retaining anything regal. Loki knew that voice. Knew with a pang that Elle would hate that voice. Would shake and sweat and buckle at the knees to hear it. 

The Grandmaster stood with an arm casually draped over the shoulders of a cobalt-skinned young man, though his face was far from serene. Save for his ire toward Otho, this was the first time Loki could remember seeing him truly irritated. Close to him—closer than the Grandmaster liked, based on the twitching of his fingers and the thinning of his lips—loomed Scrapper 219. 

Miserable wretch. 

The Scrapper leaned still closer as if daring the Grandmaster to push him back, a deep scowl shadowing his face. “Promises were made, En Dwi Gast. As I recall, certain payments were delayed because of those promises.”

“I think you need to watch your tone, boy.” Venom. True venom, low and threatening. Gone was the air of jovial mania the Grandmaster so favored. “Payments are based on my whims, and my whims changed. Or did you forget who owns this planet? Who owns you?”

The Scrapper’s eyes flashed, the silver kicking back the blades of color in the room. 

But Loki was not to hear the response. Rezh tugged him closer, hurrying him past. “This way.” Lower, she added, “Do not interfere with them.”

He barely felt himself moving, staggered numbly after her as she maneuvered him deeper into the room. Rezh brought him to stand at the far end of the bar, ordered them both drug-free drinks, neither of which Loki touched. She didn’t try to speak with him, instead simply leaning close, not enough to touch, but to cast the illusion of touching. Making sure they were seen. 

Loki could only stand there, hazy and distant, replaying Elle’s words in his head over and over and over. 

“Did you laugh at me when I told you I didn’t want sex? Did you know that when the time came, I wouldn’t be able to say no?”

Somehow, that was the worst of it. It was worse than Elle comparing what Loki felt for her to anything that could come from the Grandmaster or her Director Fury, worse than saying she would strip away his freedom. To think that she could look at him, at what they’d shared, and imagine he was capable of such a thing? It broke him. It cut him so deeply it had allowed the surge of his own rage to erupt. Rage he so desperately wanted back. But he had only to think of the look on her face as she tore his pendant from her throat and he found his anger flickering away. 

She’d been trying not to cry. She’d been trying so hard not to cry, though her eyes were red and wet and her lips, the lips that had consumed so many of his thoughts, wouldn’t stop trembling. In that moment just before his temper cooled, his fingers had flexed of their own accord, his body wanting nothing more than to pull her close even when his mind and spirit stubbornly refused. 

She’d looked so small, so utterly broken. And it was because of him.

If he’d only just told her the truth, all of the truth, from the beginning, could he have avoided this? Would she be here, now?

Would he still have a heart left in his chest?

Eventually Rezh sighed and steered him to one of the far corners against the wall, not quite hidden. Still visible, but private enough to allow for conversation. She tugged him down onto the cushioned floor, moving to straddle him, two hands on his shoulders while the other two began to unlace his trousers. 

He shoved her hands away. “Don’t.”

Rezh rolled her eyes, tugging at the laces once more. “We’re posing and nothing more. We need an audience. You must be seen, away from her.”

She worked her way into his lap, splaying the untied laces of his trousers so they were visible beneath her thighs. As promised, it was merely a pose, though it was certainly convincing. She took care in positioning herself, and then Loki, taking one of his hands and moving it to her waist, the other, to her thigh, where the pendant lay trapped between her skin and his. Settled, she leaned against him, mouth pressed to his ear, bringing her arms tight around his shoulders, across his back. 

Loki squirmed, preparing to pull away, to argue, to tell her this wasn’t what he wanted, not even as a protective ruse. But Rezh surprised him: she didn’t move. Did not thrust or grind. Instead she simply held him. Pulled him in tight, one hand moving to stroke through his hair, so deeply affectionate it rendered him silent and still.

It was far too intimate, somehow even more so than it would have been to slip himself free and plunge inside her. But her touch soothed a raw, terrible wound in his heart, a wound he'd thought was so heavy with scar tissue that it would never bleed again. What a fool he was, to think Elle would not make him bleed. When Rezh's grip tightened, he could not force himself to pull away. 

It was enough to make his eyes burn, fingers curling even tighter around the pendant. 

He hated this. All of this. 

This planet. This room. Himself. The woman on top of him. The woman who’d left him.

But no. That wasn’t true. 

He didn’t hate Rezh. She’d saved him tonight, there was no denying that. Rezh had intervened on his behalf as much as Elle’s. Rezh made it possible to watch the Grandmaster touch Elle and manhandle her and kiss her without tearing the tyrant apart. The Valkyrie had stopped him physically, but it was Rezh who eased the storm of his fury, who stopped him from making a foolish, irreversible mistake. And it was Rezh who steered Elle toward the bar rather than let the Grandmaster continue to touch her, keeping her from yet more of his advances.

And Elle?

He hated that she’d left him, but even now, he couldn’t hate her. If she were to appear now, right there, just at the entryway…

His gaze wandered there, as if he could conjure her. As if through sheer force of will, he could bring her back to him. He thought for a moment of breaking the pendant, of using whatever spell it contained to do just that. To erase all of this, make it so the night was filled with promise instead of despair.

Rezh took him gently by the jaw, returning his attention to her. “You should have joined me in my room that night.” It was mild for a chastisement. Her voice was heavy, as if she, too, carried some of the heartbreak of this night. 

All he could do was shake his head. “It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Oh? Is the Grandmaster’s pet truly that precious?”

He had to close his eyes, face contorting. “Don’t call her that.” It was for more plea than demand, thin and weak.

“What? His?” 

His silence was all the answer she needed.  

A burst of sound came from their right, drawing their attention. The Grandmaster had escaped Scrapper 219, which seemed to have improved his mood considerably. He collapsed on the floor nearby, into the waiting arms of several partners. He laughed as he groped for them, pulling the lithe cobalt-skinned male, the Cyscilian, into his lap. His eyes wandered for a moment, landing on Rezh and Loki.

All at once, Rezh changed. Her body became pliant, eager. Her hips rocked, head thrown back, mouth open as she panted. It was so sudden that Loki was more startled than anything. 

“Hey! Hey! Loke! ”

He turned his head to find the Grandmaster giving him a thumbs-up. 

“Finally together! I’m so pleased. Hey, you seen my girl? I got sidetracked.”

Loki gestured at his lap, tossing his own head to turn his face away. He was in no mood to summon the illusion of lust. Especially not for this abominable parasite, the incendiary behind his current hopeless, heartsick misery. 

“No, handsome, my girl. Rezh!”

She looked over, never ceasing her movements. False as they were, she needed to stop. The friction of her, the warmth, her weight, it was affecting Loki more than he wanted, sending a tight, heavy heat through his cock. Worse than the illusion of lust was the actual manifestation of it, especially now, hollow and unwanted as it was.

“I l-left her by the bar,” Rezh panted back. The lie curled around her like smoke.

“Oh! I’ll ah, I’ll look in a minute. You two, you stay right there. I’ll be over soon!” He grinned, then rolled over atop his partner, a circle of other participants closing in around them.

As soon as his attention was diverted, Loki gripped Rezh’s hips, forcing her still. Her breathing immediately returned to normal, sitting back a bit as she pulled the silken torrent of her hair over one shoulder. 

Loki arched a brow. “I’m immensely disappointed on your behalf that you’ve learned to fake that so well.”

She offered a tired shrug. “I have been here for a very long time. Not all my lovers have been skilled, and showmanship will take you much farther than you might think.” Her gaze dropped to his lap before flashing up, looking at him through the dark fan of her lashes. “But do not think I am unaware that I’ve had an effect on you. You and I would be very compatible, if we did this for real.”

“It’s a pity, then, that we will not be doing this for real.”

“It will only help you. Surely you know this.”

He did not respond. Rezh sighed, long and deep, tucking his hair behind his ear. He found himself pushing her hand down into her lap, shaking his curls free.

“You were reckless,” she said finally. She drew her fingertips over the red, tender welt on his chest, making him flinch. “When the Grandmaster kissed Elle.”

Kissed. Loki bristled. What the tyrant did was an act of brutality, grabbing her so roughly, forcing his mouth over hers. It was not purely jealousy that ripped Loki asunder when he saw it, but something deeper, all his possessiveness roaring to the forefront of his mind. Not to claim her but to protect her, to rip her from the Grandmaster’s grasp and clutch her to his own chest, feral and furious. 

“Will you be alright? The Scrapper hit you quite hard.”

Loki took a breath, glancing down at her hand and the slow-blooming bruise beneath it. He’d only managed to hold himself still for one half of one second before he’d been storming across the room toward the Grandmaster, and it was only the sharp collide of the Valkyrie’s fist that slowed him down, the shattering of a bottle spraying over his skin. He should have been embarrassed to find himself so utterly out of control, that his emotions dominated him so thoroughly. It was not so long ago that he led a fleet of Frost Giants into Asgard, fooling Odin and Frigga, Thor, even Heimdall, so complete was his charade, so total was his unshakeable control over his internal storm.

But now?

Norns, now it was apparently impossible to so much as sit still where Elle was concerned. 

“The Scrapper needed to stop me," he said finally. "She did what she thought was best.”

“You were going to try to kill him. Weren’t you?”

His mouth pinched as if he’d tasted something sour. “He hurt her. He spat that… that poison into her mouth.” 

“No mere poison, either. That particular poison has been known to induce as much rage as it does lust. Sometimes simply rage, for the unlucky.”

“Devil’s Kiss.” Loki set free a bitter little laugh, realization lashing out at him, heart crumbling anew. “He gave her Devil’s Kiss.” 

“Have you taken it?”

“No. Elle stopped me from drinking it my first night in the palace. I’ve been able to avoid it, with her help.” His throat constricted, gaze veering toward the entryway. “I didn’t realize that was what he gave her.”

All that rage, all her harsh words. Were they truly hers? Or were they spun from the chemical fury inside her?

It felt foolish to allow himself such a reprieve, to hold out any semblance of hope that she might still want him. 

He let his head fall back against the wall, shame clawing through the space between his ribs. Elle's wrath may have come from the drug, but his? That was wholly his own. 

Gods, he was a fool. An angry, ignorant, irredeemable fool. 

Rezh repositioned herself, leaning back onto his upper thighs. “It does not matter what he gave her, does it? Surely you did not think she would get through the night untouched?”

Loki snorted, even as he was forced to look down into Rezh’s lap to avoid her gaze. He curled his palm, just enough so he could see the pendant, to watch its light against his skin. “I did. I thought if we planned carefully enough, I could keep her from him.” 

Rezh’s weary laugh was as gentle as it could be, full enough of sympathetic sadness to keep the sound from becoming cruel. “I thought you wiser than that, Loki of Asgard.”

He might have been—he had been—before he knew what it was to let his need for someone drown out his reason. Before he knew Elle.

He could only manage a quiet, “Yes. I thought so, too.”

“It’s best that the Scrapper stopped you,” Rezh said softly. “The Grandmaster, he is not so easily killed. Trust me, I have seen many try. He would have hurt you and Elle both, more than you can possibly imagine.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Loki admitted. “I just moved. I thought I could protect her. I thought…”

Rezh once again plucked his true meaning from his silence. “It was not merely careful planning you thought might save her. You thought your care could do the same. And you do truly care for her, don’t you?”

Did he?

Even if Elle hated him? Even if she meant to turn him in? Even if she believed every cruel untrue or half-true (or horribly true) word spoken of him?

He could have laughed. 

As if something as simple as her wrath could ever erase what she’d made him feel. Even if she didn’t feel it in turn. 

“Yes. I do.”

“I understand, you know." Rezh smoothed her knuckles over the curve of his cheek so tenderly it made him wince. "I’ve been where you are, faced with impossible decisions. There’s no need to act as though you didn’t—”

Her pause was weighted, unnaturally heavy. There was concern in it. Concern, and sympathy, and something else. 

Something that felt like trepidation. 

“Didn’t what, Rezh?”

“Barter with her. The Grandmaster allowed you to take her outside, did he not? Your idea of taking her as a courtesan, his promising her to you, was that not your idea?”

Loki rubbed a hand over his face, stomach sour and heavy. “It was, to an extent. But I didn’t barter with her. At least, not intentionally. He twisted it. He took pieces of conversations and assembled them into his own version of truth.”

Rezh tilted her head, an intense curiosity creeping into her expression. “What conversations?”

Loki froze. 

How much more could he reveal to Rezh? He’d already revealed so much tonight. Rezh heard everything he and Elle said to each other, knew how deep their attachment was. She could have run to the Grandmaster, could have told him everything right then, but instead, she’d helped Loki forge yet another illusion. Why? Why was she comforting him? Why was she helping him?

“What is it you want?” he asked suddenly. “What are you trying to do, asking me these things?”

She rolled her full bottom lip between her teeth, looking warily around the room. “The Grandmaster has gifted me to you. I am not sure how long his benevolence will hold, but as of tonight, I’m yours.”

“You’re not.”

“By the laws of this place, I am. You do not need to love me, my king. You do not need to desire me or hold me or kiss me. None of it. I only wish for you to keep me in the palace. Please, that’s all I ask of you. You’ve no idea how dangerous things are outside. There is so little water, so little food. It’s barren and brutal, but even so, it takes a very long time to die. Whatever you do, no matter what happens, promise me you will not send me out there. I’ll do whatever I must to stay in the palace.”

Loki stilled, and for the first time that night, his fingers tightened on her skin to soothe her. To steady her. “How is it you came to be on Sakaar, Rezh?”

She laughed, a watery, bashful sound. “It's been a very long time since anyone has asked me that. You and Elle were lucky, you know. You fell near the palace, close enough to land in the wastes. But if you go out far enough, there are no wastes. There’s nothing. Just the desert. But time is skewed here. I starved and I burned, but never enough to die. I just held on, one single thread fraying and fraying and fraying down to the promise of nothing. It should not have been possible that there was so little left of me, and yet I lived. I was never meant to live for eons and yet here I sit before you, ancient by the standards of my own world. I was lost for a very long time, finding just enough resources to survive. When I finally found the palace, I thought I was saved. I thought I was free.” 

She shook her head with a rueful laugh. “But there is no freedom here. That’s what I’ve tried to tell you and Elle. Nothing happens here without a trade. The Grandmaster owns everything, and what he does not own will kill you or destroy you. He feeds us. Clothes us. And yes, he fucks us. And that is the price of survival here, Loki. Everything else is secondary. Attachments. Friendships.” She smoothed a thumb over the delicate skin beneath his eye. “Affection. All of it is fleeting. All we can do is survive, and make that time as bearable as possible.”

“Is that why you’ve been kind to me? To survive?”

“You are a handsome man, desirable in many ways. But more than that, you’re strong, and I think you, too, are a survivor. You know the value of an ally. When the Grandmaster’s whims turn, it’s best to secure a spot with someone close to him, keeping a place within the palace.” She plucked at his jacket, tracing her fingertips once more over his chest. “I try to secure alliances with those to whom the Grandmaster shows favor.”

Loki dropped his voice low, fingertips pressing into her skin as he sought out her line of sight. “You are not loyal to him, then?”

She straightened her spine, chin lifting, and in that moment, Loki knew she was a queen, if not now, then in her previous life. Perhaps someday, she would be again. “I am loyal to myself and my own survival. The Grandmaster can be kind, when the mood strikes him. He can be many things, even loving. But I am not foolish enough to think his pursuit of pleasure will ever translate into true affection. He is always seeking the next thrill, whether through a drug or fighting or fucking. Something to make him feel alive, I suppose, after so many endless lifetimes. This is what I’ve tried to make Elle understand. We are traded, and we must expect to trade in return. For every terrible thing the Grandmaster has done, I have condoned it. I’ve participated in it. And I’ve endured it myself. There are none among us who are clean. There is no innocence here, Loki. We can only hope to perpetuate a gentler cruelty than we’ve been dealt.” 

She took his hands, squeezing hard. He found himself squeezing back. 

“Don’t you see? The best we can hope for is to be traded to someone strong, someone who desires us. And if we are very, very lucky, we may be traded to someone kind.”

Her words rang inside him, hard enough to echo. Norns help him, he understood. After so much time on Sanctuary, how could he not understand? 

“We do what we must, Rezh. Trust that I understand the gravity of those words, what it means to survive at all costs.” He lowered his head, staring up at her. “But what of your whims? If we are all made complicit, how long before you make a trade of your own?”

“You are asking if you can trust me.”

“I’m asking if I can trust you.”

Her laugh this time was lighter, more genuine. “You should not. Nor should I trust you. But…” Her gaze turned serious, sucking her lip into her mouth once more. “I admit, you intrigue me. Very few of the Grandmaster’s selections have ever refused when I am the offer. You truly do not want me?”

“I don’t want your body, no.” He offered a small twitch of his lips that nearly became a smile. “Wonderful as it is.”

“You would keep me in the palace without indulging in me?” 

That she sounded so incredulous truly wounded him on her behalf, made him mourn the life she had endured here. “I would. I will. If owning you in name protects you, then I’ll do it without hesitation.” His gaze flicked back toward the entryway once more, just for a moment, just long enough for his heart to squeeze. “But it is in name alone, Rezh. I will not control you, where you go, or with whom you spend your time. I will not cast you out or use you as the Grandmaster would. But what you heard, what Elle and I said to each other. Tell no one. Not for my sake, but for hers.”

A wavering laugh. “I admit, I have never lost a prospect to a human before.”

And despite everything, Loki did smile. “I won’t send you away, Rezh. You’ve been kind to me. You’ve tried to warn me of the pitfalls of this place from the very beginning. Truly, you’ve been more a friend to me than so many others from my homeworld. But Elle—” He swallowed roughly, unable to bite back the truth that made all those cracks across his heart shiver and glow, even now. “I’m hers. Completely. Even if she is not mine.” 

Rezh's mouth twitched at the corners, eyes lit, not with anger, but with a distant longing. A yearning, perhaps, for a warmth she herself had not felt in a very long time. “Even after what she said to you?”

Loki hung his head, his heartbreak shifting. Perhaps, not so very long ago, his own pain would have consumed him, would have been enough to keep him blind. But now? Tonight, the shards of his own heart did not simply cut; they served as fragments of a looking glass, allowing him to see facets of a pain beyond his own.  

“The Grandmaster just told a room full of people that he plans to drug and rape her in a month’s time. She thinks I helped him plan it, that I got close to her while knowing all along he intended to hurt her so brutally. He spat an aphrodisiac into her mouth, forced her body to react in ways she does not want, and took her from herself in ways you cannot understand. All this after I swore I would keep her safe. It kills me, Rezh, knowing she believes I would do anything to harm her, but—” His voice went deep and thick, lips pressing tight to keep from trembling. “But how could she not? He fed her fragments of the truth. Drugged and terrified and angry, how could she not believe the rest? And when I had the chance to explain, I let my own anger infect everything I said to her. I saw the fissure the Grandmaster placed between us, and I widened it.” 

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, wishing he could hide his face, bury the heat burning high in his cheeks, just below his eyes. No mere embarrassment, but true shame. “It’s no small wonder she doesn’t want me.”

Rezh’s hands were blessedly soft, covering the very spots Loki wished to hide. “My king, I have seen Elle drift through this place like a phantom for so long. I’ve seen her drink until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. I’ve seen her dodge the hands of so many guests, only ever holding still when she had no choice. I’ve seen her waste away from the person she was when she landed here, the curiosity and challenge draining from her eyes. But I have never, not once, seen her cry. I have never seen her break like she did tonight.”

A fresh lash of remorse made him wither. “Is that supposed to help?” 

“You do not understand: crying, feeling, is a luxury we cannot afford. We do what we must to stop it. I did, and so did Elle. You were not here in her earliest days when she did not eat or sleep. You have not watched the light of hope burn out of her, as it does for so many of us. She has spent so much of her time on Sakaar trying to numb herself." Rezh's eyes went distant, hollow and mournful. "I see so much of myself in her, so many of my own mistakes happening again.” She shook her head as if to clear it, smoothing her thumbs over his knuckles. “You must understand: when we cry, it means we are still capable of hope. You, Loki of Asgard, may be the only thing on this entire planet she cares for. And…”

Rezh pulled back, hesitating for a moment. “And she did not believe me at first. When I told her you would trade her.”

Loki jerked as if he’d been electrocuted, fingers clenching tight around Rezh’s. Enough to make her gasp and pull against his hold. “What did you say to her?”

“Exactly what I told you. That the purpose of Sakaar is to trade and be traded. None of us are exempt. I needed to prepare her. It's what I have been telling you all night, Loki: even the purest affection is temporary and hope is a light that fades from all of us in time—”

“Get off me—”

Rezh shifted her weight, pinning him. “You took her outside. You are friendly with the Grandmaster. What was I to think? Was I supposed to hold my tongue, to not warn her? She does not deserve that pain. None of us do. No one gets close to him, no one earns favors without giving up someone they love. I only thought—”

The raggedness in her voice made him freeze. 

“Is that what you did?”

She didn't answer. Only went very still, suddenly unable to look at him.

“You did. Didn’t you? Who did you trade, Rezh? Who did you give up to secure your place beside the Grandmaster?”

She only shook her head, jaw working as she stared vacantly at a spot beside his shoulder. Her face rippled, her mask coming dangerously close to breaking as her eyes began to glisten. “It does not matter now. None of it matters. I was only trying to prepare Elle for the inevitabile.”

“By telling her I would let the Grandmaster harm her. That I would harm her.”

“By telling her you would have no choice!” Hissed through her teeth, her eyes blazing. “That we are all forced to make that decision eventually, and that if she wishes to survive here, she cannot place her faith in anyone else. Not even you. No matter how much you care for each other, it will never be enough in the end.”

It killed him.

It killed him because he tasted the truth in it. Not just the literal taste of Rezh’s truth, but the realization he had recently believed this very same line of thinking. If he was being honest with himself, it would take very little for him to return to this philosophy. 

Trust no one but yourself. Everyone will betray you. 

No one wants you.

No one is looking for you. 

Things Thanos had whispered, over and over. Things Loki had fallen into Sanctuary already believing. Thanos hammered new fractures into him during his time as a prisoner, to be sure, but there were so many existing cracks in Loki's soul, just waiting to be exploited.

No, Loki could not hate Rezh for this. Could not hate her, because he understood. He had eventually been released from Sanctuary, the place that ground him down to nothing, that unmade him. 

But Rezh?

And Elle?

They had made no such escape. They still woke every morning and fell into a fitful sleep every night in the very place that sought to destroy them, to pick every last bit of flesh and hope from their bones and swallow it down.

Loki maneuvered Rezh from his lap, far more gently than he otherwise might have done. Her features pinched as she pulled her dress over her thighs, watching tensely as he re-tied his trousers, waiting for violence that would not come. 

Something odd occurred to him, then, making him look at her fully. “When we met, you told me you loved it here, that coming to Sakaar was a happy accident for you. It was the truth. How can it be the truth, given all you’ve told me?”

Rezh’s laugh was a humorless, broken thing. “It was true in the moment, I suppose. There are good days, even with the monsters who terrorize you. That is what makes them monsters, is it not? That they can sometimes be gentle.”

She was right. Of course she was right. Thanos had proven that, time and time again.

But more than that— 

It was true in the moment.

The words struck down through him, a jolt from spine to heels. 

True in the moment. 

“At least with Fury I know where I stand. And I don’t care what he does to me, the second I’m back on Earth I’m giving him your exact coordinates and letting them drag you into a cell!”

Elle’s clean, sweet truth had sheathed such a vicious thorn.

But Norns help him, was there a chance, was there even an inkling of hope, that it was truth born of rage? Truth born of the drug in her system?

A truth for that horrible, venomous moment, and no more?

He shook his head, rising to his feet. “Our bargain holds,” he said, voice soft, but cold. “I will keep you in the palace, but you’re not to speak a word of this to anyone. Do not ever say anything that could put Elle in harm’s way. Do you understand?”

“She hurt you. She can love you and still hurt you again, far worse than she already has.” Spoken as if Loki was not cripplingly aware of that very thing. “She's already threatened to betray you.”

“Elle can betray me a thousand times and I would still fight for her. I will always fight for her.”

“You’re a fool, then. There is no amount of affection in this world that will keep you from betraying each other in the end. Sakaar is meant to break you, and it will. You cannot be so blind.”  

For Elle?

He could be. 

Would be, if that was what she needed from him. 

“You’re wrong, Rezh. This planet has hurt you deeply, more deeply than I could have possibly imagined, and I'm sorry for it. But you're wrong.”

He turned from her, forcing himself not to sprint from the floor as he made his way toward the entryway. He hadn’t a clue where Elle had gone, but he needed to find her. Needed to speak with her, to try to just be near her again and see if there was any chance—

“There you are.”

Gods, would he know no peace on this planet?

The Valkyrie caught up to him, just as he crossed the threshold. His hand moved to the welt she’d given him, tossing her an irritated, defensive scowl without slowing down. “I’m busy.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine so. Trying to patch things up after your spat?”

Loki cursed under his breath, stalling beside her. “You heard that?”

“Majesty, it’s only through sheer luck that only I heard that. Neither of you were quiet. You’re lucky the Sakaarans like to moan loud as they do.”

Norns, will nothing about this night go smoothly!

He tore a hand through his hair, glancing around impatiently. “What do you want? What, are Elle and I to pay you for your silence?”

She shrugged, raising a drink to her lips. “Any other night, any other circumstance, I’d be saying yes."

That surprised him. Not that she’d say yes, but that in this case, she wasn’t. His fingers twitched, brow furrowing in suspicion. “What’s stopping you?” 

The Valkyrie ran her tongue over her lower lip, gathering up the sheen of her drink. She tipped her head from side to side in thought. “Elle’s a good source of income. If I turn you both in, she’s likely to end up dead. Can’t turn a profit from a dead woman.”

“That’s it? This is about your profit?” Loki crossed his arms mouth pinching down at the corners.

The Valkyrie crossed her arms back at him. “It sure as Hel isn’t about kinship or sentiment. Elle’s got more ideas than she does sense, but she’s decent and she pays well. Keeps the bar in my ship well-stocked, at least.”

“I must admit, I’m surprised—”

“You still need to pay up, though.”

His jaw fell. “For what?”

“I’m not about to turn Elle in. But you? You’re durable. I’d wager you’d hold up well in the arena.” She made a face as she evaluated him, as if running a tally in her head. “Yeah, you’d hold up nicely. So here’s the deal, majesty: you pay me, and I won’t tell the Grandmaster I had to hit you a few times to keep you from tearing his head off tonight when he kissed and grabbed your girl.”

Loki sputtered. Actually sputtered. “You can’t think I’d really—”

“Oh, I absolutely think you’d really.”

He took a looming step toward her, growling, but she didn’t so much as flinch. She only looked up at him with her mouth pursed, looking mildly bored. 

“What do you want? I haven’t been here long enough to accumulate any wealth.”

Her eyes dipped to his fist, where the pendant glowed between his fingers. “That’s a start.”

“No.” The word was out of his mouth before he truly registered he’d spoken.

“Shiny’s best. Surely Elle told you that, smart girl that she is.”

“You’ve no idea what this is.”

“Magic, if I remember correctly. Been a long time since I felt seidr, but that’s got the right consistency.”

“It’s Elle's.”

“Don’t see her wearing it.”

That hurt. Far far deeper than he wanted it to. “It doesn’t matter. It’s hers.”

“All right. Enjoy your next match then, majesty.” She turned, began to walk toward the room

“Wait!”

She looked over her shoulder, eyebrow arched expectantly. 

“Why? I can help you. I will help you. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t have to what? Betray you? It’s not betrayal, majesty. I’m a Scrapper, not a pet. This is what my survival looks like.”

Loki scoffed, lips pulling into a sneer. He was growing impatient with the many methods of survival on this planet, all of which seemed, at this moment, designed to test him and keep him from finding Elle. “You’re just like your master, aren’t you?”

Instead of a bitter response, the Valkyrie eyes dipped, a flickering of sorrow—perhaps a fraction of true feeling—moving over her face. It was brief. So brief he almost believed he’d imagined it. 

But he didn’t. It was there, if buried. Perhaps she was not as cold as she believed she was. Perhaps, if he tried, he could reach her.

He let his arms fall to his sides, one palm facing up in plea, the other hiding the pendant against his thigh. “What’s your name?”

She stiffened. “Scrapper 142.”

“Your true name.”

Her eyes narrowed, head pulling back as if he were something feral and growling and full of teeth. “You’ll not invoke an oath on me, majesty.”

“I will.”

She looked him up and down, a strange distance filtering into her eyes. As if she was thinking of somewhere far away. Asgard, maybe. Her kin. Something lost to her so very long ago. Finally, she released a breath, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe she was doing this. “Brunnhilde. You’re never to use it again.”

“Brunnhilde. I, Loki, King of Asgard, son of Odin and Frigga, swear to you on the Nine Realms by my life’s blood, I will pay this debt. Give me three days. I’ll find something worthwhile for you. Just let me find Elle. Let me find her and I’ll get you something of greater value in return.” 

The Valkyrie huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she rushed through her portion of the recitation. “I, Brunnhilde, accept your oath, on your honor and by pain of blood to be spilt should that honor fail." She glowered at him. "And you’ve got two days.”

“Done.”

He stuck out his hand—far less antiquated, and a sign, he hoped, of good faith. She huffed again before accepting and offering two firm shakes.

She couldn't hold his stare, gaze dropping to her own wrist. To the tattoo, the symbol of the life she’d lost. A strange, tight look passed over her face. “This is why you don't do attachments here, majesty. You have to look out for yourself first. Always.”

Loki's grip tightened, mouth opening to tell her he'd had just about enough of the many ways Sakaar broke its inhabitants, when the communicator around her wrist began to beep, red light flashing. 

She frowned. “What the f—”

A crackle of static. The sound of hard, ragged breathing, as if someone was running. The sibilant of air slipping by. And a voice, haughty and drawling and all too familiar, chilling Loki through each and every vein. 

“This is Scrapper 219. I have eyes on one of the slaves, makin’ a run for it.” 

The Valkyrie spat a curse, jerking her hand back to speak into the communicator. “Stand down, 219. I’m near the gates, I can look—”

“Sorry, darlin’. Already in pursuit.”

“Vámr!” She spun away, hands on her hips.

“What?" Loki took a step after her. "What is it?”

“This is why I hate when he shows up,” she seethed. “Turns everything into a fucking bloodbath.”

Loki recoiled. “What does he do?”

“This! He goads someone into running. You lose what little leeway you have when you run, so when you do, Scrappers aren't obliged to go easy. Runaway slaves never come back pretty. Rarely in one piece, especially when 219—”

Another burst of static, as if the communicator was hit by accident. A low, cruel laugh, excited and breathy. “C’mere, hellkit.”

Hellkit.

Loki knew that nickname. Had heard it once before, in the Grandmaster's court.

His world knocked sideways, heart slamming up into his throat.

Elle.

Through the communicator, he heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

And a ragged, terrible scream, cut off as the line shorted out.

Chapter Text

Terror brings with it a relentless weight, a heaviness that drags the legs, stutters the heart, and skews the vision so it’s both precise and blurred, everything sharp and blunt all at once, becoming both viciously dangerous and hopelessly surreal.

But Elle couldn’t dwell on terror. 

She had only enough time to feel it, bullets of adrenaline tearing through each vein. 

Hauling herself out of the tank, Elle’s world skidded to a stop, time distending as all that terror and weight slammed into place. Gravity plunged in her organs and blood. Bones too light and clothes dragging with wet. Though she catapulted herself from the water, it felt as if the very air around her thickened to tar, holding her in place even as she dug her toes into the earth and launched forward. 

She didn’t register the cling of her cold, sodden clothes. Didn’t hear the frantic slapping of her feet on the ground. It only truly occurred to her that she was running when she slipped, pitching forward and scraping her palms and the knee she landed on. 

An excited, breathy laugh plumed over her like dragon-smoke. “C’mere, hellkit.”

Time caught up with her.

And so did Scrapper 219.

His hands locked around her ankles, yanking her backwards, her palms burning as she tried to slow the pull. He flipped her onto her back, dragging her toward him, and even in the dark she saw the wide, terrifying slash of his grin. 

A target.

Elle froze. 

Then lunged, her heel slamming into the flesh of his face. His bones were made of something hard and dense—the impact battered a shockwave up from her heel to her thigh, tearing her head back as she screamed in pain. 

But, so did 219.

The blow sent him rocking backward, enough to lose his grip. 

Elle scrambled back and clawed herself upright, regaining her footing and jettisoning herself out into the wastes, out and out through the open panel of the palace gate. Whether through arrogance or laziness or just dumb luck, Scrapper 219 hadn’t closed it as he had his cigarette, wandering the ground with a confidence only the Grandmaster shared.

It didn’t matter. 

It was an opening. 

Elle didn’t run through it.

She flew.  

Faster than anything she’d done in training. Faster than when S.H.I.E.L.D. came for her, sights trained between her shoulder blades. Faster, even, than she’d run from Loki earlier tonight. 

Her ankle throbbed with each footfall, ricocheting up into her calf, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow. She tore out into the dumping ground, all the garbage pulled from the water tanks cast aside in messy rows. Metal. Glass. Broken tools and furniture, all of it coated in a layer of grime. She hurtled over it, dodging sharp piles as she ran and ran and ran.

Her heart didn’t beat: it sped so fast it was a long, rushing roar in her chest. Her lungs burned from each terrified scrape of air. 

She didn’t look back. 

Not even as 219’s cruel slide of laughter caught up to her. 

“Gonna hunt you down, little girl!”

Elle took a sharp right, leaping over a low ridge of trash. 

Not high enough. 

A rusted metal rod clipped her injured leg, tore at her skin. She cried out, faltered, but didn’t fall. Refused to fall, sprinting through the wet-hot flash of pain. 

Just ahead: the cluttered streets of the marketplace, still thrumming with life in the night. If she could get lost in the crowd, in the shops, find somewhere to duck—

There!

A burned-out little shop, no door. She could get in through, get lost in the endless thrum of people.

She just had to make it.

She hurdled over another ridge of trash. 

Around a gutted-out hull of a miniature cruiser. 

So many heaps of clothes and trinkets and pieces of discarded weapons, all of it winking by in a blur.

The shop loomed closer. 

As did the laughter from behind. 

“Not fast enough!”

The glee in his voice struck at her back like a whip, his heavy footfalls pouding loud over her own rabbiting gait. 

Still, she didn’t look back. Only pumped her legs harder, drove forward with a singular focus. 

Run!

The shop was closer now, its mouth yawning darker. Darkness to swallow her. Darkness to hide her. 

Her gateway. 

Her one chance. 

Elle’s lungs wailed, the spot between them engulfed by a fiery fist of panic and pain.  

Fingertips clawing her shoulder made her shriek. Truly, from the bottom of her chest, shriek. She stumbled, righted herself just in time. The shop was right there—

“C’mere!”

Arms locked around her waist and hauled her up, her feet kicking uselessly in the air. She howled, threw her head back, skull ringing as it cracked against 219’s nose with a wet crunch. He roared, breath hot and sour on her neck, one giant hand closing around her throat, dilating her scream down to a shrill, cracked whistle.

“Gonna make you hurt for that, hellkit.”

She clawed at his hand, thrashed in his unbreakable hold. He pinned her back against his chest, keeping her from hitting him again. He bent at the waist, enough to drag her feet against the ground and send her kicking down into the dirt, more pain clawing up through her leg. 

“Grandmaster’s too easy with you, girl.” Spat into her ear as he dragged her further and further back from the market—the people, the promise, the hope growing smaller with each step. He pulled her back and back, not stopping until he came up alongside the overturned hull of the small cruiser. He kicked the door in, wrestling her inside. 

“Too gentle. Thinks you’re tamed, but we know better, huh?” Cold, dusty metal rushed up to meet her, his weight crashing on her back, punching the air from her chest. Her mouth and chin struck the ground, making her teeth clack together hard enough to stun her. Elle wheezed against the floor, spit out red. She groaned, lips slick and gritty with blood and dirt. Spatters of 219’s own blood from his ruined nose dripped along her face, hot enough to sear. He fisted her hair and yanked, dragging her up.

“Wild thing like you needs a firm hand, dontcha?”

Elle went rigid, closing her eyes. Fingertips strained against the ground so hard they stung, all the blood forced out. Scrapper 219 leaned back to flip her over, pinning her in place with his body. She swiped up at him, writhing as he caught her wrists in one hand. He laughed, grasping at his belt and pulling out a hilt. 

Just a hilt. 

Elle froze as he hit a button, a white-hot blade blazing to life before her eyes. The heat of it stung even from a few inches away, a hot, thin lash against her cheek. 

“Grandmaster takes ownership seriously, hellkit. He found out I had a taste of you ‘fore he could? Oh, I’d be in a worlda hurt.” He gestured toward his synthetic skin, the mesh in his face. “Worlda hurt. But see, I take debts seriously, and he owes me a pretty sum promised on your body. No, no, don’t you go hollerin’ like that. I’m not gonna force myself on you. Sweet as you are, I don’t need that kinda bad blood between me and the boss.” 

He twisted the blade, its light catching on the silver of his eyes. “But we are gonna settle some debts, hellkit. Gonna send you back with some nice, deep marks, one for every debt he owes.” His lips split into a grin, made garish by the light of the blade. “And let’s see how long it takes ‘fore he pays up and sells you to me. He does hate damaged goods, after all.”

She wouldn’t scream. 

She wouldn’t she wouldn’t she wouldn’t—

Scrapper 219’s body covered her completely, the very tip of the blade easing down against her cheek. 

And Elle did scream. 

Screamed and yanked against his hold.

A thin line of blood pooled on the surface of her skin, cool against the heat of the blade. It cracked and sizzled, the sound too loud, too terrible in the quiet of the cruiser, the smell of burning squeezing in around her, enough to make her gag—

Then her body lurched, lurched hard as 219 flew backward. Elle watched, wide-eyed and shaking, as 219 thrashed against the shadows, raging as his body hovered in the air. There were no words, just his enraged, endless roar as he stabbed into the dark.

His voice cut off.

Sudden and harsh. 

The following crack so loud Elle jumped, felt it in her bones like a lightning strike. 

Scrapper 219’s body hit the ground in a lifeless heap.

Against the false light of the doorways, shadows churned, giving way as a shape loomed in before her. 

Loki.

And yet, no facet of Loki she had ever seen.

His face was a mask of perfect rage. Storm-black curls crowded his face like a mane, his eyes alight in pure fury, lips torn back into a feral snarl as his chest shuddered and heaved. At his feet, Scrapper 219’s body was still, the neck twisted at such a harsh angle it made Elle’s stomach clench. Loki stepped over it as if it was no more than another pile of garbage, pushing his way into the dark after her. 

She craned her head up and up, whimpering at the sheer height of him. At the bands of muscle, strung so tight, hands balling into fists as he loomed ever closer. He was the god of the oldest stories, meant to be worshipped not through love, but through terror. Through sacrifice and bloodshed.

For one moment, Elle forgot her pain, forgot the bruising and the blood and could only sit frozen at his feet, staring up at him in petrified wonder.

Prey.

She was prey. Tiny and breakable and doomed. 

She moaned low in her chest and scrambled away until she collided with the far wall of the ship. She realized she, too, was panting—shrill, shaking gasps as she made herself small, pulled her knees to her chest. She gasped, the movement putting pressure on her torn, battered leg. 

Loki didn’t slow. He surged toward her, crashing to his knees and grabbing for her ankle, that terrible snarl still carved into his face. The sound she made wasn’t human, was some strangled, frantic thing as she jerked her injured leg from his grasp, curling in even further, pushing herself sideways to escape.

He lurched forward again. 

“Don’t!” Panicked, pleading. She threw her arms up in defense, trying to hide. “Please!” She braced herself, waiting for another sear of pain.

But it didn’t come. 

It didn’t come, and after a moment, Elle found the courage to look. She watched as though she was in a dream, time slowing enough to see each and every ripple of emotion unfurl across his face. 

The sound of her voice seemed to reach through Loki’s mind and shake him free from a dark spell. He came back to himself in increments, chipping away at the furious mask that left her blood so cold. He blinked, brow smoothing, that blaze in his eyes faltering as the snarl melted from his face. The hot fuming of his breath dwindled to small puffs escaping his parted lips. He shook his head slowly, eyes wide and glassy as if surfacing from a terrible nightmare. 

“You’re afraid of me.” Loki looked down at his hand, now dark with her blood, and a shock seemed to crawl across his body, pulling each muscle rigid. “Oh gods, did I…?” He jerked away, pinning himself against the opposite wall of the cruiser, a sickened, mournful sound tugging up from his chest.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was spun tight, just on the verge of breaking. Elle could see the strain in him, the twitching of his fingers and the restless sway of his shoulders as he fought to hold himself still. Desperate, she somehow knew, to be comforting. To be calm. 

For her.

Gentle, even after everything that happened. 

How can he still be gentle? How can he still care?

Elle brought her arms down slowly, crossing them over her chest and lowering her chin so she peered at him over her knees. “It wasn’t you.”

Loki’s eyes slipped closed, and while Elle didn't understand the word he spoke, it was heavy with relief. He pushed his hair from his face, and even now, she could see his hands shaking. “You’re sure?”

“I fell, while he was…” Her eyes skewed to the side, staring at the lifeless heap that had been Scrapper 219. “You killed him.”  

“He attacked you.” Said with no hesitation, his fury igniting once more. Loki seemed to catch himself this time, hands curling into fists as if to steady himself. “I couldn’t let him hurt you again.” 

The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, had her ducking down further. Loki saw her retreat and moved to make himself smaller in turn, tucking his long legs up against his chest to mimic her own posture. 

Deference, almost. 

Apology. 

For what? For saving me? For hurting me?

Does it matter?

Watching Loki shrink himself, pain and fear and guilt still twisting across his face, it struck Elle with an unshakeable certainty that, yes—yes, it did matter. Loki being here in front of her after everything she’d said mattered. 

If Elle only sat up and leaned forward, she’d be able to touch him, to graze her fingers over his ankles. What little space there was between them felt like both a fissure and a figment, a place of refuge and terror at the same time. Close as he was, the sound of his breathing echoed around her, convinced her that she could detect the promise of his skin—not body heat, but something better, cooler, uniquely him. It made her arms prickle, goosebumps rising up as if her body knew he was there. Sensed him, and would drag itself closer in any way it could. 

The silence stretched between them, heartbeats slowing. They simply watched each other for a long moment, listening to the low thrum of life on Sakaar. Life that seemed so terribly far away, so miniscule compared to this infinite, infinitesimal space.  

Elle squirmed.  

“I needed to get out.” The suddenness of her confession surprised her, making her bite down on the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t planned on speaking at all, and yet, she couldn't stop herself. “After what the Grandmaster said—” Elle cleared her throat to try to hide the faltering of her voice, tucking a wayward strand of damp hair behind her ear. “I had to run.”

Loki stared at her, that same pain from the hallway flickering back into his face. Something broken and so deeply, horribly sad that whatever was left of her battered heart sank down into the pit of her gut. He held the silence for a long moment, stretching and stretching, before his eyes slipped to look at her torn ankle. That jagged, biting edge of pain in him softened, easing into something that looked so much like sympathy, like understanding, that it threatened to break her anew. “Yes. You did.”

Shock fizzed in her veins, making her recoil. “I left you. Why aren’t you mad?”

The smile Loki gave her then was so tender, so fragile, that Elle found herself dipping her chin, trying to hide the sudden flush in her cheeks. 

“The Grandmaster just told you that he plans to drug you and assault you, and in the same breath, told you I was to help him. That I have helped him. Of course you ran, darling. What else were you to do? How could I hold such a thing against you?” 

Her fingers ached, clenching and unclenching. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to crawl over and curl up at his side, to slot her head into his lap and bask in his gravity, let it sink into her, an anchor refusing to let her fly away.  

She wiped at her eyes, hissing as her wrist bumped her swollen lower lip. Loki jerked at the sound, eyes narrow and intense. All furrowed brow and thinned lips, shifting to get a better look at her. All concern and care, needing to see how she was hurt. 

Pinned under the scrutiny of his stare, watching his jaw work and his fingers twitch, Elle finally understood: he wanted to make it better. To make her better. To take every ounce of her pain and wipe it away.

And now, her head was clear. This time she saw it. Saw it, and let it ignite a single flame of hope in the cavern of her chest. 

Maybe this was real for Loki, too. 

She sat up a bit straighter, slowly prying herself away from the wall. She needed to ask. 

She needed to know.

“When the Grandmaster offered me to you. Did you really accept?”

Loki’s attention dropped to her ankle again. Then to his hand. To the streaks of her blood on his skin, wincing as though he’d spilled it himself. “I tried to play a game with his trust. It backfired. Spectacularly. But... yes. I suppose, in the end, I did.”

At last, he returned his gaze to hers. Though his eyes were rimmed in red and glistening, he didn’t try to hide his tears. 

And Elle didn’t look away.

She settled back against the wall, turning so she was facing him completely. “What happened?”

The look on his face might have crushed her, had she seen it any other night. The light in his eyes, the tilt of his chin. He looked like a little boy, equal parts desperate to tell her everything, shocked she’d asked, and terrified she might stop listening. On any other night, his raw, open expression might have been overwhelming, might have threatened to break her. But tonight, after all they’d said, everything that happened? His vulnerability could be nothing but beautiful.

He took a breath, so long and so deep it seemed as though it was the first one he’d taken all night. Elle couldn’t help but breathe in with him.

“It happened the night of the match, once we left the arena. After the Grandmaster accused Otho and bit you.” His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He steadied himself, tried again. “He was talking about branding you, Elle. About putting an obedience disk on you, implanting a chip in your retina, all these cruel, vulgar ways to mark you as his. Rezh had already taken you away and there was nothing I could do. You’d been so strong all night. You comforted me when the Hulk came into the arena. You’d spent the entire evening looking after my wellbeing, and when the time came, I couldn’t protect you.” He shook his head, once, firm. “I couldn’t then, and I couldn’t tonight.”

“Loki—”

“It’s the truth. I failed you. But I couldn't let him put another mark on you. So I reached for something, for anything that might appease him and keep you safe in equal measure. I gave him the idea of courtship in an effort to secure more freedom for you. I told him it would help him earn your trust, would make you his in a way that wouldn't scar you, but I swear it was only—” While he did not reach for her, he laid his hand on the ground, palm facing up, as if she might lean forward and take his hand. 

She stared at the lines of his palm, her own fingertips suddenly warm.

“I needed him to believe I was helping him so I could help you.” He glanced up at her, eyes sparking beneath the dark fan of his lashes. “And I wanted an excuse to keep you close to me. I wanted to keep you safe, yes, but I also wanted you. The night of the match, when I stepped forward and told him not to hurt you, he knew, Elle. Not completely, but he knew I wanted you.” 

His fingers curled, almost like he wanted to beckon her closer. “I needed him to think it was purely physical. Rezh told us in no uncertain terms that the Grandmaster will tolerate jealousy, but not true competition. So when he offered you to me as part of a bargain for luring you in, in exchange for more access to the palace and what’s beyond it—”

He closed his eyes, lips thinning.

Shame. 

So potent it might as well have been her own.

“You needed to play along.”

He sought out her gaze once more, the plea clear in his eyes. “I swear to you, I had no idea he planned to name you as his courtesan, nor that he planned to—” His face contorted in disgust as much as horror, tearing a hand through his hair. “To drug you and attack you at the next orgy. He never told me what he was going to do. I wasn’t even aware of his plan to make me his adviser until tonight. He only ever referred to me as such privately, and I thought that if I played the part, I could earn his trust. And I thought that if he trusted me, I would be allowed more time with you.”

He paused, glanced away, and Elle gave voice to the part he was holding back:

“It worked.”

He held the silence.

It helped: his reluctance to throw her own bullheadedness back in her face.

Elle shifted again, Loki watching her so closely his attention felt like pressure. “He does trust you now, and I can’t pretend I don’t see how that helps me. The information you fed him about clairvoyants, keeping me away from Otho’s execution, getting me outside.” Her fingertips grazed her throat, pressing the space where the pendant rested. “You were trying to keep me safe however you could.” 

Loki watched her fingers move, eyes focused and intense, bright with longing. “If you trust nothing else, trust this: I would never harm you. Never. I would gladly spend the rest of eternity in the Midgardian prison of your choosing if it meant you were protected.”

The softness in his voice told her he was being sincere, not looking for a fight. Still, his words landed like a blow, a cold, dull pinch in the pit of her stomach. “Loki, what I said—”

“It was the truth. I felt the truth in it. I cannot help but hope that it was a temporary truth, but...” There were dark rings under his eyes, the events of the night leaving their mark. Exhausted as he was, the golden ring around his pupils seemed to glow, a lighthouse calling to everything inside her, begging her to go to him. This was a far cry from the Loki at the beginning of their friendship; the Loki who lashed out at her for calling him a monster. No—this was the broken, lost man behind the facade. The man all those thorns were meant to protect.

The man she now burned to crawl to. To hold. To comfort and take comfort in. 

”But even if it wasn’t, I need you to know you are more than a means of survival to me, Elle. You are no slave. And once we’re off this planet, I promise you, I will honor our bargain. I will bring you home, and if you so wish, you can call your director, throw me in a cell, and live a long and happy life.” The gentleness of his smile was a heartbreaking thing to behold. “I’m well aware that the love of a monster will win you no favors, but I beg you, never doubt it’s yours. That I am yours. Never doubt that for my innumerable lies and deceptions, for all the cruelties and the ugliness within me, I have been sincere in this.”

Sakaar was dark, the skies filled with false light and empty promises. But in that moment, Elle saw only starlight. Felt it glowing inside her, filling up every broken piece of a heart that ached so fiercely to be whole again. The reservations she had, the doubts that lingered—they all burned away, soothed down into something warm and soft and so vibrantly, beautifully cobalt. 

Cobalt for affection.

Lilac for joy. 

And indigo. So much and so deep and so lush it could have been an ocean spilled inside her. A galaxy. 

Elle pulled her swollen lower lip into her mouth to keep it from trembling. “You’re not a monster, Loki. You’re the furthest thing from a monster. I shouldn’t have said I’d turn you in.” She made a rough sound of disgust, tugging at her hair. “I was so angry, and so scared, and the thought that you might’ve known what he was planning hurt so much. I did mean it. I did.” She shook her head, praying that he’d hear her. Truly hear her. “But it was callous, and it was low, and I shouldn’t have said it. Because it’s not true. Not really. Not now that my head’s clear.” 

I’m the worst kind of idiot. 

But I don’t have to be.

She began to unwind her body, to move into a less defensive position, wincing at the pressure on her ribs, the echoing throb in her ankle. All of it, every bit of pain, would be worth it if he could feel her honesty. “I know it doesn’t excuse what I said, but I owe you an explanation. If you’ll hear it.”

His nod, no matter how small, was a gift. Maybe—if the fates or destiny or the Norns or whatever else was out there—if they were very kind, Loki would hear her truth here, too. 

She took a breath, and told him everything.

Elle leaned back, gingerly stretching her battered leg out in front of her. If Loki leaned forward, he’d be able to touch her, to graze his fingers over her ankle, the curve of her calf. Gods, he wanted to touch her, to know she was truly here with him and not some mirage conjured by his heartache. The sight of her injuries—so many, too many—made his chest squeeze, spun barbs of rage and sorrow all through him. She’d started to shiver, her new set of clothes soaked through. She was beaten and bloody, and when she breathed in too deeply she winced in a way that had his hands flexing, desperate to pull her close and check her over for whatever other damage he couldn’t see. The sight of Scrapper 219 above her had plunged him into a murky haze of red fury, and it was only her fear that brought him back to himself. Now that he could look at her fully, could listen, it took every ounce of his restraint not to lunge for her, to pull her to his chest and make her swear never to run off again.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Not until she told him what she needed to.

Loki moved to mimic her posture, one leg stretched out beside her own, the other leg bent so he could rest his elbow there. Even this, closing the space between them by this fraction, was a balm, soothing the restlessness that had been slithering through him since the servants first came to take her away.

She knitted her fingers together in her lap, revealing yet another long, bloody cut on her forearm. Loki stared at it, the sight of so much of her blood sending the feeling of pins across the back of his neck.

The sound of her voice, however, felt like the press of velvet. He’d been so certain he’d never hear it again that even having her close distracted him, kept the meaning of her words from sinking in for a moment.

“The truth is, when I first saw you here, I thought I could trade your freedom for mine.”

He frowned. “Your freedom on Earth?”

Elle picked at the dirt around her nails, hesitating. Not, Loki suspected, from fear, but in an attempt to gather her thoughts. “I work—worked—for S.H.I.E.L.D. But you knew that already. Right?”

A slow nod. 

She returned it, steadying herself. “I was a behavioral analyst. I monitored field agents for signs of stress and abnormal behavior. It was my job to make sure we didn’t have any secret Hulks or Winter Soldiers in the mix who could get anyone hurt, watch for any signs of HYDRA infiltration, that kind of thing. I recommended other agents for stress sabbaticals, helped decide who was too rough to go out on missions. Spent a lot of time looking at psych evaluations and seeing who wasn’t getting enough sleep, who wasn’t eating regularly, who was grouchier than usual. Exciting stuff, right?”

“But your machines…?”

“I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. right when the new tech initiatives were being adopted. I was actually going to school to be a therapist, but after New York, I wanted to know everything about space. About the Avengers, about what new worlds were out there. About you. Like I’ve told you before, your face was everywhere, and I wanted to know everything. So I signed up, and part of my training was learning emergency electrical skills and tech skills.” 

Her lips crooked into an endearing half-smile and he found his fingers curling, wanting to slide his thumb over the corner of her mouth. “I loved it. I went to all the classes, got into every workshop I could. Even started building little machines of my own at home.”

He could imagine her as an agent. Dressed in an awful, soulless uniform, but her dark eyes bright and focused. Poking around into the wiring of so many machines, pilfering spare parts and soldering them together, just to see what would happen. How he would have loved to see her that way—curious and driven and free. 

She sighed in resignation, plucking at the leather cuffs around her wrists. “I signed up for this intense recruiting program and spent a month on the Helicarrier training with the best agents in the field. Big surprise: my enthusiasm couldn't replace the years, sometimes decades, of experience other recruits had. I didn’t make the cut. Which wouldn’t have been so hard to swallow if I was at least advancing in the analysis track, but after four years there wasn’t any sort of promotion on the horizon. I was stuck just—” 

She let slip an odd, almost acquiescing little smile. “Just basically just spying on the other agents. I got to study work that had already been done on the major profiles, but I wasn’t in a position to do any of my own research. I couldn’t get clearance to really study the Hulk’s duality or work on the Winter Soldier case. I had only preliminary access to your files, nothing substantial. Only top brass got to work on you, and they still got it wrong.”

She said it so offhandedly, like the fact that her fellow agents didn’t know him well enough was insulting to her. It set a flare of pride glowing in his chest.

“Needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled with my job. I was bored and restless and irritated. Then one day, I went to deliver a file to the labs, and someone left the wrong door unlocked. I walked in, and there it was: an unsecured Chitauri cannon, just laying out for anyone to poke at.”

“Boredom and curiosity collided.”

“Yeah. They really did.”

Loki tilted his leg, his knee barely grazing hers. Heart thudding when she didn’t pull away. “You took it?”

“No. Taking it would’ve been smart. I was an idiot. I touched it. I was so excited to finally get my hands on this thing. The paneling was open and all the tubing was exposed, just kind of glowing. But come on! Can you blame me? I thought mimetic polyalloy was a myth, and there it was, right in front of me!”

She made such an endearing face, so openly enthusiastic, eyes so wide and bright, that he realized he’d started to smile. 

But then she huffed, scrubbing a hand over her face. “So I touched it. I poked around at the tubes, and the inevitable happened.”

Loki’s smile melted away, a strange sense of inevitability creeping over him. Suddenly, he knew exactly how Elle’s story would end.  

“It fired.”

A grave nod, and an expression that was more disappointment than sadness. “I didn’t even realize I was touching the trigger until it went off. Scorched a three-foot diameter hole through wall after wall after wall. Right through a crowd of other agents and into Nick Fury’s office.” She pinched her eyes closed, wincing. 

How badly he wanted to take her hand, to smooth his thumb over the rises and dips of her knuckles. To kiss the soft skin of her inner wrist. To tuck her head beneath his chin and tell her it was all right. Instead, he said, “You had to run.”

“I wasn’t thinking. I panicked. I picked the thing up, and I ran. And once you start running...”

“There is no stopping.” Loki knew that all too well.

“Right. So what they saw, what the security cameras saw, was me, a behavioral analyst, just happen to go into the one unlocked lab, just happen to come across a Chitauri cannon, just happen to fire a clear path at our director, and then just happen to take off running with the goddamn thing in my hand.” 

She let her head fall back against the hull with a dull thud.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t believe in coincidences, and definitely not that many. The second you fuck up, they’re digging up dirt on you to see if you're a HYDRA plant or if you've gone rogue. And what did I have going for me? I joined right after New York when everything was in chaos. Perfect time for a mole to slip in. I had friends from the office but after Josie? I had a really hard time after she left. I threw myself into the job. I didn’t have a lot of outside connections, and my history showed that I was interested in advanced alien tech. I was fucked. The second I ran, it was over. They had me on theft of a highly classified weapon, injuring a few of the other agents, and the attempted murder of a superior officer. Even if I’d surrendered right away, I would’ve spent time in interrogation, and I’ve seen enough psych evals to know that S.H.I.E.L.D. uses tactics that are non-lethal rather than humane.”

She scrubbed at her face, fidgeting to press her leg more firmly against his, as if seeking comfort from him.

“I didn’t even make it out of the building. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s a lot of things, but untrained isn’t one of them. They had me cornered in one of the stairwells, people I knew. They rushed me, and I reached into the cannon and flicked something. I don’t know what. I flicked something and it fired again, but it was different the second time. Louder, and cold. Next thing I knew, there was all this light around me, and this intense pressure and so much noise, and then I was falling out of the sky into a trash heap. Dislocated my shoulder on impact. Broke the cannon in the fall.” 

She cocked her head toward Scrapper 219's body. “Got snatched by that asshole and met Scrapper 142 pretty early on. She caught me in one of the gardens trying to sneak outside the palace walls, and I convinced her not to turn me in. I don’t even know the real value of what I stole for her those first few months. I was reckless, and really lucky I didn’t get caught. But I bought her silence, and got her to go back out into the landfills for me and bring me the cannon.”

Her weary smile had Loki shifting again, his leg now fully pressed to hers, offering the comfort she sought. She looked down at where he made contact, eyes fluttering closed, and Loki so dearly hoped her soft sigh was one of relief. 

“I survived. I kept my head down, I spun my story about being a magic virgin, and I survived. And then I saw you. I thought you could bring me back.” She grimaced at the irony of her next words. “I thought I could trade you. Use your freedom to buy mine.”

And in that moment, Loki understood. Truly understood, and felt his heart kick against his ribs. “No mere trade. Amnesty. You can’t go back, can you? Without a bargaining chip, you would be going back to Earth to spend your days running, or wasting away in a cell.”

Elle held his gaze, worrying her lower lip. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”

She knew.

She knew from the start that she would lose her passage home if she was with me.

And still, she chose me. 

In letting Loki kiss her as he had, letting him hold her, beginning this relationship, Elle had chosen Loki over her own world, her own people.

And the Grandmaster made her think it was for nothing.  

Gods, could he touch her? Could he just hold her and tell her he understood? That he knew what it was to run? To be backed into a corner and forced to lunge?

That he would forsake everything for her in equal measure, if given but half a chance?

Her lips worked silently for a moment, eyes beginning to glisten. “I’m a fuckup, Loki. I take all the good things I have and I wreck them. I did it to Josie, and now I did it to you.” Her voice broke like a storm bursting, and it crushed something inside him to see her tears falling yet again. 

“But I don’t want to be one more person who trades someone here. I’m a fuckup and a fraud, but I won’t turn you in. I swear, I won’t turn you in. I was angry and scared—”

“Elle.”

“—And I didn’t believe you. When I needed to trust you, I didn’t. I wanted to hurt you, and I hate myself for it. You’ve done nothing but watch out for me, even when you didn’t like me, and I’d give anything to take back what I said.” She faltered as she tried to move up from the wall, a thin, pained gasp escaping her when she moved her battered leg. 

The sound sparked in his blood, igniting a hunger, a pure driving need to have her in his arms, one he could no more deny than the pull of gravity. Loki surged forward to meet her, and the feeling of his arms sliding around her made his eager heart pound in every piece of him, ears and temples, down into the soles of his feet. He tugged her close and fell back, pulling her with him, the heat of her, the weight of her body curling forward to meet his, colliding through him like the explosion of stars, of space moving to make way for new, unseen bursts of light. 

It was perfection. Beautiful. As beautiful as her warm, sweet honesty gliding around him. All of it—every ounce of her confession—no less than honey-silk truth. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Spoken through broken breaths and hot tears as her arms wound around his neck, her lips moving against his ear, pressed as tight against him as she could manage. Still he pulled her closer, one arm circling her waist, his free hand cradling the back of her head, nosing at her jaw. 

“Shh, darling.” His voice strained, wet and heavy as his own tears fell. “I’m sorry. I should have told you everything the Grandmaster said from the beginning. I shouldn’t have kept any part of this from you, either. It's all right.”

“It’s not.” She pulled back, only to press her forehead to his. “There is no home if you’re not there. Please tell me you believe me.”

Loki’s fingers slotted between her own, pulling her hands to his chest. Surely she could feel the thundering of his heart, calling out for her. “I do. I can feel it. It’s immense, how deeply I feel it. Gods, you feel like the autumn sun.”

She sniffed. “Is that good?”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “It’s perfect. It’s drawn me to you since that very first night. Like it’s been calling me home.” Loki grazed his knuckles over her cheeks, wiping away her tears, unable to look away. 

She leaned into his touch, turned to kiss his palm. She could not have been thinking, could not have intended for such a small action to have such a profound effect: but she opened her lips, darted her tongue over his skin beneath his thumb, and bit him. A tiny nip, not intended to hurt. 

As if to claim him. To imprint herself on him in some miniscule way. 

Just a little. 

Just enough.

It was too much. It was everything he’d wanted, everything he’d hoped. Even the sound of her gasp was lost to the roar of his own blood pounding in his ears. He pulled her flush against him, lips ravenous for hers. She was here, she was his, and she’d told him. She’d told him everything, and despite the trials of this painful, endless night, she still wanted him. Relief and need and desire thundered in his veins, sparking hard as flint against stone.

He threaded his fingers into her hair, angling her to deepen the kiss. The tease of her tongue left him groaning, pulling her to straddle his hips. She shivered, the tang of copper distantly telling him she was bleeding again, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull away for so much as a breath as his body went hard and hot and wanting, and gods he needed her. He arched up, desperate for more of that friction, the heat and promise of her against him.

She made a small sound, brittle and hesitant. “Loki…”

His fingers tightened in her hair, reclaiming her lips, swallowing her gasp and arching again. 

“Loki, stop.” A mere whisper escaping against his mouth. 

Pained. 

His eyes flew open, breath coming in tatters. He jerked his hands away, elbows thudding painfully against the hull. “Oh, no. No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He closed his eyes as she shuffled back a fraction, moving her weight onto his upper thighs, hands falling to his shoulders. His cock throbbed in protest, every muscle straining with the need to pull her back to him. 

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he groaned miserably, covering his face. “I didn’t… I’m not…”

“It’s okay.” Her fingers twitched, perhaps to touch his face or his hair, but she seemed to think better of it. He was grateful. More of her touch would not soothe him right now. 

“Here, I can move.” She began to pull away, fear and regret spiking in his blood.

“No, please don’t.” He swallowed hard enough so he was sure she heard it, an embarrassed wince crossing his face. “I thought I’d lost you, and now you’re here. You’re here and I just...  I didn't mean to. I’m sorry. Please, stay with me.” He hesitated, then ran his hands up along her arms, slow and gentle, as if she were made of glass. “I need to know you’re here. Please.”

By some miracle, she didn’t reject him. Didn’t take herself away, though she had every right and reason. Instead she nodded, settling down, still resting on his thighs. “Yeah. Me too.” 

Relief and care and affection swirled through him, and he wondered if this was what Elle meant when she spoke of her colors: this vibrant sort of feeling, so bright it all but glowed. He took a few deep, calming breaths, forcing himself to relax. When the ache finally subsided, he tucked Elle’s hair behind her ears, tugging her forward. He did not let her straddle him again, instead opting to gingerly pull both legs to one side, slung across his lap. He moved her so she leaned against his chest, positioned perfectly so he could rest his mouth against her temple. He drew his thumb carefully over her lip, wiping away the pink smear of blood, the both of them holding still. 

Elle was the first to break the silence, and he was grateful that she changed the subject. “I wanted to tell you about being an agent.” She sought out his hand, brought it up to her unmarred cheek. Such a simple, absentminded request for his touch. How could he possibly deny her? How could he deny her anything? He opened his palm wide to cup her face, chest filling up with warmth.

“I wanted to tell you so many times. I thought if I just got through the orgy, I’d be able to say everything.”

“I know, darling. I know you tried.”

“I had a whole script.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Did you?”

A nod. 

“Would it help to say it now?”

She looked up at him, mouth pulled into that delightful little O of surprise. “Do you still want to hear it?”

“Always. I want to know everything. Everything you can stand to tell me.”

She turned in his arms, reaching for him again, as if she couldn't help herself. One hand found its way to his throat, thumb resting in the hollow. The other took him by the chin, making sure he was looking at her.

As if he could possibly look anywhere else.

She took a breath, suddenly very serious, and it was all he could do not to laugh—not at her, never at her—but with this foreign, bubbling sense of joy. Of wonder and anticipation. 

“Loki,” she said, all gravity and earnestness. “I’m a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I should’ve told you sooner, and I’m so sorry I didn’t. No matter where we go after Sakaar, I want us to go together.” She pulled her swollen lower lip into her mouth, giving it an absentminded suck that was far more distracting than he was prepared to deal with. “I’m crazy about you, and I’ve got you. If you’ll still have me. ”

Oh, his sweet girl. His mage. The bringer and dispeler of his darkness, the only light he knew in this desolate world. The only light he wanted with him on any world they went to. 

“My sweet, earnest, beautiful little thief. Of course you have me. As deeply and irrevocably as I have you.” 

She was grinning as he pulled her in for a careful kiss, mindful of her injuries and still too close to riled for his own liking. Still, how could he help himself? How could he resist grinning back against her mouth? When he pulled away, Elle pressed forward to recapture him. He had to rub his hands along her arms to still her, and her eagerness was enough to stir his blood once more.

Don’t, he chided himself. 

“Wait.” He held her at a small distance, smoothing her hair back. “I was also waiting until after tonight to share news with you.”

It made things easier when she laughed, giving a low roll of her eyes. “God, we really suck at communicating.”

“I disagree. We aren’t exactly in an environment that rewards trust. Nor does it sound as though we’ve come from environments that reward trust, either.”

"Fair point. Okay. What were you waiting to tell me?”

He hesitated. “It’s become twofold, I’m afraid.”

“Uh oh.”

“It may not be ideal, but it could be worse.”

“Uh oh.”

He gave her a stern look and pressed his thumb against her mouth, making her grin. “Hush. Let me get this out.”

She nodded solemnly. Enough so he was able to prepare himself, to pull in a deep breath and give this the gravity it deserved.

“First is about tonight. I had to be seen. With Rezh.” 

She blinked, eyes widening, lips pressing into a very small O, this one far less pleasing than her usual look of surprise. “Oh. Right. That… that makes sense.”

Though she did not move, his arms came up around her, wanting to keep her close. “Only seen, I promise you. We posed, nothing more, but it was public. It was an act, but after everything else this night has put us through, I didn’t want you to hear of this from anyone but me.”

Elle seemed to consider this for a moment, picking at her cuffs. “What did she say to you? When she first went up to you?”

Loki couldn't help his small, sympathetic sigh. He took her hand, kissed her knuckles, and placed her palm on the darkening bruise on his chest. “When the Grandmaster first grabbed you, I nearly destroyed our cover. I made to dash across the room, broken bottle in hand like some drunken, jealous adolescent. Your Scrapper 142 stopped me. She struck me.” He winced. “More than once. She kept me immobilized long enough to prevent me from doing something incredibly stupid. Rezh saw it unfold and moved to intervene. 

“She told me to be still, that I’d drawn attention. And she told me you’d been drugged. Granted, she did not tell me specifically it was Devil’s Kiss, or I would have been more prepared for your anger. But she said that if I, in her words, eased my testosterone-ridden hysterics, she would bring me over to you. But I had to behave and look pacified.” He gave Elle an apologetic, sheepish look. “I did my best. As much as we planned for tonight, I truly had not prepared myself for seeing the Grandmaster touch you. Especially not like that.”

Elle simply watched him for a moment, pensive and still, before stroking her thumb over the furrow in his brow. “I didn’t, either. But we know what we’re up against, and now we can—” She trailed off, eyes flicking back toward the entryway. Into the wastes they would need to return to. “We can be ready for the next time. Because... we can’t leave tonight, can we?”

Loki ran his hands along her hips, slotting against the small of her back, holding her tight. “We wouldn’t survive for long. I’ve learned more about what’s out there, and I fear we underestimated the severity of the desert. Rather, I did.”

He so ardently wanted to promise that the Grandmaster would never lay his hands on her again, that the desert would be their salvation until they knew enough about the portals in the sky to make their true escape. But Elle had just been named his courtesan, and Loki his adviser. They had revealed many weaknesses tonight, had made mistakes that could not be repeated. They had to adapt to this, as best they could. 

As much as he hated it, there was no other choice. 

As if reading his mind, Elle leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his jaw. “We really messed up tonight, didn’t we?” 

He pressed his nose into the slope of her throat, reveling in the heat of her, the soft glide of her skin. “We were not careful, nor particularly subtle. Rezh knows about us, as does Scrapper 142. We’ll need to make our next moves very carefully.”

Her eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, blinking. Or perhaps looking at him, as best she could. “But no more secrets, right? Whatever we do next, we’re on the same page?”

He hesitated. 

“Loki?” Elle pulled back, brow furrowing. 

“There is one more secret. Just one.”

She offered a hesitant smile. “Your magic. Right?”

“My magic.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved the pendant: the perfect blue pulse in a sheen of eternal ice. He took her hand in his, threading their fingers together, laying the pendant in the cup of her palm. It took him a moment to find his voice. 

“I wasn’t lying about how I landed on Sakaar. When the Midgardian wizard cast his spell, my powers were bound. I can feel them, but I cannot call them to me. When you asked me to cast a protection spell on you, I was able to summon this, but I have not been able to reach my power since. This pendant contains all that’s left of my magic. I can cast but one spell with it. It's not strong enough to escape Sakaar but…” He pushed out a breath, ducking his chin. “But it’s feasible that I can move you to another part of the planet. I doubt it contains enough magic to fix the Quinjet, but I can try—”

“No.”

“—Or I can make him forget about you. Erase you from his mind, or turn you invisible or—”

“Loki, stop.” She pushed her forehead back against his, one hand over his heart, rising and falling in time with his rapid breathing. “I’m not going to another part of the planet without you. And if you don’t think there’s enough magic to fix the Quinjet, we shouldn't waste the spell trying.”

“But—”

“And making him forget me won’t fix everything. Even if he forgets me, he’ll still remember you’re his adviser. You’ll still be close to him, and then you’ll still be in trouble.”

“I would rather it be me. What he’s threatened against you tonight—”

“Is evil. What he threatened tonight is truly evil. But if you have only one spell, we need to use it wisely, right? We need to use it when it’ll help us both.”

He gripped her fingers tightly. “You should not be left vulnerable because of me.”

“But I am. Just like you’re vulnerable because of me.” She pressed forward, grazing the tip of her nose against his. “So we save it. We have a month to figure things out. If tonight’s any indication, we’ll probably have an emergency we need to dig ourselves out of someday.” A small smile. An attempt at humor that still stung far too keenly with truth. 

But Loki could not focus on that. He chewed his lip, not quite trusting his voice to stay steady. But not entirely minding that it didn’t. “If you will not use it now... will you wear it again?”

She gave him a slight but knowing smile. “Because it’ll keep me safe, or because it’s yours?”

Loki couldn’t answer. Couldn’t quite give voice to it: that this token of her safety would help him sleep at night, of course. But seeing something only he could give against her skin would soothe him. More than his heart: it would ease this edge of need in him, the need he felt to claim her and be claimed in turn. If he could have this one token, not of ownership, but of their bond—

“The love of a fraud isn’t worth much, but it’s yours. And I’m yours. So it’s a yes either way.” 

His head snapped up, feeling as though his chest was full enough to burst. She only gave him that impossibly soft smile, a faint flush staining her cheeks. She blessed him with a kiss, so soft and sweet that it made his eyes burn. When she pulled away, he pushed down the thick leather cuff, kissed the curve where her palm dipped to her wrist, delighting at the rapid flick of her pulse against his lips, and looped the band of the pendant until it fit snug against her. He hid the glowing stone out of sight, tucked beneath the leather. Hidden. Safe. 

And theirs. Just theirs. 

The next kiss she gave him was neither sweet and gentle, nor wild and rushed. It was hard and driving, intense and slow and surely her poor lip would be so bruised in the morning. 

She didn’t seem to mind. 

When they pulled apart, Loki could only gaze at her, at the flush of her mouth and the shine in her eyes, his stunned heartbeat thudding so fervently in his chest he thought his entire body might shake apart. He pulled Elle back to him, tucking her beneath his chin as they allowed themselves the grace of silence. They stayed still, holding each other, for a long, long while. 

Then Elle jerked, a sign that she’d started to doze. She rubbed at her eyes, head heavy against his collarbone. He smoothed his hand along the length of her spine, nuzzling down into her hair. “We have to get you back.” 

She tensed, and he brushed his lips over her temple. “We have a month before the next orgy. One month to fix the ship and make our escape. He won’t take you, Elle. What he threatened tonight will not come to pass.”

She traced her fingertips down the line of his throat, voice thick with the nearness of sleep. “We need a new plan.”

“I think I know of some additional resources. But we’ll discuss that later. More immediately, we have to get you out of these filthy clothes and treat your injuries.” He picked at her sleeve, scrunching his nose. “Where did you get these?”

“It’s a long story.“ She moved to look up at him, the exhaustion cutting deep circles under her eyes. “I’ll fill you in on the walk back.”

It was a comfort, perhaps the only comfort, knowing that going back would mean getting to pull her into bed with him. That he would be able to fall asleep with her in his arms, knowing there were no more secrets between them. 

He nodded, helping her to her feet, noting all the bruising. All the blood. He kept a careful grip on her hands as she tested her weight on her injured leg, wincing, but able to walk. She cast a wary glance at the body of Scrapper 219. “What do we do about him?”

Loki adjusted his hold on her, leaning down to take Scrapper 219’s gate key. He twirled it between his fingers, watching the light of the doorways above catch on its metallic face. His gaze shifted to Elle as he tucked it away in his pocket.

“We use him.”

They moved back out into the night, Loki scooping Elle up into his arms. He would not be able to hold her like this for long, would not be able to keep her off that worryingly ragged ankle once they made it back. But for now, for this moment, he took solace in the way her arms tightened around him. In the feel of her body seeking out his own.

He waited for her nod. For her to indicate she was ready. 

She granted it, then curled in close, hiding her face against his shoulder. 

They set off together toward the blinding light of the palace, their silhouettes dark against the toxic burn of Sakaar.

Chapter Text

The shadow of the palace ended abruptly, a harsh, indisputable line on the ground. On this side, still hidden in the false starlight, was the rough approximation of freedom where Loki could keep Elle tucked against him, shielded from the horrors of this world. A few mere steps forward and they would be swallowed up by that shadow, a stain pulling them in like a terrible tide, the golden light and cheers from the palace creating a nightmarish facade of joy that had the muscle between Loki’s shoulders tensing. 

Only a few steps, and he would need to relinquish his hold on Elle. He would have no choice but to surrender her again, leaving her exposed and injured, wading into that tide alongside him.

“I don’t want to do this.” Loki adjusted his grip, pinning her tight enough to his chest that he half expected her to wriggle or gently remind him that she needed to breathe. 

She neither squirmed nor complained, instead simply raising her head from his shoulder. Though exhausted and spattered with blood and dirt, she had not lost that light in her eyes, the gentle warmth that she simply could not hide when she looked at him. If anything, it seemed brighter now, catching in the tiny golden specks hidden in her irises. She looked at him with such care and patience that it was a wonder he didn’t simply call this whole thing off, turn around, and march back into the wastes. 

Surely we could survive on our own. It would perhaps not be the most comfortable, or hygienic, or safe, and we are lacking in food and water and supplies, and Elle’s injuries are severe enough to need attention, and quite frankly the idea of allowing either of us to sleep in a literal pile of garbage is truly disgusting, but surely—

“Hey.” Now she did wriggle, as if sensing his turmoil, but to his surprise and gratitude and deepest relief, it was only to push herself forward, readjusting her arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tight. “It’s okay. We know what we have to do.”

“Exactly. And I have no interest in doing it.”

“It’s the only way.”

“What if he hurts you? What if I hurt you?”

Elle moved to cup his cheek, brushing her thumb over his mouth. “You won’t. Besides, it can’t be worse than when I failed my hand-to-hand combat test. I had Agent Hill’s knuckles bruised onto my arms for a month.”

Loki huffed, gaze darting back to the palace. As much as it pleased him to hear her so casually mention her life before Sakaar, he knew it was a shallow distraction at best, one meant to soothe him. A few mere bruises were nothing compared to what the Grandmaster could do. What Loki could do, if they were not careful.

“Your leg―”

“Will be fine. It’ll only be for a few minutes.”

Loki swallowed hard. “What if the Grandmaster says yes?”

“He won’t.” She traced the curve of his lower lip, voice steady. “He hates the aesthetic.”

Loki’s jaw locked with a painful click. 

Of course the tyrant would be more worried about appearance than her safety. 

“Besides,” she continued, “it’ll be your idea.”

That made Loki scowl. This was most certainly not his idea. Walking through the landfill, trying to come up with a plan for getting back inside unscathed, he had pushed for stealth. He’d wanted to wind quietly through the back hallways, safely depositing Elle in her room before returning to the orgy alone, ready to spin as many lies and enduring as many hands as needed to distract from her absence. 

She would not hear of it. “We’re in this together,” she’d said, fists bunching his jacket. “You’re not going by yourself.”

He’d shaken his head, desperate for her to listen. “I’m not letting you anywhere near that madman again tonight, especially not injured this way.”

“But this is exactly how we turn this thing to our advantage. We can salvage this, but you have to trust me.”

He wanted to. And to her credit, it was a good plan. It was only that he hated its execution. And now that it was time to put her down and go back inside, he found himself recoiling from it entirely. “I’m his adviser now,” Loki said. “This is precisely the sort of thing he will seek guidance in”

“He will. But he’s going to have to secure his authority, not just his ownership. Telling you no will do that.”

“How can you be sure?”

She offered a wry smile. “Behavioral analyst, remember? The Grandmaster likes a show more than anything. If he didn’t, he would’ve attacked me tonight instead of setting a date for next month. Turning down your advice will give him a chance to perform and remind everyone who’s in charge here.”

Loki huffed again, and instead of putting her down, he pulled her forehead to his, letting his eyes slip closed. She carded her fingers through his hair, whispering his name so sweetly. 

“It’ll be okay. I promise.” He pressed into her touch as she peppered soft kisses along his jaw. Her words came out muffled against his skin. “It’ll be quick. Only a few minutes.”

“A few minutes,” he echoed dimly. 

“Damage control, then sleep.”

He pulled back to peer at her with a small frown. “Damage control, bandages, then sleep.”

She hummed in agreement, glancing toward the bright entryway. “Either way, damage control is first.”

With a long, tense sigh, he finally relinquished his hold, easing her from his grip and lowering her feet to the ground. His fingers gripped her shirt when she hissed, immediately pulling the weight from her injured leg. 

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, the gesture clipped and quick. Easing her leg back down, she tested it, proving she could support herself, though not without difficulty. She looked up, and she must have seen his distress, bubbling up from the pit of him. She was instantly pushing closer, moving to press her body back against his. “Loki—”

“Have I not hurt you enough tonight? Must I do this, too?” It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and beg her. 

Elle’s hands came up to cradle his face, pulling him in until her lips brushed his. Loki went still as she kissed him, lost to the feeling of her fingers against his skin, the way her mouth guided his so perfectly. Heat radiated from her lower lip, swollen and surely so sore, but she did not let it deter her from blurring his doubts, fading against the siren’s call of her kiss. She pulled away far too soon, though only enough to speak to him, leaving his heart beating frantically against his ribs.

“You’d never hurt me. Never. As long as you’re with me, I’m safe. This is just pretend. And when it’s done, we’re going to go to bed.” She stroked his face so tenderly that he clutched for her, hands finding the small of her back simply to anchor her to him. “We’ll curl up together, safe and clean, and it’ll just be us for a while. We’ll be warm and comfy and—”

“Where is she? Huh? Come on, I’m tired of this!”

The Grandmaster’s voice pulled them apart, them both looking toward the open windows of the palace. Elle was the first to move, limping to Loki’s side and positioning her elbow in his hand. He gave her a small, experimental squeeze. Though he nearly vibrated with tension, she merely squared her shoulders and faced the palace with a biting glare.

So defiant. Even quietly. 

His little wildling. 

Gods, he could kiss her again.  

She glanced at him, offering a firm, resolute nod, carrying enough confidence for the both of them. “Okay. Let’s put on a show.”

Loki stood tall, chin high, fingers locked on Elle’s arm. He moved at a clipped pace, using every inch of his long legs to cover as much ground as possible. 

And dragged her behind him. 

She struggled to keep up, limping as she was, not bothering to hide her whimpers and gasps of pain. Each sound cut clear through him, blade after blade. 

But he did not stop. 

He pulled her back through the palace entryway. Back through the hall. Onlookers turned to watch them go, the servants looking on with shock while the guards exchanged uneasy looks.

None moved to intervene. Loki used every tactic he knew to become the imposing god he could be in court and in battle, flashing glares at any who dared begin to approach, keeping his lips thinned and his jaw locked. His demeanor, his roughness, made it clear: he was angry. He was angry, and the whining, limping slave behind him was only adding to his irritation. 

He pulled to the lounge, where the music still pulsed and the lights flared, alternating between dimness and whirling colors. Bodies still writhed, heated in the throes of the night. Loki stormed past them, rushing down the center towards a large circle of participants.

He saw movement in his periphery: the Valkyrie pushed into the room, glancing uneasily between him and Elle. She must have just missed them, coming back from her own search for Elle as they’d come inside.

Later. He would speak with her later. First, there was this. 

“Grandmaster!”

The tyrant’s head popped up from the crowd, his expression already drawn into a sharp frown. A trail of whimpering participants trailed behind him, making it apparent that he’d been taking his impatience out on his guests. 

He pushed them aside, moving to the forefront. “I’ve been looking all over for her, where the hell—”

Loki gave Elle’s elbow a squeeze. He felt her tense, bracing herself, before he yanked her to his side, the sound of her pained cry tearing through him. Still, he could not relent. Not now. He swung her forward, shoving her into the Grandmaster’s arms. Her leg was bleeding again, breath hard and shallow from pain. 

Though he kept his ire plain on his features, he took advantage of the Grandmaster’s distraction to look Elle over: though she was bleeding, there were no tears in her eyes. Her face and throat were flushed, most likely from exertion, but it was as she promised him: he had caused no additional harm. 

Had they been alone, she would have been back in his arms in an instant.

As it was, Loki could only fold his arms impatiently as the Grandmaster caught Elle with a surprised grunt, his frown edging away from anger into surprise. “Sweetheart, what happened to you?” He smoothed his hands over her shoulders but held her at a small distance, inspecting the state of her clothes, the grime in her hair, the blood and dirt covering her face and clothing. “Where have you been?”

Elle didn’t answer. Only made a pitiful sound and curled inward, prompting the Grandmaster to wrap his arms around her, a dragon hoarding its prize. The Grandmaster pressed a hand to the back of her head, holding her in place while he looked to Loki. “Loke, what is this? What happened?”

Loki scowled. “What happened? Your Scrapper 219 turned on you like a rabid dog. I heard screaming and when I went to investigate, I saw 219 had dragged her out beyond the palace walls. I moved to intervene and he attacked me. He attacked your courtesan, had her pinned to the ground with a blade in his hand.” 

The look that crossed the Grandmaster’s face could nearly be mistaken for true concern, if not for his rough grip on Elle’s upper arms. “He took you? Sweetheart, he took you?”

Elle kept her eyes down as the Grandmaster gave her a hard shake. “What did he do? You tell me right now, what did he do?”

She swallowed hard before answering. “He grabbed me. Chased me.” 

The Grandmaster tipped his head, tracing the burn on her cheek, picking at the tacky line of dried blood even as she flinched. “He cut you.”

“He said you owed him debts. That he was going to put marks on me to make you pay.” 

“But Loke stopped him. And that was all?”

“Yes. Loki pulled him off before he could do anything else.”

The Grandmaster let out a long breath and sagged in relief. “Oh, baby, thank goodness! I was afraid he’d really hurt you! You still have your powers then, right? We can keep our lovely plans for next month?”

It was truly astonishing that Elle could endure such an insult with only a demure nod of her head. 

The Grandmaster looked to Loki again, that darkness in his eyes sharpening, something cruel and feral creeping in. The same look Loki had seen the morning of Otho’s execution. “And where is Scrapper 219 now, exactly?”

Loki sensed the danger here, could see the jagged edge where the Grandmaster’s performative rage would dip into something truly terrifying. He kept his voice low when he answered. “I killed him.”

The tyrant’s eyes narrowed. “Run that by me again. You handed out punishment? Without my permission?”

“Would you have preferred me to merely stand there and watch him mutilate her? Allow him to so blatantly disrespect your claim?” 

It pained him to say it, but it had the intended effect. The Grandmaster tipped his head, pausing to consider this for a moment as his attention fell to Elle. He stroked her hair, finally shaking his head. “No. No, you’re right. You punished the traitor and brought my girl back to me. I ah… I would’ve liked a word with him, is all. Would’ve liked to see how long that mutant lasted after I tore out his heart.” 

He dropped a kiss to Elle’s head, the charade of affection making Loki bite back a growl. 

“Taking my girl. Putting a mark on her. This happened under my roof, Loke. At my party. This is inexcusable.” He gave Loki a strange look. Challenging, almost. “You’re my adviser now. What’s to be done about this?”

Loki did not look away, did not cower. “My honest opinion?” 

“Of course.”

“One of your strongest, most trusted Scrappers betrayed you. He made a fool of you in front of your guests. He sought to defy you, to steal your clairvoyant’s virginity and her power with you none the wiser.” He took a step forward, lowering his voice. “You’ve been challenged, Grandmaster. Publicly. You need to make a spectacle of his body. String it up, destroy it, hunt down his affiliates, anyone who might have known he was planning to take her. Keep all the Scrappers here until you can determine if anyone else betrayed you.”

Loki’s gaze shifted to Elle. 

His heart hammered in his ears.

But when he looked back at the Grandmaster, he was careful to keep his gaze perfectly empty. “And you must put an obedience disk on your human.”

The Grandmaster hummed, gaze shifting down to Elle. Loki went rigid, hands curling into fists as the tyrant used his index finger to push her chin to the side, staring at the faded scar from her first disk. 

Loki’s stomach went into freefall. He couldn’t be considering it, could he? Elle had been so sure.

Then the Grandmaster clicked his tongue, eyes drifting back to Loki. “That’s a little, ah, little extreme don’t you think?”

Loki lifted his chin, demonstrating a confidence he did not truly feel. “A disk would have alerted you the moment he took her from the palace. As your adviser, I must recommend—”

“No, no, no , absolutely not.” Even as the Grandmaster rocked Elle back and forth, his eyes moved to the other participants, watching their reactions. Not Loki’s, and certainly not Elle’s. Watching to make sure they heard. 

Elle was right. He does like to perform. 

The Grandmaster patted Elle’s back, then winced and wiped his hand off on his leg. When he spoke, it was a touch too loud; projecting for his audience. “My courtesan doesn’t get disked, Loke. Those are for the prisoners with jobs, not for members of the court, and absolutely not for my girl. They’re so last century! And besides, it’s not her fault Scrapper 219 took her. Is it, sweetheart?" He took Elle by the chin and brought her face back to center, making sure she was looking at him. “No, you ran from him, didn’t you? Of course you did. You’re my girl, and you know it. So sweet and pliant and… and…” He looked her over, grimacing, voice dropping to its normal volume. “And filthy. Sweetheart, you’re just… ugh. Where did he take you, huh?”

The swollen lip helped exaggerate her pout. “He chased me through the recycling tanks.”

“The recycling tanks.” The Grandmaster cleared his throat and took a half-step back. “Tell you what, sweetheart. I don’t want Scrapper 219’s behavior ruining any more of our time together, okay? So I’m gonna stay here and see out the party, and you’re gonna go clean up and get this blood and muck off you. I want you to stay in your room until I come to get you tomorrow.”

She was careful to keep her eyes trained up on him. “You don’t want me to stay?”

He looked around—rather impatiently, Loki thought. “What I want you to do is burn these clothes and clean up. I want to have a quick chat with Loke here, and then I want to get back to entertaining our guests. Hey. Look at me.” He gripped her jaw, lips twisting into a lecherous grin. “We’re still gonna have our debut next month, right? But right now, I want you to go scrub this grime off you.” He dipped his mouth to her ear, still speaking loudly enough for Loki to hear. “If you’re gonna be sticky and wet, I want it to be because of me. Right now you’re a walking reminder of 219 and frankly, ah… I hate it. I need some time to cool off.” He nipped at her ear, too rough to be playful. 

Elle did not so much as flinch. She merely looked at the floor as the tyrant patted her cheek before spinning her around and prodding her forward. “Go wash off, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She went quietly, favoring her injured leg. The sight of her leaving this vile room, walking away from the hands of her captor, allowed Loki to breathe again. 

She was safe for the night. Out of sight. 

Loki pushed out a breath, eyes slipping closed for a moment. 

And then the Grandmaster’s hand clapped down on his shoulder, tugging him around and steering him from the crowd. His grip was like iron, voice dropping to a seethe. “Was she lying?”

“Was she—”

“Did he fuck her? Did Scrapper 219 take my prize from me?”

“Of course not. I stopped him, I told you.”

The Grandmaster took a few uneven breaths, and Loki squinted, looking into his eyes. They were blown wide, his skin hot, like Elle’s had been earlier. 

“You’ve had Devil’s Kiss, have you not?”

The tyrant’s mouth twisted, half-grin and half-sneer. “Just a bit. Have a hard time thinking straight this late in the festivities, but someone’s gonna bleed, Loke. Someone has to bleed for this.”

“Calm yourself, Grandmaster. Do not let your drink influence you too severely. He did not succeed, and you’ve taken Elle out of harm’s way. You can still make an example of him. A body still sends a message when it is in pieces.”

The Grandmaster rubbed his eyes and huffed, sounding fatigued for the first time tonight. “I guess you’re right. I knew he was a crafty one, but it’s been so long since someone actually betrayed me. Ya know, ah… it would almost be exciting, if he hadn’t almost cost me my fun with my girl.” He stood a bit straighter, watching Loki very carefully. “I did promise him, you know. Just like I promised you. Apparently the promise of time with her was enough to make him betray me. Apparently I need to be more careful in who I allow into my inner circle.” He stepped in close enough for Loki to smell the liquor on him, taking Loki’s lapels and smoothing them down. “Tell me, Loke: you disappointed in this turn of events? You angry I took back my word?”

Loki steadied himself, keeping his expression perfectly neutral as he spoke. “Of course not. This is your planet, Grandmaster, you may adjust the rules of this place whenever you wish. While your clairvoyant—I beg your pardon, your courtesan—is certainly charming, I understand I have no claim to her. Besides, you’ve gifted me Rezh, who has the most delectable charms of her own. I’ve no right to be angry, have I?” 

The Grandmaster chuckled, wiry and rough, patting Loki on the cheek. “You’re a smart guy, Loke. Very smart. But, ah… you were awfully rough with her, bringing her in. Awfully rough.” He moved to cup Loki’s face, eyes burning as he brought the tip of his nose to Loki’s. “Do me a favor. Keep your hands to yourself from now on. I don’t want to see you touching her again.” His eyes flashed, grin sharp as a dagger. “Ever.”

Loki hesitated, then placed a palm to his own chest, bowing his head. “I assure you, you will not.”

“Good.” With a rough pat, the Grandmaster’s demeanor shifted once more, instantly reverting back to a calm, almost lazy interest in the party. He grabbed a drink from a passing tray and gulped it down in one swallow. “Go make yourself useful, alright, handsome? Get a drink and make a few rounds. I was just in the middle of introducing myself to that gorgeous Thielian over there. I did want my girl to join me but… ugh. The recycling tanks, Loke. 219 really knows how to ruin a good time.”

“Well,” Loki shrugged. “He did.”

There was a beat of silence before the Grandmaster tossed his head back, setting free a long, loud peal of laughter. He wiped at his eyes, patting Loki’s chest. “Oh, Loke, what a treat you are. Go get yourself that drink, okay? Now, where’s that Thielian.”

Loki’s shoulders sagged as he watched the Grandmaster move away. He scrubbed his hands over his face, fighting back the urge to sink to the floor

That was exceedingly stressful.

But it was over. And more than that, it worked. As fearful as he’d been, his and Elle’s ruse had worked.

And now?

He should look for Rezh. Or try to find the Valkyrie again. Speak to them about all that had transpired. 

But he found he hadn’t the strength for additional conversation. Not tonight. He forced himself to make a listless two laps around the room, but he could endure this charade no longer. He ducked out through one of the darker exits, making his way through the hallways. 

Elle was waiting.

He could feel it as soon as he stepped inside: the heat. The humidity. The residue left over from a shower that must have been hot enough to burn. The air was thick with a sweet-smelling soap, herbal but not floral. He took a moment to simply lean against the door, pulling the scent into his lungs as he tried will away his remaining tension. 

It did not leave until he slid the lock over the door knob, the definitive click finally allowing the muscle between his shoulders to ease. He lifted his head, looking around in the dim light of the room.

“Elle?”

A small, muffled sound came from the expanse of their bed. Elle was wrapped in a towel, hair damp and clinging around her shoulders and neck. She’d nested herself near the edge of the bed, surrounded by rucked blankets and a few extra towels. One was stuffed under her leg and spotted with red. It seemed she’d started to apply bandaging when she’d laid down and promptly succumbed to exhaustion, her rough breaths telling him she was deeply asleep.

But she was here. She was here, and she was safe, and their plan, stressful as it was, had worked. She was unmarked and the Grandmaster’s suspicions had turned to the dead Scrapper. In his relief, Loki went to her, lowered himself to his knees, and rested his upper body on the edge of the bed. He could not resist the temptation to touch her, brushing her hair back and letting his fingertips linger on her cheek, thumb stroking over her skin. She was so warm. So soft. Her face was finally serene, scrubbed clean of the dirt, the blood and tears, the blue and gold makeup that had stained her all night. She looked like herself again. 

My Elle. 

He traced a fingertip down along her nose, then beneath her lower lip. Noticed the faint beauty mark hidden at her hairline, a small freckle nearly the same color as her hair. He moved to rest his lips there, reveling in the feeling of his skin against hers, breathing her in. Though he kept his touch light, she still twitched, letting out another muffled, sleep-heavy sound. 

His entire chest filled up with starlight. 

Then she shifted, grumbling as she turned onto her back. It was enough to pull her towel loose, gracing him with a glimpse of the silken skin beneath it. 

The valley between her breasts. 

The dip of her navel.

The soft press of her upper thighs. 

Each inch luscious and perfect.

Loki pushed out a breath, laying his head down beside hers, blinding heat winding into his blood.

Gods, he wanted her. 

He imagined, just for a moment, what it would feel like to kiss her awake. To move down the length of her body, across her collarbone, lapping and sucking her breasts before laving his way down and down, nudging her legs apart and seeing all of her. To worship her with his entire being, his heart and his body alike, feeling her take her pleasure from his tongue, from his hands, from whatever part of him would please her most. 

What utter bliss it would be to slip inside her, to hide his face in the curve of her neck and rock slowly, so slowly. Barely even moving, just engulfed in the heat of her body and listening as her breath went shallow, not in pain or in fear, but in pleasure. He wanted so desperately to bring her pleasure, to hear her laugh and gasp and groan. 

He wanted to make her happy. 

To show her how deeply he loved her.

He scrubbed his face against the blankets with a weak breath, drawing back to spread another towel over her.

That is not the way she loves. 

It was his version, not hers. She showed her love in ways beyond her body. It was in the sweetness of her touch, the gentleness of her caress, the maddening, enchanting allure of her kiss. In the way she stood by him, treating him as if he were any other man rather than the one who tried to destroy her home. It was the way she looked at him as if he were something precious, not a creature doomed to destruction.

Loki knew, deep in the pit of him, in the basin of his belly that fed both the painful stiffness of his cock and the pillar of devotion burning in his chest, that this desire would not merely go away. But it was his burden to bear. This was what it meant to love her, and he would not surrender that for anything. 

No. This fantasy would exist only in his mind. 

He allowed himself to kiss her once more, along the curve of her jaw, before quietly making his way into the shower to wash away the filth of this night. He scrubbed himself roughly, remembering the way he'd rutted into her tonight without thinking, overwhelmed with the feel of her and the bliss of knowing she was his once more. He would need to be more careful. He did not ever want her to feel unsafe with him, or to think he would not honor her boundaries. He hoped she understood he could both respect them and yearn for her in equal measure, that just because the way he loved looked different from hers, it did not mean he wouldn't learn. 

Please. Let me show her I can learn. 

He took a few moments to collect himself, wrapping his own towel around his hips before rummaging through the various cabinets for medical supplies. He gathered what he could into a small basket, tossing in a few other small cloths and bandaging. 

He stepped out just in time to see Elle stretch, to watch her blink heavily and raise her head to look at him. Her slow, easy smile was nothing short of beautiful. “Why does it feel like I haven’t seen you in a year?”

It took him a moment to realize he’d smiled back. “I know what you mean. It was an excruciatingly long night, for the both of us.”

She shuffled backward to the center of the bed, towels in tow, and patted the space beside her. “Lay down with me.”

His eyes darted over the bare skin of her thighs, throat suddenly tight. “I’m not sure I should.”

She lowered herself back down onto the mattress, patting the space beside her again. “Please?”

He found himself drifting forward, lured in by the sight of her. He stopped as his thighs nudged the edge of the bed. “Are you certain? You’d be comfortable with this?”

She lifted her arms, beckoning him closer. “I am if you are.”

Was he? He knew he needed to be careful. To be aware of her comfort, and his own. But… but she invited him to her, did she not? And he wanted so desperately to feel her against him again. Perhaps it was against his better judgment. Perhaps he should have known better. But it was all too easy to set aside his supplies and stretch out beside her, curling into her embrace. She shifted so his body slotted along her side and brought his head to her chest, beneath her chin, the way he so often held her when they slept. Though his leg was much longer than hers, he still slipped it over her thigh, a small thrill running through him when she found a way to then gingerly cover his ankle with hers, knotting them together completely. One arm wrapped around his back, the other moving to stroke through the wet strands of his hair. When her lips found his forehead, he had to close his eyes, fighting back an unmistakable burn.

When was the last time he’d simply been held like this? When had any lover taken him into their arms and just… doted on him? He nuzzled against her, chest too full and too tight.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, punctuating it with another impossibly soft kiss. 

“What for?”

“For trusting me. I know it was really hard to drag me inside and tell the Grandmaster to disk me, but I’m glad we did it. I’m glad we did this together.”

He tightened his grip around her waist. “I am, too. You were right. His suspicions are focused on the Scrappers now, and he does not wish to mark you again. And.” He lazily pointed toward the dresser. “We have a gate key in our possession. We will still need to be cautious, but we salvaged as much of the night as we could. Just...”

“Just, what?”

“Promise me I didn’t harm you. I know that was the plan we agreed to, but even the Grandmaster commented on how rough I was with you. If that selfish, arrogant tyrant could see it…”

She shushed him gently, simply letting her lips rest against his forehead. “You didn’t. My arm’s fine. See? And my leg really hurts, but that has nothing to do with you.” 

It seemed unfathomable that she could be so at ease. After all the pain and terror of the night, when she needed care and tenderness, she’d turned around and trusted him to perform this ruse. She’d offered up her wounds as collateral, so certain he wouldn't hurt her. 

How could he possibly withstand the thundering of his heart, knowing she trusted him so completely?

They were quiet for a few moments, listening to the sound of their own breathing. Elle moved her fingers to massage his scalp, dragging a low groan from his chest. He felt her smile against his skin. “Feel good?”

“Mm. Exquisite. But I should be the one tending to you.” 

She only tightened her hold on him as he made an extremely halfhearted attempt to sit up. “Not yet. Just lay still with me for a bit.”

He made a small sound of reluctant agreement, but he did not try to move again. Not when she used her nails just so, enough to have him leaning back into her touch. “You’re going to spoil me.”

“Even kings could do with a little spoiling.”

He hummed and kissed her throat, delighting in the little shiver that wound its way through her. “As could queens.”

That made her laugh, the sound reaching inside him and filling him with an eager, giddy burst of joy. “I’m not a queen.”

“But you are.” Now he did find the strength to move, to pull himself from the sweetness of her embrace to push himself up on one elbow, using his other hand to catch hers and bring it to his lips. “You’re my queen. Surely you know that by now. And even if our kingdom is spacedust and a forgotten moon, it will be ours. Together.”

It would never cease to amaze him that even when they curled up close like this, she still found ways to push closer. The curves of her body seemed designed for the planes of his, her very shape built to make him whole. She rolled onto her side to face him fully, shaking her hair back. 

“Does that mean I get a fancy robe?”

He smirked, simply resting the curve of his cheekbone against the back of her hand. “It’s called a mantle. And if you truly want one, that can be arranged. Whatever you desire, name it, and it will be yours.”

She blinked slowly, gaze drifting to his mouth. “A kiss.”

He pretended to mull it over. “I suppose I can allow just one.”

That made her grin, and whatever response she had was lost when he leaned in to grant her request. He could lose himself here, he knew, reveling in the feel of her. But the heat of her mouth, intense from her wound, reminded him there was still aid to be administered. When he pulled away, she leaned forward to chase him back, pouting when he raised his hand to trace her lower lip with his thumb. 

He would never tire of that, either: the way she hungered for him. Had any other lover made him feel so wanted? Like they could not get enough of him?

He’d been right: she would spoil him. Gods, he wanted her to. Wanted to give it back to her in turn.

“Just one for the moment. We need to get this taken care of.”

She raised her fingertips to her lower lip, wincing as she pressed against the wound. “Mm. Fair point. It’s really starting to hurt.”

He let go of her hand to twist around, fishing for the basket of supplies he’d brought in with him. “I wasn’t sure what would be useful, so I grabbed whatever I could find.” He held up a small vial of orange liquid. “Is this helpful?”

She shook her head. “Topical aphrodisiac.”

“Ugh, another one?”

“Mm-hm. Not very strong, but it’s definitely a shock when you’re just trying to take a shower.” 

He scrunched his nose and set it aside, pulling out a blue vial instead. “This?”

“Hair removal.”

“Ah.”

“What?” She moved her uninjured leg, rubbing her smooth shin against his. It was far more distracting than it had any right to be. “You didn’t think I just had naturally smooth legs, did you?”

He rolled his eyes, smiling in spite of himself. “Of course not. What about this one?” A glittering periwinkle. 

“Shampoo. Smells nice, but the glitter gets everywhere.”

Set back down before reaching for one more. A deep, flashing emerald. “This?”

She blinked, sitting up slightly, and Loki absolutely did not glance at the swell of her breasts against the fabric of the towel. “How much of that do you have?”

“Three vials. Why?”

“That’s some of the best first aid on the planet. Heals cuts and bruises in a matter of hours. They use it to keep the fighters going night after night, so you usually can’t get any outside the arena. I can’t believe you have that.”

“Whoever had these rooms before us must have hidden them. No matter. We’ll make use of it now.” 

He did, carefully and gently. It didn’t take long before he’d dabbed the emerald ointment over her lower lip, along the cut on her arm. The burn on her cheek, followed by a lingering kiss beside it, one that made her flush the most endearing pink. Her leg took a bit more work. The cut was deep, and there was a dark, angry bruise surfacing on her heel. Once the wound was bandaged, Loki sat up and pulled her calf across his lap, massaging the ointment into her skin. Her eyes slipped closed, the sound of her sigh slipping through him like ribbon. 

“How’s that, darling?”

Her own fingers found their way to his hip, rubbing small, absent-minded circles there. “Better. Thank you. I should be able to walk on it by tomorrow.”

He worked his thumbs up to circle her knee before sliding back down across her shin, her ankle, the top of her foot. It was a wonderful thing, to hear her groan beneath his touch. “You should stay in bed tomorrow. Sleep for as long as the Grandmaster will leave you in peace.”

She cracked one eye open, lips curling. “I should stay in bed? Not we?”

Damn. 

Loki sighed, thumb circling the bone of her ankle. “I have to meet with someone in the morning.”

The other eyes opened, and she propped herself up on her elbow. “Who?”

Loki hesitated, but he was not about to resort to lying. Not after all this night had brought. “The Valkyrie.”

Elle blinked. 

“Your Scrapper 142, rather. I spoke with her briefly at the start of the night. I’ve discovered she’s Asgardian, a warrior of my realm.”

Now Elle’s eyes went wide, that pleasing little O forming on her lips. “Seriously?”

He nodded, told her the story of the night in full. Of meeting the Valkyrie at the bar. Seeing her again after he’d made his appearance with Rezh. The barter with Elle’s pendant, still snug around her wrist. How the Valkyrie had run into the wastes beside him when they knew Elle was in danger, darting left while Loki went right.

When he was finished, Elle hummed in thought, watching Loki’s fingers glide over her skin. “What are you going to offer her instead of the pendant?”

He glanced up at her through his lashes, fingers circling her knee. “I would like to offer her passage off of Sakaar with us. She’s familiar with the ships here and that knowledge would help us expedite our efforts to rebuild the Quinjet. I think she would make a useful ally, and the promise of escape should be more than enough to buy her silence. But more than that, she is of Asgard, and she knows my… my history. I want her to come with us. If you’ll agree.”

Elle sat up a bit further, enough to rest her hand over his. “It makes sense. She also travels extensively around the planet. She could help us find a place to hide. And if you want her to come with us, we’ll ask her.” She pulled back, pointing a chastising finger at him. “But I’m coming with you tomorrow.”

“I wish you’d rest. You need time to sleep, to heal—”

“I will. I promise I will. But Scrapper… er… the Valkyrie and I have a good working relationship, and I think having me there will help. Besides.” She patted his hand, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I also had an idea I wanted to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“When I was talking to Hulk, I tried to get him to break me out. I said I’d take him with me, even offered to go back for him.” She glanced away, knitting her fingers together in her lap. “He hurt you in New York, and I don’t want to minimize that in any way. But I don’t think he’s the same Hulk you met back then. I think being in this body for so long is changing him. He’s able to focus, and when I talked to him, it wasn’t all roaring and raging. He was calm. He’s aware of where he is, and he knows he’s a prisoner here. He looked… sad. I think he’s still Bruce under all that, but even if he’s not, I don’t want to leave him here.” 

She dipped her head, clearing her throat. “And he’s still an Avenger. I don’t know what the future holds for us yet, but if we ever do want to try to go to Earth, I think rescuing an Avenger could help us get there.”

“Perhaps it would, for you. But the simple return of an Avenger will not be enough to secure my freedom. Not after what I’ve done.” 

Her expression fell, taking some of his heart with it. “Almost all of the Avengers have been on the wrong side of S.H.I.E.L.D. at some point.”

“That’s true, but I doubt they will listen to that line of reasoning, coming from us. And while I am admittedly wary of being near the Hulk again, I understand why you want to bring him back. He’s from your realm just as the Valkyrie is from mine. I understand the sense of kinship that brings. And I do see the merit of having so strong an ally with us when we leave the palace.”

He leaned forward to cup her face. “But we should not pin all of our hopes on the idea that the Hulk’s presence will save me if we go back to Earth. My crimes are far worse than yours, and the return of one Avenger will not undo them.”

She turned to press a kiss into his palm, perhaps, in part, to hide her look of dejection. “I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. I’d still like to ask him, as long as you’re sure it’s okay.”

"I’d rather not have to speak to him alone, but yes. We should see if the Hulk will come with us.” 

“Thank you.” Another kiss, this one against his wrist. She lingered there for a moment, simply looking at him, and he had the most peculiar feeling they were each thinking the same thing. 

She gave voice to it first: “What about Rezh?”

“I think we both realize Rezh is the only reason we were not discovered tonight. She protected both of us, at great risk to herself. She has been here for a very long time, Elle, and she has known hardships we cannot fathom. And still, when given the opportunity to turn a blind eye or turn us in, she chose to help. She maneuvered you away from the Grandmaster, and she made sure I was seen participating. I’m angry that she told you I would trade you, but I don’t believe it was done out of malice. I do believe, in her mind, she was trying to help us both. She does not belong here any more than we do.”

Elle’s shoulders sagged as if in relief. “I feel the same way. I know things got tense tonight, but it wasn't her fault. We can’t leave her here. We need to talk to her and see if she’ll come with us.”

“Our getaway ride is becoming very full. We’ll need to adjust our plans for the Quinjet and start stashing away more supplies to keep us all fed, hydrated, and properly armed.” Loki let slip a tired laugh, shaking his head. “Being generous is exhausting, darling. I don’t know how you manage.”

She pulled her leg out of his lap, curled it under her to lean in and poke him in the ribs. “Shut up, you’re generous.”

“Yes, with you. Now we have allies to think of.”

“I think they’re called friends in some circles.” The final word was nearly lost beneath a wide, loud yawn. Yes, it was far past time for them to sleep.

Loki grinned and tugged her to him, flopping them both down onto the bed. He delighted in her bubbling, sparking little laugh as he pulled the covers up over them both. “Allies. If they all accept.”

“They’ll accept. You’re pretty charming when you want to be.”

“Perhaps. I’m sure if my charm doesn’t win them over, you’ll be able to convince them.”

“You think so?”

“No one can deny you. Least of all me.”

Elle squirmed to get comfortable, and Loki’s silly heart could not help but speed at the sleepy, contented look on her face. They ended up each laying on their sides, foreheads pressed together, legs tangled and arms flung over each other, still damp and in their towels. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered but the heat of her, the softness of her skin, her breath ghosting over his cheeks. Mere hours ago he would not have thought his night would afford him any happiness. Loki was no fool. He knew this was but an oasis for them, a moment of respite. They had so much to do, and only a month to make their escape.

But they would. They would face this together. And he would allow himself this moment of contentment, if Elle would only keep looking at him like that, a look so earnest it snatched his breath from him:

Devotion. Adoration. 

Love.

She loved him. 

Her confession, sudden and unplanned as his own, hovered in his mind, darting without settling. It felt monumental, not in the way of thunder or the crashing of waves, but in the way of discovering something ancient and treasured. As if she had uncovered something lost, something that had been buried inside him for an eternity, and brushed away the debris and made it beautiful. Made him beautiful. 

And gods, he loved her. He loved her as if he was born for it, as if all his eons were preparing him to know her and see her just as she was, and worship her for all of it. 

And then he was kissing her again. Slow and deep, the ointment from her lip bitter on his tongue. 

“I meant it, you know. I mean it.” A mere whisper, spoken against her mouth when they pulled apart. “My heart is yours. I am yours.”

She bit her lip, eyes so impossibly bright, and kissed him again. Kissed him until they were breathless, until the room began to blur, the world shrinking down to the feel of her in his arms. When they pulled apart again, she moved to close the space between them, nudging herself against his chest, nose pushed right over his thudding heart. She kissed him there, too, arm winding around his waist.  

“I mean it, too,” she said. “I’m yours. And you're mine. ”

Loki inhaled sharply, and offered up a silent prayer to whoever was listening that they could keep this. No matter what happened, he only wanted to keep this moment, this true sanctuary, in his memory and mind and heart forever. 

Please let me keep her. Just this once, let me keep something good.

They fell into an easy quiet, Elle succumbing to sleep first. Even in slumber she held him close, unwilling to let go even a fraction. Loki could only smile his silly smile. 

He had nearly managed to doze off himself when she twitched, a low whine catching in her throat. He wound his fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp. 

She twitched again, mumbling his name against his chest. 

“Shh, darling. You’re safe. It’s just a dream.” He tightened his hold on her, kissing the top of her head.

He could not have known that though she went still in his arms, Elle’s dreams curled and twisted like smoke. She dreamed of indigo velvet and crimson silk, of blade-bright sparks of silver. 

She dreamed of him.

In her dream, he peeled the covers away and laid the warmth of his big palm against her chest, pushed her onto her back and covered her with his body, letting her feel every perfect, heavy inch of him. She felt him everywhere, an endless caress of his cool skin against hers. His mouth trailed down over her jaw, sucking a tender red mark into her throat before moving to her breasts, his tongue laving slow circles around her nipples. She arched up as his fingers traced her outer thigh, beginning a maddening crawl inward before gliding up, stopping shy of where she wanted him most. He teased, holding his fingertips just out of reach, whispering decadent promises against her lips and making her rock her hips up to catch a single spark of friction. 

But what a spark it was, plunging through her like wildfire.   

And in her dream, she didn’t shy away. She wanted Loki the way he wanted her, and when he kissed her, when he touched her, when she rocked up to feel the hard, hot length of him, she knew only the crushing burn of need and the bliss of his skin against hers. 

In her dream, he did not relent. And she did not want him to.

Loki lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering vows of love and protection, vows that filtered down into those lush, curling shadows in her mind. He held her close, reverent, as she dragged her thighs together in her sleep.

Chapter Text

“Kiss me.”

Such a simple command, growled fierce and eager against Elle’s lips. Loki’s voice dragged across her skin in shivers, black velvet and silver smoke, sparking crimson in her veins. Crimson, and a blistering crush of heat—it was as though he’d torn her open and filled her up with wildfire, made her a sacrifice burning in his name.

He wouldn’t relent until all that was left was ash and ember.

What bliss it would be to burn.

Her mouth stung, bruised from the intensity of the kisses that came before, lips tender and tingling, but she couldn’t stop. 

Not now. 

Not with his command echoing in her ears.

She squeezed her legs tight, his hipbones sharp against her inner thighs, and pressed forward through a mere sliver of space to claim Loki’s lips with her own. She groaned at the feel of him, losing herself in the self-satisfied curl of his mouth as she swiped her tongue across his perfectly swollen lower lip. His smug little smile broke beneath the relentless press of her mouth, parting for a rough, tattered groan when she pulled that lip between her teeth and sucked, the sound plunging another wave of heat beneath her skin.

She set free a shrill, needy, whine, fever tearing a ripple of goosebumps over her arms and down along her spine as if racing to the place where his hand rested, just at the small of her back. Dragging her closer. Clutching her to him. 

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

She wanted his hands everywhere, on all of her at once. 

She needed to feel him. 

All of him.

Elle wriggled, trying to press down harder against the panting god beneath her. His arms tightened around her waist, dragging her impossibly closer and squeezing a gasp from her chest. But she wasn’t afraid. He had her. 

He broke the kiss to drag his mouth across her jaw, nipping and licking at the spot beneath her ear. Her breath stuttered as she tangled her hands in the mess of his hair, and she swore she felt each black, silky coil curl around her fingers when she pulled. He nibbled at the thin skin over her throbbing pulse and she wondered if he could taste the fire in her blood. The offering he made of her, a desperation verging on harrowing.

She rocked against him with a pitiful groan. “I need you. Please.”

He slid his hands across her hips, her ribs, trailing up across the backs of her shoulders. Everywhere he touched flushed and ached, and as much as she moved against him, she could find no relief. She was empty and throbbing, hot and shaking. She needed him to touch her, needed it so bad she might burst.

Elle whimpered low in her throat, the dark sound of Loki’s laughter making her rock down again.

“Tell me again, darling.” 

But the words wouldn’t come, tangled as they were behind her rapid little huffs. She dragged his mouth back to hers, the kiss frantic and messy, tongues and teeth and ragged breath. Loki’s hands covered the whole of her cheeks, cool and powerful, holding her steady. Her skin, her body, sight and sound and scent: she knew nothing that wasn’t him.

Her salvation. Her sustenance. The promise to her heart only his body could keep.

“Loki. I need you.” Quieter this time, but sharper. No mere request, but a plea. 

He pulled away, eyes blown black and hair wild. As fevered as they were, as fervent, she watched his throat constrict, leaned into his touch when he turned his hand to smooth his knuckles over her cheek. An impossibly delicate gesture, so gentle and loving that she whimpered again. 

“Take me then, wildling. I’m yours.” 

He kissed her once more, fierce and demanding, and all she knew was fire.

Elle fell backwards, tugging him with her. His weight on top of her was an anchor in a storm. His mouth found her ear, the black velvet of his voice tearing through her like claws. “I have you. Take what you need.”

Heavy as he was, she shoved him down and down by the shoulders. She was not gentle, and Loki, with his eager panting and sinful growls, didn’t so much as flinch. Only rushed to obey.

“Yes. Show me.”

She must have been hurting him, so tight were her fingers in his hair. But when she pulled his mouth against her, he moaned as deeply as she did. The first hot, slow swipe of his tongue squeezed her eyes closed. The second drew her back up from the bed, head pushed back as Loki licked and sucked and laved, each motion too teasing, too slow, too light. She arched her hips to meet him, to bring the perfection of his mouth exactly where she needed it.

But found she couldn’t move. 

She whined, pitiful and high, trying to pull him closer. “Loki?” 

“Elle.” Voice rough, gritted out against her skin. “Don’t stop.”

Her legs locked, body stuck so his mouth was just out of reach, pressure just on the verge of bliss. She tried to shift, to arch up against him, to pull him down but she couldn't move, not the way she needed to soothe the burn and hurt and pressure, too much, too much, too much!

“Loki, please—”

Elle trashed up, panting hard, heartbeat squeezing in her throat. She whipped her head around, blinking as she fought to make sense of where she was. 

Bed. 

She was in bed. The bed that had become hers and Loki’s. 

And she was warm. 

Very warm.

No, she was hot. Feverish almost, body flushed with heat and the churning, jittery feeling of too much adrenaline in her veins. She pushed her hair back, finding it was damp around her temples and the back of her neck. The morning air against her skin made her shiver, peppering her with goosebumps. But there was something else beneath the chill, a sensitivity that left her nipples tight and tender, enough so she knew she couldn’t blame it on the cold. 

She rubbed her eyes and looked down, blinking at the sight of her own naked body. 

Oh god. 

The blankets were tangled around her legs, the towel she’d fallen asleep in now bunched up beneath her. A thin sheen of sweat glistened over her abdomen, reaching up to meet the pink stain of warmth on her chest. Her mouth was painfully dry, and she wondered if she’d been yelling in her sleep. 

If she’d been moaning. 

Oh god, I hope I wasn’t moaning. 

Elle knew without moving that she was very swollen, very sensitive, and very, very wet. The morning air clung to the dampness slicked over her inner thighs, a delicate spark of cold against the inferno of her body. She was heavy with need, like a coil had twisted too tightly and nestled hot and taut deep inside her, bunched up and quivering, waiting to snap.

She slid her legs together and gave a tentative rock of her hips, closing her eyes and hissing against the bright lick of pain: the precise, biting pang of an interrupted orgasm.

“Fuck.” 

Another slow arch, followed by the pained twitch in her muscles as she let her legs fall apart. She managed to pull in several long, deep breaths before she sat up to untangle her legs from the blankets, pulling the towel back around her, snug and secure. She sat very still, staring down at her lap as her pulse tapped and tapped in her ears. 

How long’s it been?

Since she had an orgasm? There had been a few on Sakaar, mostly driven by unavoidable aphrodisiacs and maybe one or two out of stress relief in her earliest days when her body still felt safe. Not the kind that tapped into her colors, certainly not her textures, but the ones that were pure biology. The tending-to of a need, like eating when she was hungry or drinking away thirst. She may not have felt sexual attraction, but she still had nerve endings and bloodflow and a sympathetic nervous system, and her body reacted in kind. In those cases, she had orgasms like sneezes: perfunctory and efficient. It was desire but as a technicality. Without the colors, without her heart and mind and body working in unison, it wasn’t sustainable. It came in flashes and went away just as quickly.

But how long had it been since she had a dream like that? In so much detail? One that left her heart racing her body echoing like this once she was awake?

Not since Josie.

Elle looked over at the empty stretch of mattress where Loki should have been, filling the air with a longing sigh. She slid her hand over the cool sheets, remembering the feeling of his skin in her dream. Smooth as silk, so deliciously inviting as he pressed against her.

And she hadn’t pulled away. 

She glanced around the empty room, grateful Loki hadn’t caught her this way. She didn’t want to tease him. He’d been exceptionally understanding and supportive, hadn’t pressured her, had even refused to take other partners even though they weren’t having sex. She trusted Loki, but she was also well aware that she needed to be more careful. Not for safety—because with Loki she was always unquestioningly safe—but for consideration. 

It was unfair to ask him not to touch her and then sleep naked on top of him. Especially when he wanted her so badly.  

She cleared her throat, looking around the room as if just to be sure she was really alone, with her body as much as with her thoughts. 

Loki did want her, there was no denying that. As careful as he was, she saw it in the way he looked at her, felt it when his kisses went hard and demanding in a way that left her dizzy. She’d felt it last night in the burned out little ship when he arched up against her. 

She’d felt every inch of it. 

Elle chewed the inside of her cheek, the fever in her blood flaring once more.

She was no virgin, no matter what role she played here on Sakaar. She’d taken Josie’s fingers and tongue, and in time, they’d built up a fair collection of toys between them. Only one of which Elle kept when Josie moved out, a pleasantly efficient one the website said was about average in size.  

Loki was apparently well above average. 

She let out a breath she convinced herself wasn’t shaky, flexing her shoulders against a sensation she told herself wasn’t a shiver.

It’s fine. Just remnants of the dream making me feel weird, that’s all.

She straightened the blankets and shifted herself down, rolling so she was laying on Loki’s side of the bed and hiding her face against his pillow. It smelled like him, like shade and cool spring. It soothed her, helped her head clear as her body relaxed. Grounded her the way Loki always did when she started to spiral. 

It was so easy to find strength in him—in how protective he was, how strong. How soft he could be. Funny, and so smart. And he understood her, even the messy, clotted things that made her heart shade darker. Loki saw all of her, even the things she’d tried to hide, and he hadn’t run. He’d just pulled her close and held her steady.

God, she loved him. Loved him with so much indigo and cobalt and pink that she was brimming with it, like he’d cracked her open and pulled free a riot of color in a saturation and intensity she’d never seen before. 

Elle had loved Josie, there was no questioning that. When Josie walked out with the last of her boxes tucked under one arm, Elle had been convinced that she would never feel that kind of love again. That her colors would never return to that exact hue.

They hadn’t. Elle was grateful for that. They weren't the same now, and it made them so exquisitely beautiful, new in a way that felt like sunrise and fresh snowfall rolled into one. Loving Loki was unique on every axis, bringing with it the most incredible feeling that Elle had finally found somewhere she belonged again, not a return to stasis but a new discovery. It was overwhelming, forged of both familiar feelings and new ones that burned for Loki and Loki alone. 

What she felt for Loki looked different and felt different and was different, like lightning flashing across the sky just as a storm was clearing, the promise of intensity still thick in the air.

Elle closed her eyes and let slip a painfully wistful smile. 

It was no wonder she was having sex dreams. 

But dreams don’t mean my switch is flipped. I’ve had flashes before, and that’s not the same as my switch being flipped. 

Like when Scrapper 142—or the Valkyrie, whichever she was called—looked at Elle the way Josie had. Or like when Loki had growled out the word obey during their tour. She’d liked it—she’d really liked it—but the heat didn’t last. Even now, her body was cooling, her heartbeat slowing, the tension between her thighs starting to dwindle. 

Still, feeling it go left an odd, hollow pressure in her chest, knotty and restless. 

I just feel weird because of the dream. Besides, we’re already playing with fire being together. Sex would only complicate things. 

Especially if it was anything like last time. 

Elle patted around her waist until she found the blankets and pulled them back up tight beneath her chin. 

When her switch flipped with Josie, it was intense. Blistering. The inner stability she’d counted on for so long was suddenly shoved aside, leaving in its place a consuming desperation, a loss of control that knocked her off-kilter. Attraction stopped being just an idea in her head and a fondness in her heart; it became a total driving need, a gaping hunger that roared to life in all the places that had been still for so long. Her nipples, her tongue, her teeth, her cunt. The parts of her body that had always been politely disinterested suddenly woke up and wailed for recognition. 

They demanded touch.

Elle had felt like she’d lost her mind. As thrilling as it was, as loving and gentle as Josie was, Elle had been terrified. Suddenly, Josie could make her do anything, could coax reactions and sounds and desires out of Elle that she’d never imagined. After a lifetime of color, the first brush of texture left her overwhelmed, desperate for more of the affection that made the attraction possible to begin with. 

Needless to say, the Grandmaster was wildly incorrect in assuming Elle wasn’t into praise. 

All the more reason why it’s better my switch isn’t flipped. I can’t afford that level of distraction here. It puts me and Loki both in danger. It’s risky enough…

Elle nuzzled down deeper into Loki’s pillow. 

It’s risky enough that I love him. We’re already vulnerable. Sex would only make it worse.

The soft padding of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She peeked up over the pillow as Loki stepped from her room into his, only half dressed. Her heart sped at the sight of him, shirtless and serious and so casually graceful he didn’t seem real. He winced as he applied some of the green ointment to the remnants of the bruise on his chest. She couldn't help but watch the way his fingers massaged the skin, the smooth bunch and pull of his biceps as he moved. The way he favored his scars. 

She wondered what they'd feel like against her lips.

He turned away and moved to a dresser, letting her eyes sweep over the broad line of his shoulders, the impossibly toned muscles of his back. His arms flexed as he pawed through the top drawer, and even with so casual a movement, his body rippled with strength. 

He’s so beautiful.

Elle knew he was beautiful, but this… this was different. This was more than the delicate bone structure of his face, the thin, bewitching curve of his mouth, the intensity of his eyes. 

He was sexy.

Lean and powerful, elegance and ferocity entwined. He’d fought so hard for her last night, terrifying and tender in equal measure. There was a moment just after he killed Scrapper 219 when she’d been afraid of what he might do if he got his hands on her. And then, for just a moment, she’d been afraid of what he might do if he didn’t.

Her fierce, commanding, protective Loki. 

Hers.

Just as much as she was his. 

She’d spent so long fighting the idea of being owned by the Grandmaster, but this? This didn’t feel like giving something of herself away, didn’t feel like erasing who she was for someone else’s benefit. It was like taking all these sharp, brittle pieces of her she thought no one would want and realizing they aligned perfectly with Loki’s own edges. It wasn’t ownership as the Grandmaster knew it. It wasn’t a finite line of power and domination. It was reciprocal. A claiming, not through power, but want. 

And in that moment—even if it was just for a moment—Elle wanted. 

His heart and his body. All of him. 

She took a sharp, wavering breath.

Loki finally found a shirt and turned to pull it over his head, drawing Elle’s gaze to the narrowing of his waist, the line of hard muscle in his hips where his pants hung low, the dusting of dark hair running from his navel downward.

She shifted, flinching against an ache she told herself wasn’t a precise, biting pang.

Loki began to pull the shirt down, head reappearing. Elle closed her eyes and evened her breathing, pretending to sleep. She knew this feeling wouldn’t last, but there was something about this morning that made it feel safer to close her eyes. Something about the look of him, the lingering twist of her dream still saturating her body like incense. 

I can’t act on a flash. Flashes don’t last.  

That knotty feeling in her chest returned, tightening and tightening until the mattress dipped beside her, the blanket sliding down to her chin as the cool brush of Loki’s fingers caressed her cheek and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

She relaxed at the first promise of contact, his touch as soothing as his scent. 

The mattress dipped again as Loki stretched out on the bed next to her, fingers moving to trace the curve of her lower lip.

“Such a shame,” he sighed, “for a weary traveler to come upon a warm bed, only to find his intended place so cruelly stolen from him.”

The blanket drew down further, shifting over her shoulder. 

Elle didn’t move.

“What is a weary traveler to do, lost and cold and exiled?”

The blanket dipped past her elbow. 

Her waist. 

She bit the inside of her lip, trying not to grin. 

“All alone. Left to fend for himself.”

Her hip was exposed. Her knees. Down to her ankle. The air was cool against her skin, but it was the silky caress of his fingertips that made her shiver.

“Left to fight off the little thief who would see him freeze.”

She bit down harder, swallowing a laugh. 

The sound broke free, turned to a yelp when Loki flipped her onto her opposite side and shoved her away. 

By the time she turned back around, he’d burrowed back under the blankets and pulled them around his body like a cocoon, settling back into his spot with a lazy grin. He snaked his arms out from beneath the covers to cross behind his head, letting out a long, contented sigh. “Much better.”

“Hey!” She tugged at the covers, but he was too quick. Without even opening his eyes, he grabbed them back, keeping her from finding the edge. She pulled and pulled, to no avail. “I just got that spot warm!”

“And a wonderful job you’ve done. I feel better already.”

Smug little—

Ah!

His feet! 

Elle dove toward the foot of the bed where the bottom of the blanket remained untucked, hands darting under the edge to grab at his ankles. 

“Ha! Ah!”

Loki threw the blanket aside and lunged, scooping her into his arms and pinning her to his chest. His fingers dug into her sides and she threw her head back against his shoulder, thrashing through a shriek of laughter.

"S-stop! No fair!"

She tried to shove his hands away, but he was too strong, far too quick. Elle spat out a reedy, gasping whine that she wanted to be embarrassed by, but Loki’s own simmering laugh against her neck told her he didn’t mind in the slightest. He flopped backwards onto the bed and rolled to pin her beneath him, easily swatting her hands away when she tried to tickle him back. He managed to catch both her hands in one of his, gripping her by the index fingers while using his free hand to tug the blanket back up over their heads. He pinned her hands to her sternum and sprawled himself on top of her, a great, glorious, raven-haired starfish. She groaned, completely at the mercy of what felt like all five hundred godly pounds of him. 

He buried his face against her throat and there was no doubt in her mind he could feel the giddy way her pulse was racing, could absolutely feel the tremors of her laughter still shaking through her chest. His lips curled into a grin against her throat before he dragged a kiss over the skin there, so warm and sensitive. 

She squirmed, knowing full well she couldn’t escape but wanting him to know she wasn’t giving up. He just settled himself more firmly on top of her.

“There,” he said, smug and regal. “I’ve reclaimed my rightful place and vanquished the little thief.”

“You cheated! Sneak attacks aren't allowed.”

“They're both allowed and preferred, darling. It is always best to maintain the element of surprise.”

Elle wanted to grumble, but found herself squirming just a bit more instead, grateful and impressed that her towel had stayed on. “Definitely cheating.”

“Remind me not to bring you into battle with that attitude.” He nipped at her pulse-point, the feel of it bringing Elle’s dream cashing to the forefront of her mind. She bit back a whimper, squeezing her eyes closed, suddenly extremely aware of the feeling of Loki’s hips pressed up tight against hers. It was suddenly very tempting to arch into him. 

Stop. It’ll go away.