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olet-lucernam · 7 months ago

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A Hollow Promise [28] chapter vi, part v

{_[on AO3]_}

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture, explicit sexual content

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

chapter summary : astrid gathers her allies, and draws the attention of her enemies. loki pays a heavy price for a victory.

recommended listening : you, greta isaac

tag list: @femmealec @mischief2sarawr

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48 weeks and 4 days out

The air was hot and humid, saturated with the smell of acid, bricking her into a wall of heat.

In the fresh dark, golden eldritch light glittering on her skin as the portal closed behind her, Astrid flipped her other phone out of her pocket- still dressed in the sleek-tailored trousers, pink satin heels, and black blazer with a narrow, dagger-plunge neckline that she had worn all day in Monaco. It had been edging into pre-dawn, as she left the Mediterranean coast; in Madripoor, the night was just beginning.

She checked the time on her screen, waiting for it to catch up to the local time zone.

She had a few new messages- one from Dr Wu’s ream, confirming the intended date for the scheduled surgery, another from Ophelia-

The clock updated.

Fashionably late.

Her client was probably beginning to sweat.

Tucking her phone away, Astrid pulled her hair up into a brisk, curling ponytail, walking towards the fire escape at the edge of the roof, the tide of noise from the streets rising to greet her.

Vivid and cluttered and treacherous, Lowtown was teeming with trebled activity as soon as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. Its unpaved narrow streets trammelled through a jungle of industrial steel beams and graffiti-splashed brick, thick bundles of electrical cables swooping overhead between the buildings and elevated walkways like trawl nets; structures staggered and crowded in and away from the water’s edge as though climbing over each other, jockeying for the highly priced commodity of square footage on the densely populated island.

The district was noise and neon lights, a grease trap and a den of iniquity.

Within it, the Brass Monkey Saloon was a strange oasis. The blue-backlit feature wall of carved primate skulls was a little gauche, and the cocktail menu was slightly bizarre even for Astrid’s well-travelled palate, but the fugu sashimi with ponzu and serrano chilli was to die for- quite literally, if the bartender was careless with the knife.

The bar was a place of business, primarily, a venue for deals to be conducted under a strict code of etiquette, enforced by the imminent threat of violence. And a contractor like Alethia was considered a selling point, a draw for customers- allowed to skip the line at the door.

The bass hummed through her bones as she was admitted by the bouncer, winding her way through the press of bodies in embroidered silks, cropped leathers, and street-fashion cotton. The dress code was somewhere between dystopia, music video, and runway in Milan- meaning that her blazer suit strangely blended into the bedlam, smudged out amongst the black and greys and blues.

Sliding up the glass-topped bar, Astrid caught the eye of a particularly humourless bartender.

“Benjamin.”

He looked up, pausing in sliding glasses away beneath the bar, and approached unhurriedly.

“Alethia.” He answered expressionlessly. “The usual?”

“Please.”

With the slightest nod, he turned away to prepare her eponymic drink.

Most of the drinks at the Brass Monkey were little more than a mouthful- premium liquors served up in a double shot glass with a dash of garnish.

The Alethia was an exception.

Hip and elbow leaning against the bar, facing out to scan the densely-packed room, Astrid glanced back over her shoulder to watch Benjamin work. The cocktail was a take on a Kir Royale; in a tilted flute glass, Benjamin tippled a chilled, sparkling rosé, mulled using a seventeenth-century French recipe that proclaimed itself wine of the gods, infused with powdered sugar, yellow apples, lemon, and orange blossom water. Benjamin added a shot of a liqueur made of summer berries, vanilla, and rose, a heavy dash of sharp lemon juice, and a sprinkle of dried rose petals and edible gold.

Astrid’s mouth curved faintly as the drink was set in front of her, incongruously and shamelessly pretty, sweet and feminine with a sour edge.

She parted her fingers around the stem of the glass, gently pulling it towards her by the base.

“Thank you. My client?”

Unblinking, Benjamin lifted his head in the direction of one of the booths tucked against the wall.

Straightening, Astrid turned to look, the fall of her ponytail sweeping against the back of her blazer like the scrape of a butterknife.

She bit down on her lower lip, to stop herself from laughing.

Dr Abigail Brand had dressed the part- dark studded leathers and a lace bralette, the silver glint of the hardware picking up and reflecting the acid green streaks threaded into her braids, eye makeup smoked out with an expert shimmer of emerald glitter- but her posture was that of a rabbit frozen amongst a pack of wolves, stiff and shoulders gathered in, eyes darting towards anyone who walked a little too close to her table.

Gripped in her hand- raised a little too high to be natural, obviously on display- she was nursing a glass of the same pretty pink cocktail bearing Astrid’s alias.

“Stars above,” Astrid murmured to herself, the slight pressure in her chest halfway between outright laughter and pity.

“Only reason she hasn’t been eaten alive is because she’s one of yours,” Benjamin commented.

“Mm.” Astrid inclined her head back, in implied gratitude.

She lifted her apéritif to her lips, awareness opening up.

There were a few familiar faces amongst the froth of bodies, as well as fresh blood. She swiftly recognised a certain Cajun thief who had given her trouble in the past, flipping a pack of cards low at his waist with the deftness of a magician, scanning the floor as though searching for a mark; not far from her, two women lounged against the edge of the bar, talking- one with white hair cropped short against brown skin, the other taller and curvier with a spill of iron-oxide hair.

Her eyes snagged on a shadow slouched against the wall several seats away.

Broad and bulky and closed in, arms folded across their barrel chest with blatant hostility, they were concealed amongst the dye of blue light, and constant slow-churning motion of the patrons.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Can I order a plate of the fugu sashimi to the table, Ben?” Astrid spoke over her shoulder. “I have a feeling that this is going to be a long one.”

He paused, inscrutable. “Sure.”

Nudging herself off the bar with a flick of her hips, Astrid wound her way through the crowds, shoulders twisting as she slid between turned backs and jutting elbows, pivoting on the balls of her heels, until she came to a halt at the edge of Abigail’s table.

She waited until her nervous sideways glance began to flicker upwards- stuttering towards her face, but afraid to make eye contact, in case she was mistaken.

Head cocked, lips parted in the insinuation of a smile, Astrid spoke.

“Now what is a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Abigail’s chin snapped up.

“Alethia.”

Her expression and tone were translucent- relief mingled with apprehension, and a dash of visible reconsideration of every decision that had led up to this point.

Unimpeded by the dim half-light, Astrid looked directly into her, pulling her open.

What she caught, in the flickering fire of Abigail’s synapses, was- not what she expected.

But it did stain colour into a few of the blanks.

She pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth.

Without a word, Astrid slid fluidly into the seat opposite her, relaxing into the cushions, her aching muscles easing into rest.

“You came,” Abigail said tightly. She was fidgeting with the stem of her glass anxiously, dried petals and gold leaf swilled against its sides in the wash.

Astrid arched a brow.

“Should I not have?”

“No,” Abigail said sharply, clenched and perturbed, a hint of a steel-honed conviction in the reflexive panic, “I mean yes. Yes, you should have come.”

“Mm.” Astrid lifted her glass, the rim pressing against her lower lip, all caprice and acceptance. “Alright.”

Abigail glared at her uncertainly. “Alright?”

“Mm-hm.”

Blinking at Astrid’s slow, languorous hum of affirmation into her drink, Abigail shifted in her seat. “Uh. Okay.”

Astrid watched her, swallowing a mouthful of liqueur-spiked rosé, while Abigail cast about for something to say- or, rather, a way to phrase whatever she had contacted her for.

“How are you?” Astrid prompted, folding her arms atop the table.

Abigail looked nonplussed by the question.

“Um. Good.” She decided after a moment.

Astrid flicked her eyes up, and across their surroundings briefly- the pleasant small talk incongruous to the bar.

Abigail seemed to catch the meaning in her gesture, cringing to herself at the awkwardness.

“I, uh- I got out of SHIELD, a few months ago,” she explained.

“Oh, that is good,” Astrid said sincerely.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Abigail swallowed thickly. “I, um- I mean it. Thanks. You, uhm- you knew, didn’t you?”

Astrid arched her brows.

“Knew what?”

Abigail’s lips pressed together, smudging her plum lipstick.

“About- me.”

Hesitating, her hand gestured vaguely against the surface of the table, palm up and fingers flaring.

It mimicked flame.

“Oh, that.” Astrid tipped her head nonchalantly, laughing softly. “Of course. Mutant, not mutate, right?”

Abigail sucked in a breath, gaze fixed at Astrid’s clavicle.

“You didn’t tell SHIELD.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

Abigail’s expression flickered with the first, fragile threads of consternation, looking away.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I tracked you down?”

“Mn, no. I have a fair idea as to how.”

“Right.” Her jaw was set, chin lifting, frustration and discomfort beginning to lend her confidence. “I’m guessing you already know why I’m here, then.”

“Actually, no- well, yes, but it is broad enough a why that it barely counts.”

The outer corners of Abigail’s eyes creased slightly as she glanced up, setting her eyeshadow glittering.

“What, you’re not gonna claim the credit for getting it right?”

“I’m always right,” Astrid pointed out, lifting her shoulder. “If I kept pointing it out, I would come off like men who are so very insistent about how nice they are.”

A snort startled out of Abigail, a hand immediately whipping up to cover her mouth.

Astrid grinned, picking up her glass.

“It’s good to see you, Dr Brand- I’m glad you’re well.” She allowed herself to say. “So. Why don’t you tell me why you bought us here?”

Abigail sobered. The zips on her leather jacket clinked with the motion of her shoulders drawing back, throat moving.

“So, um. My contract ended with SHIELD, and afterwards- I decided to take a break from work. It was a few months after you- after APOLLO was finished, and I, uh, I actually ended up going back to-”

“Ah, I’m sorry- I should have been more specific,” Astrid interrupted gently, setting her flute down, teeth crunching into the dried petals, crisp on her tongue, “I know why you’re here. I was asking,” she met Abigail’s startled black eyes steadily, “why- you bought us here.”

Abigail’s mouth moved soundless for a moment.

“Wha- I don’t unders-”

“I can infer that Dr Brand is an envoy, of a sort,” Astrid continued, talking past Abigail, gazing directly into the aperture of her pupils and through, “and your point of contact, to me. But wonder if it was necessary to drag her into the lion’s den. Even with her shadow in the corner. Madripoor may know him, but they have no indication that he is here for her.”

For a moment, Abigail sat locked in place under Astrid’s stare, doe-eyed and blank.

Then, her entire posture shifted.

Knees crossing under the table, she leaned back. With a flick of a deeper glance, Astrid perceived her pulse throb down from its brisk, nervous clip to a comfortable resting thrum. The wound-taut stiffness dropped from her like snapped marionette strings, leaving her slouching into the booth, fingers lacing over her abdomen. Her eyes became knowing, the smile politely curious, her entire manner avuncular and professorial; Astrid could see the pattern in the spark-shower of her synapses shift, the electrical impulses changing.

Something other than Abigail Brand was stepping towards the surface of her skin, taking up the reins, from where it had been seated as a voyeur for the past several minutes.

Abigail Brand herself melted back with a rush of relief, willingly giving up the pilot’s controls.

“My goodness, but you are good,” Abigail’s mouth mused, grinning softly.

Telepaths, Astrid thought, restraining herself from rolling her eyes. Because they could read others, they thought they were entirely opaque.

“I assume that you were aware of my reputation.” she pointed out coolly. “It makes hiding behind the metaphorical curtain seem- a little pointless, no?”

“Well, I had to be sure. I’m sure you understand.” Abigail’s shoulders shrugged, gaze calm and clear as a cloudless night. “It’s why I wanted to see you for myself.”

Astrid couldn’t begrudge that. She lifted a shoulder in acquiescence.

“What were you hoping to find?”

“Ah. Well. When Abigail told me about you- about who you are, and what it is you could do- I could only hope that you would be precisely what she described.” She took a pause. “Interesting that you are upset. That I appeared careless with Abgail’s safety. It certainly speaks volumes of your character, Miss Alethia.”

“Are you terribly concerned with my character?” Astrid asked dryly.

“As a matter of fact.” The smiling eyes turned solemn, beneath the maintained tension that kept the edges pleasantly upturned. “It is of great concern to me.”

The press against the surface of her thoughts was light, experimental, expert- like the skim of fingertips on opaque glass.

Her mana lashed out, driving the expectant, exploratory force back.

There was no flinch in Abigail’s features at the rebuff, only a distant surprise.

Astrid twitched her head to one side, as though flicking off the residue.

Abigail’s spine straightened slightly, its occupant readjusting.

“When did you work it out?” The question came from the telepath with downturned eyes and a light mien. It was he bearing of someone finding enjoyment in an intellectual challenge, and deciding to ignore what had just happened.

Wise choice. “That Dr Brand was not alone in her head?”

The telepath used Abigail’s vocal cords to hum in affirmation.

“As soon as I looked in her eyes,” Astrid said simply. Like recognises like, she mused.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“You’re not my first,” she replied with a bland smile, lifting her glass to her mouth, her right eyebrow arching with the curve of the left side of her mouth.

Witches and warlocks and interdimensional demons had all tried to crack her skull and pry it open to peer into her brain, at one point or another. Her defence mechanisms were instinctive, and effective, and only restrained if she wanted to invite them inside- like Loki.

“You can invite them to sit down, by the way,” she added, elbow resting on the back of the booth, finger toying with a stray blonde curl. “Although- we might need a larger booth if all four of themintend to join us.”

The smile on Abigail’s face twitched wider.

A moment later, one of the bar staff delivered Astrid’s sashimi platter to the table- raw fugu arranged in fine slices on the dark ceramic- and she felt three people exit the club.

The fourth moved in the corner of her vision, towards their booth, as Astrid popped a bite-sized fillet into her mouth.

“Ah, Logan,” Abigail’s voice called, so staged that Astrid almost rolled her eyes, “there you are.”

Astrid looked up obligingly.

The once-shadow stood close against the edge of the table, backlit in dim smoke-blue, looming over them with a blatant standoffishness, limbs held as though cut from granite- or else constantly primed to wind back into a right uppercut. His build was stocky, tall and broad, square-faced, corded with a type of muscle that was just slightly underfed- in a way that made Astrid think of rescued fighting dogs- and wearing stone-washed jeans, a weathered leather jacket, and a deep scowl, brows heavy beneath a shoved-back mane of dark hair.

While Madripoor was no stranger to soldiers of fortune and pit-fighters and hired guns, this one had a different air about him- something slightly incompatible with the city, but so unconcerned with it that he was accepted anyway.

“Logan, this is Alethia,” Abigail announced, somewhat unnecessarily. “Alethia, Logan.”

“Hey,” Logan grunted.

“Hi. Pleasure,” Astrid replied, sensing that laconic answers would endear her to the man known to the island as Wolverine. “Sashimi?”

He flicked his chin up. “I’m good. They still only serve that mini-cocktail crap here?”

“The Alethias are a reasonable size,” the telepath had Abigail interject, lifting the glass and twirling it by the stem. “And rather pretty, I must say.”

“They have a few craft bottles behind the bar, on request,” Astrid informed Logan lightly. “I can order you one.”

He glared at her for a moment, as though attempting to determine what the catch was.

Astrid kept her gaze clear and open.

“Sure,” he said eventually.

Astrid glanced towards the bar, catching the eye of a bartender and lifting two fingers in the universal gesture of requesting service.

Abigail slid aside in the booth seat to make room for Logan. He dropped into the cushions with an almost deliberate inelegance, sizing up Astrid from underneath his eyebrows.

She let him.

“You still haven’t given me your name,” she directed at the telepath instead, curling her hand under the line of her jaw, eyes remaining on the bar.

Abigail made a soft noise.

“Oh, yes. Forgive me.”

Through Abigail, the telepath smiled warmly, steepling her fingers across the table.

“My name is Professor Charles Xavier. I run a school for remarkable youngsters, in Westchester, New York. And I have a proposition for you, Miss Alethia, that I do believe may be of mutual benefit to us both.”

Astrid glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, lashes low, tone light.

“Mutual and beneficial,” she echoed consideringly. “That is an interesting combination, Professor Xavier.”

Abigail- Charles Xavier- smiled brightly.

“I most certainly hope so.”

Astrid exhaled an answering laugh, turning to him.

Logan was still watching her with an expression that threatened to pin her by her throat, if she bared her teeth first- but she simply glanced at him with dancing eyes, before turning her gaze back at Abigail and the telepath looking through her eyes.

“Alright, Professor,” she said, taking up her glass, “I’m listening.”

Another addition was made to the list.

Storage boxes.

47 weeks and 1 day out

It was an uncharacteristically lazy morning.

The linens were crisp and freshly laundered, the air conditioning thrumming into the penthouse, filtering the humid air to a comfortable temperature. Monsoon season had passed, and sunlight streamed through the drapes from clear skies, its glare from over the city spires softened enough through the gossamer drapes that she could slip back into sleep if she chose, like dipping into a warm bath.

It was a brief stillness, amongst the organised, frantic entropy that dominated her waking hours- and Astrid was struggling to regain the useful panic and need to move, to keep going.

You need the rest, Astra, Loki murmured against the curve of her neck. His mouth was pressed so flush to her skin that the words were more vibration than sound, dissipating and melting through her flesh, dissolving into utter primal want in her bloodstream, like gold dust. Now stay here and be sweet for me. It has been too long since I enjoyed you like this.

Biting her lip, Astrid resisted the urge to arch into the illusion of him- tauntingly bare-skinned from the waist upwards, the comfortable contours of his arms and marble-cool expanse of his chest and stomach encasing her, pressing against her warmth, a knee sliding lazily against her bare calf.

She was thoroughly upset at him for trapping her so effectively.

She could feel Loki’s smugness as he sank into her, languorous and satisfied. A palm smoothed under her camisole, and up the curve of her waist indulgently.

Astrid gave a muffled, bitten-off noise of protest and delight, barely stopping herself from flexing back against him.

Loki knew exactly what he was doing.

They had talked for a short while after Astrid had woken that morning, and she had just been about to rise, mix herself a caffeine hit, and review her progress, when Loki had unfurled the illusion of his weight against her- slotting a leg between hers and burying his face in her hair, projecting affection and pleasure as though there was nowhere else that he would rather be- and rendering her completely useless.

Astrid huffed into the plush of her pillow, still lying prone against the mattress.

“As though I wouldn’t do anything for you,” she mumbled ruefully.

Loki took his victory with relative grace, only smirking against her nape.

He still wasn’t entirely relaxed. She could feel it. The underlying tension was corded through him in a low thrum of anxiety, like a plucked wire, like the current of a storm in the air.

Astrid felt its echo strumming in her chest, a low roar of things that she didn’t want to think about, reverberating louder.

And moment by moment, it seemed to creep closer, nearer, blurring into her vision, like the sight-lights of a train, screaming on its tracks.

It lingered, as a sour taste in her mouth.

With a flex of her scarred shoulder blades, Astrid eased herself up onto her elbows.

Loki barely loosened his embrace enough to let her move. His mouth and the tip of his nose grazed down her back as she pushed upwards, lifting his head to her, quietly watchful.

The muscles in her abdomen and flanks stretched, the sharp-edged pull a welcome distraction from the sickness gathering underneath, clouding her thoughts.

Loki reacted before she felt him think of the motion.

Rearing onto his knees, he snaked a strong arm across her abdomen, dragging her up against the bend of his body, holding himself up off the bed on the opposite elbow.

The air was forced from Astrid’s lungs in a sharp gasp, heat pooling in her gut with a reflexive lurch, pinned in place up against him.

You seem distracted, darling, Loki said delicately, a dark and deliberate contrast to his possessive grip upon her, fingers fanning across the curve of her waist. Where are you, my heart?

Head bowed, weight forced upon her forearms, bridged underneath him and pulse hammering into a canter, Astrid swallowed down the shock, regrouping.

“That’s- Loki, that’s not what I- ah!”

She let up a yelp as Loki sank phantom teeth into her shoulder. A sharp wrench of want ripped through her, setting her chest heaving.

There you go again, darling.

Using the arm that was locked around her waist, Loki dragged her a few effortless, powerful inches down the mattress- bending her underneath him, until she was settled on her knees, stable even without his grip holding her up.

You’ve been distant of late, sweet thing. Preoccupied. One of Astrid’s hands reflexively reached for his, glazing over the back of Loki’s hand, tracing the sculpted ridges of tendons and veins and knuckles, thrown into relief as his long fingers flexed against the dip of her waist. Always swift to leave, to return to work.

Arousal speared through her stomach, at being so cavalierly manhandled. Astrid could almost feel part of her brain shorting out, switching off; the illusion of Loki was damningly firm against her, all lean strength and long, defined marmoreal lines, echoing reality to the finest detail. Her train of thought stalled at the flex and flutter of muscle and sinew, the controlled crush of his weight bearing down on her, and how he fit her against him.

Astrid half-wanted to grapple loose and twist over in his arms, and paint his skin with heat.

The other half of her wanted to willingly give up the fragile threads of control that were still taut in her grasp, and let him do whatever he wanted.

Here we are, at our leisure, and yet your mind is working away. Loki mused, ominously unhurried as the steady tightening of a knot. Away from me. Have I been neglecting you so?

She choked out a soft scoff of denial. “I d- it’s not that-”

No? Perhaps not, yet I have to wonder if it had not crossed your mind. Loki’s voice in her mind was like blood and sugar, heady as strong wine. That I have been remiss in showing my appreciation.

Astrid pressed back, as his palm spread possessively against her lower ribs. His handspan was broad enough that the pad of his thumb brushed distractingly close to the underside of her breast, taunting.

She bit down on her lip hard, neat-pared nails scraping at the rumpled bedsheets.

Ah, see? Loki teased. I have neglected you. My poor darling. I was thoughtless. You have been working so very hard, relentless, tireless, without due reward from your prince-

“You are my reward,” Astrid gasped out before she could think.

His lips curved at the shell of her ear, darkly delighted, the mark of a perfectly executed victory.

Astrid could feel the net closing upon her, caught.

Aha. Right as ever, dove.

Loki nudged a knee between hers, and pried her legs open.

Her thoughts instantly turned molten, her spine slackening.

I am your reward. Loki purred. He began mouthing his way across the open span of her back, tracing the violent edges of her scars, lingering on the ridge of her vertebrae, a tease of fingertips beginning to gather the hem of her camisole, lifting it up across her body. Now take it. Like it’s your right.

Her breath was punched out of her.

“Fuck, Loki, you can’t just say-��

His hand smoothed beneath the waistband of her soft jersey shorts, stroking her hipbone.

“Uhn-”

Say it again, he rasped, say my name again.

Her sigh shuddered on her tongue.

“Loki.”

That’s it. Again.

“Loki, please-”

Again.

“Loki-”

His hand moved to palm her thigh, long fingers gently pressing into the firm-soft flesh, parting her legs further.

Yes. Just like that, Loki murmured. Like you mean it. Like you need this. Show me that you are here, with me.

“I-” Astrid forced herself to focus, ignoring the flick of his tongue on her skin with sheer brute willpower. “Hn- it’s not- over yet. Not even close, I thi- th-this is jumping the gun a- a little, don’t you think-? If this is meant to be- a r-reward-”

Oh, believe me, Loki answered heatedly, the hand on her ribs sliding back up until his fingers rippled over the jut of her hipbone, sending Astrid shivering, stuttering against a breathy exhale. You have earned this much, at least. I will save the very best for when I can work you over with more than just my magic- but neither do I intend to deprive you now.

“I am not- deprived-”

Loki tucked a firm, searching kiss against the pulse on her throat. His fingertips barely grazed the crease of her inner thigh, teasing at the rush of arousal short-circuiting her synapses.

Stop thinking. His breaths were at the curve of her jaw, his lashes brushing her temple as he inhaled against her skin, his loose hair skimming her face. Astrid breathed in, drawing in lungfuls of his scent, of wild boreal forests, the clean bite of frost, the warm musk of leather, and fresh-ground ink. Relax, and close your eyes, and let me ignite the stars behind them. Say you’ll do that for me, Astra. Say yes. Tell me yes.

She heard the note of pleading in his voice, beneath the thick cadence of command, and Astrid’s will snapped clean in half.

“Yes.”

Loki let out a close-mouthed groan against her, before snapping out a command, every inch the proud, uncompromising, imperious prince he had been raised to be.

Eyes closed, beloved. His hand rose to her lips, caressing their edges. And let me hear you.

Quick as a viper, he gripped her hips, and flipped her over.

Astrid gave a yelp as her back hit the mattress, her head thudding into the pillow, pulling her hair almost completely loose from its ties.

She huffed, within the dark behind her eyelids.

“You are enjoying this a little too much, prince,” she barely managed to accuse him, against the caress of his fingers at the bone of her ankle, swirling against it.

Yes I am, Loki agreed amiably, lifting her leg with a crook of his finger at her heel, kissing her calf.

Astrid heard the lie instantly.

She threw her elbow over her eyes.

“Tak guna,” she muttered in Malay.

Chuckling knowingly, Loki surged in and bit the inside of her thigh.

Astrid jack-knifed with a shriek of surprise- before dissolving into laughter. Pure joy brewed up and bubbled out of her, like a cloudburst in sunshine, bright and clean and refreshing.

She could feel Loki’s answering grin, and the soft thrum of his laughter as he kissed the inside of her knee sweetly.

There she is, he breathed, the velvet of his tone softening just slightly, tenderness edging in and twining around her like ivy. My darling. My Astra.

“Your Astra,” Astrid breathed out in a vow, reaching for him. “Yours.”

Her fingers threaded through the waves of his bed-mussed hair, soft and wildened under her touch.

There was a sudden intimacy in the gesture. Even through the red-tinted shutter of her eyelids, and the cold fact that he wasn’t really there, it made him feel close and undressed and open, and hers.

“I love you.”

Loki paused abruptly.

It occurred to Astrid that this was the first time that she had said it, in naked, unambiguous terms, that couldn’t be misunderstood or misinterpreted through a veil of references or implication.

Loki reaction bled through their mental link, with a sympathetic corkscrew in her stomach.

First came a heartbreaking hesitation- a reflexive flash of doubt and plunge of agitation, acidic and uncertain and almost panicked, like a starving stomach presented with a banquet- before hardening and sharpening and rapidly breaking apart into a storm of fierce, raw, deliberate affection.

The mattress dipped as he levered back up the bed, slipping loose from her hands, before dipping down to smudge a kiss against her cheekbone, just under her left eye.

Astrid sighed, tipping her face into him. Her hand shifted up to find the ridge of his forearm, where he was propped up above her, stroking along honed muscle and the curve of bone.

Although she had sincerely never felt deprived, Astrid could admit that she wanted this.

Two deft fingers scraped the inside seam of her shorts.

The friction of soft jersey against her damp, expectant flesh set Astrid’s hips snapping up reflexively, muscles pulling taut.

“Mn-!”

Loki exhaled his satisfaction against her, his breath dusting her lashes like frost, before his lips grazed upwards to the corner of her eye.

Let me hear you, he reminded her, darkly, setting a shock of pleasure through her bloodstream.

His fingers curved against her again, pulling a bitten-off cry from Astrid that pitched higher towards its tail, becoming strangled in her throat as her head pressed back.

The pads of his digits barely scraped against her, swirling in a tight droplet shape, testing and gathering the dense slickness that was clinging to the gusset of her shorts, heavy and rich. Astrid’s grip upon Loki’s arm tightened, nails dragging into his skin for purchase, heels dragging against the sheets as she drew her body open to him.

Loki lowered his head to slide his tongue languidly along the line of her clavicle. From behind closed eyelids, Astrid blindly reached for the artifice of his shoulder, anchoring herself against him; her palm slid along to the curve of the nape of his neck, carding her fingers through the soft, cool satin of his hair, scraping pared nails against his scalp and lilting her body up against his perfect mouth.

It elicited a faintly agonised noise from Loki, ghosting across and cooling the saliva on her skin. Loki’s form dragged a few desperate inches against her, his spell wavering and sparking under a rush of uncontrolled mana, rippling through Astrid as its conduit.

Almost in retaliation, he dipped his touch deeper, and began setting a rhythm in earnest.

She was lost in under four strokes, pulled under like a riptide, raw nature hijacking her brain.

Her hips began mindlessly rolling and hitching with every clever, experimental, painstakingly measured grind of Loki’s fingers, dragging against her flesh, the motion forcing soft whimpers from low in her throat. Loki’s mounting desire and gratification at her every twitch and vocalisation echoed though her, ricocheting into itself and creating a feedback loop that began blanking her thoughts out, involuntary little sounds pulled from her as though he was drawing music from an instrument, nerves set singing like violin strings.

“Loki,” she heard herself gasp out, using her hands on him as leverage to pull herself up into him, the stimulation simultaneously too much and not enough, balanced on the knife edge of agony and hunger, “Loki, fuck, so good to me, you’re so good to me-”

I haven’t even started yet, beloved, Loki murmured against the upper swell of her breast, the words heavy with promise.

Astrid felt his arm turn under her grip, and heard his fingers snap crisply.

Magic deluged the air, sizzling on her tongue as it surged through her like a lightning rod, a split second before her wrists slammed against the mattress, held in place by an unseen pressure.

She could feel Loki rising to kneel between her legs, parting his knees wide to force hers apart, cool air brushing hot flesh.

Mm, there we are. Loki gentled for a brief moment, fingertips brushing indicatively over the delicate veins of her inner wrist. Comfortable?

“Yes,” Astrid answered, quick and strangled, a little startled- but not entirely surprised- by the heat that pooled in her at Loki restraining her with his magic, cuffing her in place.

And he caught it, seeping through their connection, easing into a smirk.

Oh, I can see that. Look at you, Loki mused, each syllable dripping with lust, like an offering at a sacred alter, tied up and wet and willing for me. Fit for a god. Fit for worship.

One finger crooked beneath the hem of her camisole, lifting it from her body, dragging the cotton upwards, air cooling the glimmer of sweat that was beginning to form on her skin. His other hand slipped beneath the hem of her shorts, brushing teasingly against her sex, making Astrid flinch into him with a short cry.

Loki’s exhale was almost a snarl of conquest.

Bolstered by the sound, and with a sudden surge of boldness, Astrid lifted one leg and wrapped it around his hip, knee crooked and her heel pressing at the small of his back.

“Did you think about me?” She asked breathily, tipping her chin up, supplicant and wanting. “Like- like this?”

The vibrato of Loki’s airless groan settled behind her sternum.

I have.

Astrid shivered.

“Tell me.”

With a twist of his wrist, Loki seized a handful of her camisole in his grip, hulling the fabric up over her head- the magic around her wrists loosening just enough for him to slide the straps underneath them and hurl it aside. In the same motion, fluid as silk, he pulled her calf loose from his waist, bent down, and took the waistband of her shorts between his teeth.

Humming in the back of her throat, Astrid lifted her hips obligingly. Loki swiftly dragged her damp shorts loose from her, trailing a smudge of slick against her inner thigh.

You want to hear how much I want you? Loki growled, velvet and deadly.

Astrid exhaled, carefully.

“Well- yes- but more of the how. I- like to aim to please.”

Loki chuckled sinisterly, and snapped the swatch of jersey from over her ankle.

Are deciding on how to greet your prince, once you have me in the flesh?

“I should plan ahead,” Astrid breathed, “for a- grand welcome.”

And if I tell you that I have thought of this, since that morning on the Helicarrier?

His touch trailed up the centre of her abdomen, skimming the underside of her breasts. Smoothly deliberate, his fingers spread, applying the slightest pressure to the curve if her ribs, to hold her in place under him. Loki’s illusion remained at an infuriating, controlled distance, leaving Astrid only able to guess and verbally test at any physical effect she might be having on him, feeling her way in the dark.

That I had thought of breaking the lock, wrenching the door open, and fucking you while you wear nothing but those delicious thigh-high socks?

Astrid’s thighs clenched infinitesimally, a zoetrope-flicker of the scenario projecting into her mind, directly from his: of Loki sinking into her, one large hand grasping the underside of her thigh, gripping smooth skin and grazing soft clinging wool as he forced her open, mounting her, driving into her as her spine arched up, lips parted-

“Mn. If that’s what you want, alderliefest,” she managed to reply almost casually, swallowing the whisky-burn of his words, fingers clenching against nothing, “I- had thought about whether I could short out the cameras for long enough to ride you in that cell-”

The moan that spilled from Loki was quiet, but utterly obscene.

Astra-

“- especially after you quoted that line from E.E Cummings,” Astrid pressed ruthlessly, confessions spilling from her in a rush, “you said those words, and I thought about it- wondered whether that would prove that I was here for you, not them, if I- if I took you while you were in full armour, fingernails in the seams of your leathers, tongue at your throat-”

- Norns-

“- or maybe on my knees, if you wanted- I wanted reclaim you from them- bring you back, overwrite it all- ah!”

Astrid shouted, kicking out wildly as Loki plunged his tongue into her cunt.

He brushed past her oversensitive clitoris, instead pressing close to her entrance, flattening a broad, slow sweep against her heat and dragging through the syrup of her wetness. It still set her straining against her unseen cuffs and cursing out, every nerve turning to incandescent wire.

“Fuck, Loki, f-fuck, stars, that- ahn! Your mouth, please, fuck, please, please-”

I thought of you gasping my name like this, Loki mouthed against her, vehemently, humming vibrations into her throbbing flesh, leaving her whimpering, open-mouthed, begging me, and the heat of you, slick and gripping me, pliant and willingly mine-

His tongue dipped inside of her, brief and probing, the tip of his straight nose nudging the underside of her clit. Astrid cried out, long and plaintive.

“Loki-!”

I thought of my hand wrapped around your neck, as I took you from behind, he almost snarled, like the sound of grinding ice, carnal and visceral. Seizing her leg to drag it over his shoulder, Loki let her heel press into his back as his tongue curled into her, again, again, again, until her back pulled into a desperate, straining arch like the pull of a loaded bow.

One sculpted arm looped over her stomach, effortlessly holding her to the mattress with sheer iron force, the silk of his hair sweeping against her inner thighs.

Or your knees hitched around my waist, moaning like a whore for your prince, taking me until I am almost deep enough for you to taste in the back of your throat- hands pinned above you, just like this, or clawing at me as though you might die if you don’t have me- in my lap, with your back against my chest, hands in my hair, driving us both to completion, taking what you want from me like a queen upon her rightful throne-

Astrid thrashed her head against the sheets, Loki’s voice tapping into something primal she hadn’t known existed in her, striking deep, hooking into her gut. Her body moved mindlessly to chase the pleasure he offered, thoughts melting, her own voice cracking as Loki’s thumb edged into to nudge her folds wider.

“Fuck, Loki, yes, like that, just like that, right the-ere-”

His tongue swirled against her indulgently, humming with satisfaction. It set her head spinning, white beginning to bloom in the darkness covering her vision.

Tell me how you want me, Astra, Loki demanded, lifting away just enough that his slick-glazed lips brushed her clitoris. Astrid almost sobbed, twisting and bucking as she fought away, yet closer, her frontal lobe disconnected and her body given over to sensation, all reflex and reaction. Tell me what you like. Tell me what should I give my perfect girl to make her scream, what does she want of me, I’ll do all the work if she likes, all the fucking, just tell me how you want me-

“Everything, any way you want,” Astrid moaned out, turning her cheek against the pillow, twisting against him, chasing the perfect angle, hips stuttering and shifting restlessly, her ankles locking at the small of his back in a half-conscious attempt to tangle the two of them together and fight for leverage, sparks chasing through her limbs, hot and sharp as a livewire, “stars, whatever you want, Loki, you can have all of it, just- uhn! Want you to want it, want you to lose yourself in me, want you to cum for me-”

Loki’s lips sealed around her clit, and Astrid shrieked in bliss.

It was like a spark exposed to pure oxygen, the first crack before an avalanche, the swell before a tsunami. It gathered into her nerves, violently, as Loki tongued her in earnest, his tongue grinding against the delicate tightly clustered bed of nerves, humming low and lascivious.

Head thrown back, Astrid slurred half-coherent praises- back bowed and lifted, hips flicking up into the sweet friction, wrists straining against the pressure holding her down for him.

“Beautiful, faen, Loki, you’d look beautiful coming inside me, exquisite, divine, every inch of you, Loki, only you, yours, break me, Loki, Loki, Loki-”

Loki let out a whining groan, curving in and bearing down on her, flicking his tongue against her with lethal precision.

Her orgasm came crashing down like the roaring rush of a spring storm, spilling through her blood, seething through her.

Astrid could hear herself gasping for breath, short, vehemently feminine sounds forcing their way through her clenched-open jaw. Loki’s grip turned bruising, caging her in place.

When she came to- eyes still closed, rising from the fall with stardust shimmering behind her lids, pleasantly senseless with pure dopamine- she could feel the facsimile of Loki’s hand soothing down her side, in long, languid, honeyed strokes of his palm, his nose nuzzling at her temple tenderly, trembling almost infinitesimally above her.

Her lips twitched, in delighted disbelief, when she realised that he had gotten off from that alone.

Back with me, pretty girl? Loki murmured sweetly, just slightly out of breath, kissing the curve of her jaw.

“Mn.”

How do you feel?

“Hmn.” Astrid shifted, testing her limbs with a sigh. “Spectacular. Definitely, ah- un-deprived.”

With an airy chuckle, Loki kissed her cheek, chastely.

Good.

Ignoring the pleasant, protesting ache in her arms, Astrid reached up- finding her wrists released, the magic dissolved- and twined them around Loki’s shoulders, pulling him down flush against her.

He came willingly, melting into her warmth like wax. She tipped her head aside as Loki tucked his face against the curve of her neck, settling his weight against her with a contented sigh and shuffling of angles, seeking the most comfortable fit. Thrumming a soft laugh, Astrid relaxed, luxuriating in the swathes of cool, bare skin that greeted her. The pads of her fingers traced over and massaged into his shoulder blades, running through his hair, until she felt a hedonistic moan purr through his chest.

Astrid was drifting somewhere in the gentle liminal haze between sleep and waking, when he spoke again.

This won’t be forever, Loki whispered, his thumb running along the curve of her hipbone, I promise. His hold on her tightened slightly. My eternity.

Teeth slicing against her lower lip, Astrid smiled, bittersweet.

She was unspeakably grateful, that he had misinterpreted her.

To her luck, it seemed that Loki believed it was the distance that was plaguing her psyche- and not the fears that the distance had begun to dredge, from somewhere dark and uncertain inside her heart, stirring up silt, scraping at her insides.

But Loki’s words rang of an ancient vow, of something that he must have said to her before.

The familiarity of it slotted into and turned against the void in her memories, like a key in a neglect-stiffened lock- not enough to unlatch the time-frozen pins and barrels and gears, but enough to tell her that it fit.

Astrid tightened the circle of her arms, burying her mouth against his crown. Her legs slid between his, sliding up his calves, grounding herself in the verisimilitude of him.

Loki was not there, but somewhere lightyears away, he could feel this.

And Astrid had chosen selfishness and pain and hurling herself onto the dagger of his affection, and she was nothing if not faithful.

No matter what lay ahead, no matter the unknowns that could drop the floor from underneath her, she had already made her choice. It was too late; she loved him.

“Can I be greedy?” She asked tentatively.

Always. Loki slid his arms around her, snug between her back and the cushion of the mattress. Tell me.

Astrid exhaled carefully.

“When it’s over,” she said, breathing in his leather and ink and evergreen, “let me hold you like this again.”

Loki huffed a fond, incredulous sound.

As often as you like. As though you need even ask.

She curved herself around him, denying the pressure building behind her eyes.

“Then I can wait,” she said softly.

I can earn you, Astrid didn’t say.

43 weeks and 2 days out

It wasn’t HYDRA who found her first.

It was as she was leaving an appointment one night- her messenger bag satisfyingly weighted with several files, as payment for services rendered, along with a fresh commissions list- when Astrid recognised that she was being watched.

She didn’t react. The dockside warehouse was one of Ophelia’s less glamorous, and more legitimate operations- located on the docks of Hǎidào Bay, on the cusp of the deep waters of the harbour. Within the shifting labyrinths of shipping containers and omnipresent grime of corruption, it had been easy for Astrid to dress herself in black and casual confidence, and render her presence unnoticed as she came to meet with Ophelia for their usual exchange.

It was equally easy to slip through one of the narrow corridors between the shipping containers, step into the Mirror Dimension, and open up a portal to another continent, escaping within seconds.

The air in Odesa was pleasantly temperate, the sun bright and the breeze cold, the skies clear as glass in the cool March weather. Ornamental trees were beginning to come into bud and bloom; by April, their fragrance would be almost sugary, like a confection made by layering something chiffon-delicate upon itself, until it became saccharine.

“I’ll give you all that I own

You’ve got me standing in line

Out in the cold-”

Singing quietly to herself, burning enough mana into her surroundings to incinerate any magical trace that had been placed upon her, Astrid bought tea and a pastry from a nearby stand, and settled on the edge of the fountain outside of the opera house. The curving Italian baroque façade was radiant in the high daylight, the sloping lawns accented by the thundering, frothing roar of the fountain jets at her back, and the susurration of conversation and rustling leaves and sharp, lilting cries of seabirds.

Setting her tea beside her, Astrid pulled the files from her messenger bag, opened each cover, and checked the contents.

“Bend me, shape me

Any way you want me

‘Long as you love me

It’s alright-”

Ophelia had been a little nonplussed by Astrid’s recent request, despite her established preference for currencies other than cash- but had dutifully provided it without fail, to her exact specifications. Each file contained a rental contract for an industrial warehouse or disused commercial space, listed with an address and lease term, signed and paid for under a shell corporation. The locations were scattered across the globe, in highly populated cities and municipalities, all carefully selected by Astrid.

She glanced over each set of papers, noting her approval with a sip of tea. Beside her, the waters of the fountain basin rippled like ocean shallows, catching spangles of blinding light in a fae shimmer, dazzling her briefly.

“Everybody tells me I’m wrong

To want you so badly

But there’s a force that’s driving me on

I’ll follow it gladly-”

She would have to get the warehouses outfitted and set up before November, at the latest- and make them fit for purpose, to emergency-house thousands of people.

Taking a bite of her pastry, still humming, heel tapping to the beat, Astrid began mentally compiling a list of favours that she could call in. She would prefer not ask something of Tony yet, with their cooperation still so tentative, built upon a house of cards fewer than those they had hidden up their sleeves- especially when she couldn’t give him the truth about why she needed these safehouses.

But Professor Xavier- or Charles, as he had insisted upon- might be amenable. And she had a few contacts that might be able to point her in the direction of people willing to do the construction work, possibly even some that Ophelia could recommend-

Astrid swallowed the mouthful of sweet pastry.

Someone was watching her. Again.

Slipping the pastry back into its paper bag, licking the film of butter and pastry flakes from her thumb, Astrid turned the page unseeingly, focusing out.

“So let them laugh, I don’t care

‘Cause I’ve got nothing to hide

All that I want

Is you by my side-”

It was the same person as Madripoor- not a camera, not an astral form, only one of them, moving towards her-

Astrid willed herself to remain composed, the nape of her neck prickling, assessing her options. Straightening her shoulders, she flicked her hair out of her eyes placidly; she would prefer not to make a scene, if possible- not while she was pulling pieces into position in the chessboard-

She recognised them.

Astrid stilled. Panic stabbed through her, shock wiping her expression blank, music stoppered in her throat.

Shit.

She hadn’t expected this.

She hadn’t planned for it, or even vaguely speculated on the possibility. Her nerves fizzled and swooped with adrenaline- this could be catastrophic, a disaster to everything they were doing- she could run, but that would solve nothing- she had to kill this risk before it reached Loki-

Their shadow crossed her, slipping across the papers on her lap and her crossed legs, sunlight just barely catching on the toe of her boot.

Heart in her mouth, Astrid looked up.

Standing before her, dressed in white tennis shoes, bootcut jeans and a collared cable-knit sweater, was Frigga of Asgard.

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