#indirecticn

They might have fallen into bed together, but that didn't mean their relationship was any less aggressive than when they met. Loki fucks into Hartley with relentless force, her breasts bouncing with the force of it where she twists to look up at him.

(There is something to be said for hate sex, Hartley thinks).

He does not know her, this slip of a blonde he has roughly tackled out of the street, but he insults her as if he does. But then it's an awful habit of his to make assumptions of Midgardians. They are all alike in this city in particular, aren't they?

Rude, careless, and glued to their phones like sheep that can only see the next bite of grass just underfoot and nothing else. Why should she be different?

The loss of her or the driver (also saved, but by magic rather than physical might) is no loss to Loki and yet here he is, half-sprawled atop her and glaring despite having just saved her damned life.

Thor would be BESIDE himself in laughter if he could see him now.

"Or do you like being ran over by speeding vehicles??! By the nine..." he huffs!

She sees it — the spark that crackles in those eyes. The pinch of his brows. The tone that conveys the demand be met.

‘Hm.’

Sure — she’d want to know why some stranger had been snooping around too. But for what it was worth, Sen7inel honestly expected no one else to be here let alone care.

So why did he care?

Plotted out Starter for @indirecticn

Yards of fabric and Jane still felt naked. On Midgard, since ‘Earth’ and other variants in global languages were used only by the resistance, Asgardian fashion was reserved for the politically connected and wealthy. Jane Foster was neither. At least she had not been. Very soon her status in both departments would be changing. 

The dress in question had been fashioned to impress Asgardian nobility and any guests at the court who would be attending the presentation of the Crown Prince’s bride-to-be. Which meant that it was the most extravagant and impractical thing Jane ever wore on her petite body. Layers of gold silk, because of course it was gold, with artful beading and embroidery across the entirety. Somebody had done Jane’s make-up and her fine mousey hair had been coiffed into something elaborate that she could never hope to replicate. Then again as the royal family’s new doll Jane would never have to do it herself. Her scalp itched and Jane fought the overwhelming need to scratch. This pauper to princess transformation was something out of a child’s dreamy fairy tale.

Jane could not be more miserable.

In a handful of hours she would be locked away in a gilded cage, officially betrothed to Prince Thor Odinson, a man she had met twice and certainly did not love. She was at best a puppet and a political prisoner at worst. Jane glared out the transport window at the blurred scenery of Asgard as it passed. If only she could slouch against the cushioned seat. She had been sitting for several hours now, not counting the time spent molding her into something beautiful, but the metallic bodice, once again gold, kept her spine rigid and upright. It was excellent for posture and painful for extended travel.  

it had been a gift, though not necessarily a pleasant one to give as it took more than a simple mortal blade to draw enough blood. however, the stave that loki had found was crafted by the silver finer than any dwarf could ever dream to work with and so it did the trick easily. his wrist opened like a the tip of the great staff had been drawn through paper. the pages of skin and vein peeled back until painted a deep wine-dark red. the other hand crafted a spell that glimmered gold at the edges of the wound to keep it open but the blood from spilling too quickly. and after a heady pull of the drink of choice was had the magic was used to seamlessly draw skin and vein together in a reversal of time it's self. it still left him winded, small as the gift had been, but then it could have easily been the sight before him that took loki's breath away. he certainly couldn't stop staring, at any rate, and could barely contain himself when he asked, "what do you taste?"

the wrist is presented to oz like a blood soaked gift wrapped in gold. fingers dig into the soft flesh offered to him and he pulls himself in closer - as if trying to crawl into the other's skin. the only sound remaining between them is the rhythmic breathing as oz laps at the blood spilling from the all too welcoming wound.

it's hard to stop, he'll be the first to admit. but time is discipline, and he has had plenty of it. once he's had his fill, or at least his taste, he slowly pries himself away. the fresh blood that trails from the corner of his lip is the only visible evidence of what has just transpired.

a few seconds pass before oz registers that he's been asked a question. his mind struggles to fully grasp what his body has just experienced. it's new. oh...it's new. how rare that oz gets to experience something genuinely new. it's been so long that he's unsure how to react.

instead of giving an answer, oz takes another second to clean himself up. deft fingers drag over his chin, wiping away the glistening liquid from his skin and over his lips, which he continues to lick clean. he senses that this is an experience he won't be able to replicate.

finally, he sits back and his brain catches up to the present.

he tasted...divinity. a scripture etched into his tongue as it danced through his veins. holy, holy. a pure, burning fire that licked at the depths of his being. holy, holy. his nerves stood on end, a single touch felt like a burst of lightning.

is this how a god feels?

Continued from this with @indirecticn

Continued from this thread with @indirecticn

Jane plucked up a new fork, free of any of the flavor of Thor's hideous-yet-delicious cake, and took a bite of Loki's confection. Being honest, it was not bad. The blend of flavors was clearly meant to be sophisticated but was definitely weird to Jane's palate. Why they picked the woman who lived on take-out-food and pop-tarts to judge was beyond her.