#allison talks

It takes another several hours before the Grandmaster comes over to talk to him. The way his eyes crinkle at the edges, the way his blue-painted lips grin at him, Loki nearly rolls his eyes. He keeps it together, though. Appearance is important, after all, and first impressions even more so.

The Grandmaster talks to him, finds out where he’s from, there’s a semi-official welcome to the planet. They talk for a while, and Loki finds that the Grandmaster is somewhat more difficult to read than he first thought. He’s sure that everything is going according to plan when the man leans forward, seemingly to kiss him, but then Loxi is left flummoxed when he stands, instead.

Okay. That was unexpected. But he isn’t out of the running yet.

As Loki and his patron leave the party, a steward of some kind stops him. The Grandmaster has extended an invitation for Loki to stay in the palace. Loki dismisses his patron out of hand. He was only ever a tool anyway.

So this is it, Loki decides. The Grandmaster will come in the night. Not unexpected, he supposes.

But then he doesn’t.

The next day Loki spends more time with the man, but not by much. He keeps busier than Loki would have expected, but Loki is persistent. He sees the Grandmaster when he is allowed, and the man always seems pleased by him. Amused by the things he says, interested in the things he does, compelled by the movement of Loki’s body.

He touches Loki, sometimes. His shoulder. His arm. His leg, on one notable occasion. But never more than something that could be construed as innocuous.

As the days pass it changes from a minor annoyance into a major frustration. As those days turn into weeks the situation becomes maddening.

Loki’s situation here is precarious, he knows. As soon as the Grandmaster loses interest in him, he’ll fall out of favor. He’ll lose this bid for power. And although he could try again, through less pleasant means, he isn’t willing to take the risk as long as there’s another way. And there surely is another way. He just has to try harder.

His outfits become more revealing.

Nothing drastic: necklines plunging deeper, pants wrapping snugger, hair done up in more attractive ways. Nothing unbefitting of a prince, obviously, but things that are sure to catch the Grandmaster’s eye.

And it works. He catches the Grandmaster staring often. But nothing else comes of it.

He tries being more overtly flirtatious. This does lead to one very memorable encounter where he and the Grandmaster are sitting together at a party, pressed together from hip to knee, thanks to the crowd. Loki laughs at something the Grandmaster says, one hand on the man’s shoulder. There’s a sudden spark in the Grandmaster’s eye and he reaches up to grip Loki by the chin.

“You would look very, uh, fetching,” He muses aloud, his thumb pressing to Loki’s lower lip. Loki can feel his heart rate spiking. “With a little... makeup.” Now, he realizes. This is it. Now the Grandmaster will make his move. He’ll finally lean in and kiss him.

Ah-- and Loki’s position will be secure, of course.

But he doesn’t.

Another week passes this way. The Grandmaster’s touches are less innocuous, now, but there’s an invisible line they never cross. A hand against his chest, a pat on the cheek, a stroke over his hair.

If Loki thought the man’s behavior before had been maddening, this brought it to a whole new level.

The night Thor arrives on Sakaar, Loki knows that he has to move quickly. If he doesn’t secure his position here, and soon, he’ll lose it altogether. Thor and his brash actions will make sure of that.

He waits outside the Grandmaster’s room late that night.

His heart is racing wildly, fingers twitching with anticipation as he registers the low chuckling of the Grandmaster approaching. There’s someone with him when he rounds the corner, but when he sees Loki, his eyes crinkle in that way that no longer makes Loki’s eyes roll. Instead his stomach churns. The Grandmaster waves away his companion, no longer interested in them. His eyes are on Loki, now.

He approaches and Loki throws subtlety to the wind. The time for surruptitious  manipulation is long past. Now it’s time for an overt effort.

“Good evening, Grandmaster,” He says formally, lips twitching upwards in a playful way even as he gives a differential, if slight, now. “I thought I might accompany you to bed, if it pleases you.”

The Grandmaster laughs again, and Loki feels a slight blow to his pride until the man reaches out to push his hair behind his ear.

“Mortals,” He chuckles, stepping closer to Loki. The other hand falls to his hip. “It always comes down to sex, with mortals.”

As the Grandmaster cups his cheek, Loki looks up at him indignantly, opening his mouth in order to snap out a retort-- he is not a mortal-- but then he meets the Grandmaster’s eyes.

All these weeks. All these weeks he’d been here, had he never looked in this man’s eyes? He’s so old. He can see, now, in the depths of his eyes, that the Grandmaster is older than he can comprehend.

He stands there for longer than he would have liked, awestruck by what he’s seeing, but then the spell is broken as the Grandmaster leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead.

Chaste. Practically innocent. But Loki feels his knees go weak.

“You’d better, ah, be headed off to bed, don’t you think?” The Grandmaster encourages him, letting go and stepping away. Loki barely has the presence of mind to nod, and the Grandmaster winks at him and calls him a “Good boy” before closing the door in his face.